The thwang of the bowstring was a clean, sharp sound in the quiet morning air. It was a sound of purpose. Of control.
Yingluo stood at the archery range in the rear gardens of the Wei estate, the heavy feel of the recurve bow a familiar comfort in her hands. In her first life, this range was her brothers' domain, a place of sweat and loud boasting. She had only ever been a spectator, content to embroider and practice her calligraphy. But the girl who had died in that prison cell had learned that a delicate hand could also learn to hold a blade, and a steady eye could learn to find a target.
She nocked another arrow, her movements fluid, practiced. She had been doing this every morning for a month, since the confrontation at the poetry gathering. She was done with words. Words were for hiding behind. Actions were what shaped the world.
She drew the string back to her cheek, the feathers of the arrow fletching tickling her skin. She breathed out, slow and steady, and released.
The arrow flew, a black streak against the pale blue sky, and thunked into the center of the target, a perfect bullseye. A small, satisfied smile touched her lips. She was getting stronger. Faster. The ghosts of her past were still there, but now, they were fuel.
"Impressive."
The voice was smooth, cool, and entirely unwelcome. Yingluo turned, not lowering her bow. Shen Miao was standing at the edge of the range, dressed not in gold, but in a practical, elegant riding outfit of dark green. In her hands, she held a bow of her own, a masterfully crafted piece of yew wood.
"I didn't take you for an archer, Lady Shen," Yingluo said, her voice neutral.
"And I didn't take you for one," Shen Miao replied, walking closer. "But it seems we are both full of surprises." She nocked an arrow with an easy grace that spoke of years of practice. Without another word, she drew and released. Her arrow split Yingluo's, embedding itself deep in the bullseye.
Yingluo's eyes narrowed. So, the rivalry wasn't just social. Shen Miao was a player in every sense of the word.
"My father believes that a clan's strength is not just in its ledgers, but in its armory," Shen Miao said, lowering her bow. "He says a woman who can command a servant can also command a soldier, if she has the will. It seems you have the will."
"What do you want, Shen Miao?" Yingluo asked, her patience wearing thin. "I'm not in the mood for riddles today."
"The north," Shen Miao said, her gaze turning towards the distant city walls. "The Xianbei tribes are raiding again. The Emperor is not pleased."
As if on cue, the sound of a gong echoed from the front of the mansion, followed by the frantic shouts of a herald. An imperial messenger.
The two women exchanged a look. This was it. The board was about to be reshuffled.
They found the Duke in the main hall, standing rigidly as a messenger in the Emperor's yellow livery unrolled a long scroll of silk.
"By the grace of His Majesty, the Son of Heaven," the messenger intoned, his voice ringing through the hall. "A decree is issued to all great clans of the realm. The barbarian tribes in the north have defied the Emperor's authority and raided the border towns. An expeditionary force shall be assembled under the command of the Third Prince, Li Jian, to quell this rebellion and restore the glory of the Empire."
Yingluo's blood ran cold. Li Jian. He was being given an army.
"The Duke of Zhenning is commanded to provide five thousand cavalry and three months' worth of provisions," the messenger continued. "The Marquis of Wuning is commanded to provide two thousand infantry and a levy of silver to fund the campaign. All other clans will provide support as deemed fit by the court. This decree is to be obeyed without question. So says the Emperor."
The messenger rolled up the scroll and bowed. The Duke's face was a stony mask, but Yingluo could see the storm brewing in his eyes. This was a trap. A brilliant, ruthless trap. Sending the Wei clan's finest soldiers to the northern border, under the command of the man who wanted to destroy them, would leave their estate vulnerable. It would bleed their resources and separate the Duke from his most loyal men.
And if, by some "accident" on the battlefield, the Wei forces were to suffer a devastating loss… well, it would be a convenient way for the Third Prince to eliminate a powerful rival without ever having to draw a sword himself.
"This is a grave honor, Your Highness," the Duke said, his voice strained. "The Wei family will serve the Emperor."
After the messenger had been dismissed with a heavy purse of silver, the hall was silent. The Duke's commanders were already muttering amongst themselves, their faces grim.
"Father," Yingluo stepped forward, "this is a mistake. You cannot send our men. Not with him in command."
The Duke looked at her, his expression weary. "It is an imperial decree, Yingluo. To refuse is treason."
"To obey is suicide!" she shot back, her voice low and urgent. "He will use our soldiers as fodder. He will sacrifice them to weaken us. You know this."
"What would you have me do?" her father demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Declare war on the throne?"
"No," a new voice said from the doorway.
Everyone turned. It was Li Xun, the Crown Prince. He was leaning on his cane, dressed in simple robes, but his presence filled the hall with an undeniable authority. He had not been announced; he had simply… appeared.
"To refuse is indeed treason," he continued, walking slowly into the room. "But to obey blindly is folly. The art of war, Duke, is not just about winning battles. It is about choosing which battles to fight."
He stopped in front of the Duke, his gaze sweeping over the assembled commanders. "The Xianbei are a nuisance, not a true threat. A few raids here and there. They can be bought off with silver and goods. This campaign is not about them. It is about the throne. Your brother wants you out of the way, Duke. He wants your soldiers, your resources, your reputation, all under his control where he can bleed you dry."
The Duke's men were nodding, their anger replaced by a dawning understanding.
"So what is your suggestion, Your Highness?" the Duke asked, his voice gruff. He may have been a simple soldier, but he was not a fool. He knew the Crown Prince was not here out of the goodness of his heart.
Li Xun's eyes flickered to Yingluo for a brief moment. "The decree says you must provide five thousand cavalry. It does not say they must be your best. And it does not say when they must be dispatched. The northern roads will be muddy and treacherous for another month. Citing the difficulty of the terrain and the need to gather supplies is a valid reason for a… strategic delay."
He paused, letting the idea sink in. "A delay that gives you time. Time to see how the political winds shift. Time to see if the Third Prince is truly as brilliant a commander as he believes himself to be."
It was a dangerous gamble. A direct challenge to the Third Prince's authority, hidden behind a veil of practicality.
The Duke was silent for a long time, weighing the options. It was treason, yes. But it was a quiet, deniable treason. A sharp intake of breath from the doorway made them all turn.
It was Wei Ruyan, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and triumph. She had heard everything. And behind her, standing in the courtyard with a cold, triumphant smile on his face, was the Third Prince, Li Jian. He had heard it all too.