The side hall was deathly still.
Threads of incense smoke curled upward from the bronze burner, thin and disciplined, yet unable to dispel the chill suffocating the air.
The cold did not belong to the season.
It belonged to fate.
Qiū Hè was forced to the floor.
Two palace attendants pinned her arms behind her back, twisting until her shoulders trembled violently. Her forehead pressed against the icy golden tiles. Sweat and tears slid down together, spreading into a dark stain beneath her cheek.
Her body shook like a withered leaf caught in a storm.
"Proceed."
The Emperor's voice broke the silence.
Not loud.Not hurried.Not angry.
Which made it far more terrifying.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
The imperial physician collapsed into a kneel.
"Y-Yes, Your Majesty."
His forehead struck the ground before he even reached for his case. When he opened it, his movements were painfully cautious—almost rigid.
A silver needle.Test paper.A cup of warm water.
Each object emerged like evidence summoned for execution.
The hall fell silent again.
Even the faint crumble of ash from the incense burner sounded unnaturally clear.
"Your Majesty!"
Consort Shen suddenly lunged forward.
She had sensed it.
The shift.
She dropped to her knees halfway across the floor, crimson robes blooming like spilled blood.
"A mere servant girl—how could she warrant such commotion?!"
Her voice rose sharply, urgency cracking through her composure.
"This concubine was only startled… unable to sleep…"
She forced her tone into wounded restraint.
"If Your Majesty punishes others over this…"
"…will it not freeze the hearts of the entire harem?"
The Emperor did not look at her.
Did not frown.
"If you are unharmed," he said flatly,
"Then sit."
"And watch."
The words landed like a sealed verdict.
No rebuke could have been harsher.
Because they stripped her of the right to speak.
The physician's fingers visibly trembled.
He steadied Qiū Hè's jaw, pried open her mouth, and slid the strip of test paper onto her tongue.
Seconds crawled.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
All eyes locked onto the paper.
White.
Then—
Gray.
Then—
Black.
The physician's voice quaked.
"Reporting to Your Majesty…"
"There is indeed residue of Heart-Triggering Powder within her system."
Silence detonated.
A suffocating, absolute silence.
As if an unseen hand had closed around the throat of the hall itself.
Consort Shen's face drained of color.
"No… that's impossible!"
Her voice cracked.
"That only proves she stole it herself!"
She pointed violently.
"How is that connected to me?!"
Her gaze darted wildly—from the Emperor, to the Empress Dowager, and finally—
To Qing Tian.
Hatred blazed there now, naked and feral.
And then—
A calm voice cut through the chaos.
"Heart-Triggering Powder…"
Qing Tian spoke.
Softly.
But every syllable struck with surgical precision.
"…exists only in the Buddhist Hall's medicinal vault."
Consort Shen froze.
Qing Tian's gaze did not waver.
"If she stole it…"
A pause.
"…then what she stole…"
"…was the Empress Dowager's medicine."
The hall seemed to fracture.
Shock rippled outward like thunder splitting stone.
The Empress Dowager's expression changed.
For the first time.
Her fingers tightened against the armrest.
BANG.
Her palm slammed down.
"Insolence!"
Her voice cracked like a whip honed by decades of unquestioned authority.
"You dare slander me?!"
The entire hall dropped to its knees in terror.
All except Qing Tian—
Who knelt,
But whose spine remained perfectly straight.
"I would not dare slander."
Her head bowed.
Her voice remained steady.
"I merely state facts."
From her sleeve, she withdrew a thin ledger.
Its pages worn.Edges softened by relentless use.
"This is the Buddhist Hall's medicinal withdrawal record for the past three months."
She opened it.
"Heart-Triggering Powder…"
"…withdrawn twenty-seven times."
A tremor moved through the hall.
Qing Tian turned another page.
"Of those twenty-seven withdrawals…"
"…twenty-six destinations are unaccounted for."
The air tightened.
Breathing became difficult.
"The final withdrawal—"
She lifted her eyes.
And pointed.
Directly at the untouched soup bowl still resting on the table.
"…was delivered into Consort Shen's soup."
Consort Shen staggered backward.
Her lips parted—
But no sound emerged.
Because in that instant—
She understood.
This had never been an impulsive poisoning.
It was a hunt.
And she—
Was the prey.
"You investigated the Buddhist Hall?"
The Empress Dowager rose slowly.
Her fury had vanished.
Replaced by something colder.
More lethal.
"Who," she asked softly,
"Granted you that authority?"
Every gaze swung toward Qing Tian.
Qing Tian lifted her head.
Without hesitation.
"The Emperor."
Three words.
Heavy as falling stone.
She stepped forward and presented her official seal.
"I oversee palace dietary affairs."
"Buddhist offerings fall within those duties."
A breath.
Then—
"If Your Highness seeks to assign blame…"
"…then ask first—"
She met the Empress Dowager's eyes.
"…why His Majesty permitted my investigation."
The hall fell into absolute silence.
The Empress Dowager's hand stilled midair.
For the first time—
She did not immediately speak.
The Emperor's voice descended.
Calm.
Final.
"It was my command."
And with that single sentence—
The balance of power shifted.
In that moment, the Empress Dowager realized—
The woman who had risen from smoke-filled kitchens to stand beneath imperial light—
Was no misplaced chess piece.
She was a blade.
Forged.
Sharpened.
By the Emperor himself.
And now—
That blade had tasted blood.