Rain tapped gently against the lattice windows, each droplet like a whispered memory.
Ming Yue sat cross-legged on a velvet cushion, facing her parents across an incense-lit chamber hidden in the heart of the Qi estate. Scrolls lined the walls. A phoenix carved in ruby shimmered in the centre altar, wings outstretched, eyes aglow with faint fire.
Qi Longwei gently placed a leather-bound tome on the table between them.
"Do you know what your name means?" he asked softly.
Ming Yue hesitated. "It means… bright moon. That's all I was told."
Qian Fei reached out, brushing hair from her daughter's brow.
"The 'Ming'—brightness—was a blessing. The 'Yue'—moon—was a calling."
Qi Longwei opened the tome.
Inside, ancient calligraphy painted a legend:
"When the moon breaks, the flame shall awaken.
When the child cries with ash on her skin,
The red bird shall stir.
And light shall return."
"This," he said, "is the prophecy tied to your birth."
Ming Yue's breath caught.
"The old high priest visited us weeks before you were born," Qian Fei continued. "I had sung that lullaby every day. Even when they said the twins might not survive... I sang."
She closed her eyes, reciting it now—low, trembling:
Silver night, my Ming Yue shines...
Stars come to greet, holy will, a lullaby...
Sleep tight, my little moon, with the blessings of the sky...
Ming Yue listened, each line piercing memory like a bell chiming in mist.
"This song is older than any scroll," Qian Fei whispered. "Written by a holy being of another realm. Every phoenix mother sings it to her unborn child. It's not just tradition—it's invocation."
Qi Longwei added, "Your name was chosen after the priest blessed your cradle. He said you would suffer. But that your suffering would call flame."
Ming Yue stared at her hands. Her feelings complicated.
All that pain… it hadn't been for nothing.
"The birth mark that became your necklace," Longwei said, "is proof. Only once every thousand years does the phoenix line awaken that way."
A hush fell.
Even Qi Shen Fei, usually irreverent, remained still. Zhang Jia held her breath. Wang Li's gaze flicked briefly to the ruby necklace Ming Yue wore.
Outside, thunder rolled—not sharp, but deep. As if something had stirred.
Later that night, Ming Yue stood beneath the rain-damp plum trees alone.
She whispered the lullaby to the night sky.
"…to light the dark once again…"
Her necklace pulsed once—just faintly. No one saw.
But something ancient did.
The moon has many faces. But this one… burns bright enough to change the stars.