While Lotus was delivering his terrifying report to the Empress Dowager, a very different conversation was taking place in the Emperor's chambers. The atmosphere was not one of fear, but of tense, strategic debate. Meng Tian, his duty as a silent, watchful guard temporarily forgotten, paced the floor of the study like a caged tiger. The encounter in the garden had awakened the dormant instincts of the general within him, and those instincts were screaming that a mortal threat had been placed at his Emperor's side.
Ying Zheng sat calmly at his table, a cup of steaming, fragrant tea held in his small hands. He watched his general's agitation with the patient eyes of a commander who understood the passions of his men. The display of superhuman strength had been a necessary risk, a calculated move to neutralize the immediate threat, but he knew it would leave his most loyal servant deeply unsettled.
"Your Majesty, the boy is a venomous snake," Meng Tian said, his voice a low, frustrated growl. He stopped his pacing and turned to face the small emperor, his face a mask of grim urgency. "My display today has frightened him, but it has not defanged him. He is an assassin, trained from birth. He will not stop. He will look for another opportunity, a more subtle method. A drop of poison in your tea, a venomous insect left in your bedclothes. He is a constant, mortal threat. I should have killed him where he stood."
He took a step forward, his eyes burning with conviction. "Give me the order, my lord. I can ensure he has a tragic 'accident' of his own before sunrise. A fall from a rooftop during a foolish midnight climb. A sudden, fatal illness. It would be simple. No one would question it."
Ying Zheng took a slow sip of his tea, the warmth of the cup a small, pleasant anchor in the cold, dangerous world he now inhabited. He listened to his general's counsel, the direct, lethal solution of a soldier. It was the Qin way. Identify a threat, and eradicate it completely. A part of him, the ancient tyrant that still resided deep in his soul, agreed wholeheartedly.
But he was not just the First Emperor anymore. He was the Guangxu Emperor, a powerless child in a complex web of intrigue. Brute force was a luxury he could not afford.
"No, General," he said, his voice quiet but firm, cutting through Meng Tian's passionate plea. He set the teacup down. "Killing him now would be a foolish, wasteful move. It would be a tactical victory that leads to a strategic defeat."
Meng Tian looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Valuable? Majesty, he is a dagger pointed at your throat!"
"He was a dagger," Ying Zheng corrected gently, holding up a small hand. "Now, he is a tool. Think, General. What happens if our little Lotus dies tonight? Cixi does not mourn the loss of a disposable agent. She analyzes the event. She would know immediately that his death was not an accident. She would know that we, her mysterious opposition, have the power not only to uncover her spies but to eliminate them within the palace walls. It would confirm her suspicions and intensify her paranoia. She would not send another, single serpent. She would surround this palace with a hundred of them. She would lock me away in a sealed room with food tasters and guards who never sleep. Our freedom of movement, limited as it is, would vanish completely."
He let his words sink in, his logic cold and irrefutable. Meng Tian's frustration slowly subsided, replaced by a dawning understanding of the deeper game his Emperor was playing.
"The boy is terrified of you now," Ying Zheng continued, his eyes glinting. "He has seen the impossible. His report to Cixi tonight will not be one of my childish weakness. It will be a tale of your monstrous, inexplicable strength. He will not be able to hide his terror. Cixi will see it. She will hear it in his voice. And it will plant a seed of doubt and fear in her own heart. She does not know how to fight a 'demon.' She cannot bribe it, blackmail it, or outmaneuver it with court politics. It is an unknown variable, and a mind like hers despises the unknown. It will make her more cautious, more hesitant, more prone to making mistakes."
He picked up his teacup again. "We will not kill Lotus. We will control him. We will use his fear. Your role, General, is no longer just to be my shield. It is to be his constant, living nightmare. Your very presence will be a deterrent, a reminder of the impossible power guarding me. He will not dare to act against me again, for fear of your immediate, overwhelming retribution."
The strategy was brilliant in its psychological cruelty. They would turn the young assassin into an unwilling messenger of their own power.
"Furthermore," Ying Zheng added, a new layer of cunning in his voice, "we can use him. He is now our most direct line into Cixi's inner circle. We will watch how she reacts to the things he 'overhears' when he is with me. We will deliberately let him hear trivial, harmless pieces of information—my favorite foods, my dislike for a certain classic text—and we will see how, or if, that information is reported back and acted upon. We can test the speed and accuracy of her intelligence network. He is no longer her spy; he is now our barometer, measuring the pressure and the temperature of her court."
Meng Tian stood in silence, processing his Emperor's words. The sheer, cold-blooded brilliance of the strategy was something he had not witnessed since the great campaigns against the state of Chu. His own instincts screamed at him to eliminate the physical threat, to meet a blade with a blade. But his Emperor saw layers of opportunity and manipulation that he, a simple soldier, could not. He was thinking not just of the next move, but of the entire war.
He bowed his head, accepting the wisdom of his sovereign. "I understand, Your Majesty. Forgive my bluntness. My instincts are for the battlefield."
"And that is why you are my finest general," Ying Zheng said, a rare note of warmth in his voice. "But this is a new kind of battlefield. Here, a living, terrified enemy is sometimes more valuable than a dead one."
The general understood his new role. He was not just to be a sword, but a symbol. A walking, breathing embodiment of a power that their enemies could not comprehend. His very existence was now a weapon in his Emperor's psychological arsenal. He would play his part. He would be the tiger in the garden.