The world of text opened to him. With the System's memory enhancement burning cool and clear in his mind, the archives were no longer a locked vault. They were a manual.
Li Fan worked through the night, forgetting sleep. Scrolls on spiritual geology, crystal slabs recording past vein tremors, ledgers of energy output from different palace sectors. The words flowed into his understanding. He learned of the Amber Dynasty's foundational veins: the Crimson Root (primary), the Jade Sap (secondary), and a network of minor capillaries like the Whispering Stem he'd been denied access to.
The texts described vein failure as a slow fading, a cooling, like an aging heart. What the recent reports described was different. It was described as 'convulsions,' 'violent reflux,' 'corrupt surges.' The language of sickness, not decay.
And then he found it. A minor footnote in a geomantic survey. "Unidirectional energy drain, against the natural flow, indicates not failure, but forced extraction. See: parasitic array formations, Sect 7."
Parasitic. Extraction. Sabotage.
His heart hammered against his ribs, but it was the hammer of discovery, not fear. He had the 'what.' Now he needed the 'where' and the 'who.' He couldn't get near the primary vein. But he could see a healthy one. To understand the sickness, he needed to see health.
At first light, he requested another audience. He was brought to the same annex. Huang Yue looked at him, an eyebrow slightly raised. "You are persistent, Minister Li. More hairpin wisdom?"
"A simpler request, Your Majesty. I have studied the archives. To diagnose an illness, one must first feel a healthy pulse. I request permission to inspect a minor, stable spiritual vein. To understand the baseline. The Whispering Stem vein in the Western Garden will suffice."
She studied him. The request was humble, academic. It was also a tacit admission he couldn't handle the big problem. That was fine. Let her think that. "Granted." She waved a hand. "Xiao Lan will guide you. She is familiar with the garden paths."
A moment later, a young woman entered and bowed. She had a plain, honest face and keen eyes that darted to Li Fan before fixing on the floor. Her energy was faint, barely a shimmer—a low-level cultivator servant. The perfect, invisible watcher.
"This humble maid will assist the Minister," she said, her voice soft.
The Western Garden was a place of tranquil beauty, far from the stern majesty of the main palace. Blooming flowers with metallic petals hummed, and the air was sweet. The 'Whispering Stem' vein was not a dramatic fissure. It was a gentle, glowing seam of silver light in a bed of moss between two ancient, gnarled trees. It hummed a peaceful, steady note.
Two guards flanked the garden entrance, looking bored.
"This is the place, Minister," Xiao Lan said, standing a respectful few steps back, watching him.
Li Fan approached the glowing seam. He knelt, pretending to examine the moss. The warmth of the energy washed over him. It felt alive, benevolent. Then, the mark on his palm—the Seal of Balance—began to throb. Not an itch, but a deep, resonant pulse, like a tuning fork being struck.
He glanced at Xiao Lan. She was looking at the flowers, giving him a semblance of privacy. Slowly, he placed his right palm flat on the moss, just beside the silver light.
The world shifted.
His physical eyes still saw the garden. But in his mind's eye, superimposed over it, he saw energy. The Whispering Stem was a brilliant, silvery cord of light flowing peacefully through the earth. But from its bright core, a thin, sickly yellow thread peeled away. It didn't fade into the ground. It didn't disperse. It moved with purpose, like a root seeking water, tunneling back toward the heart of the palace complex. A siphoning thread. Draining life, not absorbing waste.
The Seal had shown him. This was no natural failure. This was a theft.
He held his breath, following the thread's path in his mind. It dove deep, beneath foundations, toward… the administrative wing. Where the senior ministers and elders, like Liu, had their offices and private cultivation chambers.
He pulled his hand back. The vision vanished. The Seal's throbbing faded to a dull echo. His mouth was dry.
"Minister?" Xiao Lan's voice was closer. She had approached, silent as a shadow. Her eyes were on his face, not his hand. "Did you… see something? You looked… far away."
Caught. He forced a calm he didn't feel. He couldn't reveal the Seal. He couldn't name the sabotage. Not to a maid who might report to anyone.
"The garden," he said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat and stood, brushing moss from his knees. "It's very well designed. The flow of the paths… they don't fight the land. They follow its contours. It makes the energy here feel settled." It was true, just not what he'd been looking at. It was an observation about respect, about working with nature instead of dominating it.
Xiao Lan blinked. She had expected technical jargon, or frustrated silence. Not a comment on garden paths. She looked around, seeing the winding flagstones that followed the gentle slopes. "The Head Gardener is very old. He says a garden should be a conversation, not a command."
"A wise man," Li Fan said, and he meant it. He looked at her properly for the first time. She was young, but her eyes held a watchful intelligence. She was a tool sent to spy on him. But tools could choose how they were used. "Thank you for guiding me, Xiao Lan. It was more helpful than you know."
Respect. Simple, direct respect. The kind a mortal minister didn't have to give a lowly maid. He saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes, then a quick masking of her expression as she bowed. "It is my duty, Minister."
As they walked back toward the palace proper, the weight of the discovery settled on him. The enemy was within. The siphoning thread pointed inward. It could be Elder Liu. It could be someone else. It could be a faction.
He had proof, but only in his mind's eye. Evidence no one else could see. He had a direction, but not a name.
And he had a witness, a maid with keen eyes who had seen his moment of revelation. An unknown variable.
The crisis was no longer a geological puzzle. It was a palace intrigue. And this, at last, was a language Li Fan understood. The air didn't just smell of flowers and ozone anymore. It smelled of plotting, and hidden knives, and the tense, quiet space before a vote of no confidence.
He had found the disease. Now he had to find the parasite, and perform the surgery without a scalpel, while the patient's bodyguards thought he was the infection.