The morning after Shen Mu's defeat, the Silver Lotus Sect gathered in the main hall. The battle was won, but leadership had to be decided.
Lin Wuye sat at the head, exhaustion evident but his mind sharp. The elders murmured among themselves before the most senior among them stood.
"This war has made one truth clear: Lady Meilin possesses the mind of a commander. We propose she take command of the sect's martial affairs while Master Lin Wuye remains as its advisor and administrator."
Layla, who had been taking a sip of tea, choked. "Excuse me?"
Her father gave her a pointed look.
"Meilin, you led this sect to victory. This is just a formality."
She looked around at the serious expressions.
"You do realize I didn't actually fight with Qi like the others, right? I just told everyone where to go."
One elder nodded. "And yet, without you, we would not be here."
Layla groaned, rubbing her eyes.
"So let me get this straight—I have to handle all the war stuff, while my father buries himself in paperwork?"
Lin Wuye coughed. "That was always the plan."
Layla sighed before muttering, "I should have run when I had the chance."
Immediately, one of the elders scoffed, his wrinkles deepening as he shook his head.
"This is absurd! A commander must be a seasoned cultivator, not—"
"Not what?" Bao interrupted, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Not the person who just led us to victory? Not the person who kept us alive while others panicked?" He jabbed a finger toward the elder.
"With all due respect, Elder, if you'd like to lead the next war, we'll be happy to take notes."
Several disciples snorted, muffling their laughter. Another disciple, still bandaged from the battle, groaned
"If Lady Meilin hadn't been in charge, I'd be dead. I'd rather follow someone with a brain than someone with a bloated ego!"
The elder's face darkened, but he muttered something under his breath and fell silent.
Jiang Wei, the most seasoned disciple, lifted his head from where he had been listening, his sharp eyes narrowing. In a slow, deliberate motion, he turned toward the elder, his expression locked in an unsettling smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh? Would you care to repeat that, Elder?" he asked, his tone polite but dripping with unspoken challenge.
Meanwhile, Meilin's mother sat on the sidelines, hands folded in her lap, watching the chaos unfold with the tired expression of a woman who had seen this nonsense too many times before. She let out a soft sigh and muttered
"This family is going to give me gray hairs before winter even comes."
Lin Wuye coughed into his fist, clearly suppressing a smile.
"The decision has been made. Meilin, you are the commander. No more arguments."
Layla sighed in defeat, rubbing her forehead as if trying to physically push away the headache forming.
"Fine, fine" she muttered. "But if I'm going to be a commander, I need to start planning for winter."
Her mind was already shifting, calculating supplies, food rations, and defensive reinforcements they would need before the first snowfall. The reality of her position settled in, and she realized there was no turning back now.
She exhaled sharply. "Survive the winter first. Everything else can wait."
The aftermath of war always left a strange silence in its wake.
Layla walked through the remnants of the battlefield, the familiar metallic scent of blood still lingering, though now it was overpowered by the scent of fresh lumber and soil. The Silver Lotus Sect was alive—not just in the sense that they had survived but in the way they moved, rebuilt, and pressed forward.
Workers hauled stones to reinforce the eastern wall. Disciples worked tirelessly to restore the damaged training grounds. The once-razed gardens, now trampled into dust, were being resown. Even the wreckage of her fallen tower was being cleared, though the foundation remained scarred. In another section of the sect, she noticed a handful of disciples tending to the few animals they had left—a small herd of mountain goats, a few chickens, and a lone ox used for hauling heavy supplies. They would need more if they wanted to sustain themselves through the winter.
A week. That was the time they needed to complete the basic repairs, but in truth, they only had a month to fully prepare before winter arrived in full force.
As she went over their remaining supplies, a frown creased her brow. Their grain stores were dwindling, their cloth stockpiles were nearly depleted, and there were barely enough livestock to maintain their food supply. If they didn't resupply soon, survival through the cold season would be miserable at best, lethal at worst. She recalled back in her past life that winter was as much a killer as any blade.
A memory surfaced, sharp and unyielding. She had been a newly crowned queen, walking through the outskirts of her capital during the first snowfall of the season, accompanied by her guards and advisors. The streets had been quiet—too quiet. Then she saw him. The streets had been quiet—too quiet. Then she saw him. A child, barely ten, curled up against the cold stone wall of an alley. His lips were blue, his tiny hands frozen stiff. She had rushed to him, calling for aid, but it was too late. His eyes were already lifeless.
She turned sharply to her guards. "How did this happen? Why was no one watching the streets?"
One of her advisors scoffed, barely looking up from his fur-lined sleeves.
"My Queen, he was a commoner. The weak perish in the cold. It is the way of the world."
Silence followed.
Layla felt something cold—not the winter chill, but something deep in her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face the advisor, her expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, she drew the dagger from her belt and slit his throat.
Gasps erupted around her, the warm spray of blood staining the fresh snow. She watched as he gurgled, falling to the ground, clutching his throat in disbelief.
"Then let me change the way of the world" she murmured, stepping over his dying body.
"From this moment forward, no one in my kingdom will freeze to death again."
