14.The Shadow Beyond the Night's

Night of the Fourth Day After the Autumn Banquet

The sky above Tianji Palace resembled a sheet of obsidian silk draping from heaven to earth.

The stars shivered in the void, as if too afraid to witness the silent upheaval creeping between jade corridors and dimming lanterns.

This was no ordinary night. Tonight, the sky was too still, the wind too aware, and the darkness held its breath.

At the courtyard of Feiyun Ju, residence of Consort Helian, the atmosphere felt frozen. Tree shadows stretched across the walls, resembling ghostly fingers reaching for secrets long buried. Meilan and Bai Rouxi, Zhenyu's most loyal maids, had been ordered to rest early. But they knew better. Whenever their mistress donned that plain black robe, unadorned, rankless—a cloth that melted into the night—it meant something far more than silence was being woven.

Zhenyu stood before her bronze mirror.

Her gaze met a reflection barely visible, a shadow of a soul that wasn't wholly hers.

Tonight was not about Helian Qingyin. Tonight belonged to her—Zijiang Zhenyu—fated to navigate the palace labyrinth not with blades, but with memory and courage.

She clutched a small silver pendant, the only relic from her former world that had reappeared when she awoke in this body. When lantern light grazed its surface, faint carvings emerged—spiraling mists, mirrored lines, and the broken sigil of a divided spirit. Symbols of Rongxu Jing.

Her steps were light, nearly soundless, as she slipped through the side gate of Feiyun Ju, heading toward the Imperial Library.

The first watch had passed.

The guards were growing lax, some even dozing at their posts.

A false peace blanketed the palace like the still surface of a pond, unaware of the current churning beneath.

But Zhenyu knew well—nights like this were favored by spies, ambition, and revenge.

The Imperial Library, a three-storied structure of blue andesite carved with dragons and phoenixes, stood tall under the moonlight—majestic yet deserted.

A lone lantern swung in front of the entrance, flickering gently as if weighing whose sins were to be read tonight.

Zhenyu entered from the west side, passing through a small garden where nocturnal flowers bloomed in secrecy. The scent of old manuscripts mingled with the lingering aroma of daytime incense. She did not light a lamp. Her eyes had grown used to reading shadows.

Among shelves of silk scrolls and dusty scriptures, she searched for something never officially recorded.

The Shadow Mirror.

It wasn't just a legend in Rongxu Jing. According to the whispers of Qingyin's spirit—who sometimes emerged in cold waves within her chest—the mirror had once belonged to a former emperor's secret collection before Empress Dowager Yao ordered it transferred here. The mirror didn't merely reflect appearances. It showed souls. And if Ji Suling's suspicion was right, that mirror could expose the truth—that the body now walking as Helian Qingyin wasn't entirely hers.

Her fingers brushed against ancient texts until they found a hidden drawer behind a scroll painting from the Guang Dynasty. With slight pressure, the panel creaked open, revealing a concealed chamber no larger than a monk's meditation cell.

There it was—wrapped in black cloth inked with rare characters—the mirror. Its carvings resembled a closed eye, as if guarding a vision not yet allowed to awaken.

Just as her hand reached out—

"I thought I was the only one sleepless tonight."

Zhenyu spun around.

From behind a stone pillar, a figure emerged—Yuwen Jinhai, clad in a silver inner robe without ornament. His eyes were sharp, yet not hostile—like someone who knew too much and chose silence.

"Is that the mirror that reveals who you truly are?" he asked calmly.

Zhenyu said nothing. Between them, silence was the truest language. She gripped the mirror tighter. Its weight was not just metal—but a past that demanded to be unveiled.

"Why are you here?" she finally asked, her voice low but steady.

"I could ask the same." Jinhai stepped closer. "But my answer might help you. The Empress Dowager ordered me to monitor anyone approaching the eastern wing of the library. Tonight, she was right again."

Zhenyu narrowed her eyes. "You serve her?"

"I serve the truth. But in this palace, truth often comes with a heavy price."

Silence again. The wind seeped in through high windows, stirring the curtains like ghosts laughing in their breath.

"I will not betray you, Zhenyu," Jinhai said, softer now, more human. "But I must ask... if that mirror reveals the soul within your body—are you ready to face it?"

That question struck deeper than a thousand accusations. Because truth wasn't just about being exposed to the world—it was about whether one could look into the mirror and see themselves without masks.

Zhenyu looked down.

With a gentle motion, she wrapped the cloth over the mirror once more. "Not tonight."

By the time she returned to Feiyun Ju, the third watch was near. A thin veil of fog had begun to settle over the outer courtyard. Meilan waited at the threshold with worried eyes. Bai Rouxi stood nearby, holding a lantern.

"Princess… A message arrived from Longevity Hall," Meilan said softly, handing over a small, sealed scroll.

Zhenyu unrolled it swiftly. The handwriting was elegant, composed, and cold—Empress Dowager Yao's.

> "The night sky brings omens.

We must speak.

Come before the morning wind stirs.

Do not let your shadow arrive before you."

Elsewhere in the palace, Ji Suling stood on the third-floor balcony of her residence, eyes fixed on the yellow-tinged sky as dawn approached. In her hand, she held a black flower from Rongxu Jing—one that bloomed only when two souls shared a single body.

She smiled faintly.

"The sky will split soon, Zijiang Zhenyu.

And when it does, it won't just be the mirror that speaks."

The fourth night after the Autumn Banquet was never recorded in the official palace chronicles.

But on that night, many things began to stir—

Shadows slipping into secret rooms.

Spirits churning within human flesh.

Love without a shape.

And ambitions that slowly eroded the boundary between night and day.

And by dawn, as sunlight kissed the palace crown,

The real game would begin.

---