Rain-drenched night.
The small kitchen of the Food Bureau still glowed with lamplight.
Qing Tian stood at the long preparation table, a robe draped loosely over her shoulders, fingers moving steadily across the newly compiled Ten-Day Grain Ledger. The pages shone pale under the flame, while rain battered the tiles above in a relentless rhythm.
Drop.
Drop.
Drop.
Like a countdown.
This hour was her most familiar—
and the most dangerous.
Because the deadliest hands always reached out under cover of darkness.
"Director Qing."
The curtain lifted softly.
Xiao Luzi stepped inside.
Once the most diligent student of the Imperial Culinary Academy. One of the young men Qing Tian had personally promoted. One of the few she trusted without reservation.
He carried a lacquered food box, posture respectful.
"The night is cold with rain. You have not eaten."
"I've brought your calming soup, as prescribed."
Qing Tian looked up.
And paused.
For just a fraction of a breath.
The soup's surface was clear and gentle.
Two red dates floated quietly.
A slice of lily bulb rested like a pale petal.
Her usual recipe.
Perfectly prepared.
"Leave it."
She said calmly.
But Xiao Luzi did not move.
He remained standing there.
Too still.
His fingers tightening unconsciously around his sleeve.
"Director…"
His voice was low.
"…please drink it while it's warm."
Too quick.
Too eager.
Too wrong.
Qing Tian lifted the bowl.
Steam curled upward.
She leaned closer.
Inhaled.
Beneath the soft floral fragrance—
a sweetness so faint it would escape any ordinary nose.
But not hers.
Never hers.
Gansui powder.
Minute.
Non-lethal.
Yet within three days—
it would trigger violent abdominal agony, organ distress, collapse.
A clean illness.
A perfect misdiagnosis.
A relapse of "old weakness."
Invisible murder.
Tailored for her.
Her hand did not tremble.
She did not set the bowl down.
Did not expose him.
Instead—
she raised her eyes.
And asked gently:
"Have you been sleeping well?"
Xiao Luzi froze.
"…I—"
"I remember," Qing Tian continued softly,
"your mother's health has always been fragile."
"The monthly medicine silver…"
"…I had it supplemented."
Quietly.
Without your knowledge.
The color drained from his face.
Outside, the rain suddenly intensified, as if the heavens themselves could no longer bear witness in silence.
"Director Qing—!"
He collapsed to his knees.
Forehead striking the floor.
"I never wanted to harm you!"
"They said it was only to make you ill!"
"They said you were too sharp… that you needed rest…"
His voice broke.
"If I refused—"
"My mother—"
The words dissolved into choking sobs.
Qing Tian placed the bowl back onto the table.
Untouched.
She walked toward him.
No anger.
No accusation.
No cruelty.
Only one question:
"Who gave you the powder?"
Xiao Luzi shook violently.
Lips trembling.
Opening.
Closing.
Until finally—
two shattered syllables escaped.
"…the Shen household."
Consort Shen.
Still confined.
Yet her reach remained precise.
Unseen.
Poisonously elegant.
Qing Tian closed her eyes briefly.
And in that moment—
understood a truth colder than any blade.
She was not fighting a single enemy.
She was tearing at an ancient web.
And the web—
was fighting back.
"Stand."
She said quietly.
Xiao Luzi stared upward in disbelief.
"I will not punish you."
Her tone was light.
But unyielding.
"Tomorrow, you will deliver soup as usual."
"But you will bring the one I prepare."
She turned to the concealed cabinet.
Opened a hidden compartment.
Drew out a tiny porcelain vial.
And pressed it into his shaking hands.
"This contains nothing harmful."
"You need only let them believe I drank."
His eyes widened in horror.
"Then… what about you?!"
Qing Tian glanced toward the rain-veiled window.
Her reflection flickered faintly in the glass.
Calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
"I want to see…"
"…how many people move after this bowl."
Elsewhere — Consort Shen's Palace
A servant knelt in shadow.
"Your Ladyship. The powder has been delivered."
Consort Shen smiled faintly.
Elegant.
Certain.
"Excellent."
"When she falls ill, the court will say she is incompetent."
"Overextended."
"A female official unable to manage her own bureau."
Her fingers brushed the strings of a zither idly.
"'Female official interfering in state affairs'?"
A soft, mocking laugh.
"No."
"It will be Heaven itself pushing her back."
But she did not know.
Not yet.
This game—
had already been turned.