The scent of rusted iron and damp straw lingered in the air. It had seeped into my skin, my breath, and every thought that still dared to rise in my head.
Three years. That's how long I'd been down here—beneath Chang'an, beneath the courts, beneath the world that once praised my name. Scholar. Strategist. Gentleman. Now? Just Su Wuming, prisoner #403, the man accused of poisoning Chancellor Wei.
They said I brewed him tea laced with nightshade. They said I smiled as he drank it. They said I confessed.
Liars, all of them.
The truth? I never brewed that cursed tea. But in the Tang courts, truth mattered less than whose voice was louder. Mine, muffled by chains and disgrace, was nothing more than a whisper.
I sat with my back against the wall, eyes fixed on a single spot where water dripped from the stone ceiling. One drop every three seconds. I'd counted them more times than I could recall. It was the only clock that ticked for me now.
Then the door creaked.
I didn't flinch. No one ever came for me. Not anymore. The guards had grown tired of their games. Beatings got boring when a man refused to scream.
Bootsteps echoed. Heavy. Two men, maybe three. One guard muttered something in low tones.
Then he stepped in—tall, cloaked in gray and black, a jade badge hanging from his belt like it weighed more than his sword. I knew the badge. Everyone did. The seal of the Central Tang Investigation Bureau.
"Su Wuming," he said, his voice steady but not cruel. "Get up."
I raised an eyebrow. "Should I bow first?"
He almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm Lu Fang," he continued. "Commander of the Bureau. I need your mind."
I laughed. Not bitterly—just surprised. "The Empire has minds stacked like scrolls in the imperial library. Why dig in this grave?"
"Because," he said, kneeling slightly to meet my eyes, "there's been a murder in the palace tea house. Red Bincha blend. No signs of struggle. Locked room. The victim was the imperial food taster."
He let the silence hang.
"And they say," he added, "the method matches the one used in your alleged crime."
I stared at him.
This wasn't a coincidence. Someone was pulling threads again.
"You have one chance," Lu Fang said. "Solve this, and maybe... you'll taste real tea again."
I stood slowly. My knees cracked, my back ached—but my mind? My mind had never stopped working.
"Alright, Commander," I said, brushing straw off my tattered sleeves. "Let's find out who's mimicking a ghost."
The sun hit my face for the first time in months as we stepped out of the prison gates. I squinted like a rat pulled from the dark, shielding my eyes with a raised hand. The streets of Chang'an buzzed beyond the compound wall—carriages rattling, merchants shouting, the distant clang of temple bells—but it all felt like a dream. Or a memory I wasn't sure belonged to me anymore.
Lu Fang walked in silence beside me. His pace was steady, martial. Not a man in a hurry, but one who moved with purpose. I studied him from the corner of my eye—sharp eyes, a calm face, and a scar near his collarbone just visible above his armor.
He caught me looking. "Expecting me to stab you?"
"No," I replied. "Wondering what kind of commander recruits detectives from prison."
He grinned faintly. "The kind with no better options."
We reached a black lacquered carriage with the golden emblem of the Bureau painted on its side: a flying falcon clutching a scroll in one claw, a blade in the other. He gestured for me to enter. I stepped in, half-expecting shackles or a blindfold. Instead, I found a seat covered in silk cushions and a small tea tray—empty, but polished.
Lu Fang entered behind me. Once the door closed, the sound of the city dimmed. He leaned forward.
"The Red Bincha Tea Case," he said, "started this morning. A servant girl brought tea to the private tasting chamber in the palace garden—a rare blend, reserved for nobles."
He handed me a small scroll. I unrolled it.
Victim: Zhang De'an, Imperial Food Taster.
Time of death: Between the fifth and sixth morning bell.
Cause: Unknown. No wounds. No poison in initial examination.
Clue: Tea cup untouched. Aroma lingered in the air.
Room locked from inside. No other entry.
"Where's the body?" I asked, my fingers tracing the last line.
"Still there. I had it sealed. No one touches anything until you see it."
I looked up.
"You're serious."
"I don't joke about corpses," Lu Fang replied.
I tapped the scroll once. "You said the method matches my case."
He nodded. "Three years ago, Chancellor Wei drank Red Bincha in his study. Same brand. Same situation. Room locked. No wounds. Tea untouched. His death was blamed on you."
"I remember," I said. "Vividly."
Lu Fang studied me. "So either someone's copying your crime…"
"Or someone's trying to finish what they started," I finished.
The carriage wheels rolled over cobblestone. My fingers clenched around the scroll.
"Bring me to the scene," I said. "Let's see if the ghost of my past left footprints this time."
