The palace bells rang to signal the opening of court. Liu Lanzhi was already dressed.
Two palace maids knelt as she rose from the bed. Both had entered silently moments before, their movements synchronized from years of practice.
She looked at them closely. In her previous life, these women had been strangers—interchangeable, forgettable. Now memory supplied names, habits, futures.
The taller one was Qinghe. She spoke too much.
The other was Yulan. She listened too closely.
"Your Highness, the Third Princess," Qinghe said, eyes lowered. "We are to assist you in preparing for court."
Liu Lanzhi inclined her head.
Court.
The word carried weight.
As they helped her wash and dress, she allowed herself to lean only when necessary. Too much independence would invite suspicion. Too much weakness would invite control.
The silk robe chosen for her was pale, almost austere, its long sleeves hiding the bandages beneath. When Yulan fastened the sash at her waist, the pressure made her breath catch for half a heartbeat.
She did not let it show.
"His Highness ordered that you be dressed plainly," Qinghe said quietly. "So as not to draw undue attention."
Plainly.
There was nothing plain about being paraded before the court as a conquered princess whose fate remained undecided.
"That is appropriate," Liu Lanzhi replied.
Yulan said nothing. Her hands were steady, her gaze fixed on her work.
When the preparations were finished, Liu Lanzhi caught her reflection in the mirror. Pale face, composed expression, steady eyes. No scars. No blood. No visible proof of how close she had come to dying.
Only those who knew where to look would see the truth.
She stepped into the corridor.
The distance from her residence to the main court hall was not short. The path moved through covered walkways and open courtyards. Stone beneath her feet, wet from last night's storm. Guards at regular intervals, armor shining in the morning light.
She measured each step.
Pain flared along her ribs with every stride. Her right shoulder protested. The ache behind her temple pulsed in time with her heartbeat. By the time the towering doors came into view, a thin sheen of sweat had formed beneath her collar.
She welcomed the sensation. It kept her present.
The doors opened.
Sound rushed out to meet her—voices layered atop one another, the low hum of politics and power. Conversation faltered as she crossed the threshold.
The announcement echoed through the hall.
"Her Highness, the Third Princess of the Northern Lands."
Liu Lanzhi stepped inside.
The court hall was vast, its ceiling supported by pillars carved with dragons coiling toward the rafters. Light streamed through high windows, illuminating polished stone and the rows of officials standing in formal formation.
Every eye turned toward her.
Some gazes were sharp with curiosity. Others were openly cold. A few lingered too long, calculating, weighing value and vulnerability.
She walked forward alone.
Each step echoed.
At the far end of the hall, elevated above the rest, Yun Qingyu sat in silence.
He did not move as she approached. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting against the arm of his seat. Formal robes, black fabric edged in gold thread. The conqueror, waiting.
She stopped at the designated point and bowed.
Not deeply. Enough to show respect. Not enough to humble herself.
"Greetings to His Highness the Crown Prince," she said clearly. "Greetings to the esteemed ministers."
A ripple of reaction passed through the court.
The Prime Minister stepped forward. "Your Highness the Third Princess, welcome to the court of the Scarlet Dragon Empire."
Polite. Not friendly.
Before Liu Lanzhi could reply, Yun Qingyu's voice cut across the hall.
"The Third Princess will remain in the palace. As my guest."
The crowd stirred. Voices rose like wind through dry leaves.
"Her status is under my protection. Any offense directed toward her will be regarded as an offense against the Crown Prince."
Silence.
The Minister of Rites went still. Several officials exchanged glances. Liu Lanzhi caught the sharp intake of breath from a woman in the Empress Dowager's faction—Consort Chen, she noted, the one who gathered intelligence.
She filed it away.
"This princess understands," Liu Lanzhi said.
Her voice did not waver, though standing had become a quiet trial of endurance. She shifted her weight subtly, easing the pressure on her ribs.
Yun Qingyu's gaze flicked to the movement. Held there for half a breath. Moved on.
The court session proceeded.
The Minister of Revenue reported on grain shortages in the southern provinces. Bad harvest. Rising prices. The usual appeals that would go unanswered until the situation grew dire. A general petitioned for reinforcements along the eastern border—bandits near the trade routes—in the same tone he had used the last three times, expecting the same refusal.
Then the Minister of Rites stepped forward.
