CHAPTER 12: TEA GETS COLD
Dragon Rest Palace
The Emperor wasn't yelling.
That was worse.
Zhào Róng just stood by the window, holding a cup of tea that had definitely gone cold. "They want my head. I want my head. We negotiate." Except tonight, he wasn't negotiating.
Zhào Chányán knelt on one knee. Didn't speak. Cold. Fair. No time for romance, no room for it either. Sword at his hip. He wasn't here to fight. He was here to watch.
The Empress Xiàoyì was already crying. Or pretending to. Hard to tell. Autumn yellow robes, blotchy face. "Gentle voice, iron rules." Right now she just looked like a woman who bet wrong.
Grand Tutor Liú BóWén — her father — stood next to her. Sixty years old and he looked a hundred. "Tradition is the only law that survives Emperors." Yeah. Tell that to the Emperor.
CǎiYún was on the floor. Chains on her wrists. Makeup smeared. "One phoenix, no sparrows." No one was looking at the sparrow now.
And Princess Zhào Mǐn? She was in the corner. No notebook. Hands folded. Smiling Diplomat wasn't smiling.
"Uncle," Chányán said. Quiet. Only he gets to call him that here. "You sent for me."
"I did," Zhào Róng said. Still looking at the tea. "Because your stepsister poured mine on my wife."
There it is.
Chányán didn't flinch. "CǎiYún grabbed her wrist first. Left marks. Mǐn saw it."
He's not defending JiāYì. He's stating facts. That's how he is. No feelings. Just ledger entries.
The Emperor finally turned around. Set the cup down. Didn't drink.
"Good," he said. "Then you won't mind what happens next."
He looked at the Empress. "Drink, Xiàoyì."
He picked up the same cup. Held it out.
Oh.
Oh, that's cold.
The Empress stared at it. "Your Majesty, I—"
"You told Minister Zhāng to use my seal," the Emperor said. Voice still soft. That's how you know he's furious. "You told your father the Su marriage was improper before the rites were even read. You used my brother. You used my name."
"I was worried—"
"Drink," he said again. "Or are you refusing the Emperor's favor?"
The same words she threw at JiāYì an hour ago.
Karma's a bitch. And she drinks tea.
The Empress took it. Her hand shook so bad some spilled. She drank.
It was just water.
But her face? That was poison.
"Phoenix Perch Palace is closed," the Emperor said. "Three months. You'll copy the Rites of Propriety. One hundred times. By hand. No servants."
She didn't even cry right. Just... deflated. "My son is the sun." Right now her sun was getting a time-out.
Then he looked at Liú BóWén. "Teacher. You have a choice."
Liú BóWén closed his eyes. Old men know when the board flips.
"Retire tonight," the Emperor said. "Take your daughter. Go home. Or..."
He paused.
"Write a new rite. 'The marriage of Lord Zhào YùXuān and General Sū RuìXī is proper. By imperial decree. By Liú family seal.' Read it in court. Tomorrow. On your knees."
Brutal.
Either lose your power, or lick the boot that kicked you.
Liú BóWén was quiet for a long time. Then:
"...This old subject will write."
The Liú family just bent the knee. Publicly. For Mother.
The Empress made a noise. Small. Broken.
The Emperor didn't look at her. He looked at CǎiYún.
"You touched Zhao blood."
CǎiYún started sobbing. "Your Majesty, I was only—"
"Chányán," the Emperor said. "She's yours to guard. Sentence."
Mine to guard. Mine to end.
Chányán stood. No hesitation. No anger. Just... decision.
"CǎiYún," he said. "You leave the palace. Tonight. You don't serve any noble house again. You go near Hán JiāYì, I take the hand. You say her name, I take your tongue."
Not death. Worse. You get to live with what you did.
Fair. Cold. That's him.
Guards dragged her out. She was still screaming about loyalty.
No one cared.
The Emperor sat down. Finally looked tired.
"Chányán. The girl. Is she mad?"
There it is. The question.
Chányán didn't even pause. "No, Uncle. She's sixteen. She got grabbed. She panicked. She spilled tea."
He didn't say 'she's brave.' He didn't say 'she's mine.' He said 'she spilled tea.' Facts.
God, he's unromantic. It's kind of impressive.
"Good," the Emperor said. "Then teach her when to spill tea. And when to dump the whole pot."
He slid a scroll across the table. "Han ZhìXuān. Read it."
Chányán opened it. Read. His face didn't move.
"This subject, Hán ZhìXuān, hereby disowns both daughters Hán JiāYì and Hán MěiLíng. They carry Su blood. They are spies. For the good of the state, I offer their heads to prove Han loyalty."
He disowned MěiLíng too. Threw his favorite to the wolves.
"What do you want done?" the Emperor asked.
Chányán rolled the scroll back up. Thinking. Not feeling.
"The Han Manor has two sons worth keeping," he said. "Hán Chén. Hán Míng. The rest is rot."
He's sparing Chén. And the kid. Not because he likes them. Because it's wasteful to burn the whole house when only two rooms are rotten.
