Meishan's fingers tightened around the counterfeit coin, the metal biting into her palm. Xu Heng. The name surfaced in her memory like a blade breaking water.
In her past life, Wen Renshu had spent months chasing whispers of forged coins before finally cornering Xu Heng—a minor minister with connections to the dye trade. But the evidence had been thin, the confession coerced, and the true orchestrator had slipped away. Xu Heng had taken the fall, his reputation ruined, but the counterfeit network had simply shifted its operations.
Now, fate had dropped him into her path.
A slow smirk curled her lips. Perfect.
---
The warehouse by the dye pits stank of fermented indigo and rotting wood. Meishan moved like a shadow along the south wall, her boots silent on the damp earth. Through a cracked shutter, she glimpsed flickering lamplight and the hunched figures of laborers stacking sacks—sacks that clinked with the unmistakable sound of metal.
Xu Heng stood by a ledger, his silk robes stark against the grime. He was younger than she remembered, his beard neatly trimmed, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table.
"Hurry up," he snapped at a trembling clerk. "The shipment for the eastern markets leaves at dawn. If the weights are off again, I'll have your hands."
Meishan didn't bother with stealth.
She kicked the door open.
The laborers froze. Xu Heng's head jerked up, his face paling as she strode inside, her sword still sheathed but her stance screaming violence.
"You—"
She didn't let him finish. In three strides, she was across the room, her fist connecting with his jaw. He staggered back, crashing into a shelf of dye barrels. Purple liquid sloshed over his robes, staining them the color of a fresh bruise.
"Minister Xu," she said sweetly, grabbing his collar and hauling him upright. "Fancy meeting you here."
His eyes darted to the door, but she blocked his escape with a boot to his knee. He yelped.
"Who—who are you?" he gasped.
Meishan leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Someone who knows exactly what you're shipping tonight. And someone who's going to make you a deal."
She yanked a sack from the nearest pile and spilled its contents onto the table. Dozens of counterfeit coins gleamed under the lamplight.
Xu Heng's breath hitched.
"Here's what's going to happen," she said, pressing the edge of a coin to his throat. "You're going to remember my face. And when the time comes—when someone asks you about the Yu family's bastard daughter—you're going to tell them exactly how she attacked you. How she threatened you. How she's unfit to marry into the imperial court."
His eyes widened. "Yu Meishan?"
She smiled. "Glad we understand each other."
With that, she slammed his head into the table—hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to kill—and strode out, leaving him groaning in a puddle of indigo.
---
The night air was crisp as Meishan melted back into the streets. Her pulse hummed with satisfaction.
'Yu Lianhua, do what you have to do...'
Meishan tilted her face to the moon, her grin sharp as a blade.
The wind howled outside the canvas walls, carrying the bite of frost and the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer. Wen Renshu stood over a map of the empire, his fingers tracing the inked roads between Minyan and the northern border. Counterfeit coins had been turning up in trade shipments for weeks, and the trail was growing colder by the day.
A shadow darkened the tent flap before Lu Yichen, and Zhao Mingyu. Both bore the dust of hard riding.
"Report," Wen Renshu said without looking up.
Lu Yichen stepped forward, his voice tight. "We traced the coins back to the dye pits near the southern garrison. The forgery operation is bigger than we thought—sacks of fakes, ready to be shipped east."
Wen Renshu's gaze flicked up. "Who's behind it?"
Zhao Mingyu exchanged a glance with Lu before speaking. "Xu Heng's name came up. But that's not all." He hesitated. "We heard… rumors. About a woman at the warehouse last night."
A muscle twitched in Wen Renshu's jaw. "What woman?"
Lu Yichen cleared his throat. "A courier, they said. Or maybe a street runner. But the description…" His voice dropped. "It matched Lady Yu."
Silence.
Wen Renshu's hand stilled on the map. His expression didn't change, but the air in the tent grew heavier, as if before a storm.
"Meishan," he said softly.
Zhao Mingyu shifted uncomfortably. "It might not be her. But the witness said the intruder fought like a soldier. Knew pressure points. And left Xu Heng with a message."
"What message?"
