Chapter 11: Whispers After Wine

The court was quiet the next morning.

No bells. No meetings. No summons—except one.

Lin Ruoyi wore white.

Not mourning. Not purity. Just surrender in silk. The kind of shade you wear when you've run out of arguments, but still show up.

She didn't look like a general. She looked like someone preparing to lose.

When the door opened, she stepped inside.

The study was bright with sunlight, filtered soft through golden curtains. A tea tray was already set. Scrolls were scattered across the desk, half-read, and in the center sat a small sealed box.

"Come in, Ruoyi," the Emperor said gently.

She bowed. "Your Majesty."

He watched her quietly for a moment. "I still remember the first time I saw you in armor. You were barely ten, running wild in the barracks with your brothers. Always quicker. Always louder."

She looked down, trying not to smile. But it tugged at her lips anyway.

"You became someone this country bows to. And fears. I'm proud of you, Ruoyi. I always have been."

He pushed the cup of tea toward her.

"I don't want to lose you, Ruoyi. I don't want to be the emperor who lets you be traded like an item at court. But these petitions… dozens of them. From nobles, ministers, scholars even. They think marrying you off means peace. They think putting a ribbon on a storm will stop the war."

She didn't answer. Just stared at the steam rising from her cup. Because if she opened her mouth, something might break.

The Emperor sighed.

"I found a way out," he said, opening the box. Inside lay a faded scroll, old but still marked with the previous emperor's seal. "A forgotten edict. A betrothal arrangement between you and the Crown Prince. Set at the time of your birth. If we present this, the court can't argue. You wouldn't leave Liang. You'd stay. Safe. Here."

Ruoyi stared at the scroll, then at the Emperor.

"Your Majesty…" she said quietly. "I'm grateful. But I need time."

He nodded, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. "Of course."

She walked back slowly.

The corridors felt longer today. Her chest tighter.

And then—whispers.

Hidden behind a corridor near the west wing, two ministers spoke in low tones. She recognized one of them.

"…If she refuses again, we send her. Tonight. Drug the tea. Escort team in place. She wakes up in Yan prince's room and it's done. The Emperor won't stop us. He just needs an excuse."

Ruoyi didn't move.

She couldn't.

Not for a full breath. Not for two.

She stayed frozen. Like grief hadn't caught up yet.

When the voices faded, she turned away. Her hand lifted to her face.

Not to wipe a tear. To shove it back inside where it wouldn't ruin her mouth when she spoke again.

In her chambers, her brother Lin Ruochen waited.

He looked up as she entered. "You're pale. What happened?"

She sat down slowly. "I think... I think I should just go through with the marriage."

"What?" Ruochen's voice was sharp.

"I don't belong here anymore. They've made that clear. The court wants me gone. The women whisper behind fans. My old friends look away when I pass. I'm tired, Ruochen. Fighting at borders doesn't tire me as much as this."

She looked down at her hands. "Here, I'm not a daughter. I'm not even a threat. Just an inconvenience in armor."

"No," Ruochen said, moving to kneel in front of her. "You've held this place together for years. You gave everything. They don't get to throw you away."

"I can't protect you from them," he added, fists clenched. "But I sure as hell won't smile while they try to exile my sister like she's a burden."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.

Their father stepped in then. General Lin.

He'd heard everything.

"I lost two sons to war," he said, voice low, trembling with restrained emotion. "Don't ask me to bury you while I'm still breathing."

"Father," she whispered.

"I will not lose my daughter to politics. You are not leaving, Ruoyi."

She stood. "Then they'll destroy you instead. They're waiting for you to act so they can label you a traitor. Please… let me handle this."

"You are my child."

"I know," she whispered. "Which is why I need you to promise me. Don't interfere. Let me fight my own way."

He didn't answer at first.

Then he wrapped his arms around her. She held onto him, just for a second. Just long enough to remember what it felt like to be someone's daughter, not someone's general.

That night, she sat in her room, staring at the wall.

Then she stood.

Dressed in training robes. Hair pulled back. A bottle of rice wine in one hand. Her golden whip in the other.

She stepped into the courtyard. Alone.

The sky was clear. Too clear.

She took a drink. Let the burn settle.

And then she began.

Strike.

Spin.

Crack.

Again.

The sound echoed through the night like a broken heart trying to scream.

Faster.

Louder.

Like every swing could silence another whisper trying to erase her name.

She didn't stop.

She wouldn't.

Not until the world remembered who she was.