9.Silent Tears Behind the Veil of Sorrow
--
Rain fell softly, like the sky was weeping in slow regret. The Ninghua Palace lay shrouded in mist, as though time itself had paused before the Snow Pavilion where silence and sorrow had long taken root.
Zijiang Zhenyu sat alone inside, surrounded by the faint scent of incense.
Lantern light flickered across stone floors and sheer curtains, casting shifting shadows that moved like memories from another life.
Helian Qingyin's body had returned to life but her soul remained a battlefield.
Zhenyu felt it in every silent night. The girl who once died without a voice now cried in silence, trapped in a shell that still remembered pain.
"I used to have a soft voice…"
"When was the last time you spoke?"
> "When he said I'd be safe… if I drank that tea."
Qingyin's voice didn't come from her lips, but from something deeper - echoing in Zhenyu's mind like a ghost speaking through glass.
Zhenyu's hand trembled as she touched her neck. There, barely visible, was a fine line not a scar of the body, but a wound on the soul.
"When I fell, I wanted to scream.
But my mouth wouldn't open."
"You're not alone now. Your voice is mine, too."
"Then… what will you say when all eyes are on you?"
That question hung in the air, sharp and heavy like a blade yet to fall.
---
The next morning, Bai Ruoxi entered quietly, carrying a tray of warm porridge.
Her steps were slow. Her shoulders trembled. Damp strands clung to her braided hair, touched by the morning mist.
"Xiaojie…" she whispered. "There's bad news from the Eastern Pavilion."
Zhenyu looked up slowly. "Who?"
"Concubine Li… she was found hanging in the bamboo hall." Ruoxi lowered her gaze. "Some of the servants said… they heard crying before dawn."
Zhenyu remained still.
Her fingers wrapped around the wooden cup not tightly, but enough to stop the shaking in her hands.
"Thank you, Ruoxi," she said calmly. "Please leave it on the table."
Ruoxi hesitated. "Xiaojie… people in the kitchens… they say you've been talking to yourself at night."
Zhenyu gave her a soft smile. "If I talk to myself, at least someone's telling the truth."
Ruoxi bit her lip. She wanted to say more, but fear and loyalty clashed inside her chest. In the end, she only knelt and said in a trembling voice, "I'll stay… even if everyone else turns away."
For the first time, Zhenyu looked at her not as a servant but as the last witness who still dared to call her human.
---
In the corridors of Zhaoyun Hall, whispers flowed like the rain.
"The Third Concubine… they say she talks to herself."
"They say she's possessed by the spirit of the girl who died five years ago."
"Or maybe… the spirit never left."
But the whispers weren't the only ones watching.
Under a blooming plum tree flowers falling before their season Prince Yuwen Jinhai stood silently. His dark robe was wet with dew. His eyes fixed on the Snow Pavilion, as if the walls and curtains could no longer hide the guilt buried in his heart.
In his hand, he held a wrinkled letter.
An apology he had written to Qingyin… but never sent.
---
That night, Zhenyu stood under the plum tree.
A dark robe hung from a low branch, touched by dew and moonlight. She pulled it into her arms, holding it close.
"Why did he leave this?"
"So I'd know he still sees me."
"But seeing isn't saving."
"Do you still hope for him?"
"No. I just want him to know… I'm alive again."
As she closed her eyes, the world shifted. Light twisted. Sound vanished.
And suddenly, she was no longer under the plum tree.
She was standing in the middle of a fog-covered realm a space between shadows.
At the far end of a mirror-like bridge stood a girl in pale robes. Her hair was long, her eyes blank yet filled with sorrow.
Qingyin.
> "I used to wait here every night… hoping he would come."
"And he never did."
"So I stopped hoping… and stayed silent."
"We'll speak now, Qingyin. With lips, with eyes… even with blood, if that's what it takes."
Qingyin turned to her. A faint smile appeared for the first time. She said nothing but lifted her hand and pointed to Zhenyu's chest.
Her voice echoed like wind through glass:
"From now on… you are my voice."
And then, the shadow realm faded.
Zhenyu stumbled back under the plum tree, breath ragged, her body trembling—not from cold, but from something deeper.
A bond that could no longer be undone.
---
In the Imperial Hall, the court bustled with preparations for the Emperor's 48th birthday. The entertainment list was long dances, music, poetry.
Ji Suling stood beside the Empress Dowager Tuoba Zhaoyi, reading through the list brought by a trembling eunuch.
"The Third Concubine is still listed for a poetry recital?" Suling's voice was sharp.
"It was a direct request from His Majesty," the eunuch stammered. "He wants to hear the 'silent concubine' with his own ears."
The Empress Dowager narrowed her eyes. "Then it's time to prove if she's really Qingyin… or just a shadow wearing her face."
Ji Suling smiled coldly.
But she had prepared more than just poetry.
A trace of poison had been hidden in the incense.
A dark spell carved beneath the stage.
She would not just silence the concubine's voice she would break her.
---
That night, Zhenyu sat before a cracked mirror, brushing through Qingyin's long hair.
Bai Ruoxi entered quietly, holding a tray with warm water and an old hairpin.
"Xiaojie… this is the one you used to wear during palace banquets… before…" Her words faded.
Zhenyu took the pin and smiled. "I won't wear this tomorrow.
I will wear… my voice."
Ruoxi froze. Her eyes widened in confusion but her heart trembled in understanding.
"Tomorrow, everyone will be watching."
"I'm not afraid."
"Neither am I."
"Then let us speak not to beg.
But to tear down their lies."
And outside, beyond the Snow Pavilion gates, the night wind carried the scent of plum blossoms falling too early.
They didn't know…
The voice they tried to bury for a thousand days
Was about to become the hammer
That shattered every mask.