As the gates of the capital faded behind her, Li Ziyan no longer looked back. The elegant towers of Qi, the glowing lanterns lining the noble estates, and the perfectly manicured gardens of her once-called home meant nothing now. She had been cast out like dust from a silk sleeve—unwanted, unworthy, forgotten.
Her heart throbbed—not from grief, but from a quiet, festering fire. Rage. Shame. Resolve.
She gripped the tattered hem of her cloak tightly as she walked into the deepening night, the stars above indifferent to her fall. Her silk shoes were dirtied, her hair once decorated with gold pins now pulled into a simple, messy bun. No more servants. No more calligraphy lessons. No more father.
She headed for the only person she had left.
A small home nestled beyond the rice paddies just miles from the capital. Modest, quiet—but filled with echoes of whispered dreams and reckless laughter from days past. The home of her old study companion, Zhang Feiyan.
As Ziyan reached the gate, the night exploded.
The door crashed open, and a man was hurled onto the ground like a sack of grain. He hit the dirt hard, coughing and groaning, blood dribbling from his mouth.
Ziyan froze, hand instinctively reaching into her sleeve for the tiny dagger she always kept hidden.
From the doorway emerged Zhang Feiyan — wild, breathless, radiant with fury. Her loose robes swirled around her like smoke, a blade gleaming at her hip. Her hair was slightly undone, strands sticking to her brow, but her eyes burned with unshakable fire.
"You worm," Feiyan spat, walking slowly toward the crumpled man. "You thought you could follow me here? Steal from the people who've already had everything stolen from them? You're no better than the officials who bleed us dry."
The man tried to scramble away. "Do… do you know who we are? Our lord is—"
"I know exactly who your lord is," Feiyan growled, yanking him up by the collar and hurling him back down. "And tell that dog this: the treasure you stole from the imperial treasury? It's not his anymore. It's mine. If he wants it back—"
She bent low until her face was inches from the man's, voice cold and calm.
"—then let him come and try to take it from me."
The man whimpered, crawling backward before fleeing into the night with two other defeated thugs trailing behind.
Feiyan exhaled deeply, brushing her hands off like swatting away filth. Then she turned—and stopped.
Ziyan was standing at the edge of the courtyard, stunned.
For a moment, neither said a word.
Then Feiyan's face broke into a grin.
"Ziyan!"
She rushed over and pulled her into a tight, protective hug. Ziyan blinked, taken aback by the sudden warmth after weeks of cold, judgmental stares.
"You look like you just survived a typhoon," Feiyan said, laughing softly. "Let me guess. Did your stepmother bully you again? I swear, if I ever see her—"
"It's not just that," Ziyan whispered. Her voice cracked. "I… I was cast out."
Feiyan pulled away slightly. "What?"
Ziyan looked down. "They caught me stealing. Just a few coins. I was trying to help a servant girl pay off her family's tax. My brother dragged me in front of the whole court and said I had shamed the household. My father... he didn't even look at me."
Feiyan's expression hardened. "Those cowards. They'd rather protect their pride than their blood. If your father were truly a man of virtue, he'd be proud of you."
Ziyan let out a bitter laugh. "Virtue doesn't matter when you're born to a concubine. I was never meant to be anything more than obedient and invisible."
For a moment, both girls stood in silence.
The moon cast a pale glow across the courtyard, illuminating the quiet pain in their eyes. Feiyan sat down on the wooden steps, her blade beside her, and Ziyan joined her.
"Sometimes I wonder if any of this is worth it," Ziyan said softly. "We talk about justice, about changing things. But what can two discarded girls really do? One's a disgraced daughter, and the other steals from criminals and courts death."
Feiyan didn't answer at first.
She looked up at the sky, her jaw tight.
"Sometimes," she said slowly, "I want to burn it all. The courts, the titles, the rules made by old men who see us as nothing more than decorations or tools."
She clenched her fists. "But do you remember the stories we used to whisper under the blankets at night? About Lady Xian—the woman who stood tall when the empire crumbled around her. You told me once… that you wanted to lead too. That if Heaven refused to choose a woman as emperor, you'd climb the palace steps yourself and make them see you."
Ziyan turned her head. "And you said you'd be my general."
Feiyan smiled faintly. "Still true."
Ziyan inhaled slowly, then placed a trembling hand on her friend's.
"I want to build something new, Feiyan," she whispered. "I want to gather the forgotten and the angry, the people who have nothing to lose. We'll start with a village. A shelter. Then maybe a force. Maybe… something more. But I can't do it alone. Will you come with me?"
Feiyan looked down at her hand. Then, without hesitation, she covered it with her own.
"I'm already with you," she said. "Wherever this road leads."
And in that moment, under the stars and in the shadows of Qi's cold, indifferent empire, something powerful began to bloom — not a rebellion, not yet — but a bond that would one day shake the world.