Wei Lan had already understood the truth. The blast in the trench had not ended her—it had torn her across the seam of time, placing her into another body, another life.
This body was frail, its breath thin and labored, its pulse broken. A body poisoned before its prime, abandoned to die on the road to the palace. She could feel the poison coiling through her veins like some hidden insect gnawing from within, each moment threatening to scatter her strength.
Her mind, however, was still her own. A soldier's mind.
Gritting her teeth, she pressed her thumb hard to the hollow below her collarbone, then struck two sharp points along her forearm. Each movement was deliberate, steady—the acupoint drills she had mastered in the old world.
The poison slowed, the fever's bite dulled. Her body trembled, but she anchored herself to discipline.
She was no longer on the battlefield, yet the fight was the same: survive first, endure second, strike when the moment allowed.
By the time the sedan reaching toward the palace gates, her skin was pale, her lips drawn tight, but she was still upright. She would not arrive as a corpse. Not yet.
The palace gates parted to open without ceremony. Unlike the other women who would have knelt through the endless grind of selection, Wei Lan bore no such burden. By the Emperor's decree, she had already been named his consort.
The Empress Dowager was absent, away in Han to worship at the great temple. Without her presence, no one dared demand formal greetings. The court protocol bent around imperial will, and Wei Lan passed unchallenged.
Silken curtains swayed in the warm breeze as the sedan was lowered. Wei Lan stepped out, pale but steady, her hands hidden within her sleeves to conceal their trembling. Every breath still carried the burn of the poison, yet no one saw the effort it cost her to stand.
A palace maid bowed deeply.
"Noble Consort Wei, this way. His Majesty has already ordered your pavilion prepared."
She followed in silence. The corridors glittered with lantern light, the carved beams alive with dragons and phoenixes. Behind her calm face, she pressed once more against a hidden acupoint along her wrist, holding the venom at bay.
The pavilion doors opened, revealing the chambers that would now be hers. She entered without a word, the weight of her soldier's will alone keeping her upright.
For now, she had survived the road. She had crossed the threshold of the palace. And here, behind closed doors, would begin the true war.
Far across the palace, in the Hall of Ascendant Radiance, Emperor Qing Yuan dismissed his ministers one by one. The day's court affairs had ended, but his thoughts lingered on the decree he had signed weeks ago.
Wei Lan.
No selection, no contest among concubines — his word had carried her directly into the inner court.
Whispers had already spread through the ranks of consorts and officials, wondering what quality this woman held to bypass the rigid halls of protocol. He had offered no answer. The truth was simple: in her name, and in her bloodline, there was weight enough. The daughter of General Wei was no stranger to the dynasty's destiny.
As the lamps flickered low, the Emperor leaned back, the weight of his robes pooling like dark waves at his feet. His expression was unreadable, but in his gaze was the measure of a ruler waiting to see if his decree would prove boon or burden.
"Prepare the records," he murmured. "By tonight, she is already entered as the noble consort."
A eunuch bowed deeply and withdrew, leaving the Emperor in silence.
---
In the quiet of her newly assigned pavilion, Wei Lan lay against the silk cushions, her breath thin. Each movement was deliberate, masking the battle raging within her veins. She pressed again to the pressure points along her wrist and shoulder, forcing her body to yield just enough strength to remain upright.
The attendants saw only a pale consort adjusting to palace life. None realized that with every heartbeat, she was holding back death itself.
For a soldier, the battlefield had never truly ended. Only the walls had changed.
The attendants fussed around her chamber, laying out silks and preparing trays of delicate fruits. Their voices buzzed like gnats in Wei Lan's ears. She raised her hand sharply.
"Enough. Leave me."
The servants froze. Her tone, quiet but edged with command, brooked no argument. They bowed quickly and withdrew one after another, the sound of slippers fading across the polished floor.
Only one remained — the young maid who had accompanied the original owner of this body, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. Wei Lan studied her for a long moment, then spoke low and firm:
"You. Come closer."
The maid stepped forward, bowing. "Yes, my lady."
The maid lingered, waiting for dismissal, but Wei Lan's gaze fixed on her with the same cold sharpness she once leveled at soldiers.
"You will obey what I say," she ordered, her tone low and absolute. "No questions. No words to anyone. What happens here remains here."
Her eyes narrowed, carrying the weight of a general who trusted no one but herself. No one in this palace — not even this girl — could ever know that another soul now lived in this body.
The maid bowed deeply, her voice trembling. "Yes, my lady. This servant will remember."
Wei Lan leaned slightly, her lips pale, breath shallow. "I need a silver needle set. And a hot bath, ready at once. No one must know. No one enters my inner chamber until I say so — not even if the chief eunuch himself knocks. Do you understand?"
The maid's eyes widened further, but she nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady. I will arrange it."
Wei Lan's fingers tightened briefly against her wrist, pressing the faint acupoint once more as the girl hurried off. Alone in the chamber, she allowed herself a single exhale, her soldier's calm masking the storm within.
In this palace of silk and secrets, she could trust no one. The first step to survival was silence — and control.