Rebirth of the Phoenix Empress

After the serene tea gathering one laced with daggers hidden within porcelain cups Xianlan waited patiently for the days that followed.

But what came… was silence.

Not the kind of silence that soothes, but one that resembled a placid lake so still, so deceptively calm. Yet she knew well: beneath the surface, something stirred… and it could strike without warning.

Su Mengyu had fallen unnaturally quiet.

Uncharacteristically so, for a woman once known for her sharp words and glacial smile.

But Xianlan was not deceived.

When a tiger is silent, it is not sleeping it is waiting.

And at last… the moment arrived.

News of the upcoming Winter Silken Embroidery Ritual was delivered to the Hua Lan residence one mist-veiled morning, the scent of white plum blossoms still fresh in the air.

Maids rushed to prepare silk gowns, embroidery tools, and cosmetic cases with great haste.

Xianlan, however, stood quietly by the window, seemingly unfazed by the announcement.

Until her trusted handmaid spoke the final detail.

"Lady Su Mengyu… will preside over the ceremony, Your Highness."

Xianlan's long, curled lashes fluttered ever so slightly.

In those calm amber eyes, a glint flashed and vanished.

Su Mengyu… again.

So Imperial Consort Su Zhen now dared to elevate her niece so openly?

Was this not, in essence, a quiet proclamation That "the future daughter-in-law of the palace" had already been chosen?

—

"Why her?"

Xianlan's voice was barely above a whisper as she set the imperial decree upon the jade table by the window.

Outside, the gentle rustling of plum leaves filled the silence.

"She is merely a foreign woman… and yet she's appointed to lead a court ritual in the imperial palace."

The eunuch who brought the decree offered a sheepish smile, his voice filled with diplomacy rather than truth.

"Perhaps because Lady Su is to be the future consort, Your Highness. His Majesty must be fond of her…"

The word "consort" was like a fine-tipped spear driven through the chest. Not deep, but searing.

 Xianlan made no reply. Her expression did not shift.

 Yet within, her thoughts grew cold and crystal clear.

This was not a ceremony of embroidery.

This was the act of inscribing a name into power's silk.

—

The Day of the Ceremony

The Pavilion of Silk stood in the midst of the Garden of Eternal Blossoms, east of the main palace.

It was a sacred place, rarely opened reserved only for the most ceremonial of rites concerning the inner court.

Dozens of pale silken bolts were laid upon polished fragrant-wood tables, their surfaces gleaming in the morning light.

The air was warm, perfumed with pine resin and light oils, yet the atmosphere held an uneasy pressure like the stillness before a storm.

Xianlan entered in silence, clad in a mist-colored lingluo gown.

She had chosen a bolt of pale gray silk without patterns, without ornate lace or decorative flourish.

It was plain, calm, and clean… so clean it could not be ignored.

Maids from various residences watched her and murmured among themselves.

Some chuckled under their breath.

Others turned away with thinly veiled scorn.

"Look at that Princess Xianlan picked gray?"

"Does she not know that such a color is ill-omened for offering silks to the palace?"

"That shade is cold and dull like mourning robes for a widow."

But before the whispers had time to fade

A figure in rose-red silk appeared at the far end of the pavilion.

Su Mengyu.

She arrived adorned in the most resplendent gown a garment woven from the finest silks of the Imperial Wardrobe Pavilion.

Slender and poised, she moved with deliberate grace, each step neither hurried nor hesitant.

In her hand, she carried only a silver needle, its handle exquisitely carved yet its presence alone seemed to draw a quiet retreat from those around her.

"Lady Su… please, this way."

The ceremonial attendant's voice beckoned her toward the front, to the seat of honor beside the sacred offering table.

Before taking her place, Su Mengyu passed each lady present, pausing to gently touch their bolts of silk as though bestowing silent encouragement.

At the silk of the Lady from the Bai household, she smiled with pleasant warmth.

But when she reached Xianlan's table

she stopped.

There she stood, unmoving, before a bolt of muted gray.

Her gaze fell upon the fabric with a featherlight softness, then lifted meeting the eyes of its owner.

"A cool, quiet gray…"

Her voice was gentle, as if to offer praise,

yet every syllable had been cut with care polished to precision.

"Though the texture is fine… what a somber hue.

It seems better suited as a widow's winter shawl than a ceremonial cloth of grace."

A ripple of subdued laughter rose from the surrounding women.

One lady of the Li household turned her face aside, stifling a smile.

Another covered her mouth with her sleeve, failing to hide her amusement.

Xianlan lifted her gaze, just slightly.

A faint smile curved her lips composed, unfazed.

She did not glance toward the laughter,

did not speak a word of reprimand, nor cast even a single scolding look.

And yet, the very air shifted turning cold in an instant.

To embroider silk, one must choose a proper needle…

To speak, perhaps one should also choose the moment more wisely.

She resumed her embroidery without hurry.

The silver needle in her hand glided through the fabric without a sound steady, unshaken.

"Because this winter will be long…"

Xianlan's voice rose softly,

"…I chose this shade of gray to warm the hearts of those who may be chilled unknowingly by the coldness of passing rumors."

The words were no louder than any other spoken in the hall,

yet they struck with such weight… the room fell utterly silent.

Su Mengyu's eyes flickered, a faint tremor passing through.

She smiled perfectly in character, seemingly unbothered.

