In the orchard of peach and apple trees—where the wind stroked the boughs like a flute‑player coaxing a melody of loss—Empress **Zhao Xian Yi** sat, wreathed in an austere serenity that silenced even the breeze. Ten handmaids encircled her like lotus buds, terror shimmering in their eyes as though the moon itself had dreamed a vision soaked in blood.
Their dread was not born of cruelty, but of a nobler fear: when a sovereign's grief takes root, the whole empire trembles at the stem.
News had reached her that *the Phoenix Blossom*, **Shen Tao Hua**, had nearly been slain, and that the heir of the Liang clan had swallowed poison to shield her. How could a heart raised amid regiments and tempered by clashing blades endure the susurrus of betrayal?
She lifted a hand—commanding the clouds themselves to part:
"**You. Come forward.**"
The maid hurried as though borne by a gale, bowed low, and whispered,
"*Your Majesty…*"
The Empress replied, her voice tranquil yet echoing with martial drums:
"Go. Summon the Emperor—at once. Tell him I will not wait, even were he seated among the stars."
The girl needed no second bidding. She fled as from a battlefield, hastening to the consort's pavilion, where the Emperor's valet lingered at the doorway.
"Is His Majesty asleep?" she asked.
"Sleep? At this hour?" he muttered without turning. "Most likely engaged… in a game, or perhaps—"
She did not let him finish. Parting the curtain, she entered.
Inside, the Emperor and his favored concubine were bent over a chessboard; the latter stood on the cusp of victory, both faces untroubled—until now.
The maid prostrated herself, breathless:
"*Your Majesty, the Empress requests your presence—immediately. It is urgent.*"
The Emperor's gaze lingered on the pieces, as though contemplating a move unwritten by history.
"Do you not see I am playing?"
The maid's voice quavered:
"But… Your Majesty… she is waiting in the Peach‑Blossom Court."
His expression changed. He rose as if lightning cracked beneath his feet, asked nothing, spoke nothing, and strode out—with his valet in frantic pursuit—leaving behind a woman who masked her scorching heart with a shattered smile.
The concubine stared at the closing door, lashes trembling.
"Every time… his words, his sight, his soul—*all* of him is hers…"
Rage and hurt erupted within her like an ancient mirror shattering. Silk torn, table overturned, she collapsed, weeping at a fate that had never granted her the Emperor's single, steadfast love.
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In the Peach Court, the Empress awaited him like a harbor for a wayward ship. When he arrived, she dismissed the maids with a flicker of her wrist; they bowed and melted away.
He hurried to her, worry etched upon his brow.
"Beloved… why have you come here? Why now?"
She looked at him as a port glances toward a vessel overdue:
"I will reside here until the matter of the Seven Clans is settled. I cannot bear to lose another dear to me, as I once—"
He pressed a finger to her lips, sealing the wound of memory.
"Enough—do not reopen that sorrow. I swear, within two moons I will end this turmoil. If we strike *now*, before Liang's wedding, they will know we were forewarned. Wait, and I will break them utterly."
She fell silent, then arched a playful brow.
"And… why were you with the concubine?"
He laughed, forgetting solemnity for a breath.
"She invited me to chess."
She murmured, gaze drifting past him.
"Do I not play chess? Why not face *me*?"
He laughed again.
"You win on the first move."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Victory still requires skill, does it not?"
Her voice softened to an old dream:
"I wish to see Tao Hua—quietly. If I were to lose her now… I would lose myself."
He saw dew‑like tears budding at the corners of her eyes.
"I shall send for her," he vowed. "Do you love her so dearly?"
She spoke like a line from an ancient poem:
"She is a blossom that once rooted in my heart. No autumn wind has torn it free, no winter poison made it fade. How could I *not* cherish one who remained pure amid the mire?"
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