Lu Fang nodded.
Outside, the palace walls loomed closer. And somewhere within them, a dead man waited for me to speak on his behalf.
The palace garden was quiet when we arrived, too quiet. Even the wind seemed to pause out of respect—or fear. Lanterns had been hung near the entrance of the tea chamber, their light flickering faintly in the morning mist. Two guards in silver-plated armor stood at the door, faces rigid, not blinking.
"This way," Lu Fang said, stepping out of the carriage.
I followed, my worn shoes making soft crunches on the gravel path. The air smelled of plum blossoms and crushed grass, but underneath it lingered something else—something sharp and bitter.
Tea.
And death.
At the threshold of the tea room, I saw him.
The body of Zhang De'an, the Imperial food taster, sat slumped at a small rosewood table. His back straight, chin tucked slightly downward, as though he had simply fallen asleep mid-sip. But his eyes were open. Glassy. Fixed on a world he no longer saw.
"Door was locked from the inside," Lu Fang said quietly. "We had to break it open."
I stepped inside slowly.
The room was pristine. The table untouched—two cups set, one full, one empty. A single porcelain pot sat between them, the steam long faded. Three sticks of incense had burned halfway on a tray near the eastern window, the ash curling like snakes.
No blood. No signs of struggle. No spilled tea. No tipped chair.
"Who found him?" I asked.
"A maid. Brought the tea in, left the room, returned twenty minutes later to clean the cups. Door wouldn't open. She called the guards."
"Did she make the tea?"
"No. It was brewed in the palace kitchens. She only delivered."
I moved closer to the body. His lips were slightly parted. I reached out and checked the pulse point on his neck—not because I expected a heartbeat, but to feel the skin.
Still cool. Not stiff.
"He died recently," I said. "But not instantly."
Lu Fang raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
I gestured to the incense. "Three sticks, lit at the same time. Common in ritual spaces. They burn down evenly. Judging by their length, twenty-five minutes have passed."
He blinked. "You timed incense?"
"I had time to study strange things in prison," I said dryly.
Then I crouched. "Look at his hand. The left one."
Lu Fang knelt beside me. The man's left hand rested under the table. His fingers were curled tightly.
I carefully pried them open. Inside, pressed to his palm, was a fragment of something thin and white.
I held it up.
"Rice paper?" Lu Fang asked.
"Tea label," I replied. "And it was clenched. Meaning…?"
"He knew he was dying," Lu Fang said. "He was trying to leave a message."
I nodded.
We both turned at the sound of footsteps.
A young man in bureau robes stepped through the door—barely twenty, thin and sharp-eyed.
"Commander," he said with a bow. "Apologies for the delay."
Lu Fang gave him a brief nod. "Su Wuming, this is Er Long—my junior investigator."
Er Long eyed me curiously. "The Su Wuming?"
I smirked. "Depends on who's asking."
Er Long held out a folded silk packet. "The Red Bincha blend used this morning. I secured it before anyone tampered with the supply."
I took it from him, weighing it in my hand. "Smart. We'll need to test it."
"Already ahead of you," Er Long said, his eyes gleaming. "But there's more. I checked the storage records. This batch of tea was delivered two weeks ago… but the merchant who brought it—never returned to his shop."
Now that was interesting.
"Missing merchant," I murmured. "Possible forgery, or something planted."
Lu Fang met my gaze. "What are you thinking?"
I looked back at the dead man, the incense, the untouched tea.
"I'm thinking the killer didn't intend to poison him at all."
Lu Fang frowned. "Not poisoned? Then what killed him?"
I turned the tea cup carefully in my hand. Porcelain, white with a golden rim. Elegant. Untouched.
"No smell of bitter almond. No blackened tongue. And the tea is still full in the cup. If he drank it, even a sip, the level would've dropped."
"Maybe he was about to drink and collapsed?"
"No," I said. "Look at the position of the cup."
It sat at a slight angle to the right, closer to the second seat—almost as if it had been set down deliberately, facing someone else.
"He was waiting for someone," I said. "But no one else drank. So he didn't die from tea."
Er Long tilted his head. "But he was alone in a locked room. No wounds. No poison. Then what killed him? Fright?"
Lu Fang crossed his arms, thoughtful. "Could it have been incense?"
I stood and moved to the tray of burned sticks. I gently picked up one and sniffed the ash.
"A familiar scent," I murmured. "This isn't temple incense. It's a blend… jasmine, lotus bark… and—"
I paused.
"Silkroot dust," I added. "Rare. Expensive. And dangerous."
Er Long's eyes widened. "Silkroot? That causes hallucinations, right?"
