Storm clouds gathered above the capital, casting long shadows over the Imperial Palace. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous, as if the heavens themselves held their breath.

  In the Great Hall, beneath towering jade columns and the still faces of carved dragons, the Empress knelt before the throne. Her silk robes spread behind her like a pool of night, her chin lifted, regal to the end.

  “Empress,” the Emperor’s voice was sharp and clear, cutting through the charged silence. “You are accused of treason.”

  A ripple of shock moved through the court. The scent of incense seemed suddenly cloying.

  The Empress raised her eyes—not with fear, but calm disbelief. “Your Majesty, I have served this empire with loyalty and devotion. I do not understand these accusations.”

  “The charges are grave,” the Emperor said. “You have conspired with enemies beyond our borders, leaked sensitive decrees, and withheld council from the throne. Documents bearing your seal were recovered from hidden chambers. Witnesses have spoken under oath.”

  Gasps rang out. Some ministers looked at the floor. Others watched the Empress, hungry for signs of collapse.

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  The Empress’s face remained still, but her voice wavered slightly as she said, “Your Majesty... I ask only this—look deeper. Not everything is as it seems.”

  A beat of silence followed.

  Then, in one swift, fluid motion, she turned—not toward the Emperor, not toward the ministers or guards, but toward a porcelain vase that stood at the base of a pillar. Before anyone could move, she seized it, smashed it against the stone floor, and in a breathless instant, drove the jagged shard into her own throat.

  A scream broke from someone in the court. Blood spilled down her robes like ink across silk.

  "Mother!" Prince Li Xian’s voice rang out, cracking with disbelief.

  The Empress fell to her knees, and then to her side, crimson spreading around her. Her eyes found her son’s across the marble floor. There was no fear in them—only sorrow, and something else. Something he would carry for the rest of his life.

  The hall was frozen in horror. Even the Emperor did not rise.

  Outside, the storm broke. Rain lashed the palace walls.

  By dawn, word of the Empress’s death had swept through the capital like wildfire. Her name was struck from official records. Her family silenced. Her legacy smeared.

  And Prince Li Xian—once so certain of his place above others, so sure knowledge could shield him from palace cruelty—was cast out not by sword or steel, but by a hand he could not see, and a truth buried deep beneath blood and silence, waiting to rise.