Whispers in the Garden

The moon hung low over the Imperial Gardens, casting elongated shadows across the marble paths and twisted willows. The once-pristine walkways were now veiled in mist, as if the earth itself sought to hide its secrets.

Jian tread lightly, his breath curling in the cold air. Wei followed close behind, the hem of her cloak whispering over the stones. They had slipped away from the aftermath of the masquerade under the pretense of investigating a servant's disappearance but in truth, they sought something deeper, something that gnawed at their souls since the horror unveiled itself during the Queen's celebration.

"This place feels... wrong," Wei murmured, her voice nearly lost in the sighing wind.

Jian nodded grimly. "Something festers here. It's not just the disease. It's something older. Hungrier."

The two rounded a curve in the garden, arriving at a secluded grove where the Empress Dowager once favored her meditation. No one visited it now not since the Dowager's sudden death, whispered in court as a "natural passing," though everyone knew better than to question the Queen's proclamations.

A faint rustle broke the silence.

Jian stiffened, hand reaching for the dagger concealed in his robes. Wei pressed herself against the shadow of an ancient tree, eyes scanning the darkness.

From the mist emerged an old gardener, hunched and trembling. His robes were tattered, his face gaunt as if he hadn't eaten in days. But it was his eyes hollow, frantic that gave Jian pause.

"You shouldn't be here," the gardener rasped. His voice was cracked, like the dry leaves crunching underfoot. "It watches."

"What watches?" Wei asked, stepping forward cautiously.

The man's gaze darted about wildly. He staggered closer, whispering now. "The roots... They drink blood. The blossoms are fed with sorrow."

Wei exchanged a look with Jian. "Madness," she mouthed silently.

Yet something about the gardener's terror felt... true.

"The Queen's roses," the old man wheezed, tears spilling down his cheeks. "They're not grown with mere water. No, no... They've been fed. Fed by the broken and the dead."

Before Jian could question further, the gardener's body seized. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed at their feet, lifeless.

Wei knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse. "Gone," she whispered. "Just like that."

Jian looked around, heart pounding. The mist seemed to grow thicker, the garden darker. Somewhere deep within, he thought he heard a faint, low chanting a dirge carried by the wind.

"We need to leave," he said sharply. "Now."

As they turned to go, Jian's foot brushed something protruding from the soil a pale, skeletal hand half-buried beneath a bed of blooming white roses.

Wei gasped.

They stared in horror at the sight, countless delicate petals thriving atop a graveyard of bones.

Later that night, back in Jian's chambers, Wei paced restlessly while Jian stared at the worn map of the palace grounds, the candlelight flickering against his troubled face.

"There are tunnels beneath the gardens," Jian said finally. "Old escape routes from centuries ago, during the Warring Clans period. Some say they stretch beneath the throne room itself."

Wei paused, her arms crossed tightly. "You think the Queen knows?"

Jian hesitated. "I don't know what to think anymore."

Wei lowered her voice, barely a whisper. "What if... what if this plague isn't a curse from the heavens? What if it's man-made? Controlled?"

The thought hung between them like a blade.

"If that's true," Jian said slowly, "then whoever controls it holds the true power of life and death over the empire."

A heavy silence followed.

Outside, the howling wind battered the palace walls, rattling the latticed windows.

A knock at the door startled them both.

Jian rose, warily opening it a crack.

It was Lady Mei a minor noblewoman known for her sharp wit and sharper ambition. Her face was pale, her eyes darting nervously down the hall.

"Forgive the intrusion," she said quickly, slipping inside without invitation. "I... I overheard something."

Jian frowned. "What?"

Lady Mei wrung her hands, her voice trembling. "At the masquerade. Near the Queen's private antechamber. The ministers they spoke of... an 'unholy contract.' Of sealing loyalty with blood."

Wei stiffened. "Blood?"

Lady Mei nodded. "And they spoke of the roots... roots that hunger."

Jian felt the blood drain from his face. The gardener's dying words echoed in his mind.

"The Queen has summoned another banquet," Lady Mei whispered, voice breaking. "Three days from now. Only select members of court are invited. I wasn't meant to hear if they knew—" She broke off, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Why come to us?" Jian asked.

Lady Mei looked at him, fear naked on her face. "Because you still wear honor like armor, Lord Jian. Because if I die tonight, at least someone will know the truth."

Jian swallowed hard.

Wei touched his arm. "We have to do something."

Jian nodded, though dread coiled in his gut like a serpent.

They were no longer merely witnesses to an unfolding catastrophe.

They had become players in a game whose stakes were far greater and far deadlier than they had ever imagined.

Across the palace, within the Queen's private chambers, Ratu Lian stood before a mirror of polished obsidian.

She watched her own reflection with a small, secretive smile.

Behind her, a court physician knelt, his hands trembling as he presented a vial of viscous black liquid.

"The preparations are complete, Your Majesty," he said.

Queen Lian took the vial delicately, lifting it to the light. Inside, something dark writhed and shifted, like smoke trapped in glass.

She turned her gaze toward the window, where the garden bloomed unnaturally even under the frost of early winter.

"In three days," she murmured, "the roots will feast anew."

Her smile widened, cold and unrelenting.

"And this time," she whispered, "none shall ever uproot me."