The Azure Phoenix Blade

Empress's Flight From Capital (I)

Part One: A Dark Night’s Trust

The rain in the imperial city was indeed much finer than at the border.

It pattered endlessly on the glazed tiles, like countless whispers beneath the deep palace eaves. Inside the sleeping quarters, only two palace lamps were lit. Their shadows flickered on the walls in the draft, like rippling water.

Eleanor Su sat by the bed, still holding an unfinished protective charm in her hand. The red thread dangled across her knee, swaying gently.

The three children on the bed slept restlessly.

Damien had the worst sleeping posture—his blanket had been kicked to the foot of the bed, and his small hand still clutched a corner of the pillow, as if refusing to surrender even in sleep.

Sylvie was curled up on the outermost side, her little face buried in the soft pillow, brows slightly furrowed.

She had clearly heard the unsettling rumors in the palace during the day and couldn’t settle at night.

Julian lay on the inner side, curled into a small ball, his face hidden in the shadow of the bedding, only the quiet line of his brows and eyes visible.

The bead curtain stirred. Celeste, wearing only an outer robe and barefoot, slipped in from the side chamber.

At just ten years old, with narrow shoulders, she had already learned to check on her siblings first before approaching her mother.

Seeing Damien had kicked off his blanket again, she stepped closer and whispered, “Mother, Brother kicked his blanket off again.”

Eleanor Su tucked the blanket back around him, then gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind Celeste’s ear. She smiled softly, “If you keep watching over them like this, you’ll turn into a little housekeeper in a couple of years.”

Celeste pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

Thunder had been rumbling in the distance since dusk, rolling far away across the horizon.

She had already lain down but felt uneasy, so she had thrown on her robe to keep her mother company.

At that moment, hurried footsteps suddenly sounded outside the hall.

The steps were neither the light, quick tread of eunuchs or palace maids, but clumsy and desperate—like someone running while clutching the wall, shoes still muddy, slapping noisily against the corridor bricks.

Eleanor Su’s fingers tightened sharply. The protective charm slipped from her hand and fell onto the golden brick with a soft “clack.”

The hall doors burst open.

Fuguan staggered in, face deathly pale, rain still dripping from the edge of his hat. He trembled as he spoke, “My lady—Captain Mo has returned!”

Eleanor Su shot to her feet.

She rose so quickly that her sleeve knocked over a small incense burner on the table, scattering ash across the floor. But she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on the dark night beyond the doors. After a long pause, she asked, “Alone?”

Fuguan’s throat bobbed. He lowered his head. “…Alone.”

The moment those three words left his mouth, the fragile warmth in the hall was blown out by the wind and rain outside.

Part Two: Return of the Azure Blade

When Quentin Mo entered, the trail of water from his feet stretched from the doorway all the way to the lamplight.

His armor was shattered in many places. The left shoulder plate was cracked open, the wound beneath soaked white by rainwater yet still seeping blood at the edges.

His right sleeve was torn, revealing knife wounds. Rain, blood, and the stench of horse sweat clung to him, as if he had brought the entire bloody night from the border straight into the imperial city.

Only the sword held against his chest remained perfectly protected.

Though the scabbard was stained with blood, the bright yellow tassel hung straight. Under the lamplight, the cold golden patterns at the sheath’s mouth identified it clearly—the Azure Blade.

Eleanor Su took one look and her face turned deathly white.

Her lips moved, her voice barely her own. “What about His Majesty?”

Quentin Mo stood in the lamplight like a dead tree pulled from a storm. For a long time, he said nothing.

He had licked blood from blades his whole life, seen countless deaths, and blocked countless arrows for Darius Xiahou. Yet at this moment, when Eleanor Su asked those three short words, it felt as if someone had seized his chest, leaving him unable to breathe.

Fuguan hurriedly closed the doors, his hands shaking so badly it took two tries to drop the latch.

The sound woke the children on the bed.

Damien opened his eyes first, rubbing them sleepily. Before he could see clearly, he caught the scent of blood and his mouth twisted as if about to cry.

Sylvie woke too, half her small face hidden in the blanket, only her wide, wet eyes peeking out fearfully at the bloodied man by the door. Julian opened his eyes without crying or moving, quietly staring at the sword in Quentin Mo’s arms.

Celeste stood before the bed, clutching a small handkerchief that she had already crumpled into wrinkles.

She took a step forward and said softly, “Uncle Mo… you’re bleeding so much.”

Those words pierced the thin layer of forced calm in the hall like a needle.

Eleanor Su snapped back to herself, her voice tightening. “Hazel Qiu.”

Hazel Qiu had already rushed over from the side chamber, face equally pale but hands steady. The moment she entered, she caught Sylvie, who had nearly rolled off the bed. “This servant is here.”

“Take the children to the side chamber first.”

Damien immediately protested, his voice breaking into a sob. “I won’t go! I want Father!”

Eleanor Su walked over and lifted him from the bed. Her hands were ice-cold. When she patted his back, the little boy shrank slightly. Yet her voice remained steady. “Damien, don’t make a fuss.”

