1 The day Julian Blackwood rode into Veridia marked the day of my funeral. At the mouth of Everglen Lane, our two processions, one triumphant, one somber, collided. From afar, I saw the young man I had waited five years for. He had finally returned. He had returned alive. In that moment, I almost forgot I was merely a spirit, an ethereal whisper of my former self. I yearned to rush through the mourning crowd and reach him. Behind me, I heard the frantic pleas of our family’s butler. “Your Grace, we’ve made a terrible mistake! We didn’t know His Majesty would pass this way today!” Phoenix Boulevard led directly to the Royal Citadel, yet Julian’s retinue had inexplicably turned into Everglen Lane. “Does His Majesty need to specially notify you which road he chooses to travel?” “N-no, I wouldn’t dare…” Thwack! A heavy blow struck someone’s spine. “To obstruct His Majesty’s sacred procession with a coffin! You deserve to die!” I rushed back, only to see several City Guards swinging their sword scabbards, lashing out at my family. My father, Lord Shaw, was forced to his knees in front, his eyes glazed over, devoid of all light. The scabbards struck him repeatedly, but his expression remained unchanged. It was as if only an empty shell remained. He had been like this so often since I passed. “Father!” I rushed to embrace him, attempting to shield him from their brutality, but the scabbards passed through my spectral form again and again. “What’s happening here?” The procession ahead paused. Julian, from his mount, suddenly looked our way. 2 The people blocking his path dropped to their knees in unison, and a coffin was swiftly exposed to their view. My family held their breath, their heads bowed even lower, terrified that Julian might recognize my father. Five years ago, the Blackwood family’s Queen Consort, Julian’s mother, was implicated in a plot of treason. Julian, as her son, was stripped of his titles by imperial decree and exiled, reduced to a commoner. It was at his lowest point that I betrayed our engagement, turning instead to marry his rival, Lord Frederick. I still remember it vividly. He knelt at the gates of Shaw Manor, and my father and brothers “rewarded” him with a brutal beating. Yet, he refused to give up, dragging his bloody wounds, rejecting any medical aid, insisting I give him an answer. That day, snow fell heavily, and the wind howled. His knees, already injured from saving me once, were battered. Our family physician had warned that if he continued to kneel, he might lose the use of his legs entirely. I picked up a basin of icy water and poured it over his head. “This,” I said, my voice cutting through the wind, “is my answer.” He looked up at me, his eyes like two dark, bottomless abysses. “Fine. I understand.” “Evelyn Shaw, I hope you never regret this!” He rose shakily, his back staggering, nearly falling several times. My nails dug into my palms, but I felt no pain. “Good! I’ll wait for you! I’ll wait for you to return and exact your revenge! Just don’t you dare die out there!” Those were the last words I spoke to him. Almost instantly, his stumbling figure straightened, like a resilient fir tree in the snow. He turned his cold gaze back, his voice slicing through the air: “This day’s humiliation will be repaid! I await the day you kneel and beg me!” 3 Everyone knew the story. Now, he had returned… Everyone said Julian’s first target upon entering the capital would be the Shaw family. He sat high on his horse, looking down on the ants before him with the disdain of a king. My family dared not even breathe, until his gaze settled on my father for one, two… long seconds. My heart felt as if it were gripped by an unseen hand. I feared he would recognize Father and condemn him on the spot. Just then, the curtain of his royal carriage swayed, and a delicate hand emerged. “Julian, why the delay?” A woman’s voice, like a nightingale’s song, drifted out. My thoughts momentarily blurred, and I saw Julian turn, a flicker of tenderness gracing his stern face. “Are you tired, my dear? We’ll be at the Royal Palace soon, just a little longer.” That warmth, that tenderness, he had finally given it to someone else. I instinctively pressed a hand to my chest. Here, it seemed, it no longer hurt. “The common folk have suffered enough. Don’t make it harder for them.” Julian spoke with an air of magnanimity, then raised a hand, and his procession moved forward towards the Royal Palace. The Shaw family’s servants breathed a collective sigh of relief, grateful he hadn’t recognized my father. But in the end, my coffin still couldn’t be transported for burial. At the city gates, the