Rebirth of the Phoenix Empress

A faint scent of plum blossoms drifted in with the early morning breeze.

Soft though it was, it pierced the air with such clarity that Xianlan so intimately familiar with it startled awake.

It was not the scent of death.

Not the bitter chill, nor the blood-stained snow of the night before.

No

It was a scent she had once known.

The scent of the past.

The scent of a new beginning.

Somewhere, a wind chime delicate, made of fine metal swayed gently in the breeze, releasing soft, crystalline notes.

It rang like a melody of fate, as though heralding the opening act of a long-lost tale.

And at that sound, the body that had once lain unconscious upon a snow-covered courtyard stirred.

Xianlan jolted upright, her breath catching in short, panicked gasps.

Cold sweat clung to her back. Though her body no longer ached, memory struck her like the lash of a whip 

the biting cold, the sting of pain, the cruel laughter of Consort Su still echoed in her ears.

Her hands trembled.

She flung the quilt back in alarm, then slowly clutched it to her chest.

"I… I'm not dead?"

Her voice rasped, hoarse and dry like a whisper pulled from the edge of death itself.

She looked down at her hands.

No ropes.

No open wounds.

No blood.

No scars.

Only warm skin wrapped in a thick, comforting blanket.

All around her was a small wooden room, the pale walls polished until they gleamed.

One window, carved with plum blossom motifs, was half-open, letting in the soft light of dawn.

Sunlight painted a golden hue across the floor.

Outside, birds chirped on the plum branches distant, and yet… close to the heart.

Xianlan slowly sat upright, her long black hair cascading down her back.

One hand lingered on the quilt, the other resting against the wooden floor.

As the fog of confusion lifted, her gaze swept across the familiar surroundings.

In the corner stood a small writing desk.

Brushes arranged with care.

An inkstone tightly lidded.

Sheets of Xinluo paper stacked face-down in quiet stillness.

At the center of the room, a low table held a plate of red bean pastries her childhood favorite.

That familiar sweetness of mashed beans and dark sugar lingered in the air.

Beside it stood a pale jade cup and beneath its base, carved into the delicate stone, was her mother's name: Yi Fei. Her heart thundered in her chest, so loud it nearly drowned out all else.

"This is… the Huahlan Pavilion."

The words escaped her lips, lighter than breath.

This was not the Cold Palace.

Not the prison of the inner court.

But a small, warm pavilion where the second princess had once lived as a child tucked far in the rear grounds of the palace, humble in its furnishings, yet brimming with memories.

She remembered it all the cool breeze that swept in from the woods, the chime's gentle voice, the scent of freshly baked pastries…

Each detail, once lost in time, now returned to her as if summoned from the past.

It had all been real a life she had once known.

"I have returned…"

she whispered, her hands still, but her eyes trembling.

"I came back… ten years ago."

⸻

Ten years before everything collapsed.

Before Noble Consort Su bared her fangs.

Before the Cold Palace became her grave.

Before everyone turned their backs on her.

At this moment, her mother had still died as fate had once decreed.

But the Emperor her father was still the man with gentle eyes.

He had not yet grown cold.

He had not yet been bewitched by the honeyed poison of Consort Su's voice.

Xianlan lifted her hand to her chest.

Her heart pounded fiercely, laced with pain

the pain of one granted a second chance…

but unsure how to wield it.

"This time… I will not let her beguile the palace again."

Her voice trembled, but her tone held firm.

"Never again will I be used as someone's pawn."

She was no longer the naive girl she once had been.

No longer the helpless lamb that believed in sweet lies and hollow smiles.

In her eyes now flickered a flame small, but unyielding.

The spark of a new beginning.

The fire of strategy… and retribution.

⸻

For days after awakening from death, Xianlan scarcely left the pavilion.

She spent her hours in silence, observing.

Every step, every voice, every face it was all a mirror of the past.

Even the perfume lingering on a maidservant's handkerchief was the same one used to deceive her… five years from now.

She watched everyone with the eyes of one who had once been betrayed.

