A Riddle Beneath the Full Moon
The full moon floated high above the golden-roofed Suwan Pavilion, casting its brilliance upon the tranquil lake. Not a single cloud marred the sky as though Heaven itself knew that tonight would bring a trial of wisdom, will, and dignity.
All around the pavilion, ivory silk lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze. Each was embroidered with blooming lotus petals, their threads catching the flicker of candlelight like a dance of flame and shadow. The scent of dried lotus drifting from the imperial lake carried with it a surreal stillness, severing the pavilion from the realm of reality as though time itself had been stilled.
But tonight was unlike any other.
For this year, the people awaited a contest not of swords or spears, but of words a duel without blood, where speech served as the blade, resolve as the shield, and intellect the golden armor.
Courtiers of both the inner and outer palaces lined the perimeter with solemn decorum. The air around the pavilion was heavy with unspoken anticipation. Eyes did not merely seek an answer but searched, unflinchingly, for the one who dared speak it.
And amid this quiet fervor stood a lone man, not among the seats reserved for the lords of court, but beneath the shadow of a peach tree near the eastern balcony.
Feng Yuhan clad in black silk robes threaded with subtle gold stood still as the night wind brushed against the hem of his cloak, its motion akin to a raven spreading its wings in silence. The moonlight fell upon his face, revealing a cold stillness that even the glow of lanterns dared not warm.
No one knew when he had arrived…
But one thing was certain:
He was waiting.
The solemn notes of a jade flute rose from the imperial ensemble gentle and profound, like a river winding through the soul. It called the gathering into the mood of this sacred tradition: the "Night of Moonlit Jade," a ceremony where only women deemed worthy could present their verses before the court.
And this year… there were only three.
Su Mengyu – Grandniece of Noble Consort Su Zhen.
Jiang Xinluo – Envoy from the Kingdom of Jianrong.
Xianlan – Fourth Princess of the Kingdom of Li.
Three women from distant paths, now converging at a single crossroads the battleground of words, where none wished to taste defeat.
Su Mengyu, draped in crimson silk embroidered with dancing dragon clouds, shimmered like a flickering flame beneath the night sky. Her smile was slight, yet carried enough ambition to shake the very heart of the inner court.
Jiang Xinluo, in flowing lavender, bore the serene elegance of an orchid blooming amidst the snow. She sat still, yet every breath she took seemed capable of triggering unseen mechanisms within the imperial harem.
And then, there was Xianlan…
She entered the circle in pure white robes, the silk patterned with subtle phoenixes soaring through clouds. Not gaudy, not striking yet to any who dared gaze long enough, a quiet brilliance stirred beneath her calm.
The night wind carried the mingled fragrance of sandalwood and sacred lotus into the open pavilion.
The flute fell silent. Then a eunuch stepped forward, bearing a scroll of silk in both hands.
"This year's challenge is thus…"
He paused, letting the silence settle before reading aloud in a clear and solemn voice:
"What is beautiful, yet makes no sound?
What is cold, yet not water?
What wounds the heart, yet is no blade?"
A hush swept over the hall.
The riddle, though poetic in form, bore layers of hidden meaning so intricate that even seasoned scholars might falter in contemplation. And yet this was no trial for men of letters.
This was a trial… for women.
Dozens of gazes turned toward the three seated ladies.
Some watched with bated breath.
Some watched… to mock the one who would fail.
A crisp gust stirred the gauze curtains of the open pavilion. Moonlight fell upon the polished marble floor, where it reflected the figures of the three women like an unframed ink painting come to life. For a brief moment, even breath itself seemed to falter as the eunuch's voice faded.
Silence veiled the pavilion like morning mist
Until the soft whisper of silk shoes broke through.
Su Mengyu stood.
Her movements were graceful, composed. She smiled faintly, casting a confident glance around the circle before turning to face the Emperor and his court.
"Your Majesty, this humble maiden, Su Mengyu, wishes to offer her answer."
Her voice was sweet, yet carried no trace of weakness. She stood tall, the red silk of her robe catching the lantern's light like a tongue of flame. She then turned deliberately and locked eyes with Feng Yuhan before speaking:
"That which is beautiful but makes no sound is the smile of a woman in love."
"…That which is cold but not water is solitude.
That which wounds the heart is love beyond reach."
Her final words fell with a faint, wistful smile.
A gentle murmur rippled through the inner court.
Some maids dabbed their eyes, while others nodded with admiration.
"How romantic…"
"So fitting for Lady Su beautiful and brilliant."
But in the shadows cast by Feng Yuhan, his gaze did not waver. His eyes passed over the answer as though it were no more than a line from a poem unmoved, unread.