City Guard once again blocked us. Their reason: fear that the Emperor’s enemies might use the opportunity to flee the city. When we returned to Shaw Manor, the white funeral banners had been torn down, the mourning hall desecrated. A commanding officer warned us, his voice laced with sneering amusement: “With the new Emperor’s ascension, all funeral observances are suspended. Of course, if you wish to bury her hastily, right here on your grounds, no one will stop you.” The eldest daughter of the Grand Chancellor’s House, once Lady Frederick—how could she be buried like a pauper? This was an insult! Even the servants understood that someone was deliberately targeting the Shaw family, targeting me. But Father seemed oblivious. He merely patted my coffin, trying to soothe me. “Evelyn, don’t be afraid. Father is here. No one can humiliate you!” The City Guard captain scoffed dismissively and left. I leaned against my father’s shoulder, a ghost weeping silently. “I’m sorry, Father. I’ve been an unfilial daughter…” 4 I still stole into the Royal Palace, seeking the man I had waited five years for. The Imperial City glowed with a thousand lights. My spirit passed unhindered through the Royal Guards, over towering palace gates, until I found the one I longed to see. In The Radiant Hall, Julian stood tall and elegant, gazing at the moon through the window. A wind chime by the window swayed, its clear, delicate sound ringing through the air. “He still kept that wind chime…” My lips curved into an unconscious smile. “That wind chime is truly beautiful.” A woman in palace attire slowly approached. I recognized the voice; she was the woman Julian had brought back with him. Her name was Sylvie, and she had been Julian’s sole companion these past five years. “You like it?” Julian turned, a gentle smile on his face. Sylvie nodded. Julian casually plucked the wind chime from its hook and offered it to her. The woman looked overwhelmed with delight. “Are you sure?” Julian’s smile was tender. “It’s just a trinket.” My heart clenched violently, the pain so sharp it made my very soul tremble. That day, returning from the Royal Palace, I felt my spirit grow significantly fainter, as if it truly was on the verge of dissipating. I remembered those final days, when the pain had become unbearable. Father had stopped my life-sustaining herbal concoctions, holding my hand and saying, “Evelyn, if it hurts too much, just sleep. Once you’re asleep, it won’t hurt anymore.” That day, Father smiled at me more gently than he ever had before. But a burning liquid fell on my hand—his tears. No father willingly sends his own daughter on her way. That day, I watched as all his hair turned white… I think I had an obsession with Julian. I held on for five years, just to see him win. I just wanted to see him one last time. In a pain that seeped into my very bones, I held on for a long time, but in the end, I couldn’t live to see him. But now, I had seen him, and I should be content. For my last moments, I only wanted to stay with my father. 5 Julian’s official coronation as Emperor took place on his third day in Veridia, sparking three days of national celebration. “Just three more days, just three more days…” Father stroked my coffin with a look of profound relief, as if the end of his ordeal was finally in sight. He likely believed that in three days, I would finally be laid to rest. But Shaw Manor’s supply of ice was gone. In the scorching summer heat, Father couldn’t bear the thought of my body decaying in the house. Our butler reported that he had searched the entire city, but no one was willing to sell a single block of ice to the Shaw family. Driven by desperation, Father rallied his spirits and went to seek out his most accomplished student, Sir Arthur, now a high-ranking minister. Sir Arthur had come from humble beginnings, unable even to afford schooling in his youth. He had often secretly eavesdropped on lessons from outside the academy, getting caught and beaten several times. Father had happened upon him once, saving him from a beating, and had supported him on his path to success ever since. It was the first time Father had ever had to ask a favor of a student. Sir Arthur ordered all the ice from his icehouse to be brought out. A rare look of satisfaction touched Father’s face, but the next second, Sir Arthur raised a hand, and his attendants pushed all the ice into a pond, leaving not a single block. Sir Arthur then knelt, bowing deeply. His posture was as firm and unyielding as it had been when Father first helped him. Father’s parched lips tightened, but he didn’t utter a single word of reproach. As