Wen Zhuliu, the Core-Melting Hand, kneels and pushes his forehead into the flagstones of the Sun Palace.

“Zongzhu, my life is yours.”

Looking down from her cousin’s throne—her throne now—at her cousin’s right-hand man on the floor, Wen Qing presses her lips together. “Your life debt was to Wen Ruohan, not to me,” she says. “Stand.”

“Thank you, Zongzhu,” he says, once risen to his feet. “My life is yours.”

She considers. “Then take your place,” she says.

He moves to the foot of the stairs, his impassive face turned out towards the courtiers in front of her.