The jade court of the Eastern Palace glittered beneath the midday sun, all elegance and order. But beneath its golden eaves, whispers crept like shadows, winding through the painted corridors and marble pavilions.
And at the center of it all stood Chancellor Li Weiyuan—untouched by time, untouched by scandal.
But not untouched by ambition.
---
Xiao Mo and Yuan Sijun returned to the capital three days after leaving the Phoenix Temple. Their journey had been silent, each lost in thought. Beneath Xiao Mo's calm exterior, a quiet storm brewed. He had seen truth, but truth came with a price—and that price was being hunted.
As the palace gates opened for them, a steward rushed forward. "General Yuan. Mo Xianyu. His Majesty requests your presence in the council chamber. Immediately."
No rest. No preparation.
Sijun looked at Xiao Mo, and Xiao Mo nodded. "Let's face it."
---
The council chamber was already full.
Ministers stood in perfect formation—robes pristine, hands folded, expressions neutral. But Xiao Mo could feel it: the weight of eyes, the shift of posture, the subtle turn of heads when he entered.
He no longer walked unseen.
At the head of the room sat Emperor Zhao Yan, youthful and shrewd. And beside him, seated one step lower but twice as still, was the Chancellor.
Li Weiyuan's eyes glinted as they landed on Xiao Mo.
"Mo Xianyu," the Chancellor said smoothly, "we welcome you back from your journey."
Xiao Mo bowed. "Your Grace."
The Emperor leaned forward. "General Yuan has spoken highly of your wisdom. And your insight into ancient texts. Tell me—do you know of the Scrolls of Balance?"
A trap.
Xiao Mo met the Emperor's gaze. "Only legends, Your Majesty."
"And if those legends were true?"
"Then I imagine the scrolls were sealed for good reason."
Li Weiyuan's mouth curved, not quite a smile. "A reason you are curiously close to uncovering."
Sijun stepped forward, voice calm but steely. "Your Grace, Xianyu is a scholar. Nothing more."
"Indeed?" Li Weiyuan stood. His presence filled the room with cold precision. "Then why is it that the Phoenix Temple—lost for centuries—unlocked itself at his touch? Why do ancient curses waver in his presence?"
A minister gasped.
Another whispered, "Could he be—?"
Li Weiyuan turned, voice cutting. "We live in an era of fragile peace. Any force that claims power outside the Emperor's blessing threatens the harmony we've built."
He looked directly at Xiao Mo.
"And no matter how gentle his face… a threat must be examined."
Xiao Mo remained still, shoulders straight, chin high. "What would you have me do, Chancellor? Submit to an inquisition? Burn every scroll I read? Or perhaps disappear quietly into the night?"
Gasps. Silence.
Then the Emperor laughed, low and soft. "He has spirit, Chancellor."
Li Weiyuan inclined his head. "Spirit does not mean innocence."
The Emperor nodded once. "Then we shall investigate. A neutral party. Scholar Xiao Mo is to remain in the capital—under protective supervision—until the matter is resolved."
Protective supervision. A gilded prison.
Sijun's fists clenched.
But Xiao Mo bowed again, voice steady. "As His Majesty commands."
—
Later that evening, they walked the edge of the imperial garden. The plum trees were in bloom, petals falling like rain.
"You shouldn't have spoken like that," Sijun muttered. "He'll come for you harder now."
"He already was."
"You've made yourself a symbol," Sijun said. "They fear you because they can't control you."
Xiao Mo stopped walking. "I don't want to be a symbol. I just want to live."
Sijun turned to him, fierce. "Then we'll make sure you do."
But Xiao Mo's gaze drifted up to the moon.
"They won't let me."
—
That night, Xiao Mo's quarters were quiet.
Too quiet.
He sat at his desk, eyes flicking over a scroll fragment—the second scroll retrieved from the Phoenix Temple. Its script shimmered faintly, resisting ink and translation. A secret language only the first Keeper could fully read.
As he dipped his brush in ink, a flicker of movement caught his eye.
A shadow at the window.
He reached for the dagger hidden in the drawer—but the window slid open and a figure stepped in, cloaked and silent.
Not an assassin.
A messenger.
The figure dropped a token onto the desk. A black phoenix etched in obsidian. The mark of the Emperor's secret bureau.
"You are being watched," the figure said. "And not just by the Chancellor."
"Then why warn me?"
"Because not all secrets belong to the court. Some belong to the stars."
Before Xiao Mo could ask more, the figure was gone.
—
The next morning, a new decree was issued:
All ancient texts in the capital were to be cataloged, reviewed—and sealed.
All scholars associated with non-sanctioned research were to register with the Ministry of Rites.
It was a soft purge. The beginning of a quiet war.
And at the center of it stood Xiao Mo, still smiling, still gentle.
But beneath the silk and ink, he had begun to remember.
He had begun to awaken.