The Jade Phoenix

Causing A Scene

The great hall of the Wang Dynasty glowed with gold and vermilion, yet the air inside was anything but warm. Rows of ministers in their formal robes stood at attention, their heads bowed low as the Emperor sat on his dragon throne, impassive as stone.

“Your Majesty,” the Finance Minister stepped forward, his voice heavy with concern. “The southern provinces have suffered catastrophic floods. Thousands are displaced. We urgently require funds to provide grain and rebuild the dikes, or there will be famine within the month.” Murmurs rippled through the ranks.

Before the Emperor could respond, the Minister of War stepped out, his expression sharp. “Your Majesty, while disaster relief is important, there is a more pressing matter, General Mo Yan has returned to the capital.”

At the name, the room shifted. Eyes darted toward one another, lips tightened. The Emperor’s fingers tapped against the armrest once before stilling.

“He has served his duty,” the Emperor said flatly. “What of it?”

The Minister of War bowed low but pressed on. “Your Majesty, while the Prince’s victories cannot be denied, his reputation precedes him. The people speak of him not as a prince but as a blood-soaked warhound. If he remains in the capital too long, I am afraid dangerous whispers would start flying around which can cause unrest. Some soldiers loyal to him may start entertaining thoughts of rebellion.”

Another minister quickly stepped forward, bowing low. “Indeed, Your Majesty. For the stability of the realm, it would be wise to dispatch the General to the Eastern border without delay. His continued presence in the capital may... disrupt the harmony of the court.”

A faint cold smile, laced with something bitter flickered across the Emperor’s lips, though it vanished as swiftly as it came.

“General Mo Yan will receive his orders,” the Emperor said curtly. “The capital has no need for men who bring storms in their wake.”

A ripple of murmured agreement swept through the court. Tension loosened like a held breath released. With that declaration, the conversation shifted. One by one, the ministers began offering reports on minor matters, grain taxes, river disputes, ceremonial budgets. Irrelevant distractions.

******

At the grand Hua estate, the atmosphere was alive with frantic energy—buzzing like a disturbed hive. Servants darted between chambers, arms laden with embroidered robes, lacquered boxes of jewelry, and stacked trays of fine cosmetics. Attendants called over one another, voices rising in an organized panic as they tried to meet the impossible demands of perfection. And in the center of it all sat Ning Hua.

Perched on a cushioned stool before an ornate vanity, she looked more like a general awaiting battle than a debutante preparing for court. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her expression sharp with irritation rather than excitement.

“Miss, this silk gown is custom-made! You must wear it,” her maid pleaded, holding up a shimmering lavender dress.

“I want the pale green one,” Ning said flatly, not even looking up.

The maid blinked, confused. “The green one? But it wrinkles easily, the embroidery is uneven, and it doesn’t even flatter your figure!”

“Exactly,” Ning replied, rising to her feet with deliberate poise. “It’s perfect.”

“But… don’t you want to impress the Crown Prince?”

“No,” Ning said simply, brushing past her. “I want him to take one look at me and cross my name off his list.”

The maid stood frozen, silk gown still in hand, as Ning looked at her reflection in the mirror, a rebellious glint in her eye.

By the time they reached the palace banquet, every other young lady glittered like a peony in full bloom, hair pinned high with pearls, gowns rich enough to blind the eye. Ning, who arrived late was easily spotted, though naturally elegant, she deliberately left her hair in a loose braid, her robe was slightly crooked, and her fan plain.

As they stepped into the outer courtyard, Chu Meng quickly grabbed Ning’s arm and pulled her aside, eyes wide with urgency.

“Ning’er! What is wrong with you? That robe and even your fan looks like it came from a roadside stall!”

Ning merely shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t want to look desperate like the others,” she said smoothly, glancing toward the sea of glittering gowns with a faint smile.

But Chu Meng frowned, catching the slight edge in her friend’s tone. She opened her mouth to press further, but Ning had already turned, her chin lifted, posture effortlessly composed.

In truth, Ning Hua wasn’t afraid of looking desperate. She didn’t want anyone to know the truth, that she didn’t want to be chosen at all. That beneath her calm exterior, the very idea of being confined in the palace made her feel like she was suffocating. She knew exactly how to stand out, for all the wrong reasons.

Inside the grand hall, the crown Prince sat beside the Emperor, smiling gently at each girl who presented herself. One by one, they curtsied with perfect poise, offering verses, paintings, and music.

When Ning’s turn came, she stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her hem. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“I—uh—I don’t have a poem,” Ning Hua blurted, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I can’t paint. I can’t play the guqin either.”

A hush fell over the hall, followed swiftly by a swell of whispers, like wind stirring restless leaves. Some of the noble ladies stifled laughter behind jeweled fans, their eyes gleaming with smug delight.

The Emperor’s gaze narrowed, his fingers tightening slightly on the armrest of his throne.

