YUN SHI QI (雲诗琪)

  Day 29, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  It can’t be. It can’t be like this.

  Governess Pan’s face had collapsed into itself. Her usual rosy, plump cheeks hung in loose folds, drained of their vitality. Her skin was a waxy grey, like cold wax left to harden. Her lips were purple. Her eyes were mercifully closed.

  I dropped to my knees beside the coffin, clutching her lifeless hand as if I could wring comfort from it. It was colder than I expected. Just… lifeless. I pressed it to my face anyway. Pretending. Pretending she was still stroking my hair. Pretending that she was comforting me now.

  I cried. Ugly, loud, ragged sobs. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Why did the Heavens take every good thing from me? Why did they leave this empty shell behind?

  I started slamming my forehead against the coffin’s edge. It didn’t hurt as much as I wanted it to.

  “xiǎojie! People are watching—” Li Jing’s voice came like an intrusion, like she was pulling me out of some sacred place. She tried to cradle my head, to make me stop.

  I knew what she meant: Don’t embarrass yourself. Don't be such a disaster. You're supposed to be a princess.

  But I never was, was I?

  I hadn’t changed out of my nightgown since the moment they told me. My hair was still tangled and matted. I must have looked like a lunatic. Maybe I was. Then everything would make sense.

  Li Jing tried to pull me away again, but I slapped her hand off me.

  “Go away!” I screamed, voice cracking.

  She stumbled back, eyes wide.

  “You! All of you!” I turned on the maids and eunuchs lining the walls. “GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

  “xiǎojie—”

  “GO!” My throat burned. My voice fell apart. “Go away…just leave…like everyone else...”

  I curled back to Governess Pan, crushed against her hand like it was the only thing tethering me to the earth. Her fingers still smelled of honey. She always used that when she baked pastries for me.

  But she was gone. And she left me here.

  Everyone always leaves me.

  “Ah Qi.”

  At any other time, hearing that person’s voice would’ve filled me with dread and more confusion and more pain.

  But now, it shattered me.

  I turned and ran toward it like a drowning person toward air. I threw myself into his arms and buried my face in his chest. The fabric of his robe soaked up my tears. I clung to him like a child, fingers gripping the back of his coat. He smelled like musk. Something warm. Something real.

  He didn’t pull me away. Not immediately. He just stood there, letting me tremble against him. His hand landed on my back, uncertain, but it was there. That was enough.

  The moment I felt him start to push against my shoulders, I loosened my grip. Slowly, I looked up at him. He was already gazing down at me, brushing the wet hair away from my face. I almost wished he left it that way... at least I could hide.

  His eyes were too kind. Too pretty. That made them worse.

  “Princess Changping.”

  His sweet voice always warmed me. Even though there was no more, us. It made me feel I was someone who belonged. Like I had a place here. But I didn’t. Not really. Not with the Empress watching from the shadows, smiling so sweetly while her hatred festered beneath her painted face. I was a mistake she had to tolerate.

  An embarrassment.

  He kept his dark eyes on me; the ones framed with his seductive long lashes.

  I’m sorry, his eyes seemed to say. I’m sorry you’re hurting.

  I’m sorry too, Yuanxiao. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry that no matter how many times you offer kindness, I see it as a trick. A test. A joke at my expense.

  Please stop looking, you’re making me feel like a failure.

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  I dropped my gaze again, watching my tears patter against the stone floor. They made tiny, dark stains. Pointless.

  Another hand landed gently on my shoulder. I didn’t turn to look, but I knew the voice.

  “Your Highness, you should rest.”

  An Lingqi.

  She would know the right thing to say. She would be calm, steady, dignified—whilst I crumbled into ash at the feet of a coffin. She had found Governess Pan, yet she wasn’t even crying.

  She didn’t have to cry. She was An Lingqi. She was perfect.

  Like a lost child, I let them lead me away. The Heavenly Beauty on one side, the Blossom Deity on the other.

  I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. It felt like betrayal.

  But maybe that was fitting.

  Everyone betrays everyone eventually.

  Even the ones you love most.

  ***

  The Emperor placed the memorial onto his desk. “I’ve been told this is the second murder to occur.”

  After I left, they examined Governess Pan’s body. Same cause of death as Chun Li’s. Same invisible needle, same swift execution. The only difference was that this time the pinhole was at her temple.

  And once again, they trussed me up like poultry for the market. Hands bound tight, collar biting into my throat, surrounded by a wall of silver-grey armour and ceremonial red ties. A performance. One I had no choice but to be the lead actor.

