The next morning, Lan Wangji and I made our way to the main palace library—a place that looked less like a room and more like a temple dedicated to scrolls. Towering shelves loomed in solemn silence, their contents so old they probably predated sliced bread. The scent of aged parchment hung in the air like a thick fog, and the sunlight filtering through the high windows cast golden stripes across the floor.
Lan Wangji moved with the ease of someone who had probably read half of these scrolls by choice. I, on the other hand, shuffled in behind him like a kid forced into weekend tutoring. My excitement from the night before quickly deflated under the weight of endless rows of ancient text I could barely read.
We split up, each diving into a separate section. I pulled out one scroll after another, hoping to find something—anything—about strange lights, spiritual anomalies, or magical explosions that didn't end in me dying.
But ancient Chinese calligraphy was not my strong suit. The characters blurred together like an abstract painting, and I found myself tilting my head at the page like it might suddenly start translating itself. Spoiler: it didn't.
"Why couldn't ancient cultivators invent a search engine?" I muttered, scowling at a scroll that might have held the secrets of the universe or just a really long grocery list.
At one point, I opened a scroll tucked into the wrong shelf—only to discover it was a recipe for deer tendon stew.
"Seriously?" I groaned. "Why is a stew recipe in the spiritual cultivation section?"
From across the room, Lan Wangji lifted his gaze, expression unreadable. Then, as if deciding it wasn't worth a response, he went back to reading.
Meanwhile, I was spiraling into existential dread about whether this magical power of mine was just a one-time scorpion-fighting fluke. Every scroll seemed to promise hope, only to deliver disappointment in the form of ink-stained obscurity.
After what felt like hours of fruitless hunting, we paused for a break. I flopped onto one of the low benches, resting my elbows on the smooth wood.
"This is hopeless," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I don't know how anyone finds anything in here without losing their mind."
Lan Wangji sat across from me, composed as ever. "The library is vast," he said quietly, his voice like a balm. "But we will find what we are looking for. Even ancient truths reveal themselves, in time."
I looked at him, a little envious of how serene he always seemed. Me? I was two scrolls away from writing 'HELP ME' in big letters and hanging it from a ceiling beam.
Still, despite the exhaustion and the dust and the lack of progress, something about Lan Wangji's quiet confidence anchored me. If he said we'd find answers, maybe—just maybe—we actually would.
As we stepped out of the library, a soldier hurried toward us and bowed deeply. "Hanguang-jun, Zewu-jun has apprehended a suspect. He requests your presence in the prison immediately."
Lan Wangji's expression shifted, the quiet stillness in his eyes replaced with cold resolve.
I gave him a small, knowing smile. "Don't worry about me. If I even think about asking to go with you, Madam Hui will probably faint. I'll head back to my quarters."
He nodded once. "Very well. Be safe, Mei Lin."
I watched him disappear down the corridor before turning in the opposite direction. The palace halls felt heavier now—less like a gilded dream and more like a chessboard full of hidden traps.
When I finally reached my room, I found Xiaohua inside, diligently sweeping the floor. She looked up, bright-eyed as always, and smiled. "Welcome back, Miss Mei Lin."
"Thank you, Xiaohua," I said, sinking onto the bench by the window with a grateful sigh. "How've you been?"
She set the broom aside and came over, wiping her hands on her apron. "I've been well. How was your trip to the library?"
I groaned. "Unproductive. If I see another scroll about goat herding or deer stew, I might lose it." I chuckled. "But enough about ancient paper. How was your day? Did you get to try the cake from yesterday?"
Xiaohua's face lit up like the lanterns during festival week. "Yes! I've never had anything so soft and sweet. I couldn't stop thinking about it."
I beamed. "That makes me so happy to hear. You know," I added, tilting my head, "we've been working together for a while now, but I realized I don't actually know much about you. How did you end up in the palace?"
Xiaohua's smile faded into something gentler. She sat down across from me, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her sleeve.
"I was born in a small village far from here. We were poor—barely scraping by. Then, when I was ten, a terrible drought hit. No rain, no harvest. People started leaving... or starving. My parents didn't know what else to do, so they sent me here. Said it would give me a better chance."
She looked down for a moment, then up at me again. "I was scared at first. Everything was so big and strange. But Madam Hui looked after me. She taught me how to work, how to speak properly, how to behave. The palace became... home."
I listened in silence, the weight of her words settling deep in my chest. Her story echoed with quiet strength—the kind that doesn't shout, but endures.
"That must've been hard," I said gently. "Leaving your family behind at that age."
She nodded. "It was. I still miss them. But I'm grateful. Being here... it gave me purpose. And now, working with you in the infirmary, I feel like I'm doing something good."
"You are," I said firmly. "You've helped me more than you know."
Her eyes shimmered with pride, and for a moment, the heavy air of the palace lifted, just a little.
I reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "How long have you been working here?"
Xiaohua's smile returned, soft with pride. "Ten years now."
My eyebrows rose. "Ten? Then you must know everyone in the palace by now."
She chuckled lightly. "Yes, I do. I know who comes, who goes, who whispers what behind which screen... You could say there are very few secrets left when you've spent a decade in these halls."
That reminded me.
I leaned in slightly. "Speaking of whispers... Do you know the servant girl from the kitchen—the one who dropped the jar yesterday?"
