Li Xiu rose before dawn, body still trembling beneath layers of linen and silk. A pale lamp burned on the low wooden stool, tossing snake-shaped shadows on the wall. She pressed her hand to the thin cut at her ribs, tasting the bitter sting of her own blood as morning light crept through the lattice. Only hours earlier, an assassin had struck at the Pearl Empress – and the poisoner's blade meant for Zhenzhu had grazed Li Xiu instead. A silver-serpent tattoo had flashed on the maid's neck as venom spiraled across her tongue; the girl had collapsed dead at Li Xiu's feet. I cannot falter, Li Xiu thought. The queen depends on me. Each shallow breath still belonged to Zhenzhu, earned by Li Xiu's courage.
Dawn only deepened the ache in Li Xiu's chest. This palace held no quiet harbor. In its corridors of jade and marble, every debt of blood spawned a hundred questions. Already she imagined the huddled whispers in dark hallways: Who would claim credit for the Queen's safety – and who had dared strike her so brazenly? Outside the curtained window, servants scurried among pillars and courtyards; torches were lit, but none felt the looming threat that knotted Li Xiu's stomach. Guilt or blame might fall on anyone tonight; she would not let it fall on a loyal protector.
Li Xiu bent toward the mirror on her dresser. In its polished surface her face was pale but stern. She smoothed a hand through her dark hair and drew a deep breath. No matter what lay ahead, she would appear unshaken. For now, there was no time for fear.
A sharp knock came at her chamber door. Queen Zhenzhu's Master of Whispers entered before Li Xiu could answer, as quietly as a midnight shadow. Minister Zhang Huan stood in the doorway, tall and composed in his dark silk coat, the gilded snakes embroidered on his sleeves glinting in the lamplight. His black-and-gray eyes flicked once to her bandaged side and then to Li Xiu's face.
"Protector Li Xiu," he said softly, offering a respectful bow, "the Empire owes you its life. Are you hurt beyond those bandages?"
Li Xiu met his gaze steadily. "Only superficial scratches, Your Eminence," she answered, inclining her chin. "I was preparing an antidote just before dusk. I smelled something bitter – an oily, rotting scent – then heard the maid hiss and strike. I drew my dagger. The blade grazed me, but I saved Her Majesty." She kept her hands flat on her lap, plainly visible, so no one would suspect hidden weapons.
Zhang's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened. "You smelled the poison's approach and acted swiftly. Good. So the Empress is safe, thanks to you." He gave her a small, thin smile of gratitude. "I understand the maid's blade bore no perfume. No telltale scent to warn you?"
Li Xiu frowned, replaying the moment. "No perfume, no jewelry. Just plain cloth, and that bitter sweetness in the air. I don't think she had time to mask herself."
"Hmm," Zhang murmured, pacing slowly. "A low-born assassin, then, or one who took pains to hide her identity. Regardless, the tattoo on her neck – the silver snake – makes it clear who sponsored this." He fixed Li Xiu with a steady look. "You know what that means, Protector?"
Li Xiu did not flinch. "Yes," she said quietly. "My teacher showed me their mark in boyhood. The Serpent's Circle – an ancient guild of poisoners and assassins. Some say they sold death to emperors in ages past. I thought them legend."
"We have evidence now, though all we got was her corpse," Zhang said. His fingers traced the rim of his tea cup. "They were thought destroyed after Emperor Yuan's Great Purge. But still they crawl, it seems. We must assume anyone might be involved." He leaned forward, voice dropping a notch. "Before that maid died, did you hear any name she called?"
Li Xiu swallowed. "She spat something like 'Master Lu', but she bit the pill at once. It was over in a breath."
Zhang's face betrayed nothing, but his eyes flickered. "Master Lu," he repeated. "Important name… perhaps. And this: the Queen's door was locked at dusk as always. Who opened it for her? Do you have any suspects here?"
Li Xiu steeled herself. "I know everyone on duty. Unless someone connived with this girl, the only way in was by force or secret passage. We will question every attendant. But I suspect someone knew exactly how our guard rotations worked." She paused, measuring each word. "If the Circle can do this, then who among us would have reason to betray the Queen?"
