Silent Poison
The fragrance of flowers in Fengyi Palace seemed unable to dispel a subtle, pervasive chill.
Ling Zhan's expression remained calm, like a still, ancient well.
She was even more diligent than usual in distributing high-yield seeds, communicating daily with her son Shen Yu, who was studying abroad, through snowbirds, approving secret reports sent by "Shan Hai Su," and summoning officials of the Imperial Household Department to inquire about autumn grain reserves, as if those vicious rumors and whispers about "Jie Yu Hua" had never reached her ears.
However, Wanxing could sense the difference beneath the calm.
The Empress spoke even less, often gazing out the window towards the Imperial Study during breaks from reviewing documents. Her gaze was distant and unfocused, and her fingertips unconsciously tapped lightly on the desk—a small gesture she made only when she was extremely focused or suppressing her emotions.
That afternoon, Ling Zhan needed to go to the library to look up a rare book on water conservancy from the previous dynasty.
As I passed a secluded rockery in the Imperial Garden, I suddenly heard a series of light, hurried footsteps ahead, mixed with low sobs.
Wanxing stepped forward and stood protectively in front of Ling Zhan.
A figure emerged from behind the artificial hill; it was Qin Ru. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes were red-rimmed, and there were still traces of tears on her cheeks. In her hand, she tightly clutched a bright yellow silk handkerchief—the color and pattern of which were clearly those of an imperial item.
Qin Ru was startled when she suddenly saw the Empress's carriage. She was so frightened that she fell to her knees with a thud, her voice trembling: "This servant...this servant greets Your Majesty!" She instinctively tried to hide the silk handkerchief in her sleeve, her actions flustered and only making things worse.
Ling Zhan stopped in his tracks.
Her gaze lingered for a moment on the bright yellow silk handkerchief before settling on Qin Ru's tear-streaked, pitiful face.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
"Get up." Ling Zhan's voice was unreadable. "What's causing your panic?"
"N-nothing..."
Qin Ru's voice was barely audible, and she lowered her head even further, "It was this servant... this servant accidentally offended Your Highness, please forgive me!"
She seemed terrified and dared not utter a single word.
Ling Zhan looked at her quietly for a few seconds, but in the end asked nothing. He simply said, "Behave yourself when serving the Emperor. Go."
"Thank you... thank you for your grace, Your Majesty!"
Qin Ruru felt as if she had been granted a pardon. She hurriedly got up and left, almost staggering, while tightly clutching the silk handkerchief.
Wanxing frowned and whispered, "Your Majesty, that handkerchief..."
Ling Zhan raised his hand, stopping her from speaking. She said nothing, simply turned around, and continued walking towards the library.
But her back seemed even straighter and more lonely than before.
Two days later, an autumn wind rippled the water in the palace garden pond and blew down many withered leaves.
A young palace maid found an exquisitely crafted brocade sachet under the eaves of the Phoenix Palace.
The sachet was exquisitely crafted, embroidered with a rare double-sided pattern of different colors, one side featuring a dragon motif and the other a delicate orchid. Inside, it contained not ordinary herbs, but several precious calming medicinal materials, along with a very faint scent of ambergris, a fragrance reserved for emperors.
This sachet is clearly not an ordinary item, much less something a palace maid could use.
The young palace maid dared not delay and immediately presented it to Wanxing.
Wanxing held the sachet, her expression changing slightly.
She recognized the embroidery and spice blend; it was a recent tribute from Jiangnan, and His Majesty had received a batch of it.
She silently presented the sachet to Ling Zhan.
Ling Zhan was practicing calligraphy when his brush paused for a moment.
She took the sachet, her fingertips feeling the delicacy of the brocade and the slightly firm texture of the herbs. The scent of ambergris was all too familiar to her. And on the other side was Youlan… Qin Ru, whose name contained the character “Ru,” and whose temperament was described as “as understanding as an orchid.”
What a thoughtful gift!
What a coincidence that it was lost.
Ling Zhan held the sachet to her nose, sniffed it very lightly, and then quickly removed it as if stung by the fragrance. She didn't speak, nor did she get angry. She simply tossed the sachet back to Wanxing casually, as if it were something dirty.
