The morning air in Chang'an no longer carried the heavy, metallic tang of the werewolf curse. Instead, as the sun climbed higher over the gold-dusted roofs of the Daming Palace, the city began to exhale a different symphony. Li Mei stood in the center of the Imperial Medical Hall, her nostrils flaring as she mapped the shifting atmosphere. She smelled the earthy bitterness of steeping dandelions, the cooling sharp note of fresh peppermint, and the faint, sweet aroma of honey being mixed into tonics. The "apocalypse" of the silver moon had been pushed back, and in its place was the fragrance of a city beginning to heal.
Mei moved between the rows of cots where the former "Lunar Warriors" now lay in their human forms. Using her "Golden Finger"—her heightened sense of smell—she could identify exactly which patient still carried traces of the arsenic poison in their blood. She didn't need a pulse reading for every man; she simply walked past, her nose detecting the faint, sour scent of lingering toxicity.
"A few more drops of the ginger-root extract in this batch," Mei instructed a junior physician, her voice filled with the "rationality and responsibility" of her new role. "The heat is necessary to purge the last of the silver-shadow musk from their meridians."
Prince Zhao entered the hall a few moments later. He had traded his battle-torn silks for a formal robe of charcoal gray, embroidered with silver cranes. He no longer looked like a "beast" or a "cursed general." He looked like a sovereign. As he approached Mei, her "Golden Finger" caught the familiar, grounding scent of winter mint and the clean smell of mountain air. The "sexual tension" that had been forged in the heat of battle had matured into a deep, magnetic "emotional connection."
"The Empress has been moved to the high-security cells in the West Ward," Zhao said, his voice a low, steady vibration that commanded "trust and worship" from the surrounding staff. "The Shadow Priest has survived his wounds, though his 'supernatural power' is broken. They will both stand trial before the full moon cycles again."
Mei set down her mortar and pestle. She looked at Zhao, her eyes reflecting a "sense of achievement" that reached beyond her own survival. "And the soldiers? Do they remember what they did while they were... changed?"
Zhao's expression softened, showing a "profound emotional vulnerability" that he only revealed to her. "Some do. It is a heavy burden for them to carry. But I have told them that the fault lies with the 'Puppet Master,' not the weapons she forged. We are rebuilding the Imperial Guard, Mei. This time, it will be built on loyalty, not on a 'poisoned system'."
This was the "Kingdom Building" phase of their journey. Zhao was not just repairing a palace; he was restructuring the power of the Tang Dynasty. He reached out and took Mei's hand, his thumb ghosting over her knuckles. The touch was firm and possessive, a "touching highlight" of their shared destiny.
"I have something for you," Zhao whispered. He pulled a small, official scroll from his sleeve. It bore the golden seal of the Emperor's personal office. "This is a decree. You are no longer just an apothecary's daughter. You are the Head of the Imperial Bureau of Alchemy. Your father's name has been cleared, and his research will be the foundation of our new medical academy."
Mei felt a lump in her throat. Her "first mission"—the goal that had driven her into the "Lavender Labyrinth"—was finally complete. She had not only survived the "Oriental Suspense" of the palace but had emerged as a pillar of the new era.
"I didn't do it alone, Zhao," Mei said, her voice small but certain.
"No," Zhao replied, his obsidian eyes locking onto hers with a "magnetic pull." "We did it as partners. And as long as you are by my side, no 'outer force' will ever threaten this city again."