  If it had been Yun Hui under suspicion, they wouldn’t have laid a finger on him. No shackles. No bruises. No public humiliation. But he was their sunbeam, their perfect heir, the flawless jade no one dares to chip. I was the dirt beneath their sandals, a mistake born of a broken vow and a lonely woman.

  “Please calm down, Your Majesty!” the ministers chorused, desperate to pacify the storm.

  The Emperor leaned forward. His gaze was ice and iron. “Why should I, my beloved ministers?”

  I swallowed the urge to tremble.

  “I have new developments,” Grand Secretary Zhao offered, ever the opportunist. He stepped forward, voice smooth as lacquer. “Grand Chancellor Deng has been hiding evidence.”

  Grand Chancellor Deng wore that familiar pained expression. The one he saved for times like this, when disappointment had to be expressed with restraint. The Grand Secretary continued:

  “I’ve received word, Your Majesty, of rumours drifting in from Zhouwei. They concern the re-emergence of the legendary technique qìjiàn. Whilst most consider it myth, both victims bore wounds that match the ancient descriptions.” He turned, a predator disguised as a scholar. “Grand Chancellor, care to explain?”

  Grand Chancellor Deng stepped forward. “Your Majesty, it is true I attempted to pass on qìjiàn to my disciples. But like myself, none succeeded. It remains, as ever, a legend.”

  Zhao Qingshan wasn’t satisfied. “Who can vouch for this, Your Majesty? I—”

  He never finished. Cut off by a glint that crossed the Emperor’s face—something amused, something cruel.

  Then he turned.

  “Gan Yuanxiao. Explain this to me.”

  Gan Yuanxiao moved. I didn’t want to admire him, but I did. His movements were poised. His tone never faltered. The way he looked at everyone except me.

  Indifference sculpted into heavenly beauty.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. It is true that I have tried to teach my disciples qìjiàn. However, like myself, none of them could master it. Since Yao Jian’s passing, no one has achieved it.”

  Grand Chancellor Deng bowed. “Your Majesty, cease your anger. We have additional findings. Both Governess Pan and Chun Li were intimately connected to Princess Changping shortly before their deaths.”

  My breath caught.

  The Emperor tapped his desk with his brush. Then, suddenly, Grand Chancellor Deng staggered with his hands clawing at his throat. Invisible hands stretched from the Emperor.

  Just when the Grand Chancellor’s eyes began to bulge, he Emperor flung him across the floor with a flick of his sleeve. The Empress tried to steady his hand, but His Majesty recoiled like even her touch was poison.

  The Grand Secretary paled, then discreetly drew back. Gan Yuanxiao, flawless as ever, left his post and knelt beside Deng Jinchen, lifting him gently by the arm.

  Yet even though the Emperor’s anger burned against his ministers, I remained bound. At this point, the ropes and my wrists were more than acquaintances. He would never allow Yun Rongxian to endure such insult. But I was not Yun Rongxian.

  "Your Majesty, may I speak?" It was Lin Mengshi of the Censorate. He had the gall to speak. Now.

  The Emperor’s impatiently grunted for the man to continue.

  “The Crown Prince previously presented a young Immortal who claimed she could solve the murder. Where is she now? She’s been rewarded, but the task remains unfinished.”

  Whispers slithered through the court like rats. The factions stirred to life. The Grand Chancellor’s loyalists on the left, the Grand Secretary’s wolves on the right. And down the centre, the Crown Prince. Idly swirling his finger around the rim of his teacup pretending to be a mute dunce.

  He was so measured that I almost forgot that he also tampered the playing field.

  Emperor Tai Quan picked up his brush and scrawled something across the waterproof cloth. He made sure everyone saw the brush’s handle—black lacquer, the horsehair tip, a gift from his son.

  Head Eunuch Sun, hunched from a lifetime of servitude, bowed low and shuffled forward with the decree.

  “His Majesty says, ‘Hear my decree. Su Tang has done meritorious service to the throne. Thus, her duty is extended. From this day forth, she shall complete the investigation. In the meantime, Princess Changping will be confined to the Imperial Prison. Accept my order.’”

  No trial. No evidence. No voice.

  The guards pulled me to my feet, ropes biting deeper.

  Not even imprisoned in my home—could I even call that Cold Palace a home—no. This would be the real prison. Iron bars. No sun. Just whispers and rot.

  All because of a rumour.

  As I was dragged toward the door, I turned back.

  For the briefest moment, I thought the Crown Prince looked at me. Just one second of hesitation. A flinch.

  But then it was gone, and I knew it was my imagination.

  He had everything: favour, power, position. A name that would never be spat in the streets.

  And I had none.