Before dawn.
The white jade steps before the Golden Throne Hall were slick with morning dew, cold enough to seep through silk boots.
Civil and military officials stood in perfect ranks.
Everything about this morning should have been routine.
Yet from the moment they entered the palace gates, something felt… wrong.
— The Imperial Kitchen had been sealed overnight.— The Food Bureau's master keys were confiscated.— Even the pre-court ginseng soup arrived a full quarter-hour late.
And in this palace—
a delay was never just a delay.
Three bells rang.
The Emperor entered.
Before the ministers could kneel and cry "Long live—"
He had already taken the throne.
His voice fell, calm and unreadable.
"Dispense with formalities."
Two simple words.
The hall grew even quieter.
Gao Dequan stepped forward.
"Any memorials to present—"
No one moved.
No one dared.
The Emperor's gaze swept across the sea of bowed heads.
"Since none will speak…"
A faint pause.
"…then I shall ask."
He lifted a hand.
A wooden chest was carried into the center of the hall.
The lid opened.
Empty.
The Emperor's tone remained light.
But each word struck like iron.
"This is Provision Chest Number Three."
"Removed last night from the Imperial Kitchen granary."
"The ledger records three hundred jin of premium polished rice."
He looked down at the void inside.
"In reality—"
A beat.
"Zero."
For the first time—
the court rippled.
Sleeves shifted.
Eyes flickered.
Someone inhaled too sharply.
The Emperor leaned back slightly.
"I wish to ask my ministers."
"What, exactly…"
His voice cooled by a fraction.
"…have my palace servants been eating?"
Silence.
Absolute.
No one answered.
No one could.
A soft chuckle echoed.
It carried no warmth.
"Director Qing."
A single summons.
Qing Tian stepped out from the civil officials' side.
Today she wore the plain teal robes of her office.
No jewels.
Only authority.
The inspection seal at her waist glinted beneath the morning light.
She did not look at the ministers.
She bowed only to the throne.
"Report."
The instant she spoke—
the air froze.
"Your Majesty."
"In the last three months, the Imperial Kitchen shows a deficit of nine hundred and eighty-six jin of grain."
"Seventy percent of the missing provisions were transferred under the designation—"
Her voice did not waver.
"Buddhist Hall Offerings."
Shock cracked across the court.
Someone's head snapped up.
Someone else paled.
Because everyone knew.
The Buddhist Hall meant only one thing.
The Empress Dowager.
A senior minister burst forward.
"Outrageous!"
"How dare a Food Bureau official cast suspicion upon Her Majesty's sacred expenditures?!"
Qing Tian did not flinch.
"I cast no suspicion."
"I present evidence."
She unfurled the ledger.
Ink lines sharp.
Numbers merciless.
"The Buddhist Hall's reported consumption does not match actual usage."
"Furthermore—"
She turned a page.
"The dates of these 'offerings' repeatedly coincide with palace banquets."
A pause.
Then—
the blade.
"In other words…"
Her eyes lifted, cold and clear.
"Someone has been eating palace grain—"
"in the Empress Dowager's name."
The court exploded.
"Absurd!"
"Slander!"
"Arrest her!"
"A mere woman dares such madness?!"
Voices crashed like thunder.
Outrage.
Fear.
Desperation disguised as righteousness.
Yet—
the Emperor remained silent.
Until—
"Consort Shen."
The name struck like lightning.
Shen Zhaoyi's heart dropped.
She stepped forward, graceful even now, kneeling flawlessly.
"Your Majesty."
The Emperor's eyes locked onto hers.
"The Buddhist Hall's accounts."
"You assisted in their supervision?"
"…Yes."
"Then explain."
Shen Zhaoyi raised her head.
Tears shimmered perfectly along her lashes.
"My Emperor…"
"I merely followed established procedures."
"If discrepancies exist, it must be the servants beneath me deceiving their mistress."
Her voice trembled.
Controlled.
Believable.
It was the safest answer in the palace.
Blame the nameless.
Protect the powerful.
Several ministers subtly relaxed.
Some even nodded.
And then—
Qing Tian spoke again.
"Then perhaps Her Ladyship would care to explain…"
She gestured.
"…this."
Gasps rippled outward.
A battered eunuch was dragged into the hall.
Body bound in bandages.
Face bloodless.
But alive.
The survivor from the grain canal.
He collapsed to his knees.
And spoke.
"The grain…"
Each syllable scraped like bone.
"…was delivered to Consort Shen's residence."
"The handlers…"
"…were assigned by her personal stewards."
"The silver…"
A shuddering breath.
"…flowed into the Liu family's external accounts."
BOOM.
Not sound—
but impact.
The Liu family.
Her backing.
Her shield.
Faces drained of color.
Whispers died unborn.
Because this—
was treason wrapped in silk.
The Emperor's expression hardened.
Winter settling across his features.
He looked at Shen Zhaoyi.
"Do you have anything further to say?"
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came.
Because this game—
had already left her hands.
Judgment
The Emperor rose.
For the first time—
he stood during morning court.
"By imperial decree."
"Consort Shen, derelict in supervision of Buddhist Hall provisions…"
"…is stripped of administrative authority."
"Confined indefinitely to Zhaoyi Palace."
"The Liu clan—"
His voice cut like a guillotine.
"Subject to immediate investigation."
"And the Food Bureau—"
His gaze shifted.
To Qing Tian.
"From this day forward…"
"…reports directly to me."
Silence fell like execution.
Aftermath
Qing Tian stood in the center of the storm.
Eyes burned into her from every direction.
Hatred.
Terror.
Calculation.
But she did not bow.
Did not shrink.
Did not tremble.
Because she understood now.
She was no longer merely kind.
No longer merely righteous.
She had taken hold—
of power's blade.
And this blade—
she would continue to wield—
for those who were never meant to starve.