Former Matriarch's Chamber — Midnight, Within the Dream
Darkness curled like a serpent across an endless void.
Chains clinked, faint as dying wind chimes.
Yuerou stood barefoot upon a dais of black obsidian. Her arms were shackled in soulsteel cuffs, cold and humming with ancient suppression runes. Her once-immaculate robes hung in tatters, soaked in ash and crimson. Blood-laced snow drifted from above, melting instantly upon her skin—leaving no warmth. Only memory.
Before her loomed a throne of glacial jade.
Seated upon it was the Empress.
Her face was veiled in translucent light, her expression unreadable. Frost rimmed her eyelashes like fine crystal. A crown of ice and moonsteel rested on her brow, sharp as thorns. Her beauty was divine—untouchable—but her gaze held a chill born not of cruelty, but of fear.
To her right stood a woman clad in shadow-forged armor—Lady Feng, Commander of the Shadow Guard. A crimson blade crossed her back, and though she spoke no words, her aura screamed of blood and discipline.
The throne hall brimmed with nobles, ministers, and court officials. Their silks shimmered. Their smiles gleamed.
But beneath the courtesies—only venom.
A voice rang out—clear, cold, imperial.
> "Do you acknowledge your crimes, Yuerou of the Northwatch Legion?"
Not cruel. Not merciful. Only final.
Yuerou did not lower her head. Her bruised and lashed spine remained straight as a drawn blade.
> "I do not," she said, her voice calm, seething with anger. "I have never practiced demonic arts."
Gasps. Whispers. Silk-clothed gnats buzzing through air heavy with fear.
The Empress raised one hand. Silence fell.
> "And yet," she said flatly, "beneath your estate were found blood sigils, sacrificial remains, the half-devoured corpses of children. Your maid confessed you practiced demonic arts."
Yuerou's jaw clenched.
> "I returned from the border campaign yesterday. I led the vanguard that shattered the Southern Alliance. I haven't even stepped into my manor!" she snapped, fury cutting through the frost.
More gasps. But no voice rose in her defense.
None dared.
The Empress's gaze turned glacial.
> "The evidence and testimony are clear. The punishment for demonic cultivation is death. But... for your service, I grant exile. You will be sealed and cast into the Frozen Bell Tower. There you shall remain—for eternity."
A breathless silence.
Then—
A voice from the crowd: sharp, venomous.
> "No! She deserves execution!"
From the Zhu Clan—the very ones who orchestrated her fall.
> "She slaughtered children and men alike to cultivate demonic arts!"
> "She commands too much loyalty—too much power!"
> "She'll escape—or return with an army!"
> "Exile is a risk to the throne!"
The Empress remained still.
> "I have spoken."
Yuerou's breath caught. Her eyes turned to the Zhu noble who had shouted—disgust flashing in her gaze.
She saw it now. The Empress didn't believe the charges either.
This wasn't about guilt. It was about fear.
Fear of loyalty grown too vast.
Of a legacy that cast too long a shadow.
Yuerou lowered her eyes—not in submission, but in calculation.
> So. They mean to bury me beneath ice.
Then let them try.
Even frost can crack.
The Empress gave a final command:
> "Lady Feng. Take her to the prison. Tomorrow, she enters the Frozen Bell Tower."
---
Later That Night — Inner Palace Prison, South Wing
Lifeless stone. No windows. No warmth. Just talismans pulsing faintly on every surface—sealing her qi, her voice, her spirit.
Yuerou sat on a hard slab, knees drawn in. Her wrists bore the red marks of soulsteel. The scar beneath her ribs throbbed with a familiar ache. She traced it gently.
Not remembering.
Preparing.
Outside, two guards murmured.
> "She's still awake…"
> "Even sealed, she gives me chills."
Then—
A flicker in the air.
A shift.
Thud.
Thud.
No cry. No struggle. Just silence.
A shadow stepped into the corridor.
Yuerou's eyes snapped open, narrowed.
She rose, breath held.
The figure drew closer—then pulled back her mask.
Familiar.
Battle-worn.
Hair tied in the military knot of the border legions.
> "Lianhua," Yuerou whispered. "You shouldn't be here."
Zhen Lianhua gave a weary smile.
> "Too late, General. I came to break you out."
Yuerou's hands trembled.
> "If the Empress finds out—"
> "She will," Lianhua said, calm. "And I'll be branded a traitor. Doesn't change anything."
She placed a small vial into Yuerou's hand. Violet qi shimmered like captured lightning.
> "Drink. It'll bypass the seal—for one day. Enough to run."
Yuerou hesitated.
> "Is this—?"
> "Spiritual bypass. Temporary."
She drank.
The sigils cracked. A soundless pulse spread through the walls.
Alarms awakened.
Gold light flared from cracks in the prison's structure.
> "They're coming," Lianhua said, drawing twin sabers. "East Gate. We leave now. Once past the city, we hide in the Snow Mountains."
Yuerou nodded.
She didn't argue.
It was already too late for caution.
---
Eastern Gate — Fifteen Minutes Later
The Eastern Gate loomed beneath silver moonlight, its ancient arch sealed above with runes of the Imperial Court. The lower path—once meant only for the public—was open.
But now, it was guarded.
Ten imperial elites stood in a crescent formation, weapons drawn, eyes sharp. Qi crackled faintly around them.
At their head stood Commander Si Ye—a towering figure encased in midnight-black armor, eyes colder than frost.
He stepped forward, his voice a blade drawn in silence.
> "You cannot escape, General Yuerou."
Then, his gaze turned toward the young woman beside her.
> "And you, Zhen Lianhua… Treason."
Without warning, he lifted one hand.
> "Surround them. Don't let them flee before reinforcements arrive."
The imperial guards surged, weapons gleaming beneath the moon.
Zhen Lianhua stepped in front of Yuerou, drawing twin sabers in one fluid motion. Her eyes burned with violet defiance.
Yuerou straightened despite the pain in her limbs, her soul still raw from the dreamscape and her injuries.
Back-to-back, they stood—warriors born of different storms, yet bound by one purpose.
Si Ye raised his long spear, its runes glowing faintly as it pointed skyward. His voice rang like the toll of a funeral bell.
> "Attack."
---
End of Chapter 29
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