"That when the court asks about the Yu family's bastard daughter, he's to tell them *everything*."
Wen Renshu exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into a fist against the map.
Of course.
She was sabotaging the engagement.
He then smirked and mumbled, " My wife to be is quite a sneaky one."
And if Meishan thought he would let her go so easily, she had underestimated him.
"Prepare the horses," he said, his voice like steel. "We ride for Minyan at dawn."
Lu Yichen blinked. "But the counterfeit operation— the emperor..."
"My wedding is much more important." Wen Renshu's eyes darkened.
Winter sunlight filtered through silk-draped windows, gilding the embroidered cushions and jade carvings of the Peony Pavilion, where Princess Li Huayuan reclined beside a brazier. The daughter of the Emperor and Empress, Huayuan carried herself with effortless elegance—her raven hair swept into a high knot, a single golden lotus pin tucked into the coils. She wore ice-blue silk, trimmed with silver thread, her eyes sharp behind a veil of serenity.
A palace maid bowed low. "Your Highness, Lady Yu Lianhua requests your presence."
Huayuan waved a hand. "Let her in."
Yu Lianhua entered with grace, her steps measured. She wore deep garnet robes, appropriate for her station as the eldest legitimate daughter of the Yu family. Her smile was refined, her gaze respectful, though something glittered beneath the surface—sharp, calculating.
Lianhua bowed. "Your Highness looks as radiant as ever."
"And you've come early," Huayuan said, smiling faintly. "Speak freely, Lady Yu. I assume this is not a social visit."
Lianhua seated herself, smoothing her sleeve. "No, Your Highness. I come only out of concern… for Lord Wen Renshu."
Huayuan arched a brow.
Lianhua continued, her voice measured. "As his cousin, you must want the best for him. As do I. Which is why the matter of his engagement to my younger sister, Meishan, weighs on my heart."
The princess did not respond at once. The only sound was the faint crackle of wood in the brazier.
"Yu Meishan is... not who the court believes her to be," Lianhua said delicately. "She bears the Yu name now, but she is not a true daughter of our house. Her mother was a courtesan, not a wife, not even a concubine. My father brought her in from a pleasure house in Jiangnan during a campaign season."
Huayuan's gaze sharpened slightly, though her expression stayed neutral. "So you come to warn me about scandal."
"I come to protect the dignity of the Wen family," Lianhua said gently. "And yours, Princess. If Meishan becomes Lord Wen's wife, the court will not question her—they will question you. Why would the Emperor's niece allow a courtesan's daughter into the imperial circle?"
"She's clever, charming," Lianhua went on, "but that makes her dangerous. She knows how to seduce. And she knows how to lie. She's always wanted more than her station allowed. I suspect this entire engagement was her design from the beginning."
Huayuan finally set down her teacup. "You speak with great confidence."
"I know my sister well," Lianhua said with a bow of her head.
The Princess was quiet for a moment.
Then she stood. "I thank you for your honesty, Lady Yu. You've done your duty as the proper daughter of your house."
Lianhua smiled. "Your Highness is wise beyond compare."
As she turned to leave, her smile deepened—cool and triumphant.
As Yu Lianhua's robes disappeared beyond the pavilion doors, the smile slowly slipped from Princess Li Huayuan's face.
She turned back to the brazier, but the warmth no longer reached her fingers.
A courtesan's daughter…
Her cousin, Wen Renshu, had always walked the line between duty and rebellion—but this? This bordered on scandal.
A courtesan's daughter in the Wen bloodline would send half the court into a frenzy—and the other half into secret delight at watching it burn.
She reached for her hairpin and pulled it free, her fingers tight.
If this was true… the Empress would need to hear it.
No, she must hear it.
"Prepare my palanquin," Huayuan said coldly to the maid beside her.
The girl blinked. "Y-your Highness? Where shall we—?"
"To the Phoenix Palace."
The maid paled. "The Empress... does not like to be disturbed in the morning."
Princess Huayuan's gaze was glacial. "And I do not like to be lied to by a bastard girl playing noble."
She stepped out into the cold, silk fluttering behind her like a battle banner.