The tension in Xiao Lan's shoulders was obvious—even from the corner of Fang Qi's deliberately lowered gaze. The girl was gripping the rim of the wooden bucket too tightly. Veins stood out on the back of her hand, her knuckles pale.
A small, instinctive reaction.
Not the behavior of someone merely carrying out a routine task.
"I-it was… prepared by the family physician, Young Master," Xiao Lan finally answered. Her voice trembled faintly, barely above a whisper. "I only fetched it from the medicine kitchen, as usual."
Each word came with an unnecessary pause, as though she were carefully choosing which ones were safe to speak—and which needed to remain hidden.
Fang Qi did not interrupt her.
He allowed the silence to accumulate, letting the air in the cramped room grow heavier by the second.
Patiently, he observed her—how her eyes kept darting away, how stiff her shoulders were, how shallow her breathing had become. A pattern he had seen far too many times in his previous life.
Not guilt.
Fear—of something far larger than herself.
"I see," Fang Qi said at last, softly.
He leaned his head back against the cold, rough wooden wall. His shoulders slumped, his eyelids lowered slightly, his face carefully arranged into an exhaustion that was almost convincing.
"No wonder the smell was different today. Maybe the dosage was increased…"
He paused briefly.
"…so I could recover faster."
The word recover carried an odd delay—almost like mockery too subtle to be grasped outright.
Xiao Lan swallowed. Her throat looked painfully dry.
"M-maybe so, Young Master. In that case… I'll take my leave."
"Of course," Fang Qi replied curtly.
The moment the door closed, the change in him was immediate.
His back straightened. The vacant gaze vanished, replaced by a cold clarity that had no business existing in such a frail body. He moved soundlessly to the door and pressed his ear against the wood.
Footsteps retreated—fast, uneven.
Not toward the kitchen.
Fang Qi exhaled softly.
The main pavilion.
The conclusion stirred no emotion. No anger. No surprise. Just confirmation.
He returned to the center of the room and looked down at the wooden bowl on the table. The remnants of the black liquid had dried at the bottom, leaving behind a dark stain that appeared harmless at first glance.
His thoughts drifted back to the small insect that had died from merely touching the diluted medicine.
A neat method, he thought.
Slow. Consistent. And easily disguised as a natural weakness.
Fang Qi sat cross-legged on the floor, his back resting against the wall. He closed his eyes and began regulating his breathing—a basic technique he had once learned not for strength, but for stability.
Inhale slowly.
Hold.
Exhale.
But this body refused to cooperate.
His heartbeat felt inefficient, like an old machine that had lost its synchronization.
Each flow of blood carried a cold, heavy sensation, as though thick sludge were clogging his finer vessels.
That was when the world seemed to… shift.
Not dizziness.
Not darkness.
More like a thin layer of reality being pulled slightly aside.
When Fang Qi opened his eyes, something that should not exist appeared in his vision—pale, translucent symbols of light floating in the air, like reflections on glass visible only from a certain angle.
[Status: Awaiting Death]
[Fate Value: 5]
Fang Qi's breath caught.
He shut his eyes tightly and pressed his fingers against his temples. A sharp pulse of pain followed immediately.
Hallucination, he concluded swiftly.
Or the aftereffects of toxins finally attacking his optic nerves.
He counted silently.
Five seconds.
Ten.
When he opened his eyes again, the words were still there—clearer than before.
Then a voice emerged.
Not from outside.
Not something heard with the ears.
Flat. Mechanical. Alien.
Echoing directly within his consciousness.
[System "Fate Eater" Integrated]
[Primary Function: Visualization of Luck Quantities]
Fang Qi rose slowly to his feet, his body swaying slightly.
"Who are you?" he hissed under his breath.
No answer came.
The room remained empty.
To him, this was not revelation.
It was intrusion.
Something had entered his consciousness without permission, and experience had taught him one simple rule:
Anything that arrives without explanation always demands a price.
He walked toward the window.
In the distance, the main courtyard of the Han Residence looked livelier than usual. Groups of well-dressed youths passed by with light, energetic steps. At their center walked a young man with upright posture and unshakable confidence—every movement drawing admiring gazes.
Above his head, a large number glowed brilliantly.
[Han Yue | Fate Value: 1,500]
Fang Qi narrowed his eyes.
The comparison formed instantly, without the need for narration.
1,500.
5.
This was not merely a difference.
It was a hierarchy of existence.
Han Yue came to a stop.
The conversations around him faded without warning. Even passing servants lowered their heads slightly, instinctively giving way.
Fang Qi understood the pattern.
Han Yue was not merely the center of attention—he was a point of correction. The world adjusted itself around him.
Fang Qi looked away from the window.
A servant's shout echoed from afar, breaking the quiet.
"Master! The Qin Family has arrived! Miss Qin Ruo demands an emergency meeting in the Main Hall!"
At the mention of that name, Fang Qi's gaze locked onto a single point.
[Fate Interaction Detected.]
The number 1,500 above Han Yue's head flickered—momentarily turning red before stabilizing once more.
A minor fluctuation.
Enough to indicate friction.
Too brief for anyone else to notice.
Fang Qi observed without expression.
He didn't know what would happen in the Main Hall.
He didn't know who Qin Ruo was, or what was at stake.
But he knew one thing.
In a world that wanted him dead, every instability was an opening.
He picked up his gray robe and smeared a bit of the black medicinal residue at the corner of his lips—just enough to resemble dried blood.
Then he stepped out of the pavilion, his steps deliberately weak.
At the edge of the corridor, he paused.
From within the Main Hall, voices were beginning to rise.
Fang Qi didn't know what awaited him inside.
But now, he understood something important.
Not where he needed to go—
But who he needed to observe.