Even a certain young maid earnest, diligent, and seemingly kind Xianlan remembered her well.

In a few years, this very girl would become one of the palace kitchen's secret informants,

feeding whispers to Consort Su.

But now…

she was still innocent.

Still unaware of the noose fate would tighten around her throat.

"I won't take lives before their time… but I will trust no one."

Xianlan began to set her pieces on the board anew.

She softened her presence.

Feigned innocence.

Pretended to forget the agony of her past life.

Sometimes she smiled, sometimes she fell silent playing the role of a forgotten girl, too quiet for anyone to care about.

All to shield the flame that now burned within.

She spoke to the Chief Eunuch with a gentle voice,

not out of warmth but to soften the severity of his reports to Noble Consort Su.

She timed her walks and palace visits carefully,

always avoiding moments when the Emperor might see her,

so no one would suspect that anything had changed.

"If all the pieces remain the same," she thought,

"then all I must do is change the board."

And then one day, the first opportunity came.

⸻

The annual imperial banquet was drawing near.

This year, the Kingdom of Nanyan was sending a delegation and among the names on the list was one that sent a chill through Xianlan's spine:

"Crown Prince Feng Yuhan."

The man who, in the years to come, would become the most dangerous piece on the board.

But if he could be controlled he would be a power no one could match.

She remembered clearly.

In her previous life, he had come only once.

He had glanced her way during the banquet barely noticing then left.

A year later, he became the "King of War."

And not long after…

he vanished from the court, when his growing influence was deemed too dangerous by those in power.

"I know he's not the type to help others easily," she murmured inwardly,

"but he's not heartless."

The banquet was held at the Grand Jade Hall.

Beneath a canopy of a thousand hanging jade lanterns,

amid flowing silk ribbons and the soft strains of zithers and flutes,

Xianlan sat at one of the lowest-ranked positions a seat befitting her reduced status.

No one paid her any mind.

Their gazes drifted toward the elder princesses,

to Noble Consort Su and her favored kin.

But she she used that invisibility to observe.

To wait.

To choose her moment.

Feng Yuhan entered clad in midnight black.

His garments bore no embroidery, no ornamentation yet his presence drew the air taut.

He stood beside his emperor, silent and composed.

He did not smile.

He did not bow or flatter like the other envoys.

"This man…"

"he's like a shadow one cannot grasp."

And then his gaze turned.

Their eyes met.

No words.

No flinching.

No looking away.

In that instant,

Xianlan found herself unable to breathe.

"Did he… recognize me?"

⸻

After the banquet,

Xianlan stepped quietly into the adjoining Jade Garden,

claiming she did not care for the noise and merriment.

But in truth…

she was waiting.

Waiting for someone.

The soft crunch of footsteps upon gravel stirred behind her.

"Princess Xianlan?"

A calm, even voice called out from beneath the shadows of the trees steady, without urgency, yet impossible to ignore.

She turned and smiled the kind of smile she had practiced a hundred times over.

"Yes. I find I'm not fond of noisy crowds,"

she answered softly, her tone gentle, almost demure like a well-mannered girl raised in the inner court.

Feng Yuhan regarded her with a gaze that was neither warm nor tender,

and yet it held the weight of quiet scrutiny,

the kind that made one feel thoroughly read through.

"You don't seem like a girl raised in a gilded palace,"

he said plainly, his lips barely moving.

"You look more like a game piece… one that's already thinking of who to strike next."

Xianlan let out a faint laugh.

Her smile was subtle,

measured but layered with meaning.

"If I am a piece on the board… then perhaps you are the board itself,"

she said, narrowing her eyes just slightly,

before her voice lowered, rich with unspoken challenge.

"Shall we play, then, Your Highness?"

But her invitation was not simply to a game of strategy.

It was a wager.

One that staked her entire life past, present, and all that was yet to come.

Feng Yuhan did not answer at once.

He studied her, as if weighing something within himself,

and then the faintest curve touched his lips.

So slight, it was like snow melting upon one's fingertips.

"Then allow me… to make the first move."

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

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