Chapter Twelve: The Examination of Shadows

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Thunder rolled over the Ming Palace, soft at first—like the mutterings of gossip, swelling louder as the storm neared. It was fitting. For what Meiyun now carried was a storm itself—one made of bloodlines, secrets, and a history written in vanishing ink.

She stood in the Jade Apothecary Hall, where the air always smelled like crushed lotus roots and secrets.

"You've been summoned," came a soft voice behind her.

It was Elder He, the senior Physician with a spine of steel and eyes like obsidian. His hands were folded into his sleeves as he stared at her with an unreadable expression.

"Summoned?" Meiyun asked. "By the Tribunal?"

"No," he said. "By the Throne."

---

Wei Lian sat stiffly on the Dragon Seat. He wore the ceremonial black robes of the Heir Apparent, but his jaw clenched like a man forced to watch a slow fire burn.

The Inner Court was filled with ministers, nobles, healers, and spies—because let's be honest, in the palace, they were often the same people.

Meiyun entered and bowed.

The hall hushed.

"This is not a trial," Wei Lian said, voice cool. "It is a test of lineage. The Examination of Shadows. To determine if Healer Meiyun carries noble blood, or a dangerous bloodline that threatens the balance of court."

An old custom.

Rarely used.

And always deadly.

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A gold-robed examiner stepped forward, pulling out a jade vessel etched with phoenix feathers. "Your blood will be tested," she said to Meiyun. "Mixed with royal essence. If the glow turns red—you are kin to the court. If it turns black—your lineage bears treason."

"And if it turns white?" Meiyun asked softly.

Everyone paused.

The examiner frowned. "White… means your essence is untouched. A ghost line. Hidden and cleansed. Meaning you descend from someone the palace tried to erase."

Meiyun stepped forward.

"Then let the truth burn through."

---

The drop of blood hit the vessel with a soft hiss.

It mingled with a royal thread of qi—donated secretly by the Emperor himself hours before. The vessel steamed. It glowed.

And turned…

White.

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A collective gasp. No one moved.

White.

She was of the ghost line.

The erased ones.

The enemies and lovers of the palace, forgotten not because they were dangerous—but because they were inconvenient.

Meiyun's eyes didn't flinch.

But Wei Lian stood, slowly. "Let it be known that Meiyun's lineage is cleansed. Neither guilty nor loyal. But free. She owes the palace nothing—yet walks among us with knowledge lost to time."

He paused. "And we'd be fools not to protect that."

---

Later, in the garden, Meiyun sat alone.

Until a figure slid beside her, silent as shadow.

Wei Lian.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" she whispered. "For revealing I'm a phantom? Or for making me bleed in front of strangers?"

"For both," he said honestly.

Silence.

She looked at him then. "I used to dream of leaving this place. Of healing villagers in the mountains. No titles. No blood tests. Just real people."

He smiled faintly. "And now?"

"Now," she said, "I realize even mountains aren't far enough when your blood carries history."

He reached for her hand.

She let him hold it.

---

Meanwhile, across the palace, Elder Physician Bai watched from behind his beaded curtains.

"She survived," he murmured to himself. "White flame… just like her mother."

He turned to the shadow kneeling beside him.

"Send word to the Western Keep. Tell them the Song Line lives. And the Heir is growing fond of her."

The shadow nodded.

"And if the Royal House chooses to protect her?"

"Then," Bai whispered, "we revive the Pact of Ghosts. The past must be corrected."

---

Back in her quarters, Meiyun felt something shift in her chest.

A sensation.

Like a thread pulling taut inside her.

She knelt before her mother's old chest—passed down through quiet hands and guarded glances—and pulled out the scroll she had never dared to open.

The Pulse Unbinding Technique.

She traced her fingers along the ancient characters.

The only known way to break a life-thread tether.

And it required a sacrifice.

Not of blood.

But of memory.

Whoever performed it… would forget why they ever learned it.

Forget who they used it for.

Forget who mattered.

---

As Meiyun stared at the text, a tear slipped down her cheek.

She whispered into the quiet, "If I forget him… will he remember me enough for both of us?"