The Límíng Prison stood as an iron extension of the imperial palace, its stone walls rising like a grim reminder of justice's shadow. Within the city's heart, it loomed—silent, cold, and ever-watchful.
Minor offenders were kept here until their trials in the palace court or until interrogations were complete. Major offenders, once found guilty, were led to the public square for execution beneath the blazing sun.
⸻
Lan sat in one of the larger prison cells, the torchlight flickering across her stern face. Before her, Jian stood a few feet away, one arm chained to the damp wall. His eyes were sunken, dark from sleepless nights.
"I'll ask again," Zhenyuan, who stood beside Lan, said firmly. "Who sent you?"
"Hmph..." Jian scoffed, the sound echoing faintly through the stone chamber.
"What is your purpose?" Zhenyuan pressed.
Jian smirked, though it quickly faded when he met Lan's calm, piercing gaze. Her silence unnerved him—like a hawk studying its prey.
"Why the defense map?" Lan finally asked. "Out of all the things you could steal?"
Jian turned to her, his voice low and mocking. "What else? You think the Límíng Dynasty will last forever?"
Lan's lips curved faintly. "You and what army could bring it down?"
She paused. "The Gǔ clan, perhaps?"
Jian glared, his body tightening against the chains.
Lan rose, stepping closer until the edge of her military-style hanfu brushed the cold floor. Her hands remained calmly clasped behind her back.
"I've have nothing against your people," she said softly. "You are wanderers— and don't judge—"
"Your kind has done nothing but judge!" Jian cut her off, his voice cracking with fury.
"Thousands of years of oppression from people like you!" He spat at her feet, the saliva landing dangerously close to the hem of her dark robes.
Lan's expression didn't change. "I don't need a history lesson."
She gestured around the cell. "This prison is one of the largest—spacious, less stifling than the others. You even get a window." Her tone turned faintly mocking. "Do you call this oppression?"
Jian said nothing, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"I'm not here to harm you," Lan said, lowering her tone. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Jian muttered after a pause.
Lan sighed wearily. "Tell us who sent you, and we'll give you a fair, quick trial. Your injured accomplices will remain unharmed."
"Injured?" Jian's voice trembled.
Lan nodded slowly. "One took an arrow to the shoulder. The arrow was laced with Yèxīn Zhī Lèi—the Tears of the Night Heart poison. Ever heard of it? Its effects surface as the sun rises."
Jian stiffened. Could it be... Wei Yí chén?
Lan noticed the panic flash across his face. "Don't worry," she said coolly. "Tell us where they're hiding, and the antidote will be given. I promise—no deceit."
"Liar," Jian hissed. "You'll twist my words to justify more chains for my people."
"You speak of oppression," Zhenyuan interrupted sharply, "yet you crept into the palace under false documents, intending to steal the Límíng defense map. Your clan brought this upon themselves."
Jian chuckled bitterly and sank to the floor, his chained arm pulling taut. "You want me to talk? Kill me first."
Zhenyuan glanced at Lan, awaiting her decision.
Lan's eyes darkened. "Were you part of the bandits responsible for the death of Dùyí, the governor's son of Jīn Sī Què?"
"Ask that of your queen, you corrupt fools!" Jian spat.
Lan's patience snapped. In one smooth motion, she drew her sword, its blade glinting in the torchlight. She pressed it to the side of Jian's neck.
"Wish for death again," she warned in a deadly whisper, "and I'll grant it—slowly."
Jian dropped his gaze in silence. Lan sheathed her sword with a sharp click.
"Take him to another room," she ordered coldly. "A smaller one. Let the dark remind him what reflection feels like."
The guards obeyed as Lan turned on her heel, her boots echoing against the iron floor.
⸻
Bǎihé sat by her window, her mind elsewhere. An hour had passed since Haoyu left. Beside her, Hépíng lingered, unwilling to leave.
Bǎihé wanted to speak—to tell her about the dream, the strange voice that whispered "Don't trust anyone." But embarrassment kept her silent. The words still haunted her; how could a dream feel so real?
"I'm craving noodles," Bǎihé said suddenly.
"I'll send the maids to the kitchen—"
"No." Bǎihé rose swiftly. "I want a much local-style noodles. I'll head into the city myself."
"Gōngzhǔ, you're not allowed to leave," Hépíng said quickly. "There are movement restrictions in some districts."
Bǎihé paused, then smiled. "Don't worry I am sure I'll be fine," she said softly, and slipped out.
⸻
The small gate by the wash gardens—where royal fabrics dried under the sun—was her secret escape. It only opened from the inside. Fewer guards were posted there, and though she forgot to tell Hépíng to let her back in, she'd figure that out later.
As she approached, old memories surfaced—childish laughter, giggling attempts to sneak out unseen. Those were her happiest days—fiveyears of mischief and freedom that now felt like a dream.
She reached for the handle, about to push open the gate to the pebbled path beyond, when a familiar voice stopped her.
"Do you know how unsafe it is outside?"
Startled, she turned. Lan stood behind her, arms crossed.
"Come on, Jiějiě," Bǎihé said with a nervous smile. "Límíng is one of the safest cities."
"For now," Lan said evenly. "Movement is—"
"Restricted," Bǎihé interrupted. "I heard. Why though?"
Lan approached her slowly, pulling a small, ornate dagger from her sleeve. Its blade shimmered faintly blue in the light.
"I already have one," Bǎihé said quickly.
"Do you have it with you now?" Lan asked. Silence answered her.
"This isn't an ordinary blade," she continued. "It's forged with reinforced steel—sharp enough to cut through armor. Take it."
Bǎihé reluctantly slipped it into the belt of her hanfu.
"In the city's crowd, you won't be easily recognized as the princess," Lan said. "But don't assume you're safe. Protect yourself—and don't trust anyone too easily, Bǎihé."
Bǎihé frowned, confused by her tone. "Thank you, Jiějiě."
"Next time, use the main gate," Lan replied, turning away. "You're not thirteen anymore."
Bǎihé sighed and stepped through the gate as it closed quietly behind her.
⸻
"Commander Yáng, why are we going to Bowen?" Zhenyuan asked, following beside her.
"I need to ask him a few questions," Lan replied curtly.
"Is it about the arrow?"
Lan's silence was answer enough.
"I told you to stop calling me commander," she said, changing the subject.
"Sorry, Gōngzhǔ. You're not the commander yet, but honestly, you already lead like one." Zhenyuan smiled sheepishly.
Lan gave a faint smile in return.
Zhenyuan cleared his throat. "The arrow had pigeon feathers—it's one of Bowen's designs. A palace arrow."
"I know," Lan said. "But what was it doing miles away from Límíng?"
"Maybe the Gǔ spy supplied it to frame the dynasty," Zhenyuan said, thinking aloud. "They always despised the royal line."
"Yes, but why Bowen's arrow in particular?" Lan countered, glancing back.
"Because Bowen is close to the Queen," Zhenyuan said grimly. "He isn't just any soldier to accuse. If he's involved in Dùyí's death, it'll strike deep."
Lan's gaze hardened. She wanted to confront Bowen directly—but Zhenyuan's cautious tone lingered.
"Let's not act rashly," he said. "We'll keep watch. Quietly."
Lan hesitated. The thought of her mother's possible involvement stung, but she nodded. "Fine. We'll do it your way. Let's head into the city."