The next afternoon, Wèi Zhèn returned to his chamber after court.
He entered as usual, fatigue lingering in his steps. Without turning back, he paused, already expecting the familiar presence behind him. Two hands reached forward and began to remove his outer robe.
"Is everything prepared for next week?" he asked casually.
"Y–Your Majesty…"
The voice was unfamiliar.
He turned sharply and caught her wrist in an instant.
"Who are you?" His grip tightened. "Where is the Queen?"
The woman went pale. "Y–Your Majesty, I—I am one of the concubines."
His expression darkened.
"Who permitted you to enter my chamber?" he demanded. "How dare you come here without summons?"
She dropped to her knees at once, trembling. "Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I was told—"
"Enough." His voice cut through the air like steel. "Take her away. Punish her with fifty lashes."
She cried out, pressing her forehead to the floor. "Your Majesty, please—please spare me—"
The guards moved swiftly.
At that moment, Queen Yǐn Lìhuá arrived.
She had been checking palace accounts and had not been informed of the King's return. A servant had come running, pale with fear, and she had hurried back at once.
The sight before her was unmistakable—Wèi Zhèn standing rigid with fury, the concubine sobbing on the floor.
"Your Majesty," Lìhuá said calmly, stepping forward. "Please allow me to handle this."
He turned to her, his anger still sharp—but he nodded.
"She entered without permission," he said coldly.
"I understand," Lìhuá replied.
She looked down at the concubine. "You will leave at once. From now on, you are not to act without my explicit approval."
The woman nodded frantically, thanking her through tears before being led away.
Only when the chamber was empty did the tension ease.
That evening, lanterns lined the stone corridors, their flames steady, casting long shadows across the polished floors.
Wèi Zhèn stood by the open window, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the darkening sky beyond the palace roofs.
He did not turn when footsteps approached.
"Your Majesty," Queen Yǐn Lìhuá greeted softly.
"What brings you here?" he asked evenly. "I know you did not send her."
She hesitated for the briefest moment. "I came regarding a political matter."
That made him turn.
"Wèi Lán," he said.
Her eyes widened despite herself. "You—how did you—"
"I am the King of this nation," Wèi Zhèn interrupted calmly. "Of course I would know."
She studied him then—truly studied him—and realized something she had perhaps forgotten.
This was not a ruler blind to danger, nor a man led by circumstance.
His restraint was not ignorance.
It was control.
"The southern troops are preparing to move," he continued. "Quietly. Too quietly."
"I know," Yǐn Lìhuá replied. "My people confirmed it last night."
His gaze sharpened at the words my people, noting them—but he said nothing.
"I will speak to him," Wèi Zhèn said. "But not yet."
"There is a hunt in three days," she said slowly. "You intend to wait until then."
"Yes," he replied. "Too many ministers will be present. Any move now would cause unrest."
"And after?"
"I intend to let him believe he is unseen," Wèi Zhèn said calmly. "Men make mistakes when they think they are safe."
Silence settled between them—heavy, deliberate.
"You should be careful," she said quietly. "He is not reckless."
"Neither am I," he answered.
Their gazes met—hers sharp with concern, his steady with resolve.
"For now," he added, "nothing changes."
She inclined her head. "As you command."
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Lìhuá."
She looked back.
"Trust that I will not let this kingdom fall," he said. "Nor you."
For a moment, the distance between King and Queen vanished.
Then the lantern flickered, shadows shifted—and they returned to their roles.
The hunt was coming.
And with it, the first true move.