"Get rid of it."
Her voice remained completely calm as she picked up her brush again, dipped it in ink, and continued practicing calligraphy, as if what had just happened was merely a trivial interlude.
At the same time, Wei Jin, who was in the Imperial Study, also sensed a subtle change.
He did feel a moment of relief from Qin Ru's Jiangnan accent and the occasional lively and interesting anecdotes she revealed, and rewarded her with some things as a token of appreciation.
But he was clear-headed and never overstepped his bounds.
He noticed that Ling Zhan seemed even busier.
The submitted memorials and regulations were still flawless, but the occasional brief notes—unrelated to official business and reserved for intimate conversations between husband and wife—that used to be included were nowhere to be found. The ink sent was of the finest quality, yet it felt cold and unwelcome, as if it had been merely a formality.
He wanted to go to Fengyi Palace several times, but he didn't know how to bring it up.
Should I ask, "Why are you ignoring me?" or question, "Are you aware of the rumors going around?"
Either way, it makes him seem suspicious and ridiculous.
During a break in political discussions, he casually remarked to his trusted chief eunuch, "The Empress seems to have lost some weight recently. While she is certainly busy with state affairs, we must also remind her to take care of her health."
The head eunuch bowed and replied, "Your Majesty's concern is surely appreciated by Her Majesty. However... this old servant has heard that Her Majesty seems to be in a bad mood lately, and everyone in Fengyi Palace is being extra careful."
"Oh? What is it about?" Wei Jin raised an eyebrow.
"This... this old servant dares not presume to speculate."
The head eunuch hesitated, then said, "There are rumors circulating among the servants that Her Majesty seems...displeased with His Majesty's generous reward to that Miss Qin? She feels...does His Majesty think she's not understanding enough?"
Wei Jin was taken aback, and then a wave of irritation washed over him.
He rewarded a palace maid, and it was interpreted like this? It even reached her ears, making her unhappy? When did she become so... petty about such trivial matters?
Or is it that she really cares? Cares about something so trivial?
He couldn't help but recall the words of Imperial Censor Wang: "When the Empress bestows gifts upon the servants, His Majesty immediately gives them generous rewards, as if he is trying to outdo her."
Absurd! He only thought it was absurd at the time.
But now... does he really appear this way to outsiders? Even she... thinks so?
A sense of frustration at being misunderstood, along with a slight resentment at the invisible challenge to his imperial dignity, intertwined in his heart.
He dismissed the eunuchs and sat alone on the dragon throne, his face somber.
The following day, Ling Zhan went to the Empress Dowager's palace to pay his respects, as was customary.
On the way back to the palace, they chose a shortcut that they did not usually take, which required passing through a bamboo forest.
The bamboo shadows sway gently, and the autumn wind rustles.
Deep within the bamboo forest, she spotted Wei Jin. He stood with his hands behind his back, seemingly deep in thought. Not far from him, Qin Ru was crouching on the ground, carefully picking up the pages of a memorial that had been blown away by the wind—probably scattered by the gust of wind earlier.
The image itself did not exceed the bounds.
The emperor stood on his, while the palace maids picked up hers.
But from Ling Zhan's angle, the sunlight filtered through the bamboo leaves, dappling the two of them, creating an eerie "harmony." Qin Ru looked up and said something to Wei Jin, seemingly asking for permission, her face showing a respectful yet timid expression.
Wei Jin nodded casually.
At that moment, Wei Jin seemed to sense something and turned his gaze to the direction from which Ling Zhan had come.
Ling Zhan, however, had already looked away.
She didn't step forward, didn't utter a sound, but quietly and without hesitation turned around and left along the way she came, her skirt brushing against the fallen leaves on the ground without making a sound.
It was as if it had never existed.
Wei Jin only saw that there was no one at the end of the bamboo forest. The feeling of being watched just now seemed like an illusion.
He frowned slightly, a sense of indescribable disappointment and doubt passing through his heart.
Ling Zhan closed his eyes briefly as he turned around.
When he opened his eyes again, the last faint ripple in his eyes had completely subsided, leaving only a cold, almost indifferent calm.
