The morning sun over Chang'an did not bring the usual clarity of dawn; instead, it cast long, distorted shadows across the crimson-tiled roofs of the Daming Palace, as if the city itself were trying to hide the horrors of the night before. Li Mei stood by the high, narrow window of the Prince's inner sanctum, watching the mist roll over the palace gardens. The air inside was still heavy with the scent of the struggle—the scorched pine of suppressed Qi and the lingering, musky ghost of the beast. This was the "immersion" that many professional authors strive for, creating a world so vivid that the reader feels transported to the heart of the mystery.
Prince Zhao lay on the low, silk-covered divan, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, human cadence that seemed almost miraculous after the violent snapping of bones she had witnessed hours ago. Though his eyes were closed, the tension had not left his frame; he looked like a coiled spring, a "hero" who was also his own greatest "antagonist". Mei watched him, her hand still ghosting over the needle case at her belt. In the world of web novels, a well-designed character like the Prince must be attractive and distinctive to create a deep impression on the reader. He was the "Alpha," the "invincible" warrior, yet he was currently a prisoner of his own blood—a "weak to strong" trope in reverse, where the strongest man in the empire was at his most vulnerable.
A soft, rhythmic clicking of beads announced the arrival of the palace attendants. The door creaked open, and a man entered whose presence was as flamboyant as the Prince's was brooding. This was Eunuch Gao, a senior official of the Inner Court whose duty was to "enliven the atmosphere" and manage the delicate balance of the Emperor's household. He smelled of expensive powdered iris and the subtle, oily undertone of tea, a scent that Mei immediately categorized as "outgoing" and "sensual," designed to put others at ease.
"The Lady Alchemist has performed a miracle," Gao whispered, his eyes flitting toward the Prince with a mixture of "trust and worship". "But miracles in the Tang court are often followed by inquisitions. The Empress Dowager requests—no, demands—your presence in the Pavilion of Eternal Spring for tea."
Mei felt the "first mission" transition into a "time-limited crisis". The Empress Dowager was a figure of "complex personality," an antagonist whose motivations were likely rooted in a desire to challenge the world's moral order. If Mei was to survive this "long-running marathon" of a story, she needed to treat this meeting with the same precision she used with her needles.
The Pavilion of Eternal Spring was a masterpiece of "Oriental Suspense," a structure of open-air elegance surrounded by weeping willows that dipped into a dark, mirror-like pond. As Mei knelt on the silk cushion, the Empress Dowager sat across from her, partially obscured by a screen of translucent silk. The older woman didn't speak immediately; she poured the tea with a grace that felt like a "stiff" performance.
Mei's "Golden Finger" flared. From the Empress, she caught the expected scents of the royal court: the cloying lavender of her robes and the bitter fragrance of high-grade Oolong. But beneath it, sharp and cold, was the scent she had detected in the Prince's chamber—the unmistakable, acrid bite of arsenic. It was a "scent-tracking" revelation that confirmed her "book idea": the Prince wasn't just cursed by fate; he was being systematically poisoned by the very hand that claimed to protect the empire.
"The Prince's Qi deviation is a tragic burden," the Empress Dowager said, her voice like silk sliding over a blade. "Many doctors have tried to stabilize his... erratic nature. Most have met with unfortunate ends. Tell me, Alchemist, what did you see beneath the moon last night?"
Mei realized this was a "dramatic opening event" for the second phase of her journey. If she revealed she had seen the beast, she would likely be executed to keep the royal secret. If she lied, her "golden finger" might be discovered. In web novels, the "disagreement or contradiction" must be prominent from the beginning to draw the reader's empathy.
"I saw a man in pain, Your Imperial Majesty," Mei replied, keeping her head bowed to show "responsibility and empathy". "I saw meridians blocked by a darkness I am still trying to name. But I also saw a Prince who can be saved, provided the 'lavender' in his life does not hide too much 'arsenic'."
The silence that followed was a "cliffhanger" in its own right. The Empress Dowager's hand froze mid-air, the tea cup rattling slightly against its saucer. The sexual tension and palace intrigue were now "merged" into a single, lethal game. Mei had survived the beast, but she was now walking into the heart of the conspiracy, where "human nature" was the most dangerous predator of all.
As Mei left the pavilion, she realized the "main story" was now clear: she had to use her "cheats"—her scent and her needles—to uncover the truth before the next full moon. The "first impression" of the palace was one of beauty, but the "looming crisis" of the werewolf army was just beginning to stir in the shadows of Chang'an.