In the eerie quiet of the cleansed throne room, the Empress's voice was like a bell tolling in a vacuum. "You. The one who paints death with pretty words. Step forward."
The cleanup had been swift and silent. Guards in seamless crimson armor had flowed into the hall. They did not fight. They simply… removed. The frozen assassins, the bodies, the blood—all were gone, leaving only the scent of sandalwood incense and cold stone. It was as if the violence had never happened, except for the shaken officials now kneeling in neat rows.
Bai Yi stepped forward. The jade floor felt unsteady beneath his feet.
He stopped at the prescribed distance from the throne. Up close, Empress Hong Yue was more than beautiful. She was a presence. The air around her was still and heavy, like the moment before a lightning strike. Her eyes, the color of old wine, held no warmth. Only a deep, endless scrutiny.
"Name," she said.
"Bai Yi, Your Majesty."
"Rank."
"I… have none."
A faint ripple went through the kneeling courtiers. To be in this hall without rank was to be a servant or a ghost.
"Explain the verse," the Empress commanded. She didn't ask about the coup. She didn't ask if he was hurt. Only the poem mattered.
Bai Yi kept his head slightly bowed. "It was not a verse, Your Majesty. Merely a… sigh. Given form by confusion."
"A sigh that petrifies a Core Formation assassin." Her tone was flat. "A novel form of cultivation. Are you a disciple of the Dreaming Verse Sect?"
"I am a scholar of little consequence. I understand nothing of cultivation." That, at least, was true.
Empress Hong Yue leaned back into her throne. Her gaze never left him. It was like being examined by a scientist from another world. "A scholar. Your sigh contained a complete, resonant Dao rhythm. It bent local reality. You understand nothing." She repeated his words without inflection. "Do you take me for a fool?"
"I would not dare, Your Majesty." He meant it. He saw the voids over her shoulders—not shadows, but patches of absolute nothing that seemed to flicker at the edge of his vision. This was no mere ruler.
A long silence stretched. The entire court held its breath.
Then, the corner of her mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile. It was the barest acknowledgment of amusement.
"Bai Yi. You have performed an unexpected service. The court lacks… novelty. I appoint you Fifth-Rank Minister of Cultural Appreciation. You will observe. You will sigh when moved." She flicked a finger. "See to his quarters."
The dismissal was absolute. The audience was over.
A stunned murmur broke out as soon as Bai Yi was led away by a silent clerk. Fifth Rank! From nothing! It was a hollow title, but it was a title. It placed him on the board.
Minister Li, a man with a carefully trimmed beard and eyes like polished river stones, watched Bai Yi leave. His expression was smooth, but his mind churned. A plant? A hidden expert playing a game? No. The Empress's whim. But a whim that gives a man rank is a dangerous thing. He noted the name. Bai Yi. A problem to be understood, then neutralized.
The quarters were not a cell, but they felt like one. It was a small, elegant pavilion on a quiet courtyard. Too quiet. It spoke of isolation. Bai Yi sat on the edge of a hard bed.
He focused, and the System interface glowed in his mind.
[Mission: Natural Death.]
[Current Physical Status: Weak. Mildly malnourished. Susceptible to common illness.]
[Recommended Path: Allow status to decline. Do not cultivate. Do not strengthen.]
A plan formed. Simple. Clean. This body was weak. It would not take much.
He would stop eating.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Enter."
The door slid open. A young maid, barely more than a girl, shuffled in. She carried a tray laden with steaming dishes—roasted fowl, shimmering broth, delicate dumplings. The smell was rich, assaulting his senses.
"M-master Bai," she stammered, not meeting his eyes. "Your evening meal. I am Xiao Lan. I am to serve you." She placed the tray on a table and knelt, bowing her head.
"Thank you. You may leave it," Bai Yi said, his voice quiet.
Xiao Lan peeked up. Her eyes were wide with a nervous awe. "You… you are the one who spoke the rose-quartz poem. The whole servant's quarters is talking. They say you are a hidden sage who tested the court with your art."
Bai Yi looked at her. Her worship was a tangible thing, thick in the air. It was worse than anger. It was an obstacle. "I am a tired man," he said, truthfully. "Please, take the food away. I have no appetite."
Her face fell, then filled with concern. "But Master… you are so pale. You must keep your strength! Please, just a little broth?" Her kindness was genuine, piercingly so.
"No." The word was firmer than he intended. He saw her flinch. He softened his tone. "It is not your cooking. I am… in contemplation. It is a practice. Do not bring me food until I ask."
Xiao Lan hesitated, conflict in her eyes. To disobey her new master was wrong. To let him waste away was also wrong. Slowly, she bowed again, gathered the full tray, and backed out of the room. The worry in her gaze lingered like a ghost.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Bai Yi lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The first move was made. He would starve. A natural decline. The System would log it as illness. It was a good plan.
In the hallway outside, Xiao Lan stared at the untouched food. A sage's contemplation could be deep, but so could a sage's fragility. She remembered the pale, tired face of her new master. He didn't look like a fierce cultivator. He looked like a scholar who forgot to eat. Someone needed to remember for him.
She nodded to herself, a secret decision made in her heart. She would watch over him. She would not let this gentle, poetic man fade away.
Inside his room, Bai Yi closed his eyes, aiming for the slow, quiet exit of starvation.
He did not know it, but his first attempt had already failed. He had just gained his first guardian.