Jin Wei did not like coincidences.
The summons from the Ministry of War arrived at dawn—urgent, sealed, impossible to refuse. Border supply routes. Military rosters. A matter that required his presence and his alone.
When Xueyi finished fastening her cloak, Jin Wei was already armored.
"You'll be late," Xueyi observed lightly.
"Not by choice," Jin Wei replied. His gaze lingered, sharp and reluctant. "The palace?"
Xueyi nodded. "The prayer ceremony."
Jin Wei's jaw tightened. "I'll be done before noon."
"You don't need to rush," Xueyi said gently. "I'll be surrounded by people. What could possibly happen in broad daylight?"
Jin Wei didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you leave. No explanations."
Xueyi smiled. "You're worrying too much."
Jin Wei reached out, fingers brushing briefly against Xueyi's sleeve—light, grounding.
"Come back to the pavilion," he said. "That's all I ask."
Xueyi nodded.
Neither of them said goodbye like it might be the last time.
---
The Queen received Xueyi in a side hall adjoining the ancestral pavilion.
It was smaller than the main audience chamber, quieter, adorned with ancestral tablets and burning incense. Sunlight filtered through carved windows, casting delicate patterns on the floor.
The Queen sat already waiting.
Her expression was calm. Pleasant, even.
"Lady Xueyi," she said warmly. "Come closer."
Xueyi bowed. "This one greets Her Majesty."
"Sit," the Queen gestured. "You must be tired."
A servant poured tea—clear, faintly fragrant—and placed the cup before Xueyi.
The Queen watched him closely.
Xueyi lifted the cup, hesitated only briefly, then drank.
The taste was slightly bitter.
He lowered the cup.
The Queen smiled.
"I wanted to see you," she said softly. "Before everything settles."
Xueyi looked at her, confused but composed. "This one does not understand."
"I don't have any personal grudge against you," the Queen continued calmly, as if discussing the weather. "You are… insignificant on your own."
Xueyi's fingers curled slightly.
"But," she went on, her eyes darkening, "you should not be with Jin Wei."
Xueyi inhaled to speak—and stopped.
The air felt… wrong.
Heavy.
His chest tightened suddenly, breath catching as if his lungs had forgotten how to work.
The Queen noticed.
Her smile widened.
"I hated it," she said, her voice lowering, losing its warmth. "Every time he smiled."
Xueyi struggled to draw breath, confusion flooding his face.
"That smile," the Queen continued, leaning back, eyes sharp with long-buried venom, "it reminded me of that *bitch*."
Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but rage.
"She always thought she was better than me. Always so gentle, so noble. And the Emperor—" she laughed softly, bitterly, "—he loved her."
Xueyi's vision blurred.
"I came into his life first," the Queen said. "Me. And my son. But he forgot us. He wanted to make *her* Empress."
Her nails pressed into the armrest.
"As if I would allow that."
Xueyi's hand slipped from the table.
The Queen's gaze burned.
"So I killed her," she said calmly. "Slowly. More terribly than she deserved."
Xueyi's breath came in shallow gasps.
The Queen stood and leaned close, her voice a whisper meant only for him.
"Your death," she said, "will not be painful."
She straightened.
Xueyi tried to speak—tried to move—but his body betrayed him. Darkness crept into the edges of his sight, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
Then suddenly—
"Help!" the Queen cried out, her voice sharp and panicked. "Someone help! Lady Xueyi has collapsed!"
Footsteps echoed.
Servants rushed in.
The Queen dropped to her knees beside him, gripping his shoulders, her face twisted in perfect fear.
"Quickly! Fetch a physician!" she shouted. "He was fine just moments ago!"
Xueyi's consciousness slipped, the last thing he saw the Queen's face—eyes cold, satisfied—hidden behind practiced horror.
Then everything went black.
Far away, in the Ministry halls, Jin Wei's chest tightened for no reason at all.
And the lesson the Queen had promised finally began.