At those words, his tears welled up but he held them back, too intimidated to keep arguing.

“Celeste, take your siblings inside.”

Celeste pressed her lips tight, nodded, and helped Sylvie with her outer robe before taking Damien’s hand. Sylvie, frightened with icy hands, clung to her sister’s arm and whispered, “Sister, does Uncle Mo hurt a lot?”

Celeste’s throat tightened, but she comforted her gently, “He’s tough. It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Sylvie nodded half-understandingly and stopped crying, obediently leaning against her.

Damien stubbornly refused to leave at first, twisting around to look at his mother and then Quentin Mo. But Julian had quietly climbed down from the inner side of the bed. Before he even stood steady, he bent to pick up the fallen protective charm from the floor.

He clutched it in his small hand, walked unsteadily to Eleanor Su, and lifted it toward her. “Mother, it fell.”

Eleanor Su looked down at him, her fingertips trembling.

Julian was only three. He didn’t speak much, but his eyes were unusually dark and clear. After handing over the charm, he didn’t ask anything else. He simply turned to look at the sword in Quentin Mo’s arms, as if sensing something he didn’t fully understand.

Eleanor Su took the charm, closing her fingers tightly around it. “Celeste, take them inside.”

This time Celeste didn’t hesitate. She held Damien with one hand and Julian with the other while Hazel Qiu carried Sylvie. Just before the bead curtain fell, Celeste glanced back at her mother.

There was already a depth of understanding in her young eyes that no child should have, yet she asked nothing.

Only after the curtain dropped, separating the side chamber, did Eleanor Su turn around.

She looked at Quentin Mo, her voice low and clear. “Now, speak.”

Part Three: One Sword, One Night

Quentin Mo dropped heavily to his knees on the golden bricks.

The kneel was forceful, as if he were kneeling not to a person, but to an irreversible past.

He raised the Azure Blade with both hands, pressing his forehead to the scabbard. The movement reopened the wound on his shoulder, sending blood trickling down his wrist.

“This subordinate failed to protect His Majesty.”

His voice was already hoarse beyond recognition.

Eleanor Su didn’t press him. Her breathing remained eerily steady as she simply watched him.

Quentin Mo closed his eyes for a moment, then recounted the bloody path, word by painful word.

From the Prince of Chu using the excuse of reinforcements to approach the main army, to the hidden patterns of the Chu estate revealed beneath wolf-fur cloaks.

From the rain of arrows to poison-tipped shafts piercing armor. From how Xiahou Yan had ordered him to break through, pressed the Azure Blade into his hands, and used his own body to block the final wave of personal guards…

He didn’t speak quickly, but each word landed like a nail.

By the end, only the sound of wind and rain remained in the hall, along with the tremor in his voice that he could no longer suppress.

“When this subordinate fought out of the encirclement… His Majesty could no longer walk.” His throat moved. “When I looked back, he was still standing there.”

At the word “standing,” he could say no more.

Eleanor Su swayed slightly, steadying herself on the table’s edge. The table was solid, yet her nails dug deep into the wood, as if that small grip was the only thing keeping her upright.

She did not cry.

After a while, she asked, “What about Conrad?”

“He is likely rallying troops by now,” Quentin Mo said quietly. “He will claim His Majesty died in a night raid by the Bai Li tribe and shift all blame onto foreign enemies.”

“And me?”

“… It would be easy to say you took your own life upon hearing the news.”

Eleanor Su lowered her eyes and was silent for a long time. Then she asked a question completely unrelated to the present danger: “Before he died, did he mention the children?”

Quentin Mo looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

“His Majesty ordered me to return to the capital and escort you and the princes out of the palace.” He paused. “He also said… the Azure Blade should be given to the eldest princess in the future.”

At those words, Eleanor Su’s eyelashes trembled faintly.

But she quickly lifted her head. The watery fragility in her eyes was forcefully pushed back. She turned, walked to her dressing table, pulled out a golden hairpin, and pried open an inconspicuous seam beside the mirror.

With a soft click, a hidden compartment sprang open.

Both Fuguan and Quentin Mo were stunned.

Inside lay banknotes, loose silver, a few old pieces of jewelry, and two household registration documents. The paper showed slight signs of age—clearly prepared long ago, not in haste tonight.

Eleanor Su took out the documents and flipped through them, her voice calm. “Living in the palace for so long, one must always leave oneself a way out.”

Fuguan’s lips moved, but no words came.

Quentin Mo, however, felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at her back.

He had always thought of this empress as gentle, gracious, and kind—like a pool of spring water. Only tonight did he realize that beneath that water lay stones. She had not suddenly learned to prepare for betrayal or hide a blade tonight. She had simply never let anyone see it before.

“Can the secret passage at the west corner gate still be used?” Eleanor Su asked.

Quentin Mo steadied himself. “It leads behind the abandoned well in the imperial garden, then connects to the old canal road west of the city. Before entering the palace, I asked an old contact, Six Zhou, to wait there with a boat.”

“Good.”

She answered quickly, as if refusing to consider any other path.