The banquet had ended, but the scent of plum wine lingered in the air like a promise that could not be kept.
Li Ziyan walked the garden path alone, her sleeves brushing over lantern light that swayed faintly in the night breeze. The bamboo rustled — not with peace, but with whispers. Somewhere in the main hall, a flute began to play, thin and cold.
Her father's words still rang in her mind.
"Someone you trust."
The phrase had been delivered without emphasis, as if it were an idle remark. But Minister Li never wasted breath. Every word he spoke was set like a tile in a larger mosaic she had yet to see.
She reached the stone bridge leading out of the Li estate when movement stirred behind her.
"Minister Li," said a voice.
A young attendant bowed low. "The Master requests you remain. A guest wishes to see you."
She should have refused. But something in the way the attendant kept his eyes lowered told her that this was not a request made for ceremony.
She followed him back through the winding corridors, past lacquered screens and silk curtains, until they came to a small side hall — lit not by lanterns, but by a single brazier.
Inside, the guest was not one she expected.
A man in travel-stained robes rose from the cushion, the faint dust of the southern roads clinging to his hems. His hair was tied simply, but the jade clasp at his shoulder bore the sigil of the Xia court.
"A foreign envoy," Ziyan murmured. "Unannounced."
The man inclined his head. "Forgive my intrusion. My presence here is… unofficial."
Ziyan did not sit. "Then speak quickly."
The envoy's eyes flicked to the shadows near the door. "What I say cannot be written, and should not be heard by others. The border between Qi and Xia will not rest much longer. But our patience is not for lack of strength — it is because something old stirs in your own court. Something that does not answer to Emperor or Prince."
Ziyan's pulse slowed. "And why tell me this?"
"Because," the envoy said softly, "when it rises, it will not distinguish between Xia and Qi. And when it does… the phoenix will be the first hunted."
She stepped closer. "What is it?"
The envoy's gaze shifted — over her shoulder. His expression froze.
Ziyan turned, but too late. A shadow moved in the doorway, quick as a blade drawn in the dark. The envoy stiffened — and a thin sound escaped his throat. By the time she reached him, his eyes were already clouding, a pinprick wound visible just beneath his collarbone.
The shadow was gone.
She pressed her fingers to his neck. Nothing.
From the corridor outside came the sharp clatter of feet — too many.
By the time the household guards arrived, the envoy's body was cooling, and the whispers were already forming.
The rest of the banquet dissolved into uneasy murmurs. Several ministers left early, citing illness. Others lingered in tight knots, their eyes darting toward her.
When Ziyan finally left the estate, the air outside the gates felt sharper, almost brittle.
She had not gone far before a figure detached from the darkness near the wall.
Li Qiang.
"I told you to stay back," she said.
"You were followed," he replied, voice flat. "By someone who knew these paths better than I did."
Ziyan frowned. "You saw them?"
He hesitated. "Only a glimpse. But they moved like a shadow I've seen before."
The next morning, an imperial courier arrived at the Court of Eastern Records before the incense was half-burned.
The Emperor's seal was pressed into the wax — a summons for Ziyan to attend a restricted council in the Hall of Military Affairs.
Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of ink and old cedar. Zhang Jinrui stood near the central map table, his hands resting on the lacquered surface where the borders of Qi and Xia were painted in gold.
"You heard about the envoy," he said without preamble.
"I was there."
He glanced up. "Then you know how this will look."
"That I met him in secret?"
"That he died in your father's house," Jinrui said bluntly.
Ziyan's jaw tightened. "Do you believe that?"
"I believe perception moves faster than truth. And right now, perception says the envoy came to deliver terms… and left in a shroud."
He shifted the map's markers — small bronze figures of soldiers — closer to the Qi–Xia border.
"Our scouts report one hundred thousand troops wintering there. Not moving away. Not dispersing. Building. Waiting."
Ziyan's eyes traced the red ink marking supply routes. "And yet, they didn't strike when the Offering scandal weakened us."
Jinrui gave her a sidelong look. "Because something kept them in place. Something they feared, or something they served."
She thought of the envoy's words. Something old.
Jinrui straightened. "Whatever it is, Minister Li… if it's in our court, it will move soon. And when it does, you'll find your allies are few."
His gaze lingered on her, meaningfully. "Choose carefully."
By the time Ziyan returned to her quarters, Wei and Lianhua were waiting.
Lianhua's expression was tight, her hands clasped so hard the knuckles whitened.
"I heard about the envoy," she said. "They're saying you arranged the meeting."
Ziyan poured herself tea, her movements unhurried. "And what do you say?"
"I say," Lianhua replied carefully, "that you should tell me if you did. Because if we're going to survive this, we need to know everything."
Ziyan studied her. Lianhua had fought beside her through nights of blood and smoke. But Minister Li's warning rang like a drumbeat in the back of her mind.
Someone you trust.
She sipped the tea. "I'll tell you what matters," she said.
Lianhua's eyes flickered — not hurt, but something harder to read — before she bowed her head.
That night, Ziyan sat alone in her study, the lamplight catching on the edges of a small ivory token — the Li family seal her father had given her.
A slip of paper lay beside it. No seal. No signature. Just five characters brushed in a steady hand:
I was there that night.
She turned it over. The back was blank.
From somewhere deep in the palace, a bell tolled — slow, deliberate, and far too early for the hour.
In the courtyard below, she thought she saw a figure pass beneath the moonlight. The gait was familiar.
But when she stepped to the window, the space was empty.