Ling Zhan returned to Fengyi Palace and dismissed his attendants.
She stood alone by the window, gazing at the chrysanthemum she had personally tended in the courtyard, now swaying gently in the autumn breeze.
After a long silence, she murmured very softly, almost self-deprecatingly, the sound fading into the wind:
"So this is what 'seeing is believing' feels like."
She doesn't need to verify anything.
All the "coincidences" and "evidence" were like silent venom, seeping precisely into the softest and most inviolable part of her heart, drop by drop.
It wasn't about power or authority, but rather a trust and tacit understanding that they once thought was unbreakable—a bond that only the two of them understood and that existed even in their humble beginnings.
Now, this connection is being slowly eroded by a silent, chilling force.
She chose to remain calm and observe the situation.
Because she knew better than anyone that the real storm often begins with the calmest illusion.
However, the shadow of that autumn chrysanthemum, reflected in her unfathomable eyes, seemed to carry a hint of loneliness and desolation.
As autumn deepened and the dew became heavy, Wei Jin caught a cold again.
His head was throbbing, and his cough was tearing at his chest, but he still forced himself to sit behind his desk. In between writing his imperial comments, he would occasionally look up, his gaze seemingly unintentionally sweeping across the outside of the hall before quickly looking away, his eyes filled with a melancholy deeper than his illness.
When the head of the Imperial Medical Academy was taking the pulse, his brows furrowed more and more tightly.
"Your Majesty's pulse is floating and tight, indeed a sign of wind-cold invasion. However..." The old court physician's forehead was beaded with sweat, his fingertips trembling slightly, "...there seems to be a subtle, almost imperceptible stagnation deep within the pulse, like a light cloud obscuring the moon, which cannot be quickly relieved by medicine. I am foolish to say, perhaps Your Majesty has been overly worried and stressed, damaging your heart meridian..."
"Worried and stressed?"
Wei Jin repeated those four words, his voice hoarse and tinged with mockery. He waved away the court judge, "I understand, you may leave."
Silence returned to the hall. He had noticed that feeling of "stagnation" even earlier than the imperial physician.
It has nothing to do with physical illness, but rather something intangible that has been quietly entangled in my heart since the day the rumors started, gradually tightening around me.
He didn't believe in those cunning tricks, but he believed in the poison in people's hearts.
Just then, a sudden commotion arose outside the hall. A young palace maid from the laundry department, as if chased by a ghost, disheveled and stumbling, broke through the eunuchs' attempts to stop her, collapsing onto the cold, gold-brick floor. She held something aloft, her voice shrill and distorted with extreme fear:
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, spare me! This servant found this in the abandoned warm pavilion! This servant knows nothing about it!"
It was a crudely made rag doll, wrapped in tattered bright yellow cloth, with silver needles stuck all over its chest and abdomen, and a line of eight characters in cinnabar on its back—its birth date.
The air froze instantly.
All the palace servants and eunuchs who were standing there instantly turned pale, knelt down with a thud, buried their heads deeply, and wished they could disappear into the ground.
Wei Jin's gaze fell on the puppet.
There was no expected rage, no fear. His face, pale with illness, instead exuded an extreme, icy calm. Only his hands, gripping the armrests of the dragon throne tightly until his knuckles turned white, betrayed the turbulent emotions churning within him.
witchcraft.
It's witchcraft again.
Memories surged forth like a tide soaked in blood. My mother's final, desperate tears during our childhood escape, the head of my loyal servant rolling away, the stench of blood that even the heavy snow couldn't conceal… the root of all this suffering began with a meticulously planned witchcraft plot!
What he hates and despises most is this kind of underhanded and shady tactic of framing and framing others!
This thing is ridiculously clumsy! It's pathetically stupid!
His gaze slowly moved away from the terrified and distorted face of the young palace maid, and finally landed in the direction of the Phoenix Palace outside the palace.
And her?
She controlled the "Mountain and Sea Millet," monitored all officials, and had a keen eye on the capital region. How could she not know about such a crude trick, such rumors that had already reached his ears? How could she be completely oblivious?
But what did she do?
