JingYi’s heart stuttered. She recognized a command when she heard one—the first move on a board that had already claimed too many pieces.
Lowering her head, she said, “As Her Highness wishes.”
At the Hour of the Phoenix, JingYi and Ying arrived at the Palace of Tranquil Radiance. Once a place of serene retirement, it now felt more like a dragon’s roost—hushed, lofty, shadowed by power. The interior was beautiful but spare. Pale porcelain floors gleamed, the large ivory rug softened it. Embroidered silk cushions—white cranes, peonies, and waves stitched in silver threads—rested atop low sandalwood settees carved with curling clouds.
The Dowager was already seated, spine perfectly straight, a small bronze brazier glowing white-hot at her feet. Another one, the same in appearance as the first, had been set to her left. JingYi curtsied, murmured her greeting, and took the seat beside it.
A maid entered with a tray and two cups of tea in matching celadon porcelain.
“This tea is from the old groves near the Yùlián Pass,” the Dowager said, accepting hers with a graceful lift of the wrist. “I assume you haven’t sampled such delights since you left for the North.”
JingYi lowered her gaze with careful poise. “Such luxuries were beyond my reach even during my days in the palace. It is too rich for my blood.”
A beat passed. Her words were polite, but she meant the sting. Let the Dowager remember: if she was too common for this tea, it was only because the woman herself made her so.
JingYi lifted the cup, letting it warm her fingers and bowed her head. “I thank Your Highness for the generosity.”
She didn’t glance up as she sipped, though she felt the Dowager’s gaze—the appraising look of a jeweller re-examining a flawed stone, wondering whether it was salvageable after all.
“So the little ghost in the walls has grown a tongue,” the Dowager said coolly, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. “Good. I would have been disappointed if the North returned you to us still mewling and dull.”
The Dowager’s lips curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “You were not raised to be bold. I see you’ve learned to wield your silence. Your mother understood none of that. She simpered and wept and thought the emperor’s favours would shield her from palace machinations. But you, at least, understand how to endure, perhaps even to bite back.”
JingYi sipped her tea and said nothing. A compliment from a two-faced viper was still a compliment, though it tasted no sweeter for the honey coating.
The Dowager studied her a moment longer. She extended her wrist over the lacquered table between them.
“Well?” she said, a tinge of imperiousness returning to her tone. “You came to take my pulse. Or have you forgotten how to?”
JingYi set her cup down and reached forward to press her fingers against the Dowager’s wrist. Beneath the pale skin, the rhythm was strong, almost erratic. Her breathing was rapid, and the tension in her shoulders suggested more than age.
“Your Highness is in fine health, but your pulse is agitated,” JingYi murmured, withdrawing her hand. “Your system is burdened by anger and restlessness. It has settled in the liver, disturbing your rest. A decoction to drain the fire and ease the mind would be wise.”
“Anger,” the Dowager echoed, tone dry. “Tell me, Physician’s Attendant JingYi, what might I have to be angry about?”
JingYi flicked her gaze to meet the older woman’s. “A simpleton like me wouldn’t presume to guess.”
Another pause. Then, a chuckle escaped the Dowager. “Ah. You’ve learned restraint. Yet another thing your mother never did. Her tongue danced like a bell even when she should have held it still. She thought beauty would save her. She thought an emperor’s love could be earned and, more foolishly, kept.”
She leaned closer. “I hopeyouhave grown out of such delusions.”
When JingYi gave no reply, the Dowager exhaled—a soft, withering sound that made the silence feel intentional.
“Let me tell you what angers me,” she said. Her enamel nail guards, the colourful accessories the court ladies wore to protect their well-manicured fingers, clicked against the table in a rhythm. “After decades of maneuvering, I finally placed my son on the throne.Decades.” Her gaze flicked to JingYi, hard and gleaming. “All he needed to do was reign with dignity, uphold the Tsaiqun legacy, and fulfill his duty to blood and country.”
Her voice dropped, edged now. “Instead, he broke custom. He ignored every eligible match from Tzadun-Khör—our most important alliance—and betrothed himself to a foreign Omega. Without sanction.”
The Dowager’s lip curled. “I heard she is fat. Is it true?”
Heat flared behind JingYi’s ribs.Fat?As if Adelise’s worth—her kindness, strength, and vivacity—could be measured by asingle physical trait. As if a future Empress could be weighed by that single cruel syllable.
“Princess Adelise of Tremore possesses a sound constitution,” JingYi said evenly. “By all accounts, she is the epitome of a prime Omega. To insult her person is to insult the emperor’s wisdom. Since Your Highness had laboured to raise His Majesty into an honourable Alpha he is, I trust you would agree.”
The Dowager’s expression didn’t shift, but her eyes narrowed, disdain sharpening their edge. “It is no secret why he entered that ridiculous agreement.”
JingYi tilted her head. “It isn’t?”
“Don’t play coy.” The words came swift, barbed. “He did it to save you, didn’t he?”