The renovation of Lin De Hall was an event of moderate significance in the palace this year. The hall once housed a vast collection of previous dynasty texts, but due to long-term disrepair, leaks in some side halls had damaged a number of the archives. The Emperor had decreed the repair and ordered the remaining books to be sorted and filed.
Ling Zhao, holding his waist token and documents, finally stepped into the Lin De Hall precinct after layers of scrutiny. The air was filled with a unique mixture of wood, lacquer, and old scrolls. Laborers shouted as they worked, and supervising eunuchs gestured commandingly—a scene of bustling activity.
He was led to a steward named Qian, from the Internal Affairs Department. Steward Qian was around forty, with a fair complexion, his eyes revealing shrewdness and exhaustion, clearly irritated by the trivial nature of the task.
"Are you Lin Zhao?" Steward Qian looked him up and down, his tone far from polite. "You know how to read and write, and understand filing regulations, yes? Those in that corner over there were all retrieved from the water and dried. It's a mess! You go categorize them for me and register them! Write neatly, don't scribble like a ghost!"
Ling Zhao followed his pointed direction, seeing a small mountain of mildewed books and scrolls piled under the side hall corridor. Many pages were stuck together, the writing blurred; it was clearly a time-consuming and thankless chore.
"Yes, this humble one understands," Ling Zhao bowed, showing no sign of dissatisfaction.
He said no more and went straight to the pile of "waste paper," rolling up his sleeves to begin work. He didn't rush into sorting, but first quickly flipped through all the texts, grasping the extent of the damage and the types of books. Then, he established a clear classification standard, separating them into categories: Classics, Histories, Philosophers, Anthologies, Miscellaneous, and distinguishing them by the degree of damage. He found clean wooden boards and oiled cloth to temporarily elevate the categorized books, preventing further dampness.
His movements were swift and methodical, and his expression was focused, as if he were facing not a heap of scraps, but treasures urgently needing rescue. Steward Qian glanced over from afar. Seeing that Ling Zhao was not a slacker, he snorted and paid no further attention.
This "inconspicuousness" was exactly what Ling Zhao wanted. While meticulously identifying blurred characters and recording them in neat small script, he quietly deployed his mental strength like an invisible spider's web, sensing everything within Lin De Hall.
The conversations of the artisans, the complaints of the supervising eunuchs, the footsteps of the passing personnel... countless fragments of information poured into his mind, which he quickly filtered and analyzed. He soon grasped the patterns of daily personnel flow in Lin De Hall and the areas where security was relatively lax.
More importantly, Lin De Hall was separated from the Eastern Palace by only a single wall. Although the palace wall was tall and the guards were strict, being here allowed him to feel the cold gaze more clearly. He could even vaguely capture a trace of extremely suppressed mental fluctuation emanating from the direction of the Eastern Palace. This fluctuation was mixed with pain, anxiety, and an almost frantic obsession.
Xiao Jin's condition seemed far worse than outsiders rumored. Was it a relapse of an old illness? Or had his plan for the coup encountered obstacles?
For several days in a row, Ling Zhao buried himself in the old papers, barely speaking to anyone except for necessary communication. His excellent organizing ability and quiet nature gradually put Steward Qian at ease, who occasionally even assigned him to help verify material lists for other areas.
That afternoon, Ling Zhao was verifying the usage of a newly arrived batch of gold powder (used for painting beams and columns) when he overheard two junior eunuchs responsible for sweeping the Lin De Hall exterior whispering nearby.
"...Did you hear? Last night, they summoned the imperial physician to the Eastern Palace again..."
"Indeed. The commotion was quite large. Grand Eunuch Sun personally went to the Imperial Medical Office to call for him..."
"Alas, that Prince's constitution... I fear..."
"Shh! Be careful what you say! Do you want to die!"
The pen in Ling Zhao's hand paused slightly. Summoned the imperial physician again? Was it true or false? If true, Xiao Jin's health was likely failing, which would undoubtedly introduce variables into his coup plan. If false... what purpose lay behind the frequent "sick reports"?
He continued verifying the list without changing his expression, though his mind was already in turmoil. He had to confirm Xiao Jin's true condition quickly.
The opportunity arrived quietly in the evening. Steward Qian was sudden