News of Dowager Taihou's visit to the King, prompted by his troubling silence, quickly reached the ears of the other women of the Palace... especially Dowager Cixi, Danish-Ara, and Royal Consort Xuan Ji. Whispers spread not only among them but also through the households of influential courtiers, their wives, their children, and even grandchildren.
Small groups formed in corners of the palace, debating in hushed tones. Some mocked, claiming King Yibo had hidden himself out of guilt for his past deeds. Others murmured that perhaps the mysterious forces that guided him had ordered his seclusion, and he would not emerge until the young man destined to die had drawn his last breath. A few simply smiled quietly, keeping their own counsel.
Yet there were those who pitied King Yibo, believing he was carrying unbearable burdens. To them, everything reeked of schemes and conspiracies...plots often tied to his father's wives and the King's paternal relatives who still coveted the throne.
Wherever Dowager Taihou walked, attendants knelt low, pressing their foreheads to the ground in greeting. Not once did she acknowledge them with so much as a glance; her own attendants responded on her behalf.
At the entrance to the King's quarters, her retinue halted.
The King's residence was the most splendid and magnificent part of the Beiping Empire's Palace. Though royal consorts also had chambers within this section, his stood at the center....a towering structure, built almost entirely of glass, rising four stories high with an elevator to carry one floor to the next.
To speak of the wealth poured into its design was nearly pointless; it was more than a residence, it was a fortress of luxury. From the top floor, King Yibo could view everything happening in the empire....even beyond the palace walls.
At the first entrance, the guards who stood like soldiers bowed and stepped aside to escort Dowager Taihou into the first sitting room. Attendants there pressed themselves low as she passed. From there, her escorts withdrew, while those assigned to the second floor accompanied her into the next sitting room, where they too halted. Those of the third floor continued her procession into the third sitting room.
Only one man had the authority to escort her to the fourth and final floor....the King's most trusted guard. There, only three servants were permitted: one chief attendant and two personal cooks. They alone were allowed access to King Yibo's private chambers, where they might glimpse him directly, maintain his sleeping rooms, or deliver what he required.
After paying respects, Ghazi asked her leave to seek permission for her audience. With a slight motion of her hand, she gave consent.
In less than four minutes he returned, kneeling low before her.
"Your Grace," he said softly, "the King grants you entry to his inner chamber."
The Dowager did not move at first, though surprise flickered through her. On every past visit, the King had always come to meet her in the outer sitting room or in his smaller private lounge on the third floor. The innermost chamber was off-limits to even his consorts. For him to summon her there meant only one thing: something was gravely amiss.
When the doors opened, Ghazi stepped back. With dignified poise, she advanced into the medium-sized sitting room, filled with the cool air of scented oils and fine incense, the soft hum of air cooling machines.
Though not vast, the room was elegant...its walls hung with silken draperies, the floors covered with thick carpets of the finest weave, every detail designed to exude authority and refinement.
The Dowager lowered herself gracefully into a seat, exhaling deeply. She longed for her own blood...her son, but the iron laws of the empire demanded that she restrain her mother's heart, as all royal mothers before her had been forced to do.
The sound of the door opening, the faint fragrance of his perfume filling the air, and the steady rhythm of his footsteps made her lift her graceful eyes toward him. Slowly, with measured composure and regal calm, he advanced until he stood before her.
From where he stood, King Yibo slightly inclined his head in a gesture of respect. His deep, quiet voice carried effortlessly, so soft that one might think he hadn't spoken at all.
"Mother."
Dowager Taihou released a gentle sigh, her breath carrying the weight of years, and inclined her head with closed eyes before opening them again as a sign of acknowledgment. With measured grace, he seated himself at her side, his bearing composed yet filled with reverence toward her as his mother.
Her hand rested lightly upon his smooth, dark long hair as she bent and pressed her lips to his brow. His forehead was warm, almost fevered, hinting at strain. His eyes, narrowed and restrained, hid the brilliance within. His lips curved faintly, the hint of a smile for her alone.
She smiled in return...rare, reserved, yet deeply maternal...as she straightened her posture once more, her aura no less regal.
"You, too, are you well, my son?."
He let out a quiet breath, his head lowering slightly in respect, and then he raised his gaze to her only to avert it again. "I am well, Mother."
"No," she whispered softly, shaking her head, her face shadowed with concern. "Your eyes tell me otherwise, my Lion."
