Days passed like slow-moving water.
Xin Ying's body adapted before her mind realized it had. Her steps grew quieter, her balance steadier. She no longer turned her head instinctively toward her blind side—she compensated without thinking, adjusting her stance, her breathing, her awareness.
Even pain had become familiar.
The guards noticed.
So did the court.
Within the council hall, unease settled among the three clans.
"This is no longer coincidence," Zhang Shuqin said, his voice low. "Twice now, danger has entered the Palace under the guise of 'testing.'"
Wang Tianhua nodded. "Ling Zhihao moves too boldly. Too openly."
Li Yuetong folded her hands. "He believes himself untouchable."
Silence followed.
None of them spoke the thought aloud—but all of them shared it.
If the Empress falls, Ling Zhihao rises.
Li Hua felt the pressure more than any of them.
Alone in her chamber, she sat by the window long after sunset, crown resting untouched on the table. The weight of it felt heavier than steel.
I cannot afford weakness, she reminded herself.
Yet her thoughts drifted—again and again—to Xin Ying.
The way she stood between danger and the throne.
The way she endured without complaint.
The way her presence eased something Li Hua had not known was strained.
A ruler must not lean on one person, she thought.
But when footsteps sounded outside, her heart stilled—hoping, without reason, that it was Xin Ying.
The crime revealed itself quietly.
A clerk from the treasury collapsed during morning duties—alive, but fevered and delirious. No visible wounds. No signs of poison in his cup.
Li Yuetong summoned Xin Ying at once.
"He handled border supply records," Li Yuetong explained as they walked. "Before he collapsed, he tried to burn something."
Xin Ying's eye narrowed. "May I see the remains?"
They were led to a brazier. Among the ashes lay half-burned silk—ink faint but legible.
Xin Ying crouched carefully, ignoring the heat, studying the strokes.
"These numbers don't belong to treasury accounts," she said slowly. "They're troop allocations."
Li Yuetong's expression sharpened. "Then why would a clerk have them?"
Xin Ying looked up. "Because someone wanted them destroyed—and used him as the tool."
The clerk survived.
Under questioning, he confessed: a superior had ordered him to alter records and silence discrepancies.
The name he whispered was not spoken aloud—but it did not need to be.
That night, the three clans exchanged knowing glances.
Ling Zhihao was no longer hiding.
The feast was held three days later.
Lanterns filled the grand hall like captured stars. Musicians played softly as dishes were carried in one by one—steamed fish glazed with sauce, crisp roasted meats, delicate pastries shaped like flowers, bowls of fragrant rice and soups rich with herbs.
Xin Ying stood behind the Empress, posture straight.
But her eyes—
Her eyes lingered.
So much food… she thought.
Her stomach betrayed her with a faint growl.
She quickly stilled herself, face carefully neutral.
Li Hua noticed.
She did not turn, but her lips curved slightly.
When a plate was set aside for the Empress's personal guard, Li Hua spoke softly, without looking back.
"Eat when you can."
Xin Ying blinked.
"…Thank you, Your Majesty."
The first bite was warm, savory, and grounding.
For a moment, the Palace felt almost peaceful.
As the feast continued, Li Hua watched the court with practice calm—but her attention returned again and again to Xin Ying.
If I rely on her too much, she thought, I endanger her.
Yet when she imagined the hall without Xin Ying's presence—
The thought unsettled her more than any political threat.
A ruler must stand alone.
But a woman—
A woman could wish.
Xin Ying finished her meal quietly, unaware of the gaze resting on her.
Above them, lanterns swayed.
The court smiled.
And beneath the music and silk, danger continued to gather—patient, calculating, and hungry for the throne.
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