In the golden halls of the imperial palace, where sunlight filtered through carved lattice windows and the fragrance of plum blossoms drifted in from the inner courtyard, harmony was only an illusion.
Crown Princess Qin Yelan stood tall in the eastern wing of the royal residence, her bearing as composed as ever. Though she held the title of Crown Princess, she knew all too well that titles in the palace meant little without power to back them. Her father, the reigning King, still sat firmly upon the throne. And while his health was stable and his authority absolute, he had long since withdrawn from daily matters of the inner court—especially those that involved the tangled affairs among his daughters.
That absence had created a dangerous vacuum. And in that silence, a storm had taken root.
Princess Zhaoying.
Younger than Yelan by two years, and second only to her in rank, Princess Zhaoying was known for her beauty, her cunning tongue, and her ability to wrap others around her fingers. She was no fool, and she made no attempt to hide her ambitions. Everyone in the palace knew it—though none dared say it aloud.
Servants bowed when Zhaoying passed, but their eyes flickered with unease. Some whispered that she was the serpent of the inner court, smiling with her lips but hissing with her heart.
She had tried, more than once, to make the Crown Princess fall.
First, through subtle manipulation—sowing doubts in court meetings, casting suspicion with innocent-sounding questions, twisting Yelan's words into something ungrateful or dangerous. And when that failed to bring Yelan down, she turned to the other princesses.
One by one, she gathered them.
Some with sweet promises of power, others with threats. A few, with secrets that could never be spoken aloud.
In time, nearly all the palace daughters turned their eyes away from Yelan. Even those who had once smiled in her presence now watched her with veiled contempt or silent indifference.
But Yelan—Yelan stood alone.
She always had.
She was not born with power in her hands. Her mother had died when she was a child, and no favored noble family supported her rise. Everything she had, she earned with silence, composure, and the willingness to bleed where others wept.
And now?
Now, she stood at the edge of a precipice—one step away from ruin.
---
That morning, she entered the royal audience chamber to find Zhaoying already inside, surrounded by a small circle of young noblewomen. They laughed softly, the kind of laughter that had no humor in it—sharp and deliberate.
Yelan walked past them, unbothered, head high.
Zhaoying's eyes followed her. "Your Highness," she said sweetly. "I heard there was some disturbance in the western province a few nights ago. A minor noble's house attacked, was it not?"
Yelan paused. The chamber quieted.
"News travels fast," she said evenly, not looking at her.
"Well, I only wondered. It's strange, isn't it?" Zhaoying tilted her head. "Assassins roaming so freely in the kingdom. One would think the Crown Princess might take a more active role in ensuring our realm's peace."
Yelan turned slightly, her gaze calm but razor-sharp. "And one would think a loyal princess might offer assistance, rather than commentary."
Zhaoying's smile didn't falter. But her eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
Behind them, the other princesses looked away, pretending not to hear.
---
Later, in her private study, Yelan stood before a scroll of kingdom reports. But her mind wasn't on the reports. It was on a name that had been echoing in her head for days.
Xu Wenyan.
She had read the report twice now. His family had formally filed no complaint about the attack. There was no inquiry, no hint of political scandal. Just a brief note buried in the night patrol records.
And yet, her hand still burned where he had touched her.
She turned toward her window, watching the light fade. The palace was beautiful at dusk. But under its beauty lay rot—jealousy, fear, and silence.
Zhaoying was growing bolder. That much was clear. And her next move wouldn't be through words.
It would be through blood.
Yelan knew she had little time.
And somewhere far from the capital, a man with eyes like hers, with warmth beneath his steel, might already be caught in this dangerous game without realizing it.
She whispered the name again.
"Wenyan..."
And for the first time, she didn't feel so alone.