The summons came quietly, the way dangerous things often do. A senior eunuch announced that His Majesty requested Lady Yue Zhenzhen move from the Lotus Pavilion to the inner palace, beside his private quarters, for an indefinite stay. The corridor outside bloomed with whispers—some certain I was being favored, others certain I was walking into a trap.
Chun'er's hands shook as she dressed me, whispering that tests in the inner palace rarely ended well. I told her distance never kept blades from throats, and proximity only made it easier to hear when one was being drawn.
The inner suites were warm with pine-scented braziers, silent but watchful. His Majesty arrived without guards, pouring the tea himself. "You prefer the edge of the room," he said. "Why?"
"Those in the center think they see everything," I replied. "Those at the edge learn where the floorboards bend and the doors are barred."
His gaze sharpened. "Do you have enemies in the Lotus Pavilion?"
"The pavilion is silk and mirrors," I said. "Silk burns quickly. Mirrors crack in silence."
The tea cooled. "What do you want from me?" he asked.
"To live long enough to be uninteresting," I said. "The palace forgets what it cannot use, and the forgotten are sometimes the freest."
His expression shifted—something between recognition and unease—and then the air seemed to thin.
The study was gone. In its place, a ruined hall stretched before him, banners fallen, gold dulled to ash. At the far end stood a woman in red, half-turned, her hair unbound. The weight in his chest was not fear, but the ache of an apology he had never given. Her voice was steady and low, yet filled the broken space:
"Ill remember everything."
He stepped toward her, certain he had wronged her, desperate to know how—but she vanished.
The steam returned. The cups. My face across the table. He set his tea down too carefully, as if the porcelain might shatter under his hand.
He dismissed me without explanation. I left with a bow, walking to the small guest room prepared for me, the paper door thin enough to let the lantern light seep in. Chun'er unpinned my hair, still glancing toward the emperor's chamber as if the walls might move.
On the other side of that door, Zhao Yunxie lay awake, staring at the panel between us. The dream returned before dawn: the ruined hall, the woman in red, her eyes carrying a sorrow heavier than any crown, and the same words again—
"Ill remember everything."
He reached for her, not for forgiveness but for judgment, yet she was gone, and he woke gripping a fist he did not remember making, the distance between our rooms feeling like the longest road in the empire.