Feiyan leaned toward Ziyan. "No one comes in peace wearing boots that clean."
Ziyan did not move. "Announce your orders."
The man smiled — court-smooth, paper-thin. "We come with clemency. The Regent's council seeks reconciliation. Lay down arms, return to Qi, receive pardon and position. Nan Shu rebels will be given amnesty if they disperse."
Wei laughed once, sharp. "You burned half a river to catch us, and now we are… invited to tea?"
The envoy's eyes flicked — irritation, just enough to stain silk. "You cannot hope to hold the south. Xia grows in the east. Han's loyalty is a lantern in wind. Your men will tire. Your road will end."
Ziyan lifted her gaze, and the stillness around her deepened.
"My road did end," she said. "Once. The day I walked out of the capital in chains of silence. Everything since then?"
Her hand opened like dawn.
"Borrowed time. Gifted by those who underestimated me."
A signal—too faint for most ears—whistled through the trees.
Feiyan didn't wait. Her knife sang once, and the nearest rider toppled, throat painted red. Wei lunged next, spear taking horse and man together. Shuye moved like someone who remembered the exact weight of violence.
In three breaths, four soldiers lay bleeding into Nan Shu soil.
The rest fled.
The envoy did not. He reached slowly into his cloak—
Feiyan's hand twitched toward her blade—
—but he drew only a parchment tube.
He tossed it at Ziyan's feet, proud even as his men screamed behind him.
"A final decree," he said. "When your rebellion collapses, your body will hang beside your father's. You are an enemy of Qi."
"No," Ziyan said. She didn't look at the parchment. She looked at him. Through him. "I am what remains of Qi's spine."
He sneered. "You are a woman with borrowed soldiers."
"And you," she said, stepping forward, "are a man who will live long enough to see which of us your grandchildren name."
Feiyan seized the envoy, bound him with quiet efficiency.
"Alive?" she asked.
"For now," Ziyan replied. "Let him hear the south breathe."
She turned to her commanders.
"We burn their supply road next. And after that…"
Her voice lowered, dangerous and certain,
"…we take the fight back across the river. Nan Shu was refuge. Now it becomes blade."
Li Qiang bowed, solemn. Wei grinned like a wolf fed at last. Shuye tapped his knuckles to the earth, promising it more names.
Feiyan met her gaze, unreadable as winter sky.
"You will not break," she said. Not question — recognition.
"I will break kingdoms first."
The trees listened. The river below tightened its current. Even the envoy, pale now, understood he had seen something a court scroll could not bury.
Ziyan wiped the last trace of silk from her thumb.
It left no mark.
It did not need one.
She had sworn, and the world had heard.