Chapter 7: The Hidden Blade of Nine Palaces

Morning mist swirled through the Daming Palace corridors, heavy with sandalwood incense. Shen Qinghuan knelt before a low table in the southeastern corner of the Palace Administration Bureau, a copper coin spinning across bluestone tiles as she charted the Nine Palaces Flying Star formation. The shadow of a crabapple tree outside sliced through the divination symbols, casting a fissure across the "Celestial Physician" position—the day's first ill omen.

"Lady Pei! Consort Zhao's ceremonial robes are moth-eaten again!" The newly assigned maid Bao'er rushed in clutching a gold-threaded gown, its collar riddled with seven star-shaped holes. Qinghuan glanced at the coral hairpin in the girl's bun—Zheng Miaorong's signature adornment.

"Fetch three qian of realgar and seven peppercorns. Boil them in water drawn from the southeast well at dawn." She flicked the coin toward the Xun (Wind) position, the metallic clang startling sparrows from the eaves. "Recite the third chapter of The Azure Bag Scripture while washing. The pests will retreat."

As Bao'er departed, Qinghuan noted cinnabar dust on her hem—the Celestial Phenomenology Bureau's agents had been frequenting the Bedchamber Office. Rising to adjust her jade-green official robes, she palmed a tortoiseshell fragment. Last night's lightning-scorched cracks had foretold: Trouble at Vermilion Bird Gate, Third Hour of the Afternoon.

In the pear orchard north of Taiye Pool, Qinghuan directed maids transplanting peonies. She arranged the flowers in a nine-square grid, leaving a three-foot gap at the Kan (Water) position. "Bury seven Wu Zhu coins here, their holes aligned with the Purple Forbidden Enclosure." As she bent down, her serpent sigil emerged, coiling into a luopan shape at her collarbone.

"Charlatan." Zheng Miaorong's sneer echoed from behind rockeries. The Celestial Bureau Director's niece glittered ominously, her pomegranate-red skirt embroidered with the Twenty-Eight Mansions—several constellations deliberately inverted. Qinghuan detected excessive borneol camphor in her sachet—a mask for something fouler.

"Perfect timing, Lady Zheng." Qinghuan offered a peony seedling. "Rumor says the Bedchamber Office suffers rat infestations. Perhaps bury mugwort at the Kun (Earth) position?" Her fingers brushed the woman's misplaced belt jades—the seventh piece hung at the "Scholar Star" instead of "Ruinous Army." Disordered stars meant hidden malice.

By afternoon storm, screams erupted from the Bedchamber Office. Qinghuan arrived to find Zheng trembling before seven giant rats arranged in a Big Dipper around Empress Wu's bedding.

"Third Hour of the Afternoon—Vermilion Gate guard rotation." Qinghuan lifted a rodent, cinnabar pills spilling from its gut. "Lady Zheng's belt jade matches the Celestial Bureau's astral keys remarkably."

Midnight drums reverberated as Qinghuan slipped into the Archives. Lamplight fell on dusty ledgers. Tracing the River Chart and Luo Writings in water, she rearranged numbers into the Nine Palaces formation. An entry from three winters prior glared—ice consumption exceeding midsummer's, linked to the now rat-plagued Storage Room B.

"Lady Pei has peculiar hobbies." Lady Cui materialized in the doorway, her palace lantern illuminating the北斗七星 tattoo beneath robes. "Archives are beyond the Wardrobe Bureau's purview."

Qinghuan slid an abacus bead to the "Death Gate" position. "Seven camphor chests stored by the Celestial Mechanism Pavilion last year now stand empty. Yet iron filings coat the beams." She produced the cinnabar pills. "Altering the Purple Forbidden Enclosure with lodestones to draw earthly plagues—a tactic worthy of Shenlong's First Year..."

Lady Cui's gold-tipped nail pressed against her throat. The tortoiseshell fragment exploded, shards forming an anti-bowstring formation. Tiles shattered in the distance—flames erupted from the Celestial Bureau.

"Clever misdirection." Lady Cui withdrew, sneering. "I underestimated this laundress."

"Your praise humbles me." Qinghuan smoothed her robes, revealing the serpent sigil. "For the Cold Food Festival robes, the Celestial Pavilion must allocate ten taels of gold thread."

Dawn mist clung to Empress Wu's chambers as Qinghuan presented the ceremonial gown. Twelve panels of cujin embroidery unfurled, the Big Dipper subtly shifted with Dubhe aligned over the heart.

"Gold thread tempered by lightning-struck wood?" Empress Wu's nail sparked along constellations.

"Lodestone powder, Your Grace." Qinghuan proffered a fish tally engraved with Zheng's stolen astral key. "Shift the Purple Forbidden Enclosure three degrees south at the sacrifice—sun and moon will share the sky."

Commotion erupted outside—the Celestial Bureau burned. Qinghuan hid a smile. The "gold thread" now ignited their storerooms, lodestone powder detonating per Yisi Zhan's "Mars Guarding Heart" omen.

"You harness winds well." Empress Wu gripped her chin, gold tips drawing blood. "Now explain Taiye Pool's pearl..."

Blood dripped onto Dubhe's position. Gold threads writhed like serpents, rearranging into the Primordial Bagua as the mirror reflected self-donned dragon robes.

"This servant merely follows heaven's will." Qinghuan pressed her forehead to the floor, the serpent sigil slithering into the Empress's shadow. The game clarified: Zheng was bait, Cui a blade, but the true adversary lay in those vanished lodestones—now warping Daming Palace's dragon veins.

Spring rain dampened Qinghuan's slate-blue skirts as she buried the final coin in the southeast garden. The Nine Palaces formation activated—stray cats yowled toward the Celestial Bureau. Bao'er arrived panting: "Lady Pei! Consort's iced milk..."

Qinghuan poured the treat beneath a peach tree. Tomorrow, rare twin peonies would bloom here. She knew Bao'er was Cui's spy, just as she recognized the tremors-inducing monkshood in the dessert. But the Nine Palaces cycle had begun—all poisons would reverse through dragon veins.

That night, Qinghuan opened Kun Yu's Subversive Treatise. Vermilion annotations materialized: "Dragons clash in wilderness, their blood darkens heaven and earth." Luoyang's Mingtang blueprints merged with Shanghai's satellite imagery over yellowed pages, seven figures at the celestial nodes—one distinctly modern, AirPods gleaming.

Red silk fluttered past her window. Qinghuan extinguished the lamp. The serpent sigil now coiled toward her heart—a countdown to dual-era reckoning. Deep below, the bronze taotie's lone eye ground ambitions and blood into dragon vein offerings, its gears turning through centuries.