Preparing for an imperial banquet was far more grueling than gearing up for a wasteland scout run.
“Your Highness, please hold your breath,” Lian’er pleaded, tugging sharply on the silk sashes binding Rulan’s thick waist into a rigid silhouette.
Rulan stood motionless before a polished bronze mirror as four maids draped layer after heavy layer of crimson and gold silk over her shoulders.
Pearl-encrusted pins were stabbed systematically into her high hair knot, weighed down by heavy golden phoenixes.
She looked at her reflection.
The round face was flushed, her skin broken out from the poison lingering in her blood, and her heavy frame stretched the silk tight.
‘Ten years surviving the apocalypse’, Rulan thought dryly, eyeing her reflection, ‘and now I’m going to war dressed like a decorative curtain.’
Beside her, Lian’er softly recited details from the guest list she had pulled earlier.
“Governor Lin’s eldest son will be near the high table. Grand Scholar Meng’s family representatives include his second brother. And General Gu’s third son will be present.”
Rulan filed away every name and resource base.
But she had a major problem: she knew names and relationships, but not faces.
Reborn without an owner’s manual, the original princess’s soul had left behind a body, a terrifying reputation, and zero visual memory.
“Remember,” Rulan murmured, adjusting her heavy gold sleeve.
“Stay half a step behind my right shoulder. When I look toward someone, whisper their title.”
“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” Lian’er stammered.
Rulan took a deep breath as the silk pulled tight against her ribs.
Governor Lin controls grain.
Scholar Meng controls scholars.
The Gu family controls guards.
She narrowed her eyes.
‘Time to see what the landmines look like in person.’
The West Gardens were lit by hundreds of silk lanterns, casting a golden glow across marble pavilions.
When Rulan stepped into the hall, the atmosphere subtly shifted.
The ambient chatter didn’t stop, but the pitch dropped instantly.
Conversational pauses stretched too long.
Everyone remembered the old Fourth Princess—the woman who would stomp in with a whip, demand fine wine before the Emperor sat down, or scream at protocol officers over seating.
Some officials instinctively leaned back.
Noble daughters checked their dresses, terrified of becoming her next target.
Instead, Rulan simply walked.
Her posture was straight, her steps measured and quiet.
She didn’t glare, grin arrogantly, or utter a sharp word.
Keeping her hands folded within her sleeves, her eyes remained unnervingly calm and unreadable as she followed the attendant to her seat.
Her total silence made the room infinitely more nervous than a tantrum ever could.
“Is Her Highness unwell again?” a junior official whispered three tables down.
“She hasn’t yelled at anyone,” his companion replied, disturbed.
“What is she planning?”
Rulan paid the whispers no mind, already scanning the terrain.
“To your left, three tables down,” Lian’er whispered, pouring warm tea.
“The older gentleman in violet robes… Governor Lin.”
Rulan’s eyes drifted over.
Governor Lin sat composed, surrounded by junior ministers.
He had a weathered, solid face—a man who inspected logistics rather than sitting in tea houses.
‘So that’s the man holding the capital’s food supply hostage.’
“Beside him,” Lian’er continued, “in the dark blue scholar’s gown… Grand Scholar Meng.”
Rulan glanced at the elderly scholar with sharp, hawk-like eyes.
‘Right.
The man whose ancestral calligraphy I stole.’
Her gaze shifted further down, taking in the military-postured men of the Gu family and the nervous Minister Jiang of the Medical Bureau.
Then, her eyes caught someone standing slightly apart from the crowds near a stone balustrade.
He wore simple navy scholar robes, devoid of heavy gold or jade trinkets.
Tall, lean, and outrageously handsome, he carried himself with an effortless, calm posture.
Rulan’s eyes lingered on him.
Why does everyone in this palace look like they were personally designed to cause trouble?
He held a small porcelain cup, his gaze sweeping over the hall like a hawk surveying a field.
“Who is that?” Rulan murmured.
Lian’er followed her gaze, her face paled.
“Y-Your Highness… that is Grand Secretary Xu Wenqian.”
Rulan paused, her fingers resting lightly against her tea saucer.
Xu Wenqian.
She looked back.
Xu Wenqian hadn’t moved, but his eyes were already turned toward her, meeting her gaze across the room with quiet intensity.
Unbeknownst to Rulan, Xu Wenqian knew precisely who she was, while Rulan was only now putting a name to his face.
A loud chime signaled the start of the feast as servants brought platters of roasted meats and flagons of aged wine.
Rulan glanced at her table’s position.
It was placed precisely at a thirty-degree angle from the main guest of honor—placing her close enough to Governor Lin that conversation was unavoidable.
‘Brother really did set the board before I arrived’, Rulan realized, a tiny smirk touching her lips.
He wanted his erratic sister sitting right in Governor Lin’s line of sight to disrupt his tax exemption demands.
‘Fine.
Let’s see what happens when the piece starts moving on its own.’
After the second round of toasts, Governor Lin walked gracefully toward Rulan’s table, holding a silver cup.
Nearby ministers went quiet, leaning in to watch.
“Greetings to Her Highness,” Governor Lin said, bowing.
“I trust Your Highness’s health has fully recovered?”
He expected a dismissive wave or a sharp demand.
Rulan raised her teacup slightly.
“Thank you for your concern, Governor Lin. My health is steady. I hear your journey from the south was smooth.”
Governor Lin blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
“Ah… yes. The weather favored the canal convoys.”
“Speaking of the south,” Rulan said, her tone conversational.
“How was the autumn rice harvest this year?”
Lin stared at her.
“The harvest was modest, Your Highness. Rainfall was inconsistent.”
“Modest?” Rulan tilted her head.