"Only in high doses. In small amounts, it calms the nerves. Used by monks for meditation. But if someone tampered with it—"
Lu Fang nodded. "It could have been concentrated. Enough to cause dizziness. Maybe even heart failure."
"Exactly," I said. "If the incense was laced, it wouldn't leave obvious signs. And in a locked room, the killer wouldn't need to be present."
I turned back to the corpse. "Zhang De'an may have never touched the tea. He sat down, breathed in the incense, and collapsed."
Lu Fang rubbed his chin. "Which means the real question is—who brought the incense in?"
Er Long pulled out a folded parchment from his sleeve. "I checked. The maid said it was already placed in the room when she entered. Palace staff changes it every morning before sunrise."
"Then bring me the list of morning servants," I said. "Names, duties, rotation schedules."
"I already have it," Er Long said with a grin, handing it over.
Lu Fang smirked. "He's a bit eager."
"I like that," I said, flipping through the parchment. "Eagerness can solve cases. Or get you killed."
I stopped at one name, underlined twice in red ink.
"Here," I tapped. "This servant reported sick leave today. But he was on shift during the incense change."
"Name?" Lu Fang asked.
"Chen Rushi," I said. "A senior steward. Ten years in the palace. No prior incidents."
"And today, he vanishes," Lu Fang muttered.
Er Long nodded grimly. "I've already sent someone to his quarters. He wasn't there. Room looks hastily emptied."
"So the man responsible for placing the incense is gone," I said. "And the merchant who sold the tea is missing as well."
Lu Fang exhaled. "Someone's covering their trail."
"No," I said slowly, "someone's starting something. And Zhang De'an's death was only the beginning."
Er Long stiffened. "You think there'll be another victim?"
I glanced at the untouched tea again.
"I don't think it's about the victims at all," I whispered. "I think it's a message."
By midday, the light had shifted. The warmth of morning gave way to a brittle breeze that slid through the palace corridors, curling around corners like a whisper.
I stood just outside the tea chamber, beneath a hanging cherry blossom, reviewing the steward's file with Lu Fang. Chen Rushi. Loyal, methodical, well-liked. Until today.
"Disappearing on the day a man dies from incense he placed?" I muttered. "That's not a coincidence. That's either guilt—or fear."
Lu Fang nodded. "Er Long's leading a squad to search his known contacts. If he's hiding in the city, we'll flush him out."
"Good," I said. "But we should look beyond the palace."
Lu Fang raised an eyebrow. "You have a lead?"
Before I could answer, a gust of wind stirred the blossoms—and a shadow dropped silently behind us.
I didn't hear her. I felt her.
When I turned, Bi Yao stood atop the perimeter wall, cloaked in grey and brown, the curve of her blade visible beneath the folds.
"You're late," I said with a faint smirk.
"I had to climb two roofs and eavesdrop on a eunuch before breakfast," she replied, hopping down with feline grace. "Also, I bring a gift."
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a strip of embroidered silk—ripped, slightly burned at the edge, and marked with a familiar symbol.
"A merchant's seal," I noted. "Gold-threaded pine leaves. That's the Shen Tea Hall brand."
Bi Yao nodded. "I found it stuck under a loose tile on the roof of the merchant's shop. The one that delivered the Red Bincha batch."
"You were at the merchant's shop already?" Lu Fang asked, surprised.
She shrugged. "I followed Er Long. He walks like a stomping ox. Thought I'd take a higher route."
I took the silk and studied it. "Shen Tea Hall hasn't opened since the tea shipment two weeks ago. Now the owner's vanished, and this ends up on the roof?"
"Exactly," Bi Yao said. "Someone was up there—maybe the killer, maybe a messenger. But they moved fast, and they didn't want to be seen."
Lu Fang narrowed his eyes. "So we have a hidden hand moving between the palace and the merchant house. Incense altered. Tea shipment involved. Victim dead without touching his cup."
"And the only man who might've seen it all," I said, holding the silk, "has just disappeared."
Bi Yao crossed her arms. "I also saw something else on the roof."
"What?" I asked.
She hesitated. "A mark. Carved into the tiles. Two characters: 'Red Fog.'"
I stiffened.
Lu Fang glanced at me. "You recognize it?"
I nodded slowly. "It's a phrase used by an old group from the southern provinces. Disbanded years ago. They specialized in psychological assassinations—drugs, poisons, illusions. Killed without killing. No blade. No noise."
Bi Yao's eyes narrowed. "Then they've returned."
"Or someone wants us to think they have," I murmured.
We stood in silence for a moment, the palace behind us, the blossoms falling like warnings from the trees.
