A vast night market stretches along river docks. Boats bob at moored posts, their lanterns casting rippling gold across dark water. Stalls crowd the riverbank—jade displays glittering under oil lamps, food vendors with rising steam, crowds

Market gossip spreads between stalls. Merchants whisper, heads turning toward the river road. A covered palanquin is being carried through the crowd, heading toward the higher district. The whispers grow louder, more urgent. Style: Focus o

The palanquin stops at a modest riverside building—an inn, or a private residence. The bearers lower it carefully. A single lantern burns inside. No mourners wait outside. No incense smoke. Just the covered box and the silent carriers. Sty

Inside the dimly lit room. The palanquin's cover has been removed. Yan Liu lies on a simple pallet, still in palace robes—heavy silk in faded empress-bride red, now stained and rumpled. Her face is pale, peaceful, wrong. No visible wounds.

Yan Shu examines her sister's body more closely. Palace robes, expensive fabric now stained. Hands folded, but the positioning is wrong—someone arranged them carelessly. No jewelry except for one thing: a jade pendant at her throat, dark gr

Yan Shu carefully removes the jade pendant from her sister's throat. The moment her fingers touch it, she feels something—a pulse, a warmth, a pull. The jade glows faintly, its inner light responding to her touch. Yan Liu's dead face remain

The jade pulls from Yan Shu's grip, or rather—her hand won't let go. It pulses, and suddenly she feels it moving, sliding up her arm, toward her throat. She tries to drop it, to throw it away, but her fingers won't obey. The jade climbs her

The oath activates. Yan Shu feels it settle into her, feels words forming in her mind—not her thoughts, but something being written into her. Three breaths. A deadline. A name she doesn't know. The jade pulses three times against her throat

Yan Shu tries to stand, to leave, to run. But the jade pulls. It pulls toward the palace district, toward the imperial compound, toward something she needs to do. Her body takes a step north before her mind consents. The pull is physical, m

Yan Shu tries to run. She turns, takes three steps south, away from the palace, away from whatever this is. The jade burns. Not externally—internally. Her throat constricts, her lungs seize, her heart stutters. Pain like fire in her chest.

Yan Shu sits in the dim room, her sister's body beside her, and thinks. Why her? Why not someone else in the family? Why not her mother, her father, anyone else? And then she understands. She is the only one who can tell real vow-jade from

Yan Shu looks at her sister's body. She touches the jade at her throat. She can feel it now—the pull toward correct choices, the burn toward wrong ones. But it doesn't tell her what's right. It only reacts to her guesses. She has to find th

Back to the riverside room. Yan Shu stands, looking north toward the palace. The jade pulses warm at her throat—the direction it wants her to go. She calculates. Days. Maybe three, maybe five. The emperor lingers but can't last much longer.

Yan Shu searches her sister's belongings. Palace robes, jewelry, letters—and among them, a set of documents. Identification papers, seals, a list of names. The jade reacts to some names, ignores others. Yan Shu begins building a picture of

Yan Shu sits back, the documents spread before her. Three princes. Three possible heirs. The jade has given her no clear answer—it reacts to all of them, differently, and to none with certainty. She needs to test them directly. But that mea

Yan Shu finds her sister's bridal veils—the heavy red silk, the golden phoenix crown, the layers of ceremonial robes. She holds them up, examining them. These were meant for a wedding that became a funeral. Now they'll carry a counterfeit b

Yan Shu touches the jade, and suddenly she sees—her sister's memories. Yan Liu in palace corridors, in the empress's chambers, at a feast. Yan Liu with Crown Prince Ruan, his cruel smile, her conflicted eyes. Yan Liu learning secrets, gathe

Yan Shu releases the memories, gasping. She looks at the bridal veils again. She has her sister's memories now—enough to know palace etiquette, to recognize faces, to understand the game being played. She can do this. She has to do this. Th

Yan Shu in full bridal regalia, face painted in her sister's style, wearing the golden phoenix crown. She looks in a polished bronze mirror. The resemblance is there—close enough. A stranger wearing her sister's face. The jade glows at her

Yan Shu walks toward the palace district. The streets change from market chaos to orderly stone. Guards appear at intersections. The architecture grows grander, colder, more imperial. The jade pulls her forward, warm and insistent. The pala

Yan Shu pauses at a palace window, looking out over the imperial compound. The dawn light catches the rooftops, the gardens, the training grounds where soldiers drill. Somewhere in this maze of stone and silk, the answer waits. Somewhere, o