Beneath the Moonlight Lies a Wounding Shadow

The full moon poured its silver glow across the night, spilling gently through the trembling branches of the blooming zihua tree. Its pale violet petals fluttered in the breeze, casting dappled light upon a small wooden pavilion nestled in the quiet gardens of Jiang Xinluo's private quarters.

A round jade table stood at the center of the pavilion, its surface still veiled in steam from a pot of freshly poured tea. The delicate mist danced in the moonlight, blurring the line between waking and dream as if this moment belonged to another world.

Jiang Xinluo sat alone.

Her shadow stretched long across the polished wooden floor. Around her, sheer silk curtains stirred like silent veils of tears. Her raven-dark hair had been tied back loosely, revealing the fair skin of her neck its softness thrown into sharp contrast by the deep sapphire robe embroidered with winding vines.

Her gaze lingered on a single parchment scroll lying before her. One slender hand hovered over its frayed edge, hesitant to open it again, though its contents had already carved themselves clearly enough into memory to leave no room for denial.

"An operation to sabotage the Imperial Halls…"

Her voice, barely more than breath, slipped past her lips unbidden.

And at the bottom of that plan there was but one name.

"Xianlan."

Confusion flickered in her eyes. Silence consumed the tremble in her chest, the doubts she had so carefully hidden now rising like waves against a crumbling shore.

"Why… is everything pointed at her?"

"Or has the one pulling the strings begun to panic… and decided to tighten the noose?"

The questions spiraled inside her.

A woman raised in shadows and sworn to duty beneath the flags of state now stood at the edge of her own beliefs, questioning what she had long taken as truth.

She pressed her lips together tightly.

"If I continue letting the sender of the message define what is real… I will never come to know the truth at all."

With that single thought, her slender figure rose in silence. She reached for a second cloak, threw it over her shoulders, and slipped out through the hidden side passage of her residence while the night wind whistled like a warning through the eaves.

⸻

The Pavilion on the Lotus Pond — Auxiliary Wing of the Crown Prince's Residence

Moonlight bathed the still waters of the lotus pond in a glaze of silver, turning its surface to glass. At the center bloomed a single white lotus, perfectly mirrored beneath the moon. A wooden path led from the outer garden to a curved-roof pavilion, where the dim glow of lantern light glimmered from within.

A soft melody floated from the pavilion plucked on a guqin, delicate as breath. The tune held no grief. It was emptiness, played with the quiet elegance of someone who knew silence better than song.

As Jiang Xinluo approached, the open doorway revealed a lone figure seated beneath a wooden beam.

Feng Yuhan.

He wore a robe of ink-dark silk. His hair, loosely tied, framed a face calm as ever but in the shadows of his eyes, something had shifted. They were no longer empty.

He looked up slightly as her silhouette emerged in the moonlight.

"I didn't think the envoy of Jianrong would risk seeking me out… under the veil of night," he said softly. His tone was even, but edged sharp beneath the calm.

Jiang Xinluo stepped forward, steady as ever.

"I didn't come as a spy," she said. "I came for an answer as one who wishes to separate shadow from truth."

Feng Yuhan's gaze stilled for a long moment… then softened, just slightly.

His fingers moved slowly across the strings, drawing a note so faint it could've been the wind.

"I once believed truth lay in royal seals and official decrees," he murmured.

"But when I saw someone burned at the stake and no one knew whether she cried

I found I no longer had the courage to believe so blindly."

The words drifted through the air colder than even the winter breeze.

Jiang Xinluo stood silent, then spoke, voice low:

"You speak of… Xianlan?"

He did not answer directly.

Instead, he turned his gaze toward the moonlight pouring through the lattice window.

"Do you know… she's never asked for help.

Not once.

Even when the entire court pointed to her and said she set the fire."

Xinluo's trembling hands slowly stilled at her sides.

She looked at him, quiet now. The fire that once defined her eyes… was shifting.

⸻

Feng Yuhan plucked another string its note fading even before it reached her.

Then, in a voice softer than the wind:

"And I… I've only just realized

I've been watching her not out of suspicion… but because I feared I might miss something."

Jiang Xinluo said nothing.

She stood motionless, like a sculpture molded of moonlight and doubt. Her heart… burdened by thoughts too loud to speak.

"If one day… you discover she stands within a trap you helped lay," he said quietly,

"then I hope you choose to break the game, rather than win it."

His words held no command.

No plea.

Only a quiet wish… from someone who once trusted seals and orders more than feelings.

That night, the music ceased.

And all that remained was the silence of two hearts whose paths had begun to cross beneath the moonlight.

