The fuse burns out.
A heartbeat of silence—
Then the world erupts.
The explosion tears through the crowded ladder. Fire, force, and shattered iron burst outward in a violent shockwave. Ren soldiers scream as bodies are hurled from the rampart—some missing arms, some missing legs, some missing entire halves of their torsos.
The ladder splinters.
Blood rains.
Silence follows—not the calm kind, but the stunned, horrified kind.
For the first time in the battle, the Ren Army hesitates.
The soldiers nearest the blast recoil, eyes wide, faces draining of colour as they stare at the smouldering crater where men once stood.
One of the Ren officers breaks.
"WHAT—WHAT WAS THAT?!"
Another screams, voice cracking—
"IT'S A CURSED ARTIFACT—THEY'RE USING FORBIDDEN WEAPONS!"
Panic ripples.
The Chen commander sees it—the fear, the doubt, the sudden fracture in the Ren Army's momentum.
His voice explodes across the walls:
"THIS IS THE POWER OF THE WIZARD WAY!"
And the Chen soldiers…
They roar like men reborn.
"LIGHT THEM!"
"PASS MORE!"
"THROW!"
One after another, crude bombs ignite and arc over the parapets. Explosions shake the battlefield in rolling waves. Smoke thickens. Ren's armour warps. Ladders fall. The dead pile faster than the living can advance.
For the first time since being trapped—
The Chen Army believes they can survive.
---
The siege should've ended that day.
Yet it didn't.
Fear turned what should've been a crushing advance into a hesitant dance of attrition. Ren generals force troops forward, but every time they prepare to surge…
A fuse burns.
A bomb explodes.
And their charge collapses.
Not because the Chen side is strong—
—but because the Ren soldiers now fight with the knowledge:
Any step forward could be their last.
Day after day, the Ren forces stall, reassess, reorganise.
Meanwhile, the Chen defenders grow confident.
By the seventh sunrise…
The Ren army withdraws from the walls.
Not defeated—
—but wary.
A single invention turned a hopeless defence into a standoff.
A new weapon has entered the world.
And everyone feels the shift.
---
Back in the Chen Capital, inside the newly formed Parliament Hall, debate swirls like storm clouds.
Officials speak excitedly, anxiously, urgently.
"The bombs turned the tide."
"With only one weapon, the front held!"
"If the National Teacher refines them further, Ren Kingdom will not dare advance!"
And at the head of the room—where Kaelan's throne-like seat sits empty—another figure now takes the place of authority.
Shen Yuelan.
She wears a plain but refined robe—no crown, no jewels—yet every official rises when she enters.
Not because she commands them.
But because she represents Kaelan.
She sits—not in his seat—but among the parliament.
Equal in position.
Higher in influence.
Yet every gaze upon her carries two things:
Disdain… and desire.
Disdain—because she was once the wife of the late Crown Prince of the Chen Kingdom.
And instead of mourning three years according to ancestral rites, she lay in another man's bed.
Desire—because she is the most beautiful woman in the Chen Kingdom.
And now, after cultivating with Kaelan—after awakening the faint aura of a wizard apprentice—her beauty has become sharper, intoxicating, dangerous.
Only one man looks at her without hunger or scorn.
Dugu Jian.
He rises, voice calm and respectful:
"Lady Shen, are you speaking on behalf of Lord Kong today?"
Before she can answer, Su Ren lets out a low chuckle—neither loud nor soft, yet cutting.
"Sword Master, you're asking the wrong question."
His tone is yin and yang—half mocking, half polite.
"You should ask whether we address her as Lady Shen… or Crown Princess Shen."
A few officials smirk. Some avert their eyes. Others wait with thinly veiled curiosity.
Shen Yuelan remains perfectly still.
She expected this. The moment she agreed to attend in Kaelan's place, she knew the looks, the whispers, the venom would follow.
If she remained only a beauty—only a decoration—she would one day be cast aside.
Kaelan himself had shown her that truth the day after he touched her life—by handing her a meditation technique and saying:
"Strength decides who stays."
So she breathes once, steady and controlled, and answers without the slightest tremor:
"With the death of my husband, the title of Crown Princess died as well.
So, Lord Su, you may call me—not Crown Princess—but simply Yuelan."
Her tone holds a soft challenge.
Dare.
Su Ren studies her for a moment—eyes narrowing just enough to betray irritation—before replying:
"Then Lady Shen it is."
She smiles—small, controlled—not victory, but acknowledgement.
Then, turning to Dugu Jian, she bows slightly.
"I am not Lord Kong. He is occupied and judged attendance here unnecessary."
Jiang Lan's expression darkens.
"Then why appear at all?"
Shen Yuelan lifts her chin—not arrogant, but immovable.
"I am here as the representative of the Wuya Escort Agency."
The room shifts. Several brows lift.
They had invited the agency previously—hoping to curry favour with Kaelan—but no representative appeared.
Until now.
Su Ren's brow folds in contempt.
