The Veiled Game in the Reflection

The whisper of a needle piercing silk echoed faintly, like the soft breath of spring brushing the edge of the sky.

Within the quiet hush of Hua Lan Palace, the stillness was steeped not in emptiness, but in solemn focus and shadowed memory. Morning light slipped past the grand wooden doors, casting bamboo-leaf silhouettes across the white stone floor in a pattern as delicate as breath.

Threads of silver fluttered softly at the tip of the needle, moving with graceful precision in Xianlan's slender hand. Her serene face reflected both steady intention and a sorrow buried deep within the folds of thought.

She was stitching the corner of an embroidered cloth plum blossoms laced with snow just as she once had, long ago, when she was a young princess too innocent to understand betrayal.

But this was no mere decoration for the Summer Festival's Scripture Hall.

This was her ritual of remembering a silent act of reclaiming what the world had once cast aside, when it named her traitor.

"The needle pierces fabric… but never hurts as deeply as the words that once branded me."

She breathed in, softly, as if to ease out a bitterness long held within her chest.

And in an instant, the fragile peace shattered

"Lord Wen requests leave from duty to pay respects to Her Highness, the Fourth Princess!"

The eunuch's voice, respectful and clear, rang out from beyond the threshold.

Her hand faltered.

The calm stillness in Xianlan's gaze rippled.

The needle, frozen mid-stitch, trembled where it stood.

A name not heard in years struck harder than any decree from the High Court.

Wen Yichen.

The name that once lived at the very center of her heart.

The one who had handed her a handkerchief on the night no one dared meet her eyes.

The one who had waited silently outside the Cold Palace, never asking for anything in return.

The one who… vanished without even a word of farewell.

⸻

The wooden doors creaked open, slow and weighty.

The sound scraped along the tracks like a blade drawn through the wind of a bygone age.

Wen Yichen stepped into the palace.

He wore a robe of dark brown silk, embroidered with golden clouds that shimmered faintly beneath the sun. His eyes… were as gentle as she remembered.

But within that gentleness was distance and the trace of battles fought silently in the recesses of the soul.

"You seem calmer now."

His voice was quiet.

Not a mere greeting but a statement from one who had seen the change, and knew it could not be undone.

Xianlan slowly lifted her gaze to meet his.

Her heartbeat slowed, as though trying to hold itself back from rushing toward feelings long buried.

"And you… still remember the past all too well,"

she replied with composed ease softly spoken, yet carrying a weight both tender and sharp.

He chuckled softly.

Then extended a sandalwood fan toward her.

On the fan, faint ink strokes spelled out words she instantly recognized.

Xianlan took the fan and glanced over it for only a moment before she knew.

"That verse…"

It was the poem she had written at the age of eight stitched into her favorite poetry book, which vanished in the chaos of that night.

"The fan may have broken… but I kept it.

Because that poem… never left my heart."

His voice came again not honeyed, but steady. And somehow, the chill that touched her fingertips then was colder than any wind.

She turned her eyes away, toward the willows swaying softly outside the palace.

"…I still don't know whether to be glad… or cautious,"

she murmured, as if speaking to herself.

He said nothing.

Only watched her shadow fall gently against the floor, listening with the quiet of someone who understood even what was left unsaid.

⸻

They walked side by side down the wooden corridor that wound through the garden of Hua Lan Palace.

A soft breeze stirred the scent of apricot blossoms and freshly watered mint. The willow branches swayed in time with the wind, casting dancing shadows like dream fragments within a drifting haze.

"You returned more quietly than I expected,"

Wen Yichen said, his voice calm like a man long accustomed to silence.

Xianlan did not answer at once.

She took two more steps before replying.

"And you… watched more quietly than I remember."

He gave a faint laugh.

The smile at his lips hadn't changed but there was something in his eyes, unreadable.

"I once watched from afar.

But now… I want to stand beside."

She paused, just briefly.

Stand beside.

It was not a phrase to be taken lightly in a palace woven with schemes and deceit.

"…Why?"

"Because you are unlike anyone in this court."

His answer was direct.

"You make them afraid… without ever lifting a sword."

Silence fell between them.

"Do you know?"

"Since your return… they've stopped watching the phoenix in the sky."

"Because you made them believe… that a phoenix once wounded is far more dangerous than one that merely soars."

Her steps halted.

The word phoenix it had been her title, her identity all her life.

But today, in his mouth, that name bore a new meaning. One that trembled deeper than ever before.

Wen Yichen turned toward her.

His gaze did not smile. It held still so still it caught the breath in her chest.

"I wish to warn you…" he said.

"Even if you win the war of words,

the war of the mind,

the war of the throne

There is one battle you must never lose."

Xianlan met his gaze.

"…The one within your own heart."

A Trap Beneath the Reflection

That night, within the lavish confines of Zhu Yun Palace,

the golden-threaded brocade draped along the high ceiling shimmered beneath the soft glow of snow-crystal lanterns that burned through the hours.

