Chapter Seven: The Lotus Conspiracy
Chapter Seven: The Lotus Conspiracy
The figure who stepped from the shadows wore plain robes, a healer's satchel slung across his back—but the unmistakable White Lotus sigil shimmered faintly on his wrist.
"I am Doctor Han Zemin," he said, voice calm but edged. "The scroll you saw tonight was not meant for the court. It was meant for you."
Li Meiyun folded her arms. "You came to deliver it in person?"
Zemin's eyes flicked to Prince Wei Lian. "No. I came to offer you a choice."
The tension coiled fast. Wei Lian, sharp as a blade, stepped forward. "If you think to recruit her into a secret order behind my father's back—"
Zemin held up a hand. "I think only to survive. And to offer you both the same chance."
Meiyun frowned. "Survive what?"
Zemin glanced around the garden. "The plague spreading inside the walls of the palace. The kind you haven't seen yet. Because it's been kept from you."
Meiyun's chest tightened. "You're lying."
"No," he said, and handed her a vial. Inside was a strand of cloth soaked in something dark and slick.
She sniffed it. Her eyes widened. "Boiled serpent root... jiu-ren fungus... and powdered nightshade? This isn't medicine. It's a bloodbinder poison."
Zemin nodded. "And it was found on the uniform of a junior eunuch last week. One who served Consort Ru."
---
The next morning, Meiyun paced her chamber like a caged hawk. Lady Yuwen watched her from the table, sipping green tea with that smug twist of the mouth that meant she already knew something.
"You've been busy," Yuwen said.
"I've been lied to."
"You're in the palace, child. That's the same thing."
Meiyun stopped. "You knew about the poison."
Yuwen set her teacup down. "Not all of it. Just enough to keep my head attached. Now the question is—what do you plan to do?"
Meiyun didn't hesitate. "Find out who else is dying slowly."
---
She requested access to the infirmary records under the guise of cross-checking herb inventories. What she found instead were inconsistencies—multiple patients marked as 'cured' yet later reassigned to the mortuary list. And some names erased completely.
At night, she returned to the hidden terrace where Han Zemin waited. This time, he brought papers. Sealed letters. Illicit records smuggled from the Imperial Alchemists' Hall.
"You're telling me," Meiyun said slowly, "that this... plague... is manmade?"
Zemin's mouth twisted. "It's a weapon. One that mimics illness but is tuned to royal blood. A long-forgotten method of slow assassination."
Wei Lian leaned against the wall. He'd followed her again. Of course he had.
"My mother died with symptoms like this," he said. "And now Ru?"
Meiyun turned toward him. "If this is true, then the palace is a breeding ground."
"And I'm next," he said softly.
Silence hung heavy.
Zemin nodded. "You need to dig deeper into the Lotus records. But not here. Go to the ruins of Qingyin Temple. My mentor left scrolls in the catacombs there."
"That temple's been closed since the Great Fire," Meiyun whispered.
"Exactly. Which means no one watches it."
---
The next day, Meiyun was summoned to the Consort's chamber. Consort Ru sat up for the first time in weeks—barely—but her eyes were sharp.
"You've been busy, little physician," she rasped.
Meiyun bowed. "All in service of Your Grace."
Ru smiled faintly. "And yet... you dig into shadows. As if you were born to be more than a servant."
"I was born in dust," Meiyun said. "And dust sees everything."
Ru laughed—a raw, hollow sound. "You sound like my son."
Meiyun stiffened.
"I know who you are," the consort said quietly. "And I know what you are. Be careful which dragons you wake, Meiyun. Some don't go back to sleep."
---
That night, under the cover of fog, Meiyun and Wei Lian slipped out of the palace dressed as grain merchants. Zemin had secured their exit through a secret passage once used by the court's assassins.
As they rode into the hills beyond the city, Meiyun's thoughts were no longer of herbs or scrolls. But of war, silence, and secrets buried in ash.
And in her sleeve: the scroll from the banquet. Unsealed. Unread. Waiting.