The morning court was a storm of silks and whispers. Officials knelt in rows, reciting petitions while the Emperor listened in silence. Minister Zhao stood near the front, calm as still water, his silver beard immaculate. No trace of guilt showed on his face.
Yun Xi watched from her scribe's station, quill poised. The scrolls in the Emperor's possession should have been a thunderclap—but he said nothing.
"Your Majesty," Zhao intoned, bowing. "Reports from Jiangnan confirm that grain reserves are stable. The people have food, though harvests were modest. With winter approaching, I recommend raising taxes slightly to secure the capital's supply."
Lies. Yun Xi's hand clenched around her brush until ink blotted the page. She looked at the Emperor, expecting outrage. But he only nodded slowly, voice neutral. "Your concern is noted, Minister Zhao. We shall review after further reports."
Her pulse roared in her ears. Why? Why remain silent? Was he waiting for proof stronger than scrolls? Or was Zhao's power so vast that even the Son of Heaven tread carefully?
When court dismissed, Zhao's eyes flicked toward her—brief, sharp, like a serpent's tongue tasting the air. Yun Xi forced herself not to react, though her skin crawled. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
Later, the Empress summoned her. Yun Xi entered the Phoenix Hall, bowing before the regal figure seated amidst golden draperies.
"You return thinner," the Empress observed, gaze keen. "The outer world weighs heavily, does it not?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Yun Xi murmured.
The Empress studied her, then smiled faintly. "You need not tell me what you found. I already see it in your eyes. Be cautious, Scholar Yun. The Emperor may know the truth, but truths are fragile things in this court."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When the serpent bares its fangs, will you strike—or be swallowed?"
Yun Xi bowed deeper, unsure how to answer. The Empress's words were both warning and challenge.
That evening, Mei appeared again, this time in the moonlit garden. She strolled among peonies, her laughter soft.
"I hear whispers, Scholar Yun," Mei said, trailing a finger over a blossom. "Of grain, of betrayal, of a certain minister who grows restless. Such whispers are worth much—if given to the right ear."
"And if given to the wrong one?" Yun Xi asked quietly.
Mei's smile widened. "Then they become a death sentence."
She stepped close, her perfume heady, intoxicating. "Choose wisely, Scholar. For in this palace, survival is not granted—it is earned."
As Mei vanished into the shadows, Yun Xi's chest ached with conflicting pressures. The Emperor demanded silence. The Empress demanded action. Mei demanded allegiance.
And Zhao… Zhao demanded nothing, for he already wielded power like an invisible blade.
That night, Yun Xi sat beneath the flickering candlelight, quill hovering above parchment. Her mind raged: To whom should she turn? And when the serpent strikes, whose side will she be on?