The snow fell in silence—thick, slow, and merciless—like white ash settling upon the bones of the fallen.
Li Xueyan stood in the center of the Celestial Court Pavilion, the ceremonial hall once meant to honor the heroes of the empire. Today, it felt like a tomb. A cruel joke. Her boots, once bright with the crimson of battle banners, were now darkened with frozen mud. Her armor had long been stripped from her body. In its place, she wore the soft silk robes of a concubine—threaded with gold, but soaked in disgrace.
She did not bow.
Before her sat the Emperor, Zhaoxuan, dressed in imperial jade and draped in silence. To his right, the Empress, Xie Yuyan, fanned herself as if the biting winter chill dared not touch her. Around them stood the court—ministers, generals, concubines—all watching with barely disguised glee or dread.
"I gave you everything." The emperor's voice was low, but sharp enough to crack stone. "Rank, honor, name. And this is how you repay me?"
Xueyan did not blink. Her gaze, as steady and cold as the snow on the palace roofs, met his.
"You gave me a collar," she said. "And when I refused to bark, you cast me out."
A collective inhale swept the court. The Empress's fingers tightened around her fan. The First Minister, Lu Wenji, leaned forward with a pleased smirk, fingers twitching with false innocence.
Zhaoxuan rose from his seat, golden robes brushing the floor like a tide of judgment.
"You are accused of conspiring with northern barbarians. Of hiding classified military scrolls. Of murdering a palace maid who witnessed your treachery."
Lies.
She had been on the frontlines when the accusations were whispered into his ears like poison. While her blade defended the border, others sharpened theirs in her absence.
"You know I did none of these things," she said.
"I know only that the people must see justice," Zhaoxuan said.
"You mean, they must see blood," she said softly.
The Empress lowered her fan and stood. "Such boldness. Even now, you wear insolence like a crown."
"I once wore honor," Xueyan replied, her voice never rising. "But you tore it from me the day you made me kneel in your bedchamber instead of the battlefield."
That struck like thunder.
Gasps echoed. Whispers began—concubines shrinking behind silk sleeves, ministers exchanging wary glances. Only Consort Ji Wenhua, her rival in the harem, allowed herself a cruel smile.
"Silence her," the Empress snapped. "Now."
But the Emperor only raised his hand. Not in defense. In dismissal.
"Let her speak. One last time."
Xueyan stepped forward. Her limbs ached from poison that had been slipped into her tea. Her spirit stung from betrayal. But her eyes, dark as storm clouds, still burned.
"I once believed in loyalty," she said, speaking not just to the throne but to the room, to the world beyond the gilded walls. "I believed in the empire. I believed in you, Your Majesty. I would've died for this land."
"You still might," Minister Lu Wenji murmured under his breath.
"But now I know," Xueyan continued, "that empires are built not on righteousness, but on fear. And that even the brightest fire can be buried under snow."
The Emperor's face hardened. "Enough. You are hereby stripped of all titles and honors. Banished from the capital. You will be escorted to the Frozen Vale, where you will live out your days in exile. Should you ever step foot in the capital again…"
He did not finish.
He didn't need to.
They gave her no time to change. No time to write a final letter. Just cold iron manacles and an escort of eight silent guards in black armor. Her sword, Red Fang, had been seized months ago. Now, all she carried was her name—and even that was to be buried.
As she passed through the Dragon Gate, snow falling in veils, Tao Rushi, her old strategist hidden among the servants, bowed low without words. Their eyes met briefly.
Live, he mouthed.
And she would.
Even if it meant dying first.
❄️ Three Days Later — The Frozen Vale
The wind screamed.
She had not spoken since the exile began. The guards didn't offer water. The cold bit into her bones like knives. And yet she stood, still and tall, even as her knees wavered. They left her there, at the edge of the valley, and turned back without looking.
No shelter. No food. No grave marker.
Just snow.
She walked for hours, perhaps days. Time blurred. Her fingers turned blue. Her heartbeat slowed. The world dimmed like an old lantern sputtering.
She collapsed near a jagged mountain rock, where no grass grew. Her blood, warm at first, stained the snow with petals of red.
Was this it?
Was this the end of Li Xueyan?
Perhaps. But even in that silence—something stirred.
A whisper. Ancient. Feminine. Dark.
"Do you wish to live… even if it means becoming something more than human?"
Her lips did not move. Her body could not rise. But her mind… screamed.
YES.
The earth cracked beneath her. A black shadow coiled out of the ice, wrapping around her limbs. Her breath returned—ragged, fevered, burning. Her heart pounded like a war drum. The pain she had buried, the humiliation, the betrayal—it did not fade. It ignited.
"Then feed me your sorrow, and I shall give you strength."
When her eyes opened again, they were not the same.
They glowed faintly with violet fire.
And somewhere deep within her soul, a new name echoed: Ye Qingran.
The snow had not buried her.
It had baptized her.