He gave no reply for a long moment, his silence answering her more than words ever could. She smiled faintly, shaking her head once more. She knew the truth of royal blood....how it concealed as much as it revealed. In him, she saw the very shadow of his late father, King Murong: the same unyielding pride, the same restraint, the same mystery. Few could ever read his heart. Even with her, his mother, he rarely spoke more than a handful of words in the span of an hour. Smiles were treasures reserved only for her, for his grandmother Dowager Ruyan, and for his father in life. To the rest of the world, he remained a fortress.
Sensing her sinking too deeply into thought, he reached for the ornate bowl before them, where dates glistened with honey. Picking one delicately, he offered it to her lips. She inhaled softly, returning to the moment, and without protest opened her mouth to accept it. She chewed slowly, smiling as she met his gaze. Then, with the same gesture, she fed him in return, repeating it three times.
She knew he was hungry, but worry made him refrain from eating. It had been his habit since childhood...whenever troubled, he would refuse food, and only when pressed would he put morsels into the mouths of his parents instead, silently demanding they eat so that he could draw comfort from it.
Now, she wiped the corner of his lips with a silk cloth, her eyes shining with unfallen tears.
"Do you feel hungry, my Lion?"
He gave her a short smile, turning his face away rather than answering. She asked no more. Instead, she lifted the intercom by her side to summon attendants.
(No one....expect King Yibo....was permitted to witness Dowager Taihou in such moments.)
In little time, her request arrived: a tray of delicacies, chosen with care. She sat poised, and he regarded her with equal restraint. The meal was his favorite, something she knew would soothe him.
"If you let yourself go hungry, I could never forgive myself," she said.
His eyes closed briefly as if in surrender, then opened again upon her. His composure was the essence of his bloodline: dignity, restraint, and unshakable pride. His reserve was inherited; his silence, a legacy. For King Yibo, words were weighty treasures never carelessly spent.
As for laughter....she could swear she had never heard it. Not once since his childhood had he laughed in her presence. Only glimpses, rare as jewels, appeared when others went to visit him.
She had personally served him the meal she prepared, and fed him with her own hand, without protest, he accepted it. His gentle eyes rested on her, carrying the warmth and quiet affection any son would show to his mother.
For long minutes, he ate in dignified silence, as though each bite were a measured dose of medicine. At last, he reached for a cloth to wipe his lips, then leaned back slightly from the dishes, a subtle sign that he was finished.
"How is he now? I mean the....male royal consort?"
The question slipped from his lips.... something she had been waiting all along to ask. Her gaze lingered on him, but he turned his head aside, as if he hadn't asked. She exhaled softly, then kept her peace, continuing only to observe him in silence.
Nearly three minutes passed before Dowager Taihou sighed.
"I cannot tell if you are wanting to know the positive or negative reply… but I can only say we are all waiting, uncertain."
He gave no reply, no flicker of expression. He only lowered his head slightly, casting her a sidelong glance before looking away again. Rising gracefully, the Dowager made her way to the door. He watched her until she nearly reached it, and then she turned back.
"I fear the ties your enemies claim with you may be truer than I wish to believe, my son."
King Yibo shifted his face away from her, and she too averted her gaze, pressing her lips together as if to restrain further words. Silence stretched between them, heavy and unmoving. At last, she opened the door to leave.
"Rest well," he said quietly just as she stepped out.
Three minutes after her departure, King Yibo released a long, controlled breath. Rising, he clasped his hands behind his back and strode to the window, where he could see her still surrounded by her attendants. Even from afar, his eyes followed her until she disappeared into her own quarters.
Only then did he allow himself a proud, almost imperious smile. His eyes closed briefly in satisfaction, and when they opened again, they gleamed with quiet power. Turning away from the window, he passed through the doorway into his chamber.
It was a spacious royal bedroom, rich with luxuries. The fragrance within was unmistakable; King Yibo's love for rare scents was well-known, and he was always surrounded by them. In Beiping, perfumes and oils were as much a part of life as food, and the kingdom's mastery of fragrance was famed across the world. It was one of their greatest treasures, a mark of wealth and identity wherever Beiping's people traveled.
He sank into a chair by the window, leaning back until his head rested against it. His legs crossed, arms draped over the armrests, he closed his eyes, tilting his head in slow repose. For nearly twenty minutes he sat motionless, so still one might have thought he had drifted to sleep.
Then his eyes opened suddenly, red-rimmed from long wakefulness. Sitting up straight, he reached for a drawer at his side and withdrew a small Nokia handset. He pressed a few buttons, raised it to his ear, his expression tightening into something sharp and cold.
