Rain tapped gently against the red-tiled roofs of the Eastern Bureau as dawn broke—faint, steady, relentless.
Ziyan had not slept.
She sat upright within her assigned chambers, her wrists still unbound but her movements watched. Even the ink in her well seemed thick with scrutiny. The deadline had arrived.
Three days since the Offering.
Three days of silence from the palace halls, except for quiet footsteps and messages that never came.
Li Qiang stood guard by the window, arms folded across his chest, his armor traded for the dark robes of a palace attendant. He hadn't spoken much since dawn, but his eyes hadn't left the courtyard once.
"They're preparing the Hall of Judgment," he said finally.
Ziyan didn't look up. She dipped her brush into the ink and scrawled a single word on parchment.
Stillness.
She let the ink dry before rolling the parchment up and sliding it into her sleeve. Her expression didn't change.
"They think I've been doing nothing," she said.
Li Qiang nodded. "Because they haven't seen you move."
The door slid open. A court attendant entered with a bow so stiff it seemed mechanical.
"Prince Ning awaits your presence in the Hall."
Ziyan rose without hesitation.
They walked the corridors in silence, flanked by two guards. Every step echoed. Outside, the wind had shifted—no longer the breeze of spring, but something drier. The kind of air that came before thunder.
Inside the Hall of Clear Judgment, torches were lit despite the morning light, their flames casting shadows that wavered like ghosts on the painted walls.
The nobles were already gathered.
Prince Ning sat beneath the jade screen, his robes black, trimmed in iron thread. The Empress was notably absent, as was the Emperor.
This was not an open hearing.
Ziyan stepped forward and bowed.
Prince Ning did not return the gesture. His gaze was unreadable—cut from stone.
"Three days," he said. "Three days of waiting. Three days for your supposed truth to arrive."
He turned to the circle of ministers behind him.
"She disrupted the Spring Offering. She misrepresented the ritual. She offered false tribute in the name of Heaven. And yet, she stands here without chains."
Ziyan spoke evenly. "Because I still serve the Empire."
"Do you?" Ning's voice lowered. "Or do you serve something older—something more dangerous?"
Murmurs stirred among the nobles.
Li Qiang stepped forward. "With respect, Your Highness, the forged signatures, the tainted grain—none of that was Minister Li's doing. The Bureau was infiltrated. We believe—"
"I did not summon you to speak," Ning snapped.
Li Qiang fell silent, fists clenched at his sides.
Ziyan's voice cut in. "You asked for the truth. I intend to give it."
Prince Ning narrowed his eyes. "Then speak. But know this—once I've passed judgment, no second voices will be heard."
Ziyan nodded.
She took one step forward.
"Three years ago, a quiet order was given to the Southern Council—an order to seal all records regarding a failed border negotiation. That failure led to the assassination of two minor officials and the exile of a man named Yu Feilian."
Ning stiffened, just slightly.
Ziyan continued. "Lord Yu was declared a traitor. But what wasn't declared—was that he held evidence linking the Grand Commandant Zhao to a network within our court."
Some of the nobles visibly tensed.
Ziyan turned to face them.
"That network still exists. They were the ones who forged the tribute documents. They corrupted the Offering. They tried to have me executed to preserve their silence."
Gasps. Two ministers began whispering behind fans.
"And where is this Lord Yu?" Prince Ning asked coldly. "Buried? Fled across the border?"
Ziyan did not answer. Instead, she tilted her head toward Li Qiang.
"Now," she said calmly. "Bring him in."
A ripple passed through the room like a dropped stone in still water.
Li Qiang turned on his heel and exited through the side door. For a moment, the hall was silent but for the flickering of flame.
Then the door opened again.
The man who entered was older than most remembered. His robes were plain, his face gaunt, but his posture upright.
Lord Yu.
Several ministers rose from their seats in alarm. One nearly dropped his cane.
Prince Ning did not move.
Lord Yu stepped forward beside Ziyan, eyes scanning the room with a quiet, withered dignity. He did not bow.
Ning stood slowly.
"This man is under exile. You bring him into court without sanction?"
"No," Ziyan said. "I bring him because he never left. Because he's been in hiding under imperial protection—awaiting the moment the court would allow him to speak again."
"That protection was revoked," Ning said. "By the Emperor himself."
Ziyan met his gaze. "Was it?"
The air in the chamber thickened.
One noble stood, red-faced. "This is madness! You let a criminal walk into sacred ground!"
Ziyan turned toward him. "Is it madness to hear the one man who kept records of Zhao's last sealed orders?"
A pause.
The noble sat down again, stiffly.
Ziyan turned to the gathered ministers.
"I ask for nothing today. No verdict. No decision. Only that Lord Yu be permitted to speak. If he lies—execute him. If he's right, then we all stand on rotten soil."
Prince Ning did not reply.
He stepped down from the dais, approaching Lord Yu.
The two men stared at each other. Something ancient passed between their eyes.
Finally, Ning said, "Then speak."
But Lord Yu did not.
Not yet.
He looked instead to Ziyan.
"I will speak," he said. "But not until the full court is present. And not without the Emperor."
A murmur rolled through the hall.
Ziyan's jaw tightened.
Then Ning's voice, low and dark: "You play a dangerous game, Minister Li."
Ziyan responded, "Then perhaps it's time the board was reset."
Lightning cracked outside the chamber.
The torches did not waver.
But in the shadowed corridor beyond the dais, a hand moved behind the tapestry. A figure—not yet seen—slipped back into darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
And somewhere deep within the inner court, a guard began to run—toward the Emperor's quarters.