4.Poison In The Tea

Before the sun could rise over Tianxu Palace, the scent of jasmine tea slipped through the fog like a secret.

But in Lianyu Pavilion, not all secrets were meant to be sipped.

_____

The skies over Tianxu Palace had yet to brighten, but already the scent of jasmine tea crept softly into the inner courtyard of Lianyu Pavilion, carried on the mist like a whisper.

The morning fog lingered, veiling the pavilion in silver-grey layers—as if mourning something long gone. It clung to the eaves, pooled near the base of every pillar, and refused to lift entirely.

Those who knew this place understood one thing well: the fog around Lianyu Pavilion never truly disappeared.

Zhenyu sat silently on a bamboo couch, cloaked in a plain white robe—worn and faded, its imperial dignity now washed thin. Her gaze, however, remained steady. Sharp. Like the stillness of a lake that had recently endured a storm.

Footsteps approached softly.

Meilan entered, carrying a wooden tray. Atop it rested a blue porcelain cup, tightly lidded, steam rising in a thin, curling ribbon.

"Consort Qingyin," she said gently, "your afternoon tea from the inner kitchens… But this time, it came from a different place."

Zhenyu tilted her head slightly. "Different?"

Meilan nodded. "It usually arrives from Jinghe Pavilion's kitchen. But today… it was prepared in the southern kitchen. A maid from Ji Pavilion brought it straight to the gate."

Zhenyu said nothing.

Her gaze fell to the teacup, to the elegant curl of steam rising from beneath the lid. It reminded her too much of the mist that hung around the pavilion—always present, always hiding something.

Something stirred inside her.

Not fear. But instinct.

A whisper inside her bones. A voice without sound:

Do not drink.

Her fingers reached for the cup. Slowly. She held it gently in both hands. It was warm. Familiar.

But the scent… something felt wrong. The floral note was almost too perfect—like it was hiding something. Like perfume meant to cover the rot beneath.

Zhenyu smiled, faintly. But it never reached her eyes.

"Meilan," she said softly, "you drink it first."

The girl froze. "W-what? Me? But… My Lady, it's for you."

Zhenyu's eyes stayed on her—calm, but piercing.

"Do you think I don't know who would die first if this tea were poisoned?"

Meilan's face paled. "I… I don't know anything…"

Zhenyu sighed. She didn't suspect Meilan. The girl was too honest. Too easily frightened. Not the kind Ji Suling would use for real betrayal.

But still—trust had its limits. Especially here.

"Leave it," she said, motioning to the side table. "Then go."

With trembling hands, Meilan set the cup down and retreated, closing the door behind her with barely a sound.

Zhenyu remained alone.

Her eyes lingered on the cup before slowly drifting to the bronze mirror across the room.

Rongxu Jing.

The surface appeared unchanged, but a soft shimmer ran across it—like a breath fogging glass on a winter's morning.

Zhenyu rose, crossed the room, and sat before the mirror.

Cross-legged. Still.

"Qingyin," she whispered. "Can you feel it too?"

No voice answered.

But within the mirror's depth, a woman stood—draped in white, her back to the world, hair unbound and flowing like a shadow. Her presence flickered like candlelight caught in wind.

Zhenyu watched her.

"This tea…" she whispered. "Is it the same one… that took your child away?"

The woman did not turn. She did not move.

But the mirror shimmered. Swirled.

And then, it showed her a memory: a young woman in white, sitting in this very room. Her hands trembled as she lifted a cup of tea. Her lips pale. Her eyes dull.

And then blood.

Blood spilled between her thighs—dark and sudden—pooling on the cold stone floor, mingling with ashes and dried altar flowers.

Zhenyu drew in a sharp breath.

Her gaze snapped back to the real teacup.

The same fragrance.

The same cup.

The same fate.

The same poison.

The same murderer.

---

Evening approached.

Sunlight never reached the inner corners of Lianyu Pavilion. Not truly.

But other things arrived in its place.

Footsteps too soft for ordinary maids. Whispers behind bamboo screens. The quiet sound of doors shifting, even when no one entered.

Zhenyu scribbled something inside her robe's lining:

> Tea from southern kitchen.

Sent by Princess Ji.

Fifth sign.

She did not drink the tea.

But neither did she throw it away.

She left it untouched—for the eyes that were always watching.

A message sent, without a word:

She would not die so easily.

The sound of footsteps returned.

"Consort Qingyin," Meilan called softly from outside. "Physician Xun is here."

Zhenyu nodded. "Let him in."

Xun Chengyan entered without greeting. His eyes went first to the cup. Still steaming faintly.

"You didn't drink it," he said.

"If I had," she murmured, "you'd be speaking to a corpse."

The physician sat beside her and produced a small wooden box from his sleeve. He opened it carefully, revealing a brittle, dried leaf.

"There are poisons that kill swiftly. Others that rot you slowly from within. But this…" He lifted the leaf. "This is crafted to torment. A wound that festers, but never heals."

"They still think I'm mute," Zhenyu said, voice low.

"They think I'm helpless."

She turned her head toward Rongxu Jing.

"And that will be their first mistake."

Xun watched her in silence.

"You're merging with this body," he said at last.

"Not just the body," Zhenyu whispered.

"But the pain it carries, too."

---

Far across the palace, within Ji Pavilion, Princess Ji Suling sat before a towering golden mirror. Her hair was styled into an elaborate crown, jade blossoms woven into every twist. Her deep purple robe shimmered with embroidered dragons, winding along her sleeves.

A maid knelt before her.

"The tea has been delivered."

"And?"

"Untouched."

Ji Suling smile.

"She's learning."

The maid bowed lower.

"Then," Suling said smoothly, "prepare the next offering."

She tapped one painted nail against the gilded mirror.

"Let's see how long Helian Qingyin can stand… before she falls again."

The mirror reflected her beauty flawlessly.

But the shadow behind her...

was not hers.

---

Back in Lianyu Pavilion, the air had grown cold.

Zhenyu opened her eyes slowly.

The bronze mirror shimmered once more.

And this time, the woman inside it—Qingyin—no longer stood apart.

She sat beside her.

As if she had always been there.

________

The tea remained untouched.

But the ghosts within the mirror were waking.

And Helian Qingyin's sorrow... was no longer hers alone.*