But the Crown Prince… he didn’t frown.

Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. Amusement flickered in his dark eyes, followed closely by something close to curiosity.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Ning bowed, more stiffly than gracefully, her hands clammy, heart pounding beneath layers of silk.

The banquet buzzed around her: soft laughter, poetry recitations, the faint plucking of guqin strings. But she barely heard any of it. The longer she stood there, the more suffocated she felt beneath the weight of polished stares and painted smiles.

She had succeeded in making herself forgettable—but that wasn’t enough. Not yet.

If she truly wanted to disqualify herself, she'd have to break more than tradition—she’d have to break the illusion that she even cared.

While the others chatted, Ning edged toward the side of the hall, feigning calm. Chu Meng gave her a sharp glance, mouthing something she ignored.

She could already hear her father's sigh in her head, but even that wasn’t enough to stop her.

“Please excuse me. I must… step out for a moment,” she said at last, not waiting for permission. Her voice was too quiet to draw real attention, and just firm enough to signal she wasn’t returning anytime soon.

She slipped past the silken curtains and into the cool, quieter corridors of the palace.

*****

Originally told to remain unseen, Prince Mo Yan had no intention of setting foot into the palace. He was a sword in the dark, not a figure meant to grace golden halls. The Emperor had made that clear more times than he could count.

So when a second summons arrived, contradicting the first, he was more than a little surprised.

It called for his presence on the very day of the Spring Court Banquet, an event he had every intention of avoiding.

He frowned at the imperial seal pressed into the parchment, his fingers tightening around the message.

Was this a trap… or a test?

Mo Yan would’ve preferred the battlefield. At least there, enemies were clear and blood spoke louder than whispers. But duty was duty, and he followed orders, however strange or inconvenient.

Cloaked in black, he slipped through the palace’s quieter passages, a shadow passing through candlelight, unseen by the painted faces and jeweled guests gathered beyond the grand doors.

What he didn’t know yet was that his quiet life was about to be disrupted… by one very loud, defiant girl in pale green silk and the most ill-fitting braid he had ever seen.

The corridors here was far from the banquet hall’s glitter and gossip. Lanterns cast soft golden pools across the stone floor, flickering gently with the night breeze. Ning exhaled, finally able to breathe.

'At least I’m away from all those judging eyes,' she thought, just as she turned a corner and slammed hard into someone.

She stumbled back, clutching her sleeve. “Watch where you—!” she began, snapping instinctively, then froze mid-sentence.

A tall man stood before her, dressed in a plain, dark tunic that clung to a broad, well-built frame. His hair was tied into a tight, practical bun, held in place by the most unremarkable zan she had ever seen, not jade, or gold, not even lacquered wood. Just bare steel. There were no adornments, no insignia. Definitely not nobility. Maybe a worker. A hired hand. Someone who’d finished an errand and wandered too far.

His eyes, however, unsettled her, they were shadowed, sharp, and far too observant. They flicked over her in a way that wasn’t improper, but disarming, as though he were already memorizing her weaknesses. He didn’t bow or speak. He simply watched. There was something about him that felt dangerous.

Ning immediately took a step back, her glare fierce. “Are you trying to frighten a harmless girl, dressed like that and jumping out from nowhere? This is the women’s corridor, you riff raff!”

She crossed her arms tightly, refusing to let her voice tremble. If he tried anything, she told herself, she would scream and attract the palace guards in a heartbeat.

The man raised a brow. “Riff raff?” Mo Yan had been called many things in his life, monster, brute, shadow, but never had someone looked him straight in the eye and tossed riff raff at him like it was a curse.

“Don’t act innocent!” Ning snapped, pointing an accusing finger. “You’re clearly loitering where you don’t belong. Apologize. Immediately.”

He stared at her, expression unreadable, as if she’d just declared war on the wind. Then, with maddening calm, he said, “No.”

Ning reeled. “No? You dare refuse? Who exactly do you think you are?”

“Someone who hasn’t done anything wrong,” he replied, voice even, eyes sharp. “Maybe if you watched where you were going, you wouldn’t go crashing into strangers.”

He stepped past her as though she were an obstacle, not a person. “Some people,” he added over his shoulder, “would walk into a lamp post if it weren’t nailed down.”

Ning’s jaw dropped, her outrage boiling over. “How dare you—! Stop right there!”

He didn’t stop.

“Stop right there!” Ning’s voice carried down the corridor, sharp as a whip as she hurried after the tall man, her silk slippers pattering against the stone floor. “You can’t just bump into me and walk away without apologizing!”

He kept walking, unhurried, his broad back giving no sign he had even heard her. That only infuriated her more.

“Are you deaf?” she snapped, catching up to him and stepping directly in his path. “I said, apologize.”

Dark eyes met hers briefly, then slid past. “Move.”

She blinked, scandalized. “Move? That’s your response? Do you know who I am?”

