They came for me at dawn.
Not with swords.
Not with chains.
With laughter.
Three of them — servants from the Eastern Wing, the kind who sneer when they think no one is watching. They stood at my door, holding a new set of robes.
"Elder Mo says you're to clean the herb garden today," said the tallest, Jiao, his voice slick with false sympathy. "Since you're not fit for cultivation… maybe you can at least pull weeds."
The others chuckled. One mimed scrubbing the floor.
I didn't look up.
I was grinding Nightshade Moss between two stones — a harmless task, if you didn't know that, when mixed with sweat, it causes uncontrollable twitching in the hands.
I set the mortar aside.
"Leave the robes," I said.
No anger. No shame.
Just fact.
Jiao smirked. "You'll wear them, Weak One. Or we'll dress you ourselves."
I finally looked at him.
Not with fear.
Not with fire.
With curiosity.
Like a scholar examining a specimen.
His smirk faltered.
I stood, walked past him, and picked up a small silver needle from my desk — one I'd spent the night shaping, tip dipped in a drop of Dew of the Silent Tongue, a paralytic that takes seven minutes to act.
I didn't threaten.
I didn't raise my voice.
I just said, "Tell Elder Mo I'll be in the garden by sunrise."
Then I brushed Jiao's arm as I passed.
A light touch.
Like dust falling.
That was all.
The herb garden was quiet at dawn.
Dew clung to the leaves like tears.
The air smelled of damp earth and White Vein Root — useful for Qi circulation, if you're not poisoned by it first.
I knelt, began pulling weeds.
No one bothered me.
Not until Jiao returned, an hour later, holding a whip.
"You think you can touch me and walk away?" he hissed. "I'll have you whipped until—"
His hand spasmed.
The whip fell.
He stared at his fingers — twitching, curling, refusing to obey.
"What—? What did you—?"
I didn't look up.
"Your hand?" I said, voice soft. "Must be fatigue. Or… poor Qi flow."
I plucked a weed.
"Happens to weak bodies."
He staggered back. "You— You poisoned me!"
I finally turned.
"No," I said. "I diagnosed you.
And the treatment?
Complete rest.
No touching anything… or anyone… for the next six hours."
I tilted my head.
"Or would you like a second dose?"
His face drained of color.
He ran.
By midday, the story had spread.
The Weak One cursed Jiao's hand with a touch.
She doesn't need cultivation. She's a witch.
She killed peonies with tea.
I heard it all — the whispers behind fans, the sudden silence when I passed.
Good.
Let them fear.
Fear is the first wall that breaks between ignorance and obedience.
That night, Lian'er brought me water — boiled, untouched by hands until she poured it.
She hesitated at the door.
"Miss… did you really poison him?"
I dipped a cloth in the basin.
Wiped my fingers clean.
"No," I said.
"I educated him."
I looked up.
"And I'll educate anyone who forgets my name."
She didn't flinch this time.
She bowed — lower than before.
And when she left, she closed the door behind her.
Not with fear.
With respect.
I sat by the window.
The moon was thin, like a blade.
I opened my palm.
On my skin, drawn in ink, was a list:
Prince Wei — The dagger. The lie. The kiss.Su Lian — The smile as I died.Elder Mo — The man who called me weak — and meant useless.The Lin Patriarch — My father. Who signed the marriage decree.The World — That taught me silence was safety.
I traced the first name with my thumb.
Not yet.
But soon.
Because revenge isn't a single act.
It's a process.
And this was only the second day.
Author Note:
The first needle doesn't kill.
It only reminds the body that pain is coming.
And the second needle?
That's when the real work begins.
— Gopalakrishna