Chapter 6 – Flames in the Cold Palace
The smell of smoke hit her before the heat did.
Even within the Emperor's study, Yanyue could feel it—thick, acrid, seeping under the gilded doors like a warning.
The eunuch's words echoed in her skull.
A body… wearing this maid's uniform.
Her knees weakened. That was her chamber. Her spare uniform. Her blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
Someone had meant for her to burn.
Zhao Wenzhi's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp as a drawn blade.
"Who ordered the evacuation?"
"Chief Eunuch Meng, Your Majesty," the messenger stammered. "But the flames spread too fast. They say it was—"
"Arson," Zhao finished coldly.
Yanyue's chest tightened. The Cold Palace was far from the Emperor's quarters—isolated, crumbling, and rarely visited. A fire there could rage unchecked for hours without raising alarm. Unless someone had wanted it to be seen.
"I'm going there," she said before she could stop herself.
"No," Zhao said instantly, turning to her with that imperial finality that brooked no argument. "You stay here."
"But—"
He stepped forward, his shadow falling over her. "Do you think I can't see what they're doing? That fire was a message, Yanyue. They want you to run into it. To die in it. You will not give them that satisfaction."
Her lips pressed together. He was right. And yet—her heart twisted at the thought of that lifeless figure in her bed, mistaken for her.
"Who… who was it?" she asked quietly.
The eunuch hesitated. "One of the junior maids, Your Majesty. Xiao Lin."
Yanyue's breath caught. Xiao Lin had been sweet, timid—always trading chores with her so Yanyue could avoid the kitchens. She must have been cleaning Yanyue's room when—
Her hands trembled.
Zhao's gaze softened for the briefest moment before he turned to the eunuch. "Seal the area. No one enters or leaves without my order."
They moved quickly through the lantern-lit corridors toward the Inner Palace. The smell of smoke grew heavier with every step until the air itself seemed to shimmer with heat.
When they reached the Cold Palace, Yanyue's stomach twisted at the sight.
The once-forgotten building was now an inferno, flames devouring the rotting beams, sparks flying upward into the night like a thousand dying stars.
Servants formed a panicked line, passing buckets of water, but it was futile. The fire was too strong, too deliberate.
Among the crowd, Consort Liang stood beneath a silk parasol, untouched by the chaos, her expression one of delicate horror. When she saw the Emperor, she bowed gracefully.
"Your Majesty, what a tragedy," she said. "The fire started so suddenly. They say a careless maid knocked over a lamp."
Zhao's eyes narrowed. "Do they?"
Her smile was faint. "Of course, I am only repeating what I heard. It is fortunate you were elsewhere tonight, Your Majesty… or perhaps we would be mourning more than one life."
Yanyue felt the weight of those words—soft as silk, sharp as steel.
A shout rose from near the servants' quarters. "Your Majesty! We found something!"
A guard approached, holding out a scrap of blackened cloth. It was part of her uniform, the embroidered hem still intact. But stitched into the fabric, almost invisible in the scorched threads, was a symbol she had not seen in six years—
The Li clan crest.
Her blood turned cold.
That crest had been outlawed after the massacre; possession of it was punishable by death. Whoever planted it meant to expose her—not just as a maid, but as a Li.
Zhao Wenzhi took the cloth, his jaw hardening. "Double the guards around the Inner Palace. No one comes near her without my leave. Not even you, Consort Liang."
Liang's smile didn't falter, but her eyes glittered. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
When they returned to the Emperor's private chambers, Yanyue finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They won't stop, will they?"
Zhao looked at her for a long moment. "No. Not until one of you is dead."
Her fingers curled against her skirts. "Then you should let me leave. If I disappear, they'll have nothing to—"
"You think they'll stop hunting you if you're gone?" His voice was low, dangerous. "The moment you leave these walls, you're unprotected. And they will find you."
She looked away, fighting the knot in her throat. "So what am I to you, then? A prisoner?"
He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. "No. You're my wife."
Her breath caught.
"Whether the court knows it or not," he murmured, "you are mine. And I will burn this palace to the ground before I let them take you again."
Somewhere beyond the walls, the fire still roared.
But in that moment, Yanyue realized the greater danger was standing right in front of her—wearing a crown and looking at her like he had already decided her fate.
Cliffhanger: A sudden crash echoed from the outer hall, followed by the sound of steel clashing. The Emperor's guards burst in, swords drawn.
"Your Majesty! The assassins have breached the gates!"