The gates had closed.
But the city did not breathe.
The Southern Prayer Procession was over, yet its remnants remained — not just in smoke and ruin, but in something deeper. Something quieter. Like the pause after a blade slips into flesh, and before the scream.
No one said her name aloud.
But all knew.
The red-veiled woman who stood among the smoke. The consort who had vanished. The mother of Wu Kang.
And somehow — she had been part of the ritual.
Or worse: she had chosen to be.
Eastern Palace
He did not move for hours.
He stared at the same note again and again, though he had long memorized it.
Confirmed: Lady Consort Xian. Shrine name spoken. Body unaccounted for. No official witness. Southern gate activation deemed successful.
He hadn't felt the ceremony. He had seen it. Her. Standing behind Wu An. Her face neither dead nor alive. Her name whispered into incense.
He smashed the lacquer box holding the report.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" he asked.
Taian stood beside the curtain, arms crossed.
"The whole court did."
"Not her name. Her face."
Taian looked down, uncharacteristically quiet.
"She looked at me," Wu Kang said, voice low. "She looked straight at me through the fire."
"You think he planned it?"
"He didn't have to. He let it happen."
He drained his wine in one swallow and set the cup down with shaking fingers.
"And now? Now they call it a miracle."
Wu An's Estate – The Garden Shrine
I had not left the shrine since the procession ended.
The brazier that once held the offering now sat cold, but not empty.
The ashes glimmered faintly, as though still remembering the flames. I did not touch them. I didn't need to.
I could feel it inside my bones.
A shift. Something entering.
Not a spirit. Not a ghost.
Something deeper.
Like a memory that wasn't mine.
Shen Yue arrived just past dawn, stepping quietly across the stones.
"There are whispers," she said.
"Let them whisper."
"Some say the woman in red wasn't real. Some say she was your aunt, sacrificed in secret. Others think she's a spirit. A guardian. A warning."
"And what do you think?"
She watched the ash.
"I think you didn't kill her."
"But I used her."
"You didn't say her name."
"No."
She looked up at me. "Then who did?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was—I didn't know.
But someone did.
Later, I found a folded paper tucked inside my robe.
I didn't remember placing it there.
It bore no seal. No name.
Just a curl of silver hair inside.
And a message:
"She was already burning."
Hall of Harmony
The next morning, the court assembled under strained silence.
No festival banners. No praise for the ritual. Only dread.
The Lord Protector presided, as always.
The Emperor sat pale and ornamental, like a figure on a forgotten coin.
Wu Jin, silent.
Minister Shen Yuan, furious.
"There are irregularities," Shen Yuan barked. "The incense bowls bled. The bells shattered. And a name unsanctioned by the Ritual Office was summoned in open fire."
"The gods accepted it," I said.
"You think yourself a priest now?"
"No. But they listened. That's more than we can say for you."
He fumed. "You desecrated the shrine!"
Wu Jin's voice was soft but clear.
"He did what we could not. The rites were silent for thirty years. They answered him."
Murmurs ran through the chamber. For once, the silent brother had spoken.
The Lord Protector looked at me carefully.
"Do you claim responsibility for the sacrifice?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"I don't know."
A half-truth. But enough.
"And yet, you benefited," Shen Yuan growled.
"So did the Empire," I said. "The southern gate opened. For the first time in a generation, the people believe."
No one responded.
Because they knew it was true.
And that made it worse.
Eastern Palace
He lit the offering bowl again.
This time with wine, not incense.
The flame curled green.
"He made them love him," he whispered. "With her. With my mother."
Taian said nothing.
"I want names. I want the shrine keeper. The head monk. I want to know who stood nearest the flame when it changed."
"And if they don't talk?"
"Then I'll burn their tongues out and weigh the ashes."
A pause.
"You're not thinking clearly."
"No," Wu Kang said, eyes shining. "I'm thinking clearly for the first time in years."
Southern Shrines
The priests had left.
But the shrine was not empty.
I knelt by the shattered bell and listened.
No wind.
No birds.
Only silence.
Then—
A crack.
A groan.
The ground shifted, not in tremor, but like someone adjusting beneath stone.
The voice was not language. It was memory shaped like sound.
"You saw her."
"I didn't summon her."
"No. But she answered anyway."
"Why?"
"Because you were ready."
The shadows deepened. The light bent slightly around the altar.
I stood slowly.
"What am I ready for?"
The voice did not answer.
But the brazier pulsed once — and from within, a single red thread rose like steam, curled in the air, and vanished.
A meeting was held.
Quiet. Unrecorded. Three attendees.
Wu Jin.
The Lord Protector.
And Shen Yuan.
They argued in tight, clipped tones. I saw them from the window. But they did not see me.
They plotted.
One more trial.
One more summons.
And if I failed this time—they would strike together.
But I was no longer waiting for their permission.
Because now the people watched me like a priest.
And something older watched me like a vessel.