Lihua

The glass pavilion was shrouded in an unbearable cold. Outside, the wind howled between the marble columns, as if the courtyard itself were whispering her misfortune. Lihua, swathed in layers of embroidered silk, stood motionless at the window, her reflection trembling in the foggy glass.

Her son, her little prince, had barely had time to know the world before he was taken from her. Three months. For just three months, she had held in her arms the promise of a future, a bond that had secured her the most coveted position in the imperial harem. Now her empty cradle was a cruel reminder of how fleeting life was... and the emperor's favor.

The palace had changed with her loss. The maids who had once smiled at her with respect now avoided her gaze. The other consorts hid their satisfaction behind scented fans. Even the emperor, who had once visited her with devotion, had grown distant. It was not just the mourning that weighed on him... it was the uncertainty that weighed on him. Her fertility, once the treasure of the throne, was now in question. And with it, her future.

The quiet creak of the door brought her out of her thoughts. The maid put down a tray of hot tea and stepped back silently. No one dared to talk to her too much. In this world, compassion was a luxury that few could afford.

Lihua took the cup in her cold hands and raised it to her lips without taking a sip. Her dark eyes were lost in the evening mist. She knew she should cry, scream, curse the heavens for her misfortune. But she wouldn't do that. Not yet.

Because at court, a fallen woman was little more than a shadow... unless she knew how to rise from the ashes of her own tragedy.