The Empress's death shook something loose inside me. I no longer knew how to face Fu Tingyan.
I had come from Shazhou—had never so much as laid eyes on him before entering the palace. How could an iron-blooded ruler give his heart to a woman he'd never met?
What I believed was that Fu Tingyan simply desired my body.
But even that didn't hold up. We had slept together exactly once, and the experience had probably been unforgettable for him—though not in the way any man would hope. I'd wrenched his shoulder out of its socket and left claw-marks down his back.
He had not tried again since.
Nor could I accept the Empress's verdict that all his tenderness belongs only to you.
The day of the funeral, a thin rain fell. The sky hung low and gray—cold, cheerless. From inside the palace, I turned toward the direction of the cortège and bowed.
Even in death, Fu Tingyan had not stripped her of the title Empress. Perhaps that was the only mercy left in him to give.
But the phoenix seat was empty now, and women began circling it like hawks.
I had no pedigree and far too much imperial favor—which made me the obvious target. The most formidable of the circling hawks was Noble Consort Yin Yao.
Yin Yao came from the prestigious Yin clan of Wanzhou. Her father, Yin Linsheng, was the Minister of War—a man Fu Tingyan depended on deeply, all the more so with the Xiongnu campaign raging. The attention he received from the throne was considerable.
Naturally, Yin Yao believed the phoenix seat was hers for the claiming.
Her campaign against me began with the rescue at the banquet—specifically, the moment I had threatened two consorts into helping.
The Empress's death had left me rattled. In the days that followed, I could not stop second-guessing everything around Fu Tingyan, terrified that it was all illusion and that I had been foolish enough to believe.
That wariness made things between us stiff and awkward—especially during the Bewitchment Decree duties.
Fu Tingyan had been coughing constantly. I asked Eunuch Chen and learned that the war had stolen his appetite—he hadn't eaten a proper meal in days.
So I had A-Yan make a pot of congee, a small peace offering.
It was an unremarkable evening. I was carrying the congee to Fenglin Palace when Yin Yao stepped out in front of the doors.
She wore a blaze of color—vivid silks, meticulous cosmetics, hairpins gleaming. As the War Minister's eldest, a girl raised at the center of every indulgence, Yin Yao carried herself with a casual, regal arrogance that leaked through even her resting expression.
I recognized it at once: she had come looking for trouble.
I told her to leave. Fu Tingyan was fraying at the seams over the war. Barging in now would only burn her. But Yin Yao would not listen—back straight, jaw lifted, she declared she had urgent business with His Majesty.
The commotion eventually drew Fu Tingyan himself. He was alone in Fenglin Palace—no attendants—so he had to open the door with his own hands. His face was thunderous as he stepped outside. Yin Yao rushed forward, sank to her knees, and poured out the night-banquet incident in full.
She accused me of flaunting imperial favor, publicly disrobing—a humiliation to the dynasty. She demanded punishment.
Fu Tingyan's expression did not change. A thin edge of impatience glinted behind his eyes. He stepped forward, raised Yin Yao to her feet, and told her calmly that the circumstances had been dire. But Yin Yao pressed on—if I was allowed to act unchecked, I would bring ruin to the inner court.
He stood there, motionless, and let her finish. Only when the last word left her mouth did frost crystallize at the bottom of his gaze.
"Then on the day she ruins the court, I will personally twist her head off."
I shrank into the shadows and held my breath. Tonight's vigil was going to be brutal.
* * *
In the end Yin Yao left in tears. I waited in silence until Fu Tingyan stepped inside, then followed—but he stopped short and turned on me.
The weight of his stare pressed down on my chest. I had no choice but to gaze back with all the composure I could fake.
"Two idiots pecking at each other," he muttered.
How was I an idiot? I hadn't said a single word!
I watched him stalk through the doorway, silently fuming, but there was nothing to be done. I swallowed my temper and followed.
The stack of scrolls on his desk seemed to have grown again.
Fu Tingyan paid me no attention. He disappeared behind the documents and tossed back one question.
"What's that?"
"Congee. For Your Majesty." I opened the food box and set the bowl down. "Eunuch Chen mentioned that you haven't had a proper meal in days, so I brought this."
"I don't eat anything that hasn't been inspected."
