The steam curled upward in elegant spirals from the porcelain teacup on the low lacquered table. Lin Qiyue sat before it, perfectly still, her posture refined, the hem of her robe brushing against the cold stone floor. The scent rising from the tea was sweet—jasmine and white lotus, delicate and clean. Deceptive.
She did not touch it.
Instead, her gaze locked on the crimson lotus seal painted on the teacup's base.
It was the same seal used two years ago when the Empress Dowager gifted her a "tonic" to ease her pregnancy.
The next morning, she woke up bleeding.
That child had been her only link to power, her last bastion of hope, and it had been taken with a single cup of tea—masked in kindness and perfumed betrayal.
Now, once again, the Dowager's gift sat before her. Ironic, almost poetic.
Her hand moved slowly, deliberately, pulling a strip of alchemy paper from a lacquered box in her drawer. It was old, nearly yellowed with age, but still usable. She dipped it into the tea.
The edge turned pale green, then yellow.
Poison. Not strong enough to kill immediately—but enough to slow the mind, weaken the body, fray the nerves over time.
Insidious. Effective.
"Not even subtle this time," Qiyue murmured, voice laced with mock amusement. "How careless."
Behind her, Mingzhu—the only maid who had remained loyal—stood fidgeting near the door.
"My lady," she whispered, "should I… throw it out?"
Qiyue considered the steaming cup.
"No," she said finally. "Leave it there. Let it cool."
Mingzhu's eyes widened. "But—"
"I want them to wonder why it's untouched," Qiyue said coolly. "A cold cup of poison speaks louder than a broken one."
She stood and moved to the window. Beyond the carved wooden lattice, the plum trees were blooming early. A breeze scattered white petals like snow over the mossy courtyard stones.
In the distance, she heard the faint laughter of court ladies. Their embroidered shoes whispered against the gravel paths. They clustered in colorful silks, chirping like birds, each one eyeing the others like predators in a jeweled cage.
She used to be one of them. Not anymore.
A faint voice floated on the wind.
"Is that Lin Qiyue?"
"She still has a palace room?"
"They say the Emperor summoned her yesterday…"
"She looks like death."
Qiyue allowed herself a soft, bitter smile.
Good. Let them whisper. Let them fear.
Let them think she was a ghost.
Because ghosts are hard to kill twice.
---
The summons came again by midmorning.
A eunuch in crimson robes bowed low at her door, his voice as thin as paper.
"Her Majesty the Empress Dowager requests your presence in the Hall of Serene Grace."
Qiyue inclined her head. "Very well."
She dressed in lavender silk—a color of twilight and foreboding—with no ornaments save for a single jade hairpin. It had belonged to her mother, one of the few things they hadn't stolen after her fall.
Mingzhu fretted at the door. "Should I come with you?"
"No." Qiyue's tone was calm. "This is a game I must play alone."
The Hall of Serene Grace was colder than she remembered. Heavy incense hung in the air, choking and cloying. The tapestries had changed—now scenes of lotus blossoms and cranes. Symbols of purity. Lies stitched in silk.
The Empress Dowager sat high upon a dais, her skin drawn and pale, swathed in mourning white despite there being no official period of grief. Her hair was silver now, coiled tight beneath a black veil. But her eyes…
Her eyes were the same. Sharp. Watching.
Qiyue bowed low. "This lowly concubine greets Her Majesty."
The old woman's voice was brittle and dry. "Rise, Lin Qiyue. Let me see if the dead can still walk."
Qiyue stood, spine straight. "I walk, but not by your will."
A flicker of something passed across the Dowager's face. Surprise? Amusement? She leaned forward slightly.
"Still bold. Some wounds do not teach submission."
"Only strategy."
The Dowager chuckled darkly. "So you believe yourself a strategist now?"
"I have studied in silence. That often sharpens the mind."
The Empress Dowager sipped her own tea. "I sent you a gift."
"I know."
"You didn't drink it."
"No."
The silence between them thickened.
"You presume too much, Qiyue," the old woman said. "Do you think yourself untouchable?"
"No," Qiyue replied, "only watched. And when a creature is watched, it learns to play dead or strike when unseen."
The Dowager set down her cup with a soft clink. "Deliver this," she said, gesturing to a sealed scroll presented by a waiting servant. "To Prime Minister Xun. Before sunset."
Qiyue approached and accepted the scroll with both hands. "And if I read it?"
"Then I'll know."
"And if I don't deliver it?"
"Then you'll be the first death blamed on spring fever."
Qiyue inclined her head. "Then I shall deliver it."
"See that you do."
As she turned to leave, the Dowager called after her. "Careful, Qiyue. Poison is not the only way to kill."
Without turning back, Qiyue said, "Neither is a crown the only way to rule."
---
By dusk, she reached the Prime Minister's estate.
Xun Yuren, once her secret ally, had grown older—but not slower. His eyes were still sharp behind the folds of age.
He opened the scroll in her presence, then raised an eyebrow. "A bribe masked as flattery. She grows desperate."
"She grows afraid," Qiyue corrected.
He looked at her. "And you?"
"I have nothing to lose," she replied. "That makes me dangerous."
"Indeed." He rolled the scroll up again. "What do you want, Lin Qiyue?"
"Not power," she said softly. "Not yet. I want to make them choke on their certainty. I want the Empress Dowager to fear her sleep. I want the Emperor to regret summoning me."
Xun smiled faintly. "Then we begin."
---
Back in her chambers, the poisoned tea sat cold, untouched.
She left it there.
Let them send another cup.
Let them wonder why she wouldn't drink.
Because one day, she would send her own gift—something sweet, warm, and final.
And the Empress Dowager would drink every drop.