He was a thin man with a voice that scraped like dry reeds. "A matter of marriage contracts between the houses of Zhao and Wen. The dispute concerns—"
He droned on. Several officials' eyes glazed over.
But not all of them. Liu Lanzhi watched who watched her.
The Minister of War glanced at her twice. The Censorate's representative kept his gaze fixed forward, deliberately not looking. A man in the back—Deputy Minister of something, she would learn his name later—whispered something to his neighbor. The neighbor's eyes slid toward her, then away.
She noted everyone.
Time moved slowly. With each passing moment, she focused on three things: the pain, her breathing, the gazes on her.
By the time the last issue was discussed, her legs shook slightly beneath her robes. She did not let herself lean.
At last, Yun Qingyu rose.
The court bowed as one.
"Dismissed."
The hall exhaled.
Officials filed out. Voices rose again, no longer restrained. Liu Lanzhi remained where she was, waiting.
Yun Qingyu descended from the dais and passed her without a glance.
"Come."
She followed.
They moved through a side corridor, the sounds of court fading behind them. High ceiling gave way to carved beams overhead. Guards kept their distance—close enough to observe, far enough not to intrude.
Only when they reached a quiet pavilion overlooking a rain-washed garden did Yun Qingyu stop.
"You should not have stood that long."
Not a reprimand. Nor concern.
"It would have drawn attention if I hadn't."
He turned to face her. His gaze swept over her with the same precision he brought to his war councils.
"You are still injured."
"Yes."
No denial. No embellishment.
"Why hide it?"
She met his eyes. "Weakness invites interference. Interference invites chaos. I assume you prefer the court quiet."
His expression did not change. But something in the set of his shoulders shifted, almost imperceptibly.
"You understand how the court works," he said.
"I understand how people work."
His eyes narrowed slightly. Not anger. Assessment.
"The Minister of Rites," he said. "What did you notice about him?"
She considered the question. He was testing her. She could see it—the same way he tested his generals, his advisors, anyone who might become useful or dangerous.
"His voice," she said. "He spoke longest when he had nothing to say. That suggests either incompetence or concealment."
"And the Deputy Minister in the back row? The one who whispered to his neighbor."
She had not thought he would notice her watching. She should have known better.
"Curiosity," she said. "Or someone told him to look."
"Which do you believe?"
"Does it matter? Either way, I am being watched."
He studied her for a long moment. "Most people in your position would say the first. Safer. Less revealing."
"Most people in my position are not standing in a garden with a conqueror who just declared them under his protection. Safety ended the night you crossed my border."
The words came out before she could stop them. She felt the weight of them settle between them.
Yun Qingyu did not react. Not visibly. But his silence stretched a beat too long.
"You will be excused from standing court until the physicians deem you recovered," he said at last. "But your presence will continue to be required."
"I understand."
He held her gaze for a moment longer. Then turned and walked away without another word.
Liu Lanzhi watched him go.
When his footsteps faded, she allowed herself to exhale fully. Her legs buckled. She caught the stone railing with both hands, knuckles white against the weathered surface, and stood there shaking, waiting for the world to steady itself.
So this is how they will test me.
–
She returned to her residence as dusk fell.
Servants bowed more carefully than before. Some did not look at her at all. Somewhere in the palace, stories were already forming—about the calm Northern princess, about the crown prince's interest, about what her presence meant.
Yulan helped her change into simpler robes. Qinghe brought tea, then lingered, her mouth half-open with a question she seemed to think better of asking.
"Speak," Liu Lanzhi said.
Qinghe startled. "Your Highness, I only wondered—the court, what was it like?"
She thought about the question. Not the answer itself, but what Qinghe was really asking. Access. Information. The currency of the palace.
"It was loud," she said.
Qinghe nodded, apparently satisfied, and withdrew.
Yulan said nothing. She folded the discarded robes with precise movements, her gaze never rising above Liu Lanzhi's hands.
Liu Lanzhi sat by the window as the light faded, watching the shadows lengthen across the garden.
In her previous life, the court had crushed her before she ever learned how to stand within it.
This time, even wounded, she had endured.
She thought of Yun Qingyu's test. The Deputy Minister. The whispered question. He had been watching her watch them. Noticing who noticed what. The same thing she was doing.
She did not know yet what he wanted from her. But she understood now that he was not merely observing. He was evaluating.
Let him.
She would give him much to see.