There was no warning, no investigation, and not even the slightest attempt to eradicate this source of filth!
She remained silent, observing coldly.
He let the venom spread, and let the clumsy puppet appear before him!
Was she testing him? Was she testing whether he would be easily swayed by such things, like those foolish emperors throughout history? Or was she truly, as the rumors suggested, indifferent, even... happy to see it happen?
An emotion sharper and colder than anger suddenly seized Wei Jin's heart.
That is the stinging pain of being betrayed and ignored by the person you trust most.
He could face open and covert attacks, and endure being plagued by illness, but he could not tolerate her inaction in this matter!
In the deadly, suffocating silence, Huo Ying rushed over, his face a mixture of shock, anger, and patriotism. He knelt down with a thud, his voice heavy with grief: "Your Majesty! Such a treasonous act has occurred in the palace! I beg Your Majesty to investigate immediately, find the mastermind behind it, and execute him by a thousand cuts!"
He glanced at the puppet, feigning surprise: "Huh? This needlework and knotting... seems... somewhat familiar?"
"It seems that I am..." He paused at just the right moment, leaving room for endless imagination.
"Huo Qing." Wei Jin's voice rang out, cold as ice, interrupting his performance.
Huo Ying was taken aback and looked up to meet the emperor's eyes. There was no fury or suspicion in those eyes as he had expected, only a bottomless chill that could almost freeze a person.
Wei Jin didn't even glance at the puppet again, as if it were some filthy dreg, disgusting him to look at it even once more. He slowly stood up, his ailing body causing him to sway slightly, but his aura was as imposing as a mountain, making it hard to breathe.
"Investigate?" His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a knife, striking everyone's heart. "It should be investigated."
His gaze turned to the outside of the hall again, this time with undisguised disappointment and an almost cruel calmness.
"Issue my decree." He spoke, each word crystal clear, devoid of any rage, yet more chilling than a roar, "Rumors and slander within the palace, framing the Empress, and accusations of witchcraft against the Emperor—this practice must not be allowed to continue! Order—"
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Huo Ying, who was trembling on the ground, and the little palace maid.
"—Order the Inner Court Bureau and the Palace Guard Bureau to conduct a joint investigation! Thoroughly investigate the origin of this rumor and track down the person who created this vile material. Anyone involved, no matter who they are, shall be severely punished without exception!"
This order took everyone by surprise. Instead of directly targeting Fengyi Palace, it was a high-profile campaign to "investigate rumors" and "find the producer"?
A hint of surprise and panic flashed in Huo Ying's eyes. This was not the script he had expected!
But then, Wei Jin's next words were like an even colder knife, precisely thrown at Fengyi Palace.
"As for the Empress..."
His voice was devoid of emotion, only filled with endless weariness and coldness. "You have neglected your duties in managing the palace, allowing evil to flourish and disturbing Your Majesty. From this day forward, you shall reflect on your mistakes in the Phoenix Palace. Without my decree, you need not leave the palace."
It's not about blocking or accusing; it's about "reflecting on one's own faults."
It was the emperor's punishment for the empress's dereliction of duty.
It's because of her "inaction".
This was the real knife aimed at Ling Zhan—he denied all her abilities and responsibilities, telling her in an almost indifferent manner: "The things I hate most happened within your jurisdiction, and you did nothing."
After Wei Jin finished speaking, he stopped looking at anyone, as if he had used up all his strength.
He waved his hand, signaling everyone to step back.
The eunuch tried to help him up, but he gently pushed him away.
He stood alone in the empty bedchamber, looking at the lonely, ridiculous rag doll on the ground.
He didn't believe that this thing could hurt him in the slightest.
But the chill in his heart was even greater than the sensation of being pierced by thousands of silver needles.
She could have easily crushed this conspiracy, but she chose to remain silent.
This silence stung him more deeply than any witchcraft.
The decree to "reflect on one's faults" closed slowly between him and her, like a heavy palace gate.
What he perceived as camaraderie and tacit understanding might just be wishful thinking on his part.
The autumn wind howled outside the window, causing the candlelight inside the hall to flicker.
His shadow stretched long, cast on the cold wall, lonely and desolate.
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