The palace was calm—unnervingly calm. Such silence rarely lingered in its grand halls.
The King sat upon his throne, his gaze distant, his mind replaying the image of the mysterious lady who had performed the Phoenix Dance. That vision clung to him like a shadow, refusing to fade.
The royal family had gathered, their silence sharp as a blade.
With a single wave of his hand, he summoned Li Fuyao.
The moment the summons reached her, Fuyao froze. She had been in the midst of directing her retinue of dancers, each movement precise, each gesture refined, arranging them for yet another grand celebration in the western province.
The festival pulsed with drums, laughter, and song, but the sudden arrival of a royal messenger cut through the air like a blade.
The surrounding girls stiffened, their gazes wide and fearful. Everyone knew what such a messenger meant. These men did not serve ordinary errands. They were the King's chosen—trained like generals, their spirits fortified so deeply that neither the King's aura nor the Crown Prince's could shake them. Whispers called them disciples of the Immortals themselves.
Fuyao dismissed her girls at once. Her heart hammered as she returned to her chamber, hands trembling as she pulled on formal robes.
The King has never summoned me before... why now?
Her mind spun through possibilities. Before leaving, she scrawled a hurried message to the Queen—her secret patron and steadfast supporter—then sealed it, hoping it would reach her.
The palace loomed ahead as she entered its vast and echoing corridors. Strangely, they were empty of the usual bustle; no courtiers, no attendants. Only lines of royal guards stood sentinel, their armor gleaming like mirrors beneath the lanterns.
One by one, they withdrew as she passed, until she was walking into silence heavier than stone.
Her steps faltered when she crossed the threshold of the great hall. Her gaze lifted—and she saw him.
The Crown Prince.
It was the first time she had stood so close to him. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating gravity that made the enormous chamber feel small, as though the walls themselves bent toward him.
Her knees gave way. She sank to the floor, pressing her forehead against the polished crystal tiles. Her whole body trembled beneath the weight of his aura.
A eunuch stepped forward, face unreadable, and tapped her shoulder.
The King lifted his hand. His voice, deep and echoing, rolled across the hall.
"Li Fuyao."
"My King," she whispered, bowing deeply until her breath fogged against the cool stone.
"Bring me the Phoenix Dancer," the King commanded, his eyes still closed, as though his vision lingered on a memory only he could see. "Bring her into the palace."
Fuyao's blood ran cold. The Phoenix Dancer... after last night? But... Mò Lián has already left the palace.
"Be dismissed," the King said, his palm lowering as his gaze turned toward his son.
Fuyao rose, unsteady, and withdrew from the hall, her thoughts racing like wild horses.
The King's voice deepened, steady and commanding.
"Crown Prince Tiān Jùn. By now, you should know your identity."
Tiān Jùn lifted his head, his eyes sharp, his expression unreadable.
"You are the incarnation of our ancestor—our Lord Priest Tiān," the King said, his gaze burning with weight. "There is much to mend now that you have returned. The Phoenix Dancer is no ordinary girl. Be aware."
A royal messenger appeared, bowing low.
The King motioned with his hand. "Speak."
"My Lord, your guest has arrived."
"Bring him in," the King ordered.
The Queen's eyes shifted, calm but watchful, her silence like a veil.
Tiān Jùn sat still, his thoughts drifting elsewhere, detached from the moment.
The King of Fujian entered, bowing low before taking his place at the center of the hall. None dared approach closer. It was known—even whispered among kings—that the royal family of Huǒyuán could destroy a mortal life with a mere breath if their power were unleashed.
"My Lord," the Fujian King said, forcing a smile though unease shadowed his gaze. "I am honored to be in your presence." He had never understood the ways of Huǒyuán's rulers. Their silence was more terrifying than anger.
The royal family sat motionless, as though carved from stone.
"Why have you come to my land?" King Tiān Lóngxuān asked, his eyes still shut, his voice carrying the weight of thunder.
The King of Fujian froze. His mind stumbled. I was not invited, no... but kings from every province have gathered. Why single me out?
His throat tightened. He bowed his head lower, hiding the panic rising in his chest.
The eunuch stepped forward—and in the next breath, he was walking on air.
The Fujian King's eyes widened, his composure cracking. He turned quickly back toward the throne.
"My Lord, your land is... blessed," he stammered. "I only wish to learn. I admire your monarchy deeply." But his words faltered as the eunuch vanished mid-step, dissolving into nothing.
King Tiān Lóngxuān lifted his hand. A spell shimmered in the air like rippling glass, and an illusion unfolded before them.
The Fujian King looked up—then staggered back, his blood turning to ice.
