The eunuch stood motionless, holding the golden scroll with the calm, practiced patience of a predator.
Rulan looked down at the remaining half-eaten pork belly on her plate, then back at the eunuch.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, heavy and uneven.
‘Fine’, she thought bitterly.
‘Apparently this isn’t a dream.
I’m actually here.’
A terrifying flood of questions threatened to crash over her mind.
‘How did I get here?
What happened to my body in the ash?
Are the others dead?
Did they make it out of the ruined city after I fell?’
She felt a cold, hollow ache open up in her chest.
‘No’
Rulan slammed a mental door shut on those thoughts.
‘Don’t go there.
Thinking about it will kill you.’
In the apocalypse, grief was a luxury that got people killed.
If you spent your time crying over the dead, you stopped paying attention to the shadows, and then you became the next body on the ground.
She couldn’t afford to crumble.
Not here, surrounded by strangers in an unknown territory.
She forced her focus back to the immediate, practical reality.
‘Where am I?
Great Liang Imperial Palace.
Who holds authority?
The Emperor.
Am I in danger?
Potentially.
How do I survive?
Keep my head down, gather intelligence, and secure a steady food supply.’
Survival mode engaged.
Rulan stood up, her movement slow and heavy.
“Lead the way.”
Before she could step toward the door, four palace maids rushed forward in a flurry of embroidered silk and nervous gasps.
“Your Highness, you cannot present yourself before His Majesty like this!” the head maid squeaked, wringing her hands.
“Please, allow us to assist you!”
What followed was twenty minutes of pure, unadulterated torture for an apocalypse survivor.
Rulan was accustomed to dressing herself in thirty seconds flat, lacing up worn leather boots, and pulling a dirt-caked jacket over her shoulders.
Now, she was forced to stand like a wooden statue while four women hovered around her, wrapping her in heavy layers of crimson and gold silk, tying intricate sashes around her waist, and scrubbing her face with floral-scented waters.
They tugged at her hair, inserting heavy jade hairpins that weighed down her head.
‘This is absurd’, Rulan thought, clenching her fists inside her wide sleeves.
‘If an enemy attacks right now, I can’t even run five feet without tripping over these damn skirts.’
Worse than the restriction of the clothing was the state of her own frame.
As the maids pulled her sash taut, Rulan felt a wave of breathless exhaustion.
Her knees felt weak, her lungs felt constricted, and a deep, sluggish lethargy seemed embedded in her very bones.
She didn’t care about being overweight—in the wasteland, having extra fat meant you had a buffer against starvation.
But this wasn’t healthy mass.
Her skin was inflamed, her circulation felt thick and muddy, and every breath required conscious effort.
‘This body is sick’, Rulan diagnosed internally, her field-medic training raising a silent red flag.
‘It’s not just lazy; it’s failing.’
The walk to the Emperor’s study took them through sprawling covered walkways, past serene lotus ponds, white marble courtyards, and manicured gardens.
It was stunningly beautiful, but Rulan kept her eyes moving, mapping out escape routes, identifying guard positions, and noting the high walls.
She also noted the people.
Whenever courtiers, lower-ranking consorts, or palace guards passed their procession, they instantly froze.
They pressed themselves against the red pillars, bowing their heads so low their noses nearly touched the flagstones.
Yet, as soon as Rulan walked past, the whispers began.
“Is that… the Fourth Princess?”
“She’s actually out of bed? After what she did to Lady Gu…”
“Look at her. She hasn’t changed a bit…”
“Keep your voice down, do you want her to hear you and threaten your family with an audit?”
Rulan didn’t turn her head, but she absorbed every word.
The original owner of this body hadn’t just been disliked; she was a universally feared, despised pariah.
Everyone expected her to fly into a rage at the slightest provocation.
Rulan calmly logged this information.
‘Being feared means people will stay away from me.
That’s good.
But it also means I have zero allies.
That’s dangerous.’
The Imperial Study was vast and smelled of cedar, old paper, and rich ink.
Sitting behind a massive rosewood desk covered in official memorials was a man in his late twenties.
He wore dark dragon robes embroidered with golden thread.
He possessed a striking, handsome face with sharp, refined features, though a faint shadow of fatigue hung beneath his dark eyes.
Xie Zhenyuan.
Emperor of Great Liang.
Her older biological brother.
The moment Rulan entered, the heavy, intimidating atmosphere in the room vanished.
The Emperor set down his writing brush, his eyes lighting up with bright, warm affection.
“Rulan!” He stood up, stepping out from behind the desk and hurrying toward her.
“You’re finally up! Why didn’t you rest more? The imperial physicians said you needed at least three days of quiet recuperation!”
He reached out, taking her hands in his own with practiced ease.
Rulan stiffened slightly, her instincts screaming at her to yank her hands back.
In her past life, physical contact from anyone outside her immediate squad meant a knife between the ribs.
But forcing herself to stay calm, she stared at the man claiming to be her brother.
She had no memories of him.
She had no idea how the original princess spoke to him.
Act like a younger sister, she instructed herself frantically.
How do sisters act?
“…Brother?” she tried tentatively, her voice a bit stiff.
The Emperor let out a hearty laugh, patting her hand.
“Look at you, still sounding so distant. Are you still angry with Brother for scolding you three days ago?”