The Minister's lips pressed together. "We shall root out that conspiracy," he said after a moment. He straightened and returned her gaze. "Your duty here is done, Protector. The palace owes you for tonight. Do not scrub anything away – our alchemists will need to test the blood and cloth. And… keep your notes close. I suspect there are those who covet the knowledge you carry." With that, Zhang gave a polite bow and slipped away down the hall. The lingering scent of sandalwood incense drifted in from the closed door.
Alone at last, Li Xiu let out a long breath. The silence in her chamber felt heavy, and she felt oddly exposed. The Master of Whispers had praised her, but the weight of his words remained: someone was looking at her very things. She stood and wrapped her robe tightly around herself. Outside, sunlight was beginning to flood the courtyard; the palace was waking. From the window, she watched guards pacing like shadows among the columns. None of them knew that a predator now stalked their halls.
Li Xiu crossed to the corner of her room and opened the wooden chest there. Inside lay her leather-bound notebook and vials of oils – the private arsenal of the queen's poisoner. The notebook's cover was scratched but secure. Heart in her throat, she flipped through the pages. Her blood ran cold when a half-torn page greeted her eyes: the antidote for aconite, its text jagged away. Someone had plucked out that formula with a precise tear.
She pressed her hand to the torn pages. The air smelled faintly of old ink and dried blood. Whoever broke in knew exactly what they wanted. Aconite was a deadly poison; the antidote was the key to saving someone exposed to it. She had detailed that recipe herself. Why else take just that page?
Li Xiu sank onto the bed, notebook still in hand. The pieces fell into place: a hired assassin from the Serpent's Circle, a target hidden among the palace. She thought of Lord Chen, Minister of the Guards. Last month he had cornered her in the kitchen, demanding antidote secrets with a greedy look in his eyes. Li Xiu had refused him a straight answer, though she had told him only partial truth. If anyone wanted her notes, Chen was the first to come to mind. But if he had reached this far, he must have more power or desperation than she realized.
Even as her hand clenched on the notebook, another name slithered through her mind: Huajie. He had been here only a moon ago, a tall foreign poisoner who dealt in riddles. Li Xiu recalled him arguing quietly with Zhang before the court: they had clashed over apothecary taxes, or perhaps secret shipment of deadly herbs. Huajie's eyes had glittered like a fox's; even now Li Xiu felt those eyes on her. He had knowledge of poisons like a scholar, and a reputation for playing all sides. If anyone understood how the Serpent's Circle had struck tonight, perhaps he did. To seek him out felt like calling a snake into her den – but if the palace was crawling with vipers, she needed a snake of her own.
Li Xiu closed the notebook firmly and slipped it under her pillow. She forced herself to sit at her dressing table and pour a new cup of tea, her hands steady with purpose. The pain from her ribs was dull now, managed by the antidote she'd applied. Each sip of tea burned faintly with the tang of ginger, reminding her to stay alert and fight the fatigue. Outside, the first bell of morning prayers echoed in the halls. Guards and servants would assemble and questions would cascade like a river.
She squared her shoulders. She would answer them truthfully, calmly – as Li Xiu, sworn protector of the queen – and no more. But beyond those answers, there were choices to make. The Serpent's Circle had shown its fangs. Alone, Li Xiu could defend only so much ground. If she was to catch a serpent, she would have to use a snake. The word burned in her mind: Huajie. She would seek him out, hear his riddles, and see what truth he might share.
Standing now, Li Xiu clutched the thin silk shawl around her shoulders and glanced at the torn page on the floor. Red ink from the notebook had dried on it. She would return it to the alchemists in the morning – evidence. And she would move, quietly, like the serpent. The dawn prayers were soon, but first she had to prepare. For Zhenzhu's sake and her own, Li Xiu braced herself. The Queen's poisoner would bite back at the snakes in the grass – even if she had to do it alongside a man she did not trust. The game had changed. Li Xiu would survive it.