It was not that no one moved.
It was that everyone did—with footsteps deliberately softened, breaths carefully measured, voices swallowed before they could form.
Outside the Buddhist Hall, sandalwood incense burned as always.The smoke rose in a straight, unwavering line, as if even the air feared to tremble.
Monks and nuns walked with lowered heads.Robes brushed without sound.Even the wooden fish's rhythm slowed by half a beat, its hollow knock echoing with an odd restraint.
The Empress Dowager did not interfere.
More than that—
She personally ordered the innermost treasury of the Hall opened.
Clink.
The bronze lock fell to the ground.
Crisp.
Unhurried.
Terrifying in its composure.
Because the Empress Dowager knew something no one else did.
Her true accounts were not kept here.
And Qing Tian's target…had never been mere ledgers.
She wanted an entrance.
An opening through which truth could bleed.
Day One: Nothing
The investigators from the Three Judicial Offices searched the Hall's records from dawn until lantern-light.
Nothing surfaced.
Gold and silver balances—precise.Grain registers—orderly.Oil, incense, medicine, ritual vessels—complete.
Impeccable.
Cleaner than even the Imperial Household Department's books.
Too clean.
They flipped pages again.
And again.
Faces darkened.
Brows furrowed.
Because perfection in the palace was never innocence.
Perfection meant preparation.
The Empress Dowager's faction had clearly anticipated this day.
The books had been washed.
Scrubbed.
Sanitized into a mirror too polished to reflect reality.
Consort Shen remained confined in a side chamber.
Silent.
Empty-eyed.
Like a chess piece already declared dead.
She no longer argued.No longer cried.
Only sometimes did she lift her gaze toward the Buddhist Hall, and in her hollow stare flickered something close to despair…
…and hatred.
Everyone waited.
They had seen this play unfold too many times:
Thunderous investigation.Dramatic tension.And finally—
Nothing.
Another storm with no rain.
Only Qing Tian did not hurry.
She did not press the judges.
Did not demand progress.
She simply watched.
And waited.
Day Three: The Boxes
On the third morning, Qing Tian finally spoke.
"Bring them in."
Several attendants carried forward heavy wooden crates.
Inside—
Old records.
Dust-edged.Corners worn.Pages yellowed with time.
Qing Tian's voice cut through the hall:
"These are the Buddhist Hall's Return-of-Offerings Registers from the past three years."
The words made every official look up at once.
Return of offerings.
A regulation nearly forgotten.
A system buried beneath routine.
A form quietly inserted years ago—
by Qing Tian.
When she reformed the kitchens, she had slipped in a single sheet:
Any surplus grain, oil, or medicine from the Buddhist Hall must be recorded and returned.No private disposal permitted.
At the time, the rule had been approved—
By the Empress Dowager herself.
Because it sounded virtuous:
Frugality.Merit.Compassion.
It became a celebrated example of her "austere governance."
No one objected.
Why would they?
Now—
That forgotten virtue became iron chains.
Reopening the Hunt
The Three Judicial Offices began again.
This time, slowly.
Painfully slowly.
Because every "returned offering" had to be cross-checked:
With the grain depots.With the medicine vaults.With inventory seals.
By evening—
Disaster cracked open.
An eunuch's hands froze mid-page.
His face drained of color.
"D-Director Qing…"
His voice shook violently.
"This batch of rice recorded as 'Returned from Offerings'…"
He swallowed hard.
"…still exists in the Buddhist Hall's vault."
A pause.
"…And it is the exact batch missing from the Western Grain Store."
Silence detonated.
Qing Tian closed her eyes.
Just once.
Because she already knew—
She had gambled correctly.
This was not smuggling.
Not theft.
Not clerical error.
The offerings had not left the Hall.
They had been—
Consumed.
Inside it.
The Deadlier Discovery
And then came the medicines.
Premium snow ginseng.Calming spirit pills.Soul-settling incense.
Half marked "used."
Half—
Neither stored.Nor returned.
Gone.
The investigators followed the trail.
What they uncovered sent chills through the room.
Those medicines had surfaced on the black market.
In the estates of powerful ministers.
Not sold.
Gifted.
Through Consort Shen's covert channels.
Bribes.
Political transactions.
Influence purchased with sacred offerings.
The Buddhist Hall was no mere sanctuary.
It was—
A resource reservoir beyond the Emperor's direct reach.
A shadow treasury feeding an alternate power structure.
The Emperor Reads
When the compiled evidence arrived at the Hall of Mental Cultivation—
The Emperor read.
One page.
Then another.
Then another.
He did not speak.
The chamber was so silent the turning of paper sounded like thunder.
At last, he asked quietly:
"…Who governs the Buddhist Hall?"
Gao Dequan bowed low.
"In name…the Empress Dowager."
The temperature of the room plummeted.
Summons
For the first time—
The Empress Dowager was summoned to the Hall of Mental Cultivation.
Not for greetings.
Not for counsel.
But—
For accounting.
She sat upon the phoenix chair.
Calm.
Eyes resting upon the spread documents.
Then—
She smiled.
"Emperor."
Her voice was gentle. Almost indulgent.
"Will you truly fall out with me…"
"…for the sake of a kitchen-born woman?"
Behind the imperial desk, the Emperor stood straight as a drawn blade.
His reply was steady.
"Not for her."
A pause.
Then—
"For those who are still hungry in this palace."
No anger.
No theatrics.
Yet the words landed like mountains collapsing.
The Empress Dowager's gaze turned cold.
She understood.
This was no longer a contained struggle.
Imperial authority was being reclaimed—
From her hands.
Bit by bit.
And Qing Tian—
Had become something undeniable in everyone's mind:
The only one who dared overturn the Empress Dowager's hidden cards.
The blade the Emperor himself had unsheathed.
And now—
The palace waited to see
who would bleed next.