There she was. His daughter. In the Crown Prince's arms.
The memory of last night slammed into him. His body shook violently, terror strangling the words in his throat.
The King's voice lashed through the hall.
"Do you know the severity of this? Do you require me to teach you what precautions are needed for the Crown Prince to restrain his ethereal energy—lest he kill what he touches?"
His eyes opened, burning with divine light. His words cut like steel.
"That thing—your daughter. Leave. At once."
In the next instant, he was no longer upon his throne. He stood before the King of Fujian, faster than sight, his aura pressing down like a storm.
The Fujian King collapsed, coughing blood onto the polished floor. His very life was drained—siphoned only enough to feed King Lóngxuān's spell, leaving him shattered but alive.
Yet in his half-ruined body, he caught it—a flicker of a smirk curving the Crown Prince's lips.
"You are always welcome, friend," Tiān Jùn said lightly, his voice edged with something unreadable. Then he rose and left the hall, the silence he left behind colder than death.
At Li Fuyoa's quarter.
Li Fuyao sat slumped in her chamber, her face pale as porcelain. Her maid fanned gently at her side, though no breeze could steady her trembling heart.
Her thoughts spun in chaos. Did my message reach the Queen?
"Yes, my lady," the maid replied softly.
Fuyao's body sagged with relief, her eyelids fluttering shut—yet the echo of the King's voice struck her mind like thunder, tearing her from the edge of rest. She jerked upright, her breath quickening.
"Pass my instructions to Huā Yuán," she said sharply, her tone regaining its command. "Tell her to attend to all visitors. Uninvited guests are not allowed inside."
The maid bowed deeply. She knew her lady's trust was rare and precise. Huā Yuán was the only maid Fuyao relied upon—not because of any title or recognition, for she had none—but because she had proven herself time and again. Though often used as a warning to discipline the disobedient, she remained the most capable in Fuyao's service.
At the capital's Stream.
The stream bustled with life, its gentle murmur mixing with the chatter of maidens bent over their laundry. Laughter rose and fell like ripples on the water, while farther down, commoners busied themselves with trade and chores.
At the water's edge, Mò Lián and her childhood friend Huā Yuán sat side by side, their baths finished. Their dresses, freshly washed, were spread upon the rocks to dry. For now, they lingered in quiet company, their words wandering into old memories.
Yù Xuān's voice carried a wistful note as she spoke of the palace—the joy it had given, the pain it had carved, and the moments that clung like shadows.
Mò Lián's sharp eyes studied her friend. Something about her felt... unsettled, as though she were wrapped in secrets. Her heart gave a sudden, uneasy skip.
"Yù Xuān...?" she murmured.
Her friend gave a slow, reluctant nod.
"Why did you leave your parents to serve as a palace maid?" Mò Lián pressed gently.
Yù Xuān turned toward the stream, her lips quivering. She could not answer.
"It is a lifetime bond," Mò Lián continued, her voice steady but edged with concern. "Your mother has cried herself sick. Please... return home."
"Did she send you?" Yù Xuān snapped, the sharpness in her tone masking a fragile tremor. She turned, tears already shimmering in her eyes. "I don't want to return home yet. I'm... comfortable in the palace."
"You're hiding something." Mò Lián's gaze narrowed into a stare that cut like steel.
"I'm sorry." Yù Xuān stood abruptly, but Mò Lián caught her wrist and pulled her back down, refusing to let her escape.
"Spit it out," she demanded.
The silence stretched—until Yù Xuān broke it with a whisper that cracked like fragile glass.
"They're not my real parents."
The words shattered her. She collapsed, trembling, tears rushing down her face.
Mò Lián froze, struck as though lightning had cleaved the earth. Adopted.
All this time, her friend had lived under a lie.
"They've lied enough," Yù Xuān choked out between sobs. "I don't care what they think anymore. I just... I don't want to be with them."
Mò Lián's sternness melted. She wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her close as Yù Xuān's grief poured onto her shoulder. The stream babbled on, carrying away their silence, their sorrow, their unspoken truths.
At the Streets.
The capital still pulsed with laughter and celebration. Li Fuyao pressed forward, her cloak drawn close, her steps quick. She rehearsed her words as she made her way to Lord Chen's residence.
But halfway there, she stopped dead.
Through the crowd, a figure cut past her—armor gleaming in torchlight, his stride sharp, slicing through the air like a blade.
The General.
Her breath caught. She bowed quickly, lowering her head, but he didn't spare her a glance.
No... no, no. Lord, why him? Why now? Has the King sent him after me? To silence me?
