Chapter Eight: The Temple That Whispers

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The air outside the palace walls was colder, quieter, and far too still. Meiyun gripped the edge of the carriage seat, her fingers digging into the lacquered wood. She hadn't left the Imperial grounds in weeks—maybe longer. Now, under the cover of darkness and a falsified physician's request, she was being smuggled to the long-abandoned Qingyin Temple.

It wasn't an official order. It was Prince Wei Lian's whisper at her door last night:

"You want the truth, don't you?"

The guards at the temple gate barely blinked as she passed. Either the prince had sent word ahead… or this temple wasn't as forgotten as the world believed.

Inside, the halls smelled of rotting scrolls, incense ash, and cold stone. Moss crept along the once-glorious murals of dragons and healers. Meiyun moved through the ruin like a ghost, torchlight casting long shadows on the faded gold leaf of the altar.

"You're late," a voice rasped from the dark.

She turned, heartbeat leaping. An old man stepped forward from behind a crumbling pillar, his robes moth-eaten but his eyes sharp—too sharp. On his sleeve was the embroidered mark of the Crimson Pulse Sect, a forbidden healing faction said to have vanished generations ago.

"Master Shen?" Meiyun asked, throat dry.

"You know me." He eyed her with disdain. "Then you know why you're here."

"I came for answers."

"You came for survival," he snapped. "You're surrounded by liars, child. The plague in the palace isn't an illness. It's design. Bloodline-targeted, slow-acting, and elegant—like all good poisons."

Meiyun's breath caught. "You're saying someone engineered it?"

"Not someone," he said, "but her."

He tossed a scroll at her feet. The seal was marked with the plum blossom of Consort Ru.

---

Back in the palace, Prince Wei Lian paced his study.

The lanterns flickered against the blackened windows, casting twin shadows of himself along the far wall. He hated this feeling—of not knowing. Of Meiyun wandering alone into danger. But he couldn't be seen escorting her. Not yet.

The Empress Dowager had begun asking questions. Consort Ru had tightened her circle, dismissing handmaidens in waves, replacing them with women who never spoke unless ordered to. And the Emperor? He was conveniently "meditating" in the Southern Pavilion—for the third week.

Wei Lian's hand curled into a fist. The court was preparing for war, but not the kind fought with soldiers.

He had to move faster.

---

At Qingyin Temple, Meiyun read the scroll by moonlight. It wasn't just a formula—it was a confession. A precise, handwritten method for crafting an herbal toxin that mimicked plague symptoms while attacking a very specific bloodline… the descendants of Consort Min, the late Emperor's favorite.

"Why would Consort Ru do this?" Meiyun whispered.

"Because she plays to win," Master Shen said. "And she's almost there."

He leaned in close. "But there's more. A counter-technique. One your mother helped develop, hidden beneath the Shuang Pulse Theory. You'll find it buried in the Emperor's personal medical texts—if they haven't already been burned."

Meiyun's heart thudded. Her mother. Her teachings. Her legacy.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

Master Shen chuckled. "I'm not. I'm helping the Empire. You're just the scalpel."

---

By the time she returned to the palace, dawn had begun bleeding into the sky.

Meiyun slipped into her quarters unseen, only to find Prince Wei Lian already waiting—half seated on her writing desk, looking like the chaos he carried.

"You could've told me you were going yourself," he said quietly.

"You said I wanted the truth. I went and found it."

Their eyes locked. Wei Lian's gaze was unreadable, but something flickered—worry, respect, something deeper.

"And?" he asked.

She held up the scroll.

"I think Consort Ru is poisoning the palace to eliminate a rival bloodline. And she's almost done."

Wei Lian inhaled sharply. "That's treason. And if you're wrong—"

"I'm not."

The silence thickened, pulling tight between them.

"We need proof," he said. "Solid, public, and undeniable. Otherwise, the Dowager will accuse us of treachery."

"I know where to find it," Meiyun replied, voice calm but blazing. "In the Emperor's private library. Buried beneath false prescriptions and ashes."

Wei Lian stood. "Then we don't have much time."

Meiyun stopped him at the door. "Wei Lian…"

He turned.

"If this goes badly—"

"It won't."

His voice was low. Steady. Dangerous.

"But if it does," she whispered, "don't let them bury the truth with me."

For once, the prince didn't have a reply.

He simply nodded… and vanished into the morning fog.