Hall of Mental Cultivation. Deep night.
The candle flames leaned under the pressure of the wind,casting restless shadows across the imperial chamber.
Emperor Tang Yi closed the final memorial of the night.His fingers lingered on the cover for a brief moment—
as if weighing something far heavier than paper.
Silence filled the hall.
Gao Dequan stood to the side, breathing so softlyhe might as well not have existed.
"Has the Bureau of Provisions remained… stable?"
The Emperor's voice broke the stillness.
Low. Even.
Unreadable.
Gao Dequan blinked, then bowed immediately.
"Reporting to Your Majesty."
"Director Qing may have been demoted in rank…"
"…but she has steadied the situation."
"The night soup service has been restored."
"The grain ledgers are orderly again."
"And the lower servants…"
He hesitated for the smallest fraction of a second.
"…their loyalty is likely hers."
A faint curve touched the Emperor's lips.
Barely visible.
"I did not misjudge her."
The smile vanished as quickly as it came.
"But—"
His fingertip tapped the imperial desk.
Once.
Twice.
A slow, deliberate rhythm.
"Her position is too low."
Gao Dequan's heart lurched.
He understood instantly.
Low rank meant no guardrails.
No protection.
A woman at Rank Seven could still be crushed beneaththe weight of palace politics.
Third Morning
At dawn, an imperial decree arrived at the Bureau of Provisions.
No drums.
No spectacle.
It descended like a cold iron naildriven quietly into the beams of the Inner Palace.
"Given the complexity of Bureau affairs,the position of Inspector of Culinary Affairs is hereby established.""Responsible for auditing grain, soups, allocations, and consumption.""Rank: Seventh Grade.""Reports directly to the Throne."
The decree was read aloud.
The Bureau fell into stunned silence.
No promotion—
yet authority to bypass the Department of Internal Affairs.
This was not favor.
This was exposure.
The Emperor had placed her in full view of the entire palace.
Shockwaves in the Harem
In a distant palace courtyard,a consort froze before her mirror, eyebrow brush trembling.
"…Seventh Grade… direct report to His Majesty?"
The brush slipped.
The painted line bent sharply across her brow.
She stared at her reflection and let out a cold laugh.
"A Rank Seven official…"
"…who can leap over the Internal Affairs Department?"
Her eyes darkened.
"His Majesty has pushed her straight into the eye of the storm."
The news spread faster than any official proclamation.
Faster than gossip.
Faster than fear.
Some began revisiting buried accounts.
Some investigated Qing Tian's origins.
Others—
quietly sharpened their knives.
The Empress Dowager's Silence
Yet the Buddhist Hall remained eerily calm.
Incense smoke rose as always.
The Empress Dowager sat upon her meditation cushion,prayer beads sliding slowly through her fingers.
No anger.
No surprise.
Only stillness.
After a long while, she spoke.
Softly.
"He is telling me…"
"…that this woman is under his protection."
Her fingers paused.
"But the rules—"
Her gaze cooled.
"Still belong to me."
It was not concession.
It was a warning.
Qing Tian's Response
When Qing Tian received the decree,she said only three words.
"I accept the order."
No excitement.
No relief.
She understood exactly what this meant.
Not elevation.
Alignment.
A public declaration.
From this day forward—
Every grain she audited,every pot she stirred,every life she tried to protect—
would be watched.
Measured.
Targeted.
That Night
For the first time as Inspector of Culinary Affairs,Qing Tian stepped into a grain depot under the Buddhist Hall's authority.
The night wind cut like ice.
Lanterns swayed at the entrance, light flickering unsteadily.
The supervising monk greeted her with palms pressed together.
"Benefactor."
"The Buddha's grain is pure."
Qing Tian looked at him.
Did not return the gesture.
Her voice was calm.
"The Buddha…"
"…does not eat husks."
She raised her hand.
"Open the crates."
The monk's expression stiffened.
But he obeyed.
The first crate was lifted.
The lid removed.
And in that single breathless instant—
the air itself seemed to freeze.
At the bottom—
husks.
On top—
a thin, mocking layer of rice.
Qing Tian did not show anger.
Did not show shock.
Because she already knew—
The wind had begun to rise.
And this time,
she was not merely stirring unrest within the harem.
She was about to shakethe entire grain artery of the palace.
The storm…
had only just begun.