Eastern Palace – Morning Thunder

The storm hit before dawn.

A real one—rain pounding the tile roofs, wind bending the plum trees. But that wasn’t the only strike.

General Jin Haoyu, one of Lianhua’s fiercest and most loyal allies, was found bleeding in the palace stables, a blade embedded in his ribs. Barely alive.

The guards who found him said he’d been ambushed.

The physicians said it was a message.

By midday, the court said it was a scandal.

“A general attacked within palace grounds?”
“An assault this close to the Eastern Wing—surely it wasn’t random?”
“Some say he was loyal to the Crown Princess, not the Crown.”

The whispers began to mutate. Rumors stretched like shadows.

Crown Prince’s War Room – Hours Later

Rain beat against the windows as Lianhua stood over the map of palace sectors, the ink from her notes blurring slightly in the humidity. Her jaw was set. Her eyes sharp.

Li Shenzhao leaned against the edge of the desk, reading the official report aloud.

“Three assailants. All masked. One had military training. The other two likely palace-born.”

Lianhua didn’t blink. “They knew his schedule. They knew where he’d be. This wasn’t rebellion. It was precision.”

She pulled a small pin from her sleeve and placed it on the map—the insignia of House Gao, cousins to the Yu Clan and formerly neutral.

Not anymore.

“Gao Ren’s wife hosted Lady Xu last season. And her cousin—Minister Yu’s errand boy—manages stable records.”

Shenzhao raised an eyebrow. “You’re connecting it to Gao directly?”

“No,” she said. “I’m letting the court do that.”

That Evening – Temple of Heavenly Light

The Crown Prince and Princess arrived together, dressed in white ceremonial robes. The Empire thought they came to pray for General Jin’s recovery.

They came to deliver a warning.

Lianhua lit the incense herself.

“We light this not only for the wounded,” she said aloud before the crowd of nobles, ministers, and watchers, “but for the cowards who strike behind curtains.”

“Let them know this: For every drop of blood spilled under my roof, I will take names.”

Gasps. A ripple through the chamber.

Even the monks paused.

“We don’t need swords to punish traitors,” she continued. “We need truth. And the truth always finds a way through silk and smiles.”

She turned.

“The storm hasn’t ended. It’s just chosen its side.”

That Night – General Jin’s Quarters

The physician reported quietly: “He’ll live.”

Lianhua sat by his bed, silent. Watching his fingers twitch. Waiting.

“You almost died,” she whispered. “And for what?”

“For you,” he rasped, barely audible.

Her eyes shimmered.

“Then I swear,” she said, voice steady, “I’ll make them regret sparing their blades for the wrong person.”

She reached into her robe and took out a folded list of names.

One name at the top: Gao Ren.

“Let’s start here.”