Yet for one woman standing alone, the world was cloaked in shadow.

Su Mengyu stood before a bronze mirror.

She had just removed the jade hairpin from her long, silky tresses, letting them fall messily across her back. The face that once radiated proud beauty now bore a faint trace of unease.

But what stared back at her was not merely her own reflection…

It was her Xianlan overlaid like a ghostly silhouette, silent yet searing.

"…She has someone backing her now, does she?"

The words slipped from Su Mengyu's lips like bitter silk, quiet and cold.

"And it's… Wen Yichen?"

She turned sharply, reaching for the sandalwood fan resting by the bedside. Her fingers clenched around it so tightly that veins rose faintly along the back of her hand.

"The man who never joined a single game…

but now willingly walks into her shadow?"

Her voice was low, edged with disbelief, followed by a quiet, mirthless laugh.

It wasn't amusement.

It was the kind of laughter born from something far sharper than irony disdain.

Su Mengyu was no fool.

She might wear the face of a gentle lady graceful, soft-spoken, modest in manner but within her dwelled the mind of a strategist, honed beneath the tutelage of her aunt, the cunning Noble Consort.

With a sharp snap, she tossed the fan back onto the table and moved toward a jade-inlaid box hidden beneath her bed's carved platform.

Her slender fingers unlatched it.

Inside lay thin wooden slips for coded writing… and a hidden spy network's map within the palace walls.

"If you insist on walking toward her…"

Her voice now held the chill of winter.

"…then I'll make sure she never walks again."

⸻

A wooden door slid open with a faint sound.

Her trusted maid, Xin'er, stepped in silently.

"Mistress… a message from Junling has arrived."

Su Mengyu turned, her expression composed and unreadable.

"Speak."

"Tomorrow, in the late morning, Lord Wen Yichen will accompany the Fourth Princess to the Scripture Hall… to present an embroidered offering."

"…Oh?"

Su Mengyu smiled.

It was the kind of smile that bloomed like a peony beautiful, but colder than the snows atop Mount Changling.

"Then it's about time someone tripped over their own feet…"

She turned to a silver fruit tray, picked up a single grape, and gently pressed until its skin burst, the sweet juice bleeding onto her fingertips.

"Soft on the outside… firm within…

Tell me, Xin'er who do you think suits that description?"

Her tone was almost idle.

The maid bowed lower, eyes fixed to the ground.

"…I would not presume to say, mistress."

"That's why I adore you,"

Su Mengyu murmured with a soft laugh,

"You never say."

Then she reached into a secret cabinet and retrieved a small, midnight-black mechanism a box no larger than her palm.

A device of trickery.

A box that could, in mere moments, turn a beautiful embroidered cloth into something forbidden…

something capable of destroying a royal ceremony.

"If he is the shield that guards the phoenix…"

She whispered

"…then I shall make the phoenix… the target."

The Next Morning - Imperial Scripture Hall

The smooth gray stone courtyard before the Scripture Hall stretched beneath the shadow of willows shedding their leaves in the breeze.

At the center stood an ancient wooden pavilion, solemn and grand, encircled by carved stone columns etched with dragons rising from waves.

Wen Yichen ascended the steps in silence, with Xianlan following close behind.

Behind them trailed a eunuch holding a carefully wrapped cloth an embroidered piece she had sewn with her own hands, night after night.

Inside, the hall was hushed.

Cool shade wrapped the air, faintly laced with the scent of old paper and rain-washed timber.

"Do you come here often?"

Wen Yichen's voice was quiet as they walked beneath towering shelves of scripture.

"I used to… back when I needed to escape the whispers,"

Xianlan replied, her tone even.

"But now I come… to remember what must never be forgotten."

Wen Yichen glanced at her.

He said nothing, but something flickered in his gaze quick as candlelight.

"…Do you intend to unearth every piece of the past?" he asked at last.

"There's no need to unearth," she said softly. "Some truths refuse to rot even when buried."

A pause fell between them.

Only the soft echo of their footsteps lingered in the quiet chamber, like the breath of secrets stirring in the dark.

When they reached the altar at the rear of the hall,

Xianlan placed her embroidered cloth upon it with careful grace.

The soft red petals of plum blossoms contrasted just perfectly against the pale silk.

"Beautiful…" Wen Yichen whispered.

"But it's not mere beauty," Xianlan said gently. "This pattern holds meaning."

"Five outer petals encircling a single center"

He stopped, then murmured,

"It's an old cipher. Used by military tacticians to conceal codes."

Xianlan allowed herself a faint smile.

"You always notice…"

"I remember every stitch you've ever sewn."

His words were simple but they froze her hand for a moment, hovering above the cloth.

⸻

Before either could speak further, a delicate flute note drifted in from beyond the door, mingled with the faintest trace of incense.

Su Mengyu had arrived.

She entered slowly, dressed in ivory silk embroidered with climbing persimmon vines a vision of soft, composed elegance that even Wen Yichen could not help but glance toward.

