The Poisoned Path

Her education in poison had not come from formal teachings but through observation and experimentation. The Ling family's apothecary, Master Bo, had been a trusted servant for decades, tending to ailments with his array of herbal remedies. Xuefeng would linger by his side, asking innocent questions, watching as he prepared tonics and antidotes. Over time, she learned the delicate balance between healing and harm.

She tested her knowledge in small ways at first—a few grains of powdered lotus seed to dull a guard's senses, a drop of nightshade extract to induce fever in a rival's horse before a race. No one suspected the quiet girl who spent her evenings reading poetry and embroidery. But she was patient, and patience bore results.

Her first significant act came when she was fifteen. Her father had gathered his council for a strategy meeting regarding a border dispute. Among them was Minister Han, a man known for his rigid adherence to tradition, a man who had repeatedly dismissed Xuefeng's presence in political discussions as 'irrelevant.'

A single sip of wine laced with a carefully measured dose of white aconite left him weak and confused, his speech slurred as he tried to convey his thoughts. The others chalked it up to age, to exhaustion, and he was quietly removed from his position months later.

No one suspected a thing.

From then on, she refined her art. She studied the effects of various poisons, how they could be masked, how symptoms could be attributed to natural illness. She learned which herbs could counteract them, allowing her to weave deception into every layer of her plans. Soon, it was not just poisons she used—it was words, actions, whispers in the dark.

She did not simply wish for power. She was sculpting it, carving her own throne from the bones of those who stood in her way.

And one by one, the pieces fell into place.