Then Lu Fang straightened. "If someone's reviving Red Fog methods, this case just became bigger than one dead taster."
I nodded grimly. "It means whoever did this... is preparing for something far worse."
The streets of Luoyang pulsed with their usual rhythm—merchants shouting, wheels creaking, sandals slapping against stone. But as we neared Shen Tea Hall, that pulse seemed to fade.
It stood at the edge of the West Market—shutters closed, red banners faded and tattered in the wind. Once, this had been the finest tea house in the capital, favored by nobles and ministers. Now, it was a corpse wearing the skin of business.
Lu Fang motioned to two guards posted outside. "We've already secured the perimeter," he said. "No one's entered or exited since morning."
I stepped forward and pushed the door open.
The smell hit first. Not rot. Not mold. But emptiness. An abandoned scent—dry leaves, sun-worn wood, and the faintest trace of sandalwood, like a ghost of something beautiful long gone.
Bi Yao followed me inside, silent as ever. Her eyes flicked to every corner. Always alert. Always calculating.
I paused at the threshold of the brewing room, staring at the counter where tea masters once poured with grace. I remembered the last time I was here.
Not as a sheriff.
But as a prisoner.
I turned toward Bi Yao. "Funny place to return to, isn't it?"
She raised a brow. "You remember?"
"How could I forget?" I chuckled. "We met here, didn't we?"
She looked away, as if trying not to smile.
"It was raining," I continued. "I was in shackles. Being dragged past this shop on my way to the Court of Judgments. You stood in the doorway, sword drawn, arguing with a thug twice your size."
"I won that argument," she muttered.
"I remember," I smirked. "You broke his arm with a teapot."
She glanced sideways. "You noticed?"
"Of course. Hard to ignore a woman who uses hot water as a weapon."
That earned me the smallest curl of her lips.
Lu Fang cleared his throat. "Touching. But we're here to investigate."
"Right," I said, turning serious. "Let's find out what happened to the merchant."
We searched the main room first. Ledgers were left untouched. No signs of forced entry. The back room, where the Red Bincha batch was stored, was locked—but Er Long had already broken the latch earlier.
Inside, the shelves were half empty. Most of the tea jars were labeled meticulously. But one jar sat alone, sealed tight with wax and bearing no label at all.
"Found something," I said, lifting the lid gently.
Lu Fang leaned in. "Is that…?"
"Red Bincha," I confirmed. "But not like the others."
I pinched a few leaves and rubbed them between my fingers. "There's a powder residue. Not part of the tea."
"Silkroot?" Bi Yao asked.
"No. Something else." I frowned. "This is refined. Artificial. The kind of compound used in…"
I hesitated.
"In Red Fog methods," I finished.
Lu Fang stepped back. "So they are involved."
"Maybe," I said. "But something doesn't add up. The Red Fog assassins never left evidence. They were masters of invisibility, of doubt. This... this is clumsy."
Bi Yao tilted her head. "A copycat?"
"Or someone wants us chasing ghosts."
Just then, a rustle came from the roof above.
All three of us froze.
Lu Fang unsheathed his short blade. "We're not alone."
I gestured toward the back exit. "They're trying to escape."
Bi Yao didn't wait. She was already moving—silent, fluid. In a blink, she disappeared through the back door.
Lu Fang followed, motioning to his guards.
I stayed behind for one moment longer, staring at the tea jar in my hands.
Too easy.
Too convenient.
The Red Fog never left jars behind.
The alley behind Shen Tea Hall was narrow and tangled with laundry lines and broken crates. I emerged just seconds after Lu Fang and Bi Yao, only to see a blur vanish over the tiled rooftops.
"There!" Bi Yao shouted, already airborne. Her cloak snapped behind her as she leapt onto the first rooftop like a hawk chasing prey.
Lu Fang cursed under his breath and followed, sword drawn. I stayed below, tracing their movements from the ground, eyes darting up to catch flickers of shadow.
"Keep to the west side," I called out. "He'll double back. That roof ends at a dead wall!"
Sure enough, the figure hit the wall—then pivoted, gliding over a lower ridge toward the next street. But Bi Yao was faster. She moved like water, effortless, precise. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a throwing needle that embedded into the wood inches from the runner's hand.
He stumbled. Just enough.
Lu Fang tackled him mid-leap, and the two of them crashed hard onto a nearby rooftop.
By the time I climbed the stairwell of a tea shop next door, the fight was over.
Lu Fang held a man pinned to the tiles, one knee on his back. "Caught him trying to run. He's no professional. Moves like a street rat."
The man spat. His face was young, rough, pockmarked from some childhood sickness. His hands trembled.
I crouched beside him. "Name?"
