Darkness swallowed her whole, yet it wasn't the comforting kind, the one that lulled her into peaceful oblivion. No, this darkness had edges, sharp and suffocating, pulling her under with clawed fingers.
Then came the sound.
A faint echo at first, gong… gong… gong, each beat a pulse of something ancient, woven with grief and dread. Light bled into the darkness, seeping through cracks like thin veins of gold on black porcelain. She was no longer in a sterile hospital room. She was somewhere else entirely.
Cold stone stretched beneath her, smooth yet unforgiving. Towering pillars loomed, carved with symbols she couldn't decipher. Velvet banners of crimson and gold draped from the high ceilings, swaying gently as if the very air carried secrets.
In the center of this grand hall, she saw her.
The Third Princess.
Still adorned in the remnants of her wedding robes, silken layers now dirtied with ash and dust, she knelt, spine stiff yet fragile. The golden phoenix embroidery on her sleeves looked like it had lost its fire, dimmed under the weight of disgrace. Her forehead pressed against the cold marble floor, strands of her once-perfect hair tangled, a crown slightly askew. Blood trickled from the corner of her lip, painting a delicate line against pale skin.
Li Hua's heart clenched, though she couldn't explain why.
On the raised dais, the Empress sat with effortless authority. Regal. Unyielding. Her face was emotionless, carved from stone, save for her eyes, sharp as blades, glinting with something unreadable.
The heavy doors creaked open, dragging all attention toward the entrance. Whispers flared like sparks catching dry leaves.
"Announcing the arrival of Her Highness, the Fourth Princess, Feng Xiyan!"
Li Hua's gaze snapped to the woman who strode in with grace sharpened into a weapon. The Fourth Princess was breathtaking, an ethereal beauty dressed in deep jade robes, embroidered with serpentine dragons coiling like they belonged to her. In her slender hands, she carried a scroll.
"Your Majesty," Feng Xiyan's voice was soft but carried like a blade across the court. "I bring undeniable proof of the Third Princess's treachery. Evidence of her collusion with rebels."
Gasps echoed. Ministers, both men and women dressed in layers of prestige, shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances laced with hidden agendas.
"Surely… Third Princess wouldn't," a minister began, her voice laced with false warmth, like syrup poured over poison. "She has always been loyal. Perhaps… a misunderstanding?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," another chimed in, wringing his hands with performative distress. "It is unthinkable that someone of her noble heart would conspire against the throne."
But their eyes betrayed them. Sharp, glinting with satisfaction beneath veils of concern.
The Empress remained silent, fingers drumming softly against the armrest of her gilded throne. Her gaze bored into the kneeling figure of the Third Princess, who hadn't uttered a word, her pride stitched tightly with her silence.
Li Hua wanted to scream, Say something. Defend yourself. But her voice was lost, trapped in the hollow between reality and dream.
Suddenly, the Third Princess lifted her head, her hollow eyes staring straight ahead, straight at her.
Li Hua's breath hitched.
And then everything shattered.
Li Hua woke with a violent gasp, the air sharp and sterile as it filled her lungs, like she was breathing in fragments of the nightmare itself. Sweat slicked her temples, her hospital gown clinging to her spine, damp and suffocating. But she didn't move.
She just sat there.
Back pressed against the unforgiving headboard, her eyes glued to the pale slice of moonlight spilling through the window. The world outside was painted in hues of silver and shadow, the hospital walls faded into nothingness as her gaze stretched far beyond them, to places that didn't exist, yet felt more real than the bed beneath her.
She didn't blink. Didn't shift.
Her breathing slowed, each inhale a fragile thread tethering her to the present. She was afraid to move, afraid that the sterile quiet would shatter if she did, like the room itself would unravel, pulling her back to that cursed throne room, to her.
The Third Princess.
Li Hua's jaw tightened, rage simmering beneath her skin, subtle but scorching. Not the kind that screamed or lashed out, but the kind that settled deep in the marrow, bitter and sharp.
Why didn't she defend herself?
The question burned like acid. It echoed louder than the whispers from the ministers in that grand hall, louder than the Fourth Princess's accusations, louder than the damn gong that still pulsed faintly in her memory.
She had wanted the Princess to rise, to tear off the fragile veil of guilt and spit in the faces of those who doubted her. But she'd just knelt there. Silent. Crumbling beneath the weight of unspoken words, as if she believed she deserved it.
And yet… those eyes.
Li Hua swallowed hard, her throat dry, brittle like parchment. She couldn't shake the look the Princess had worn, not hollow, not entirely. There was something nestled beneath the emptiness, a fragile thread woven with longing. A silent plea directed not at the ministers, not at the Fourth Princess, but at the Empress herself.
It wasn't fear. It was heartbreak.
That realization made Li Hua's chest ache in places she thought had long gone numb.
At some point, the door creaked open. A nurse entered, her footsteps soft and careful as if afraid to wake her. Li Hua didn't blink, didn't flinch.
"Li Hua?" the nurse whispered gently, approaching with quiet concern. She checked the IV drip, adjusted the blanket, brushed stray hair from Li Hua's face.
Li Hua didn't react.
She stayed frozen, staring past the nurse, past the walls, past everything, anchored only by the pull of that moon, pale and distant, indifferent to the storm raging inside her.
The nurse left eventually, the door clicking softly behind her.
And Li Hua remained.
She didn't move until the first light of dawn crept into the room, painting the sterile walls with the faint blush of morning. But even then, she stayed exactly where she was, silent, breath slow and shallow, as if afraid that even breathing too loudly would break whatever fragile thread tethered her to that distant, crumbling world.