Cixi's private chambers within the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility were a fortress of warmth and luxury, a stark contrast to the cold reality of the empire she governed. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive orchids and imported incense. Here, surrounded by priceless art and attended by fawning servants, her power was meant to be absolute and unquestionable. But tonight, the atmosphere was as frigid as the winter wind outside.
She held a freshly printed copy of the Palace Gazette in her hand, her knuckles white where she gripped the fragile paper. Her face, usually a mask of serene control, was taut with a barely suppressed fury. She stabbed a long, manicured finger, protected by a golden nail guard, at one of the characters on the page.
"Forced agreement?" she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. She pointed to another spot. "A title for the dead? A subordinate's reprimand? Who did this? Who dares to play these scholar's games with me and mock me in my own official announcements?"
Li Lianying stood before her, his head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest. He had been the one to bring the subtle insults to her attention, alerted by one of the fawning, loyalist scholars from the Hanlin Academy who had deciphered the semantic poison in the text.
"Majesty, we are investigating with the utmost urgency," Li Lianying reported, his own voice tight with anxiety. This was a new kind of attack, one he couldn't counter with guards or spies. "The master copy was written by the junior scribe, Shen Ke. We have had him questioned. He claims it was an unintentional error, a slip of the brush caused by his deep immersion in classical texts. His academic record is impeccable, and his calligraphy is widely regarded as flawless. It is… impossible to prove intent."
"Do not speak to me of proof!" Cixi snapped, crumpling the Gazette in her fist. "It is not a mistake! It is an attack, as surely as Prince Gong's speech was an attack. This is his doing. He could not defeat me with overt force, so now he resorts to hiring these arrogant scribes to undermine me with their word games." She began to pace the room, her silk robes rustling angrily. "There is a conspiracy afoot. A faction of these proud, useless scholars who think they can challenge the throne with their ink brushes. Find them, Lianying. Root them out. I want them all silenced."
But they both knew it was an empty threat. They were powerless. They could dismiss or punish Shen Ke, but that would be a public admission that the insult had landed, that the semantic barbs had found their mark. It would make them look weak and thin-skinned. They could not fight a ghost. The act was too subtle, too clever, too deniably brilliant. Cixi was left with nothing but her own simmering, impotent rage.
Meanwhile, across the Forbidden City in his own quiet chambers, Ying Zheng was practicing a new form of his power. He had learned to command fire, the element of destruction. He had learned to command water, the element of change. Now, he was learning to command air, the element of whispers, echoes, and unseen influence.
He sat in the center of his room in silent, deep meditation. He focused his will not on creating a great gust of wind as he had at Prince Gong's study, but on a far more delicate task. He reached out with his consciousness and began to manipulate the very air vibrations within the stone walls of his room. He was learning to create and guide sound.
His first subject was the small, mechanical songbird Ci'an had given him. He pulled the string, and it let out its cheerful, warbling tune. After the mechanism had wound down and the bird fell silent, Ying Zheng focused his will. He recalled the exact frequency and pitch of the bird's song. He gently nudged the air molecules in the far corner of the room, making them vibrate in that same pattern.
Faintly, like a memory, the bird's song echoed in the hallway outside his door, long after the toy itself was silent. The two eunuchs guarding his door exchanged a confused glance, peering into his room and seeing the still bird. They shook their heads and dismissed it as a trick of the wind.
He practiced for hours. He learned to project a whisper from one side of the room to the other, so it seemed to emanate from an empty chair. He learned to mimic the sound of rustling silk in a room where nothing was moving. The control required was immense, far more draining than creating a simple flame, but the potential was limitless.
His goal was simple, yet profound. The Forbidden City was a place that ran on whispers, rumors, and paranoia. He would become its ghost. He would become the architect of its paranoia. The altered Palace Gazettes were the first step, planting seeds of doubt and mockery. His new power would be the water that made them grow.
He would amplify the rumors his agents started. He would make Cixi's political enemies hear whispers of dissent in empty corridors, making them feel bolder. He would make her own loyalists hear faint, untraceable sounds of laughter after they had delivered a report, making them question their own sanity. He would create an atmosphere of deep, abiding paranoia that would fray their nerves, erode their trust in each other, and force them into making mistakes.
The episode ends with Cixi, alone in her chambers late that night, unable to sleep. She has dismissed her attendants. The palace is silent. As she stares into the darkness, she thinks she hears something. A faint, distant sound, carried on the wind that rattles her windowpane. A sound that is almost like the mocking laughter of a child.
She sits up straight, her heart pounding. She listens intently. There is nothing. Only the wind. She tells herself it was her imagination, her mind playing tricks on her, frayed by the day's events. But the seed of a new, more personal fear has been planted deep within her. The walls of her own palace, her fortress of power, no longer feel entirely safe.
Ying Zheng is no longer just manipulating people and events. He is beginning to manipulate their very perception of reality.