The morning after the Lantern Festival rose not with warmth, but with a strange, brittle stillness that seemed to coat every corner of the estate. The sun had climbed steadily over the rooftops, its golden light spilling across the stone corridors, but there was no joy in it. The festive lanterns still hung from the eaves, but they looked out of place now—faded, listless, forgotten.
Mu Lian lay in bed, propped against a stack of firm cushions, her injured shoulder wrapped in clean linen. The bright light filtering through the lattice window made her wince, though not from pain. It was the quiet that unnerved her most—the absence of normalcy, the heaviness that filled the halls after last night's chaos. The cool breeze wafting through the room did nothing to ease the weight pressing against her chest.
Footsteps passed by her door. Soft voices whispered just out of earshot. The usual morning bustle had dulled into something muted, restrained. Every servant who passed her room moved quickly, eyes cast low. She could sense it clearly now: the celebration had ended, but the consequences had just begun.
She glanced at her bandaged shoulder, the dull ache flaring each time she moved. It wasn't deep—more a graze than a wound—but it had been close. Too close. The assassin's blade had bitten through silk and skin alike, a memory she could not yet shake.
The door opened with a soft creak.
"Mu Lian."
She turned her head slowly toward the voice, her body tense from habit rather than fear. Gu Yan Chen stood in the doorway, dressed plainly in dark robes. His face bore no visible marks of the night's violence, but his eyes—sharp, focused—told her that sleep had not come easily.
"You should be resting," he said, his voice low but steady.
"I am resting," she replied, though she made no effort to hide the tension in her jaw.
He stepped into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. "The guards have been reassigned. The estate's perimeter is secured, for now."
Mu Lian's eyes narrowed slightly. "And the guests?"
"Being escorted out. Quietly. No need for panic."
She gave a faint nod, her gaze drifting again to the sliver of sky visible beyond the window. "You think they'll try again?"
"I'd be a fool to think otherwise."
Gu Yan Chen moved closer, stopping at the edge of her bed. His presence filled the room, not with comfort, but with a quiet command. Mu Lian recognized it instantly—he was already shifting into a different version of himself, a colder, sharper version forged by necessity.
"I should leave," she murmured, her voice low.
"No," he said, without hesitation. "You're staying."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "This was your family's affair, not mine."
"You stepped between me and death," he countered, his tone sharpening. "That makes it yours, too."
Mu Lian stared at him, uncertain whether to feel anger or grim amusement. In the end, all she said was, "You still don't know who sent them."
"I have... suspicions." He crossed his arms, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. "But no proof. Not yet."
"And if it was someone inside?" she asked quietly. "Someone close?"
Gu Yan Chen's expression darkened. "Then I'll deal with it."
A silence settled between them. The sunlight shifted, casting long lines across the floor. Somewhere outside, a gate creaked open, then slammed shut. The normal sounds of the day—the clip of horses, the shuffle of boots—felt distant, unreal.
"I won't run," Mu Lian said suddenly.
His gaze snapped to hers, unreadable.
"You said I saved your life," she continued, "but I didn't do it so I could cower in a locked room. If you're staying to fight this, then so am I."
Gu Yan Chen's posture softened just slightly, the barest flicker of something—approval, perhaps—crossing his face.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.
The hours passed slowly. Outside, the estate shifted into a pattern of uneasy vigilance. Servants cleared the remnants of the festival, guards doubled their patrols, and messengers were dispatched under discreet orders. The Lantern Festival had become a memory overwritten by blood and suspicion.
From her room, Mu Lian watched it all unfold in fragments. She received brief updates, overheard conversations through the paper-thin walls, and read it all in the way Gu Yan Chen's steps fell heavier with each passing visit. He was digging—into accounts, loyalties, family secrets. She didn't need him to say it aloud: this wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about reclaiming control before someone else seized it.
The estate felt different now. Not just in atmosphere, but in direction. There was a line drawn—one they could not uncross. And though Mu Lian remained confined to her bed, her mind raced with possibilities, with the instincts honed from a life spent watching people betray one another behind silk screens.
She had come to this estate a guest. She was no longer sure what she was now.
But she did know one thing: power wasn't gifted. It was taken.
And someone had already made their move.