The moon hung low above the palace, veiled by drifting clouds. Wind rustled the silk curtains of the Eastern Guest Wing. Most visitors had already succumbed to sleep—or wine.
But in the chamber assigned to Li Ziyan, the candle still flickered.
She appeared drunk.
A flask of plum liquor lay open on the floor beside her, her hair loosened and her robes slightly rumpled. She mumbled to herself and stumbled near the bed, giggling faintly as though lost in a haze of wine and comfort.
But her eyes remained sharp beneath lowered lashes.
Lianhua sat in the next room, legs folded under her, arranging silk handkerchiefs by size and fold. To the untrained eye, she looked idle. In truth, she was listening—counting the seconds, watching the shadows on the floor for the sign.
And outside, just past the corridor turn, Li Qiang crouched behind a carved pillar, still as a shadow. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade.
Then—the door creaked.
Three masked men slipped into Ziyan's quarters, one clutching a wine flask, another a silk cloth laced with sleeping scent, and the third a slender knife.
The leader chuckled. "Drunk already?"
"Shame. I would've preferred a little fight," said another.
They crept closer, step by step—
And then the floor tile clicked.
A taut cord snapped beneath the bed.
A vial dropped from the rafters and shattered—releasing a thick burst of red powder that filled the room like mist. The attackers reeled back, coughing and choking on the sharp, stinging cloud.
Li Qiang struck first.
He launched from the side entrance like a predator. One noble didn't even scream before being slammed to the floor, breath knocked from his lungs. Another tried to flee, but Li Qiang grabbed him by the back of the collar and drove him hard into the wall.
The last one stumbled toward Ziyan with the drugged cloth raised, only to find her standing tall and very much sober.
She kicked the table forward with sudden force—slamming it into his knees. He collapsed in pain.
From the inner doorway, Lianhua stepped into view, eyes wide, breath held—but she said nothing. She didn't need to. Her role had been played hours before: memorizing which nobles left the banquet early, which path they took, what they whispered when they thought no one listened.
Ziyan brushed her robes straight and spoke, calm and deliberate.
"The sons of noble houses creeping into a court official's bedchamber in the dead of night," she said. "Not even the lowest courtesan would call that courage."
Guards arrived seconds later, summoned by the crash and smoke. The attackers, their masks now torn, pointed and screamed.
"She lured us!"
"We were tricked—!"
"She used magic!"
Ziyan lifted her chin. "They entered uninvited with drugged cloth and weapons. I request their arrest under palace law."
The guards hesitated. Too many names. Too much power in the wrong hands.
Then, a cool voice rang out behind them.
"I saw them leave the banquet hall together—early, quiet, drunk with purpose. I followed them."
A tall figure stepped through the lingering haze.
His black cloak bore no rank, yet his bearing commanded silence. The edges were dusted with pine needles. His voice carried with it an effortless authority.
"My name is Zhang Jinrui," he said. "And I witnessed everything."
One of the nobles gasped. "Y-You're that frontier wolf!"
Zhang Jinrui's eyes didn't move. "You mistook the court for your father's house. You mistook Li Ziyan for a pawn."
To the guards: "Inform the Emperor. And detain them."
This time, the guards obeyed without question.
As the nobles were dragged away—bloodied, whimpering, humiliated—Ziyan stepped closer to Zhang Jinrui.
"You followed them without knowing me."
His eyes flicked to hers. "I knew enough."
"And why help me?"
He paused.
"Because," he said slowly, "I've seen what happens when the court decides a woman is disposable. I've also seen what happens when one refuses to be."
Ziyan narrowed her gaze. "You trust me, then?"
"No," Zhang Jinrui replied. "I'm watching you."
And with that, he turned and walked into the corridor, his cloak vanishing into shadow.
Li Qiang returned, wiping his blade clean with a sleeve. "That man… He's dangerous."
Ziyan picked up a silver ring dropped by one of the nobles. "So am I."
Lianhua finally exhaled and asked quietly, "Was this what you wanted?"
"No," Ziyan said softly. "It was what I expected."
The lantern swayed as wind pushed through the palace halls.
Tonight, a trap had closed—not on Ziyan, but on those who underestimated her.
And the palace would remember.