Late that afternoon, the warm glow of the setting sun spilled through the silk curtains, casting shadows over the carved screens and furniture of Lady Lianhua's chamber. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and Osmanthus. A breeze fluttered the edge of a painting scroll, but the silence was pierced only by the shrill voice of Lady Zhang Rui.
"I still can't believe it," Zhang Rui hissed, fanning herself with short, jerky movements. "Someone like Yu Meishan getting engaged to General Wen Renshu? Does the palace have no shame left?"
Lianhua said nothing.
"I mean, of all people," Zhang Rui went on, throwing a sugared jujube into her mouth. "How many years have you admired him? And he never so much as glanced at you. Then Meishan—that thing raised like a man, always stomping around in boots like she owns the streets—she gets to be his betrothed?"
Lianhua's brows twitched slightly, but her eyes remained closed.
Zhang Rui leaned forward. "Do you remember the Lantern Festival, the year Wen Renshu returned from his first campaign? I told you to wear the lavender veil. He didn't even turn his head. But Meishan—she wasn't even trying! Just stood there in that awful plain robe with her hair barely pinned—and he went to her first."
"Do you know," Lianhua murmured, eyes still shut, "how long I've been pretending to care about Wen Renshu? Back then, no one paid him any mind—he was awkward, quiet, barely noticed."
She exhaled, her smile thin. "Now that he's grown into a handsome and formidable man—His Majesty's favored general, raised under the Emperor's own roof—everyone suddenly fawns over him. A true prize." She let out a soft scoff. "I should have known he'd rise this high."
Zhang Rui snorted. "You know how it goes. When Meishan was to choose her fiancé as a child, everyone expected her to pick Luo Zhenyu. Handsome, well-mannered, already a junior official in the making. But no—she chose the quiet, untalented one. Wen Renshu. No one thought he'd amount to anything. Not even your mother. But now…"
Lianhua's eyes fluttered open slowly, a storm gathering behind her painted lashes. "She knew exactly what she was doing. That wasn't a child's whim. She chose him on purpose."
"Then we should teach her a lesson," Zhang Rui said sharply, snapping her fan shut. "Remind her of her place. After all, she's no true daughter of the Yu family—a bastard born of a courtesan, raised like a warhound. She shouldn't be allowed near the inner court banquets."
Lianhua turned her face to the fading sun, lips curving into a cold, thoughtful half-smile.
Zhang Rui blinked in surprise. "You're smiling… Oh, are you truly going to do it?"
"I don't have to do much," Lianhua murmured. "All I have to do is whisper."
Night in Minyan was rarely still.
The lanterns in the outer courtyard had long been extinguished, and the estate slumbered beneath veils of silence. But in the shadow of the side gate, a figure moved—a slender youth in coarse robes, hair tucked beneath a traveling cap, a worn sword strapped across his back.
"Miss—please, if someone catches you—"
"Shh," Meishan whispered, glancing over her shoulder at her maid, Qiu, who stood wringing her hands beside the garden wall. "I left a note. If anyone asks, say I'm sleeping early tonight."
"You're engaged now. What if someone recognizes you in the market? The matchmaker will have my head."
"They'll recognize a general's daughter dressed like this?" Meishan scoffed, tugging the cap lower. "I look like a street runner."
"You are not a street runner," Qiu hissed. "You're to marry the Emperor's favorite general—"
"And he's off in the north, and I'm rotting in this house like a cabbage." With the ease of old habit, she swung a leg over the wall. "When was the last time I did this? Fifteen, maybe. Right before they sent me to the front. I couldn't even sleep without keeping a blade under my pillow."
Her voice lowered, thoughtful. "I couldn't relax. I was always watching for danger. Out there, at least I knew where it was coming from. In here..."
Qiu reached out helplessly. "Miss—"
"This place has never been my home, Qiu. Not really." She paused atop the wall, breathing in the night air. "But outside? Even with the stink and the noise and the pickpockets? It's better."
With a quiet thump, she landed on the far side, boots soft on the earth.
'I'm glad I came back,' Meishan thought to herself, slipping into the alley. 'This time... I'll live freely. I won't waste it trying to fit a role someone wrote for me.'
She paused beneath the flickering glow of a vendor's lantern just outside the main street. A few passersby brushed past her, none sparing her more than a glance. A boy. A courier. Nothing more.
'At first, I thought I should start a business. Just in case Wen Renshu calls off the wedding.' She gave a soft, bitter laugh. 'Turns out, I'm hopeless at weaving, I burned half the soaps I tried to make, and I can't paint to save my life. '
Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "I only know how to fight."
She smiled as she stepped into the market's warm, noisy light.
"And maybe… that's enough."
