The question hung in the air of the study, heavy as a shroud. Where did you get that? Her father's voice was not the voice of a Duke addressing his daughter. It was the voice of a man confronting a ghost from his past.
Yingluo's mind raced. She could not tell him the truth—that she was a ghost, that she had remembered her mother's tears, that she was guided by a memory that wasn't entirely her own. She had to be the sixteen-year-old girl who was curious, perhaps a little disobedient, but ultimately, innocent.
She clutched the small wooden sparrow, its worn surface smooth against her palm. "I was looking for you, Father," she said, her voice carefully modulated to sound just a little breathless, a little guilty. "The door was ajar. I saw the desk… I've always been curious about this room. I didn't mean to pry."
She held up the sparrow. "I found this hidden drawer. It's beautiful. Who is Lian?"
The Duke's shoulders slumped. The formidable warrior, the unyielding pillar of the Wei clan, seemed to shrink before her eyes. He walked slowly into the room and sank into his high-backed chair, the leather groaning under his weight. He didn't look at her. He looked at the sparrow in her hand as if it were a living thing that had caused him immeasurable pain.
"Lian is a name from a dream," he said, his voice hollow. "A dream that is best forgotten."
"But you carved this for her," Yingluo pressed, her heart aching with a pain that was both old and new. "It must have been an important dream."
"Every dream is important when you are young and believe you can conquer the world," he said, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes were full of a torment so deep it took her breath away. "Yingluo, some nests are built in thorny trees. To keep the chicks safe, sometimes the parent bird must make a terrible choice. It might lure a predator away with a cry, even if it means one of its own is lost."
The metaphor was a dagger. A falcon is not a sparrow. Uncle Qian's words echoed in her mind. The Crown Prince was the falcon. The sparrow… the sparrow was the sacrifice.
"Father," she whispered, the name catching in her throat. "What did you do?"
He stood up and walked to the window, his back to her. "I did what I had to do to protect this family. There was a threat, long before the Third Prince and his mother began their scheming. A threat from the shadows, a poison that would have destroyed us all. I was given a choice. Sacrifice one… or lose everything. I chose to protect my flock."
He turned around, his face a mask of grim resolution. "That is all you need to know. The past is a grave. Do not disturb what is buried there. Your mother understood this sacrifice. It broke her heart, but she understood. Now, I am asking you to understand."
He held out his hand. "Give me the sparrow. Forget you ever saw it. Live your life, be the daughter your mother and I raised you to be. Marry the Third Prince. Secure our family's future. That is your duty."
His words were a command, but they were also a plea. He was not the monster the cook's message had painted. He was a man who had made a devil's bargain and had been living with the consequences ever since. Her rage, which had been so pure and white-hot, was now muddied with a profound and sorrowful pity.
But she also knew she could not obey him. Forgetting was not an option. The past was not a grave; it was a loaded weapon pointed at her family's head. And the man who had loaded it was still out there.
Slowly, she shook her head. "I cannot, Father."
His face hardened. "You defy me?"
"I protect this family," she said, her voice gaining strength. "But not by burying my head in the sand. If there is a poison in the past, it will fester and spread until it kills us all. I will not let that happen."
A long, tense silence stretched between them. They were no longer just father and daughter. They were two leaders, with two different strategies for survival. Finally, he lowered his hand. "Then you walk a dangerous path, Yingluo. More dangerous than you can possibly imagine."
He left the study, the door closing softly behind him, leaving her alone with the wooden sparrow and the terrible weight of his secret.
In the jasmine-scented halls of the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, Wei Ruyan knelt before the Empress, her heart pounding in her chest.
"You see, my dear," the Empress said, her voice deceptively gentle as she sipped her tea, "the Third Prince is a man of ambition. He needs a wife who is an asset, not a liability. Your sister's recent… displays… have made her seem willful and difficult. He finds it… unattractive."
Ruyan's hands clenched in her lap. "But I only did what you suggested, Your Majesty! I tried to undermine her!"
"And you failed," the Empress said, setting her cup down with a sharp click. "You made yourself look foolish and made her look clever. That is not what I wanted." She leaned forward, her eyes like chips of ice. "The Prince is disappointed. He confided in me that he finds your sister's new strength… intriguing. He said a fire in a woman is exciting, but only if it can be controlled."
Jealousy, hot and bitter, surged through Ruyan. Intriguing? Exciting? He was supposed to find her, Ruyan, gentle and comforting!
"What must I do, Your Majesty?" she asked, her voice trembling with desperation.
"The Lantern Festival is in a few days," the Empress said, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her face. "All the noble families will be at the imperial banquet. You will find a way to publicly humiliate your sister. Not with poison or petty tricks, but with words. Hint at a scandal. A secret admirer. Anything to tarnish her reputation and make her seem unsuitable. Do this, and the Prince will see you as the loyal, obedient one. He will come to you for comfort. Do you understand?"
Ruyan nodded, her eyes burning with renewed hatred. "I understand, Your Majesty."
Far from the palace, in the lavish Wuning Manor, Shen Miao was having a similar conversation with her father, the Marquis. He was a portly man with a shrewd gaze and a mind that was as sharp as any sword.
"The girl from the Wei family," the Marquis said, stroking his long beard. "You say she was not intimidated by you?"
"Father, she was… formidable," Shen Miao admitted, a grudging respect in her voice. "She used her father's name like a shield and a sword. She is not the timid flower the court gossips make her out to be."
The Marquis nodded slowly. "Interesting. The Wei family has been a sleeping giant for years. The Duke is loyal but politically lazy. It seems his daughter has woken up." He paused, thinking. "A cornered fox is more dangerous than a wolf. The Third Prince and the Empress are circling the Wei clan. If the girl is as clever as you say, she will not go down quietly."
"So what should we do? Align with the Third Prince?" Shen Miao asked.
"No," the Marquis said firmly. "Never bet on a race that is already fixed. We watch. And we wait. Perhaps it is time to extend a small, polite gesture of friendship to the fox. A sparrow in the hand is worth more than a falcon in the sky, especially when the falcon is wounded." He was referring, of course, to the Crown Prince.
That night, as Yingluo sat in her room, the white Go stone in one hand and the wooden sparrow in the other, a maid arrived with a small, silver tray. On it was not a note, but a single, exquisitely crafted invitation, written in elegant calligraphy on pale yellow paper.
It was an invitation to a private poetry gathering to be held at the Marquis of Wuning's estate in three days' time. It was addressed only to her.
It was signed, simply, Shen Miao.
Yingluo stared at the invitation. It was a move from a completely unexpected direction. An offer of friendship? Or a new kind of trap, laid by a clan that had mastered the art of neutrality? She was a ghost, a prisoner, a player in a game with the Crown Prince and the Third Prince. And now, it seemed, the entire court was watching, waiting to see which side she would choose.