Wang Xia's education moved from theory to practice, from the conservatory to a hidden laboratory adjacent to her pavilion. The Ancestor had it equipped with alembics of enchanted crystal, burners fueled by ghost-fire, and shelves containing ingredients that would make a seasoned alchemist blanch: powdered nightmare-bone, the distilled tears of a sorrow-spirit, venom sacs from phase-spiders.
Part 2: The Art of the Unseen Death
The Ancestor began teaching her the subtle arts—poisons that left no trace. "Any brute can use a blade that bleeds,"he stated, holding up a vial of perfectly clear liquid. "The artist uses a shadow that kills. This is 'Soul-Thirst Dew'. It mimics the symptoms of a sudden qi deviation. The target's own energy consumes them from within. Untraceable."
Wang Xia listened, her head tilted with rapt attention. To her, it was a fascinating puzzle.
He taught her to weave toxins into the most innocent of mediums:
· Scent: A perfume that carried a neurotoxin causing gradual, permanent memory loss. She learned to wear it herself, immune, while her target's mind unraveled after a brief conversation.
· Sound: A specific sequence of notes played on a glass flute, the vibrations tuned to shatter a specific target's spiritual core from a distance.
· Touch: The "Phantom Caress" technique, where she could deliver a lethal dose through a single, seemingly casual brush of her fingers against a victim's hand, the poison absorbing directly through the skin.
Her Verdant Empress Body, once a font of pure life, became a perfect camouflage. Her innate, nurturing aura masked the death she carried. Who would suspect the gentle, silent Third Wife, who spoke to flowers and barely raised her voice?
The Ancestor provided test subjects—prisoners slated for execution. Wang Xia would approach them, sometimes offering a cup of water, sometimes just a sympathetic smile. The results were recorded with cold precision by the System. A man would suddenly clutch his chest and expire days later, his death attributed to a weak heart. Another would simply forget how to breathe in his sleep.
With each success, the Ancestor praised her. "Exquisite, my Lily. You prune with the touch of a butterfly."
She would blush with pleasure, her smile innocent and deadly. She was his perfect, unwitting assassin.
Part 3: The Masterpiece and the Mantle
The Ancestor decided her final examination would be a public test, a demonstration of her seamless integration into his courtly machinery.
A visiting dignitary from a neutral neighboring region was becoming a problem. He was arrogant, condescending, and had made veiled threats about the Dynasty's "unorthodox" practices. The Ancestor wanted him humiliated and neutralized, not dead. A public death would be an incident. A public unraveling would be a lesson.
A grand banquet was held. The dignitary, Lord Feng, held court, holding forth on his region's superiority. Wang Xia was present, dressed in a gown of woven lilacs and silver, the picture of harmless beauty. She said nothing, only smiling faintly.
As dessert was served—a delicate pastry puff—Wang Xia glided past Lord Feng's seat. Her sleeve, treated with a specially prepared powder, brushed ever so slightly over his plate.
The powder was her masterpiece: "Pride's Unmaking." A complex blend designed to attack the ego and inhibitions.
An hour later, as speeches began, Lord Feng stood to toast his own greatness. But instead of polished boasts, he began to babble. He confessed to petty childhood thefts, admitted to being terrified of his wife, revealed his region's hidden financial debts, and then, horrifically, began to weep uncontrollably, begging for his mother.
The hall fell into a stunned, then amused, silence. The mighty lord was reduced to a sobbing, snot-nosed child in front of the entire court. His credibility, his authority, his very manhood were shredded in minutes. He was led away, a broken joke, his diplomatic mission in ruins.
The Ancestor watched, a glass of wine poised at his lips, his green eyes alight with pure admiration. It was more effective than any assassination.
After the banquet, he summoned Wang Xia to her laboratory. He did not speak. Instead, he presented her with a new set of robes. They were the color of deep twilight, embroidered with silver thread in patterns that resembled both blooming night-flowers and skeletal structures. It was the uniform of a master.
He also gave her a signet ring. Its face was not a dragon or phoenix, but a single, perfect lily blossom, its stem coiled around a tiny, almost invisible droplet of venom.
"From this day forward," the Ancestor declared, his voice formal, "you are the Sovereign of Silent Ends. You are no longer just my wife. You are my Mistress of the Unseen Art. Your authority on all matters of toxin and subtle influence is second only to mine. The resources of the court are yours to command for your work."
Wang Xia accepted the robes and the ring. She looked up at him, not with the vacant smile of the simpleton, but with the serene confidence of a true master of her craft.
"Thank you, Master," she said, her voice still soft, but now carrying a new, chilling weight. "I will ensure the garden remains free of blight and bothersome insects."
The System chimed, its notifications a testament to her complete transformation.
[Title Updated: 'Sovereign of Silent Ends'.]
[New Authority Level: Grandmaster of Assassination Arts. Access to Imperial Treasury & Alchemical Stores granted.] [Passive Effect: 'Aura of Harmlessness'. Spiritual perception scans will automatically classify subject as 'non-threatening' unless directly hostile.]
[New Ability Unlocked: 'Verdant Death Bloom'. Can instantly synthesize a contact poison from any nearby plant life.]
The Ancestor looked upon his creation. The Verdant Lily was in full, magnificent bloom. Her petals were soft and beautiful, her scent sweet and inviting. But every part of her was now infused with a lethal, undetectable poison. She was the most perfect weapon imaginable: a smiling, gentle, utterly devoted angel of death, who believed her calling was weeding a garden.
He had not just trained a poison master. He had created a living, breathing paradox—a being of pure life who served absolute death. And she was all his.