he turned to leave, his figure seemed to stoop a little more. “Master!” Sir Arthur scrambled forward a few steps on his knees, his eyes red-rimmed. Father looked back and smiled faintly, waving a hand. “Serve the realm well. Don’t forget your aspiration to speak for the people.” Sir Arthur bowed again. Returning home, Father retrieved his most treasured chest. These past few years, spent establishing connections and building influence, almost all of our family’s valuables had been given away. Only a few precious calligraphies and paintings remained, which Father had always been reluctant to part with. Father took out all the artworks and went to his old rival, Lord Griffith, the Chancellor of the Grand Secretariat. “One painting, one day of ice. Pick whatever you like.” But the Chancellor only chose one painting. For the first time, Father lost his composure before his rival. “That ‘Galloping Horses’ painting, and the ‘Cold Cicada’ painting—haven’t you always wanted them?” Lord Griffith watched him silently. Father finally sighed in defeat, took his ice, and left. Lord Griffith stood on the veranda, his voice carrying after him: “What cannot be kept will not be kept, old Shaw. The living are more important!” Father paused, a myriad of emotions swirling within him. “My family lived honorably and will die gloriously. Why should we be forced to bury her in secret, like a common criminal?” Lord Griffith cursed under his breath, “Old scholar,” but in the end, could only shake his head helplessly. “Father, I’m so sorry…” I watched my father’s back, bent under the weight of his troubles, my eyes reddening, but not a single tear could fall. When Father returned with a cart of ice, two more carts of ice arrived. The butler from Lord Griffith’s estate bowed deeply to Father, then turned and left. Father smiled, his eyes red-rimmed with emotion. Many had benefited from the Shaw family’s kindness, but in the end, only this old rival had been willing to offer aid when the Shaw family was broken and ruined. 6 On the second day of his reign, Julian Blackwood hosted a grand Royal Banquet, specifically decreeing that all members of the royal family must attend, especially Lord and Lady Frederick. Few knew of my passing. Even within the royal family, some still believed I was Lady Frederick, eager to witness my downfall. I worried for Julian’s safety and entered the palace once more. I watched as Julian and Sylvie sat side-by-side at the head table, their imperial robes magnificent and perfectly matched. This scene, I had envisioned countless times over the past five years. Yet, in the end, it wasn’t me who sat beside him. Lord Frederick arrived late, with his new Lady Frederick in tow. Julian’s gaze immediately fixated on him. “My dear cousin, long time no see.” Julian’s voice was as gentle as a spring breeze, yet almost everyone present understood he was about to settle old scores with Lord Frederick, especially the infamous betrayal of his engagement. Cold sweat trickled down Lord Frederick’s forehead. He hastily bowed. “I wouldn’t dare presume to trouble Your Majesty with my trivial affairs.” Julian’s gaze deliberately fell on the new Lady Frederick. “My cousin’s luck with women is truly enviable. Another new face, I see?” This time, Lord Frederick nearly collapsed to his knees. A man’s honor, especially a betrayal of engagement—what man could swallow such an insult? Lord Frederick frantically wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. “Your Majesty jests. Truth be told, I was manipulated by Evelyn Shaw into marrying her. Thankfully, Your Majesty conquered Veridia, and the Shaw family lost their influence. Only then could I escape their control. That vile woman, she deliberately sought to ruin our brotherly bond. She deserves a thousand cuts, to be torn limb from limb…” CRACK! The sharp sound of a shattered wine glass made Lord Frederick choke, and the entire palace fell silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Julian nonchalantly tossed the broken goblet from his hand, his expression still as mild as a spring breeze. “This goblet is truly fragile, crumbling at a mere touch. Bring me silver chalices instead.” Lord Frederick involuntarily shivered. I, meanwhile, felt a flicker of relief as I watched Julian take up the silver chalice. But as Lord Frederick and his new Lady Frederick came to offer a toast, I watched Lord Frederick’s every move, terrified he might try to tamper with the wine, just as he had five years ago. Thankfully, this time, without the support of the old regime, he didn’t dare act recklessly.
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