The morning court was colder than usual.
Before dawn had fully broken, the white jade steps outside the Golden Hall were already lined with officials in layered robes. The late-spring wind still carried a biting chill, slipping through the vast doors and sweeping across the marble floor like an invisible hand tightening around every throat.
No one spoke.
Because everyone felt it.
Today, the Emperor's presence weighed on the hall like a storm about to split the sky.
Upon the Dragon Throne, he sat clad in dark ceremonial robes, his sharp features carved from frost. A thin stack of memorials rested in his hand. The soft rasp of paper against paper echoed through the deathly silence, unnaturally loud, unnaturally slow.
Then—
"Shangshi Bureau."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Step forward."
The words fell like a blade of ice.
Across the ranks, the Ministry of Internal Affairs officials stiffened almost in unison.
Zhou Yan, Deputy Director of the Shangshi Bureau, felt his scalp prickle. He forced his expression into composure, stepped out of the line, and knelt.
"Your servant is present."
The Emperor's gaze did not lift.
"How much spring grain was allocated this year?"
A routine question.
Zhou Yan's heart loosened slightly. Numbers—those he knew. He recited the figure smoothly, voice steady, tone precise.
"Mmm."
The Emperor turned a page.
The faint movement sounded like thunder.
"Then tell Us," he continued lightly, "how much grain remains in the Shangshi Bureau's granary?"
The question was softer.
Colder.
Zhou Yan's throat tightened.
"Y-Your Majesty… the recorded inventory matches the physical reserves."
"Recorded?"
At last, the Emperor raised his eyes.
There was no anger there.
Which made it far worse.
"Bring forth the granary seals."
An attendant hurried out.
Moments passed.
Each one stretched into agony.
When the seals were finally presented, they appeared flawless—red wax intact, imperial imprints crisp and unquestionable.
Perfect.
The Emperor glanced at them.
And smiled.
A faint curve of the lips.
Several officials nearly lost their balance.
"The seals are untouched," he said mildly. "Yet the chests are empty."
He closed the memorial with deliberate care.
"Zhou Yan," the Emperor went on, voice almost conversational, "explain to Us—did the grain sprout legs and flee on its own…"
A pause.
"…or did your bureau assist in its ascension to immortality?"
The hall erupted into silent terror.
Faces drained of color.
Breaths hitched.
At last, one Internal Affairs officer collapsed forward, forehead striking stone.
"Mercy, Your Majesty!"
"I knew nothing! I followed orders exactly!"
"Whose orders?"
The Emperor cut him off.
The man trembled violently, cornered beyond retreat. His teeth clenched. Desperation cracked through fear.
"It… it was reassigned under the Ministry's authority…"
His voice broke.
"…designated as Buddhist Hall Offerings!"
The words landed.
And the Golden Hall froze.
Even the air seemed to recoil.
"Buddhist Hall," the Emperor repeated softly.
He rose.
The sweep of his dark robes cast a long shadow across the court.
"The Empress Dowager has devoted years to worship," he said evenly. "She is known for austerity and discipline."
His gaze sharpened.
"Since when did even the rice meant to keep palace servants alive become something to kneel before a Buddha?"
No one answered.
No one dared.
"Draft the decree."
His voice did not rise.
Yet death filled every syllable.
"Effective immediately—conduct a full audit of three years of grain accounts within the Shangshi Bureau and the Ministry of Internal Affairs."
A deadly stillness.
"Any who falsified reports, diverted supplies, or masked theft beneath the name of 'offerings'…"
A single breath.
"…shall be executed."
One word.
No blood spilled.
But the killing had begun.
Meanwhile—
Tingyu Pavilion.
The air was thick with the bitter scent of medicine.
Qing Tian reclined against a silk-cushioned couch, her complexion pale with the lingering weakness of illness. Her lips had lost their usual color. The softness in her features made her appear fragile.
Deceptively so.
The door curtain lifted abruptly.
Chuntao hurried in, breath unsteady, eyes bright with restrained excitement.
"Your Ladyship…"
She lowered her voice but could not hide the tremor.
"It worked. His Majesty named the Shangshi Bureau in open court."
A pause.
"The Buddhist Hall… has been dragged into the light."
Qing Tian's fingers tightened slightly against the blanket.
Then relaxed.
"Mm."
No smile.
No relief.
Because she knew—
That had only been the first strike.
"The Emperor did not return to Yangxin Hall after court," Chuntao added hesitantly.
"He's coming here."
Qing Tian's lashes fluttered.
Just once.
Then she spoke calmly.
"Remove the medicine."
"Replace it with tea."
"And bring the almond pastries."
Footsteps halted outside.
No announcement.
The door opened.
The Emperor entered alone.
No procession. No attendants.
Only him.
His gaze immediately found her—dressed in plain robes, unadorned, resting against cushions like a woman too weak to rise.
"You chose your timing well."
His voice was unreadable.
Layered.
Qing Tian moved to sit up.
A hand lifted slightly.
"Stay."
"I did not come to accuse you."
She lowered her eyes.
"Your servant failed in duty, causing Your Majesty concern."
The Emperor watched her.
Long.
Long enough that even the wind beyond the lattice windows seemed distant.
"At what point," he asked quietly, "did you discover the missing grain?"
Qing Tian answered without hesitation.
"The first time the Warm-Heart Soup was diluted."
His eyes narrowed.
"Why did you not report it?"
She lifted her gaze.
Clear.
Unwavering.
"Because I did not want replenishment."
"I wanted eradication."
Silence.
Then—
The Emperor laughed softly.
Not mockery.
Recognition.
"So you feigned illness."
"Provoked movement."
"Forced them to reveal the Buddhist Hall as their shield."
Qing Tian did not deny it.
"I simply…"
Her voice softened.
"…could not bear to watch those children starve again."
That sentence held no calculation.
No politics.
Only truth.
The Emperor reached for a pastry.
Took a bite.
"…Sweeter than usual."
Qing Tian replied gently,
"Today calls for sweetness."
He stood.
At the threshold, he left her with a single line:
"Recover properly."
"The Shangshi Bureau…"
A brief pause.
"…We will guard it for you."
The door closed.
Light settled.
Qing Tian slowly opened her eyes.
She understood now.
She was no longer merely a piece placed upon the board.
She had become—
A player.
And the game…
Had truly begun.