Her chest tightened. Panic gnawed at her ribs. Yet she forced her legs to move until the tall shadow of an inn came into sight. From there, she begged for directions until finally; she arrived at Lord Chen's doorstep.
At Lord Chen's house.
Inside, the siblings were already awake.
Lord Chen leaned over a stack of papers, scanning names. His sister scribbled furiously, receipts piling under her hand.
"Check them well. I won't return in vain," Chen muttered.
"I'm done. Just needs the official stamp," she replied.
"I'll get it myself. I'm authorized." His chuckle filled the room, and the two shared a laugh.
"When will you stop sneaking to the barracks?" his sister teased. Their laughter swelled—until a knock shattered it.
The room fell silent.
"It's me, Lady Li Fuyao," came the voice from beyond. "Lord Chen, I need to see you."
A pause. Then the door creaked open.
Lord Chen's eyes widened. "You've grown," he said, motioning her inside. He gestured toward a seat, though his sister stiffened, turning cold. She bent over her papers again, jaw tight.
"Good day, Aunty." Fuyao bowed politely. Silence.
"What do you want?" Chen asked flatly.
"My Lord—"
She barely began before Lord Chen's sister slammed her pen down, spinning with fury.
"What do you want from us?! Haven't you ruined enough already?" Her finger stabbed the air like a dagger. "Mò Lián has suffered rejection after rejection. Last night—she came home broken! Do you even realize what you've done?"
Her voice did not soften.
"She wanted to fulfill her mother's dream, but the palace is poison! Who bullied her? Who crushed her spirit again?!" Her voice cracked. "She's not going back. She's done dancing. I won't let her die for their games—not after all my brother's losses!"
She stormed into the kitchen, her sobs echoing behind her.
Fuyao stood paralyzed, her words stolen.
Lord Chen's gaze darkened. "I don't want my daughter entangled with the palace. Fuyao." His voice was sharp, final. Then he turned and followed his sister.
From the kitchen, his sister's trembling voice whispered, "No. Mò Lián can't face him. The Crown Prince's power... it will consume her."
"She's all I have," Chen muttered. His grief was a shadow etched deep in his face.
When he returned, his voice was heavy.
"I don't care why you came. I was at the event last night. I saw everything." He dismissed her coldly.
But the past stirred within him like a ghost.
He had once encountered King Tiān Hào, the former ruler of Huǒyuán—one of the most wicked kings in history. Tiān Hào killed as he pleased, showing no mercy.
Chen had been very young then, visiting the palace with his parents and sister Rong for the annual festival.
At the capital stream, while playing, a sudden drowsiness came over him. He rose unsteadily, and that was when he saw him.
A tall man stood there—royally dressed, long dark hair flowing, his eyes burning red.
Chen, a boy at the time, almost bowed, but then he saw it: a corpse on the ground, dried black, stiff as stone. His heart seized. He looked back up—yet the man had vanished.
That night, during the festival, a spell was cast across the sky, and the King's face appeared.
Chen froze. The red-eyed man... It's him. The King.
"No... no, the King is a monster," he whispered.
He told his sister. Rong's eyes widened, her voice breaking:
"Tell Father, Chen! Tell Mother! The King is a monster!"
But they kept the truth between them. And though the years passed, that memory clung to their souls. From that day on, neither Chen nor Rong would ever serve directly in the palace.
Lady Fuyao returned to the palace, her eyes wet, her steps unsteady. "I lost my parents already... how can I escape the King's hand? Lord, please..." she whispered to herself as she walked down the quiet street, her voice trembling with despair.
Her father had been poisoned—silenced for daring to demand a reduction of tax on non-citizens. Corrupt officials conspired against him, their treachery staining the court. Her mother, once the Queen's favorite, had been granted a quarter within the palace. She was a gifted dancer, graceful as moonlight, but death claimed her, too, leaving only her legacy behind.
Now Fuyao alone managed the quarter, carrying the weight of her mother's art, her mother's memory.
Unaware, she was being watched. From the shadows, General Yán Lǐng studied her every movement, sent there by the Crown Prince himself.
The Queen's Garden.
Fuyao stumbled into the Queen's quarters, trembling, her tears flowing freely.
The maids gasped, whispering among themselves.
"What could make the Queen's right-hand weep?"
The head maid hurried forward, seizing Fuyao's shoulders. "My Lady—what has happened?"
Fuyao's sobs only grew heavier, her voice broken. The maid quickly guided her into the Queen's garden, where a little lake shimmered over the flowers.
The Queen rose the instant she saw her. "Fuyao..." Her voice was warm, steady. She opened her arms.
