Chapter 16: The Jade Hairpin
The first bell of morning had not yet rung when a servant girl woke Lucen.
"Young master," she whispered, bowing so low her forehead nearly touched the floor. "Consort Ji requests your presence."
Lucen sat up, his fingers digging into the silk sheets. The air smelled of sandalwood and something faintly metallic—like rain on old swords. Across the room, his reflection in the bronze mirror looked back at him: a boy with cropped golden hair and eyes that didn't match. A ghost in borrowed robes.
Why would a consort want me?
He dressed slowly, fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar ties of his outermost garment—a deep blue robe embroidered with cranes, gifted by the emperor after the throne room incident. The fabric was too fine, too soft. It made his skin itch.
The servant led him through corridors where the dawn light bled through lattice windows, painting the floors with geometric shadows. They passed a group of eunuchs carrying lacquered boxes; their eyes flicked to Lucen, then away just as fast. Whispers trailed behind them like smoke.
The foreign boy.
General Jang-ho's pet.
They say the emperor let him touch the throne and it didn't burn him.
Consort Ji's pavilion stood apart from the main palace, nestled among black-barked plum trees. Their branches clawed at the sky, blossoms long since fallen. The servant stopped at the vermilion door, knocked once, and fled without another word.
The door slid open.
"Ah. Here he is."
Consort Ji reclined on a divan, her robes pooling around her like spilled ink. She had the ageless beauty of a painted portrait—smooth skin that could have been thirty or fifty, lips dyed the color of pomegranate seeds, and eyes that held the sharpness of a knife balanced on a fingertip. A slave knelt beside her, fanning her with a peacock-feather fan.
"You're smaller than I imagined," she said, tilting her head. "Like a doll they forgot to finish."
Lucen took three steps forward and bowed, just as Jang-ho had taught him.
The consort laughed. It was a sound like shattering glass. "So polite. How unlike the other beasts in this palace." She flicked her fingers, dismissing the slave. The fan's rustling ceased, leaving the room too quiet.
A teapot sat between them, steam curling from its spout. Consort Ji poured a cup and pushed it toward Lucen. The liquid inside was murky, swirling with tiny gold flakes.
"Drink."
Lucen stared at the cup. The gold flakes moved, clustering together like ants sensing danger.
Poison?
Jang-ho's warning echoed in his head: "Never eat or drink what they offer without me."
Consort Ji's smile sharpened. "What's wrong? Do you fear me?"
Lucen's throat tightened. He reached for the cup—
The door burst open.
"Consort."
A man stood in the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the floor. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face like a weathered cliffside—General Bo, commander of the eastern garrisons. His gaze swept over Lucen, lingering on the untouched teacup.
"The emperor requires your attendance," he said flatly.
Consort Ji's nails dug into the divan's silk. "Now?"
"Now."
She exhaled through her nose, then stood in one fluid motion. As she passed Lucen, she pressed something cold into his palm.
"A gift," she murmured. "For the emperor's favorite."
Then she was gone, her perfume lingering—honeysuckle and something darker, like damp earth after a burial.
Lucen uncurled his fingers. In his palm lay a jade hairpin, its tip carved into a serpent's fang. The stone was ice-cold, unnaturally so. When he tilted it, the jade's veins pulsed faintly, as if something moved beneath the surface.
General Bo cleared his throat. "Come, boy. The emperor doesn't like to wait."
The throne room was emptier than before, the courtiers dismissed. Only the emperor remained, perched on his dais like a vulture on a dead tree. Jang-ho stood at attention near the pillars, his face unreadable.
Lucen knelt, pressing his forehead to the floor. The jade hairpin burned in his sleeve.
"Rise," said the emperor.
When Lucen looked up, the emperor was staring at his sleeves. "You met Consort Ji."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And?"
Lucen hesitated. The hairpin's weight felt like a betrayal. "She gave me tea."
The emperor's fingers stilled on the armrest. "Did you drink it?"
"No."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Wise child." The emperor leaned back. "The tea was poisoned, of course. Not enough to kill. Just enough to make you scream." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "She does that with all my guests."
Lucen's stomach turned. The gold flakes in the tea—had they been alive?
The emperor flicked his wrist. "Show me what else she gave you."
Dread coiled in Lucen's chest, but he obeyed, withdrawing the hairpin.
The moment it touched the air, the throne room changed.
The gilded walls rippled, revealing patches of rotting flesh beneath. The emperor's shadow stretched too long, its fingers brushing Lucen's ankle. And the hairpin—
It screamed.
A soundless, psychic wail that tore through Lucen's skull. The jade cracked, black ichor oozing from its veins. The serpent's fang moved, striking toward Lucen's wrist—
Jang-ho was there in an instant, his dagger severing the hairpin mid-lunge. The pieces hit the floor and writhed, dissolving into smoke.
The emperor sighed. "How tedious." He examined his nails. "She never could resist testing my toys."
Lucen's breath came in ragged gasps. His hand trembled where the fang had nearly grazed him.
Jang-ho's grip on his shoulder tightened—a silent warning.
Don't speak. Don't react.
The emperor stood, his robes whispering against the dais. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Lucen whole. "Tell me... do you always heal so fast?"