The heavy doors of the Hall of State boomed shut, sealing the chamber in a sudden, profound silence. The American diplomat was gone, but his furious accusations hung in the air like a poisonous fume. Qin Shi Huang remained on his throne, motionless, a figure carved from dark jade and cold fury. Spymaster Shen Ke was the only other person in the room, prostrated on the silk carpet at the foot of the dais, his forehead pressed so hard against the floor that he could feel the intricate weave of the threads against his skin.
The Emperor's silence was more terrifying than any shouted rage could ever be. It was not the silence of contemplation. It was the silence of a collapsing star, a gravity so immense it seemed to bend the light in the room, to suck the very warmth from the air. Shen Ke did not dare to breathe.
Finally, the Emperor spoke, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that seemed to come from the very stones of the palace.
"A printing press in Macao," he said, the words falling like chips of ice. "A meticulously forged set of documents. A plot to incite rebellion on another continent, executed with profound subtlety and audacity." He paused, letting the weight of his words crush his Spymaster. "And the man whose eyes and ears are meant to be my own, the man who commands a thousand agents and sits at the center of a web that covers the Empire, knows nothing."
The words were not an accusation; they were a statement of irrefutable fact, which made them far more damning. They were a declaration of Shen Ke's ultimate failure.
Shen Ke's body trembled, but his voice, when he finally found it, was steady. He knew his life, his honor, and the fate of his entire Ministry hung by the thinnest of threads. "Your Majesty, I have failed you," he said, his voice muffled by the carpet. "My ignorance is a stain upon my honor and a betrayal of your divine trust. I will begin a full investigation at once. I will find the source of this plot."
"You will do more than investigate," the Emperor's whisper grew colder, sharper. "You will conduct a purge. This was not the work of a foreign power. The American was correct. The source is here. Within these walls. There is a traitor in my court. A ghost in my machine."
The Emperor's logic was as flawless as it was terrifying. "Consider the requirements. Someone with the authority to command agents in a foreign port. Someone with the resources to fund a deep-cover operation. Someone with the strategic mind to conceive of such a plan, and the arrogance to execute it without my knowledge." He let the implications hang in the air. "The list of suspects is… small. And powerful."
Shen Ke remained prostrate, his mind racing through that very short, very terrifying list. Yuan Shikai. The Grand Councilors. Princes of the blood. Even the newly returned Admiral Meng. To investigate any one of them was dangerous. To investigate them all was to plunge a knife into the very heart of the Imperial Court.
The Emperor rose from his throne. The soft rustle of his silk robes was the only sound in the room. He descended the steps of the dais, his movements fluid and predatory. He came to a stop directly behind his kneeling Spymaster.
Shen Ke felt a hand settle on his shoulder. The touch was surprisingly light, yet it carried the weight of a mountain. It was a gesture that could be interpreted as reassurance, but Shen Ke knew better. It was the hand of a master, checking the integrity of a tool before its use.
"Tell me again, Shen Ke," the Emperor whispered, his voice directly beside the Spymaster's ear. "Did you know of this operation? Did you, in your ambition, seek to win my favor with a victory you did not declare? Did you conceal this from me?"
As he spoke, the light pressure on Shen Ke's shoulder changed. It became a profound, invasive force. It was not a physical grip; it was something far more intimate. Shen Ke felt a strange, tingling warmth spread through his body, a peculiar sensation as if his own blood were suddenly humming with a low, vibrant energy.
The Emperor had activated his Dragon's Spark.
He was not using it to move mountains or calm seas. He was using its most subtle, most terrifying aspect. He had focused his perception inward, not on the world of steel and stone, but on the world of flesh and blood. In his mind's eye, he could 'see' the man before him not as a shape, but as a system. He could perceive the frantic, panicked rhythm of Shen Ke's heartbeat, the rush of blood through his veins, the faint, staccato electrical signals of his nervous system as his brain processed the questions. The Emperor was not listening to the answers. He was reading the biological truth of the man himself. He had become the ultimate lie detector.
"Search your memory," the Emperor's whisper continued, his grip tightening slightly, the invasive energy intensifying. "Search your soul. The truth, Shen Ke. I will have it."
Under the crushing weight of the Emperor's supernatural scrutiny, Shen Ke felt as if his very thoughts were being peeled back like the layers of an onion, laid bare for his master's inspection. He felt an overwhelming compulsion to speak the absolute, unvarnished truth, as if a lie would cause his very heart to explode.
"I did not, Your Majesty!" he gasped, the words torn from him, raw and desperate. "I swear upon my life, upon the honor of my ancestors! I knew nothing of this! My agency was blind! I have failed you!"
The pressure vanished. The Emperor released his shoulder. The tingling warmth receded, leaving Shen Ke feeling cold, hollowed out, and violated. He had survived. The Emperor had seen the truth of his ignorance and had accepted it. But the experience had fundamentally changed him. He now understood, with a chilling certainty, that the Emperor's judgment was not merely political. It was absolute. His master could literally see into his soul.
"Rise, Spymaster," the Emperor commanded, his voice returning to its normal, regal tone. He walked back to his throne.
Shen Ke shakily pushed himself to his feet, his robes damp with a cold sweat.
"Your failure is absolute," Qin Shi Huang stated calmly. "You will redeem it with absolute loyalty. I want every high minister watched. Every member of the Grand Council. Every prince who attends my court. Minister Yuan Shikai in Tianjin—I want his every correspondence read, his every financial transaction scrutinized. Admiral Meng, my new 'Chief Strategist'—I want his new staff infiltrated. I want to know who they are, who their families are, to whom they are loyal."
The Emperor leaned forward, his eyes burning with a cold, paranoid fire. "I want to know who they meet, what they say, what they whisper in their sleep when they think no one is listening. You will use any means necessary. Turn their servants. Bribe their concubines. Read their mail. There is a serpent in my garden, Shen Ke. Tear the garden apart until you find it."
He made a final, dismissive gesture. "Bring me the head of the traitor."
Shen Ke bowed low, his body still trembling, not just from fear, but from a new, terrifying energy. He had survived the Emperor's wrath. He had been given a chance to redeem his failure. He was terrified of the brutal, bloody witch hunt he had just been ordered to unleash upon the most powerful men in the Empire. But he was also energized. He would not fail his Emperor again. He would find the ghost in the machine, or he would die trying.