Wèi Lán's smile never reached his eyes.
It followed him everywhere—through the court halls, along the marble corridors, into the council chambers where he sat just a little too relaxed, listening more than he spoke.
The Queen noticed.
She had noticed long ago.
There was something unsettling about him, something carefully concealed beneath charm and courtesy. She did not trust that the King's brother would remain loyal forever. His gaze lingered too long, his words were too measured. Through her eyes, trained to see what others overlooked, his intentions were never fully hidden.
A few days earlier.
In the southern provinces, letters changed hands quietly.
General Liang—ambitious, corrupt, and shielded by Wèi Lán's influence—received a guest he had long anticipated.
"You came sooner than expected," Liang said, pouring wine.
Wèi Lán accepted the cup with an easy smile. "Opportunity waits for no one."
Their voices remained low.
"The King grows isolated," Liang said. "The inner court is unsettled. Concubines were recruited—yet he avoids them."
"Because he is weak," Wèi Lán replied lightly. "He hides behind restraint and calls it virtue."
"He isn't even ambitious," Wèi Lán continued, swirling his wine. "He clings to the belief that peace brings prosperity, when in truth, it breeds weakness."
Liang laughed. "He is good for the people—but not for us. The throne will—"
"—change hands," Wèi Lán finished calmly. "When the time is right."
They drank to that.
One afternoon, Wèi Lán walked through the inner palace corridors, hands clasped behind his back, humming softly as if the world were light.
Near the lotus hall, he encountered Queen Yǐn Lìhuá.
She stopped at once and inclined her head. "Prince Wèi Lán."
"Sister-in-law," he greeted warmly, returning the bow. "You look well."
"Thank you," she replied evenly.
His gaze lingered—measuring, calculating.
"I hear there is still no heir," he said conversationally. "Your kingdom must be worried."
Her expression did not change.
"The matter concerns the royal house," she replied calmly. "Not external ties."
He chuckled softly. "Ah, of course. Still… bloodlines matter. Especially when one's family is… smaller."
A brief pause.
"Do take care," he added gently. "The court can be unkind to queens who fail to produce heirs."
She met his gaze then—steady, unflinching.
"I am well aware," she said.
His smile widened, satisfied, and he continued down the corridor as though nothing had happened.
That night, the Queen sat alone.
A single lamp burned low beside her.
She lifted a jade hairpin and turned it once between her fingers—a signal invisible to the palace, but understood far beyond its walls.
By morning, her hidden network moved.
Eyes followed footsteps.
Letters were intercepted.
Conversations returned in whispers.
She did not yet know the full shape of Wèi Lán's ambition.
But she would.
And she would not wait to be surprised.