The Prime Minister's estate had not known such harmony in years.
After the mission to the ravaged village, the mood within the manor shifted palpably. Servants greeted each other with lighter steps, guards trained with a sense of pride, and even the stone-cold advisors who walked the shaded halls seemed to pause longer when passing the central garden—where camellias bloomed in full glory.
At the heart of it all was Lin Wanyue.
Yet even as the estate basked in its newfound serenity, the halls of power began to stir.
"She's dangerous," murmured one court advisor, pacing before the Imperial Chancellor in the early morning light. "Soft power is the most dangerous kind. She's won the hearts of the people, the soldiers, even Lord Xu. She must be watched."
The Chancellor, an aging man with furrowed brows, nodded slowly. "The Prime Minister may not see it yet, but influence built on loyalty and affection can sway even the emperor's hand. We cannot let her rise unnoticed."
And thus, the wheels of court intrigue began to turn.
Unaware of the whispers, Lin Wanyue sat beneath the garden pavilion, embroidering a simple pouch with a plum blossom design. Her hands moved with grace, but her mind wandered.
She hadn't expected the villagers' gratitude to echo back into the capital so quickly. Dozens of letters had arrived—scrolls praising her mercy, drawings from children, even preserved wildflowers bundled in twine.
She had placed each of them carefully in a wooden box by her bedside. They were not trophies, but reminders. Of pain healed, of lives touched. Of her place in this world.
A shadow interrupted her thoughts.
"Still working on that pouch?" Yun Heng's voice was quiet, low enough that it seemed to brush the edge of her thoughts.
Lin Wanyue looked up and smiled. "It's a gift. For someone who has guarded me in silence."
He raised a brow. "You flatter me."
"I wasn't speaking of you," she teased.
Yun Heng's lips quirked—an expression rare and subtle. "Then perhaps I should start standing guard. I seem to be falling behind."
She set the embroidery down gently. "You guard my silences in other ways."
He stared at her a moment longer, then turned away before his composure slipped further. Lin Wanyue had a way of seeing beyond titles and masks. It was both comforting and disarming.
That afternoon, the Prime Minister returned.
Minister Lin—Wanyue's estranged father—had heard rumors of his daughter's rising influence. When he entered the estate, he found not the meek, forgettable girl he'd once ignored, but a poised woman receiving guests, her every word weighed with quiet authority.
"Father," she greeted him with a respectful bow.
He looked at her, clearly startled. She wore robes not of opulence, but of refinement—sky blue silk, simple silver fastenings, her hair pinned with a wooden comb shaped like a dove.
"Wanyue…" he began, hesitant. "You've… changed."
"I had to," she replied gently. "There was no one else who would change for me."
He said nothing for a long moment, then cleared his throat. "The Emperor has summoned an envoy from our estate for the Spring Banquet. They requested someone… respectable. Someone who reflects harmony and virtue. I believe that is you."
It was not quite an apology. But for Minister Lin, it was the closest thing to an acknowledgment she'd ever received.
"I will go," she said softly.
The news spread quickly through the estate: Lin Wanyue would represent the Prime Minister's household at the Spring Banquet—a gathering of nobility, scholars, generals, and foreign envoys under the emperor's eye.
The invitation was more than a mere honor—it was a test.
That evening, Xu Tianlan found her overlooking the lotus pond, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"You're nervous," he said, standing beside her.
"I'd be foolish not to be," she admitted. "One misstep at court and everything I've built could vanish."
He shook his head. "They can't erase you, Yue'er. You've planted yourself too deeply in too many hearts."
She looked up at him, eyes warm. "Even yours?"
He chuckled, then turned serious. "Especially mine."
Preparations began in earnest. Court etiquette lessons resumed, and noble tailors arrived with bolts of brocade, offering their finest creations for her choosing. But Wanyue was careful—she chose grace over extravagance, a flowing pale cream and gold hanfu that shimmered like sunlight through mist.
Even the usually stoic Yun Heng offered advice on court politics.
"You'll be tested," he said. "Not just by questions, but by stares. Smiles with sharp edges. Stay silent when you must, and never let them see uncertainty."
She nodded. "I'll remember."
"And if anyone slanders you…" he paused, expression darkening, "they'll regret it."
Two nights before the banquet, Xiao Zhen surprised her with a gift.
"It's… nothing grand," he said, eyes darting everywhere but her face.
She opened the box. Inside was a vial of handmade floral perfume, subtle and sweet, with a note: For when you walk among wolves—let them know you carry spring with you.
She touched the vial with tender fingers. "It's perfect."
Zhen flushed scarlet. "I only… I wanted to help, in my way."
"You already do," she whispered, and in that moment, he might've sworn to follow her to the ends of the realm.
Finally, the night of the Spring Banquet arrived.
The palace glittered under thousands of lanterns. Courtyards overflowed with nobles in jeweled robes, silks trailing like rivers, and music floated from every pavilion.
Lin Wanyue entered not with fanfare, but with elegance. The crowd parted—not out of deference, but out of curiosity. Who was this lady of no great clan, walking as though she belonged?
The emperor sat high above on the jade dais, flanked by his consorts and ministers. His gaze swept the crowd, lingering briefly on her.
"You are Lin Wanyue," he said when she stepped forward to offer her greeting.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I've heard of your healing in the border village. And your growing influence here."
She did not flinch. "I act only where I am needed, not where I seek power."
The emperor smiled faintly. "A wise answer."
Nearby, a noblewoman scoffed. "Flattery and humility—both rehearsed."
Another lord leaned in. "Let's see if she holds her own in poetry and politics."
The challenges came one by one.
A duel of verses—where Wanyue's lines, simple and elegant, were praised for their clarity.
A debate on policy—where she posed a question about reforming border aid, earning murmurs of approval.
And finally, a toast—where she raised her cup not to emperors or ministers, but to the people who could not be present, "whose lives deserve peace and dignity, as much as ours."
The emperor raised his own cup in turn.
As the banquet drew to a close, whispers filled the courtyards.
"She's no mere concubine's daughter."
"She carries the poise of someone destined for something greater."
"She makes the rest of us look foolish with how kind she is."
But Lin Wanyue paid them no mind. She returned to the estate under moonlight, escorted by Xu Tianlan and Yun Heng, Xiao Zhen trailing close.
When they reached the gates, she turned to them and said, "Thank you—for helping me walk with courage."
"We didn't help you walk," Tianlan said softly. "We followed you because you already stood tall."
And from the shadows of the estate, servants peeked through doors and behind columns—not to spy, but to witness. Their lady had faced the empire, and the empire had blinked first.
In their hearts, they whispered a new title.
Not Lady Lin.
Not Prime Minister's daughter.
But the Heart of the Estate.