The Jade Phoenix

Outside the austere walls of the imperial court, the capital thrummed with life. Silk banners swayed above bustling streets, hawkers shouted their wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the perfume of fresh-cut flowers. At the heart of the marketplace, a small procession forced vendors to straighten their backs and smooth their robes. “Lady Ning Hua is here!” someone hissed. In an instant, the street transformed—idle merchants straightened their backs, voices hushed, and stalls that moments ago sat half-forgotten now gleamed with their finest wares. Ning Hua, daughter of the famed merchant lord Ma Hua, strolled into the marketplace with the air of a queen in disguise. Her father’s influence stretched across the empire, and Ning wore that power like a second skin. Wealth was her playground, and she spared no expense when it came to silks, jewels, and the art of being admired. Draped in a flowing blue cloak that trailed behind her like ice, she moved with effortless elegance, every step calculated but unforced. People couldn’t help but stare. She paused at a vendor’s stall, long fingers reaching to lift a delicate hairpin, its golden petals tipped with pearls. She examined it not with need, but curiosity, like someone who had seen far more beautiful things and was simply in the mood to be amused. “I’ll take all of them,” she said casually, handing a pouch heavy with silver to the stall owner. Gasps of delight followed. “Lady Hua is too generous!” cried a younger vendor. “It’s nothing,” Ning Hua said with a light laugh, brushing it off as she waved to a group of giggling girls who immediately rushed over. “Pick whatever catches your eye.” Their faces lit up, fingers diving eagerly into trays of embroidered pouches and gleaming jade combs. To be part of Ning Hua’s circle was to live in the glow of ease and luxury, no desire left unmet, no trinket out of reach. She basked in it all: the admiration, the laughter, the way people leaned in when she spoke. As her small procession of girls moved to the next stall, someone whispered in a low voice. “Have you heard? The Third Prince has returned to the capital.” One of the girls wrinkled her nose. “Mo Yan? The butcher of the northern front?” “My brother said he’s so cold, he could freeze you with just a look. Why would someone like that be allowed into the capital?” one girl whispered, eyes darting nervously. Ning merely chuckled, folding her arms as she leaned back with an air of practiced nonchalance. “Maybe because he is a prince?” she said dryly. “That gives him every right to walk through the palace, unless, of course, one of you is interested in marrying him.” Her tone dripped with amusement, and the girls gasped in unison, scandalized. “I heard he’s hideous,” one whispered, clutching her fan to her chest. “He looks nothing like the Crown Prince, or even the Emperor.” “Maybe he’s not even related to the Emperor,” another added in a hushed voice, wide-eyed. “What if he’s not a real prince at all?” “But how could anyone tell he is ugly,” a third girl chimed in, “if no one has actually seen him?” The murmurs swelled with a mix of fear and fascination, until Chu Meng, Ning’s closest friend, stepped forward, lips curling into a smirk as she tossed a glance at Ning. “As for me,” she said coolly, “I’d rather live under a rock than marry a man like him. Men like that aren’t born for love. They’re bred for war. Just wait, one day he might decide to kill off his own kin.” The group shuddered, but Ning simply laughed again, walking away with a heart full of contentment, whatever the problem at the palace has nothing to do with her. The fate of princes was non of her business. There were uneasy nods and mutters of agreement, until someone laughed awkwardly and said, “Let’s not ruin the mood. We came here to shop!” The group burst into relieved giggles, and hurriedly followed their generous friend, their worried left in a whiff. Later that day, laughter drifted from the Hua family’s garden pavilion, soft and melodic beneath the spring sun. Peach blossoms danced on the breeze, falling like pink snowflakes onto lacquered trays lined with delicate pastries and steaming porcelain teapots. Ning Hua reclined gracefully on a carved sandalwood bench, one hand lazily stirring her tea, the other resting in her lap. Her aqua blue sleeves spilled over the cushions like spring water, her expression serene, almost bored, as she watched her friends buzzed with gossip and delight around her. The scene was idyllic, picture-perfect. And yet, for Ning Hua, it was just another evening dressed in luxury and sweetened with idle chatter. “Have you all heard?” one of them exclaimed, nearly spilling her tea. “The palace announced that there will be a selection for the crown Prince consort! All noble young ladies are invited to present themselves for selection.” A chorus of excited gasps filled the air. “The Crown Prince!” another girl squealed. “He’s gentle, educated, and the heir apparent. Anyone lucky enough would become the future Empress!” “I heard he plays the guqin beautifully,” one sighed. “To sit by his side, listening to music every night, how romantic.” Ning Hua pressed her lips into a polite smile but said nothing. Her gaze lingered on the tea in front of her, where a single peach blossom had landed, its petals slowly unfurling in the warmth. She made no move to brush it aside. Chu Meng leaned in, voice low and coaxing. “Ning’er, surely you’ll go? With your beauty and your father’s influence, you’d be chosen without question.” Her words were laced with genuine admiration, but also curiosity, maybe even envy. Around them, the other girls had fallen silent, ears perked, waiting for Ning Hua’s answer. She laughed lightly, hiding her discomfort behind the fan in her hand. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. There will be so many lovely candidates. Why fight over a prince when there are so many other pleasures in life?” “You’re joking, right?” another girl protested. “Every girl in the capital dreams of life in the palace!” Ning Hua’s smile didn’t falter, though her thoughts sharpened. A gilded cage is still a cage. Once you enter those walls, you’re not a daughter anymore, not yourself, you belong to the Emperor’s rules forever. Out loud, she simply said, “We’ll see. For now, drink your tea. There’s still time to prepare.” The table buzzed with renewed excitement, plans tumbling over one another in a flurry of silk swatches, jewelry choices, and whispered dreams of powerful alliances. The girls spoke with glittering eyes, already imagining themselves in gilded halls. Ning Hua nodded along, the perfect picture of poise and interest. But her thoughts drifted far from the palace walls, from courtly duties and velvet-trimmed expectations. She saw instead the winding alleys of distant markets, glowing lanterns swaying over river festivals, the thrill of new cities untouched by her name. She didn’t want to be chosen. She wanted to choose, a life beyond high walls and watchful eyes. A life that belonged only to her. That night, the Hua estate shimmered beneath the glow of lantern light. Shadows danced along the carved eaves, and the soft rustle of robes and hurried footsteps filled the corridors. Servants moved briskly, carrying trays laden with scrolls, ink, and sealed documents. In his study, Lord Ma Hua sat beneath the warm flicker of candlelight, a thick ledger open before him. The scent of ink and sandalwood hung in the air as he reviewed the latest arrivals, silks from the south, spice crates from the northern borders, jade carvings wrapped in straw. A soft knock sounded, followed by the whisper of silk against the polished floor. “Father,” Ning Hua said gently, stepping into the room. “You wished to see me?” Her voice was calm, but her eyes searched his face, already sensing the weight of what was to come. He set his brush down, regarding her with a rare softness. “Ning’er, the palace’s announcement, you’ve heard of it.” “Yes father.” She kept her voice even. “This is a rare chance,” Ma Hua continued, his tone measured but firm. “To become the crown Prince’s consort is no small honor. It would secure not only your future but our entire household’s standing. Only few families will be considered.” She lowered her eyes, fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. “Father, I… do not wish to enter the palace.” His brows furrowed. “Why not? You are of age, and your beauty rivals even the palace courtesans. You would be favored.” “I don’t want to be favored,” Ning said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to live freely, with you. If I enter the palace, I’ll be bound by rules, buried in layers of etiquette, and hidden behind walls. I won’t be able to see you or our home again… I won’t even be allowed to walk the city streets. Father, that’s not a life, it’s a sentence. A slow death.” Lord Ma Hua looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable beneath the golden wash of candlelight. Finally, he let out a weary sigh. “You are my only child, Ning’er. And it is the duty of a father to secure a good future for his daughter. I only want what’s best for you.” “I know, Father and that is why I love you more than anything,” she said, her voice catching ever so slightly. A few well-placed tears shimmered in her lashes. “But the palace life isn’t for me. Unless you want me dead.” Ma Hua’s shoulders sagged under the weight of her words. He turned his gaze to the candle, watching the flame flicker as though it held an answer. After a long pause, he exhaled again, slower this time. “But the invitation has already arrived. If we refuse to attend, it would be seen as an insult to the emperor.” Ning Hua’s tears vanished like mist in the sun. A mischievous glint lit her eyes as she straightened. “Leave everything to me, father. I’ll make sure to get disqualified.” Ma Hua wasn’t sure if leaving everything to his daughter was the wisest course—but what choice did he have? He had seen the fire in her eyes, the same stubborn flame that had driven her since childhood. She was not a girl who could be caged, not without breaking her spirit. And he could not bear to be the one who clipped her wings. Still, a part of him held onto hope. Perhaps, he thought, when she sees the prince, she might change her mind. Perhaps fate will soften her heart where duty could not. And if she did change her mind… maybe he wouldn’t need to offer any explanations to the emperor after all. He looked at his willful, bright and infuriating daughter, and gave a small, weary smile. “Very well, Ning’er,” he said quietly, the weight of both trust and worry heavy in his voice. “But be careful. Even games played at court have consequences.” “Yes, Father. I’ll keep it in mind,” she said with a smile that was all charm and mischief. Then she bowed deeply, the silk of her robe whispering against the floor. Before he could say anything more, she turned and skidded out of the study, quick as a breeze. Beyond the doorway, lanterns flickered softly in the night wind, casting long shadows on the polished stone. The estate was quiet, but in Ning Hua’s heart, the real game had just begun. ****** Beyond the palace’s polished courtyards, in a secluded military compound on the outskirts of the capital, Mo Yan knelt before a low table. Maps were spread across its surface, their edges curling from wear. His armor, still dusty from the long ride home, lay stacked in the corner, unpolished, a soldier’s gear, not a prince’s ornament. A eunuch entered silently, bowing low. “Your Highness, a decree from His Majesty.” Mo Yan rose and broke the wax seal. The scroll inside was brief, almost too brief. “As you know, there is an upcoming banquet. Your primary duty is to oversee the security of the upcoming Spring Court Banquet. Ensure that no disturbances arise and that all proceedings remain orderly. There is no need to draw attention to yourself or cause alarm among the citizens. Maintain discretion. Further instructions will follow.” Mo Yan said nothing as the messenger bowed and departed. His jaw tightened. Of course he knew about the banquet, an ostentatious display crowded with nobles, scheming ministers, and the Emperor’s precious favorites. It was no place for a soldier. It was a battlefield of silks and smiles, where words cut sharper than swords. “Another leash,” muttered Captain Goa, his second-in-command, standing behind him with arms crossed. “They keep you from the borders, then treat you like a threat inside the capital.” Mo Yan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he folded the decree neatly and slid it into his sleeve with practiced calm. “Prepare the men. They’ll remain outside the city walls, no taverns, no unnecessary movement. I won’t give the court a single excuse to label us as brutes.” Goa’s brow furrowed. “How many do you want for this?” Mo Yan turned to the window, where the palace roofs shimmered beneath the cold light of the moon. The air smelled of politics. “Five,” he said flatly. “No more. We’re not here to be seen, we are here to provide adequate security and nothing more.”