Fuyao collapsed onto them, her body shaking uncontrollably.
"The King's words are final," the Queen whispered, stroking her back with a mother's care. "I know, child. You must have been afraid."
"My Queen..." Fuyao choked, clutching tighter to her silken robes. "The girl's parents refuse to let her out."
The Queen gently lifted Fuyao's face, wiping her tears with her thumb. Her eyes glowed with calm resolve. "Do not worry. I will bring her to the palace myself."
She drew Fuyao close, holding her as though she were her own daughter.
At Lord Chen's house.
Mò Lián and Yù Xuān had just returned. The table was set with a simple breakfast, steam curling from their bowls of rice.
Yù Xuān and Mò Lián were having their breakfast, while Lord Chen was busy, sliding scrolls and documents into a leather case, preparing for yet another trip.
"Dad... you're leaving again?" Mò Lián asked, her chopsticks slipping against the bowl with a faint clatter.
He walked toward his daughter, leaning over her with a gentle smile, lifting her chin. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon. Tell me—what should I bring you this time?" He said, patting her hair gently.
Her lips trembled. "Just... come back safely."
The words stilled the room. Mò Lián, who had always begged for sweets and candies, was not the same girl today.
She swallowed hard. "Bring my candy too... but please come back quickly. Don't leave me lonely again."
Lord Chen's smile faltered. A tear slipped down his cheek as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry, my daughter. You danced beautifully last night. Soon... we'll return home."
His sister broke the heavy silence, clapping her hands. "Hey! You'll miss your boat—it's already noon!"
Before he could reply, a sudden knock rattled the door—unyielding.
Yù Xuān carried her bowl into the kitchen, the scent of rice trailing with her. Looking at the door with curiosity.
Lord Chen went to the door.
Outside, the innkeeper's voice sang with excitement: "Yes, my lady, this is Lord Chen's room. An honor indeed!"
When the door opened, a woman stood unwavering in the attire of an official, and a soldier's shadow looming behind her.
"Lord Chen," the innkeeper said proudly, facing the official, "this is her ladyship, from the palace." The innkeeper said, grinning.
The woman bowed lightly; she straightened up, looking at him. "Mr. Chen, a decree from Her Majesty, the Queen of Huǒyuán."
Instantly, the household dropped to its knees.
Without waiting to be invited in, the soldier stepped forward and unrolled a scroll:
"By decree of Her Majesty the Queen—let all here be witness! The Phoenix Dancer, Mò Lián, is expected to present herself at the palace this very afternoon."
He wrapped the scroll.
"She is to depart under my charge at once. Any who resists this order shall face the wrath of the crown."
"Raise."
The words hung heavy in the air, like chains snapping shut.
Mò Lián's chopsticks slipped from her hand. Yù Xuān's eyes darted toward her, wide with alarm. Lord Chen's jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side.
They stood up, looking at each other.
Chen Rong—Lord Chen's sister—moved protectively to Mò Lián's side. The official smiled softly, her tone reassuring, though her eyes lingered on Chen's grief.
"Mò Lián is an extraordinary dancer. Her Majesty will be pleased to honor your daughter. The Queen is kind."
Lord Chen's jaw trembled as he lifted his gaze. Finally, he nodded.
His voice broke. "Keep your word. She is all I have left. I already lost her mother."
Nobody could ever refuse the monarchy's decree.
Mò Lián joined the officials at the palace.
Yù Xuān lingered in the kitchen doorway, clutching a stick of firewood so tightly her knuckles turned white. She fed it into the flames burning beneath, watching sparks leap and crackle as if mocking her restless heart.
Not long after, Lord Chen departed, his absence leaving the house far too quiet.
Inside, Yù Xuān and Chen Rong huddled close to the hearth, palms stretched toward the wavering glow. Shadows from the fire danced along the walls like restless spirits.
"This life moves too fast," Chen Rong murmured, voice low and weary, almost like a prayer. "Dear Lord, guide our way."
Yù Xuān kept silent, her thoughts twisting like smoke. How will I ever find my way back to the palace? If fate is kind, perhaps I will meet Mò Lián there...
But Chen Rong's gaze cut into her, sharp and searching. "Tell me, girl—why did you join the Maiden Service? What were you thinking?" Her voice carried a weight that silenced even the fire's crackle.
Yù Xuān hesitated, heart pounding.
Her aunt let out a low laugh, soft and almost bitter. "How did you even practice? Such a bold child!"
Yù Xuān bit her nails, eyes downcast. "It just... happened suddenly."
Chen Rong's laughter died. Her face hardened, shadows deepening the lines of worry. She shook her head slowly, as though mourning something not yet lost.
