Echoes from the Flame

The flames in her dreams still burned brightly…

Shrill screams echoed through the shadows. Heat pressed in from all sides. In that nightmare, the sound of splintering wood thundered before the ceiling came crashing down.

Xianlan jolted awake. Her breath caught in her throat, chest rising and falling as if she had just fled from a real fire. Cold sweat clung to her back, yet the darkness surrounding her could not soothe the searing heat that still scorched her chest. Her gaze remained locked in the void, haunted by memories that refused to fade.

The piercing cries of a small girl still lingered in her ears her own voice, from a time long past. That moment when she had screamed for her mother, but no one came. The last sounds she remembered were Yu Fei's anguished sobs, torn from her throat like the final note of a dirge. That voice, even now, echoed deep in her heart as though no time had passed at all.

Slowly, she pushed herself up from her bedding. Her hands trembled as she reached for a handkerchief to dab the sweat from her brow. Damp strands of hair clung to her cheeks. Rising on unsteady feet, she walked toward the stone table by the window. With a soft rustle, she drew the sheer curtain aside.

A gust of winter wind struck her face like a blade of ice but even that could not extinguish the burning rage that had been reignited in her chest.

Her eyes fell upon the scroll resting on the bamboo stand an ink painting recently uncovered. In faded strokes, it depicted a young woman cradling a small child in her arms.

"Mother… didn't die immediately," Xianlan whispered to herself. Her voice was soft, yet each word was weighted with truth. "She was still breathing within that fire… But no one came to save her."

She closed her eyes. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the pain coiling within her like a serpent awakening.

"Some of my memories… are beginning to return."

⸻

The next morning, she summoned Jiang Xinluo to her private quarters.

"Xinluo," Xianlan began, her voice low but unwavering. "I've started to remember some things." She extended her hand, revealing another hidden painting she had kept in secret. "At that time… I wasn't unconscious. I was carried away someone took me and left Mother behind."

Jiang Xinluo furrowed her brow. "Are you saying someone in the palace knew Yu Fei was still alive… and yet they let the fire consume her?"

"Yes." Xianlan's eyes met hers, clear and resolute. "They didn't just want her dead. They wanted her erased from history."

Xinluo's face paled, horror flashing across her usually composed expression. "That's far too cruel…"

"That is why I must uncover everything," Xianlan said, her voice cold and measured. "Even if I must wager my life."

Yet before any piece of the plan could be set in motion, one vital thread still remained missing.

"The handwriting in Mother's final letter…" Xianlan opened a small lacquer box, retrieving a slip of parchment. "It matches the handwriting in the Empress's private record book. But the Empress claimed she never wrote it. That means… someone else was once in that palace chamber."

Xinluo narrowed her eyes slightly. "Then perhaps… someone who knew the truth from the very beginning."

⸻

That very same day.

Feng Yuhan met Wen Yichen at the western pavilion under the pretense of discussing troop logistics.

But the matter they spoke of had little to do with weapons it was a quiet request passed on through Xianlan's hand.

"There's a name missing from the royal registry," Wen Yichen said as he unfurled a scroll of old records.

"Imperial Physician Bai Jiansheng. He was dismissed in the middle of the night without reason, without record, without explanation." He turned toward Feng Yuhan, eyes sharp and grim. "As though he had been erased from existence."

Feng Yuhan received the report with his usual composure, but a furrow formed between his brows. "He was the one who signed Consort Yu Fei's death certificate, wasn't he?"

"Yes. And…" Wen Yichen hesitated for a beat. "There are whispers that he lost his mind after leaving the palace. He's said to be hiding now… near the southern border."

"Then it's time we brought him back," Feng Yuhan replied evenly. But within his quiet stillness, a new strategy was already forming another silent move on the game board.

⸻

The night after, Xianlan stepped out onto the veranda of her palace. Cold wind swept through the open air, tugging at the silken ends of her robe. She wore a pale silver-grey cloak, light as mist, draped loosely over her shoulders. Her long hair fell in dark, glistening waves, cascading down her bare upper back beneath the sheer fabric. Moonlight brushed her delicate features, casting her in a dreamlike glow as though she herself had stepped out of a forgotten tale.

Above her, the full moon hung round and luminous against the heavens. Yet within her heart, only shadows remained.

"Mother…" Her whisper was no louder than breath, trembling at the edge of silence. "I… I remember now."

A soft footfall echoed behind her. She did not need to turn to know who it was.

"You spoke your mother's name in your dreams last night," came the deep, mellow voice of Feng Yuhan, carrying with it a faint herbal scent that lingered on his robes.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his beneath the silvered moon. "You even know what I say when I dream?"

"I watch you… more than you realize."

His words, spoken gently, carried a warmth and sincerity that reached into the coldest corners of her soul. Her slender hand gripped the edge of her robe, as if to steady the quiet tremor in her chest.

He stepped closer. His dark, fathomless eyes searched hers, as though trying to read every hidden sorrow she bore.

"You no longer need to face this alone, Lan'er." His voice softened further as he reached out, clasping her hand firmly. "If you must walk into the fire once more… then I will walk beside you."

Those words were no less than a vow.

She bit her lower lip, heart pounding in her chest, as something warm stirred within her small but insistent, like a flicker of light breaking through the frost of a long winter.

She opened her lips to speak, but before a single word could leave them, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed against the stone path.

"Princess."

Wen Yichen emerged from the lantern-lit shadows, a scroll in hand, his expression solemn.

"There's news regarding Imperial Physician Bai Jiansheng. I've sent men to track him down it may take two days before we receive a reply."

Xianlan turned to face him, withdrawing her hand from Feng Yuhan's with delicate grace.

"I understand. Thank you, Yichen," she said with a nod, her eyes now gleaming with the spark of strategy reborn.

Feng Yuhan remained silent, his lips pressed into a tight line. The warmth that lingered from her touch had turned to chill. Within his quiet heart, jealousy stirred… silent and sharp.

⸻

In the Empress's secret chamber, the flame of a single candle cast a flickering light upon the dark nanmu wood table. Empress Yun Qingyan laid two paintings side by side the brushstrokes gentle, yet steeped in sorrow. Together, they revealed a truth too painful to ignore.

One was the portrait of a woman embracing a small child found hidden in a box. The other, an old depiction of Consort Yu Fei, surviving the fire. The handwriting matched in every curve and flourish. This was no mere artistry it was a cry, etched in ink, from a mother the world had tried to forget.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes… I might never have believed it," the Empress murmured, her expression trembling between fear and heartbreak.

Behind her stood Li Wenlong, silent as shadow, bearing the weight of long-sought answers.

"Do you still believe Xianlan is your sister by blood?" the Empress asked, her voice quiet but tinged with emotion.

He was silent for a long moment before answering, his tone steady. "She is still my sister… even if our blood is not the same."

The Empress turned to him, her eyes tender and filled with maternal love.

"Then I pray… that neither of you must live beneath the shadow of falsehood any longer."

⸻

Before retiring for the night, Xianlan returned once more to the quiet sanctuary of her chamber. She lifted the old wooden box that held her mother's painting and set it upon her lap. The candlelight danced gently upon the inside of the lid, where a faded engraving of twin phoenixes could still be seen.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing over the worn grooves, each line touched with reverence.

"Mother… I've seen it now. I've heard it," she whispered, voice trembling. "The voice you cried out with… on that day in the fire."

She closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek slow, silent. Not from weakness, but from remembrance.

"Just a little longer, Mother. I swear… the truth will not be lost to the flames ever again."

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

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