⸻
When Su Mengyu had returned gracefully to her seat,
Jiang Xinluo rose in silence.
She moved neither with haste nor hesitation.
With her hands folded calmly before her, she spoke in a quiet, steady tone:
"That which is beautiful but soundless is the shadow of one who has departed.
That which is cold but not water is the moon on a full-moon night.
That which wounds the heart is a gaze that sees me… but has never truly seen me."
Each word left her lips like the reading of an unsent letter.
Though her voice was soft, it struck the hearts of many within the pavilion.
Even Su Mengyu stirred, her lips parting slightly as if to say something then falling still again.
An elder court official wiped away tears in secret beneath his sleeve.
Even Feng Yuhan, still beneath the peach tree's shade,
tilted his head and for the briefest moment, a flicker of thought passed through those wintry eyes.
…
And now, all eyes and all breath… turned to the final woman.
…
Xianlan.
She remained seated.
She did not rise immediately.
Only when the silence began to press like weight upon the chest, did she slowly rise.
She gave her sleeve a soft flick, then folded her hands and bowed with elegance honed not by performance, but by presence.
Her expression showed neither nervousness nor arrogance.
What shone through instead was a calm forged by battles far beyond her years.
Her voice was neither loud nor soft but if the first two had spoken as flowers and mist,
then Xianlan's words were a sheathed blade its sharpness felt, even without being drawn.
"That which is beautiful but soundless is the dignity of a woman who need not speak to command respect.
That which is cold but not water is a heart once betrayed, no longer fooled by fire.
That which wounds the heart is a honeyed word laced with poison a lie sweet enough that none notice the venom… until it is far too late."
Silence fell upon the hall as though the world itself had paused.
The wind halted.
The flames of the candles stood still.
Every soul within the court lingered in that moment, as if trying to grasp the weight of her words.
Then, that silence was broken by a voice.
The voice of Emperor Li Sicheng.
"Excellent… Razor-sharp."
"Though not sweet, this answer reflects the intricacies of a woman's heart more deeply than any jade."
Applause began in one corner of the court.
And like ripples on a still pond… it spread.
Su Mengyu sat motionless, lips pressed in a thin line.
Jiang Xinluo lowered her gaze, her face unreadable.
But Feng Yuhan he stood as he had before.
Only now,
his cold, glacier-like eyes remained on Xianlan longer than they had lingered on anyone else.
Within him, all was silent.
But something…
was beginning to unfold.
"I know you've changed…"
"But oddly… I find I like you more this way."
After the ceremony came to a close,
guests slowly began to rise from their seats.
Servants followed with trays of sweet cakes, cups of tea, and silk shawls for the cool evening air.
A soft murmur of conversation floated through the pavilion like ripples upon still water.
Outside the hall, however the full moon remained suspended in the heavens, its silver light washing over the smooth stone path that led toward the rear gardens.
Xianlan walked alone.
A maid trailed a few steps behind, holding a golden lantern adorned with pearl tassels to light her way. Her every step was poised, as if each footfall carried weight and meaning.
But before she had gone far,
Footsteps another's approached from behind.
"You answered as though you knew what they would say."
The voice was quiet,
yet the tone too precise to be mere idle musing.
Xianlan stopped, though she did not turn.
"I didn't know," she said evenly.
"But I do know… that some never speak what they truly feel.
And others… speak of things their hearts have never known."
A hush fell between them.
Then the sound of soft steps joined hers until he stood at her side.
Feng Yuhan.
His deep gaze turned skyward, lost in the moonlight.
"Even I… can't tell who you meant,"
he said, his face as unreadable as always.
Xianlan smiled faintly, saying nothing.
Only after a pause did she whisper, as if into the breeze:
"Perhaps… I was only speaking of myself."
Feng Yuhan stilled then turned his eyes to her face.
There was no pride in her expression,
no defiance.
Only something quieter… deeper.
Like a scar that had healed but still itched beneath the skin.
He wanted to speak.
Words stirred at the back of his throat but in the end, all he said was:
"The moon is beautiful tonight."
Xianlan glanced up at the sky.
"But the most beautiful moons…"
"are always the ones no one dares to look at for long."
⸻
Elsewhere…
In the side chamber of Noble Consort Su Zhen's quarters
Su Mengyu slammed her door shut.
Her face was calm but the hands pulling hairpins from her coiffure trembled ever so slightly.
The red silk shawl slipped from her shoulders and landed on the floor with a thud.
"That wretched phoenix… she's not just a phoenix,"
she hissed between clenched teeth, her voice as cold as wind through steel.
She turned to face the brass mirror on her vanity. The once-assured beauty in the reflection now bore a fracture a jagged wound left by the sting of defeat.
"She's a dragon… wrapped in silk."