He stayed silent.
I took out the unlabeled tea jar and held it up. "You left this behind in the merchant's storeroom."
His eyes widened. That was enough.
"You thought using Red Fog's name would cover your tracks. Terrify us. Misdirect the investigation."
Still, he said nothing.
I leaned closer. "But you forgot something. Red Fog never used tea. They never left bodies in chairs. And they never let fools like you carry out their work."
He flinched. "I… I didn't kill him."
"But you placed the incense," I said softly.
His silence confirmed it.
"You were hired," I continued. "To mimic Red Fog's methods. To make it look like a ghost from the past had returned."
Lu Fang twisted the man's arm a little. "Who paid you?"
The man's lips trembled. "A woman. I never saw her face. She wore a red veil. Paid me in silver, told me which incense to use, said she'd handle the tea."
"A red veil?" Bi Yao stepped forward, her brow furrowed. "Did she say anything else?"
The man nodded. "She said… 'This is only the first drop in the pot.'"
Lu Fang and I exchanged a look.
A warning.
A beginning.
I stood. "Take him to the Bureau. Isolate him. No visitors. And no tea."
Bi Yao smirked at that last line.
As Lu Fang hauled the man away, I stood at the edge of the rooftop, gazing down at the Shen Tea Hall.
A staged murder. A fake assassin group. And now a veiled woman moving the pieces.
This wasn't just about a poisoned drink.
It was a message.
And someone wanted to brew chaos… one drop at a time.
By dusk, Lu Fang had the rooftop runner shackled in a private cell beneath the Bureau headquarters. Guards rotated every two hours—my orders. If someone was bold enough to orchestrate a murder inside the palace walls, they wouldn't shy away from silencing a loose end.
I sat alone in the small archive chamber of the Bureau, sifting through records by candlelight. The scent of aged parchment calmed me—reminded me of the years I spent studying strategy and logic, before shackles ever touched my wrists.
A red veil. A veiled woman. The phrase clung to me like mist.
"Bi Yao," I said without turning, knowing she was already in the room.
She appeared from the shadow near the shelves. "How did you know I was here?"
"You always smell like jasmine and steel," I replied with a half-smile.
She didn't deny it. "I've cross-referenced merchant records with witness accounts from the lower districts. No mention of a red veil anywhere in the past month. Whoever she is, she's careful."
"She knows how to use fear as a tool," I said. "Pretending to be Red Fog isn't just misdirection. It's psychological warfare. The kind that starts small… and spreads fast."
Bi Yao sat across from me. "You think it's political?"
I hesitated.
Zhang De'an—the taster—wasn't just any palace official. He served directly under Minister Quan, head of the Imperial Supplies Division. And Minister Quan had enemies. Plenty of them.
"Tell me," I asked quietly. "Do you know anything about Quan's recent dealings?"
Bi Yao leaned back, thinking. "There was some gossip two weeks ago. Whispers of unauthorized shipments. Silk, tea, rare incense—items vanishing from inventory before being recorded."
I raised a brow. "The same kind of items that would be delivered to… say… a taster's quarters?"
She nodded slowly. "Which means Zhang De'an might've seen something he wasn't supposed to."
"And someone made sure he wouldn't speak."
Bi Yao stood and walked to the shelves. She ran her fingers along a dusty registry. "You think the veiled woman works for Minister Quan?"
"I think she works for someone powerful enough to borrow fear," I said. "And rich enough to pay for silence."
There was a knock at the door.
Lu Fang stepped in, grim-faced. "We just received news. The man we captured—he's dead."
I shot to my feet. "What?"
"Slit his own throat with a hidden pin," Lu Fang said. "Bit through it before the guards could react."
Bi Yao's fists clenched. "Suicide?"
"No," I said, coldly. "Loyalty."
Lu Fang set a folded piece of silk on the table. "We found this in his sleeve."
I opened it carefully.
Inside, scrawled in crimson ink: "When the second cup is poured, the Emperor will taste death."
The silk note lay before us like a curse, soaked in silence.
"When the second cup is poured, the Emperor will taste death."
Lu Fang's jaw was tight, unreadable. Bi Yao's expression had gone from sharp to still, the way warriors do when they sense a blade hidden in the dark.
I ran my finger slowly across the words. Crimson ink. Not blood. Not rushed. Written with care. Someone wanted this message to be found.
"It's not just a warning," I muttered. "It's a clock."
Lu Fang frowned. "A clock?"
"A countdown," I clarified. "The first cup was Zhang De'an. He was the taster. The man between the Emperor and his tea. The first line of defense."
Bi Yao's voice was low. "Which means the second cup…"
"…is the Emperor himself," I finished.
