The morning sun filtered through the bamboo blinds, casting soft, warm stripes across Rulan’s tea table.
She took a slow bite of a steaming vegetable bun, chewing deliberately.
For the first time in days, her head didn’t feel as though it were packed with heavy wet cotton.
The persistent, dull throb behind her eyes had receded into a faint murmur.
Taking control of her own intake and dumping Physician Zhao’s “restorative” tonic into the potted ficus was already paying off.
She was still carrying a heavy, easily fatigued body, but the brain inside it was finally coming fully back online.
Lian’er stood nearby, timidly adjusting a vase of freshly cut chrysanthemums.
Every few seconds, the young maid darted a quick, uncertain glance at her mistress.
“You’ve been hovering for ten minutes, Lian’er,” Rulan remarked without looking up from her plate.
“And you’re quieter than usual. Did someone die?”
Lian’er flinched, quickly bowing her head.
“N-No, Your Highness! It is only… Her Highness has been so peaceful these past two days. This servant was merely… unused to it.”
Rulan took another bite.
“I’m eating. Why would I need to be loud?”
Before Lian’er could figure out how to respond to that logic, heavy footsteps echoed from the outer courtyard.
A senior palace eunuch wearing a high-ranking crimson cap stepped through the doorway, holding his silver whisk with rigid grace.
“Greetings to the Fourth Princess,” the eunuch bowed smoothly.
“His Imperial Majesty requests Her Highness’s presence at the Supreme Harmony Pavilion.”
Rulan swallowed her bun and let out a long, silent sigh.
‘Again?
Didn’t this man have an empire to run?’
“Understood,” Rulan said, standing up and brushing a stray crumb off her sleeve.
“Lead the way.”
The Emperor, Xie Zhenyuan, was not sitting behind his towering rosewood desk today.
Instead, he was in the sunlit pavilion overlooking the imperial koi pond, lazily tossing handfuls of crushed fish food into the clear water.
The bright orange and white fish swarmed the surface, thrashing violently over every single crumb.
“Rulan!” Xie Zhenyuan turned as she entered, his face instantly lighting up with that same warm, impossibly indulgent smile.
“Come, sit with me. How are you feeling today? Has the medicine cleared that lingering fatigue?”
“I am well, Brother,” Rulan said, stepping onto the pavilion and taking a seat on the stone bench.
“The medicine is… doing its work.”
“Good, good,” the Emperor said softly, dusting off his hands and sitting across from her.
He signaled to the servants, who immediately laid out a spread of sweet candied hawthorns and iced fruit tea.
“You look brighter today. Less pale. The Imperial Physicians truly are the best in the realm.”
Rulan watched him quietly.
In her past life, leaders who smiled this brightly while plying you with gifts were usually about to send your squad on a suicide mission to secure an ammo depot.
Real care in the wasteland was quiet and pragmatic—it was a extra bandage slipped into your pack or someone taking the night watch so you could sleep.
This affection felt heavy.
Gold-plated, smooth, and layered with unspoken costs.
“Brother,” Rulan cut through his gentle inquiries about her sleep, her voice completely flat.
“What do you want me to do?”
Xie Zhenyuan paused mid-reach for his teacup.
For a fraction of a second, the indulgent smile on his face frozen.
He slowly set the porcelain cup down, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, sharp intensity.
Then, his chest heaved, and he burst into a light, genuine laugh.
“Look at you,” he chuckled, shaking his head with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Since when did my little sister become so direct? You used to demand three chests of silk before even asking why I called you.”
“I’m feeling practical today,” Rulan replied, leaning her elbows slightly on the table.
The Emperor leaned back, his expression smoothing into the comfortable mask of a ruler.
“Fair enough. Three days from now, the court will hold a private evening banquet in the West Gardens. It is to welcome back Governor Lin from the southern provinces after his three-year tenure.”
“Governor Lin?”
“A powerful man,” the Emperor said smoothly, swirling the tea in his cup.
“He commands significant influence among the old noble families—the exact same faction Grand Scholar Meng aligns with. Several key ministers and noble houses will be attending.”
He looked at her, his smile returning, soft and encouraging.
“I want you to attend, Rulan.”
Rulan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why me? I don’t care about Governor Lin. And I certainly don’t care about southern provinces.”
“Because you are my beloved sister,” Xie Zhenyuan said, his tone dripping with sweetness.
“And because… certain people in the court have grown a bit too comfortable lately. They believe they can dictate imperial policy without consequence. They need a reminder of who holds supreme authority in this palace.”
He didn’t explicitly say: I want you to go in there, act like a manic tyrant, throw a fit, offend Governor Lin, and give me an excuse to strip his faction of their momentum.
He didn’t have to.
In that single, quiet moment, the entire picture clicked together in Rulan’s mind with blinding clarity.
The puzzle pieces fell into place: The Emperor’s endless indulgence.
His gentle chuckles whenever she flipped desks at the Imperial Secretariat.
His total lack of genuine anger when she pushed Lady Gu into a lotus pond.
The way he casually cleaned up her horrific scandals while letting her keep her terrifying reputation.
He hadn’t been tolerating a spoiled, uncontrollable sister out of pure, unconditional brotherly love.
He was using her.
The original Xie Rulan hadn’t just been a reckless brat—she had been a weapon.
A human battering ram wrapped in imperial silk.
Whenever the Emperor needed to harass a political faction, disrupt a conservative meeting, or humiliate an arrogant minister without directly using his own hand, he simply unleashed his wild, untouchable sister onto them.
She was his ultimate, unpredictable distraction.
