The soft notes of a jade flute echoed faintly through the outer chambers, weaving delicately through the stone corridors of the palace. The morning sun, veiled behind silk curtains, bathed the room in pale gold. Zhao Feiyan sat before a lacquered mirror, threading the silk cords of his mask behind his ear with careful precision. His gaze lingered on his reflection, on the red, twisting branches that crept along the edge of his eye and stretched toward his cheekbone.

“Does it still pain you, my lord?” The voice came from across the room, gentle yet laced with concern. Chao, Feiyan’s most trusted servant, knelt nearby, arranging the concubine’s outer robe with reverence.

Feiyan let out a soft breath, raising his fan to obscure his face even from Chao. His long, slender fingers traced the embroidered cranes on the silk surface. “No,” he replied quietly, though the faint tremor in his hand suggested otherwise. "Pain fades... but the marks remain."

Chao hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly toward the small, unopened bottle of plum wine that still rested on the corner of Feiyan’s vanity. A gift from Jin Ming—one Feiyan now left untouched as a reminder.

“If I do not stand, someone else will,” he said softly, lowering his fan to carefully press the mask against his skin. The porcelain felt cool, masking not only his face but the thoughts that dared linger beneath it. "My Empress favors simplicity. But simplicity can´t protect her from snakes that slither in the shade."

Feiyan rose gracefully, his robes trailing behind him as he crossed the room, pausing briefly by the open window. The faint creak of the outer gates interrupted the hush of their conversation. Feiyan’s hand froze mid-air as he lowered the fan. Beyond the entrance, your figure approached with measured grace, an unmistakable silhouette clad in imperial robes.

Feiyan bent deeply at you step inside, lowering his fan in a graceful arc. "My Empress, honors my humble home," he spoke softly, his voice steady though his heart thrummed.