"Take the Prime Minister's seal," Chányán said. "Give it to the Ministry of Punishment. Investigate 'forgery.' Wēn ledgers. Liú letters. Everything. End the Han name. Legally."
No sword. No army. Just paperwork. That's colder than any execution.
The Emperor actually smiled. Tiny. "And the girls?"
"MěiLíng is Han. Let her drown with him."
Beat.
"JiāYì is Zhao."
There. That's all you get. She's Zhao. On the ledger. Asset column.
"Then go," the Emperor said. "Before the rat bites."
HAN MANOR — SAME NIGHT
Hán ZhìXuān was drunk.
Not sad drunk. Angry drunk. "I own the court. Why don't I own respect?"
Because the court just got taken, you idiot.
Hán Lì was pacing, kicking furniture. "Father says I'll be Prime Minister one day." Yeah? Father's not Prime Minister anymore, genius.
"It's JiāYì's fault!" Lì snarled. "She made us look weak!"
Hán Chén didn't look up from his trunk. He was packing books. Only books. "My father owns the court. I own my name."
"You made us weak," Chén said. Quiet. "When you used a fake seal. When you used me."
Han ZhìXuān threw a cup at him. Missed. "You ungrateful—"
"I'm leaving," Chén said. "Taking Míng. Taking Lián'er. Tonight."
"You DARE—"
"I dare," Chén said. Sound familiar? "Because in the morning, the Emperor's men will be here. And I won't be."
He doesn't have visions. He just has a brain.
Hán MěiLíng was in the doorway. Listening. Combing her hair. "She was born with everything. I was born with nothing."
"Father," she said, all sweet. "If Sister JiāYì is Zhao now... can I be Zhao too?"
Han ZhìXuān stared at her. Drunk. Mean. "You? The Grand Consort said 'Zhao does not keep girls who kneel to manipulate.'"
MěiLíng's hand froze on her comb.
"Then I won't kneel," she whispered.
She walked out. Past Chén. Past Lì.
Straight to Hán Míng's room.
He was asleep. Eleven years old. Hugging a wooden horse. "Big Sister JiāYì smells like medicine."
MěiLíng stared at him. Then at the lamp oil on the desk.
"If I can't have it, no one can."
Lián'er grabbed her wrist. "MěiLíng. No."
"I didn't choose this cage."
MěiLíng's eyes were empty. "Let go. Or I'll tell Father you stole his seal. You'll hang."
Lián'er let go. Shaking.
MěiLíng picked up the oil.
ZHAO MANOR — MIDNIGHT
I woke up screaming.
Fire. Míng not breathing. MěiLíng smiling. "She sent him medicine! The Su girl killed him!"
Han ZhìXuān at the gate: "The Zhao poisoned my son! War!"
Mother was there in two seconds. "JiāYì! What? What's wrong?"
"Han Manor," I choked out. "Fire. Míng. Tonight. MěiLíng's going to—"
My door blew open.
Zhào Chányán.
Didn't knock. Didn't ask. Just... there. Sword on his hip. Eyes like winter.
"Explain," he said.
No 'are you okay.' No 'what's wrong.' Just 'explain.' God, he's consistent.
If I tell him, he rides. He starts the war. If I don't, a kid dies.
"I will end you myself."
Screw it.
"MěiLíng is going to kill Míng," I said. My voice was shaking. I'm sixteen. I'm allowed to shake. "Tonight. Fire. To frame me. To start a war between Zhao and Han."
I didn't say 'I saw it.' I didn't say 'vision.' Just the facts.
Chányán didn't ask how I knew.
He turned.
"YìChén!" he yelled. "Horses. Now."
Zhào YìChén crashed in half-dressed. "What?"
"Han Manor," Chányán said. "We ride."
He believed me. Just like that. No 'are you sure.' No 'are you mad.'
Because I'm Zhao now. And Zhao doesn't lie about fires.
He looked back at me. "Stay here. The tiger guards its own. Even when they're stupid."
Stupid. He called me stupid. To my face.
...Thanks? I think?
He left.
Zhào MíngYuǎn ran in right after. "JiāYì. A rider. City watch. Han Manor..."
No.
"There's smoke," he said, breathing hard. "But the Han boy... he's alive. Someone pulled him out."
What?
MíngYuǎn held out burnt cloth. Han Chén's sleeve.
Chén. He got there first. He didn't need a vision. He just knew his sister was a monster.
Mother grabbed me, crying. "You did it. You saved him."
No. We did. Chén and me. Brain and vision.
Then it hit me.
Water. Not fire.
Dragon Rest Palace. Three days from now. The Emperor. Coughing blood. Black. Liú BóWén, smiling. "The dragon guards the nation. But dragons get old. And sons... inherit."
Poison. But the Empress is locked up. So who?
Princess Mǐn was in my doorway.
No notebook. No smile.
"Lady Hán," she said. Diplomat voice. "We need to talk. About my brother. The Crown Prince. And why I covered for you today."
She saved me. Now she wants the bill.