A lightning rod that absorbed all the hatred of the court while keeping his own hands clean.
‘So that’s why nobody ever stopped her’, Rulan thought, a cold, sharp feeling settling in her chest.
‘She wasn’t free.
She was just a dog on a golden leash.’
And the worst part?
The original princess had probably thought her brother genuinely adored her for it.
Rulan looked at Xie Zhenyuan.
She didn’t feel hatred or heartbreak—she was a veteran, and she understood political utility all too well.
But the dynamics of this relationship had just been fundamentally rewritten in her head.
“Which families will be attending?” Rulan asked, her voice calm, innocent, and entirely devoid of heat.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow.
“The Meng family, of course. The Gu family’s representatives. Minister Zhang. And a few junior officials from the Secretariat.”
“Who arranged the seating?” she continued smoothly.
“Who will sit beside Governor Lin?”
Xie Zhenyuan’s eyes flicked over her face.
“The Palace Protocol Bureau arranged it. Why do you ask?”
“Why is Governor Lin so important to you right now?” Rulan pressed, tilting her head.
“If he just returned from the south, shouldn’t he be giving his official reports to the Cabinet first, rather than attending a private banquet with the noble factions?”
The pavilion fell completely quiet.
The Emperor stared at her.
The light, amused aura around him vanished entirely, replaced by a dense, heavy pressure.
The old Xie Rulan would have immediately shouted about wanting the best seats, demanding the rarest wines, or complaining that the banquet sounded boring.
She would never have asked about seating arrangements, protocol bureaus, or Cabinet reports.
“You are asking a lot of questions today, Rulan,” Xie Zhenyuan said softly, his voice carrying a subtle, dangerous edge.
“Questions you have never cared about before.”
“I survived a high fever, Brother,” Rulan replied without flinching, meeting his piercing gaze head-on.
“It gives a person time to think. If I’m going to a banquet filled with people who hate me, I’d prefer to know whose food I’m eating.”
The Emperor held her gaze for three long seconds.
Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by a deep, fascinating curiosity.
“Governor Lin controls the southern grain transport routes,” Xie Zhenyuan explained, giving her a partial truth to test her.
“He wishes to grant tax exemptions to the noble estates in the south. I do not wish for that to happen.”
“I see,” Rulan said.
She stood up, smoothing her skirts.
“I’ll go.”
Xie Zhenyuan smiled, satisfied.
“Good. Show them that the Fourth Princess is not to be disrespected.”
“I’ll go,” Rulan repeated, looking down at him with a cool, unreadable expression.
“But I’m not promising to behave the way you expect.”
The Emperor’s smile faltered slightly.
Before he could process the statement, Rulan bowed with crisp, effortless politeness.
“Excuse me, Brother. I must go prepare my wardrobe.”
She turned and walked out of the pavilion, her steps measured and grounded, leaving the ruler of Great Liang staring at her back in stunned silence.
Back in her bedchamber, Rulan sat at her desk, staring at a blank sheet of parchment.
She wasn’t panicking about the upcoming banquet.
In the wasteland, survival politics was a daily reality—warlords fighting over water wells, trade alliances sealed with blood, betrayals over a crate of canned food.
The imperial court was no different.
The weapons were just made of silk, poisonous whispers, and court protocol instead of rusted rifles.
‘If I remain a brainless battering ram, my brother will use me until I’m dead or useless’, Rulan analyzed coldly.
‘If I defy him openly right now, I lose my only shield.
I need a third option.’
She needed information.
“Lian’er,” Rulan called out.
The young maid scurried into the room.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Sit down,” Rulan ordered, pointing to the stool opposite her.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about Governor Lin, Grand Scholar Meng, and the Gu family. Who hates whom? Who owes money to whom? And who actually holds power when the Emperor isn’t looking.”
Lian’er gasped, her eyes wide with terror.
“Y-Your Highness! Investigating court officials is—”
“Lian’er,” Rulan interrupted, her voice drop-dead serious.
“Do you want me to survive that banquet or not?”
Lian’er swallowed hard, looking at Rulan’s steady, determined eyes, and slowly sat down.
“I… I will tell you what the palace servants gossip about, Your Highness.”
“Good,” Rulan said, dipping a writing brush into black ink.
“Start talking.”
Meanwhile, inside the Supreme Harmony Pavilion.
Xie Zhenyuan still sat by the koi pond, holding a cup of lukewarm tea.
He hadn’t moved since Rulan left.
Head Eunuch Li stepped softly into the pavilion, bowing low.
“Your Majesty… Her Highness has returned to her residence. According to the guards, she has summoned her head maid and asked for detailed information regarding the officials attending the banquet.”
Xie Zhenyuan didn’t answer immediately.
He turned his head, watching a pair of orange koi fight viciously over a tiny piece of bread at the bottom of the clear water.
A faint, unreadable curve touched the corner of his lips.
“She asked about seating arrangements,” the Emperor whispered, almost to himself.
“She asked about Cabinet reports. And she told me she wouldn’t behave the way I expect.”
“Her Highness’s temper seems to have… cooled significantly since her fever, Sire,” Eunuch Li offered cautiously.
“Not cooled,” Xie Zhenyuan corrected softly, his eyes narrowing with a sharp, dangerous glint.
“Sharpened.”
He set his cup down with a quiet, decisive clack.
“It seems my little sister has finally learned how to think,” the Emperor murmured, leaning back against the carved dragon pillar.
He paused, his gaze darkening slightly as a flicker of suspicion crossed his mind.
“I wonder who taught her.”