“I was under the impression that southern canal transport fees were raised by fifteen percent this past quarter to accommodate increased grain barges heading north.”
Governor Lin’s posture went rigid.
“That was due to riverbed maintenance, Your Highness.”
“Of course,” Rulan smiled, her grey eyes cold.
“Tell me, Governor… with those operational adjustments, how much grain is currently held in southern warehouses awaiting transport?”
Governor Lin hesitated before selecting a conservative number.
“Roughly… eighty thousand piculs, Your Highness.”
Rulan mentally compared that with official summaries Lian’er had given her earlier.
The numbers didn’t match.
Either Governor Lin was hoarding thirty percent of the harvest to artificially strain supply, or he was lying about yields.
She didn’t accuse him.
She simply took a slow sip of tea, looked him in the eye, and gave him a razor-thin smile.
“I see.”
Governor Lin’s jaw tightened.
He bowed hurriedly and backed away, feeling an uncomfortable sensation—like a soldier whose armor was being measured for weak spots.
Before Rulan could finish her tea, Grand Scholar Meng approached, his face a mask of intellectual disdain.
“Your Highness seems remarkably interested in state logistics tonight. A fascinating departure from your usual… artistic pursuits.”
The surrounding tables went dead silent.
“Grand Scholar Meng,” Rulan said calmly, setting her cup down.
“The court was quite surprised by your recent change in temperament,” Meng continued, pressing the needle in.
“Returning heirlooms, apologizing to young ladies… one might wonder if Her Highness has lost her spirit.”
He was trying to provoke her into a public tantrum.
Old Rulan would have smashed a plate over his head.
New Rulan looked at him with absolute, unbothered calm.
“Your family’s calligraphy has already been returned to your estate, Grand Scholar,” Rulan said clearly.
“If I took anything else from your house, submit a list to my manor. I’ll return those too.”
The entire surrounding area froze.
Rulan had essentially admitted: Yes, I behaved horribly.
No, I’m not going to argue.
What else do you want?
By refusing to fight, she completely disarmed him.
Grand Scholar Meng stood there, his mouth slightly open.
“I… I see. Your Highness is… generous.” He retreated awkwardly.
He had watched the entire interaction, a faint, deeply amused smile touching his lips.
‘So you won’t bite when I point’, he thought, taking a sip.
‘Then what will you do instead, sister?’
“Your Highness.”
A quiet, deep voice broke through Rulan’s thoughts.
She turned to find Xu Wenqian standing beside her table, bowing with fluid grace.
Up close, his presence was intense—smelling faintly of ink and pine cedar, his expression completely devoid of fear or fake flattery.
“Grand Secretary Xu,” Rulan said, analyzing him instantly.
“I have not yet had the opportunity to congratulate Your Highness on your recovery,” Xu Wenqian said smoothly.
“The court is pleased to see you in good health.”
“Is it?” Rulan asked dryly.
“I got the impression most people hoped my fever would last another month.”
A tiny twitch appeared at the corner of Xu Wenqian’s lips.
“Presence is far more effective than absence, Your Highness.”
Rulan studied him.
His eyes weren’t wandering over her jewels or title; he was studying her facial movements, her breath rate, her hands.
It put her internal defense systems on red alert.
“Your Highness seems rather different from the princess I remember,” Xu Wenqian added softly.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you were observing this court like a general surveying a frontline.”
Rulan offered him a light, dangerous smile.
“Perhaps, Grand Secretary Xu, you’ve simply been paying too much attention to me.”
Xu Wenqian’s dark eyes flickered.
For a split second, his calm mask slipped, revealing genuine surprise.
She had just called out his surveillance.
Before he could respond, palace servants approached carrying flagons of spiced winter wine.
A young maid stepped forward, placing a silver tray with a delicate, jade-rimmed cup on Rulan’s table, then stepped back into the shadows.
Rulan casually picked up the jade cup and brought it toward her lips.
Three inches from her nose, she stopped.
Her movement froze so completely that Xu Wenqian’s eyes dropped to her hand.
Rulan’s instincts flared violently.
Beneath the heavy aroma of spiced plum wine, there was a slight acrid undertone.
Bitter.
Wrong.
Rulan didn’t gasp or make a scene.
With absolute composure, she set the cup down with a soft clack.
Her eyes swept the perimeter.
Standing among the lower-ranking servants near a back pillar was a familiar maid: Xiao Cui.
Xiao Cui’s eyes flicked briefly toward the untouched cup, her throat moving in a hard, nervous swallow before quickly darting away.
Rulan’s expression didn’t change.
There you are.
A junior servant stepped forward to clear unused cups, reaching for the jade cup.
“Leave it,” Rulan said sharply.
The servant froze.
“Y-Your Highness?”
“I said, leave it,” Rulan repeated calmly.
The servant backed away, leaving the poisoned cup sitting alone in the bright lantern light.
Xu Wenqian hadn’t missed a single frame.
His gaze moved from Rulan’s hand, to the cup, to the panicked servant, and finally toward Xiao Cui.
Rulan looked up at him and realized instantly: He noticed.
The banquet music played on as nobles toasted across the room, oblivious to the silent standoff at the Fourth Princess’s table.
Xu Wenqian looked down at the cup, then back at Rulan.
“Your Highness seems unusually cautious tonight,” he murmured.
Rulan met his dark, probing gaze.
“And Grand Secretary Xu seems unusually observant.”
A tiny, sharp smile appeared on Xu Wenqian’s lips.
“Perhaps we are simply both cautious people.”
Rulan didn’t believe him for a second.
She looked across the room at the nervous maid in the shadows, then back at the brilliant scholar beside her, both staring at the exact same glass of death.
For the first time since waking up in Great Liang, Rulan wondered if she was the only person hunting tonight.