“No,” Rulan said flatly.
“I’m fine.”
The Emperor’s eyes flicked over her face, a sharp, imperceptible glint passing through his gaze before returning to a look of indulgent fondness.
“Do you even remember what you did at the Imperial Garden before you collapsed?”
Rulan blinked.
“Vaguely.”
“Vaguely?” The Emperor let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temples, though there was an amused smile on his lips.
“You pushed Lady Gu into the lotus pond simply because her dress matched yours, and when Minister Zhang tried to intervene, you threatened to have his entire estate audited by the imperial guards.”
Rulan’s eyelid twitched.
Pushed a noble lady into a pond…
threatened a minister with imperial audits…
over a dress color…
She looked at her brother, who seemed more amused than angry that his sister had essentially caused a political nightmare in the middle of the palace gardens.
‘The original Xie Rulan was an absolute menace’, Rulan realized, torn between a sudden urge to laugh and the overwhelming desire to hide under a bed.
‘How is this woman still alive?’
“I… apologize for the inconvenience,” Rulan offered, trying to play it safe.
The Emperor paused, looking at her with genuine surprise, before laughing even louder.
“Apologize? My little sister actually knows the word ‘apologize’? The fever really must have melted your brain!”
He turned toward his head eunuch.
“Send word to the Imperial Kitchens. Prepare a full royal banquet for the Fourth Princess’s residence tonight. Bring out the mountain delicacies and the sweet pastries she loves.”
He turned back to Rulan, his smile radiant.
“Tell Brother, what else do you want while you recover? Golden jewelry? Rare silks? I will grant whatever my precious sister desires.”
Rulan didn’t hesitate for a second.
“Food.”
The Emperor blinked.
“Food? But I just ordered a banquet—”
“More food,” Rulan clarified smoothly, her eyes completely serious.
“Fresh meat, rice, dumplings, hot soups. Three times a day. Maybe four.”
The Emperor stared at her for a moment, then burst into genuine laughter, shaking his head.
“Still as gluttonous as ever. Fine, fine! You shall have all the food you want.”
He clapped his hands, and a servant stepped forward carrying a silver tray with a small, steaming porcelain bowl.
“Drink your restorative medicine first,” the Emperor said gently, his tone dripping with protective care.
“The court physician prepared it specifically to clear the heat from your blood.”
Rulan took the bowl.
As she raised it to her lips, a sharp, bitter aroma hit her nose.
Beneath the heavy smell of ginseng and dried lotus, her hyper-tuned survival instincts caught something else—a faint, metallic-sour tang that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
It was subtle.
So subtle that a normal, pampered princess would never notice it.
‘Apocalypse Rule #14: Rulan thought coldly, her eyes dropping to the dark liquid.
Never consume something that smells wrong, no matter who hands it to you.’
She didn’t raise an alarm.
She didn’t throw a scene.
Instead, she took a tiny, superficial sip, letting a small drop touch her tongue before faking a sudden, heavy cough.
“Ahem! It’s… too hot, Brother,” she rasped, covering her mouth with her sleeve and surreptitiously spitting the drop into her handkerchief.
“I’ll take it back to my chambers to cool down.”
“Of course, take your time,” the Emperor said smoothly, his smile never wavering.
“Go back and rest, Rulan. Brother will visit you again soon.”
As Rulan bowed and turned to leave the study, she could feel his eyes resting on her back.
Cold.
Assessing.
The affection in his voice was warm, but his eyes…
his eyes were the eyes of a strategist calculating the value of a piece on a chessboard.
He wasn’t just pampering a spoiled sister.
He was feeding a weapon he fully intended to use.
Back in her sprawling, luxurious bedchamber, the silence finally returned.
Rulan dismissed all the servants, setting the untouched bowl of medicine on a side table.
She walked over to the grand mahogany bed and sat down on the edge, the silence of the room pressing heavy against her chest.
She looked around.
The silk tapestries.
The gilded bronze incense burners.
The soft, impossibly plush carpets.
The servant girls cowering outside her door, waiting to bring her a mountain of food.
It was everything she had dreamed of during those ten hellish years in the ash.
Safety.
Wealth.
Comfort.
She held up her right hand, staring at her thick, unfamiliar fingers, then caught a glimpse of her swollen face in the bronze mirror across the room.
Suddenly, the dry humor drained out of her.
The image of her squad—their exhausted, dirt-streaked faces, the warmth they managed to share in that cold wasteland—flashed behind her eyes with blinding clarity.
‘Are they dead?
Did they make it?
Did anyone survive?’
A heavy, crushing weight pressed down on her throat.
For a brief, dangerous second, the grief she had been desperately holding back threatened to break through.
She missed them.
God, she missed them so much it physically hurt.
Rulan closed her eyes, breathing in slowly through her nose, holding it, and letting it out.
‘Stop it’, she told herself firmly, opening her eyes and hardening her gaze.
‘You’re alive.
You have a new battleground now.’
She looked at the silver tray resting on her table, filled with fresh, steaming pastries brought by a maid moments ago.
She reached out, picked up a warm pork dumpling, and took a large bite.
“I’ll figure out who’s poisoning me tomorrow,” Rulan muttered around the mouthful of food, leaning back against the silk pillows.
“I’ll figure out my brother’s game tomorrow. Right now… I’m eating.”