"The agency never sent anyone before. And suddenly you claim representation? Are you even part of it?"
A few snickers flicker at the edges of the hall.
Shen Yuelan doesn't flinch.
"How am I not?"
Her voice sharpens, soft but undeniable.
"The Escort Agency belongs to Lord Kong. I am his… servant."
The emphasis lands heavily.
A reminder.
She is his woman.
Not theirs to touch.
Not theirs to dismiss.
Faces stiffen.
She continues before they can speak.
"You ordered one thousand Wuya Bombs—and have yet to pay for the last shipment. The same applies to the previous cement delivery."
Silence.
A long one.
Then a voice from the right mutters:
"…weren't the bombs free?"
Her eyes lift—slowly, dangerously—yet faintly amused.
"Lord Wu, do you truly sign documents without reading them?"
Silence ripples across the chamber.
When Kaelan formed the parliament, he created rules—structured, inescapable rules.
Every purchase, every decree, every military order required a written document and a seventy per cent signature approval.
It kept decisions from being random
—kept chaos in check
—and exposed irresponsibility.
Shen Yuelan opens the folder she brought, leafing through the papers with practised ease.
She finds the correct document, taps it once with her finger, then lifts it for everyone to see.
"Here. The order for Wuya Bombs."
Her gaze shifts to Lord Wu.
"And your signature… is right here."
Lord Wu flushes red, sputtering.
"S-Shen Yuelan! That document states the bombs were free!"
Her smile widens—not mocking, not warm—sharp.
"The first batch," she clarifies, "was labelled as experimental prototypes. Under the terms of agreement, if—after testing—you were unsatisfied and returned at least ninety-nine per cent of the shipment, the cost would be waived."
She lets her words fall one by one, like icicles snapping.
"But you did not return them."
"You used them."
"And then ordered more."
The hall is still.
No one interrupts—not yet.
Faces shift: resentment, surprise, calculation.
A few realise they signed blindly.
Ji Anyun can no longer sit still.
He rises—anger burning in his voice—as a crushing aura rolls outward, pressing against Shen Yuelan like a storm of stone and steel.
"Shen Yuelan," he growls, "are you taking revenge on us?"
Her breath tightens.
Her ribs feel like ropes pulling inward.
Her limbs grow heavy, as if the world has turned to water and she is being dragged under.
But she does not look away.
She refuses.
Because strength must be shown—not spoken.
Her fingers quietly curl against the table.
And beneath the weight of Ji Anyun's killing intent…
Her spine remains perfectly straight.
No flinch.
No tremor.
No fear.
Her tone stays calm, level—almost gentle.
"What revenge?" she asks. "These agreements were signed by you."
Then, almost lazily, she adds:
"And even if we pretend the bomb contract does not exist… what about the cement delivered weeks ago? Where is the payment for that?"
Another wave of silence rolls across the chamber.
Faces shift—shame, irritation, arrogance souring into discomfort.
They had assumed that because the Wuya Escort Agency belonged to Lord Kong, everything under his name was free.
Because he was untouchable.
Because he was now the silent ruler of the Chen Kingdom.
Shen Yuelan looks at each of them, her expression unreadable.
"Do you all truly believe," she asks softly, "that just because Lord Kong stands above the court, above the army, above kings—"
Her gaze hardens.
"—that his agency will simply accept being robbed?"
Someone—unnamed, cowardly—murmurs under his breath:
"…We should surrender to the Ren Kingdom."
Yuelan turns her gaze toward the speaker—not in anger, but pity.
"If you flee to Ren Kingdom," she replies, "you will still pay."
She lets the words hang, cold and final.
"We are not the Chen Kingdom," she continues quietly.
"We do not fear your threats."
She rises from her seat—not rushing, not dramatic—simply certain.
A guard steps forward as she hands him a stack of papers.
One by one, the pages are distributed to every parliament member.
Yuelan stands with her hands folded behind her back.
"This," she says, "is the revised agreement."
Her voice grows crisp, businesslike.
"You will receive the next batch of Wuya Bombs as requested. All unpaid debt will be delayed by one month."
Then—calmly, ruthlessly:
"If you fail to pay by then, Wuya Escort Agency will claim the mining rights to Red Iron Mine of Sion Forest for twenty years."
No one speaks.
No one dares.
She bows slightly—not submissive, but formal.
Then she turns, walks out of the chamber without looking back.
Her steps echo.
Outside, she enters her carriage, closing the door with the soft finality of victory.
The horses start forward.
Through the window, she looks out—expression unreadable.
And on the roadside, wrapped in rags and dirt, a beggar lifts his head.
His eyes—sharp, haunted—follow her carriage.
Not with hunger.
Not with envy.
But with emotion so raw and complex, it cuts through the noise of the world.
A look that seems to whisper:
"I know you."
The wheels roll on, and the capital does not yet know—
The past has just looked directly at Shen Yuelan.
And recognised her.
---