Rulan sat near the garden window of her inner courtyard, quietly enjoying a plate of freshly fried sesame cakes.
Without the daily dose of Physician Zhao’s “restorative” tonic running through her system, the heavy fog in her brain had begun to lift, if only by a fraction.
Her joints still throbbed and her breathing remained slightly shallow, but she felt more in control of her faculties than she had two days ago.
‘Step one: stop drinking the poison’, she thought, taking a crisp, warm bite.
‘Step two: figure out who wants me sick.’
Her quiet morning was shattered when Lian’er rushed into the courtyard, her face pale and her hands wringing nervously within her long sleeves.
“Y-Your Highness,” Lian’er squeaked, bowing low.
“Lady Meng of the Great Scholar’s household has requested an audience. She is… she is waiting at the outer gates.”
Rulan chewed slowly, swallowing her mouthful before glancing at the trembling maid.
“Lady Meng? Who is that?”
Lian’er swallowed hard, her eyes darting around as if afraid the walls were listening.
“She is… the daughter of Grand Scholar Meng, Your Highness. She states she has come to inquire after your health following your recent illness.”
Rulan raised an eyebrow.
An official’s daughter coming to visit a sick princess sounded harmless enough.
Perhaps it was a standard court formality.
“Let her in,” Rulan said, reaching for a cup of warm jasmine tea.
“Bring some fresh tea for her as well.”
Lian’er looked as though she wanted to say something more, but she quickly bowed and scurried off.
A few moments later, a young woman in elegant sky-blue robes walked into the courtyard.
She was strikingly delicate, with fine features and a posture so rigid she looked like a drawn bowstring.
Two personal maids followed behind her, carrying small wooden gift boxes.
“Lady Meng pays respects to the Fourth Princess,” the woman said, performing a flawless, formal bow.
“Rise,” Rulan said casually, waving a hand toward the wooden stool opposite her table.
“Sit.”
Lady Meng didn’t sit immediately.
Her eyes swept over the tea table, taking in the empty plates and Rulan’s casual attire, before resting directly on Rulan’s face.
A subtle, sharp glint of cold disdain flickered across her eyes, so quick a casual observer would have missed it.
“This servant hears that Her Highness has suffered a severe fever,” Lady Meng said, her voice smooth and dripping with artificial sweetness.
“Seeing Her Highness in such… energetic spirits, enjoying her morning meal so heartily, truly relieves this servant’s deep anxieties.”
Rulan paused, her teacup halfway to her lips.
‘Energetic spirits?
Enjoying her meal so heartily?’
Rulan’s instantly decoded the subtext.
In high-society speak, Lady Meng had just called her a fat glutton who looked completely fine despite faking an illness.
Rulan didn’t flare up.
Instead, she took a sip of her tea and set the cup down with a quiet clack.
‘Hostility’, Rulan logged quietly.
‘She isn’t here to check on me.
She’s here because she hates my guts.’
“Thank you for your concern,” Rulan replied, keeping her voice completely neutral.
“What brings you here today, Lady Meng?”
Lady Meng’s smile tightened slightly, offended by Rulan’s dismissive tone.
She gestured to her maid, who stepped forward and set a small mahogany box on the table.
“My father felt it proper that I bring Her Highness a gift of rare northern ginseng to assist in your recovery,” Lady Meng said smoothly.
Her tone lowered, laced with sharp venom.
“After all… it would be tragic if Her Highness remained confined to her bed chamber for too long. The court would miss your… colorful presence.”
Rulan leaned her chin on her hand, watching the girl.
“Colorful presence?”
“Of course,” Lady Meng sneered quietly, her polite mask beginning to slip.
“Who else in the capital would possess the audacity to demand my family’s ancestral calligraphy collection be confiscated for ‘court inspection’, simply because my father did not vote in favor of your estate’s tax grants?”
Rulan blinked.
‘Ancestral calligraphy collection?
Tax grants?’
“And who else,” Lady Meng continued, her voice trembling slightly with genuine, bitter fury, “would publicly mock my younger sister at the Spring Banquet, calling her a flat-chested wooden plank in front of every noble family in Yong’an, causing her to cry herself to sleep for a month?”
Rulan sat in total silence.
‘Fantastic’, she thought dryly.
‘I’ve been in this world for forty-eight hours, and I’m already inheriting personal vendettas over stolen art and teenage insults.’
Lady Meng straightened her posture, her chest heaving slightly as she stared at Rulan, clearly expecting the princess to explode into a rage, slap the table, or demand her guards throw her out—just as the Fourth Princess had done a hundred times before.
Instead, Rulan just stared at her.
In the wasteland, Rulan had dealt with warlords who skinned people alive for a gallon of clean water.
She had dealt with desperate scavengers who tried to slit her throat while she slept.
A pampered noble girl standing in a sunlit garden throwing verbal daggers didn’t even make her pulse tick up by a single beat.
After a long, stretching silence, Rulan leaned back in her chair.
“Did I give the calligraphy back?” Rulan asked flatly.
Lady Meng froze, taken aback by the bizarre question.
“What?”
“The calligraphy collection,” Rulan clarified smoothly.
“Did I return it to your father?”
“No!” Lady Meng spat, her composure cracking further.
“It remains locked in your imperial storage vault!”
Rulan nodded slowly, taking mental notes.
The original Xie Rulan wasn’t just a reckless brat—she was a genuine, high-handed tyrant.
