The rain drummed steadily against the rooftops of Guangling, its rhythm unbroken, relentless—as though the heavens themselves had decided to wash away, drop by drop, the sins that had accumulated behind the city's ancient walls. It was deep into the night, yet in one of the peripheral mansions—an estate that had belonged to Wei Lian long before her political marriage—the lamps were still burning. Not by accident. By design.
Inside, past the façade of quiet nobility and cultivated modesty, the true architects of a new order were gathering.
Wei Lian stood at the center of a large hall adorned with sparse yet refined decor: towering shelves of scrolls and inkstones, maps rolled and bound atop carved wooden stands, and a great bronze brazier from which wafted a gentle, fragrant warmth. Around her were assembled her most loyal confidants—Yao, Liu, and Mei, of course—but also five trusted officers and lesser nobles whose families had long been dismissed by the ruling elites, and who now looked to Wei Lian as their singular path to power and relevance.
Dressed in a dark robe trimmed with red, wearing no jewelry that might betray vanity, nor any pretense of humility, Wei Lian exuded a calm and controlled authority. Her presence was not merely commanding—it was magnetic. She had not summoned them merely to give orders. She had come to share a vision. To show them what would follow once the tide of blood had washed clean the old world.
"The coup is nearly ready," she said at last, her voice low, clear, steady—like a blade unsheathed in silence. "Once it begins, there will be no turning back. But I know that many among you, though loyal, are wondering: what comes after? What follows the blood? The chaos?"
No one replied. No one dared interrupt.
Wei Lian began to pace slowly among them, her footsteps soft, deliberate, like a dancer tracing the shape of destiny itself.
"I am here tonight to tell you what comes next. Because this is not only about removing An Lu… it is about building something lasting, something that will endure long after his ashes scatter."
She paused before the brazier. The firelight danced in her eyes—eyes that burned with conviction, not fury.
"I will kill An Lu."
A stillness heavier than stone settled upon the room. Some sucked in quiet breaths; others lowered their gazes. But no one appeared shocked. They had all thought it. Now it had been spoken aloud.
"I won't do it publicly," she continued. "There will be no spectacle. No parade of vengeance. It will be done quietly—exactly as a fallen tyrant should pass. A man who commands no army, who commands no respect. His head will fall… and in his place, a child will rise."
Liu, her expression hard as carved granite, murmured:
"His son?"
Wei Lian nodded.
"His youngest. Still tender, still impressionable. The people respect him. They see him as innocent, untouched by war, untainted by failure. We will protect him. We will declare him the new 'Guardian of Guangling'—a ceremonial title, yes, but one weighted enough to comfort the old guard, to pacify the bureaucrats, to ease the minds of the people."
Yao stepped forward with quiet understanding.
"A face to calm them. A seal to stamp our orders. But the power… that will rest in your hands."
"Exactly," Wei Lian confirmed. "And with that power, we will cleanse this city. Those still loyal to An Lu, those clerks and clerics who dream of reviving his rule, the nobles who whisper that I have betrayed tradition… they will be removed. Not judged. Not exiled. Removed. Erased."
One of the younger officers—his face marked by the scars of many campaigns—lifted a hand hesitantly.
"And what if the people rise? An Lu… is still admired by many."
Wei Lian turned to him—not coldly, but with the icy clarity of someone who understands unpleasant truths.
"That is why it must be swift. Precise. No room for myths to take root. They will say he died of illness, or met misfortune during a routine inspection. And while the people mourn, we will seize the reins. The city gates will be sealed for a month. No one in. No one out. And when calm returns… there will be no path back."
The rain outside fell harder, a chorus of droplets pounding the rooftops as though the heavens themselves endorsed her resolve.
Wei Lian approached a side table, from which she produced a polished lacquer box. Opening it with care, she drew out a long scroll of silk—marked with ink and symbols. A plan in full: names of guards, internal palace routes, watch rotations, escape passages, safe houses, potential traitors. She spread it across the table, letting it unfurl like a banner of quiet war.
"Each of you has a role," she said, her voice a cord of steel beneath velvet. "Liu—you and your men will secure the north tower. Cut all signals to the barracks. Mei—your contacts in the kitchens will smuggle in the team tasked with An Lu's removal. Yao—you will lead the strike team into the council chamber before first light. No one speaks. No one hesitates."
One of the minor nobles—the heir of the Pan household—took a deep breath and asked quietly:
"And when will you take leadership… truly?"
Wei Lian held his gaze. Then she stepped closer, placed a hand on his shoulder—not affectionately, but with the assurance of a commander who chooses her champions.
"When Guangling is mine," she said. "Not by blood, not by name—but by right. By necessity. I will not take power for the sake of titles. I will assume it because the city will demand someone who can hold the reins. But to reach that moment, I need all of you to act flawlessly. If this plan fails, we'll be executed as traitors. If it succeeds… we'll rewrite the laws."
Slow nods followed. Some with trepidation. Others with something like holy fire in their eyes. None of them, in that moment, mistook Wei Lian for a gentle-born lady dabbling in politics.
They were standing before a woman ready to reign.
Wei Lian raised a cup—not of wine, but of rice water. This was not a night of celebration. It was a night of promises.
"For the dawn we will bring," she said solemnly. "For the city that will rise anew. For the order we shall forge… in flame."
The others lifted their cups in solemn unity. And they drank.