The capital was a ghost of its former glory, draped in the white shroud of a heavy blizzard. The snow wasn't pure; it was grey with the soot of the burning West Wing.
I stood at the mouth of the sluice gates, the freezing water of the Xuán Hé swirling around my boots. Behind me, three hundred Southern loyalists waited in a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight. They were men who had lost everything—except their thirst for justice.
"Tonight," I whispered, my breath a plume of frost, "we take back our home. Not for a crown, but for the blood in the snow."
I signaled the advance.
As we moved through the dark, moss-slick tunnels of the palace underbelly, a massive horn blast echoed from the main gates.
Zhenkai.
He was at the front, alone on his horse, a silhouette of black and silver against the white storm. He was the distraction, the bait, and the sacrifice.
The Throne Room
The Great Hall was filled with the smell of expensive wine and rotting ambition. General Fang sat on the throne, his feet resting on the golden dais, a mockery of a King.
The doors burst open. Zhenkai walked in, his black robes trailing behind him like a funeral shroud. He was unarmed, his hands held open at his sides.
"You're late for your own execution, boy," Fang sneered, his guards leveling their crossbows.
"I didn't come to be executed, Fang," Zhenkai said, his voice echoing with a terrifying power. "I came to show the North who they are actually serving."
At that moment, the floor panels behind the throne shattered.
I erupted from the darkness, a blur of plum silk and vengeance. My twin blades cut through the guards before they could even squeeze their triggers. The Southern loyalists swarmed the room, their war cries drowning out the wind outside.
"Princess Meilin?" Fang gasped, his face draining of color. He reached for his sword, but I was faster.
I launched myself across the room, my body a coiled spring of five years of agony. Our blades met with a bone-jarring crack. Fang was strong, but he was fighting for power. I was fighting for the dead.
"This is for the Red Snow," I hissed, my blade sliding up the length of his broadsword.
I kicked his knee, forcing him to the ground, and pressed my short-blade against his throat. The room went silent. The Northern guards, seeing their Emperor standing tall and the "Dead Princess" holding their General's life in her hands, lowered their weapons.
"Tell them," I commanded, my eyes burning with a cold, amber fire. "Tell them who signed the orders."
Fang looked at Zhenkai, then at me. He saw the truth—that the North and South were no longer divided. He saw the bridge we had built out of our own broken pieces.
"I... I did it," Fang whispered, his spirit finally breaking. "I wanted an empire of iron."
"You built an empire of ashes," Zhenkai said, stepping up to the dais. He looked at the gathered soldiers. "General Fang is a traitor to the North and a butcher of the South. His sentence is death."
I didn't hesitate. One swift, silver arc, and the man who had destroyed my life was gone.
The Aftermath
The blizzard began to calm. I walked out onto the balcony of Tiānlóng Tái—the same spot I had jumped from five years ago.
Zhenkai joined me. He didn't say anything. He simply reached out and took my hand, our fingers interlocking as we looked out over the city. The fires were being extinguished. For the first time, the snow falling on the capital was white, not red.
"What happens now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "The South wants a Queen. The North wants an Emperor."
Zhenkai turned to me, the morning sun hitting his face, softening the harsh lines of his features. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small object. It was the gold phoenix crown, polished and restored, its rubies glowing like embers.
"Then we give them both," he said. He didn't place the crown on my head. He held it between us, both our hands gripping the gold. "One throne. Two hearts. A kingdom built on the truth, not the silence."
He leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that tasted of victory, peace, and a love that had survived the end of the world.
The winter was over. The Red Lotus had finally bloomed in the Black Silk.