That night, she had made a decree—no one in her kingdom would suffer the same fate. Winter would never take another innocent life under her rule. She knew from her previous life that food was, the top priority—without it, all their rebuilding would be pointless. But cloth was just as essential; a cold body was a weak body, and a weak body would fall to sickness. A starving army was useless, but a freezing one was just as doomed.
Beyond that, she recalled another necessity that many overlooked: a clean and sustainable water source.
Another painful memory clawed its way to the surface. She remembered sitting on her throne, the grandeur of the palace doing little to mask the weight pressing down on her shoulders. The heavy doors to the throne room burst open, and a man stumbled in—her childhood friend's father. His clothes were disheveled, his eyes wild with grief. Guards moved to restrain him, but he shoved them off, his voice hoarse with fury. A man, a loyal subject, had stood before her, grief-stricken and furious.
"You were supposed to protect us! " he had said, voice trembling with sorrow and rage.
She had no words, confused with this rage asked "Why are you so angry? What has happened?"
He pointed a trembling finger at her, his breath ragged.
"You are our Queen but you betrayed us" he roared.
"My son is dead because of you! Because of this kingdom!"
The guards moved to seize him again, but Layla raised a hand, stopping them. She met his gaze, and for the first time, she saw not just rage, but despair.
The kind that festered deep, impossible to mend.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
What could she have said? That she hadn't known? That she had tried? None of it would matter. He was right. She had no words, only regret.
It was then that she had sworn to build proper sanitation systems, no matter how absurd her advisors had found the idea. Now, standing in the Silver Lotus Sect, she knew she would have to do it again.
Layla tapped her fingers against her forehead and her mind was racing through solutions. It was common practice for sect members to relieve themselves wherever convenient—against trees, near rivers, in empty courtyards. That needed to change. They needed designated areas, separate from their water sources, with proper disposal methods.
Would they resist? Absolutely. But she wasn't going to give them a choice.
Her fingers tapped against her folded arms as she made a mental checklist. Food, cloth, reinforcements, additional water sources, and—most importantly—a designated area for excrement disposal, far enough from their drinking water to prevent contamination. It was a lesson she had learned the hard way, and she had no intention of repeating it. Layla took note of every movement, every conversation around her. Some sect members still looked at her with newfound respect. Others—mostly the elders—watched with caution, as if uncertain whether they had raised a leader or a storm.
"You've done well, Lady Meilin" one of the elders finally said, adjusting his robes. His eyes flickered across the reconstruction, approving yet reserved. "Had we not followed your strategies, we would not be here today."
Another elder, however, scoffed lightly.
"Survival is only the first battle. We must ensure stability."
Layla turned to them, crossing her arms. "Then ensure it. I already have plans set in place for the winter preparations. Our grain storage will be secured, and the defensive formations will be completed within days."
The elders exchanged looks, perhaps surprised she had anticipated their concerns. One of them nodded. "Very well. And what of the main city?"
Meilin exhaled. "I was just about to bring that up."
Later that evening, Layla found herself sparring with Jiang Wei, the sect's most seasoned disciple. He had fought in countless battles before Shen Mu's attack, and despite his age, his movements were precise and efficient. She valued his insight—not just in combat, but in the ways of war.
"Your footwork is too rigid" he muttered as he parried one of her strikes with ease.
"You rely on calculated movement, but in real battle, chaos is the only constant."
She gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance before countering with a feint that, while clever in execution, was still sluggish. Jiang Wei stepped back with ease, barely needing to block. She managed to correct her footing in time, avoiding an embarrassing stumble, but her movements were still stiff.
Jiang Wei sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Better. At least you're not tripping over yourself anymore. But you're still too rigid."
Layla scowled. "It's called strategy."
"It's called being predictable." He flicked her forehead lightly, earning a glare. "If I can read your every move, so can an enemy. You're improving, but you still fight like a scholar trying to choreograph a duel instead of reacting to one."
She huffed, rolling her shoulders. "So what do you suggest?"
Jiang Wei smirked. "Survive the next five rounds without me landing a hit, and I'll tell you."
Layla's confidence flickered for a brief second before she rolled her shoulders. "Five rounds? Easy."
Five rounds later, not only had she failed to avoid a hit—she had been thoroughly humiliated. Each attempt ended with her flat on the ground, pinned, disarmed, or nursing a new bruise. By the third round, she had barely even lifted her sword before Jiang Wei had already countered. By the fifth, she was starting to think he had been taking it easy on her from the start.
Lying on her back, staring at the sky, she groaned. "So, do I at least get a consolation prize?"
Jiang Wei smirked down at her, arms crossed.
"Sure. You get the honour of knowing you lost in record time. Faster than even the junior disciples, I might add."
After their training session, she met with Bao, who was overseeing what remained of their livestock. "It's bad," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We barely have enough to sustain the sect, let alone trade."
"We need to secure more animals" Layla said.
"And paper. We're running low on documentation materials."
Bao groaned. "You just survived a war, and you're already thinking about paperwork?"
She smirked. "Survival means nothing if we're not prepared for the future."