"I, Chen Rong, could never make the palace even my third choice." Her voice was steady now, each word edged with steel.
"Do you even know the kinds of things that happen there? Once you step inside those gates... You do not return the same."
Yù Xuān's eyes widened, fear flickering through them like the firelight.
Chen Rong leaned closer, her voice dropping, heavy with warning. "Especially if you serve the royals. Their world devours the innocent and silences the weak." Her tone leaves no room for refusal.
"Listen carefully. You must understand this, child—anything tied to the palace... is a path of no return; the palace is no ordinary dwelling—it is a graveyard of the weak, and a furnace for the strong. Rank and power there are not titles; they are chains of blood and spirit. Every step closer to the royals, every breath of their magic, either elevates you... or kills you."
She leaned forward, her gaze piercing.
"There are many powerful classes in the palace, child. Everything depends on how close you are to the royals. If you are unfit, it rots you from within. Many rise as stars, only to collapse into corpses."
She began.
"At the lowest are the Chiefs—administrators, enforcers of petty order. Then the Heads of Maids—women who command households. The closer you are to a royal, the stronger their magic seeps into your blood. If you aren't strong enough... it will kill you. You grew up in the temple, so spiritual things shouldn't be strange to you."
Yù Xuān nodded, her chest tightening.
"The middle class is the soldiers. But do not mistake them for common fighters. They are trained by the Royal Messengers—men whose very existence is a rumor to most. These messengers walk between the mortal and the immortal, their steps carved by the hand of the Immortal Priest himself. When they carry blades, entire families vanish without a trace.
She paused, watching Yù Xuān's face pale before pressing on.
"Then come the high classes. The Queen—though mortal—is no ordinary woman. Years in the King's shadow have soaked her in his power. His magic clings to her skin, breathes into her blood, reshaping her, making her more spirit than flesh. She moves as if the heavens themselves bow at her step.
And then—the eunuchs. Beautiful, every gesture a hymn of respect... yet they are death wrapped in silk. The King himself forges them, binding their loyalty with blood and oath. To cross one is to invite a death so quiet, so elegant, that you may not even know you are dying until your final breath slips like smoke from your lips."
"Above them all are the Superior Classes—three towers of power.
The first: the General. His strength is unmatched; his presence is like a storm no fortress can withstand. He can vanish like mist, strike like thunder, and no wall can hold him. From birth to death, his life is bound to the Prince with whom he is raised. His loyalty cannot be severed, for his soul is stitched to the prince's very fate. To face him is to fight the shadow of destiny itself.
The second: the King. A direct descendant of our god. His might is not merely in the throne he sits upon, but in his communion with the spirit world. Some kings glow like divine light, shaping the realm with wisdom and grace. Others burn like cursed fire, leaving only ashes in their wake. His reign determines whether Huǒyuán thrives—or bleeds.
And the last: the Immortals. Only three remain. They are direct disciples of His Holiness Tiān. Before his divine flame began to fade, they had nearly reached the height of mastery. To anchor them to this world, he bound them with an oath—to protect Huǒyuán until the day of his return. They are power clothed in human skin, living relics of the divine. Even kings bow in silence before them."
Yù Xuān's lips parted. "Aunt... what about the Crown Prince?"
Chen Rong's gaze softened, though a shadow crossed her eyes. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, heavy with secrets.
"No one knows until the crown rests upon his head. Only then is his true nature revealed—and it is always recorded in glory. Do you remember King Tiān Hào's coronation? The day the heavens trembled?"
Yù Xuān shook her head faintly, "No," and Chen Rong continued, her voice breaking like dry leaves.
"It was ruinous. The air split with screams. The Immortals themselves were forced to shield the court, for no mortal could withstand his awakening. He had no General—none dared stand beside him. The priests fell to their knees, crying out that His Holiness Tiān had returned in flesh. That day, even the sun hid its face behind storm clouds."
A shiver laced down Yù Xuān's spine, her heart pounding.
Suddenly, knocks thundered against the door. But neither woman moved.
"Aunt..." Yù Xuān's voice was a thread of sound. "How do you know such things?"
Chen Rong turned to her, the firelight painting her face in gold and shadow. A faint, weary smile touched her lips.
"Child, I was born in the South, raised in the West, and wed into the East. Tell me—where else should one gather stories, if not from the corners of the world itself?"
For a fragile heartbeat, laughter spilled between them, light and fleeting, a fragile bridge against the storm.
But as Yù Xuān's hand pulled open the door, her laughter died. The smile vanished—her face drained pale.