Rebirth of the Phoenix Empress

The sun dipped below the horizon more slowly than usual, as if even the heavens hesitated to let this night arrive.

Within the western wing of the palace, the residence reserved for foreign envoys remained cloaked in an uneasy stillness. The wind rustled through the silken drapes, casting fleeting shadows along the corridor.

Footsteps approached with firm, deliberate rhythm—unhurried, unapologetic.

"The Crown Prince of Nan Yan has come to see you…" whispered the eunuch stationed at the entrance, bowing low as his voice passed through the carved wooden door.

Princess Bai Yue Ning rose gracefully from her seat. Clad in a long, dark gray cloak embroidered with red plum blossoms layered with blood-colored thread, she looked less like royalty and more like a winter specter. Her amber eyes, cold and still, held no warmth. Yet something behind them shimmered—an emotion not easily named.

Feng Yuhan stepped through the threshold, each step steady, calculated. He halted before her, leaving only a low tea table between them. Neither bowed. Neither smiled.

"You've changed," Bai Yue Ning said first, her voice as calm as a frozen lake. "Not just your face, but your gaze. I can no longer predict you."

"And you," Feng Yuhan replied evenly, "are not the person I once believed you to be."

"I wonder," she said softly, "do you see me now as an enemy?"

Her tone floated like a snowflake—light, but capable of cutting if touched the wrong way.

Feng Yuhan did not answer at once. Instead, he let silence stretch between them.

"It seems inevitable," she continued, "from the day my family was demoted in Nan Yan. Even after all our battles, all our loyalty… we were discarded."

"I was only fifteen then," he said, voice lower, almost regretful. "I had no power to change that outcome."

"But you do now." She set her teacup down with the gentlest touch. "I don't need an apology, Feng Yuhan. I want responsibility—from the man who now stands atop the board."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"And will you take responsibility," he asked, "for what you've done to the inner court of Xianyu?"

For the first time, she smiled. A cold, weary smile.

In response, she reached for a wooden box beside her and slowly opened it.

Inside was a tattered piece of cloth—the remains of a blood-stained cloak. Though the emblem was almost unrecognizable, Feng Yuhan knew it once bore the mark of the Allied Kingdom.

"This," she said, voice trembling just slightly, "was my mother's cloak."

"She was falsely accused of espionage and executed. All because your kingdom turned its back on those who stood with you."

Feng Yuhan opened his mouth, but no words came.

In that moment, Bai Yue Ning was no longer the cold, composed princess of the Allied Kingdom. She was a daughter standing atop the ashes of her heritage.

"You're not just a court woman," he murmured. "You are the echo of war itself—pushed into the games of nobility, without ever being given a choice."

"I've made my choice," she said, rising slowly, her gaze unwavering. "If you mean to stop me, you'll have to kill me first. I won't allow my mother's memory to be trampled upon without consequence."

Feng Yuhan stood still, his fingers curling into fists.

"This battle," he said softly, "was never just about the palace."

"It's the fire of the past—one no one is willing to forget."

—

Beyond the curtains, cloaked in shadows, Jiang Xinluo stood unseen.

She had heard every word, her heart pounding in conflict. Her face bore not just sorrow, but something deeper—an uncertainty that now threatened to bloom.

She had long sworn loyalty to Xianlan, and through her, to justice.

But justice… whose justice?

Her gaze drifted toward the piece of bloodied cloak Bai Yue Ning had shown. There was no lie in that grief. No deception in her voice. Just a raw wound that had never been allowed to heal.

And one day, Jiang Xinluo knew… she would have to decide:

Whose blood… would be allowed to seep through the silk stained with centuries of lies?

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