The palace had fallen into silence.
Only the steady crackle of lamps and the whisper of the night wind through the open lattice filled the Emperor's study.
Zhao Rui sat at his desk, robe loose around his shoulders, hair unbound. The hour was late, yet sleep refused him.
Reports lay scattered across the table — lists of missing grain, falsified ledgers, and patrol routes marked in red ink.
Then came a soft knock.
"Your Majesty," a eunuch whispered from beyond the doors. "A courier from the northern camp. Urgent."
Zhao Rui's gaze sharpened. "Send him in."
The courier entered, kneeling as he presented the sealed scroll.
The Emperor broke the wax — Duke Lian's insignia gleamed faintly beneath the lamplight.
He read in silence.
Each line carried weight:
"The border is starving. The soldiers are weak, the villages dying. I've found proof of stolen grain bearing false imperial seals. The trail leads to Chen Valley."
Further down, the tone shifted — colder, desperate.
