The following day, the dynamic within the imperial entourage had been irrevocably altered. The atmosphere was charged with a new, unspoken tension. Lotus, the boy assassin, still walked at the Emperor's side, his designated role as "playmate" forcing a physical proximity that had become a form of exquisite torture for him. His charming, easy smile was gone, replaced by a strained, fragile imitation that did not reach his eyes. His movements, once so fluid and confident, were now stiff and cautious. He was a serpent that had been declawed and defanged, acutely aware of the tiger that now perpetually stalked him.
Meng Tian was that tiger. He remained a silent, ominous presence, his face an impassive mask, but his eyes never left the young assassin for long. Every time Lotus moved too quickly or came too close to the Emperor, Meng Tian's posture would shift almost imperceptibly, a subtle coiling of immense power that was a promise of swift, devastating violence. The air around the three of them crackled with this silent, one-sided cold war.
Ying Zheng, the architect of this tension, seemed completely oblivious. He was the picture of childish innocence, pointing out interesting birds and asking simple questions. But he was watching Lotus closely, gauging the depth of his fear. He knew that fear, like steel, needed to be tempered to be made strong and useful. He needed to solidify his control over the young assassin, to transform his terror of Meng Tian into a deeper, more profound terror of the Emperor himself.
He led the small group towards a quiet, secluded pavilion that overlooked a large koi pond. It was a peaceful, elegant spot, with a gracefully curved roof and red lacquered pillars. He sat on a low porcelain stool by the water's edge, and a eunuch respectfully presented him with a small, ornate bowl filled with fish food. Feeding the fat, lazy carp was a common pastime for the palace residents.
"They are so beautiful," Ying Zheng said, tossing a few crumbs into the water, causing a flurry of orange, white, and gold to rise to the surface. He turned to the nervous boy standing beside him. "Lotus, you should feed them too. They are very hungry."
A eunuch presented a similar bowl to Lotus. The young assassin took it, his hands trembling slightly. He knelt beside the Emperor, trying to project an air of normalcy, his every instinct screaming at him to be careful.
Ying Zheng watched the colorful fish for a moment, then turned to Lotus. His voice was soft, conversational. "My new guard, Meng Ao, is very strong, isn't he?" he asked, as if making a simple observation. "He keeps me safe from… accidents."
Lotus flinched at the pointed word, but he managed a weak nod. "Yes, Your Majesty. He is a very loyal guard."
Ying Zheng then looked directly at the boy. For a split second, the veil of childish innocence dropped from his eyes, and Lotus found himself staring into a gaze that was ancient, cold, and filled with a depth of knowledge that made his blood run cold. "It is very important to have loyal people around you," the child Emperor said, his voice still soft, but now carrying a chilling weight. "People you can trust completely."
It was at that moment that Ying Zheng made his move. He didn't look at the bowl in Lotus's hand. He simply focused his will upon it. He used his power, not for a grand, explosive display like shattering a rock, but for a tiny, intimate, and deeply unnatural act of terror. He reached out with his mind and touched the small, porcelain bowl. He didn't heat it. He didn't move it. He made it vibrate.
He focused a minute, intense, and chaotic frequency into the ceramic material. For a single, terrifying second, the bowl in Lotus's hand hummed loudly, an audible, buzzing sound that was utterly alien. The fish food inside jumped and danced as if it had come alive. The vibrations were sharp and jarring, running up the boy's arm and making his teeth ache. It was a completely inexplicable, supernatural event, a violation of the natural order of things. It was a quiet, personal demonstration of a power far stranger and more insidious than mere physical strength.
Lotus cried out, a short, sharp yelp of pure shock and terror. He dropped the bowl as if it were a burning coal. It hit the stone tiles of the pavilion floor and shattered into a dozen pieces, scattering the jumping fish food.
He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, staring at Ying Zheng, his face a mask of absolute horror. He now understood. His mind, trained to analyze threats, finally grasped the true nature of his situation. The bodyguard, the tiger, was not the source of the power. He was merely its shield, its instrument. The true power, the ancient and terrifying intelligence, resided in the small, harmless-looking child. The Emperor himself was something… else. Something ancient, something unknowable, something that could make inanimate objects come alive.
Ying Zheng looked at the shattered bowl, then back at the terrified boy, his expression one of perfect, childish surprise. "Oh, Lotus," he said, his voice light and chiding. "You are so clumsy today. You should be more careful."
He then smiled. It was a sweet, innocent, childish smile that did not, for a single moment, reach his cold, ancient eyes. "You never know what might happen."
The message, delivered with surgical precision, was now complete. Lotus was broken. His fear of Meng Tian was the fear of a physical threat, a fear he could understand. But this new fear was something else entirely. It was a deep, spiritual terror, the fear of the unknown, of a power that operated outside the laws of nature. He understood that he was trapped, not between a boy and his guard, but between two impossible, supernatural forces. His mission to spy on the Emperor had devolved into a waking nightmare of survival.
The episode ends with Lotus on his knees, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he obediently begins to pick up the broken pieces of the porcelain bowl. He doesn't dare to look up at the Emperor again. He is no longer Cixi's serpent, her hidden dagger. He is now Ying Zheng's terrified prisoner, a puppet whose strings are now held firmly by the very person he had been sent to control. His will was not his own anymore. It belonged to the boy with the old eyes.