The call was answered after a single ring. His voice was firm, carrying the weight of command:
"Silence the three of them. They have no use for me. When the time is right, send word for the meeting."
He ended the call, lowering the phone as his hand pressed against his temple. His teeth caught his lower lip, his face void of any kindness or ease....only the chilling air of a ruler whose decisions left no space for mercy.
***
The arrival of Dowager Taihou at King Yibo's quarters, and the expression with which she emerged, once again stirred whispers throughout the Palace....especially among the influential courtiers.
Everywhere in the palace, spies existed among servants and guards, just as Dowager Taihou herself had her own network in every section. For the servants, there was no freedom to quarrel openly, only murmurs in secret....spoken only to those one trusted deeply, lest a careless word land one in a dangerous trap.
★★
Since leaving King Yibo's quarters, Dowager Taihou had been restless, unable to sit or stand still. Her heart swirled with heavy, unsettling thoughts. For the first time since her only son ascended the throne, doubt gnawed at her. Could there truly be hidden dangers lurking within this matter? Was it not possible that a spark was already burning, though concealed in the shadows?
She squeezed her tightly reddened eyes shut, her chest burning with a painful fire of anxiety mixed with the weight of a mother's greatest fear. Yet what could she do? It seemed inevitable now, for she had not found even a single thread of certainty to cling to.
That word....a thread....struck her mind suddenly, and she opened her eyes in haste. Drawing one of her small jeweled phones closer, her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her posture and dialed quickly.
The call connected even before she spoke. A respectful voice answered.
"Jasrah, I need those attendants here immediately."
"It will be done, sister," Jasrah replied with deference.
Rising, Dowager Taihou prepared to leave her chamber. Though her movements were deliberate and regal, they could not conceal the weight of distress shadowing her. As she stepped out, she encountered Ghazi, who immediately knelt to the ground, bowing deeply.
She lifted her hand lightly in acknowledgment before taking her seat. Jasrah, who had been waiting, also greeted her with courtesy, and Taihou nodded, turning her sharp gaze toward Ghazi, who remained kneeling. Jasrah too fixed her eyes on him.
"Ghazi, why have you come alone?"
"Your Highness, a problem has arisen."
"A problem?" Her tone sharpened. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, struggling to form the words, knowing Dowager Taihou would not tolerate evasions. Finally, his eyes, bloodshot with unease, met the floor as he spoke:
"Your Highness, we recovered only three bodies. The remaining guards who were stationed in the isolation dungeon are gone....two were killed. One survivor remains, but I fear he will not live long. From what we discovered, they were poisoned… through the milk served as part of their morning meal."
A sharp gasp escaped Jasrah, while Dowager Taihou shut her eyes tightly, her chest thundering with dread. Yet outwardly, her iron composure as the matriarch of power betrayed nothing....only the stillness of a calculating sovereign.
News of the attendants' deaths soon spread throughout the palace, while physicians fought to save Diwa, the only survivor, who lingered on the brink of death. Others busied themselves examining the poisoned milk, though all knew the truth: it was there the venom had been laid.
Royal Consort Zhan Ruilan
Even as grief weighed heavily in the palace over the slain attendants, Zhan....who had been caught in the turmoil....found himself miraculously spared. His survival was credited to Master Han's relentless treatment and the rare medicine secured by the elder Guang, Granny, Zhan's own Grandfa.
From the first treatment, the bleeding had stopped, filling them with a flicker of hope. They continued the careful regimen, and at last Zhan drew in a deep, shuddering breath and whispered the word that had been clawing at his throat:
"Water…"
It was the first word he managed to speak.
At once, Daneen, the younger sister of the late King Murong, who now stayed by Zhan's side, rushed to fetch a bottle of water. She snapped it open and pressed it to his lips. In his weakened state, Zhan drank greedily, finishing every drop.
Still shaken, Daneen....herself a mother, and aunt to King Yibo....snatched another bottle and poured a little into her hand, dabbing it across Zhan's fevered, sweat-soaked face.
Zhan exhaled shakily, his heavy eyes fluttering open only for a brief moment before slipping shut again.
Relieved, they surrounded him with soft words of comfort, while Daneen quickly sent word to Dowager Taihou. She delivered the news herself before informing Dowager Ruyan, despite the latter's frail state....bound to her wheelchair by age and weakness of her legs.
Within less than ten minutes, the room where Zhan lay was filled with high-ranking figures from the Palace.