Xiaohua's expression shifted, the mirth fading into something more guarded. "I believe you're talking about Qiu Yan."
I nodded. "That's the one. I saw her hide something small after the jar broke. She stepped on it quickly. I don't know what it was, but it felt… off."
Xiaohua didn't ask unnecessary questions. Her gaze turned thoughtful, sharp in the way only someone raised in the palace could be. "Leave it to me, Miss Mei Lin. If something's not right, I'll find out."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you. Be careful."
That evening, just as the sun dipped behind the rooftops and the palace bathed itself in dusky quiet, Xiaohua returned. She stepped inside quietly, leading a girl by the wrist—nervous, hunched, and pale.
"Miss Mei Lin," Xiaohua said gently. "This is Qiu Yan."
Qiu Yan wouldn't meet my eyes. Her steps faltered like a puppet with loose strings. I motioned them both in. "Thank you, Xiaohua. Qiu Yan, we need to speak."
Qiu Yan lowered her head as she stepped forward. Her hands trembled at her sides. "Miss Mei Lin, I—I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Please, I never wanted anything bad to happen."
I kept my voice calm, careful not to spook her further. "I saw you hide something yesterday when the jar broke. What was it?"
Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor, sobs racking her thin frame. "It was a packet. Someone gave it to me—told me to hide it inside that jar, said it was for seasoning! I didn't think anything of it, I swear! But when the jar shattered, I panicked. I stepped on it and threw it away. I don't even know what it really was!"
Her confession chilled me to the bone.
"Qiu Yan," I said, my tone dropping low, "do you realize how serious this is? If Zewu-jun finds out, you could be accused of conspiracy and sent to prison. They don't care how scared you were."
She looked up at me, her face streaked with tears. "Please don't tell them, Miss Mei Lin. Please. I didn't know."
I studied her for a long moment, then looked to Xiaohua. "Was she telling the truth?"
Xiaohua nodded slowly. "I believe she is. She's not smart enough to lie well."
I sighed and crouched down in front of Qiu Yan. "This isn't just about you. If someone is using the servants to plant dangerous things in the palace... we need to know who."
I could see the genuine terror in her eyes, but I needed to know more. "Who told you to hide it? Where did you throw it away?"
"I-I don't know who it was," she stammered. "It was a message, a voice I couldn't see. I threw it away in the garden, near the old well."
I felt a twist of both frustration and pity tighten in my chest. "You need to show me where you dumped it. Right now."
Qiu Yan nodded so fast it looked like her head might fly off. "Yes, Miss Mei Lin! I'll take you there. I remember exactly where it was."
Before she could bolt ahead, Xiaohua tugged gently on my sleeve. Her voice was low, eyes wide with worry. "Miss Mei Lin, it's getting late. The soldiers will be out on patrol soon… How are we going to get past them without being noticed?"
I paused, glancing toward the window. The palace grounds were lit by lanterns casting long, golden shadows across the paths. The air had turned colder, wrapping around us like silk dipped in ice. Moving around after curfew wasn't just frowned upon—it was a great way to end up explaining yourself to a not-so-friendly night guard.
"We'll have to be smart about it," I murmured. "If we stick close to the outer walls and cut through the edge of the garden, we might avoid their main patrol routes. But we'll need to move quietly. No running. No sudden movements."
Xiaohua hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Alright. But if the guards catch us, it won't just be a scolding."
"I know," I whispered, squeezing her hand gently. "But we can't ignore this. Something's going on, and if that packet was what I think it was… we can't let it disappear without a trace."
With that, the three of us slipped out of the room, the heavy hush of night swallowing our footsteps. Every creak of wood, every rustle of leaves made our hearts jump. We moved along the garden's edge, cloaked in shadow, hoping luck—or something like it—was on our side.
We hurried through the darkened corridors, Xiaohua clutching my sleeve as she kept pace behind me. The palace was unnervingly silent, the kind of silence that made every creak of the floorboards feel like a scream. Even the rustling of leaves outside sounded too loud, too sharp. My nerves were taut as a bowstring.
"Over here," Qiu Yan whispered, breathless. She led us to the far corner of the garden, where an old stone well stood half-swallowed by moss and time. She pointed to the ground beside it. "I threw it there."
The moment the words left her mouth, a sharp whistle cut through the night.
Thwack.
An arrow buried itself in Qiu Yan's throat.
She dropped without a sound—just the wet, horrible gurgle of breath trying to escape where it no longer could. Her eyes locked with mine for one paralyzing second, full of shock, terror… and then nothing.
Xiaohua screamed.
I couldn't move. My legs were frozen, breath lodged in my throat. She was dead. Just like that.
Another arrow sliced through the air toward me.
Before I could even flinch, a figure lunged from the shadows, pulling me behind him in one swift, practiced motion. His sword met the arrow mid-flight with a resounding clang of metal. Sparks flew.
Then he was gone—leaping into the night after the assassin like a shadow chasing another. The two vanished into the darkness before I could even register who he was.
I stood there, staring at the space he had just occupied, heart slamming against my ribs, hands trembling, ears ringing.
"Mei Lin!"
The sound of my name snapped me back.
I turned to see Jian Yi rushing toward me, his face tight with alarm.
"Are you alright?" he asked, reaching for my shoulders, scanning me for wounds.
I nodded shakily, still in shock, the weight of what just happened crashing down on me like a wave I hadn't seen coming.