The rain slowed by dawn, but the Li estate simmered with fear and muffled sobs.
Inside the main hall, a squad of Imperial Guards in black armor lined up with grim faces, weapons glinting under flickering lanterns. At their head, a young eunuch in silken robes unrolled a crimson scroll and read aloud in a shrill voice:
"By the Emperor's decree: the Li clan is hereby stripped of all titles and lands. The family shall be exiled at once for the crime of treason against the Daliang throne—"
Behind him, loyal servants knelt in rows, foreheads pressed to the cold marble floor, tears slipping down their cheeks. The Li sisters-in-law huddled together in pale mourning robes — yesterday's wedding finery now just a cruel memory.
Near the dais, Yan Qingling stood with her back straight, her cold eyes never leaving the eunuch's smirk. Beside her, Li Zeyan sat propped up in a carved chair, face pale but unbowed, every breath scraping against cracked ribs.
The eunuch finished the decree, rolled the scroll with a flourish, and sneered at Li Zeyan.
"Your Highness, consider this mercy. Had His Majesty wished, you and your treacherous wife would lose your heads by dawn instead of your lands."
Li Zeyan's lips curled into a bloodless smile that made several guards flinch.
"A coward king shows mercy with borrowed swords. If not for these injuries, this hall would be red with your intestines by now."
The eunuch paled but forced a fake laugh.
"Bold words from a crippled tiger." He turned to Qingling, eyes flicking over her plain robe that hid more secrets than he'd ever live to see. "And you, Consort Yan? Any final prayers before you drag your noble self through mud and famine?"
Qingling stepped forward until her boots nearly touched his embroidered slippers. Her voice was soft — but each word sliced like ice:
"I pray that when your head rolls, no one bothers to bury it."
A ripple of shocked gasps rose from servants and guards alike. The eunuch stumbled back, nearly dropping the scroll.
"Seize their weapons! Bind them! Search every chamber again — thoroughly!"
Soldiers stormed out in a wave of iron and wet leather. Qingling turned her back on them, unconcerned. Her hands folded into her sleeves, her fingers brushing the hidden warmth of the Evergreen Pavilion blooming behind her thoughts.
She felt Li Zeyan's gaze on her, burning through layers of silence.
"You're not afraid," he murmured, barely loud enough for anyone but her to hear.
"I was born in fire. Exile is nothing but walking through smoke." Her lips curved faintly. "Besides, you gave them nothing to steal, and I gave them nothing to find."
A strangled cry broke their quiet moment — the eldest sister-in-law, Lady Meng, fell to her knees at Qingling's feet, clutching the hem of her robe.
"Consort Yan — no — Sister! How shall we live? We have no coin, no food — our children — how will we—?"
Qingling knelt swiftly, gripping Lady Meng's trembling hands. Around them, the other widowed sisters-in-law pressed closer, tear-streaked faces full of fear and desperate hope.
Qingling's eyes flicked past them to Li Zeyan, who, for once, did not hide the raw vulnerability beneath the War God's mask.
She spoke so only her new family could hear:
"Look at me, all of you. This dynasty has declared us dead — but I say we live. We will leave with empty carts and hidden chests. We will beg if we must — but we will never starve. We will rebuild, coin by coin, breath by breath. This is my promise to you."
One by one, the sisters-in-law nodded, wiping tears with sleeves now stained by ruin.
A guard's shout cut through the hall:
"Time to move! All prisoners — to the courtyard!"
Qingling rose. She reached for Li Zeyan's arm. He hesitated only a heartbeat before letting her steady him. Together, they walked into the grey dawn — out of wealth and power, into a wasteland no map dared to mark.
Beneath her calm surface, the Evergreen Pavilion thrummed in her mind — full of grain, medicine, and a future no Emperor could touch.
Exile?
Yan Qingling's eyes glinted beneath the tattered bridal hairpin still pinned in her bun.
Let them see how a "dead" clan plants seeds in ashes — and grows thorns strong enough to tear a throne apart.
The once-grand procession of the Li clan crawled along a muddy mountain trail like a funeral snake — silent, shivering, broken.
Ox carts creaked under the meagre bundles the guards allowed them to keep. Children whimpered under threadbare cloaks, while the older sisters-in-law hunched over them, shielding frail bodies from the biting wind.
At the very front rode Li Zeyan on a lean, borrowed horse. Even half-healed, the War God sat ramrod straight, refusing to show weakness to the sneering squad of Imperial guards flanking him. Only the tight set of his jaw betrayed the pain that lanced his back with every hoofbeat.
Behind him, Yan Qingling trudged through the muck on foot, head held high beneath a faded cloak. Every step soaked the hem of her robe in cold brown sludge — but her mind was far from defeat.
Inside her thoughts, the Evergreen Pavilion thrived. She could almost feel the warmth of the hidden herb beds and the scent of cured meat stored in its jade chests — a secret bounty that no watchful eye could steal.
A faint cough made her glance sideways. The youngest sister-in-law, Lady Ruo, barely seventeen, stumbled beside Qingling, her face ghost-pale under the drizzle. She clutched a half-starved child to her chest, her lips blue from the mountain chill.
Qingling's heart clenched. She fell back a few steps, grabbed Lady Ruo's elbow firmly, and hissed under her breath, "Keep walking. When the guards turn their heads, cover your mouth — do not let them see you speak to me."
Lady Ruo nodded weakly, teeth chattering too hard to reply.
They trudged on another half mile. A sudden shout from the front:
"Rest here! One hour only!" barked the lead guard. "No fires — the woods are royal hunting grounds!"
Families sank to the mud under bare trees, hugging each other for warmth. The guards gathered around a wine jug, laughing at the exiles' misery.
Qingling's eyes narrowed. She crouched behind an old tree stump where Li Zeyan sat on a rock, one hand braced on his knee. The moment their eyes met, a flicker of warmth — or perhaps surrender — passed between them.
"You should rest," he rasped. His voice was hoarse from cold and half-healed pain.
"So should you, but kings are stubborn creatures," she shot back lightly, though her hands trembled inside her sleeves.
She glanced left, right — no watching eyes close enough. She leaned in, whispering quickly:
"Tonight, I will give each sister-in-law a small cloth pouch. Tell them: no matter how hungry they get, never open it near the guards. It's food. Enough for days."
Li Zeyan stared at her, suspicion warring with reluctant hope.
"You carry a hidden granary on your back?"
She met his gaze, voice low and fierce:
"I carry your clan's survival, Your Highness. Trust me a little longer — and walk this road with me."
His lips curved — not quite a smile, but the closest he'd come since their wedding.
"Very well, Consort Yan. Show me this miracle of yours tonight, and I may begin to believe you were sent by the gods to mock me."
She did not argue. She only rose, brushing mud from her robe, and moved swiftly among the huddled families.
Under the cover of dusk, a cold wind whistling through bare branches, she pressed small linen pouches — each hidden in a fold of her sleeve — into grateful, trembling hands.
Inside each: dry rations, soft buns, a few cured meat slices, and powdered medicinal herbs that would stave off fever and cough.
All conjured silently from her secret Evergreen Pavilion.
No one would starve tonight. Not while she lived.
Far from the flickering guard fires, Li Zeyan watched his new bride move like a shadow among the exiled, feeding hope where there was none.
For the first time in days, the iron lines around his eyes softened.
Perhaps, he thought, fighting sleep as the wind howled over the mountain trail, this woman is no miracle doctor, no witch — but a warrior who saves kingdoms with bread and secrets.