That night—
The palace felt different again.
But this time—
The tension wasn't just against Xueying.
It was shifting.
—
In her chamber, she sat calmly, the letter placed in front of her.
Qingyu stood nearby.
"…Princess?"
Xueying didn't look up.
"Bring me ink."
Qingyu blinked. "Ink?"
"Yes."
—
Moments later—
The brush touched paper.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Controlled.
—
Xueying wrote carefully.
Every stroke measured.
Every line intentional.
—
"Princess… what are you doing?" Qingyu asked softly.
Xueying didn't stop.
"I'm giving them what they want."
—
Across the palace—
A servant delivered a message.
Quietly.
Secretly.
Directly—
To Zhao Meilin.
—
Meilin unfolded the letter.
Her eyes scanned it quickly.
Then—
She froze.
—
It was a confession.
From Xueying.
—
"I knew you would do this," Meilin murmured softly.
Her lips curved.
Victorious.
"So you finally broke."
—
Without hesitation—
She stood.
"This ends tonight."
—
But what she didn't see—
Was the small detail.
The one thing she missed.
—
Because this time—
The letter wasn't written to defend.
—
It was written—
To trap.
—
Back in her chamber—
Xueying finally set the brush down.
Her expression calm.
Cold.
Different.
—
"They think I'll keep denying," she said quietly.
Qingyu looked confused.
"…Then what are you doing?"
Xueying lifted her gaze.
And for the first time—
There was something new in her eyes.
Not fear.
Not pain.
—
Strategy.
—
"I'm letting them expose themselves."
—