Why do you have to be so difficult? I cursed him in silence, clamped down on my irritation, and tried again.
"Your Majesty."
He finally looked up. I lifted the bowl, spooned up a mouthful, swallowed it, and—for good measure—whistled. Then I set the bowl on the desk.
"All safe, Your Majesty. I tasted it for poison. Still alive."
A scoff of laughter was all I got.
Fu Tingyan's gaze dropped back to his scrolls. "Maybe Yin Yao was right—I've been too lenient with you."
Blood rushed to the top of my skull. I was one breath away from smashing his crown in with my bare hands.
But before I could act on the impulse, a savage cramp tore through my gut.
The pain folded me in half. The vertigo that followed sent me crashing to my knees. Fu Tingyan noticed—his head snapped up—and my stomach heaved. Blood burst from my lips and splattered the floor.
Through my dimming vision, I could see his silhouette. He shoved the scrolls aside and launched himself toward me.
His arms locked around me. My cheek pressed against his chest, and through the layers of silk I heard his heart hammering.
He called toward the doors, voice cutting like a blade—"Summon the physician!"—but I heard the tremor he could not quite hide.
I had no voice left. All I could do was clutch his sleeve and shift my eyes toward the bowl of congee on the desk.
"I know." He cradled the back of my head, his voice dropping low. "Hold on… Jiang Mu, talk to me."
That was the last thing I heard clearly. Fu Tingyan's features began to blur and double, dissolving as if washed away by water. I strained to catch his words, but his voice was already receding—farther, farther—
Consciousness sank. I could not hold on any longer, and my eyes fell shut.
* * *
I had no idea how long I was out. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a bed. Calming incense drifted through the air. I studied the furnishings and realized I was in Fu Tingyan's own sleeping quarters.
A palace maid noticed the movement and slipped into the canopy. The moment she saw I was awake, she hurried out to fetch someone.
Footsteps crossed the quiet room. Slender, well-jointed fingers parted the curtain.
Fu Tingyan.
His jawline was clean and sharp, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked drawn—haggard in a way that was almost beautiful, a ruined elegance that diminished nothing.
He reached toward my cheek, then pulled back halfway. Carefully—so carefully—as though touching me might shatter something.
"I'm all right." My voice came out feeble. "I'm sorry for worrying Your Majesty."
He lowered his gaze without a sound, every emotion tucked away behind the stillness.
"I was careless."
But it wasn't his fault.
I struggled upright. Fu Tingyan's broad palm settled against my shoulder blade—steady, warm—and eased me up.
"It has nothing to do with Your Majesty." I sat up and cut straight to the question. "The congee—was it kept?"
"It's being tested. The meat in the congee was poisoned."
A-Yan had made that congee with her own hands.
Ice flooded my veins. "Where is A-Yan? Where is she?"
"Under interrogation. Three days now."
Fu Tingyan's lashes dipped. He stated the facts plainly, no attempt to soften them. Panic split open inside my chest.
"Your Majesty, A-Yan is mine. She grew up with me—she's never been anywhere near palace politics, never had any dealings with Your Majesty. She has no motive to poison anyone."
A dark pressure gathered at the bottom of his gaze. "Whether she has motive or not will be clear once the confession is finished."
A-Yan was blunt and honest—no skill at shielding herself. Palace interrogations came in many flavors, and some could cost a life. Even if the truth eventually surfaced, who could guarantee it hadn't been beaten into her?
"Let me see her, Your Majesty." I gripped his arm. "Let me investigate. I will find whoever is responsible."
"I'll give you two choices." Fu Tingyan studied me for a long moment. "First: you investigate. Poisoning the Emperor is a capital crime. If you fail to find the culprit, you bear the consequences alone."
"I choose the first."
I didn't wait to hear the second. If A-Yan was convicted of attempted regicide, I'd be dragged down with her anyway.
A strange gratitude washed over me—gratitude that I had eaten from that bowl before he did. If I hadn't, A-Yan would not have had even a sliver of a chance.
She was the closest person I had in this place. I could not stand by and watch her die. Only I would fight tooth and nail to find the real killer.
I held Fu Tingyan's gaze, unblinking. He did not seem pleased with my choice—but in the end, he said nothing more.