The palace felt different after a banquet.
By day, its corridors bustled with eunuchs, scribes, and ministers bearing scrolls. At night, after the wine had cooled and the lanterns dimmed, it became something else entirely — a place where footsteps echoed too loudly and shadows learned to speak.
Li Ziyan walked those shadows now, her pace measured, her mind running ahead of her feet. The images from the West Pavilion still played behind her eyes: the two intruders dragged into the light, the blank parchment inside the decoy chest, and the hair ornament catching a whisper of lantern fire.
She knew what that ornament meant. Or thought she did. But knowledge without proof was a blade without a hilt. You could throw it — but you couldn't hold it without bleeding.
When she returned to her chambers, Li Qiang was already waiting.
"They're in the Northern Garrison's holding cells," he said without preamble. "Zhang Jinrui ordered them separated for questioning."
"And?"
"The hooded one refuses to speak. The other…" He hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "…the other will only speak to you."
Ziyan poured herself a cup of tea she didn't want. "Then she will wait."
Li Qiang didn't move. "You recognised her."
Ziyan set the cup down. "I recognised the possibility of recognition. That is not the same thing."
His silence was pointed, but he let the matter rest.
By morning, the court was already buzzing. Lord Gao had wasted no time; word spread that Ziyan's "trap" in the West Pavilion had been nothing more than theatre to cover her own faction's theft. Some said the hooded intruder was one of Wei's contacts. Others claimed the second was a palace maid bribed by foreign gold. None of them mentioned the hair ornament. None of them would — not yet.
Zhang Jinrui found her in the Hall of Rites, his expression carved from stone.
"You need to question the girl," he said. "Before Gao's men find a way to do it for you."
"I will."
He leaned closer. "And if she names someone?"
Ziyan met his gaze. "Then I will decide whether to believe her."
The cell smelled faintly of damp wood and iron. The girl sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her hair falling forward like a curtain. When Ziyan entered, she lifted her head just enough for their eyes to meet.
"Minister Li." Her voice was steady, almost too steady for someone in chains.
Ziyan closed the door behind her. "You have something to say."
The girl tilted her head. "You left the chest empty."
"You went to steal it."
"Not for myself." A faint smile touched her lips. "You want to know for whom."
Ziyan didn't answer. Silence was an invitation; the girl took it.
"There are two kinds of thieves in this court," she said softly. "Those who steal for coin… and those who steal because the truth is too dangerous to leave where it lies."
Ziyan's pulse slowed. "And which are you?"
The girl leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I was told the West Pavilion held a letter — not from Xia, but to Xia. A letter bearing your father's hand."
Ziyan didn't move, but the air between them shifted. "And who told you this?"
The girl smiled again. "The same man who told me you'd be here before the dawn."
Ziyan studied her a moment longer, then turned without a word. She could feel the girl's gaze following her as the door closed.
Back in her quarters, she found Wei waiting. He looked as if he had not slept in days, his eyes shadowed, his movements taut.
"They're turning it all against you," he said. "Gao, the Southern Bureau, even some in the Northern Garrison. They say you staged the theft to hide your father's dealings."
"And are they wrong?"
Wei's jaw tightened. "I never wanted it to go this far. I warned you—"
"You ran," she cut in. "And in running, you told me what I needed to know."
He looked at her sharply, but whatever he saw in her expression made him look away. "If you push this, you'll force your father's hand. And when that happens, you won't like what comes out."
"Perhaps," she said, "I already don't."
That night, rain began to fall, soft at first, then harder, drumming against the tiled roofs. Ziyan summoned her closest allies — Jinrui, Li Qiang, and Lianhua — to her private study.
"I set the trap in the Pavilion for two reasons," she began. "To draw out the thief… and to see who came to watch."
Lianhua's eyes flickered. "You think someone in the court arranged it?"
"I know someone did."
"And now?" Jinrui asked.
"Now," Ziyan said, "we give them what they think they want."
She spread a blank scroll on the table, weighing the corners with jade seals. "By tomorrow night, there will be another letter. This one will look as though it never should have left my father's study. It will bear the Xia seal — and it will be just false enough to draw the real traitor into reaching for it."
Li Qiang's voice was low. "And when they do?"
Ziyan's gaze was steady. "We close the door."
When the meeting broke, Lianhua lingered behind.
"You speak as though you already know who it will be," she said quietly.
Ziyan met her eyes. "Perhaps I do."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then I will learn something more dangerous than a name."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Lianhua bowed slightly and left, her footsteps fading into the rain.
In the hours before dawn, the palace was silent save for the patter of water and the faint creak of wooden eaves. Minister Li walked alone through a covered corridor toward his private study, a single lantern in his hand.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ink and cedar oil. He closed the door, set down the lantern — and did not look surprised to see the figure waiting in the corner.
"You came," Wen Yufei said softly.
Minister Li poured himself tea without offering any. "I told you to stay hidden."
Yufei's eyes narrowed. "You also told me she must never know."
"And she mustn't," Li said. "If Ziyan learns what I wrote, she will not stop. And if she does not stop, neither of us will survive what follows."
Yufei's voice was tight. "You speak as if this is still about survival."
"It is always about survival," Li replied. He took a slow sip of tea. "Even for phoenixes. Especially for phoenixes."
The rain hissed against the shutters.
"What's in that letter," Yufei said, "is more than treason."
Li's eyes were unreadable. "Which is why it will never be hers to read."
Yufei stepped forward, his voice low. "You're gambling with her life."
"And you," Li said evenly, "are gambling with both of ours by standing here."
For a long moment, they faced each other in the dim light, the rain their only witness.
Then Li set his cup down, the porcelain ringing faintly. "Go back to your hiding place, Yufei. The night is not yet done with us."
Yufei didn't move. "And if she finds me first?"
Li's answer was soft — and all the more dangerous for it.
"Then the sky will burn before its time."