News traveled fast in the palace. Faster than footsteps. Faster than the wind.
Chun'er whispered the latest while washing my sleeves.
"Lady Qiao's planning to promote that girl—Xiaoyu. The one who fainted."
"Why?" I asked softly.
"She wants someone to replace Min Yao. Someone young. Easy to control."
I nodded.
Then said nothing.
That night, I opened a small wooden box hidden beneath my bed.
Inside were four things:
A servant's crumpled note with Lady Qiao's seal
A list of her household purchases, including rare incense
A broken silver clasp from her personal maid's sash
And the white poisoned flower I had saved weeks ago
I sealed them in an envelope.
No name. No signature.
Just evidence.
Enough to ruin someone.
Two mornings later, a storm gathered at court.
The emperor sat on the dais. His voice was calm—but cold.
"There are reports of contraband," he said. "Forbidden incense. Poisoned flora. Smuggling within the inner court."
Everyone fell silent.
He turned to his minister.
"Search the storehouses. Begin with the Lady Qiao's."
Gasps followed.
Lady Qiao stepped forward, face pale but proud.
"This is slander, Your Majesty. My staff would never—"
She stopped.
Because the guards had just returned.
One held a bundle of dried white petals, wrapped in silk.
The same kind I had been given. The same kind that had nearly killed Xiaoyu.
The emperor stared at it.
"Explain this," he said.
Lady Qiao opened her mouth. But nothing came out.
By dusk, the order was signed.
"Lady Qiao is stripped of all titles and locked in the Cold Palace. No visitors. No letters. No appeal."
The palace bowed low as she was escorted through the gates, past the crumbling walls of her future.
She didn't cry.
But her silence was louder than screams.
That night, I lit a candle and placed a single piece of paper into the flame.
It was her name. It curled, blackened, and turned to ash.
I watched it fall into the dish that held the candle.
And I whispered: "One down."