She abused her status as the Emperor’s sister to bully nobles, steal private property out of petty spite, and humiliate anyone who didn’t bow low enough.
She was protected by supreme imperial authority, and she used it like a sledgehammer.
‘I knew she had enemies’, Rulan realized with a cold sense of dread.
‘I didn’t realize she was actively trying to make the entire capital hate her.’
Rulan looked at Lady Meng.
Beneath the girl’s icy demeanor and sharp words, Rulan caught a faint tremble in her lower lip.
Her fingers were clenching her silk handkerchief so tightly her knuckles were white.
She wasn’t just angry; she was genuinely terrified that Rulan was going to order the palace guards to punish her for speaking out.
She had gathered every drop of her courage just to come here and vent her anger at the monster who had tormented her family.
Instinctively, Rulan’s posture softened.
In her past life, Rulan had led a squad.
When someone made a mistake, you fixed it.
When you took something that wasn’t yours, you made it right—or people died.
Rulan let out a long, quiet breath.
“If I really took your family’s collection and insulted your sister,” Rulan said, her voice quiet, steady, and entirely lacking in sarcasm, “then I owe you and your family an apology.”
Silence fell over the courtyard.
It was a silence so absolute that the rustle of the wind through the bamboo trees sounded like a roar.
Lady Meng’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
She stared at Rulan as if the Fourth Princess had suddenly grown a second head.
Behind Rulan, Lian’er and the other palace maids dropped their jaws, standing frozen like stone statues.
The Fourth Princess…
apologized?
The woman who would rather burn a palace down than admit she made a mistake…
just said she owed an apology?
“You…” Lady Meng stammered, her voice high and completely stripped of its prior venom.
“What… what did you say?”
“I said I’m sorry,” Rulan repeated simply.
She stood up, her heavy body moving with slow, deliberate grace.
“I will have my head attendant search the imperial storage vault today. Once the calligraphy collection is found, I will have it delivered back to your father’s estate immediately.”
She paused, looking directly into Lady Meng’s stunned eyes.
“As for your sister… tell her that the opinion of someone who spends her days throwing people into lotus ponds isn’t worth a single tear.”
Lady Meng stood rooted to the spot, completely speechless.
Her mind couldn’t process the reality before her.
She had come prepared to endure a terrifying tirade, to be humiliated or threatened—yet she was standing here being handed a full restitution and a quiet piece of comfort.
“I… I…” Lady Meng swallowed hard, taking a hesitant step backward.
She bowed, her posture shaky and confused.
“This servant… takes her leave.”
She practically bolted out of the courtyard, her maids scrambling to keep up with her rushing steps.
Rulan sat back down, picking up her half-eaten sesame cake.
Lian’er crept forward, her face pale as snow.
“Y-Your Highness… you shouldn’t have apologized to her!”
Rulan glanced at her.
“Why not? I took her family’s stuff. Giving it back seems like the basic thing to do.”
“Because… because Grand Scholar Meng belongs to the Conservative Court Faction!” Lian’er whispered frantically.
“They have openly opposed Your Highness for years! By apologizing, Her Highness has shown weakness to the Emperor’s political opponents!”
Rulan froze, her chopsticks hovering in the air.
‘Conservative Court Faction?
Opposing me?’
She rubbed her temples, letting out a heavy groan.
‘So the original princess’s reckless behavior wasn’t just random throwing-fits—it was deeply tied to the grand, dangerous web of court politics.
The Emperor indulged her, allowing her to smash through political factions, act as a lightning rod for hatred, and disrupt his enemies.’
And now, by acting like a reasonable human being, Rulan had just thrown a giant wrench into the delicate political balance.
“Great,” Rulan muttered, taking a large bite of her cake.
“Factions. Fantastic.”
Meanwhile, in a secluded high pavilion overlooking the Fourth Princess’s estate, a young man in dark navy scholar robes stood behind a carved wooden screen, holding a pair of brass spyglasses.
His eyes were cold, dark, and impossibly sharp.
A shadow guard knelt behind him in the darkness of the pavilion.
“Grand Secretary Xu… Lady Meng has just left the Fourth Princess’s residence.”
Xu Wenqian lowered the spyglasses slowly, his long, elegant fingers tapping against the metal casing.
“Did the princess throw her out?” Xu Wenqian asked, his voice smooth, low, and entirely devoid of emotion.
“Did she break the northern ginseng?”
“No, Grand Secretary,” the guard reported, bowing his head.
“According to our informant inside the courtyard… Her Highness apologized to Lady Meng. She promised to return the Meng family’s calligraphy, and advised Lady Meng’s sister not to weep over her past insults.”
Xu Wenqian stood motionless for a long moment.
A quiet, dangerous spark lit up deep within his dark eyes.
He turned his gaze back toward the courtyard below, watching the heavy, silk-clad figure of Xie Rulan calmly eating her pastries in the morning sun.
The old Xie Rulan was arrogant, stupid, and easily manipulated by a few soft words from the Emperor.
She would have executed a maid for suggesting an apology.
The woman sitting down there had a completely different aura.
Her posture was relaxed yet grounded, her eyes tracking every movement in the courtyard with quiet vigilance.
“Apologized…” Xu Wenqian murmured to himself, a faint, unreadable curve touching the corner of his lips.
“Should we adjust our plans regarding her estate’s tax audits, my lord?” the guard asked softly.
Xu Wenqian folded his hands inside his wide sleeves.
“No,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on Rulan.
“Hold all actions. She really has changed… let us see who she truly is.”