YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 19, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  The Emperor’s face held three emotions: anger, disappointment, and a trace of fear. None were shown openly, of course. He would never betray his inner state in front of his ministers. Instead, he reached for his teacup, drained the bitter black brew in a single breath, and furrowed his brow.

  This mannerism had become the usual opening ritual of court. The Emperor would start silent as he waited for one of his dutiful ministers to take the dance floor. Once that happened—nothing else was predictable.

  Today was a smaller party. Still, it reeked of the same rot.

  Grand Secretary Zhao moved to the centre with his ritual tablet.

  “Your Majesty,” he said.

  The Emperor gave a barely perceptible nod.

  Zhao Qingshan raised his voice. “Your Majesty, I present Ru Shan as a witness.”

  A boy who was bone-thin, slack-shouldered, and dressed in a tattered hessian tunic, emerged. “He has a confession.”

  Ru Shan’s gait has a lazy sway. His limbs dangled and his head tilted to the side. A slouching rodent. Fitting that his name implied as much. Deng Jinchen, the Grand Chancellor, flinched at the sight of him. Ru Shan was meant to be one of his, Zhouwei-born, Zhouwei-raised, and formerly in his pocket. Yet now, he stood on the other side, outrightly defecting his former master.

  Betrayal never tasted so bitter.

  Ru Shan picked his teeth in full view of the Emperor. He was either foolish or very confident in the protection of his new patron.

  Still, the Emperor remained unmoved. Perhaps out of restraint. Perhaps due to his patience. But most likely because a crackdown now would have revealed just how little influence he still held over his ministers.

  Ru Shan raised a bony arm and pointed directly at the Minister of War, Gao Yuchou.

  “It was him,” he said. “He told me to do it.”

  Minister Gao responded instantly. “When did I speak to you? What proof do you even have? You—”

  Ru Shan held up a jade pendant and the minister’s voice faltered slightly. It swung in a slow, deliberate arc.

  Back-and-forth, and back-and-forth. White jade.

  In Xuanji Province, offering a pendant like that was more than a gesture. It was proof of allegiance—an unspoken contract of fealty, recognition of a master-servant bond. No one outside the province would have dared to use it so casually.

  “xiānshēng,” the boy drawled. “We’ve been caught. I can’t lie.”

  Minister Gao’s face did not change. That was his style to maintain the image of stillness. Unfortunately, in court, that often came off as slippery. Untrustworthy.

  “I would never dare,” Minister Gao said. “My loyalty to Your Majesty is beyond question. All know how deeply Xuanji Province serves the Crown.”

  The boy piped up. “How can you say that xiānshēng? How can you burn bridge once you have crossed it, break the ladder after you have climbed up, beat up the monk after getting their blessing, blame the horse after—”

  “Enough,” The Emperor said. His sharp gaze fell on Zhao Qingshan. “Grand Secretary. Explain this.”

  Stop wasting the time of the court with some blabbering child.

  Grand Secretary Zhao inclined his head. “Your Majesty, Ru Shan is a witness that the epidemic in Hongchen City was no accident. He claims that the Minister of War ordered him to create the plague. Your Majesty, Xuanji and Zhouwei have been locked in a feud for years. The Minister of War is no neutral party. He’s a man with reason to act.”

  The Grand Secretary’s newfound confidence steamed off him like boiling broth. An eager player. Or pawn. This set up had been preplanned, by someone who had much more finesse than him. Someone like the Empress. Ever since the Shuishang debacle, Zhao Qingshan had laid low to avoid another embarrassment. Now he returned as all old foxes did, ready to reclaim his footing.

  The Emperor no doubt saw it. I saw it.

  The Grand Secretary pushed harder. “Perhaps Your Majesty would prefer more concrete proof?”

  His Majesty said nothing. A calculated move with a clear direction: His Majesty wanted to side with the Minister of War.

  The Emperor couldn’t be seen overtly taking the Minister of War’s side, not without rousing the outrage of the Zhao Faction. But even if the Minister of War was the true culprit, His Majesty would still side with him. The Minister of War and the Lin Household formed the third—unspoken—faction of the Imperial Court. Other than the Grand Chancellor’s faction, this hidden faction was the only other capable of suppressing the Grand Secretary’s powers.

  But the balance was delicate, and the truth didn’t matter.

  Zhao Qingshan dropped to his knees.

  “Your Majesty!” he cried. “A decision must be made.”

  Two other ministers followed suit, both loyal to the Grand Secretary’s faction. Not one of them understood the game. They only knew which leash they answered to. The Grand Secretary had served his master well. My mother would’ve revelled.

  The Emperor leaned back, face stony. “Look at yourselves, my good and loyal ministers. Look at how you pressure me like wolves.”

  A beat of silence passed. Then the room answered in unison: “Your Majesty, you are the Son of Heaven. We would not dare. May Your Majesty live forever.”

  Empty words. Everyone here understood the true dynamic: the Emperor had to choose. And the choice had already been made. The one that preserved the false balance.

