The morning air in the northern sector of the Forbidden City was sharp with the acrid stench of wet ash and burnt silk. A pall of greasy smoke still hung over the compound known as the Silkworm Nursery, a place that was, until last night, the secret heart of Li Lianying's intelligence network. Now, it was a ruin. The fire had been intense but strangely contained, gutting the main records room while leaving the surrounding structures mostly intact.
Li Lianying stood amidst the wreckage, his face a mask of controlled, simmering panic. His elegant silk robes were smudged with soot, his usual composure completely gone. He sifted through a pile of blackened, brittle scrolls with a pair of iron tongs, but it was useless. Everything was gone. Years of work, lists of informants, records of blackmail, networks of influence—all reduced to illegible ash. This was a devastating, crippling blow to his power.
Kneeling on the cold, wet ground before him were the four eunuch guards who had been on duty. Their heads were bruised and bandaged, their faces pale with terror. Their story was maddeningly incoherent. They spoke of a sudden, silent attack from the shadows, of a figure that moved like a ghost or a demon, too fast to see clearly. They claimed they were struck down before they could even raise an alarm.
"Fools! Incompetents!" Li Lianying hissed, throwing the tongs down with a clang. "You speak of ghosts to cover for your own negligence! You fell asleep and knocked over a lantern! Admit it!"
"No, Excellency!" one of the guards cried, his voice trembling. "It was a demon, I swear it! It moved like the wind! There was no sound, just… a pressure, and then darkness."
Li Lianying wanted to have them all flogged to death on the spot, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a more significant presence. The Empress Dowager Cixi, flanked by a small retinue, swept into the ruined courtyard. Her face was a mask of glacial fury, her dark eyes taking in the scene with a cold, analytical gaze.
"Explain this, Lianying," she commanded, her voice dangerously quiet.
"A fire, Your Majesty," he said, bowing low. "A tragic accident, it seems. These worthless guards were derelict in their duty."
"An accident?" Cixi's voice was laced with disbelief. She walked over to the burnt-out shell of the records room. "A fire that so conveniently destroys all of your most sensitive documents, but leaves the building itself standing? A fire where the guards all have identical bruises on their heads and speak of demons?" She turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. "This was no accident, Lianying. This was an attack. And it was a message."
She knew. She felt it in her bones. The timing was too perfect, coming so soon after her political setbacks with Prince Gong and the appointment of Zuo Zongtang. This was the next move in the game, a direct strike at the very heart of her power. Her enemies were not just whispering in the court; they were now acting in the shadows. A cold, unfamiliar tendril of fear touched her heart. Her control, which had once been absolute, was being challenged by an enemy she couldn't see.
It was at that moment that another small procession entered the courtyard. It was the Emperor, on his morning "restorative walk," accompanied by his tutors and his new, silent bodyguard, Meng Ao. The entourage had been "unexpectedly" diverted by a eunuch who reported the fire.
Ying Zheng, playing his part to perfection, stopped at the edge of the wreckage, his small face a picture of wide-eyed, childish horror. He clung to his tutor's sleeve, feigning fear at the sight of the destruction. Beside him, Meng Tian stood as still and impassive as a statue, his eyes veiled, but for a single, fleeting second, his gaze met his Emperor's. The message was clear. Mission accomplished.
Ying Zheng let go of his tutor's sleeve and took a few hesitant steps forward. He looked at the smoking ruin, at the frantic eunuchs sifting through the ashes, and at the grim faces of Cixi and Li Lianying. He then turned to the head eunuch, his voice small and innocent, yet carrying with unnerving clarity in the quiet courtyard.
"Head Eunuch Li," he said, a note of childish sadness in his voice. "The fire was very bad. The silkworms are all dead now." He paused, then delivered the masterstroke, a line designed to be both a simple observation and a devastating psychological blow. "Huang A Ma will have no new silk for her beautiful pearl shawl."
The words hung in the cold morning air.
To most observers, it was nothing more than the simple, logical connection made by a child. He had heard about the pearl shawl at the disastrous reception. He had just learned this was the Silkworm Nursery. His mind had connected the two.
But to Cixi and Li Lianying, the comment was a chilling, direct, and mocking confirmation of their worst fears. It was not a random observation. It was a message. It explicitly linked this covert attack to their public political humiliation over the military budget. It told them that their enemy not only knew their secrets but was now openly taunting them with their knowledge. It was a display of audacious confidence that was deeply unnerving.
Cixi's face, which had been a mask of fury, now went completely pale. Her paranoia, always simmering just beneath the surface, erupted. This was not just Prince Gong. The Prince was a bull, powerful but predictable. This was something else. This was the work of a master strategist, someone with access to her most private plans, someone who could strike at her with surgical precision and then mock her to her face through the mouth of a child.
She stared at the small boy, at his wide, innocent eyes, and felt that same, profound unease she had felt before. She began to suspect a traitor, not just in the court, but deep within her own inner circle. Who else could have known about the shawl, the nursery, and had the means to orchestrate such a perfect attack? Her mind began to race, suspicion falling on everyone around her. She no longer trusted anyone.
The fire had not just destroyed a building full of secrets. It had ignited a new, more dangerous fire of paranoia and distrust right at the heart of her own faction. And that, Ying Zheng knew, was a fire that would be far more destructive in the long run.