The summer heat thickened like honey, and with it came unrest. The palace, no matter how gilded, thrummed with invisible daggers.
Wan Mei had spent weeks basking in admiration. Poets compared her to the moon, officials praised her virtue, and the emperor visited her quarters thrice in a single week. Her rise was swift, dazzling, and seemingly unstoppable.
But brilliance always draws shadows.
One evening, as Li Yue prepared for bed, An Ruo slipped into her chambers, pale and trembling.
"My Lady," she whispered, clutching a folded scrap of silk. "This was left at the door. I dared not show it to anyone else."
Li Yue unfolded it. The words, written in a hasty hand, read:
'Beware the Lotus Court. Tonight, someone plots against you.'
Her brows lifted, not with fear but with cool curiosity. "The Lotus Court," she murmured. That was Wan Mei's residence.
"Should we—should we report it?" An Ruo stammered.
Li Yue folded the note neatly. "No. We wait."
Near midnight, Li Yue slipped silently into the corridor, cloaked in a plain robe. The air was damp with the scent of blooming lotuses. From the shadows, she observed the Lotus Court.
Two eunuchs carried a covered basket toward Wan Mei's chambers. Their movements were furtive, their eyes darting.
Li Yue's lips curved. She followed.
The eunuchs placed the basket just outside Wan Mei's door and hurried away. A faint rustling came from within. Li Yue stepped forward, lifting the lid with the tip of her hairpin.
Inside coiled a snake, its scales glistening like black oil. Venom dripped from its fangs.
At that precise moment, Wan Mei appeared, lantern in hand. She froze, eyes widening. "What—what is that?"
Li Yue tilted the lid shut with calm elegance. "A gift," she said softly. "From someone who wishes you gone."
Wan Mei's maid shrieked, dropping the lantern. The snake writhed, striking at the air. Guards rushed forward.
Chaos erupted.
By dawn, word of the attempted assassination spread like wildfire. The empress convened an emergency council, demanding answers. Wan Mei sat pale and trembling, tears streaking her face.
"It was Sister Li Yue who saved me once more," she declared between sobs. "Without her, I would have…"
All eyes turned to Li Yue. Some with awe, others with suspicion. Twice now, she had been at the scene of Wan Mei's salvation. Coincidence, or design?
The empress's gaze lingered longest. "Li Yue," she said coolly, "you seem always to arrive at the right moment."
Li Yue bowed deeply. "Perhaps fate is kind, Your Majesty. Or perhaps it wishes to remind us that danger grows where beauty flourishes."
The words hung heavy, veiled yet sharp. The empress's lips curved faintly, but her eyes gave nothing away.
That night, as Li Yue sat alone, she traced the folded note between her fingers.
Who had warned her? Who sought Wan Mei's life so soon after her rise?
And more importantly—could Li Yue use this storm to shift the balance?
Her smile was faint but steady. If fate insists on replaying its game, then let me be the hand that moves the pieces.