Twisted Whispers
The morning breeze drifted softly, carrying with it the subtle fragrance of plum blossoms that bloomed late in the season within the palace gardens. Yet beneath the serene stillness of those flower-lined paths, something stirred a subtle current soaking into the air like ink dropped in a clear stream. The wind was not cold enough to mask the scent of envy that burned steadily in someone's heart.
Within the tea pavilion of the Noble Consort's quarters, where gauzy cream curtains embroidered with gold thread swayed gently with the breeze, Su Mengyu sat at the center of a delicate circle. Noble ladies from prominent families, along with the wives of court ministers, graced the gathering with smiles that were polite… but glacial.
She took a quiet sip of tea, eyes drifting outward toward the courtyard as though detached from the conversation yet in her mind, each phrase she would utter next was measured with precision.
"Do you truly believe he came to see you because of some bond from the past?"
Her voice was even, but laced with layered meaning.
All heads turned toward her at once, then shifted subtly toward one unoccupied corner of the tea hall Where Princess Xianlan had not deigned to attend herself, Yet her name lingered in every breath spoken.
"Men don't dwell on the past. It's only women who cannot forget…"
Su Mengyu set her teacup down upon its saucer with the faintest sound.
But in the hush of the room, everyone heard it as clear as a bell.
Her words drifted lightly on the breeze. Yet they left a trace in every listener's heart, like an arrow that did not aim directly, yet struck the mark with the precision of a seasoned huntress.
One of the maids whispered to her mistress at once:
"Is she referring to the Fourth Princess?"
Another nodded slowly.
"Ever since Young Lord Wen appeared at Hua Lan Palace, rumors have begun to swirl… Especially that…"
"Even at night, there is music from within the palace supposedly closed for evening rites…"
"Perhaps she is seeking a man unbound since the Crown Prince of Nanyan has never made any firm declaration, has he?"
The soft whispers spread like the faint scent of smoke subtle, yet searing enough to scorch a woman's reputation in a single breath.
⸻
Within Hua Lan Palace…
The atmosphere could not have been more different like sky and chasm.
Xianlan sat in still silence behind her writing desk.
Her deep, discerning gaze swept across the neatly arranged reports before her
Updates from her trusted servants who had been gathering whispers from the inner court.
Page after page of crisp white parchment bore tidy script,
yet the words upon them tasted bitter.
"You think I don't know?"
She murmured softly, almost to herself.
Lifting a cup of chrysanthemum tea to her lips,
she took a slow sip.
But before the floral warmth could offer any calm,
it was undone consumed by the chill of slander.
"Rumors are like dry grass,"
her voice softer than the wind,
"if the wind is strong enough… they catch fire."
She paused. Her eyes narrowed.
"…But I also know this:
those who light the fire always leave traces behind."
A faint smile touched her lips.
Not warm.
But sharp, and cold as a blade honed in silence.
Her eyes still as a storm waiting to rise did not waver.
⸻
Within the Hall of Azure Silk, designated as a venue for that day's informal gathering, sunlight streamed through mulberry-paper windows and spilled across the long table draped in pale silk, meticulously embroidered with clouds and mist. Daughters of noble households began to arrive in quiet procession, taking their seats with impeccable decorum.
Though the event was merely a fabric-design session in preparation for the upcoming festival, everyone understood it was, in truth, a battleground a silent war among the belles of the inner palace.
Su Mengyu arrived first, clad in a robe of delicate silk, adorned with plum blossoms and cranes. The soft pink hue resembled the first blush of peach petals, giving her the appearance of a goddess from an ancient tale.
But her eyes… were cold as polished ice.
"Hmm… She's still not here, is she?"
She murmured, casting a glance toward the empty chair beside her.
Xiao Ru, her ever-attentive maid, promptly handed her a cup of tea with practiced grace.
"The Fourth Princess will surely come, my lady. She's never missed a ceremonial meeting…"
Su Mengyu said nothing, merely lowered her gaze and took a small sip, as though unaffected by the maid's comment.
Until
Footsteps, soft as falling snow, echoed faintly by the doorway.
The figure of Xianlan appeared, framed in the hush that fell over the room like silk drawn taut.
Every eye flicked toward her, not with admiration but calculation.
She wore a robe of soft gray silk, unadorned save for a single brooch carved in the shape of a bamboo sprig, pinned neatly over her heart.
The moment she entered, all gazes shifted to that solitary ornament.
And before anyone could speak, Su Mengyu's maid Xiao Ru let out a voice just a shade too high:
"Oh! That bamboo brooch it's the same one Young Lord Wen wore just the other day!"
The words fell like a drop of water onto still glass rippling outward with unexpected force.
Silence swept across the room.
Xiao Ru's face turned ghostly pale, sweat breaking visibly along one temple as she realized her misstep.
Su Mengyu whipped around, eyes sharp enough to draw blood, as if she could silence the girl's very breath with a glance.
But before another word could be uttered, Xianlan's voice rose soft, yet honed like a blade.
"And how would you know it was his?"
She turned with a courteous smile.
"Unless… you saw him take it off and give it to me?"
The word "take off" was not spoken with malice.
But it needed none its implications were already laid bare.
Xiao Ru blanched even further, mouth agape in silent horror.
Several ladies stifled small gasps some nearly failed to suppress a smirk.
Su Mengyu clenched her jaw, fingers tightening around her silk fan until veins rose beneath her skin.
Her other hand pressed lightly to her knee, a quiet struggle to keep her composure.
Xianlan merely walked past elegant, unhurried and took her seat without glancing at a single soul.
⸻
Later, after the gathering had ended…
The afternoon sun slanted over marble walkways within the palace grounds, painting long shadows beneath the willows.
