The Household Department arrived swiftly.
Almost the moment the Empress Dowager uttered, "Summon them," hurried yet restrained footsteps echoed outside the Buddhist hall.Fabric brushed softly. Breaths were suppressed.
They had run.
But no one dared break decorum.
Yet someone came even faster.
As though she had known all alongthat tonight's reckoning would inevitably bear her name.
Consort Shen stepped inside.
Crimson robes flowed like banked fire—brilliant, but never gaudy.Gold-thread patterns hid within layered folds, glinting only when she moved.
Each step carried authority.Each breath carried composure.
And as she crossed the threshold—
The bitter clarity of sandalwood incense was overtaken by the chill fragrance that clung to her skin.
Not sweetness.
But coldness.
Sharp.Piercing.The kind of scent that made people instinctively retreat half a step.
"Your servant Shen Zhao greets the Empress Dowager."
She curtsied flawlessly, voice gentle—almost affectionate—as if she had come not to answer charges, but to pay respects to an elder.
The Empress Dowager did not tell her to rise.
Silence descended.
The Grand Steward of the Household Department stood rigid to the side, a sheen of sweat forming at his temples.He did not dare lift a hand to wipe it.
"Do you know why you were summoned?"
The Empress Dowager's voice was steady.
Neither anger nor warmth.
Yet it tightened around the chest like invisible silk cords.
Consort Shen lowered her gaze.Her lashes trembled once—barely.
Then stilled.
"I am ignorant, Your Majesty."
The Empress Dowager did not respond.
Instead—
She lifted her hand and slowly pushed forward the porcelain bowl of Plain Offering Rice.
The bowl touched the table with a faint, crystalline sound.
Soft.
But unmistakable.
"Eat."
The air shifted instantly.
Consort Shen's eyes paused.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then—
She reached out gracefully, lifting a bite of rice as calmly as one accepting a toast at a banquet she had long anticipated.
The rice entered her mouth.
She chewed.
Slowly.
Then smiled.
"Food of the Buddhist hall is meant for purity. Naturally, it is light."
Perfectly phrased.
Perfectly controlled.
Perfectly false.
"Light?"
At last, the Empress Dowager raised her eyes.
They were cold as ancient snow.
"This rice contains thirty percent stale grain,twenty percent husk."
Her voice fell, each word like a hammer against bone.
"Tell me, Consort Shen—"
"Does your Shen family offer thisto its ancestors?"
The Buddhist hall froze.
The Grand Steward's head snapped downward, his back drenched in cold sweat.
For the first time—
Consort Shen's expression changed.
Not panic.
Never panic.
But something far more dangerous:
Instinctive alertnesswhen a predator realizes the trap has sprung.
"Your Majesty—"
"Director Qing is here."
The Empress Dowager lifted a hand.
Qing Tian stepped forward.
She stood straight, robes pale and unadorned—yet in that instant she resembled a blade drawn cleanly from its sheath.
"Reporting to Consort Shen," Qing Tian said calmly,
"This is what remainedafter your people transferred the fresh grainfrom the western granary."
Few words.
Precise.
Lethal.
Consort Shen turned her head slowly.
Her gaze landed on Qing Tian.
No fury.No shock.
Only an abyssal, glacial scrutiny.
The look of someone reassessingwhether a piece on the board must now be destroyed.
"Director Qing," she said softly,
"Do you understandthat every word you speak tonightcould cost me my life?"
The hall fell into suffocating stillness.
No one breathed.
Qing Tian did not lower her eyes.
Her voice was terrifyingly steady.
"I am merely counting grain."
A pause.
"When grain is wrong—lives become wrong."
The sentence drifted lightly.
But it struck like thunder.
Consort Shen stared at her.
Then—
Laughed.
The sound was crisp. Beautiful.
And utterly devoid of warmth.
"Very well."
"Then let us investigate."
She turned sharply, gaze slicing toward the Grand Steward.
"Who oversees the Buddhist hall's grain?"
The man nearly collapsed where he stood.
"Re–Reporting to Your Highness… it is… it is handled by… the Shen estate's external accountants…"
"Seize him."
The Empress Dowager's voice cut through the air.
Cold.
Final.
Two guards stepped forward instantly, dragging the trembling accountant away.
His cry of terror was brief—
Quickly smothered by distance and discipline.
Silence reclaimed the hall.
Consort Shen's nails bit into her palm.
At last—
She understood.
Qing Tian had never come to compete for favor.
Never come to win reputation.
She had cometo flip the board.
And the Empress Dowager—
Had personally placed that boardinto her hands.
When Consort Shen looked up again,
Her smile had returned.
Elegant. Gentle.
Impeccable.
And colder than before.
"Director Qing."
"You are indeed clever."
Her tone was soft, almost admiring.
"But remember this—"
"In the palace…"
"…the clever die first."
Qing Tian met her gaze without flinching.
Then answered quietly,
"No."
"It is the starvingwho die first."
Their eyes clashed.
No blades drawn.
Yet the killing intent in the air was unmistakable.
And this battle—
Had only just begun.