NOVEL WEB Chapter 212: The Color of Fire
By the time we returned to the manor, the morning had already begun to bleed into afternoon.
My hair was damp from river mist. My dress smelled like pine and salt. And Shi Yaozu—quiet, constant—walked half a step behind me, like he always did when we weren't alone.
Shadow trotted at my side as if nothing had changed, as if the world weren't coming undone in slow motion. His breath fogged the cold air, his ears twitching every time someone so much as looked in our direction.
We entered the Palace since it was so late in the day through the servants' gate. Yaozu peeled off first, fading into the outer corridor without a word. He didn't need one. His presence lingered in the air behind me like smoke after a battle—familiar, grounding.
I made it exactly ten steps into the main corridor before the Empress intercepted me.
Her robes were red today. Not bright court red, but something deeper. Darker. The kind of red worn by women who had buried husbands and raised kings. Her hair was twisted up in coils, a single jade pin holding it in place. She looked like a woman who hadn't slept all night—and didn't regret it.
"You're late," she said.
"I wasn't aware I had a meeting scheduled."
"You didn't. But news waits for no one." Her tone was clipped, her eyes sharp. "The southern warlords are here."
That stopped me.
"Already?"
"They crossed into the outer capital during the second watch. Two of them came on horseback. One came by litter. All three are armed."
"Of course they are," I murmured.
She studied me, then added, "One of them brought a boy."
"A child?"
"A son. Maybe eight or nine."
I felt a twitch of irritation curl low in my stomach. "To what end?"
"Either bait, or leverage," she said plainly. "Maybe both."
I didn't answer. Just adjusted my scarf and started walking again.
She fell in step beside me.
"You smell like river stone," she said after a beat.
"You smell like blood," I replied.
Her mouth twitched. "Then we're both exactly as we should be."
The three southern warlords had taken up residence in the old court reception hall—a wide, sun-drenched room with carved beams and half-faded tapestries of crane and lotus. It hadn't been used since the old Emperor's birthday three years ago. Back when all of this still felt like theater.
Now?
Now it felt like a throne made of knives.
I stepped inside without fanfare, without guards, and without any introduction. The three men rose, and I took them in without blinking.
The first—Lord Fan from Chixia—was built like a cliff: broad-shouldered, skin sun-darkened, eyes narrowed from years on horseback. His armor gleamed, but only in patches. The rest was dulled from real use.
The second—General Wen from Yelan—was leaner, older, with hands that twitched even when still. His lips were chapped. His boots were still crusted in mud. He had no time for pleasantries, and I liked him better for it.
The third, and the most dangerous, was Lord Han from the southwestern border. He wore silk. Not armor. And smiled like he knew which of us would die first.
His son sat beside him—thin, pale, and too quiet.
I did not bow.
"Gentlemen," I said, voice even. "You're early."
"We heard there was a fire in the capital," Lord Han replied smoothly. "We decided not to wait for the smoke or for it to burn down."
I approached the table and stopped with my hands resting lightly on the carved edge. "Fire tends to cleanse more than it destroys. Those who remain often find the world more manageable."
"Is that what you call this?" General Wen asked. "Manageable?"
"No," I said. "But it will be."
A beat.
Lord Fan tilted his head slightly. "We did not come for metaphors, Crown Princess."
"Then you'll be disappointed. I deal almost exclusively in those." I gestured to the documents laid out across the center of the table—maps, coin trails, troop movements. "You came for answers. You'll get them. But not in the form of a parade."
Lord Han's son sneezed suddenly—once, loud and wet. He wiped his nose on his sleeve without looking up.
I glanced at him, then at the boy's father.
"You brought your son to a war council," I said.
Lord Han smiled again. "I bring him everywhere. Keeps the knife-hand steady when stakes are high."
"Does he speak?"
"Only when prompted."
"Good," I said. "Then he can stay."
Lord Fan's expression didn't shift, but General Wen crossed his arms.
"And what exactly are you proposing, Zhao Xinying?" he asked. "That we bend knee to a child empress with no army of her own?"
"No," I said flatly. "I'm proposing you bend to reason. Or don't bend at all. It makes little difference to me."
I reached for the top scroll and unfurled it with one flick of my wrist.
Three cities.
Eight roads.
Twelve supply routes, each marked with a red circle where Baiguang's interference had already begun.
"You're not here for me," I said. "You're here because you've seen the black market go dry. You've seen your men eating rot and your women selling silk for salt. You came because someone is buying up the bones of your country—and you still haven't found the spine to call it treason."
A heavy silence followed.
Even Lord Han stopped smiling.
I leaned forward just slightly. "This is what I'm offering: trade routes that don't vanish. Grain that doesn't mold. Coin that doesn't scream when you spend it."
"And in return?" asked Lord Fan.
"You do what you've always done. You hold your borders. You ride when called. You keep your people fed and out of my way."
"And what if we want more?" Lord Han asked. "What if we want seats at your table?"
"Then you earn them." I didn't blink. "With blood, not words."
General Wen's voice was low. "We've already bled."
I met his gaze.
"Then let's make sure it wasn't in vain."
Behind me, the Empress moved to pour tea—silent, fluid, reminding everyone in the room that I wasn't alone. That I never would be again.
When she handed me a cup, I took it and raised it halfway.
"To shared interests," I said.
Only Lord Fan echoed it. "To shared survival."
Lord Han's cup remained untouched.
The boy looked up then—just once—and I met his eyes.
They were black as ink and far too old.
I didn't look away.