The last bids in the rare garden were done. Lantern lights were fading. Guests walked out in small groups, their silk clothes making soft sounds on the stone paths. They carried wrapped flower pieces and old scrolls. The air still smelled of the day's flowers—sweet and strong—but now it was calmer with night. The festival's main fun was over. One last group waited in the big courtyard under the emperor's high seat.
The emperor stood up. His yellow robes shone in the torch light. His voice was deep and calm, like a steady river. "Friends and guests, the Seasonal Flowering Festival is ending.Tonight, we saw flowers that show us how to keep going—from tough roots that break rocks to soft petals that fix hidden hurts. Let this new start fill your homes, your friendships, and your hearts. Go home in peace. Take spring's hope with you."
People clapped softly. They bowed low. No loud music or drums—just the day turning quiet into night. Guests headed to their palaces. The crowd got smaller, like fog clearing in moonlight. Carriages rolled slowly at the gates. Lanterns moved along the lit halls. The palace felt peaceful, with petals left on the paths like lost notes.
lord Jinshi walked through his halls with Gao-shun next to him. He had changed from his fancy indigo robes to simple dark silk. The orchid pin was still on his sash—a little piece of the day's pretty things. His face looked calm, but his mind was busy. He thought about the servant who ran away fast, Yelan's quick move to step in front, and the sweet liquid that spilled. It felt too perfect to be an accident.
Gaoshun spoke first. He took a small glass vial from his sleeve—the one with the liquid, closed tight. It caught the torch light, looking clear and harmless, like light brown honey. "My lord."
Jinshi took it. He turned it slowly in his fingers. "Did you find that servant?"
Gaoshun bowed his head. He looked sorry. "I am sorry, my lord. We could not find him. He went into the outer workers' rooms and disappeared like air. We will keep looking at dawn."
Jinshi's eyes got narrow, but his voice stayed calm. "And the vial?"
Gaoshun waited a moment, then spoke carefully. "My lord, I do not think it was meant to hurt. It smells sweet—like perfume from the festival. Nothing bad. Maybe just a mistake."
Jinshi held the vial up to the light. He watched the liquid move slow. "A mistake by a servant who knows these inner halls? Let's check it, Gaoshun. No guessing tonight."
Gaoshun nodded once. He walked with Jinshi as they turned down a side hall. The halls got smaller. Torches were fewer. They led to the apothecary's quiet area. Moonlight came through high windows, making the stone floors shine silver. The palace was asleep around them—maids in far rooms, guards walking soft.
Maomao's door was simple wood. One lantern burned low outside. No noise from inside. Jinshi knocked—three even taps, polite but strong.
Quiet.
Then a rustle, like papers being pushed away. The door opened a little. Maomao looked out—her hair down, eyes clear even so late. She wore a plain night shirt, sleeves rolled up like she had been working with herbs, not sleeping. "My lord? Gaoshun-sama? If this is about headaches from the festival, I already sent the bags of herbs."
Her voice was flat and direct, like always—a little grumpy, like she knew trouble was coming but wouldn't run after it.
Jinshi smiled a little, that warm tease coming in. "No headaches. A spill from earlier. We need you to look at it."
Maomao saw the vial in his hand. Her grump turned to interest. "Spill? Okay. Come in—fast, before the guards think you're ghosts."
The room was small. One lamp lit the worktable. Jars filled the shelves—dried leaves, powders, roots in straight lines. A bowl sat half-full, the grinder sticky with green stuff. Maomao pushed things aside with her elbow. "Sit if you want. What is it?"
Jinshi put the vial down gently. "From the bridge—sweet smell, spilled on a maid's hand. Servant said it was an accident. Test it."
Gaoshun stood by the door, arms crossed, watching.
Maomao opened it carefully. She waved the smell toward her without breathing it in. "Flower... strong, like lily with spice. From the south, maybe." She put a drop on white paper, then on a piece of pig skin from her test drawer. "Watch."
At first, nothing happened. The smell came out—rich, warm, pretty nice. The paper stayed white. The skin looked normal.
Minutes went by. The lamp flickered.
Then the paper turned brown at the edges, curling slow like it was hot inside. The skin turned pink, then red. Small blisters came up, spreading slow but sure.
Maomao's eyes got small. She leaned in close. "Not poison—but bad. Strong flower oil, from fire-lily, mixed with sticky stuff and alcohol. Looks safe, smells good. But on skin? It burns slow. Starts warm, then hurts like fire later. On soft places—like the face—it would leave bad scars without fast help. Not a good 'accident.'"
Jinshi stayed still. His fingers gripped the table edge tight. He understood now: Yelan's fast move, her body in the way. She had smelled it—known the danger first. Took it instead of him.
His chest felt heavy, but his face stayed calm—no flinch, no words. Not now. Not in front of them.
Gaoshun moved a little. "So... it was to hurt. But why?"
Maomao shrugged, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Maybe someone mad from the festival? Or wants a nice face not so nice. Easy to hide in a crowd."
Jinshi breathed out slow. His voice went light again. "Like always, Maomao, you see through it clear. Thank you." His smile got playful, eyes warm with that usual tease. "What would we do without your sharp side?"
She rolled her eyes, but a small sound came out—like a short laugh she wouldn't let full. "Live, I guess. Less fun."
He laughed soft, standing up. "Gaoshun—get it."
Gaoshun nodded. He took a small wrapped package from his sleeve—the aconite flower from the festival sale, its blue hooded petals in cool moss. The deadly one, bought quiet during the bids.
Jinshi held it out to Maomao."For your herbs. Something strong with all the bad stuff."
Maomao's eyes went wide. She forgot her grump for a second, leaning in like a cat spotting a shiny toy. Her fingers twitched on the moss, turning the package over fast, almost hugging it close. "Wolfsbane... real aconite. The hood's perfect—blue as night, deadly sweet. Refined right, it stops pain like magic, but one wrong breath..." She trailed off, grinning big, her usual flat face lighting up like she had found treasure. "This is... this is the good kind of trouble."
"Because you notice what others miss," he said simple, smile staying. "Sleep now. We'll need your smart eyes tomorrow."
Maomao nodded once, still holding the package tight, like she couldn't let go. The door closed soft behind them.
The hall got quiet again. Torches burned low.
Jinshi walked on. The night's weight sat on him like morning dew. Yelan's face came to his mind—dark brown eyes calm, white clothes turning away. She had protected him. No words. No reason.
The palace slept.
But one lord stayed awake in the dark.