The dawn was different.
There were no bells or horns. Only the whisper of the wind through the moon flower leaves, that ancestral tree that only blooms when a new era is about to begin.
In the Hall of Celestial Waters, seven priestesses of the imperial temple waited in silence. Each carried a jade bowl filled with translucent petals, hand-gathered during the waxing moon.
Suwei entered alone, dressed in a white robe without embroidery, without rank. Just skin, body, present.
"Today you are not the consort," said the high priestess. "Today you are just yourself. And that is enough."
They removed his robe without violence, as if lifting the weight of inherited centuries. Suwei entered the thermal waters. Steam rose slowly, enveloping the marble and columns like a sigh from heaven.
Petals floated on the water while the priestesses intoned ancient chants. They weren't prayers: they were memories. The echo of all the consorts who had passed through this ritual before him.