  It was in moments like this the Emperor ignored me entirely. I had never expected him to do otherwise. I bore the wrong name. My mother’s name. Zhao. I was the by-product of a political compromise he’d never accepted. He faced away from me, as if I’d orchestrated this entire farce.

  I raised my paddle.

  He sneered.

  “Royal Father,” I said, “may Your son speak?”

  He gestured sarcastically, amused by the idea of betrayal.

  “Your Majesty, I bring news. Regarding Shuishang Province.”

  Misdirection. When you cannot win the fight, delay it. The Emperor needed help dealing with Zhao Qingshan and I gladly handed him the knife. Because that’s what a good son does.

  The Emperor turned to face me at last. “What news?”

  I inclined my head. “Since Your Majesty swiftly rectified Grand Secretary Zhao’s mishandling, negotiations have gone well.”

  Minister Zhao stiffened.

  “Yes,” the Emperor echoed. “His mishandling indeed.” He tasted the words as if savouring a rare fruit. “Strange—I forget what punishment I assigned him. Thank you, my son, for reminding me.”

  “It is my duty, Royal Father.”

  The Minister of War stepped forward. “Your Majesty, this servant has a request.”

  The Emperor looked up.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “I ask to be imprisoned.”

  He really is the best strategist in the court. Public self-sacrifice, complete confidence, and a turn of the blade.

  “Your Majesty,” the Minister of War spoke, voice calm. “If someone wishes to frame me, then let me be imprisoned. That will draw the real traitor into the open. After all,”—he turned his steel gaze upon Zhao Qingshan—“we all know that I am innocent.”

  Silence.

  Minister Gao continued, his gaze now fixed on Ru Shan. “I do not know you boy. But whoever paid you to slander me, will be discovered very soon. I suggest you tell the truth.”

  The boy froze. Then he flicked his head between the current threat from Gao Yuchou and the soon-to-be threat by his master Zhao Qingshan. He was a simpleton. He had expected some quick payout. Not the attention of a court full of predators.

  His kind were simply tools to be used by the real chess players.

  He crumpled forward and knocked his forehead to the stone floor. “Your Majesty, I—”

  He didn’t finish. I supposed he never would’ve had the chance, given his situation. And perhaps he knew it as well.

  His body slumped to the ground without resistance, a slit drawn clean across his neck by the master who had brought him before the Emperor. Zhao Qingshan didn’t even pretend to look shocked.

  “Your Majesty, I was briefly misled,” he said mildly. “His lies stirred me to anger. Your Majesty, surely understand.”

  How convenient. You just want to protect your worthless title.

  The Emperor’s hands pressed against the arms of his throne. His eyes scanned the room. Sharp, hawklike. But his face was still.

  At last, he picked up his brush and gestured to his Head Eunuch, who began grinding ink.

  Silence stretched as we waited for His Majesty’s decision.

  He placed the brush down.

  Eunuch Sun took the decree and read it aloud: “The Minister of War, Gao Yuchou, shall be placed in prison pending further investigation.”

  Zhao Qingshan looked ready to weep with joy.

  Both he and Minister Gao bowed low. “Your Majesty is wise.”

  Having completed his duty, the Grand Secretary turned and left without a second thought. A dog fattened by arrogance, too used to getting his way.

  The Emperor said nothing. But I could see tension on his shoulders. His restraint. Yet the steel in his eyes didn’t quite match. Perhaps he only wanted his ministers to believe he was simmering. An act within an act. Ah…I’m making too many conjectures.

  “Your Majesty,” came a quiet voice.

  It was the Grand Chancellor.

  He had not spoken until now.

  His beard, though long, was trimmed and tidy, much like the rest of his appearance and his carefully spoken words.

  The Emperor nodded for him to continue.

  Grand Chancellor Deng held out a silk cloth. Burnt at the edges. Scorched. But still legible in parts.

  “This was found in Ru Shan’s quarters,” he said. “With the other evidence. The writing doesn’t match the Minister of War’s hand. His brush is steady, refined. This—” he paused, then continued, “—this is the work of someone else. Someone from Zhouwei Province.”

  “Really?” exclaimed the Emperor.

  His feigned surprise appeared as realistic as the love he showed my sister. But I could discern his act. He always gripped the inside of sleeves, whenever he was acting. A small and easily missed detail. But it was an act I had witnessed a million times. Every single time he showed me affection in public.

  The Grand Chancellor lowered his stance. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  A moving act of patriotism: the Grand Chancellor had chosen truth over allegiance to his own.

  But the cunning Emperor had long expected it. He knew that Grand Chancellor Deng would hand over the real evidence. His Majesty only needed to drag Zhouwei Province into the debacle. Which he had done, quite effectively, the moment he allowed Ru Shan to grace the political dance floor.

  His kind were simply tools to be used by the real chess players.

  The Emperor smiled.

  Not for me. Not for the Grand Chancellor.

  But for the game.

  ***

  She was missing again.

  The girl, allegedly my personal alchemist and attendant, had disappeared. Again. Somehow, she had also completed all her assigned tasks before doing so.

  A nuisance. But not one worth responding to. Discipline would only reinforce the illusion that she mattered enough to be corrected.

