The echo of footsteps in the long, dim hallway seemed louder than it should have been. Yueran kept her pace steady, resisting the urge to glance behind her even though she could feel eyes lingering somewhere in the darkness. The lanterns along the wall flickered in the draft, throwing jagged shadows across the patterned floor tiles.
In the Forbidden Wing of the palace, silence wasn't just the absence of sound—it was a presence in itself, pressing down, smothering, whispering.
Her hand tightened around the folded silk scroll hidden inside her sleeve. The Chancellor's seal was still warm from the heat of her body; she could feel the ridged impression of the wax through the fabric. She didn't know why her fingers trembled—whether it was fear, anger, or something far more dangerous: anticipation.
The air shifted, and she caught the faintest scent of sandalwood.
"You walk too quickly for someone who's not trying to run," a voice murmured from behind her.
Yueran stopped. Slowly, she turned.
The man leaning against the carved pillar wore no insignia, but she recognized the slight upward tilt of his lips—smiling, yet never truly warm. The Shadow Envoy. His eyes were like pools of black ink, absorbing every detail of her face without revealing a drop of his own thoughts.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice calm, almost casual.
"Neither should you," he replied. "Yet here we are, Lady Yueran. Walking hallways that no one dares to enter… unless they seek something forbidden."
Her heartbeat betrayed her, quickening despite her outward stillness. "I'm simply delivering a record to the Inner Archives. I imagine your business is less innocent."
His smirk widened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer, and the lamplight revealed the faint scar running from his jawline to his throat—a mark she remembered from the last assassination attempt in the Western Court.
"You've heard the rumors," he said softly. "The Hidden Court is moving again. Whispers say the Emperor's trust is thinning… and certain loyalists may find themselves on the wrong side of history."
Yueran's eyes narrowed. "And what does that have to do with me?"
The Shadow Envoy didn't blink. "Everything."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the wind rattling the bronze fittings of the lanterns. Then, without warning, he reached into his robe and produced a small, folded piece of parchment, sealed with black wax. He extended it toward her.
"This is not an order," he said. "It's an opportunity."
She stared at it but didn't take it. "You expect me to trust you?"
"No," he said. "I expect you to survive."
Her fingers twitched. She wanted to refuse, to walk away without a backward glance. But her mind replayed the past three nights—the strange rearranging of guards' shifts, the unexplained absence of certain high ministers, the way the Chief Eunuch's eyes darted away whenever she entered the room.
She took the parchment.
The Shadow Envoy stepped back, melting into the gloom as if the shadows themselves swallowed him. "Read it when you're alone," his voice echoed faintly. "And Lady Yueran… choose carefully. The next turn you take may decide your life."
By the time she reached her private chambers, her nerves were frayed but her expression remained serene. Servants moved about quietly, arranging trays of tea and tidying scrolls, their heads lowered. She dismissed them with a gentle wave.
When the door closed, she locked it.
Her breath was steady as she broke the black seal. Inside was a single line of neat, deliberate calligraphy:
At dawn, the Emperor's falcon will not return.
She read it again. And again. The words were simple, but she understood their weight. The Emperor's falcon was not a bird—it was a code name for General Li, commander of the Imperial Guard and one of the Emperor's oldest allies. If he "did not return," it meant more than absence—it meant elimination.
A thousand thoughts collided in her mind.
If General Li fell, the balance of power would shatter. The Chancellor would tighten his grip on the military. The Empress Dowager's faction might seize the chance to install her own candidate for heir. And in the chaos, someone—someone like the Shadow Envoy's masters—could seize the throne's ear.
She set the parchment down, her fingers curling against the table.
If she intervened, she might save the General—but draw the attention of enemies she couldn't yet name. If she did nothing, the court would shift overnight into dangerous, unpredictable currents.
And then there was the matter of the scroll in her sleeve.
She drew it out and unrolled it, the Chancellor's wax seal glinting faintly in the lamplight. It was a list of tribute shipments from the southern provinces—grain, silver, medicinal herbs. At first glance, it seemed mundane. But she'd already noticed the irregularities in the records: phantom caravans that never arrived, overestimated harvests, payment tallies that didn't match reality. Someone was bleeding the empire's wealth from the shadows.
Her lips tightened. If the Chancellor was behind both the corruption and the plot against General Li, then his ambitions were larger than anyone suspected.
A knock came at the door—three sharp raps, then one soft.
Yueran rose, sliding both the parchment and the scroll into a hidden compartment under the table. She opened the door just enough to see who stood there.
It was Mei, her most trusted attendant, her face pale.
"My lady," Mei whispered, glancing over her shoulder. "The northern courtyard… there's been a death."
Yueran's heart sank. "Who?"
Mei hesitated. "One of the Falcon's men. They say it was… sudden."
The trap was already closing.
Later that night, Yueran stood at the edge of the northern courtyard, the air cold enough to sting her skin. A small group of guards surrounded a still figure on the ground, a white cloth covering the face. The pattern of the embroidered boots was enough to confirm Mei's words—the man was one of General Li's closest aides.
An "accident," the guard captain claimed. A fall from the rooftop.
But Yueran saw the faint discoloration at the base of his neck. A precise blow. Quick, silent, professional.
The Falcon's wings were being clipped, one feather at a time.
She turned away before anyone could read her expression. Inside, her mind was already racing, mapping the corridors of power like a battlefield. She would need allies. Not just those loyal to the Emperor, but those who feared what would come if the Hidden Court succeeded.
The Shadow Envoy had given her a choice, but she suspected there was only one real path forward: to act first.
And if she played it well, perhaps she could turn the enemy's game against them.
That night, long after the palace had gone quiet, Yueran sat at her desk by the faint glow of a single oil lamp. She wrote no letters, sent no messages. Instead, she studied the map of the capital spread before her, tracing the routes from the palace gates to the southern granaries, then to the military outposts where General Li's forces were stationed.
Every line on the map was a vein of the empire. Whoever controlled them, controlled its lifeblood.
Her hand hovered over the ink brush. She wasn't ready to move yet—not without more information. But she knew the next dawn would bring change.
If the Falcon didn't return… the empire would never be the same.
And neither would she.