Rebirth of the Phoenix Empress

A new morning draped the imperial hall in veils of golden light. Sunbeams filtered through glazed ancient tiles, casting shimmering reflections upon the polished white jade floor. The synchronized footsteps of palace guards echoed like the rhythm of an ancient musical piece. And as the morning bell tolled a third time, the clanging resonance of dual ceremonial blades reverberated throughout the long corridors leading into the grand audience hall.

That sound was more than ceremonial—it was a declaration of triumph, a herald of victory for a returning hero of the realm, one who had emerged from distant battlefields with honor.

Li Wenlong appeared bathed in the first light of day. He wore black dragon-scale armor, forged from rare metals and engraved with flames licking across each plate. His tall, broad frame ascended the jade steps with graceful confidence. His posture stood unbending—as though defeat had never laid a hand upon him. Under thick brows, his eyes remained sharp, fixed on the highest seat in the empire—the Emperor's throne.

"General Li Wenlong humbly presents the banner of victory to His Majesty!"

His voice rang firm and resonant. Though faint scars still laced his skin and the scent of fresh battlefield blood clung to him, nothing could overshadow the light of intelligence and unyielding will that burned within his eyes.

The audience chamber fell silent. Emperor Li Sicheng observed his son carefully. His gaze did not stop at the victory banner—but pierced deeper, as if drawn to something beneath the surface.

A strange familiarity stirred in the emperor's chest.

Though he strove to maintain composure, the sight of those finely chiseled features—so reminiscent of a woman he had tried all his life to forget—caused the faintest tremor within.

"No… impossible… she is dead…"

Before doubt could ripple outward, the emperor turned his face aside and gestured briskly.

"Present the banner at the ceremonial pedestal."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" came the eunuch's reply. At once, two palace guards moved swiftly to lift the ornate banner and carry it to the central altar.

Li Wenlong stepped back in silence. He sought no applause. His eyes did not yearn for praise, but watched—watched every movement, every gesture within that hall.

He was not merely a warrior.

He was the mind behind an unseen investigation, cloaked in the guise of a soldier.

For his return was not simply to report victory.

He had come to unearth what had been buried in the shadows of the palace for over fifteen years.

…

Night had descended over the capital. The flickering of torchlight cast wavering shadows across the ancient stone walls and the bending limbs of the crimson phoenix trees that swayed with the wind.

In the secluded quarters of the retired generals, built of aged ironwood to the western flank of the palace, the fragrance of old timber mingled with the fresh scent of ink from confidential reports scattered across a long wooden table.

Li Wenlong sat before the papers. The face once hardened by war now furrowed with concern—concern not of enemy blades, but of intrigues woven within the imperial court.

He unrolled a sealed report from the western border—intelligence on disappearing military provisions, vanished without a trace.

"The royal granary was breached… by merchants tied to the inner palace," he murmured. His voice was not directed to anyone but himself—as if to affirm that this was not some cruel illusion.

His scarred fingers halted on a bright red seal pressed at the document's corner. A wooden stamp carved with meticulous craft—one he remembered well.

"And the name connected… belongs to a woman within Noble Consort Gui's kin…"

His hand clenched, the fragile paper crinkling under pressure.

"Mother…" he whispered, like a curse, "…if you knew of this treachery—I will drag you to kneel before the truth with my own hands."

…

Elsewhere, in a chamber untouched by time's decay.

Empress Yun Qingyan stood before a wooden chest carved with plum blossoms. Within the old box lay a faded swaddling cloth of fine silk, yellowed with age.

Her slender fingers touched the fabric, trembling slightly as thoughts surged in her heart.

"Perhaps… I'm merely imagining it," she murmured, voice filled with uncertainty. "But that dream… it grows clearer each night."

A dream… a dream where she held a baby boy in her arms… screams amid fire… a red mist of blood… and then, nothing.

A single tear dropped onto the cloth.

"I never saw his face clearly… not even in dreams."

The breeze fluttered the curtain softly, echoing like the cry of an infant on a stormy night.

She looked up, eyes resting on a dimming oil lamp.

"If he lives… my child… where in this world would he be?"

…

Meanwhile, within Moonshadow Hall

Xian Lan sat amid the glow of a single lantern, her slender fingers brushing over an old parchment letter. The paper felt cold, but what chilled her more was the content within.

"Sixth year of Jian Si. Fourth month. Night of the fire at Consort Yu Fei's residence… an order to erase the name of a palace maid from official records."

She read it again and again, to ensure her eyes did not deceive her.

"The name was deleted… on the same night my mother died… and the Empress's child disappeared."

Xian Lan lifted her gaze slowly, eyes reflecting the crescent moon etched upon the wooden balcony.

"Perhaps… our fates were never bound by blood… but by the shadows of deception."

A distant flute melody drifted from the inner palace halls, the air around her cooling with a strange stillness.

She set the scroll down gently and rose to her full height, her almond-shaped eyes cutting toward the window curtain.

"It's time…" she said firmly, "…to make the dead speak."

And behind the mist of the past, footsteps began to stir again.

Beneath the silent shadows of the imperial palace

Questions began to form quietly.

Questions no one dared to answer.

Or perhaps the answers…

…had been buried under the flames fifteen years ago.

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