"Forgive my tardiness," she said with a gentle smile.

"I heard the Fourth Princess was presenting an embroidery today…

and I thought I might offer a small piece of my own."

She handed a neat bundle to a court maid, smiling as though there were nothing in the world worth troubling over.

"Lady Su is most welcome to join the rite," Wen Yichen nodded with courtesy.

Su Mengyu turned to Xianlan and added, her voice low

"Your embroidery… is truly exquisite."

"I admire it with all my heart."

Xianlan gave a faint smile in return.

"Your praise makes me curious to see yours as well."

Their tones were soft.

But not even a whisper of warmth flickered in their eyes.

⸻

When the eunuch opened Su Mengyu's bundle,

they found a cloth of similar hue yet the pattern was curiously intricate, and strangely unfamiliar.

At that very instant,

Wen Yichen's brow knit.

"Lady Su's piece bears a symbol forbidden in imperial rites."

Every gaze in the hall snapped toward them.

Su Mengyu paused then widened her eyes in feigned surprise.

"Truly? I… I had no idea."

She turned to her maid.

"Did you perhaps bring the wrong piece?"

Her voice trembled just enough yet her eyes remained perfectly calm.

Xianlan observed her, unmoving.

Then spoke, only once:

"Some people may not have chosen the wrong cloth…

but their heart has long been on the wrong thread."

Wen Yichen gave her a brief glance, then addressed the eunuch.

"Send both cloths for examination by the palace artisans."

A voice echoed in response.

Su Mengyu said nothing more.

She merely smiled… faintly.

Afternoon - Bamboo Grove behind the Scripture Hall

Sunlight filtered through the slender stalks of bamboo, casting threads of gold across the earth like strands of silk woven into a tapestry.

Wen Yichen and Xianlan walked slowly through the towering grove, the silence between them so still, it felt as if time itself were being stitched into fabric.

"Did you intend to expose Su Mengyu in the Scripture Hall just now?"

Wen Yichen's voice was quiet, his gaze glancing toward the shaded path they had just left.

"No," Xianlan replied calmly.

"But I believe that when certain pawns are convinced no one watches the board… they tend to move recklessly."

Wen Yichen nodded ever so slightly.

"I don't think that cloth was a mere mistake."

"Of course not."

She halted mid-step before continuing,

"But mistakes made to look unintentional… only work once."

Her voice was cool, yet not harsh like still water in a lotus pond, so calm it masked its true depths.

"And I meant for today to be that once."

Wen Yichen regarded her in silence for a moment,

then spoke gravely.

"Do you know how dangerous it is… to play tricks before someone who holds more than half the pieces in this palace?"

"I do."

Xianlan's voice slowed.

"But I never intended to survive by hiding behind someone else's cloak."

⸻

A shadow passed silently through the bamboo.

Feng Yuhan stood leaning against an ancient tree by a fork in the path.

Sunlight cut across his shoulder at a slant, outlining his tall frame, his gaze unreadable.

He had been watching them from a distance just far enough to remain unseen.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop… but he had heard every word.

And though his expression did not change,

if one looked closely, they would notice the fingers of one hand clenching the hem of his sleeve far too tightly… for no reason at all.

When Wen Yichen leaned in and said something near Xianlan's ear before they parted at the courtyard's end,

Feng Yuhan turned away at once without a word.

⸻

That Evening - The Cold Palace

Xianlan returned to her chambers with a faint smile.

The late summer breeze drifted in through old wooden shutters, bringing with it the scent of dry grass and fresh resin.

She set down Wen Yichen's sandalwood fan beside her pillow,

then reached for another bundle wrapped in cloth.

Inside was an old book its cover stitched in black thread, embroidered with a four-petal motif, and etched faintly with verses in an ancient tongue.

This journal had been returned to her earlier that morning by "someone" within the Scripture Hall.

There was no name, only a slip of parchment tucked inside, bearing a single line:

"When the reflection begins to twist, do not look to the mirror look to the hand that holds it."

Xianlan's eyes stilled.

Then she dipped a brush into ink and penned beneath it:

"And if the hand that holds the mirror is mine… I shall not look away.

I shall change the reflection with my own hand."

⸻

Elsewhere in the Palace - An Abandoned Training Ground

Feng Yuhan stood leaning against a weathered post in an old martial court.

The night was silent. So quiet, he could hear the sound of leaves falling to earth.

"…You could smile that easily with him?"

The words slipped into the dark, hushed and low spoken to no one, for he was speaking to himself.

He drew the iron fan from his waist and flicked it open and closed, slowly.

His eyes fixed on its mirrored surface as though confronting the reflection of something far deeper within.

"Do you favor pawns that are simple to read…

or a man who hides traps even within a smile?"

There was no answer. Only wind.

But in that instant, he snapped the fan shut.

Then turned and walked directly toward the secret chamber beneath his residence.

"…It's time to make my move."

"This chapter has been updated with improved narrative and deeper character perspective. The plot remains unchanged."

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