Wen Yichen waited in silence, standing beneath a tree whose trailing leaves whispered with the breeze. His face was solemn, his dark eyes clouded with quiet unrest.
As Xianlan passed by, he stepped forward and spoke softly:
"I think… I should keep my distance for now."
Xianlan stopped, her gaze lifting slowly cool, expressionless.
He sighed.
"Not out of fear. But because I don't want you to be accused… because of me, again."
"Do you think I'm afraid?" she replied, voice calm but razor-sharp.
"I've been accused of worse.
I died once already because of it."
The young man faltered, his eyes flickering with something unspoken.
"I know…"
He hesitated, then spoke again this time, his voice lowered, a quiet confession.
"But that time… I wasn't there."
"This time… I will be. Whether you allow me to stand in the light or remain in your shadow."
Xianlan held his gaze for a long moment, as though weighing something behind her still expression.
But in the end, she said nothing.
Only… the faintest of smiles touched her lips before she turned and walked away in silence.
⸻
At dusk, on the very same day…
Within the quiet, austere confines of the inner palace, a junior eunuch moved swiftly across the stone corridors, carrying a jet-black wooden box clutched tightly in his arms. Upon reaching the rear audience chamber, he knelt and presented the sealed report to the chief imperial eunuch.
"A confidential document… from the Inner Court, Your Grace,"
he said in a hushed voice, bowing low before slipping silently away.
Not long after, in the dimly lit Imperial Study, behind a heavy curtain of embroidered silk
Emperor Li Sichén sat alone beneath the pale flicker of a single oil lamp. His sharp, fathomless eyes scanned the unfolded scroll laid out atop a marble desk. The air was so still it pressed upon the chest so silent even shadows dared not stir.
"The Grand Eunuch has discovered that the rumors surrounding the Fourth Princess began as whispers among the palace maids… traced back to those serving within the residence of the Noble Consort."
The hand that held the scroll firm and unwavering through war and council stilled for a moment.
Slowly, Li Sichén lowered the document and gazed beyond the window lattice, where only the silhouette of a willow tree swayed softly in the wind.
"Guifei…" he murmured, voice low but resolute.
"Did you truly think I could not see?"
A flicker of sorrow clouded his eyes, and he looked down.
"Or… have we both simply chosen to believe that blood of the same palace would never draw blades against one another?"
⸻
Elsewhere in the palace that night…
In Guifei Su Zhen's quarters, the air was still, too still.
A young maid crept forward, kneeling low to whisper at her mistress's ear as she sat fanning herself beneath the moonlight pouring through gauze-draped eaves.
"Your Grace… The Fourth Princess has sent word to the Emperor."
The sandalwood fan froze mid-motion in Su Mengyu's hand.
The reflected moonlight on the tiled floor shimmered faintly, as if echoing the tremor in her pulse.
"She dared send the move… all the way to His Majesty?"
Su Mengyu's voice dropped to a brittle hush, her breath catching at the edges.
The maid paled, not daring to raise her head.
Su Mengyu lowered her gaze to the fan in her grasp, then murmured slowly her voice cold enough to chill the night air itself.
"If you wish to play with 'honor,' my dear…"
"Then I shall play with 'virtue' and see to it that you no longer have a place within this palace at all."
⸻
The following night…
Whispers began stirring in the Hualan Pavilion.
Two young servants, folding linen in a side chamber, exchanged anxious glances.
"This morning, a eunuch from the Registry Department came by to inspect the entry logs…"
"Do you think… it's related to the rumors?"
"Who knows? But I saw Young Lord Wen passing the central court, heading to Her Highness's residence…"
The harmless chatter, half-understood, soon spiraled into hushed voices beneath garden eaves rumor blooming like night jasmine.
⸻
And at that very hour, Guifei Su Zhen made her next move.
She discreetly dispatched a handmaiden to speak with an old abbess from the Temple of the Northern Clouds, requesting a merit-cleansing ritual for an unnamed woman accused of breaking palace vows.
Invitations were extended to noble ladies of the inner court… with no name attached.
Yet somehow Xianlan's name appeared in the guest registry, along with a pointed remark:
"Despite residing within the Inner Court, she has yet to be granted title or rank."
And beneath that
"If she is not a consort… by what right does she remain with a man, in the depth of night?"
The letter bore no author.
Only a wax seal etched with the crest of the Su Clan pressed discreetly at the corner.
⸻
Two days later…
Though Xianlan showed no outward reaction,
the servants of her residence began to change shifts with suspicious swiftness.
Whispers filtered through the side halls, spreading even to the women's training quarters and lesser chambers.
Some began to murmur
"The Fourth Princess… may not be as untouched as she appears."
The giggles of young noblewomen echoed behind lattice screens.
Xianlan stood still expression placid as ever listening in silence.
In her hand… she held a plain folding fan, devoid of pattern or ornament.
Yet the wind stirred from its movement was sharper chill enough to bite.
⸻
That night…
She penned a single letter.
And sent it to the Empress, Yun Qingyan.
"Royal Mother… If rumors now wield 'morality' as their blade,
then all I ask from you is silence as a sign… that I may continue forward."
The Empress's reply came not in words, but as a painting
A white crane… crossing a snow-laden bridge.
No message accompanied it.
Yet Xianlan's lips curved just faintly.
"A crane walks through snow… leaving no tracks, yet moves onward still."
She understood.
That silence… was her mother's way of saying:
I believe in you.
⸻
And so, within the veiled battlefield of the Inner Palace
When morality is twisted into a weapon,
the next move may not be made with words…
But with evidence so swift and unforeseen
That the whispers themselves will turn to ashes in the throats of those who dared let them fly.
"This chapter has been updated with improved narrative and deeper character perspective. The plot remains unchanged."
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