The morning of the third day bloomed with unnatural calm.
In the southern wing of the Court of Eastern Records, Li Ziyan knelt by the open lattice, her fingers loosely resting on a fan half-folded in her lap. No wind stirred. No crows called. Even the palace bells rang slower than usual, as if the bronze itself hesitated to speak.
Across from her, Li Qiang stood at the window with arms crossed, watching the guards patrolling the courtyard below. Their movements were precise. Predictable. As if designed to suggest order. But neither he nor Ziyan believed it.
"Wei still hasn't returned," he said.
"He will," Ziyan murmured. "He knows what's at stake."
Li Qiang turned to her. "And if he's caught?"
She looked up. Her eyes held no fear—only weariness. "Then we do what we've always done. Endure the stillness until the storm breaks."
He said nothing for a moment. Then: "You know what happened to Wen Yufei."
Ziyan lowered her gaze. "I do."
"And you've kept it from them."
"We have to," she said. "If they think he's dead, they'll search less. If they think he's fled, they'll relax."
Li Qiang gave a humorless huff. "And if they think he's still alive and hiding?"
"Then we become bait," she replied. "Which we already are."
The scroll she held unfurled slightly. Lines of coded verse revealed only a single phrase to those who could read it:
The blade missed the heart. The heart now waits beneath ink and flame.
There had been blood, yes. And a scream. But no body was found—only silence and a half-finished message left behind in Wen Yufei's hand. He had vanished through the rear of the teahouse, carried into smoke and shadows by allies Ziyan had not even known he trusted. For now, his status remained unknown—even to her.
A bell tolled in the far courtyard.
Third morning.
Deadline.
Prince Ning would arrive soon. And with him, either a noose—or vindication.
Ziyan stood slowly. "We should go. If Wei has failed, then at least we'll meet our end with our backs straight."
Li Qiang followed her from the room, saying nothing more.
—
The Court of Audience was already gathering by the time they arrived. Ministers stood in tight knots, whispering behind embroidered sleeves. The Empress's carriage waited at the outer gate, veiled in plum silk, while the Emperor remained in his chamber—absent from the day's reckoning, whether by choice or design.
Prince Ning stood alone beneath the southern veranda, a crimson sash marking his authority. He was not smiling.
"Minister Li," he called as she approached. "And her loyal sentinel."
Ziyan bowed. "Your Highness."
"You were given three days," he said plainly. "I trust you have used them well?"
Ziyan met his gaze. "We have used them honestly."
"Honesty," he said softly, "is rarely useful in politics."
Li Qiang stepped forward. "If this is a trial—"
Ning cut him off with a look. "It is a reckoning. The Offering scandal shook the court. Someone must answer for it. And I do not enjoy being made to wait."
From the eastern corridor, footsteps echoed.
Sharp. Unhurried.
Wei emerged from the garden path, cloak dusty, eyes shadowed from a night spent beyond the palace walls. Beside him walked Lianhua, her robes torn, a shallow gash across one cheek—but her expression calm.
The crowd parted as they approached.
Ziyan did not blink. "You made it."
Wei nodded once. "Barely."
Prince Ning's eyes narrowed. "And what is this? A dramatic entrance?"
Wei ignored him. He held out a scroll, the ribbon seal marked with the sigil of the Southern Council—Lord Yu's faction.
"This," he said, "is testimony taken from one of Lord Yu's informants, captured near the Temple of the Azure Gate. It outlines how sacrificial grain was intercepted and altered under false orders—orders forged by a handwriting specialist once in service to the late Grand Commandant Zhao."
Ziyan took the scroll and opened it for Ning to see.
"Names. Dates. Delivery routes. They match the fake ledgers from the rites division," she said. "Lord Yu has been manipulating ritual distribution channels for months."
"And the Spring Offering?" Ning pressed.
Wei looked directly at him. "He intended to use it to indict Ziyan. And by extension, the Empress."
Murmurs spread. Even the stonier ministers shifted.
Prince Ning's face darkened. "Why would he move now?"
"Because the Offering was the only ceremony sacred enough to warrant public attention and dangerous enough to bury an enemy," Ziyan said.
"And," Wei added, "because he believed the Empire was too fractured to resist. He thought Xia would move against us the moment we began turning on ourselves."
Ning studied the scroll. Then studied Ziyan.
"And where is this informant now?"
"Gone," Wei said. "He was found with his tongue torn out. But not before the Empress's agents extracted the full confession."
Ziyan stepped closer.
"We were not idle, Your Highness. We followed every rotten thread to its root. And we have not pulled them all—but we've exposed enough for the palace to decide whether it chooses rot or restoration."
Silence stretched long.
Then Prince Ning turned to the ministers. "This court will reconvene tomorrow. The Empress will be summoned. Lord Yu's surviving allies will be questioned. Until then—Minister Li, Sergeant Li Qiang—you remain under restricted observance."
He paused.
"But I suggest your enemies walk more carefully now."
He turned to leave.
Wei exhaled only once the prince was gone. Lianhua slumped slightly beside him, but Ziyan stepped forward and caught her shoulder.
"You found him," she whispered.
Lianhua looked up, eyes unreadable.
"I lost the trail," she said softly. "But someone found me. Wei knew where to look."
Ziyan turned to Wei.
"Yufei?"
Wei shook his head. "Gone. Safe. But not whole."
Her throat tightened, but she nodded.
"Stillness," she whispered, recalling the word she'd written three days ago.
Li Qiang glanced at her. "What?"
"That's how the truth survives," she said. "In stillness. Until it's ready to move."
That night, in the quiet of the teahouse once more, Ziyan lit a single lamp and unrolled a fresh scroll.
The list of names she had found behind the ceremonial beam was longer than she remembered.
And one name had been added.
Not by her hand.
Zhang Jinrui.
She stared at it for a long time, the ink still damp.
Across the table, Li Qiang watched without comment.
Outside, thunder rolled low across the southern skies.
The storm hadn't passed.
It had only begun to circle.