The Empress's private study smelled faintly of sandalwood and ink. Rows of scrolls lined the shelves, each detailing past decrees and records of the Inner Court. Empress Lian often came here to think, away from the prying eyes of concubines and servants. Tonight, the glow of a single lantern painted her features in soft amber light.
Her most trusted attendant, Lady Hua, knelt by the table, arranging the memorials recently submitted to the Emperor. "Your Majesty," she said cautiously, "the new scholar has stirred much discussion among the ministers. Some praise his courage. Others fear his influence may upset the balance of power."
The Empress lifted her teacup, swirling the liquid within without drinking. "Power is a river, Lady Hua. It carves its path regardless of whether one praises or fears it. What matters is who builds the dam."
Lady Hua hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Do you believe this Yun Xi could become dangerous?"
The Empress's gaze flickered toward the memorial bearing Yun Xi's bold handwriting. "Dangerous, perhaps. But also… useful."
She rose and walked toward the window, looking out across the moonlit courtyards where concubines' quarters shimmered like jeweled boxes. "The Emperor is not easily swayed by beauty alone, though many have tried. If this scholar truly commands his attention, then every woman in the Inner Court will see him as an obstacle. Mei, Zhao, even the dowager herself will stir. But while they claw at one another, I will watch. And I will know where to place my hand."
Lady Hua bowed deeply. "Your Majesty's wisdom is unmatched."
Yet the Empress's expression remained unreadable. For in truth, she had seen a detail others had missed—the way Yun Xi avoided prolonged glances, the faint hesitation in his movements, the guarded manner of his speech. These were not the traits of a careless young man.
"No mask can last forever," the Empress murmured. "And when it cracks, I will be ready."
Elsewhere in the palace, Yun Xi knelt by the small oil lamp in her chamber. The day's events had left her both elated and unsettled. To be granted an official post so swiftly was beyond her dreams—but the glances of resentment from older ministers were daggers she could not ignore.
She touched the bindings at her chest, tightening them with trembling fingers. The disguise had held so far, but the closer she drew to the Emperor, the greater the risk. If even one mistake slipped through, she would not merely lose her position—she would lose her life.
Yet as she dipped her brush into ink to draft tomorrow's reports, she whispered with quiet determination: "Father, I will carry your dream. I will serve this empire, no matter the cost."
The lamp flickered, casting her shadow long upon the wall—half scholar, half phantom of the woman she truly was.