On their faces, they wore expressions of joy at his recovery, yet deep inside, most carried their own private motives. Dowager Taihou even shed tears of relief; the boy's awakening instantly softened her earlier distress about the murdered attendants whose deaths had been part of the treachery that sparked this entire chaos.
Immediately, Dowager Taihou rewarded Master Han with an impressive gift, followed by others among the nobles who also showered him with offerings. Daneen, the second princess, surprised everyone by presenting him with an extraordinary gift of her own.
Efforts were soon made to move Zhan to Dowager Taihou's quarters, as she had requested. But a message suddenly arrived from Dowager Ruyan: Zhan was to be brought to her residence instead.
The announcement changed the expressions of many present. Unlike Dowager Taihou, who hid her worries beneath an appearance of joy, most recognized the political weight behind Dowager Ruyan's demand. Though her own quarters were more secure than any other, her influence and authority made it clear that Zhan's placement there was no matter of comfort....it was tragedy. To Dowager Taihou's heart, however, it felt like watching Zhan step into danger disguised as safety.
Dowager Ruyan's wing of the Palace was whispered to be so untouchable that even the boldest devil would not dare trespass directly.
Exhausted, weak, and drifting in and out of consciousness, Zhan barely registered what was happening. He no longer attempted to open his eyes, though his hearing remained sharp. He felt himself lifted onto a stretcher and carried away.
He was placed in a car alongside Daneen, while Dowager Taihou followed in her own. Seeing this, others eager to align themselves with power rushed to join the procession as well... none willing to risk offending Dowager Ruyan.
At Babiy's Home
Since Zhan's departure, the small spark of hope left with his family quickly dimmed.
Mah did nothing but cry. In just three days, she had grown thin and frail, unable to eat properly. Huan fared no better, sinking into a crushing despair that gnawed at his health like an illness. Even Babiy, usually the pillar of endurance, appeared hollowed out, often swaying on his feet as if about to collapse. Their home felt frozen, every ear straining, waiting for the dreaded news of their son's death.
Three days gone, and yet their hope of Zhan's survival had not returned.
In the middle of this heavy silence, someone called out from the doorway. Though weary, Babiy forced himself to rise, put on his shoes, and step outside. His eyes locked on the figure approaching....Moosa, staggering, barely able to stand.
Babiy rushed forward, catching him. "Moosa!"
Moosa couldn't reply, his breath shallow. Babiy held him firmly and helped him inside. Mah hurried to spread a mat under the courtyard tree while Huan emerged from his room at the commotion.
"Water," Moosa whispered hoarsely.
Mah quickly brought it, and Moosa managed only a few sips before nearly collapsing again. Babiy steadied him, eyes full of concern. "Moosa, what happened to you? Where are you coming from?"
Tears welled in Moosa's eyes as he struggled for breath. Finally, he shook his head and spoke:
"Zinnu… forgive me. These may be the last words I speak."
Babiy's chest tightened. "Don't say that. Let us take you to the hospital."
But Moosa clutched his hand with surprising strength. "No. I don't deserve such kindness. Just hear me out..... it's more important than any doctor. What I tell you now may save your son, and others who might follow the same path."
Babiy froze, dread spreading through him.
"I was the one," Moosa rasped, "the reason your children were taken… I gave their names and your address to the Palace."
The words struck like thunder. Mah and Huan gasped, clutching their chests in disbelief.
"I did it out of envy and greed," Moosa continued, his voice shaking. "You and I shared the same trade once, selling honey to the Palace. But when only your goods were accepted....because of your honesty and skill....I let jealousy consume me. Instead of bettering myself, I let bitterness grow, convincing myself you had used trickery. I plotted, again and again, to ruin you. Yet every time, fate spared you, which only deepened my resentment. So I forced my way into the Palace, desperate to see you fall.
Then came the order to search for two clever young girls to be offered to the King. I gave them your name. They shadowed your family for days before the first tragedy struck. Even after the first, I conspired again until the second followed. I longed only to see you broken."
Moosa gasped for air, his words nearly spent. "I succeeded… but the pit I dug has swallowed me instead."
Babiy's face was wet with tears as he whispered, "So it was you… And the third tragedy? Was that also your doing?"
Moosa shook his head weakly. "No. I had no part in that. I didn't even know the boy was yours until the day the marriage payments were delivered."
Babiy's voice trembled. "Then who killed my children? And what happened to you, Moosa?"
Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