"He threatened me? How dare he!" Huánghòu Juan's voice rang like thunder, her hand slamming against the table. The wine cup trembled, its contents rippling with her fury.
Bowen, calm as ever, placed a cup of warm wine before her in a silent gesture of comfort.
"The death of Duyi was meant to shake him," Nǚwáng muttered bitterly, her fingers curling around the ceramic cup, "yet he seemed... oddly at ease."
"Really? Why would that be, Your Highness?" Bowen asked carefully.
Huánghòu closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Bowen leaned closer, kneeling by her side, his hand gently clasping hers in an effort to steady her storming heart.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
"Investigate what truly happened on the day of the ambush," she commanded, her voice low but sharp as a blade. "And find those who interfered with the attack—I want their motives laid bare."
Bowen nodded. "I will send men immediately to support Commander Lán's search of the site. Any news will reach you without delay." His hand slipped from hers with quiet reverence.
"Good," Huánghòu exhaled, regaining her poise.
⸻
Meanwhile, Lán strode towards her quarters, her head held high, every step carrying the dignity of her bloodline. She was the very image of strength—her father's greatness burning within her, the pillar of hope for Límíng's uncertain future.
"Gōngzhǔ Yáng!"
She turned. Behind her stood Zhenyuan, her loyal advisor, his hair bound neatly and his soldier's uniform as immaculate as his discipline. He bowed with respect, his tone urgent.
"I must speak with you."
Lán inclined her head and led him into her quarters.
The room was dim but alive with the rustle of bamboo slips and the weight of scattered papers. Sitting at her desk, Lan fixed her gaze on Zhenyuan as he placed a blanket-wrapped object before her. Carefully, he unfolded it to reveal an arrow—its shaft slender yet strong, its end marked with the delicate engraving of a cherry blossom petal.
"This was found at the scene yesterday," Zhenyuan said gravely.
Lan's eyes narrowed. "A palace arrow? What business would such a thing have at an ambush in the northern passes?"
"No palace guard escorted Duyi. I cannot fathom how this came to be."
Lan lifted the arrow, turning it in her hands as though its secrets might spill into her palm. "Was it the only one?"
"Yes, Commander."
"Then let us rule it a coincidence," she replied coolly, setting the arrow aside.
Zhenyuan's eyes darkened. "But, Commander, it could mean more. Someone may be plotting against the palace."
Lan's gaze hardened. "This matter ends here, Zhenyuan."
"But it may be a warning... a threat, Gōngzhǔ." His voice was low but insistent.
"Enough!" Lán's words cut firmly. "Our mission is to uncover who orchestrated Duyi's death and bring them to justice. Do you wish to cast suspicion upon our own palace?"
Zhenyuan bowed, chastened, his forehead lowering in apology.
"I will not allow this arrow to fuel panic or rumors," Lan said firmly, though her voice carried an undertone of unease.
Zhenyuan nodded in understanding, though his silence carried the weight of unspoken fears.
Lan's eyes lingered on the arrow once more. The fletching at its end was unmistakable—the mark of a pigeon. And within the palace, only one person possessed such arrows.
Her chest tightened, but she betrayed no outward fear.
"I have other news to report, Gōngzhǔ," Zhenyuan said softly.
"Speak," Lan commanded.