We all fell silent.
"If that's true," Lu Fang said slowly, "then this case isn't about vengeance. It's about regicide."
And just like that, the walls felt narrower. The air heavier. What began as a strange death in a quiet tea house had become a threat to the very heart of the dynasty.
I straightened and took a deep breath.
"We need access to the palace," I said.
Lu Fang gave me a look. "That's not simple. Security tightened after Zhang's death. Even Bureau commanders need clearance."
"Then ask your fiancée," I said.
Lu Fang blinked.
"Lin Yi," I said calmly. "Minister Quan's daughter. The Emperor's goddaughter. If anyone can arrange a quiet entry into the palace without raising flags, it's her."
Lu Fang hesitated. "She's not part of this."
"She is," I said. "Whether she knows it or not. And if Minister Quan is hiding something, she might be the only one close enough to smell the truth."
Bi Yao crossed her arms. "You trust her?"
Lu Fang looked away. "Yes."
I didn't say anything. Not yet. Trust was a knife in the right hands. And in the palace, even love could be a weapon.
"I'll send a message tonight," Lu Fang finally said. "Discreetly."
"Good," I replied. "And tell her to invite us for tea."
He raised a brow.
I smiled thinly. "If someone wants to poison the Emperor's cup, then maybe it's time we bring our own."
By the next morning, the Bureau received a sealed scroll tied with a red silk thread—the mark of Minister Quan's household.
Lu Fang broke the seal with a practiced flick and read it quickly. His shoulders eased slightly. "She arranged it. We're to be received through the east servants' gate. No titles, no formal announcement. Just... guests for tea."
"Guests for tea," I echoed with a dry smile. "What a poetic way to enter a den of hidden daggers."
The Imperial Palace glistened under the midday sun, its golden eaves reflecting light like polished blades. I'd passed its gates once, years ago, in chains. Today, I passed them again—unshackled, but still a prisoner in a different game.
Bi Yao walked beside me, cloak drawn tight against the wind. Lu Fang led, silent and composed, but I saw the tension in his jaw.
Two eunuchs greeted us, their faces blank, their eyes far too knowing.
"This way," one of them said, voice high and thin. "Lady Lin Yi awaits you in the Plum Pavilion."
As we walked the winding stone paths, I studied everything—the subtle shifts in guard positions, the scent of the incense burning near the eastern halls, the trays carried by servants covered in embroidered silk.
Every detail was a clue. Every detail could kill.
We arrived at a small pavilion nestled beside a frozen lotus pond. Lin Yi stood inside, dressed simply, her hair tied with a single jade pin. Graceful, calm, and unreadable.
She turned and smiled gently at Lu Fang.
"You're late."
"We were cautious," he replied.
Her gaze shifted to me. "You must be Su Wuming."
"I must be," I said with a small bow. "And you must be the woman clever enough to open a locked gate without making noise."
She offered no reaction. Only gestured to the table where four cups sat steaming.
I looked at them carefully.
Lin Yi noticed. "I brewed it myself. No tasters. No servants."
"Bold," I said.
"Necessary," she replied. "I've been listening. And I think my father is hiding something."
Lu Fang looked startled. "Lin Yi—"
"No," she cut in. "You wanted to come here for answers. So ask."
I sat down. The tea smelled faintly of lotus and plum—harmless at first scent.
"Zhang De'an died after drinking Red Bincha," I said. "His death was made to look like the work of Red Fog. But it was a cover—someone wanted him dead, and they wanted fear to follow."
"I believe you," Lin Yi said quietly. "My father has been... restless. Secretive. For weeks now. New servants. New ledgers. And he's stopped drinking the palace tea."
I leaned forward. "Why?"
"I don't know," she said. "But he received a private shipment last week. Unmarked crates. Locked. Even I wasn't allowed near."
I exchanged a glance with Lu Fang.
"He's hiding something," Bi Yao said. "Something dangerous."
Just then, a servant approached the pavilion, head bowed. "Lady Lin. Your father requests your presence in the eastern wing."
Lin Yi frowned. "He never calls for me during the day."
She stood slowly, hesitant.
I placed my hand on the fourth teacup—the only one left untouched.
"Go," I said. "But be careful. Don't eat. Don't drink."
She nodded and walked away without a word.
As she vanished around the corner, I stared at the steam curling from the cup.
One cup down.
Three left.
And somewhere in this palace...
The second one waits.
After Lin Yi disappeared into the eastern wing, I stood for a long while, watching the steam from the untouched teacup curl and fade.
I wasn't thirsty anymore.
"Bi Yao," I said softly, "how fast can you move without being seen?"