  Let her return on her own. She would.

  A movement on the south wall drew my eye. A foot, wrapped in a brown mesh shoe, emerged atop the moss-darkened stone. Attached to a slender and dexterous ankle, the foot then hooked precisely onto the slick edge where the courtyard’s waterfall curved over.

  I moved toward the pool at the base of the fall, where water struck the surface in a dense cascade, hissing into a low, persistent mist. A satchel flew overhead in a clean arc, cutting through the humid air. It landed with a soft splash, then drifted toward the edge.

  It was unsurprisingly dry. I stepped forward and retrieved the bag. My fingers met familiar stitching. The weight distribution, the reinforced inner lining. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the intruder who had attacked me in the library.

  “Don’t touch it Jiang…oh. Hey.”

  Su Tang crouched atop the courtyard wall, balanced in a squat like some alert simian. She brushed aside a handful of windblown leaves and settled her weight down, one leg swinging lazily over the edge. Her shoe, already soaked, trailed the arc of the waterfall, letting the stream run over it.

  Her cheeks were faintly flushed. Eyes alight with reflected crystal light from the pool below.

  “Well, this is just embarrassing,” she said.

  Hmm.

  “Your Highness, before you scold me, may I get down first?” she added, already muttering under her breath. Then, predictably, she slipped. A sharp shriek echoed across the stone as her form tumbled straight into the pool.

  Ordinarily, I would have stopped this farce. The moment she appeared, the situation ceased to be worth my time. But I hadn’t yet put down her satchel. The titles I glimpsed had changed everything.

  She emerged again, hair dripping, clothes plastered to her thin frame in translucent sheets. Without a word, she bent, twisted the water from her ends, coiled them into a bun, and fastened it with a pin she had stashed somewhere. Somehow, soaked and ridiculous, she still managed to walk across the flagstones with the poise of a court lady. She curtsied.

  “Your Highness,” she spoke, her tone polished with palace etiquette.

  I raised the satchel slightly. “Explain.”

  She cleared her throat. “Your Highness, these are the books I borrowed from the Guild.”

  My hand slipped into the bag and felt along the bindings. Old leather with silk-threaded spines. She’s not lying.

  “Books are stores of knowledge. The Alchemist Guild keeps the largest archive in the known territories,” I said, fingers sliding across embossed symbols. “They do not lend to outsiders.”

  She dropped to her knees. “Your Highness is as perceptive as the sages of old. Truly, nothing escapes your noble gaze.”

  The transformation was instantaneous. From flippant to reverent in the space of a breath. It was a practiced duality. She grovelled with etiquette not because she believed it, but because it bought her time.

  I tossed the satchel toward her. It landed before her knees. She lowered her head.

  “This servant seeks your punishment.”

  How convenient that you only remember your place when it serves you. I didn’t respond to her provocation.

  Instead, I asked: “What are your current duties?”

  “I’ve already completed them, I—”

  “What are your duties, Su Tang?”

  That silenced her. Her shoulders dipped almost imperceptibly.

  Everyone in the palace knew the answer. Finishing your tasks early meant nothing. The only thing that mattered was staying where you belonged. She knew this. So, the question remained: why did she think she could evade it?

  A flicker passed through her eyes. Then came the line: “I understand Your Highness’ intention. I will go and clean.”

  She played the obedient servant when it suited her. And when it didn’t, something emboldened her to resist. As though there was some interior logic she had yet to uncover herself. Like the day she disintegrated my guard’s treasured weapon without so much as lifting her hand. That was what made her dangerous. Not for her power, but for her lack of understanding of it.

  “Your Highness.” There it was again.

  I looked down at her.

  “I have a proposition,” she said, gaze steady. “I know you saw what was in my bag. If I help you prove Minister Gao’s innocence, will you overlook all this?”

  A tempting offer. Not for the content, but for the gall it took to make it. The harem was forbidden from involving itself in court affairs. That was the rule. Yet here she was, not only aware of a matter far beyond her station, but confident enough to leverage it in exchange for her own convenience.

  She wasn’t begging. She was bargaining.

  All of this, in return for my silence about something I had only very briefly glimpsed.

  Interesting.

  Who taught you to be so bold, Su Tang?

  I stepped toward her. She shifted her knees in the grass and her breath caught. It was subtle, but not enough to miss.

  She only reacted like that when I closed distance. It was useful knowledge, seeing how proximity disrupted her.

  That would be the key to making her respond desirably.

  “I’ll consider it.”

  A flicker of a smile. Or perhaps not.

  She flung her satchel at me. I caught the edge clumsily. One book tumbled out and rolled through the grass, revealing—well, revealing content. I didn’t expect her taste to be so crude.

  I stared after her as she ran off.

  My fist sparked blue.

  I could strike her unconscious. It would be easy. No one would question me. But I had appearances to maintain. And violence against young women was not the image I cultivated.

  I sighed and sifted through the other tomes.

  One spine caught my attention. Old. Worn. The script on the cover, faint but legible. I pulled the book out toward the light.

  A book on how to break blood seals.