The throne room did not breathe.
The Empress Dowager stood beneath the dragon sigil, cloaked in imperial violet, her silver hair wrapped in coils of bone and jade. Her presence pulled time inward — as if even the gods paused to listen.
"You return from the south not only victorious, Prince Wu An," she said, her voice soft as temple bells. "You return… praised."
Her gaze swept the court like a scalpel.
"Nanyang kneels. Its markets breathe again. Its unrest silenced. The southern border, long unruly, quiet now beneath your name. Even the Emperor's own scribes speak of you with something like reverence."
A ripple of murmured assent moved through the chamber.
I said nothing. I bowed, shallow, measured.
"Indeed," she continued, "such swift peace from chaos… almost divine."
Then her eyes turned cold.
"But we must ask — at what cost was this order bought?"
The chamber hushed again.
I straightened. "If the court wishes an accounting, I am prepared to provide it."
"No need," said another voice — deeper, louder, already soaked in triumph.
Wu Kang stepped forward from his column, clad in lacquered red armor, a sword not drawn but too visible at his hip. He bowed to the Emperor, then turned to me.
"I regret that we must speak of this, Fourth Brother," he said, "but evidence has surfaced. Evidence of grave misconduct."
I did not blink. "Speak plainly, Brother. Court prefers its poisons unmuddled."
He smiled. "Then I will."
He snapped his fingers. A eunuch stepped forward, bearing a scroll wrapped in black silk.
"Two days ago," Wu Kang said, "this document arrived by hawk from the Southern Kingdom. It was not meant for your hands, but for ours."
He unrolled it. "It bears the seal of the Southern King. A letter… addressed to you."
Murmurs again.
Wu Kang read:
We thank you for your cooperation in preventing the full investigation of the ghost tax schemes. Your assurance that Nanyang's files would remain sealed has preserved much on both sides. In return, we have ensured no southern witness will speak of Wu Shuang's captivity or our mutual agreement regarding border smuggling through Bei Ling.
He paused for effect. "It goes on."
I did not move. My eyes scanned the chamber. The ministers were already turning — not with fury, but with calculation.
Even they knew the court devoured its own.
The Emperor's voice rang sharp. "What is this?"
I bowed. "A forgery."
Wu Kang laughed. "Is that all?"
"Of course it's a forgery," I said. "Any competent minister could see that seal's stroke is broken, the wax type unfamiliar. And if I had truly colluded with the Southern King, why would I drag him into disgrace in open court?"
Wu Ling stepped forward then. Quiet. Deadly.
"But the letter is not the only evidence," she said. "We have… testimony."
She gestured to the side doors.
A man stepped forward. Thin. Pale. Cloaked in Wu Jin's household colors.
My pulse slowed.
The court froze.
"His name," Wu Ling said, "is Guo Sen. He served as an errand steward under the Second Prince's envoy corps."
I knew the name. I had seen him once — scribbling inventory by lamplight in the Nanyang granary offices. Harmless. Invisible. Or so I had thought.
Guo Sen bowed, eyes low. His voice quivered, but not from fear — from rehearsed modesty.
"I was tasked with routine reporting," he said. "But during my weeks in Nanyang, I… overheard Prince Wu An speaking with southern envoys in private. No attendants present. No record kept. I wrote down what I could. I passed it to the Southern King's man before I fled."
He opened a second scroll. Inked notes. Names. Places. The script resembled mine — carefully, but just wrong enough to escape easy dismissal.
More whispers.
One voice from the back shouted, "If this is true, it is treason!"
Another: "Colluding with the Southern Kingdom? Shielding the enemy?!"
I stepped forward. "These accusations are built on lies and shadows. Nothing more."
Wu Jin had not spoken. He sat beside the pillar, half-hidden by light, face unreadable. His fingers were steepled, his jaw still. But he did not move.
That, more than anything, told me what I needed to know.
He knew the spy.
And he had not intervened.
The Emperor slammed his palm on the dragon armrest.
"Enough."
The murmurs died.
He looked to the Empress Dowager. She gave a single nod.
The Emperor's voice was slow now — deliberate, like a blade being drawn an inch at a time.
"You will remain in Ling An until a full investigation is complete. Your travel is restricted. Your soldiers removed from the palace grounds. And Nanyang... shall be reviewed."
I did not kneel.
But I bowed. "As Your Majesty commands."
That night, the palace was thick with incense. The scent of lotus and smoke seeped into my robes. I stood in my assigned quarters — guarded, not yet imprisoned.
Liao Yun entered through the side passage.
"They mean to trap you with paper," he said. "It's not about truth. It never was."
"I know."
He hesitated. "Wu Jin knew about the spy."
"Yes."
"And he said nothing."
"Because it's not my death he wants," I said. "It's my fall."
Near midnight, Wu Shuang came to me.
She wore no shoes. No cloak. Only a thin robe, and eyes like steel in moonlight.
"They fear you," she said.
"They fear what I've already done," I replied.
"No," she said, stepping closer. "They fear what you haven't done yet."
I looked at her. "And what is that?"
She answered:
"Turn into the thing they pretend not to be."
She left before I could reply.
And in the silence, I understood:
I had survived fire. War. Betrayal.
But now —
I would have to survive court.
And court was a battlefield without blood.