She blinked once. "Faster than your shadow."
"Good. Head toward the southern storerooms. Look for any crates marked with double knots or red wax seals. If you see a servant guarding them closely, follow him. If you see nothing… follow the silence."
Bi Yao nodded and vanished without another word.
Lu Fang stepped beside me. "What are you thinking?"
I pointed to the teacup. "That's not ordinary Red Bincha. It's been blended—see the way the foam lingers near the rim? Too thick."
He leaned in, inspecting it. "You think it's poisoned?"
"Not yet. But it's close." I paused. "Let's visit the kitchens."
The Imperial kitchens sprawled like a maze behind the main banquet halls—dozens of clay stoves, iron kettles, and sweating cooks who didn't look twice at Lu Fang's uniform. His rank opened doors. My questions pried them off their hinges.
"How many tea shipments have come this month?" I asked an older steward.
"Four," he answered. "Three from the northern estates. One… special batch from Minister Quan's family. Delivered last week."
"Special?" I asked.
He nodded. "Didn't go through storage. Went straight to the small fire chamber. Quiet order."
"Who brewed it?"
The man hesitated. "Head tea-mistress Liao. She hasn't been seen since yesterday."
I exchanged a glance with Lu Fang. "Take us to the fire chamber."
The small tea-brewing room was oddly clean. Too clean. The air reeked faintly of burnt plum, and the ash bin had been emptied recently—too recently. I knelt and scraped the edge of the bin with my finger. Something black and sticky clung to my skin.
"What is that?" Lu Fang asked.
"Not tea ash," I said, sniffing it. "More like… powdered dried berries. Crushed with resin. Mixed with herbs."
Lu Fang's eyes narrowed. "A new poison?"
"No. Worse." I stood up. "A test blend."
"Someone's experimenting?" he asked.
I nodded. "Zhang De'an's death was a trial run. But the poison wasn't refined enough. That's why the scent was so strong. They're trying to perfect it—refine the flavor, mask the bitterness."
"Which means the real one hasn't been used yet."
I looked down at the quiet, extinguished hearth.
"Not yet," I murmured. "But they're almost ready."
Just then, Bi Yao slipped into the room, silent as mist.
"I found the crates," she said. "Locked. Stored beneath the eastern wing—beneath Minister Quan's quarters."
"What's inside?" I asked.
"I picked one open," she said. "Glass jars. Some filled with black dust. Some with dried white flowers. And one… one was labeled in gold ink: 'Second Cup.'"
My breath stopped for half a beat.
Lu Fang spoke what we were all thinking. "They're preparing it. The real one."
I nodded slowly. "Then we need to get to Lin Yi."
We moved fast. The kind of speed that gets you killed in the palace if you take one wrong turn.
Lu Fang's hand hovered near his blade. Bi Yao was ahead of us, her eyes sharp and focused as a hawk's. We made our way through the maze of servants' corridors toward Minister Quan's quarters, hearts pounding beneath silk robes.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
We stopped near the curved stone arch that led to the eastern wing. From behind the silk partition, voices floated through.
"…You shouldn't have come here, Yi'er."
Minister Quan.
His voice was low, calm, like a storm that hadn't decided where to land.
"You've changed," Lin Yi replied, her voice trembling but firm. "What are you hiding?"
I moved silently, crouched behind the lattice window. Through the thin veil, I could see Minister Quan standing near a lacquered desk. His hands were clasped behind him. A single scroll lay open, half-covered with wax seals and strange botanical symbols.
Lu Fang moved to draw his sword.
I stopped him.
"Not yet," I whispered.
"I'm your daughter," Lin Yi was saying. "Why would you keep this from me?"
Minister Quan finally turned to face her. His expression was unreadable.
"I've done everything for the Empire," he said. "Even this. Sometimes… stability requires sacrifice."
Lin Yi took a step back.
And that's when he pulled the blade.
A thin, curved dagger—beautiful and cruel.
Lu Fang burst through the screen like lightning. I was right behind him.
"Minister Quan!" Lu Fang shouted. "Step away from her!"
The minister didn't flinch.
"You don't understand," he said. "If the Emperor dies, the succession clears. The Crown Prince takes the throne. The Council resets. I become Chancellor. The people need order—"
I moved fast.
Faster than he expected.
I slammed the scroll shut and kicked the dagger from his hand in a single, calculated strike—not strength, just leverage. The blade skittered across the floor. Bi Yao pinned him in a breath, her boot against his back, hand at his neck.
He froze.
"Poisoning the Emperor," I said coldly, "is not a path to order. It's a noose."