“No.” His tone was flat, almost bored.

“One word from me and you will be locked away forever!” she declared, hands on her hips. “If you don’t apologize properly, you’ll regret it.”

He finally stopped. A faint crease appeared between his brows as he studied her. “Regret it? You?”

“Yes, me!” Ning said, squaring her shoulders. “I may not look like much right now, but I come from a powerful family, and I will have justice.”

Mo Yan tilted his head, unimpressed. “Justice for bumping into someone?”

“For being insulted and dismissed like a common servant!” she snapped.

A beat of silence. Then he exhaled, clearly deciding she was not worth the trouble. “Fine. Sorry. Now back off.”

Ning narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t even heartfelt. Say it like you mean it.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Well, make time,” she shot back, standing her ground. “Say it properly.”

For the first time, he looked almost entertained. Dangerous, but entertained. This girl…

A distant echo of music drifted from the banquet hall, reminding him where he was, and who might overhear if she raised her voice any louder. The last thing he needed was unnecessary attention or rumors that could spoil the Emperor’s mood.

He lowered his head slightly, his voice even “Very well, I apologize, sincerely, miss.”

Ning blinked, surprised by his sudden compliance, then gave a satisfied little nod. “That’s better. See? Was that so hard?”

He didn’t answer. He simply stepped around her and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, leaving her frowning after him.

Strange man. He didn’t even ask for my name. Most people always do.

Mo Yan followed the eunuch who was waiting for him through a series of narrow palace corridors. Lamplight dimmed with each turn, until the lively music and laughter of the banquet faded entirely. They stopped before a plain wooden door.

“Your Highness, please wait here,” the eunuch said, bowing. “His Majesty is… occupied with court affairs and will see you shortly.”

Mo Yan glanced at the unmarked door, then stepped inside, it was windowless and isolated. He simply nodded once and sat inside cross legged on the cold floor.

The room was nearly bare: a single low table, two chairs and only one lantern burning weakly in the corner. The air smelled faintly of dust and ink.

He closed the door behind him and the latch clicked softly.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. He could imagine the banquet still roaring in the distance: laughter, the clinking of cups, the Emperor smiling at everyone. Mo Yan sat alone, invisible, as always.

Ning swept back into the banquet hall with a bright, careless laugh, her fan snapping open as she rejoined her circle of friends. They hissed her name in alarm. “Where have you been? The Emperor noticed your absence!” but she waved them off with mock innocence.

The crown Prince, Zhuge Yan, was speaking to the assembly with measured grace. “…and as the heir, I will do my utmost to—”

“What do you think His Highness likes to eat?” Ning called out suddenly, her voice carrying across the grand hall as she tilted her head in mock curiosity.

Gasps echoed from every corner. Fans fluttered. Conversations halted mid-sentence.

Zhuge Yan paused, one brow lifting in amusement, though a polite smile masked most of it. “Pardon?”

“I mean,” Ning went on, louder this time, “if the Crown Prince is going to choose a wife, shouldn’t he at least tell us his favorite dishes? That way we’ll know what to cook for him. Seems only fair.”

A sharp voice cut through the tension. “The royals don’t prepare meals themselves,” one of the girls snapped, her patience worn thin. “There are servants for that. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh, of course,” Ning said, eyes wide in faux apology. “Silly me, I wasn't thinking, please forgive my ignorance.”

Several young ladies covered their faces in horror. Ministers exchanged sharp looks. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed to slits.

Yet Zhuge Yan’s gaze lingered on her. “An… unusual question.”

“Oh, forgive me!” Ning clasped her hands dramatically. “I didn’t interrupt anything did I? Please, ignore me next time.”

Moments later, as another girl performed a graceful dance, Ning leaned back in her chair and yawned loudly. “She’s very good, but wouldn’t this be more fun with music that’s faster?”

Her companions were mortified. Those seated nearest to her began inching away, as if afraid her recklessness might taint their prospects by association. It was now painfully clear to everyone. Ning Hua was sabotaging herself on purpose. And not subtly, either. This wasn’t the quiet retreat of a lady uninterested in marriage. This was a spectacle. If she was so desperate to be disqualified, why not do it with grace? Why disgrace herself in front of the entire court?

By the time wine was served, Ning took a single sip, then proceeded to act as though she were tipsy. She giggled too loudly, tapped her cup on the table for refills she didn’t need, and spoke to anyone who would listen.

When Chu Meng tried to shush her, Ning widened her eyes innocently. “Oh dear, am I speaking too loudly? My apologies, I just can’t help myself.”

Whispers slithered through the hall. “She’s shameless.”

“Unfit for the palace.”

“Lord Ma Hua’s daughter has no discipline.”

The Emperor’s lips thinned with disapproval. But Zhuge Yan… watched her with growing fascination.

She’s either a fool, he thought, or very clever.