The Cold Palace Bloom

At sunrise, the sisters boarded an oxcart, their hair pinned with phoenix-shaped gold. ("A cruel joke," Madam Zhang muttered. "Concubines never become empresses.") Peasants bowed as they passed, unaware the gilded pins had been pawned years ago. 

The road to the palace wound unevenly through villages stirring to life. Vendors arranged their wares, children darted barefoot along rice paddies, and the air hummed with damp earth and steaming buns. Mei chattered about palace gardens brimming with peonies and ponds of golden fish, but Lian stayed silent, her gaze locked on the horizon. 

She'd read of the Daming Palace in scrolls—a city within a city, where words cut deeper than blades. Survival there demanded grace, cunning, or the favor of those who pulled the empire's strings. 

Their oxcart creaked past Chang'an's outer gates, where guards in lacquered armor stood like statues. Beyond, the capital roared: merchants haggling, scholars debating outside teahouses, courtiers trading glances sharp as daggers. All roads led to the Daming Palace, its vermilion doors blazing with golden studs under the morning sun. Servants scurried with trays of silks and scrolls, while eunuchs glided past, faces blank as unpainted screens. 

As the palace gates yawned open—a crimson-and-gold maw—Lian tucked Chen Wen's scroll deeper into her sleeve. 

Let them see a quiet girl, she thought. I'll make them hear a storm.

The oxcart halted. A hawk-eyed steward signaled them to disembark. Madam Zhang clutched Mei's hand, but Lian stepped down first, spine straight, expression calm. The courtyard sprawled before them: marble and jade, columns carved with dragons and phoenixes frozen mid-snarl. 

In the Hall of Waiting Virtue, sandalwood hung heavy, mingling with the whispers of silk-clad girls. Some eyed rivals like hawks; others sat rigid, fists clenched in laps. 

A eunuch in silver-crane robes clapped once. "Silence. You'll wait until summoned. No chatter." 

Mei's icy fingers squeezed Lian's hand. Stay quiet. Observe.

Hours later, their names echoed through the corridor. Lian felt stares prickling her skin as they trailed the eunuch past painted screens and gilded dragons—a labyrinth designed to awe. 

They halted before ornate doors. Inside, an imperial consort sat enthroned, her peony-strewn robes shimmering. She gestured for them to kneel. 

Madam Zhang bowed. "Honored Lady, my granddaughters: Mei and Lian." 

The consort's gaze sharpened on Lian. "Beauty fades. Wit endures. Do you recite poetry, girl?" 

Lian kept her eyes lowered, pulse drumming. "Only what my grandmother taught me." 

"Recite." 

She drew a breath, voice steady as she wove verses of longing, loyalty, and windswept frontiers. The air thickened, history itself pressing close. When she finished, the silence hummed. 

The consort clapped softly. "A promising voice. We'll see if wisdom follows." 

A flick of her wrist dismissed them. Mei grabbed Lian's sleeve outside. "You were perfect!" 

Lian tightened her grip on the hidden scroll. The first step was taken. 

There was no retreat now.