Ghost in the palace

The Emperor’s private pavilion smelled faintly of orchids. The brazier glowed, and a painted screen threw warm shadows across the polished floor.

Lady Zhen leaned lazily against Zhao Rui’s shoulder, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve as though she had always belonged there. Her laughter rang soft and sweet as she poured him wine.

”Your Majesty,” she murmured, ”did you hear the gossip? They say Sister Lian appeared at morning greetings today. Some even whisper she spoke without faltering.”

Zhao Rui raised his cup, expression unreadable. ”Is that so?”

Lady Zhen tilted her head, eyes gleaming. ”She is finally learning to act proper, it seems. But still—everyone knows it is only for show. Even the servants laugh behind their sleeves.”

Zhao Rui’s lips curved, though not with warmth. ”Let her play at composure. It does not change what she is.”

Lady Zhen’s smile bloomed, bold and beautiful. She leaned closer, voice dropping low. ”And what she is not... is the woman you favor.”

Zhao Rui set his cup down with a soft clink. His gaze lingered briefly on the steam rising from the wine before he said, flatly, ”That will never change.”

Her laugh spilled like silk, triumphant. She lifted her own cup to his, eyes shining.

But as the wine slid down Zhao Rui’s throat, a single phrase returned to him—quiet, measured, spoken that morning in a hall of frost: The Emperor should never be left lonely.

His hand tightened around the cup. He dismissed the thought with a hard blink.

---

Far across the palace, Phoenix Hall was a storm of clattering pots and nervous chatter.

”Bring the cabbage closer!” Su Mei barked as two younger maids shuffled in with baskets. ”And someone wash the ginger properly this time—Her Highness doesn’t like carelessness.”

The kitchen smelled of broth, ginger, and woodsmoke. Fire cracked in the stove, throwing sparks of light onto copper pots.

And at the center of the chaos stood Consort Lian.

Her silk sleeves were pinned back neatly, hairpins still glittering in her bun, though her hands moved with the practiced confidence of someone who had chopped vegetables a thousand times before. She leaned over the cutting board, slicing scallions into fine ribbons with a rhythm that silenced the room.

The maids exchanged wide-eyed glances.

”Her Highness... she really knows how to...” one whispered.

”Careful!” Su Mei hissed. ”Don’t speak too loudly.”

Still, their eyes shone with something close to admiration.

---

Meanwhile, the ghosts were in rare form.

Fen Yu zipped around the kitchen like a child at play, her faint figure flickering as she reached for baskets and jars. ”Ooooh! Dried mushrooms! I can’t taste them, but I remember how chewy they were.”

With a dramatic wave, she tipped the basket over just enough to send a few tumbling onto the floor. The maids shrieked, dropping their ladles.

”Who—what—?!”

Ananya—Lian An to the palace, but still Ananya to herself—snatched the basket upright, pressing a hand to her temple. ”Fen Yu,” she hissed under her breath, ”stop tormenting them.”

Fen Yu pouted, floating closer. ”But it’s funny! Their faces look like scared ducks.”

Wei Rong, grinning, strode straight through the stove’s smoke and lifted a ladle with one hand. The poor scullery maid squealed as it rose into the air by itself.

”Ghosts!” she cried, dropping to her knees.

”Enough!” Ananya snapped softly, glaring at the empty air. ”If you want to play, do it somewhere else. Here, we cook. Quietly.”

Li Shen appeared at her side, his form more composed, his expression tinged with weary patience. ”They are incorrigible. But your broth is well-balanced. Add a little more salt.”

Ananya’s exasperation eased. She stirred the pot, sprinkled in a pinch, and tasted again. The flavor deepened, rich and warm.

She smiled faintly. ”Better.”

---

The maids crept back to work, stealing glances at their mistress as she stirred the soup with calm focus. They had expected tantrums, arrogance, jewels and vanity. Instead, she moved like someone used to kitchens, used to warmth, used to work.

Su Mei pressed her lips together, pride shining quietly in her eyes.

Her Highness was different now.

---

Fen Yu drifted close again, peering into the bubbling pot with big eyes. ”Ananya, make a bowl for me! Please?”

”You can’t eat it,” Ananya muttered.

”I can still pretend!” Fen Yu declared, puffing her cheeks.

Wei Rong barked a laugh. ”She’ll hover over it all night like a starving cat.”

Ananya shook her head, hiding her smile behind the ladle. ”If I fed you every time you asked, there would be nothing left for the living.”

Fen Yu gasped dramatically. ”Heartless!”

Li Shen chuckled softly. ”On the contrary. It is the kindest thing she could say.”

Ananya stirred the pot, the steam curling against her face. For the first time in this cold palace, she felt something almost like home.

Fire, broth, laughter.

And three spirits who refused to leave her side.