The Empress Dowager's private garden was not part of any tour. Hidden behind ivy-laced walls and guarded by eunuchs who answered only to her, it was a labyrinth of obsidian pathways and crimson peonies—blooms that drank blood-red beneath the moonlight.
And in the center, the woman herself.
Seated in a pavilion of gold-lacquered wood, the Dowager sipped from a porcelain cup as delicate as her spine was steel. Her eyes—sharp as hawk talons—tracked the arrival of her personal maid, Lifen, who bowed low before approaching.
"Your Majesty," Lifen murmured. "The concubine Lin Qiyue has spoken with His Imperial Majesty. Twice."
The Dowager's grip on her teacup tightened. "So the shadow stirs."
"She's also made contact with General Wei Xian."
"Dangerous. Arrogant. Predictable." The Dowager exhaled slowly. "Qiyue always underestimated how many ears I own. Even silence, when fed long enough, learns to speak."
She turned to the table beside her, where sat a chessboard half-played. Her fingers lifted a black horse piece and set it down with a sharp click.
"Summon Consort Lu. Send word to the Ministry of Punishments. Quietly. I want a scroll drafted accusing Wei Xian of treasonous correspondence with rebel provinces."
"But—"
"No charges yet," the Dowager said, her voice ice. "Let the scroll exist. Let it breathe. We'll decide later whether it should scream."
Lifen bowed again. "And Lin Qiyue?"
"Let the fox dance. But tighten the circle. Have her rooms searched for any trace of rebellion—letters, emblems, codes. Plant a few if you must. I want fear to do my work for me."
---
Elsewhere, Qiyue sat before a silk-screen map of the palace, tracing invisible lines with her finger. Mingzhu stood beside her, holding the hidden scroll Wei Xian had delivered.
"There's enough in this to burn half the court," Mingzhu whispered.
"But we don't want fire," Qiyue replied. "Not yet. Just heat. Pressure. The Dowager needs to feel the walls shift. Then she'll act. And when she does, we pounce."
"What if she doesn't?"
"She will. Pride is predictable."
Just then, a knock.
A young eunuch entered, sweating and wide-eyed. "My lady—soldiers. Searching your quarters. On Dowager's orders."
Mingzhu cursed. Qiyue didn't move.
"Let them in," she said.
"But—"
"We have nothing to hide. Not yet."
The soldiers filed in moments later, eyes hard, hands precise. They rifled through scrolls, turned over tea trays, checked window slats. One found a small box tucked behind Qiyue's mirror stand—empty.
A trap she'd set herself.
"What is this?" the captain asked.
"Jewelry case," she said smoothly. "My mother's. Empty since the funeral."
They took it anyway. When they left, Mingzhu exhaled hard.
"They're getting bolder."
"Which means they're getting nervous."
Qiyue turned to the scroll.
"We release it tonight. Not to the ministers. To the concubines."
Mingzhu blinked. "Why?"
"Because no court moves faster than one fueled by jealous women. Let them whisper about a Dowager who stole food while they bled through starvation. Let scandal take root beneath silken sleeves."
And so, by dawn, five copies of the scroll had been slipped beneath brocade curtains, into scented dressing rooms, and one even into the imperial bathing chamber.
By mid-morning, the garden buzzed with whispers.
The Dowager struck back swiftly.
That same afternoon, three low-ranking maids were taken from Qiyue's quarters. Charged with theft. Publicly whipped. Qiyue watched it from her balcony, lips tight, eyes blazing.
"They were innocent," Mingzhu said, voice trembling.
"No one is innocent in the palace," Qiyue replied. "Only useful or forgotten."
That night, Wei Xian sent another message.
> "The Emperor received a report. Your name was not on it. He burns the edges of both sides. Beware."
Qiyue read it twice.
So the Emperor was still straddling the line. Testing which way power would fall.
"Then we tip the scales," she whispered.
---
A week later, the Palace hosted the Feast of Peonies. A delicate, dangerous game of beauty and politics cloaked in petals and poetry.
All the concubines gathered in the Eastern Hall, robed in pastels and painted like blossoms. Qiyue wore black.
Gasps followed her.
"It's a mourning color," one lady whispered.
"She dares?" said another.
But no one dared stop her.
She took a seat far too close to the Emperor's dais, ignoring the glare of Consort Lu and the stiffened silence of the Dowager.
The Emperor himself paused when he saw her. She offered no bow. Just a steady look.
He looked away first.
Poems were read. Music was played. And then, one by one, the concubines rose to offer their floral dedications.
Qiyue's turn came. She rose and walked to the center of the hall, lifting a single peony—deep crimson.
"I dedicate this flower," she said clearly, "to those who bled so that others might feast. May their hunger never be forgotten."
Gasps rippled.
The Dowager's fan snapped shut.
Zhou Wenli stared.
Then slowly, he clapped.
Only twice. But loud enough to echo.
And everyone else followed.
Qiyue returned to her seat.
She'd just declared war in front of the entire court.
And they'd applauded.
---
Back in her chamber, she found Mingzhu waiting.
"Messages. Two of them."
One from Wei Xian:
> "My men are in place. The docks will close at your signal. The minister of records is ours."
The other, unsigned:
> "Beware the phoenix who sings too loudly. The knife comes not from the front, but from the pillow."
She stared at it for a long time.
A warning. From who?
Could it be Zhou Wenli?
Or someone else?
The palace was shifting. Sides were being chosen.
And the Dowager's web began to tighten.