The palace bell struck noon.
Sunlight filtered through the latticed windows of the Hall of Judgement, but no warmth touched the room. Prince Ning stood before the gathered ministers, scroll in hand, expression unreadable. The court fell into breathless silence.
Li Ziyan stood with her shoulders square despite the weight of the past days. Beside her, Li Qiang said nothing, though his eyes remained on the Prince like a blade half-drawn. Behind them, the man they had brought forward—Lord Yu, former Southern Councilor—knelt, hands bound, his gaze lowered.
"Lord Yu," Prince Ning began, voice calm but iron-laced, "you disappeared from the southern councils one month before Grand Commandant Zhao's death. Your presence today, alongside documents forged with your hand, and the name of a dead scribe, raises only one question: Why?"
Lord Yu looked up, his voice hoarse. "Because I was told to vanish. So I did."
"By whom?"
He hesitated, then said softly, "Minister Li."
Gasps rippled across the chamber like thrown stones skipping across still water.
Minister Li, seated among the senior court, didn't flinch. His fingers remained folded, face as impassive as an ancestral statue.
Prince Ning turned to Ziyan. "And you, Minister Li Ziyan, stand accused of nearly desecrating the Spring Offering, of harboring fugitives, and of provoking civil unrest. Have you anything to say before judgment is passed?"
Ziyan met his eyes. "You've seen the letters. You've heard Lord Yu. And you know now who forged the documents used to frame me. If truth still matters in this court, then justice shouldn't tremble before it."
For a moment, Prince Ning didn't speak.
Then, quietly: "Justice trembles for no one."
He raised the scroll.
"Minister Li Ziyan shall be confined within the palace for one lunar cycle. No communication with external factions. Her rank is not stripped, but she is removed temporarily from court affairs. Sergeant Li Qiang, likewise, will be suspended from duty until further review. As for Lord Yu—his fate will be left to the Emperor."
Li Qiang exhaled slowly.
Ziyan said nothing. Her gaze flicked to her father—but he was already turning away.
The crowd began to disperse in silence.
But Zhang Jinrui stepped forward, robes catching the light like a shadow dressed in dignity.
"Your Highness," he said, voice cool, "if I may."
Prince Ning glanced back. "You disagree?"
"I do not question the sentence," Jinrui said. "Only the method."
He bowed faintly. "The court did not uncover Lord Yu. Ziyan did. Her actions brought to light sabotage buried beneath ink and years. Punishing her now sets a precedent: that uncovering rot brings punishment instead of reform."
Prince Ning's gaze lingered. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"A dangerous man, this one," he murmured. "But your argument is noted." He looked to Ziyan. "You should be grateful General Zhang speaks for you. Few men would."
Ziyan offered no reply. There was no victory to claim—only survival.
That evening, the room Ziyan was placed in was quiet, not a prison, but a chamber with barred windows and two silent guards beyond the doors.
She sat on the windowsill, watching the plum blossoms outside as they shivered in the evening breeze. Her fingers idly turned the old fan with the poem:
Let fire rise before the flood. Let ash seal what wind could not.
She didn't look up when the door creaked open.
But she did when a voice said softly, "You always find the wind."
Ziyan turned sharply.
Wen Yufei stood at the threshold, a faint limp in his step and bandages beneath his collar.
She rose. "Yufei—"
He stepped in quickly and closed the door behind him. "No time. I'm not supposed to be here. I had to disappear after that night."
"But you're alive."
"Barely," he said with a smile. "Li Qiang pulled me aside just before the blade could finish its arc. It was meant for me. Someone wanted me dead—someone close."
Ziyan's voice softened. "We feared the worst."
"I know," he said. "But it was necessary I vanish. The Empress's guards helped. But I couldn't return… until Lord Yu was named."
She studied him. "You knew?"
"I suspected. But I didn't want to involve you. He's dangerous."
"Why?" she asked. "Why hide now, when your evidence could have cleared me days ago?"
Wen Yufei hesitated, then stepped closer.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because of your father."
Ziyan's breath caught.
"He ordered my removal once before," Yufei continued. "When I started asking questions about the funding gaps in the Southern Ritual Archives. I didn't know they connected to Lord Yu until much later. But by then, Minister Li had already made it clear—some truths weren't meant to reach you."
Ziyan closed her eyes. "So he knew."
"Yes," Yufei said. "He always did."
Outside, the bells rang for nightfall.
Inside, silence pressed against the walls, heavy with things unsaid.
Zhang Jinrui arrived just before the changing of the guard. He entered without formality, nodding briefly at Yufei before sitting across from Ziyan.
"You look well for a prisoner," he said dryly.
"I've had worse."
He nodded. "Then I'll skip the pleasantries."
He placed a scroll on the table between them. "This is a report from one of my informants. The Xia forces have not left the border. They've begun building winter encampments. That means they're staying."
Ziyan frowned. "So the war is coming."
Jinrui's voice was quiet. "Not yet. But it will. And when it does, your name will rise again. They'll want scapegoats. And they'll want survivors."
He stood.
"Be ready for both."
As he turned to go, Ziyan's voice stopped him. "Why are you still helping me?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, without looking back: "Because I've seen what the empire does to those who try to change it. And maybe… just maybe, I want to see what happens when one of them survives."
The door closed behind him.
Outside, the plum blossoms stirred in the dark.
And far away, on the edge of the Empire, the first snow touched the tents of 100,000 soldiers.
Stillness lingered in the palace.
But beneath it, the fire waited.
Ready to rise.