Word of Qi's invasion of Xia broke three days later. It came first on rumor — hasty breathless chatter from traveling merchants, or quiet boasts in tea-houses about how "Qi would finally humble those mountain jackals." Then came the official proclamations, pasted in bright red on the palace gates, ordered read aloud at each ward's main square.
Ziyan stood at the edge of a small crowd as an officer unrolled the imperial decree, voice echoing off tiled roofs.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty, our glorious forces shall march within the fortnight to punish Xia's insolence. To reclaim tribute unjustly withheld. To defend the honor of Qi's divine line…"
On and on it droned.
Near Ziyan, a mother held her son's hand so tightly his knuckles were white. The boy couldn't have been more than fifteen. Another woman wept quietly, clutching a small woven basket to her chest.
The officer finished with a perfunctory wave and rolled up the scroll. By then most people had already begun to drift away, heads low, voices bitter.
Later, Ziyan watched from a narrow alley as conscription officers stopped at a carpenter's stall across the street. A youth stood there — slight, with sawdust still in his hair — hands shaking so badly he dropped the small tool he carried. The older man behind the stall tried to plead, hands pressed together, but the officers ignored him.
They took the boy by the shoulder and led him away. The older man's shoulders caved as if under a sudden, crushing weight.
When Ziyan returned to the teahouse, her heart felt scraped raw. Lian'er trailed after her, carrying a small bundle of market greens, eyes solemn.
"They'll send boys to die," Ziyan murmured as they crossed into the courtyard. "Whole villages will empty out, leaving only grief behind. And when their men don't return, it will be the tax collectors who come knocking next."
Lian'er looked up at her, mouth pulled in a small, troubled frown. "War is very hungry, isn't it?"
Ziyan stopped. Then she bent down and touched her forehead lightly to the girl's. "Yes. It eats everything and never says thank you."
That evening, Li Qiang brought fresh news. They gathered in the narrow side room behind the teahouse, lanterns lit low, ink and ledgers pushed aside to make room for bread and cold tea.
"Officially, Qi marches for tribute and border security," Li Qiang said. "Unofficially, the Merchant Guild is already moving money. Grain speculation, iron shipments routed away from normal trade lines. They know exactly how long this war will last."
"They'll bleed the country twice over," Lianhua said bitterly. "Once through taxes, again through shortages they themselves engineer. My own couriers said some merchant houses are already buying up cheap debt markers — waiting to seize foreclosed farms next year."
Ziyan rubbed her temples. Her phoenix mark itched, hot and impatient, as if it too smelled blood on the wind.
"But there's something else," she said slowly. "Something that bothers me more."
They looked at her.
She rose and paced the length of the room. "Zhao was Grand Commandant. One of the highest military voices in Qi. His murder should have set half the capital ablaze — inquisitors, secret police, rival families trying to use it as an excuse to carve out power. But there's nothing. Not a single summons for questioning. No investigation. No guards at my door, accusing me outright."
Li Qiang's brow knit. "You're right. That silence isn't mercy — it's calculation."
Ziyan nodded. "Exactly. Whoever killed Zhao doesn't just have knives. They have influence. Enough to smother outrage, to keep ministers from even whispering too loudly. That means they want something even bigger than revenge on Zhao. They want the Empire looking elsewhere while they tighten their grip."
Her mind flashed to her father's calm face, the gentle way he had spoken of cracks left behind. A Minister of Education should have no say in armies, or secret cults. But she remembered the secret meetings behind his carved screens. The quiet respect with which men like Zhao had once bowed their heads. The talk of phoenixes and bloodlines and contracts struck in voices dark as river mud.
It was never about mere taxes or war horses. It was always about something older.
She forced herself to still. Then she looked up, her eyes clear.
"It's time to move on the Merchant Guild," Ziyan said. "Not by blades — not yet. We'll strike at their ledgers first. If they're tied to my father's circle, or the same hand that killed Zhao, they'll panic when the money trembles. They'll reveal who they pay, who protects them. And if we're lucky, who they fear."
Li Qiang leaned back, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. "You've grown sharper."
"No," Ziyan said, her mouth tightening. "Just more willing to be cruel."
Lian'er shuffled forward on her knees, clutching the edge of the low table. Her eyes were wide but oddly bright. "Will it stop the war?" she asked.
Ziyan crouched to meet her gaze. For a long moment she couldn't find an easy lie.
"No, little lotus. It won't stop the war. But it might keep its claws from reaching quite so far."
Lian'er pressed her small hand over Ziyan's mark, as if trying to soothe it. "Then I'll dream of gardens instead of battlefields. So when it's done, there's something left for you to see."
Ziyan's throat tightened. She gathered the girl close. "That's a promise I'll hold you to."
The next day was spent in careful flurries of quiet preparation. Messages dispatched by coded couriers, promises extracted from lesser merchants who owed old debts. Lianhua worked beside Ziyan with the cool efficiency of someone who'd once watched Duan Rulan dismantle entire trade cartels by simply adjusting interest rates and salt permits.
By evening, they had mapped out three primary targets — a rice distribution house on the north wharf, a major silk buyer who also controlled half the pawn contracts in two districts, and a gold moneylender known to funnel coin into temple "donations" that funded suspicious pilgrimages.
As they sat by the window reviewing names, Lianhua looked up sharply. "Once we start this, it won't stop. The guild will fight with every coin they have. And the nobles tied to them will turn on you faster than a starving dog."
Ziyan nodded. "Then let them come. Better they bare their teeth now where I can see them."
Li Qiang crossed his arms, voice flat but loyal. "And we'll break those teeth. Every last one."
Night fell slow and heavy over the capital. Outside, temple bells sounded for evening prayers. Ziyan stood at the balcony with Lian'er at her side, the girl leaning against the rail, eyes huge as she took in the glow of thousands of lanterns.
"Is it pretty?" Ziyan asked quietly.
Lian'er nodded, her hair brushing Ziyan's sleeve. "Yes. But it feels sad. Like it's shining only so it doesn't have to think about how dark it really is."
Ziyan closed her eyes. So it is.
When she opened them again, the streets below seemed to stretch out like a living map, veins and arteries carrying not lifeblood but secrets — all waiting to be cut open.
Tomorrow, she would begin. The Merchant Guild would learn that power built on ledgers and quiet terror was still power that could bleed. And somewhere in that bleeding, the truth about her father, Zhao, and whatever dark covenant hovered over Lian'er would begin to surface.
She rested her hand on the girl's head, a silent vow.
I will find it all. And if I have to burn your world to keep you safe, little lotus, then I will watch it burn.