Thunder had given way to steady rain by the time Yan Qingling heard footsteps pounding across the courtyard.
She flung the bridal chamber doors wide open just as two armored guards staggered in, bearing Li Zeyan between them like a broken pillar.
His ceremonial robe — bright red when he left — was now drenched with rain and the dark blotches of fresh blood. The herbal poultice she had given him hung half-loosened at his waist, soaked through but intact.
"Place him here — gently!" Qingling barked, her soldier's tone slicing through the servants' panic.
The guards laid Li Zeyan on the edge of the marriage bed, then backed away, averting their eyes from the crimson mess that stained both bride and groom's wedding sheets.
One guard knelt shakily.
"Your Highness… the Emperor said… he defied imperial orders… fifty strokes… the royal physicians refused treatment…"
Qingling's eyes snapped to him, her voice cutting through the rain like steel:
"Out. All of you. Bring hot water, clean cloth, and my maid Xiaoyu. Now!"
They fled as if their boots were on fire.
Qingling turned to the man on the bed. Li Zeyan's eyelids fluttered, revealing the brief gleam of those proud eyes before he winced and bit back a groan.
"You—" he rasped, voice hoarse from pain and anger, "You were right… damn you…"
Qingling dropped to her knees beside him, carefully peeling away the layers of soaked silk from his back. Each tug revealed a livid stripe of raw flesh, some still bleeding sluggishly despite the protective poultice.
"I warned you," she murmured, fighting to keep her hands steady as she examined each wound. "But you were too proud to hide. Typical War God."
Li Zeyan tried to snort, but it turned into a choked hiss of pain.
"Are you mocking your husband… Consort Yan?"
"I'm saving your life, husband. Stay still — or bleed to death."
She slipped her hand into her sleeve and, with a silent command, called forth a small vial from the Evergreen Pavilion. Within seconds, a faint herbal scent filled the room — calming, numbing.
She poured a thin stream over the deepest lashes, watching the inflamed flesh darken but stop bleeding. She worked quickly, binding each wound with clean bandages she conjured from the hidden space when the maids were too slow.
Li Zeyan's ragged breathing evened out, though sweat beaded at his temples. He forced one eye open to study her face — so close now that he could see the calm fire in her pupils.
"You… You're not just a spoiled minister's daughter…" he murmured. "What exactly are you hiding… in that clever head of yours?"
Qingling didn't answer immediately. She pressed the last bandage into place, her fingers deft despite his low groan. Then she met his eyes — steel meeting storm.
"I'm hiding the fact that tomorrow, your family's treasures will be seized by traitors in silken robes, pretending to serve the throne. And that I won't let that happen."
He let out a dry, humorless laugh that turned into a wince.
"You have secrets. Dangerous ones."
"And you," she shot back, "have a kingdom's worth of spies waiting to bury you alive if you breathe wrong."
They stared at each other, bound not by love but by a thin cord of survival and something harder to name.
Outside the chamber, the pounding rain masked the hurried whispers of panicked servants. The Emperor's soldiers were circling the estate, carrying royal edicts and empty treasure carts.
Time was running out.
Qingling pressed her palm gently to Li Zeyan's cheek. His skin was burning but alive — for now.
"Rest. Tonight, you trust me."
"Why should I?" he murmured, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and pain.
Qingling leaned in, her breath brushing his ear like a vow forged in steel:
"Because I'm the only one who wants you alive more than your Emperor does dead."
The rain fell harder now, drumming like war drums on the tiled roofs of the Li clan's grand estate.
Inside the bridal chamber, Yan Qingling had no time to savor the victory of keeping the War God alive for another night.
Outside her door, low voices rose in tense urgency — then a knock, harsh and frantic.
"Consort Yan! The Imperial Guards are here — they say they bear an edict to search the manor and seize the Li clan's assets!"
Qingling didn't flinch. She adjusted the edge of Li Zeyan's bloodstained robe over his shoulder, her voice calm as a surgeon's whisper:
"Lie still. If they see you awake, they'll drag you back to the palace half dead to finish what they started."
Li Zeyan's eyes burned into hers, half pride, half helpless fury.
"You dare order me—"
She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him more intimately than any threat could.
"Yes. Tonight, I do. Because if you die now, I swear on the ashes of my old life — I'll burn this dynasty to its bones."
She stood, wiping blood from her hands, and crossed the chamber in three brisk strides. Outside, the maid Xiaoyu and two nervous house stewards flinched back when she threw open the doors.
"Where are the other madams?" Qingling demanded.
"They… they are gathering in the main hall, Consort Yan," Xiaoyu stammered. "The soldiers demand they open all vaults at once—"
"They will find them empty," Qingling murmured under her breath. She turned to the steward, eyes sharp as a blade:
"Delay them at the front gate. Stall with wine and false courtesies. If they try to force their way in — remind them that disturbing the War God on his wedding night is an insult punishable by death."
The man bowed shakily and fled into the storm.
Xiaoyu whispered, "Madam, what should we do? All the gold, jewels, the old heirlooms… even if we hide them in trunks—"
Qingling's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Who said we need trunks?"
She seized Xiaoyu's wrist and dragged her inside the chamber. With a sweep of her hand, she latched the doors shut behind them.
Under the flickering lantern light, Qingling knelt by a large rosewood coffer near the dressing screen — the dowry chest. She flipped the heavy lid open. Inside, silks, jade hairpins, and a smaller iron box sat nestled in crimson brocade.
Qingling's eyes glowed with quiet triumph.
Let's see if your Imperial Edict can seize what they cannot see.
With a silent command, she brushed her fingertips over the iron box. In the blink of an eye, it vanished — swallowed by the invisible maw of her Evergreen Pavilion.
She moved swiftly, barely breathing:
Three gold-banded scroll tubes — gone.
Pouches of silver ingots — gone.
A hidden drawer under the false bottom — more coin, more jewels — gone.
Behind her, Xiaoyu gasped, seeing treasures disappear into thin air. She fell to her knees, voice trembling:
"Madam… are you… a witch?"
Qingling paused just long enough to press her finger to Xiaoyu's forehead, her tone a soft threat cloaked in affection:
"If I were a witch, you'd be dust by now. You saw nothing. Swear it on your life."
Xiaoyu nodded, tears springing to her eyes.
"I swear! I swear, Consort!"
A dull boom shook the walls — fists pounding on the heavy front doors. The Imperial Guards were growing impatient.
Qingling snapped her attention to the bed. Li Zeyan's eyes were half-open now, lids heavy with pain but smoldering with reluctant admiration.
"You… truly are no ordinary minister's daughter."
Qingling's smile flashed, fierce as a soldier's grin before battle.
"Remember that. Now close your eyes and play the dying hero. Let them search empty rooms while your loyal wife robs the empire blind."
Outside the bridal chamber, the thunder of iron boots drew closer. The Empire's hounds had come to tear their world apart.
Inside, hidden behind silk curtains and an unassuming chest, a miracle doctor with a secret space armed herself for a war not yet declared.