"Truth does not knock—it breaks in." — said by Xu Liang
The palace was quieter than it had ever been.
Not serene—hollow.
The echo of footsteps down its grand corridors no longer commanded reverence. Servants moved with eyes downcast, speaking in whispers. Outside, Longchuan's streets pulsed with a new rhythm: not rebellion in the open, but question after question. Suspicion. Doubt.
Han Yu stood alone in the ancestral shrine, gazing up at the portraits of past chancellors. Smoke from the incense curled around him, softening the lines of his face, but not his eyes. Those were sharpened with calculation—and something else.
Paranoia.
He didn't kneel. He never had.
Instead, he said to the dead: "They think they've found the truth. Let them. Truth is a blade without a hand to wield it."
Behind him, a shadow moved. A woman in white—Xun Yi, his spymaster.
"They've exposed five ledgers, twenty-two documents, three caches," she said. "And the people are beginning to murmur your name… not as ruler, but as thief."
Han Yu's lips curled into something that might've been a smile. "Then we'll give them a new enemy."
He turned toward her. "Find me a face. A scapegoat with blood in their past. Feed them to the fire. Let the people burn someone else."
"And Huai Shan?" she asked.
He looked back toward the shrine. "He's no longer the enemy. He's the symbol. That makes him dangerous. Symbols must be shattered publicly."
Elsewhere.
In a tavern lit only by red lanterns and quiet resolve, Mei Xuan marked a new name off the ledger.
"Fourth merchant turned," she said. "He's agreed to send grain to the outer districts under Phoenix watch."
Huai Shan nodded, his eyes already on the next mark.
They weren't striking hard. They were striking deep—undermining Han Yu's control not with fire or blade, but with trust.
The people were beginning to look behind the curtains. Some out of anger. Others out of shame. But they were looking.
Xu Liang leaned over the map. "If Han Yu's smart, he'll try to split us. Create false heroes, fake traitors. Make the rebellion eat itself."
"He already is," Mei Xuan said. "But it's too late. The people have seen the rot."
Huai's voice was quiet. "Truth doesn't need armies. It just needs time."
But in truth, they were racing against time.
Because Han Yu had signed a letter.
A summons.
To the Eastern Host.
Mercenaries. 5,000 strong. Paid in silver and promises of land. Veterans from distant wars with no allegiance to Longchuan, only to coin and conquest.
They would arrive within ten days.
And Han Yu would not aim them at rebels.
He would aim them at the city itself.