Two Days Before the Festival – The Court of Petitions
Minister Shen Yuan did not enter like a man making a request.
He entered like a man settling a debt.
Robes of black-banded ivory. Hair swept high and fixed with prayer-iron.
No smile. No bow. Just presence.
"The flame vessels," he said, placing the wrapped brass bowl before the Grand Council, "are impure."
The room stilled.
"Etched clockwise. A sacrilege. The flames would rise wrong, unbound. A shadow-flame. If this Procession is allowed to proceed… it will shame the Empire."
He glanced not at the Emperor, nor the Lord Protector.
He looked only at me.
And for the first time in months, I felt cold despite the incense.
Wu Jin rose from the second row.
"Then we will replace the bowls," he said. "Unless, of course, all of them have been corrupted. Minister Shen, do you mean to suggest sabotage?"
A thread of tension cut the room. Several ministers inhaled sharply.
Shen Yuan did not blink.
"I suggest that power is never content to stay still. It reshapes the very tools it is given — even those too sacred to bend."
He bowed only to the Lord Protector and withdrew.
He had lost this round.
But he had not fought to win.
He had fought to signal.
Eastern Palace – Later That Night
Wu Kang paced in silence. His hand clenched around a string of prayer beads — not in devotion, but in focus.
"He's trying to turn the Festival into a ritual coronation," he said.
Wu Taian lay half-draped over a lacquer bench, sipping wine.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone claimed Heaven's favor through incense and fire."
Wu Kang's eyes flicked to the window.
"This can't be allowed to stand."
He leaned in close.
"I've sent word to Father Shen. He'll try again."
"And if he fails?"
"Then we escalate. Rumors of shrine heresy. Ties to Dongxia. Misuse of religious silver. Let him pray — and let the gods refuse to answer."
Taian's smile was almost gentle.
"Or let them answer the wrong way."
Wu An's Estate
Shen Yue stood in the map room, sleeves pushed back, fingers blackened with seal ink.
"My father is preparing something," she said. "He has already replaced three shrine wardens along the Procession path."
"Loyal to him?"
"Fanatics. They believe the rites have been stolen."
I unrolled the scroll she handed me.
"Can they be bought?"
"No."
"Turned?"
"Not in time."
I looked at her — truly looked at her.
She had not flinched once since the Festival was announced. And yet, her hands now trembled slightly.
"He raised me among prayer wheels and knives," she said, voice flat. "He believes the gods themselves are political allies. Be careful, Wu An. He is not done."
Elsewhere – A Tea House Beyond the Western Gate
Wu Jin sat across from a pale official in mourning robes. The teacups between them were untouched.
"I was told your brother seeks divine legitimacy," the official said. "You plan to support him?"
Wu Jin smiled faintly.
"I plan to be useful to him."
"You risk being branded."
"Only if it fails."
He pulled a scroll from his sleeve — old, cracked, bound in copper thread.
"The southern rites are no longer about prayer. They are about memory. And the things memory refuses to forget."
He left before the tea cooled.
Longevity Palace – Dusk
Wu Ling stood alone in her meditation hall. Her fingers hovered over a copper mask of grief, but did not touch it.
"They all burn in their own ways," she murmured.
A servant approached and knelt.
"Your Highness, the Festival begins at dawn. Shall we make preparations to attend?"
"No. I will not walk with them."
"But the Empress's presence—"
"Would cast too clear a shadow."
She turned. The masks seemed to shift behind her, though none had moved.
"I want to watch them dance in ash. I want to see which one breathes first."
Wu An's Chambers – The Night Before
The city murmured with lanterns. Petals and papers drifted like ghosts through the streets.
I reviewed the scrolls in silence. Shen Yue stood behind me.
"The saboteurs have been dealt with," she said. "Quietly."
"My thanks."
"You don't owe me thanks. Not yet."
She laid a copper token on the table — the seal of the Procession's lead officiant.
"He refused. My father's man."
"And now?"
"He sleeps."
No further words were exchanged.
Dawn – Southern Gate of the Procession
The shrine bells tolled.
The torches were lit in perfect sequence.
The First Flame Bowl shimmered with purifying oil.
Officials lined the avenue — civil and military, noble and merchant, old and young.
The people waited.
They looked not toward the Emperor.
They looked for me.
And the first step of the Southern Prayer Procession began.