The morning mist crept along the winding stone roads that led to the outer walls of Guangling. At that early hour, when the sun still hesitated behind the storm-laden clouds, the city seemed to lie dormant—yet beneath its silent surface, the foundations of power trembled in restless anticipation.
Wei Lian was nowhere to be found in her private quarters or serene garden. Instead, she slipped unnoticed through the city's awakening gloom. Clad in a dark hooded cloak, without visible escort, without banner or emblem to betray her noble lineage, she moved like a shadow among shadows, her footsteps measured and deliberately quiet. Only Yao walked behind her—silent as a sheath‑ed dagger—her loyalty as concealed and dangerous as the blade she carried.
Their destination: an unremarkable, abandoned house beside the old southern barracks. It wasn't registered in Wei Lian's name, nor did it appear in any official document. It was just one of many forgotten properties left behind when Guangling was expanded—a modest dwelling built for officers who never returned from distant frontiers. But today, it served a purpose far greater than mere shelter. Inside, Wei Lian had summoned the three men whose decisions over the coming week would decide the destiny of the entire city.
They were already waiting within—seated around a rough wooden table, devoid of adornment, incense, or even a single servant. The place was austere; shadows pooled in the corners, emphasizing the stillness. Their armor and heavy cloaks seemed almost more burdensome in that silence, as though the quiet itself gave weight to every unspoken thought.
Three men, each significant in his own right, composed this covert council:
General Bao Shun, commander of the city's eastern sector. Once dedicated to his duty under An Lu, his eyes now reflected the stain of recent defeat. Practical and unidealistic, he bore the look of a man rethinking loyalties.
Commander Qian Ruo, cast aside not long ago after a heated clash with the city's bureaucrats. His loyalty to An Lu was ambiguous at best—a mixture of lingering respect and festering bitterness.
Captain Lan Jie, youthful, ambitious, and acutely aware that his rise would forever be blocked as long as the old guard remained intact.
When Wei Lian stepped into the room, none of them rose to greet her, but all inclined their heads in respectful acknowledgment. She didn't need titles. They knew who she was—and what her presence meant.
"Gentlemen," she began, her voice measured yet carrying unmistakable authority as she lowered her hood. "Thank you for coming."
"We didn't come for courtesy," General Bao Shun answered, his tone low and steady. "We came because you summoned us—and because everyone in this room knows what's stirring in Guangling."
Wei Lian nodded, unbothered by any pretense. "You're right. I've called this meeting because the order we once relied on has begun to fracture. The people whisper. The soldiers hesitate. You, walking among the barracks, you've heard it too. An Lu no longer leads—he survives. He holds on only because no one has dared oppose him … yet."
Qian Ruo snorted softly, a sound devoid of mockery but full of bitter agreement. "You speak openly, Lady Wei. What do you plan, then? To become his rival?"
Wei Lian took a small step forward. Her movement was sure, deliberate—imbued with intent. When she spoke, her words held the calm certainty of a verdict. "I don't wish to be a queen of ashes," she proclaimed. "I want Guangling to live. And for that to happen… An Lu must fall."
Silence thickened the air. In the hush, even each creak of the floorboards seemed a betrayal of stillness.
Captain Lan Jie, the youngest, was the first to break it. His voice was measured—curious, not confrontational. "And what if we choose not to act? What if we stay out of this?"
Wei Lian fixed him with a cold, unwavering gaze. "Then nothing changes. You'll continue to obey a man who was defeated, defending a city that bleeds its resources, its soldiers, its hope. But if you join me … you'll become founders of a new order. You won't need to beg for recognition—you will be its architects, from the start."
Bao Shun studied her quietly for a long moment before leaning forward. "What is your plan, exactly?"
From within her cloak, Wei Lian withdrew a scroll—carefully rolled—and unrolled it across the bare wood table. It revealed a detailed map of Guangling: the north, east, west, and south gates marked in roaring red ink, each flanked by annotations in Wei Lian's precise calligraphy: watch shifts, captain names, escape routes.
"When you hear the signal," she explained, her voice cold and clear, "no bells will sound. No alarms will ring. Only one command, issued to the three of you: shut the gates. Seal the city. No one enters. No one leaves. Guangling must be cut off when the coup begins. Any messenger trying to escape—intercept him. Any officer who questions the order—detain him."
Qian Ruo's voice lacked emotion. "And then?"
"Then," Wei Lian continued, "we will take control of the inner fortress. An Lu will be removed. His youngest son will be presented as the new 'Guardian of Guangling,' under the oversight of our military council. You three will serve on that council."
Lan Jie frowned. "You mean to use the boy as a puppet?"
Wei Lian's expression did not shift. "I will use what the people still believe in—to protect the city from itself. To prevent a civil war. With a figurehead, the bureaucrats will be placated, the citizens subdued, and we will rule from the shadows. There will be no need for more bloodshed."
Bao Shun narrowed his eyes, skeptical. "And if we fail?"
Wei Lian lowered her gaze briefly, then lifted it steadily. Her voice grew softer but carried the weight of steel. "Then all of us will hang in the eastern plaza. But if we succeed … no one will ever disregard us again."
The three officers exchanged glances. No words were needed—the scars of past defeats, the bureaucratic disdain, the absence of prospects … they all weighed on them. In Wei Lian, they recognized danger—and opportunity.
Bao Shun was the first to nod. "We'll lock the gates. But if we smell chaos … we'll withdraw our support."
"Acceptable," Wei Lian replied. "I don't want chaos. I want control."
Qian Ruo stood. "Remember what you've promised. We aren't loyal to you. Nor to An Lu. You walk a fine line. Don't overstep."
Wei Lian allowed a faint, curt nod. "I need no eternal allegiance from you. Only for this night."
Lan Jie paused at the exit, turning back briefly. "And if the plan succeeds … will you name us more than sentries?"
"We will give you titles, lands … and a place in history," Wei Lian promised.
As they departed with assured steps into a still‑fading dawn, the decision had been made before the sun fully rose.
Wei Lian turned to Yao beside her and exhaled—slow, focused. "We have the gates," she murmured. "Now we just need the throne."
In her mind, each piece of the plot clicked into place—one by one, like the fall of meticulous dominoes.