⸻

The night stretched on, the moon still pressed against the sky yet within Jiang Xinluo's heart, time had come to a standstill. There, in that moment beneath the lotus pavilion, Feng Yuhan's words had not only echoed in her ears but embedded themselves so deeply that not even the discipline of a lifetime in service could dislodge them.

Upon returning to her quarters, the soft crackle of the candle in the bronze censer whispered to her like a voice asking what truth she now carried. She merely stood in silence, eyes fixed upon the flickering flame whose shadow stretched long across the far wall reminding her that the shadow within her heart was more than mere silence.

Jiang Xinluo walked to her desk and retrieved the old letter detailing the plan to set fire to the palace. She unrolled it once more. A part of her longed to burn it then and there. But another part knew truth should not be destroyed simply because it is unpleasant to hear.

"Xianlan… if you are truly innocent… then I can no longer let the word 'duty' blind me."

The words barely slipped from her lips, softer than breath caught between hesitation and the edge of resolve. And yet, after a moment, she picked up a brush and began writing a letter in her own hand. When finished, she rolled it and placed it inside a cloth bundle, tucking it beneath a small wooden box at the foot of her bed.

The letter bore no name. No salutation. Not even a seal.

But within it lay the truths she had uncovered

Truths no one else dared to speak.

—

That same hour, at Hua Lan Palace

Xianlan sat alone on a silk mat. The wooden windows stood open, letting the moonlight breeze stir the sheer curtains like the silent flutter of a bird's wing in the night. In her hand, she held a pale jade ring. A small chip marred its edge a mere sliver to some, but to her, it was the shape of an old wound.

"You brought it back to me… on the day everyone believed it had been lost to the world?"

Her voice, spoken to no one, was soft and heavy at once laden with words that had long gone unheard. Her face was composed, but her eyes shimmered with an echo of trembling.

In the hush, she drew out the wooden box that held the old painting of Consort Yi Fei. Her fingers brushed the familiar lines of a face she would never forget. Her lips curved for only the briefest second.

"Mother… I doubt you ever imagined that an old wound would become a piece in a new war."

A voice emerged from the shadows.

Xianlan did not turn at once. She simply set the box down with care, then spoke, her tone composed and unwavering.

"You're one step late, Wen Yichen. I almost believed you wouldn't come."

Wen Yichen stepped from the shadows beneath the eaves, clad in a dark cloak. His face remained still, but the concern behind his eyes could not be completely hidden.

"I had to be sure I wasn't followed. The documents you requested… I've brought them."

He handed her a small cloth parcel. She accepted it and opened it without haste.

Inside were records from the royal archives documents not listed on the official registries. One entry had been marked in red ink. Her eyes scanned the words regarding Consort Yi Fei:

"…All paintings and personal items ordered to be relocated to the chamber beneath the Jade Pavilion after a confidential document was found opened…"

Xianlan fell into silence as she read, her gaze moving over the ink as though chasing fragments of a memory long buried.

"It was the painting, wasn't it?" Wen Yichen asked quietly.

Xianlan nodded slowly.

"My mother was moved. Silenced. Forgotten. And all of it… began with something she created never meaning for it to become a crime."

She turned her gaze back toward the painting and whispered:

"I used to resent her… for not fighting.

But now, I begin to understand that sometimes… silence doesn't mean surrender."

—

At dawn the next day

The pavilion beneath the zihua tree was quiet, empty.

Jiang Xinluo stood once more at the same place she had the night before.

But this time, no question stirred in her heart.

Only the seed of an answer… quietly beginning to bloom.

She gazed at the fading reflection of last night's moon still lingering on the pond's surface, mingled with her own face mirrored beneath it. She now understood what the tremble in her heart had been.

It had not been mere doubt.

It was the realization that… enemy and ally are not always separated by banners.

She reached into her sleeve and clutched the letter she had written the night before, whispering softly:

"It's time to choose a side.

Not by command… but by heart."

The moon's reflection faded gently with the coming light, but in the heart of the woman who had borne the burden of loyalty for half a lifetime, clarity had never been stronger.

—

Elsewhere in the palace

Xianlan stood before her window. Morning light spilled through the carved lattice, striking the jade ring in her hand. For a fleeting moment, the chip in the stone caught the sun, casting a sharp glint before vanishing.

But the light in her eyes remained.

The light of a resolve to unearth the truth

No matter how deep the shadows reached.

No matter how wounded the past had been.

Because it is in the night of deepest shadow… that a wounded heart dares to kindle a new flame by its own hand.

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

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