Her slender fingers tapped the table once.
Twice.
A third time.
Slow and deliberate.
Then, in a voice low and coiled with resolve:
"I won't lose.
I won't let her become the star of this palace."
With that,
she reached for the sandalwood fan the very one Jiang Xinluo had used during the ceremony.
A fan Su Mengyu had secretly switched with her own for a certain… plan.
"If I were to let this slip…"
"That a foreign woman dared veil her poetry with meaning meant for the Crown Prince of Nanyan…"
In Su Mengyu's eyes, the gleam was no longer merely jealousy.
It was something far more dangerous
A quiet, calculated glint of schemes taking shape in the shadows of her mind.
⸻
That same night,
in the residence of Jiang Xinluo
She had yet to retire.
Instead, she sat alone beneath the pale blossoms of the night-blooming lily, her gaze lifted to the moon so high above that its light nearly melted into her own eyes.
In her right hand, a slender journal lay open
Each page filled with notes, observations, and records of the movements of Xianlan, Feng Yuhan, and even a few imperial eunuchs.
She added one more line:
"Tonight, the phoenix was silent yet her wings were sharper than ever."
She set the brush aside
and raised her head to the stars.
Her expression was calm… but never still.
"The moonlight I once shared with him… now reflects the face of another."
"So be it. Let them beware the shadows I've prepared."
⸻
The following morning
The gentle chime of wind bells rang softly outside Xianlan's chamber, swaying to the last breaths of the late-season chill.
She had yet to rise from her bed of fragrant wood, but her eyes were already open.
The moon's shadow had followed her into her dreams.
Though she had stood firm and flawless during the poetry trial,
deep within, she knew well last night had not been a victory.
It was the beginning of a war whose enemy wore no face.
And at times, she wasn't even certain who the true enemy was.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Your Highness," came the voice of a maid, "a eunuch from the imperial court has arrived with a decree."
Xianlan rose with quiet grace.
Clad only in a thin sleeping robe, she stepped outside with a steady expression that did not waver.
"Read it aloud," she ordered gently.
The eunuch bowed low, then unfurled the scroll with practiced formality.
"In recognition of her virtue, refinement, and excellence in the arts of verse and literature
His Majesty grants the title of Apprentice Lady of the Inner Court to Her Highness Princess Xianlan.
She shall have the right to attend all imperial ceremonies,
and shall serve as advisor to the Imperial Office of Arts and Rites
Effective immediately."
The silence that followed was dense.
Though the eunuch dared not utter a word more,
the gleam in the eyes of Xianlan's handmaids was unmistakable.
This was no mere compliment.
It was a promotion one that no other princess of her generation had ever received.
One of the maids whispered softly once the eunuch had departed:
"It means His Majesty favors her…"
"Or… that someone else's star is about to fall."
Xianlan said nothing in return.
She merely reached for a cup of warm tea set by the bamboo chair nearby.
She took a slow sip.
Then spoke almost to herself.
"When the moon is full… its shadow becomes clearest."
⸻
At that very moment in the chambers of Noble Consort Su Zhen
A porcelain teacup struck the wooden table with a sharp, cracking sound.
And her voice raspy, low, and simmering with rage rose to meet it.
"Who penned the words in that imperial decree…?"
She did not wait for an answer.
She already knew it was not the voice of the Emperor that echoed in that scroll.
It was the hand of someone else,
someone who had begun to seize the reins of shadowed power within the palace walls.
Su Mengyu stood motionless at her side, her voice low and tight with unease.
"Could it be… him?"
"Feng Yuhan?"
She said no more.
But suspicion festered beneath her stillness not only toward Feng Yuhan,
but toward Xianlan,
who now began to rise with an influence no one had foreseen.
"She… is climbing the phoenix dais in plain sight…"
Noble Consort Su Zhen lowered her gaze.
She knew well in this war, beauty alone would never be enough.
One must wield strategy, connections, and blood.
⸻
At the rear of the palace,
beneath the tranquil shade of the lily trees
Feng Yuhan sat alone, silent.
In his hand, a thin sheet of paper a copy of the answer recited at the poetry trial the night before, transcribed and sent to him by someone discreet.
"Honeyed words laced with poison…"
He murmured it again under his breath,
then set the paper aside and closed his eyes.
In his thoughts, only the image of a woman standing still beneath the moonlight remained.
She neither smiled gently,
nor wept,
nor yielded to false sweetness.
"Xianlan… how many thorns do you still hide from my sight?"
His eyes opened again.
And within them a new light had begun to kindle.
The light of a man who no longer simply observed…
…but had begun to choose a side.
"This chapter has been updated with improved narrative and deeper character perspective. The plot remains unchanged."
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