The market was alive with the hum of late-night chatter and the clinking of coins. Stalls lined the street, their colorful wares spilling out into the open air—fragrant herbs, glistening fruits, and the occasional glimmer of cheap jewelry.
Meishan walked past them, her steps quiet but quick. It was easier to blend in at night, when the crowd's attention was divided and the shadows cloaked her form.
Yet her thoughts refused to stay quiet. They swirled around her like the damp night air.
Wen Renshu didn't call off the wedding. Surprising, really. I thought for sure he'd have second thoughts... I thought he would be easy...
She narrowed her eyes at a fruit vendor hawking citrus and slipped past, her fingers brushing the cold stone of the market's edge.
But I will make sure he does... he has to.
The deeper she went she could hear the hiss of oil from a skewered meat cart, the twang of a street musician's erhu, and the laughter of children.
Meishan slowed near a dumpling stall, her gaze drawn to a group of children crouched beneath a hanging lantern. One girl was drawing shapes in the dust with a charred stick, while the others watched and giggled.
"Is that supposed to be a tiger?" Meishan asked, crouching beside them.
The girl looked up, eyes wide, then gave her a gap-toothed grin. "No! It's a dog. My uncle says they chase coin thieves."
Meishan barely smiling. "That dog has six legs."
"So it can run faster!"
"Well then," she said, tousling the girl's hair beneath her cap. "Hope it catches them all."
She stood and let her fingers trail along a string of paper talismans fluttering from a lantern post. The breeze was cool, salted faintly by the dried fish shop nearby.
Then she heard it.
A scream tore through the street, sharp and panicked.
"Thief! Thief! My coins—stop him! Someone stop him!"
Meishan's head snapped toward the sound. A merchant, face red and hands flailing, stood beside a toppled stall. Scattered apples rolled across the cobblestones. A blur darted through the alley beyond—a boy clutching a bulging sack.
Without thinking, Meishan moved.
Her boots hit the ground hard, her body low as she shot after him. The crowd barely noticed until she was already weaving through them, her long strides cutting corners like a wolf after prey. The boy glanced back once—startled to see someone gaining—and veered left into a narrow lane.
Big mistake.
Meishan scaled a stack of crates and leapt over the alley's curve, landing directly in his path. He skidded back, tripped over a broken cobble, and scrambled for balance—but Meishan was already there.
She struck low, sweeping his legs with the side of her foot. He hit the ground with a sharp oof, the sack spilling open. Coins scattered everywhere—more than a shopkeeper should carry at night.
They gleamed wrong in the lanternlight.
Meishan's brows drew together. She crouched and picked up one of the coins, turning it between her fingers.
Too smooth. Too light.
Fake.
The boy growled and tried to lunge at her, a knife flashing in his sleeve. But she deflected it with ease, catching his wrist in a practiced twist and pressing a knuckle into his shoulder joint until he cried out and dropped the blade.
"What merchant gives a boy a bag of fake coins to run with?" she murmured, narrowing her eyes.
The boy stared at her, sullen and silent.
"You're no ordinary thief."
A groan from the alley mouth drew her attention. One of the stall owners stumbled forward, holding a bruised shoulder. "He knocked me over—took the whole night's earnings."
Meishan glanced at the scattered coins again, her eyes darkened.
This wasn't a petty theft. This was part of something else.
And it had just fallen into her lap.
---
She picked up another piece, weighing it in her palm. Her thumb traced the markings—at first glance, they bore the standard seal of the mint in Minyan.
But the weight was off. The edge slightly too smooth. And beneath the grime, she spotted it: a tiny imperfection in the carving of the character.
Her expression hardened.
She'd seen this before in her previous life.
It had taken months for Wen Renshu to root out the trail. In the end he couldn't catch the mastermind.
"Who gave you this?" she asked sharply, rising to her full height.
The boy glared at her, lips pressed tight. But then he muttered, "they'll kill me if I talk."
Meishan's tone softened, just enough to unnerve. "You're young. But not stupid. You know what they do to coin forgers. Or their pawns. Is it worth dying for?"
The boy flinched, glancing toward the alley mouth. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: "The warehouse by the dye pits. South wall. That's where the sacks come from. I was just told to exchange the fake coin with the real one..."
Before she could press further, he yanked his arm free and bolted into the dark. Meishan made no move to chase him.
The dye pits… that's barely a li from the southern garrison.
She exhaled slowly, mind racing.
So this wasn't random. If Wen Renshu was investigating coin forgery in the north, and these fakes were showing up here in Minyan, then the operation was bigger—deeper—than anyone had reported.
But Meishan only smiled as she sheathed her sword.
"Looks like this will keep General Wen busy for a while."
And give me enough time to make sure our wedding never happens, she thought.