The morning passed without incident. For once, the Eastern Bureau breathed in silence.
Li Ziyan sat at her desk beneath the gentle wash of sunlight filtering through the lattice windows. Dust hung like pale silk in the air. Her brush lay still. The ink in her well had long dried.
A moment of peace.
Scrolls lay open before her—troop rosters, grain allocations, temple offerings. She had read each one twice already, yet her gaze kept drifting to the coded message tucked beneath her sleeve.
He was not the first. Zhao was not the last. The next will fall at the Mid-Spring Offering.
She turned the words over like cold stones. They did not change shape.
Her phoenix mark remained dormant. No heat. No whisper. Only the sense of something breathing just beyond the veil—watching, but silent.
She closed her eyes for a breath.
Then—a knock at the door.
A eunuch bowed deeply, voice smooth as streamwater. "Her Majesty, the Empress, summons Minister Li Ziyan to the Plum Garden Court. Immediately."
Ziyan sat upright. "Did she say why?"
"No, Minister. Only that she is… curious."
The Plum Garden Court rested behind layers of bamboo lattice and curved stone bridges, where white plum blossoms still clung despite the summer's breath. It was a place of quiet meditation and hidden meanings—a garden where secrets ripened like fruit behind fans.
Ziyan was led across the stepping stones to a shaded pavilion. There, the Empress waited alone, seated before a low lacquered table. Steam rose from a porcelain kettle. Her robe was pale jade, her hair arranged in flawless loops pinned with silver plum branches. A white fan rested in her hand like a shield made of silence.
Ziyan bowed low and knelt opposite her. The Empress said nothing at first. She let the wind do the speaking—let it carry the scent of tea leaves and distant incense until the silence coiled around them like a vine.
"You've drawn the court's attention," the Empress said at last, voice light. "Three noble houses bruised. One general's name whispered. One girl's name remembered."
Ziyan did not raise her head. "I only defended myself."
"Yes. With admirable elegance."
The Empress tapped the edge of her fan against her wrist.
"But elegance breeds envy. And envy... makes even the moon burn."
She lowered the fan slowly.
"I was once like you, you know. Unmarried. Clever. Unfavored by the wind. I learned early that the court does not reward brilliance. It fears it."
Ziyan finally looked up. "Then why summon me?"
The Empress poured tea into two cups, the fragrance delicate but sharp—osmanthus with a hint of plum.
"Because the wind is changing. And I would rather offer you shelter than see you turned into another stone beneath someone else's feet."
Her voice cooled.
"You were cast out once. Banished by name, exiled by blood. And yet you return—not only with skill, but with favor. The Emperor tolerates you. General Zhang... protects you. Even your father allows you to speak freely."
She offered Ziyan the tea.
"Such things do not happen without consequence."
Ziyan accepted the cup. "Does Your Majesty view me as a threat?"
"I view you," the Empress said delicately, "as a variable. And I prefer my court to behave like a well-arranged poem—not one where the last line changes while I sleep."
She sipped her tea, her gaze never leaving Ziyan's.
"So tell me, Ziyan. What do you believe happened to Grand Commandant Zhao?"
Ziyan's fingers paused over her cup.
"I believe," she said slowly, "that he died for knowing too much. Or for asking the wrong question. I haven't yet decided which."
The Empress smiled faintly. "Do you think I killed him?"
"No," Ziyan said. "I think if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
A chuckle like bells escaped the Empress's lips. "How clever. And correct."
The breeze shifted. Petals danced down like drifting snow.
"There will be a Mid-Spring Offering in three days," the Empress said, her voice returning to stillness. "A modest ceremony. The Emperor wishes it quiet, but precise. You will assist in overseeing the ceremonial ink and the scroll of names."
Ziyan bowed her head. "As Your Majesty commands."
The Empress rose to her feet in one fluid motion, sleeves trailing like wings.
"Obedience is not what I desire. Only predictability. The palace has enough dangerous women already."
She turned to go, then paused.
"Oh—and Minister Li." Her tone dropped, velvet over steel. "Be careful what you burn. Some phoenixes only rise once."
Ziyan returned to her office in silence.
Wen Yufei awaited her there, nervously stacking court rosters. His spectacles sat crooked on his nose.
"You're back," he said quickly. "Did Her Majesty—did she—?"
"She offered tea," Ziyan said. "And a warning."
Wen blinked. "Was it poisoned?"
"No. Just honest."
She moved to her desk, fingertips brushing against the sealed parchment still lying beneath her brush stand. The ciphered message.
Wen hesitated. "That scroll from last night… I didn't place it there. Are you sure it's not a forgery?"
Ziyan unrolled it again.
The handwriting was not hers. But the cipher was. One only she and two others could read.
She read it again.
He was not the first. Zhao was not the last. The next will fall at the Mid-Spring Offering.
Her phoenix mark stirred beneath her sleeve—once, sharply. Then stilled.
Ziyan looked out the window.
Petals from the palace plum trees danced across the breeze.
She whispered to herself.
"Then I must be ready."