(Continued) The Art of Silent Death

Shen Rui left her chambers before the palace bells could strike again, his mind undoubtedly drowning in the weight of his choices. Xuefeng remained still, listening to his retreating footsteps fade into the night.

Then, she turned her attention back to the scroll in her hands. Not yet. There was another matter that required her focus first.

From a hidden compartment within her desk, she retrieved a small lacquered box. The wood was dark, polished to perfection, the edges inlaid with silver filigree in the shape of blooming nightshade. She ran her fingers over the pattern absentmindedly before unlatching the lid.

Inside lay the tools of her true trade.

Tiny glass vials filled with liquids of varying viscosity. Dried herbs crushed into fine powder. Delicate needles, no wider than a hair. Wax-sealed packets of tea leaves infused with death. The scent of bitter almonds, of crushed belladonna, of lingering lotus, mingled together in an intoxicating blend.

Poison was an art form. A language spoken in the quiet spaces between life and death.

And she had been fluent for years.

The First Kill: The Whispering Lotus

Her first victim had been Lord An Qilin, an old and influential minister whose loyalty wavered too close to the Emperor's enemies. He was arrogant, dismissive of women, and particularly cruel in his dealings with those beneath him. A man like that never suspected the softness of a woman's hand could hold his doom.

For him, she had used Red Lotus Powder—a slow, creeping poison derived from the petals of the Crimson Lotus, a flower that bloomed only once every twelve years in the marshlands beyond the empire's borders.

The powder had no taste, no smell. It dissolved easily into wine, tea, or even the ink used to sign official documents. But its effects were undeniable.

Lord An Qilin had sipped his evening tea, as he always did, the night before the Emperor's next council meeting. By dawn, his skin was cold to the touch, his veins darkened as though he had been strangled from within. The official cause of death? An unforeseen heart attack due to his advanced age.

No one questioned it. No one looked for a culprit.

She had been sixteen.

The Merchant's Death: Spider's Kiss

The second had been a wealthy merchant—Han Liu, a man who made his fortune by supplying the imperial kitchens. He had been corrupt, greedy, and more dangerous than he appeared. He had bribed officials, poisoned rivals, and even sold information to foreign spies. His hands were unclean, but his death had to be discreet.

For him, she had chosen Spider's Kiss, an oil-based toxin extracted from the venom of the White Widow Spider, a creature found only in the northern cliffs. When applied to the skin, the poison was harmless. But the moment it entered the bloodstream through a wound—no matter how small—it became lethal.

Xuefeng had simply laced the edge of a letter opener with the toxin. A minor paper cut had been all it took.

Han Liu had been dead within the hour, his limbs locking up as though seized by unseen paralysis. The physician had blamed it on an apoplexy—a sudden stroke. Another unfortunate accident.

The Rival Concubine: Moonlit Sorrow

The third had been more personal.

Lady Chen Yueran had been a favored concubine of the Emperor, known for her beauty and charm. But she had also been ruthless, ambitious, and perceptive—a dangerous combination. She had begun to suspect Xuefeng's movements within the court, had even hinted at knowing things she shouldn't.

Xuefeng had given her Moonlit Sorrow, a rare toxin derived from the petals of the Midnight Camellia, a flower that only bloomed under the full moon. The poison had an unusual quality—it induced a slow, dreamlike death over the course of several weeks, mimicking a wasting illness.

At first, Lady Chen had merely felt fatigued, her once-radiant complexion paling by the day. Then came the fevers, the fits of coughing, the sharp pain beneath her ribs. The Imperial physicians tried everything—tonics, herbal treatments, acupuncture—but nothing could stop the gradual decay.

By the time she took her last breath, her body frail and her mind delirious, she had already been forgotten by the Emperor.

A death without suspicion. A life erased without a single drop of blood spilled.

The Future Kill: A Choice Yet to Be Made

Xuefeng turned her gaze back to the vials before her.

She had yet to decide which poison would be best for her next move. The Chancellor was a cautious man, but caution was no shield against death. Would she make it look natural? Sudden? Or would she let him suffer, sending a message without leaving a trace of evidence?

She picked up a vial of Emperor's Mercy—a poison so deadly it only needed to be inhaled in small doses. It was distilled from the venom of the Golden Serpent, a snake found deep in the jungles of the southern provinces. It caused a swift but painless death, mimicking the symptoms of a fever that burned too fast for any healer to stop.

Clean. Efficient. And untraceable.

Or perhaps… something slower.

Her fingers hovered over Silent Weeping, an infusion of oleander and nightshade that caused progressive memory loss, confusion, and eventually, madness. A mind unraveling before death took hold.

A crueler fate. But sometimes, cruelty was necessary.

Xuefeng closed the box with a soft click.

The game was not yet over. And if she played her pieces well, the empire would soon bow—not to the Emperor, nor to the Crown Prince, but to the one who knew how to wield the most silent of weapons.

The kind that left no bloodstains, only ghosts.