The palace was cloaked in a soft silence, broken only by the occasional echo of distant footsteps on stone. Moonlight filtered gently through the latticed windows of the inner royal chambers, casting elongated shadows along the marbled floor.
King Xuan sat alone in his private study, the heavy scent of sandalwood curling from the incense burner on his desk. A low flame flickered inside a lantern by his side, its dim glow throwing a golden hue across his aging features. But the king's eyes were not tired with age—they were awake, alert, troubled.
He hadn't slept.
His thoughts had circled around Mo Shan Shan ever since she left his presence earlier that day. Her face. Her eyes. Her composure. There was something hauntingly familiar about her that he could not ignore. Something that stirred a buried memory.
As if summoned by the gravity of his thoughts, a knock came at the door.
"Enter," the king said, his voice calm but expectant.
The door opened with a soft creak. A middle-aged eunuch stepped into the room and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," he said with respect, "I have returned with the information you requested… about the girl, Mo Shan Shan."
The king nodded slowly. "Speak."
The eunuch hesitated for a brief moment. "She is… not who she appears to be."
The king's eyes narrowed.
The eunuch continued carefully. "She is not just an ordinary maid taken into service. Mo Shan Shan… is the daughter of Warlord Mo Jian."
The room fell into a tense silence.
King Xuan's fingers froze on the edge of his writing brush. He slowly leaned back, the name reverberating like thunder in his mind.
Mo Jian.
The warlord of the rebellious northern city of Kuang Zhou.
He had once been a formidable force in the empire's northern regions—a fierce and brilliant commander who ruled his territory with both compassion and iron. Years ago, when the empire feared losing its hold on the region, King Xuan—then a much younger ruler—had ordered a brutal campaign to suppress the looming threat of rebellion.
Mo Jian had died in that campaign, cut down in battle during a siege that turned the city into ashes. His wife, Lady Qing Lan, had reportedly died a few years later in obscurity, refusing to surrender or bow to the royal court.
"She was only a child when the city fell," the eunuch went on. "The records of the survivors were sparse. Some children were taken as war slaves… Some were hidden by sympathizers. Mo Shan Shan must have been among them."
The king's lips pressed into a thin line. The memory of the war came back sharper now—blood on the snow, the cries of burning homes, the defiance in Warlord Mo's final gaze.
And now, his daughter had grown up inside the palace walls… right under his nose.
"A daughter of a rebel," the king whispered, almost to himself. "Raised as a maid… and now mingling with princes."
The eunuch bowed his head lower. "What is your command, Your Majesty?"
King Xuan was silent for a long time. Then, slowly, he rose from his seat and walked to the window. Outside, the stars shimmered above the dark silhouette of the imperial gardens.
"She knows nothing," he said at last. She has no memory of who she is. Let it stay that way—for now."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Keep this between us. Not a word to the princes. Not even to Li Wei."
"As you wish."
But even as the eunuch bowed and exited the room, King Xuan stood at the window, staring into the night.
He had taken everything from Mo Shan Shan's family—her home, her title, her future. Yet fate had returned her to the heart of the empire. She had grown into a warrior in her own right, one whose presence was beginning to shift the delicate balance among his sons.
And now, with her past uncovered… he could not help but wonder—
Was it destiny?
Or retribution?
As the door closed behind the eunuch and the soft shuffle of footsteps faded into silence, King Xuan remained by the window, his hands clasped behind his back.
The name Mo Jian stirred more than guilt—it awakened memories of another life, a different time.
The moonlight illuminated the ink-washed garden below, and in its pale glow, the king saw not flowers, but ashes. The flames of Kuang Zhou still burned in his conscience, even if the world had long moved on. He had silenced a city, but ghosts had ways of returning.
He turned from the window, his eyes settling on a painting that hung above the lacquered table. It was an old work—delicate brush strokes capturing the northern plains of Kuang Zhou in winter. He hadn't looked at it in years. But now, he studied it closely.
His brows furrowed.
There was another thread in this tapestry.
Lu Bai.
He thought back to how Lu Bai had insisted on accompanying Mo Shan Shan to the palace. How protective he was. The subtle way his voice changed when he spoke of her. And the lie he had told—saying she was simply helping him, when in truth she was training under him.
And then there was Lu Bai's mother—Lady Yan.
The king exhaled deeply.
Lady Yan had once lived in Kuang Zhou before her marriage into the royal family. She was born into a noble merchant clan that had strong ties to the warlords. Before the war, she had been known to be close friends with none other than Lady Qing Lan, Mo Jian's wife and Mo Shan Shan's mother.
Could it be?
Was it possible that Lady Yan… had known the truth all along? Had she somehow arranged for the girl to be hidden, kept safe?
And did Lu Bai, her son, now carry that secret?
King Xuan walked slowly back to his desk and sat down, resting his palms on the smooth surface. His thoughts were sharp now. Heavy.
If Lu Bai knew who Mo Shan Shan truly was—and if he had kept it secret—then that changed everything. It wasn't merely sentiment. It was strategy.
Lu Bai, had always stood apart from his brothers. Uninterested in power. Detached from palace politics. And yet… he had always been calm, calculating, even mysterious.
But was this just kindness?
Or a long-laid plan?
The king's fingers tapped slowly against the surface of the table.
"Send for Lady Yan," he murmured into the shadows.
He needed answers.