Revenge of Lejun

The cold of the Cold Palace did not seep into the bones through the skin. It began in the lungs, a frozen glass needle that shattered with every ragged breath, tearing at the chest until there was nothing left to bleed.

Cheng Lejun lay on the damp, frost-cracked stone floor of the West Tower. The silk robes she once wore—embroidered with golden phoenixes and scented with expensive ambergris—had long been replaced by a coarse, moth-eaten cotton tunic. Outside, the howling winter wind battered the rotting paper lattice of the window, spraying fine, icy dust across her face.

A heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. The rusted iron door creaked open, admitting a gust of freezing air and a tall, silhouetted figure draped in a heavy mink cloak.

Imperial Noble Consort Meng.

Meng Wan’er looked as radiant as ever. Her hair was piled high in a gilded phoenix hairpiece, decorated with pearls the size of pigeon eggs. She stepped over the threshold, her silk slippers avoiding the dirt, and looked down at Lejun with an expression of mild, elegant boredom.

"You look wretched, Lejun," Wan’er murmured, her voice sweet as honey mixed with poison. "To think, the once-adored Noble Consort Cheng, reduced to a dying stray in the dark."

Lejun tried to speak, but her throat was dry, cracked like autumn leaves. She managed only a ragged rasp. "The... the Crown Prince's poison... it was you..."

"Of course it was me," Wan’er smiled, stepping closer to bend down, her scented sleeve brushing against Lejun’s icy cheek. "His Majesty needed a scapegoat to appease the northern generals, and your father was getting far too influential in the Ministry of War. Stripping you of your title and executing your brother killed two birds with one stone. Did you truly think the Emperor believed you were innocent? He didn't care. In the imperial court, truth is worthless. Only utility matters."

Lejun’s heart gave a violent, sickening lurch. My brother... executed?

"He died three days ago at the market square," Wan’er whispered softly, enjoying the agony dawning in Lejun’s bloodshot eyes. "And now, it's your turn. His Majesty has granted you the mercy of an early end."

Wan’er gestured behind her. A eunuch stepped forward carrying a silver tray. Upon it sat a small, unadorned porcelain cup.

"Drink it, Lejun. Save yourself another winter in this dump."

Tears of blood squeezed from Lejun’s eyes. She had spent five years in the inner court playing the dutiful, gentle consort. She had stayed out of factional fights, treated everyone with kindness, and loved Emperor Xiao Zheyuan with a foolish, blind devotion. And her reward was the destruction of her family, the slaughter of her brother, and a cup of poisoned wine in a abandoned tower.

"I curse you..." Lejun choked out, her fingers digging into the frozen stone until her nails snapped. "Meng Wan’er... Xiao Zheyuan... even as a ghost... I will tear you both to pieces..."

"Ghosts have no power in the Forbidden City, my dear," Wan’er laughed softly, signaling the eunuch.

Two heavy hands pinned Lejun to the floor. The bitter, burning liquid was forced down her throat. Fire erupted in her belly, spreading like molten iron through her veins. Her sight flickered. The gilded phoenix on Wan’er’s head blurred into a smudge of cruel gold. Darkness swallowed her whole, heavy and absolute.

"Miss! Miss, wake up! You're going to be late!"

A sharp shake to her shoulder brought Lejun slamming back into reality.

She gasped, sitting bolt upright, clutching at her throat. Her lungs burned—not with poison, but with a sharp intake of warm, fragrant air smelling of dried jasmine and morning dew.

"Miss? Oh dear, did you have a nightmare?"

Lejun blinked, her chest heaving. The dark, freezing stone of the Cold Palace was gone. Instead, she sat on a soft feather mattress covered in pale pink silk. Sunlight poured through intact, carved wooden window screens, casting warm geometric shadows across a bright, opulent bedroom.

Standing beside the bed was a young girl holding a silver washbasin. She had round cheeks, bright eyes, and was wearing the green-trimmed dress of a personal maid.

Lejun’s breath hitched. "Bao'er?"

"Who else would it be, Miss?" Bao'er chuckled, setting the basin on the stand. "You must have been dreaming of dragons and monsters! Come now, wash your face. The carriages from the Imperial Household Department are already queuing outside the city gate. If we don't hurry, Master will be furious!"

Lejun stared at her own hands. They were smooth, pale, and untouched by frostbite or scars. No snapped fingernails. No stains of blood.

She scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bronze mirror on the vanity table.

Reflected in the polished metal was a young woman of eighteen. Her skin was as flawless as mutton-fat jade, her cheeks flushed with youth, her eyes wide and clear—devoid of the hollow, dead gaze of the woman who had perished in the ice.

The 15th year of the Yuanhe Era.

The day of the Imperial Concubine Selection.

Lejun touched her face, a tremor running down her spine. The heavily scented air, the bright silk robes hanging on the screen, the lively voice of the maid who had died protecting her three years ago... It wasn't a nightmare. She had been brought back.

Back to the very beginning. Back to the day she stepped into the cage.

A dark, cold calm suddenly settled over Lejun’s pounding heart, freezing her frantic panic into something sharp and deadly. The naive, gentle girl who dreamed of harmony in the imperial court died last night in the freezing West Tower.

She turned slowly to face the hanging robes—a striking, crimson silk dress embroidered with silver plum blossoms, meant to signify modesty and grace.

"Bao'er," Lejun said, her voice dropping an octave, cool and measured.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Change the dress. Bring out the dark sapphire gown with the golden maple leaf trim."

Bao'er blinked in surprise. "The sapphire one? But Master said you should dress modestly so as not to stand out among the other high-ranking daughters..."

Lejun looked at her reflection once more, her lips curving into a slow, chilling smile.

"Standing out is the whole point, Bao'er. We are not going there to hide."

Xiao Zheyuan. Meng Wan’er.

You wanted a game of utility and power? This time, I will be the one holding the board.