Lin Yi's eyes brimmed with tears. "Why… Father?"
Quan didn't answer. But his silence screamed more than any confession.
We bound him and seized the crate labeled Second Cup. When opened, it revealed a set of vials—delicate, crystalline, and filled with that same black resin Bi Yao found earlier.
Enough to kill ten emperors.
The Red Bincha Tea Case was no longer a mystery.
It was a conspiracy.
By dusk, the eastern wing was sealed.
Guards from the Central Tang Kingdom Investigation Bureau stood at every corner. Minister Quan had been escorted away in chains—silent, defeated, his once-pristine robes dragging through the dust of his own ruin.
I stood before the long, low table in the Bureau's record hall. Laid out before me were the full contents of the Second Cup crate—eight vials, one half-empty. A sealed logbook. And a pouch of crushed white petals from the snowshade blossom—banned since the Han dynasty for its slow, scentless death.
Bi Yao leaned over one of the vials. "You think this was the exact poison used on Zhang De'an?"
I nodded. "The taste was masked with plum and sweet lotus. Clever. But not clever enough."
Lu Fang entered, his face drawn, his eyes heavier than usual.
"It's done," he said. "Minister Quan has confessed. Before the Bureau Chief, and before the Empress Dowager's envoys. He admitted to ordering Zhang De'an's death and planning the Emperor's poisoning through manipulated tea channels."
"He won't live long," I said.
Lu Fang gave a tired nod. "Execution has been scheduled for sunrise. His titles stripped. His lands seized."
Bi Yao exhaled slowly. "And Lin Yi?"
"She's asked to leave the capital," Lu Fang said. "She said she needs time."
His voice was soft. Softer than I'd ever heard it.
"She'll return," I said. "Stronger."
I turned back to the evidence. Every leaf, every vial, every note—each one a thread in the web of power and desperation that had nearly killed a ruler.
"You're quiet," Lu Fang said to me. "Is the case truly over?"
I stared at the last vial. The seal had been tampered with—but not by Quan.
"No," I said softly. "Not entirely."
He straightened. "You think there's someone else?"
"I think Quan had help," I replied. "No man plans a crime of that scale alone. Someone refined that poison. Someone helped him smuggle it in past Bureau checkpoints."
Lu Fang frowned. "Do you have a name?"
I shook my head. "Not yet. But I have a scent. And it smells like sweet plum."
He understood immediately.
"There's another shadow," I said. "And we'll find it."
Lu Fang's voice was calm. "Then this case isn't over. Just the first chapter."
I smirked. "Exactly."
The sun had barely crested the palace walls when the execution drums began.
They echoed across the capital like a slow heartbeat. Final. Measured.
From the steps of the Central Investigation Bureau, I watched as Minister Quan, once the most revered strategist in court, was led to the execution grounds. Dressed in plain linen, hair unbound, he didn't struggle. He didn't plead.
He simply looked ahead, as if trying to memorize the shape of the sky one last time.
The crowd watched in tense silence. Not a murmur, not even a gasp when the blade fell. Just a moment of wind—and then stillness.
Lu Fang stood beside me, arms folded. "You could've turned away."
"I didn't want to," I said. "Justice isn't clean. It's not always sweet. But if I'm going to carry the title they want to give me… I should know what its weight feels like."
He nodded. "Speaking of titles…"
I raised an eyebrow.
"The Bureau wants you." His voice was firm, but with a touch of amusement. "Not as a consultant. Not as a sidearm. As an official. Sheriff of Internal Affairs, reporting directly under me."
I gave a short laugh. "From prisoner to sheriff. Has a certain poetry to it."
"You earned it," he said simply. "Every step. Every lie you spotted. Every truth you dug up."
I was silent for a moment, then asked, "And Lin Yi?"
"She left the capital before dawn. No escort. Just a letter."
He handed it to me.
I opened the small parchment. Her writing was graceful as ever.
> Su Wuming,
You saw the rot that I could not, and yet you still spoke gently to the wound.
Thank you. I will return when I no longer carry his shadow.
—Lin Yi
I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into my sleeve.
Bi Yao emerged from the stone corridor behind us, holding a steaming teacup. "One last cup of Red Bincha," she said, grinning. "This time, from the Bureau's own reserves. No poison. I watched it boil myself."
I took it and raised it slightly toward her.
"To cleared names and open cases," I said.
"To strange tales," she replied.
We drank in silence, the bitterness of the tea lingering just enough to remind me—this was only the beginning.
A dozen new case scrolls lay in Lu Fang's hand, sealed with wax and marked urgent.
He offered them to me.
"You ready, Sheriff?"
I smirked.
"Let's begin."