But inside, her breath had caught.

She's responding… and doing it with elegance.

She knows about the rumors… of course she does.

"How delicately you choose your words, Lady Xianlan,"

Su Mengyu replied with sweetness in her tone. 

"Soft and sharp… like the scent of plum blossoms beneath falling snow."

"Truth is like silk," she added, still smiling.

"If stitched with sincerity, it becomes something beautiful.

But if poison is hidden in the thread…

no matter how smooth the surface, it will always cut."

Their words circled like ribbons in the wind no insults, no raised voices.

But each one cut sharper than any blade.

—

The ceremony ended by mid-afternoon.

Palace attendants carefully gathered the embroidered bolts, and the noble ladies quietly returned to their residences no laughter lingered.

Yet that evening, in the Grand Audience Hall,

when the Emperor himself arrived to inspect the finished silks,

the atmosphere grew still… almost heavy.

Until his gaze fell upon the bolt of gray.

"The gray silk of the Fourth Princess though muted reminds me of your mother…"

The Emperor spoke slowly, yet each word carried weight.

"She once offered a cloth of the same color… before my first campaign.

It was not the most beautiful…

But it was the only piece I kept with me, always."

Silence cloaked the great hall.

Several court attendants lowered their heads.

Even Noble Consort Su Zhen, seated close by, raised an eyebrow slightly before offering a serene, unreadable smile.

Xianlan bowed her head low.

Her delicate hands lay motionless in her lap.

Within her heart, the storm she had long held began to still with rhythm, with breath.

He has not forgotten Mother…

And he has not… forgotten me.

Across the hall, Su Mengyu still wore her smile but it was so cold, it seemed even the blooming thousand-year blossoms behind her had withered just a little.

—

Later that night, at the temporary residence of Feng Yuhan…

The soft glow of an oil lamp lit the study.

Feng Yuhan sat still before a scroll of reports.

The brush in his hand remained poised, untouched by ink his mind adrift in thought.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made him look up.

Xianlan had entered, her steps calm, unhurried.

"You shouldn't be walking alone at night," he said flatly.

She didn't answer at once.

Instead, she walked to the window and gazed out at the silver moonlight spilling over the plum blossoms in the courtyard.

"No one truly walks alone in the palace," she said softly, yet with quiet certainty.

"Even when I seem alone there are eyes behind me, waiting for me to stumble."

Feng Yuhan set his brush down slowly.

His eyes fixed on the silhouette of her profile, bathed in the glow of the moon.

"You tread a path strewn with snares…

And yet you walk like a hunter."

Xianlan turned to him, the corners of her lips lifting in a faint smile.

"Because if I do not hunt… I will once again become prey."

The moonlight shimmered against the glass pane behind her,

casting silver shadows upon the folds of her robe as it fluttered softly in the breeze.

Inside the study, not a sound stirred save for the occasional crackle from the oil lamp's flame.

Feng Yuhan watched her in silence.

His gaze no longer sharp as when in court,

but instead… searching, as though trying to read the quiet truths buried within her.

"I wonder…" he said at last.

"Why did you choose gray silk?

You knew well what it symbolizes within the palace Misfortune. Emptiness. Even death."

Xianlan turned slowly back to him.

Her eyes were clear, unwavering.

"Because in the palace…

those who still cling to surface color are the easiest to trap."

"The gray silk was not chosen for praise…

It was chosen to remind that even what seems dull can still be beautiful,

if woven with a heart that refuses to surrender."

Feng Yuhan held her gaze, unmoving.

Then he spoke softly

"Do you know… how dangerous such words are, in this place?"

Xianlan laughed lightly.

Not with mockery, but like someone who had accepted the risks… long before she ever spoke them.

"Danger… or truth?"

"All I know is if people are allowed to believe only what they see, this palace will soon drown in illusions that quietly smother hope, piece by piece."

"I refuse to be one of them."

Feng Yuhan fell silent again.

So long that Xianlan wondered if he might offer a harsh retort.

But instead, he simply rose from his seat.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, speaking in a low voice

"In this gameboard… don't let them read your moves before your hand even reaches the piece."

She raised an eyebrow slightly. "What do you mean by that?"

He lifted his hand not touching her, but letting it hover near the end of her hair.

His gaze, unwavering, carried an emotion too elusive to name.

"I dislike seeing you wounded. Even a scratch."

"Even in the battlefield you chose for yourself."

Xianlan's heart gave a sudden lurch.

A flicker passed through her eyes.

But it lasted only a moment, before she let out a soft laugh and turned slightly away.

"In that case… perhaps you should return to your own gameboard."

"For in this one, no player escapes without blood on their hands."

Feng Yuhan looked at her once more Then stepped back, just half a pace.

As if granting her the space she claimed for herself.

He said no more.

But in his eyes, something was undeniable

He no longer saw her as a mere piece on his board.

—

That night… under a cloudless sky,

Moonlight poured silently through the palace window.

In one corner of the chamber,

a length of gray silk, freshly embroidered in ceremony, rested atop a tray of fragrant wood.

The silver needle still pierced its threads, unfinished.

But behind it…

lay another layer of design a secret plan Xianlan had already set in motion.

That piece of silk…

was no mere offering.

It was a warning to someone.

That the woman who owned this cloth

would no longer let herself be swallowed

beneath anyone's shadow.

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

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