Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
The soup's already on the tray when I get back to the kitchen.
Nanny Liu's ladling it herself, which never happens. She's head manager. She doesn't touch serving dishes unless someone's about to lose their head. The ceramic bowl gleams under the lantern light, steam curling up in soft, perfect spirals. It looks right. Smells right. But I know it's not.
Mom's note didn't finish the sentence. If I vanish, don't eat the Dowager's—
The Dowager's what? Her birthday feast is tonight. The kitchen's been prepping for three days straight. And now Nanny Liu's holding a bowl of something that's supposed to go to the most dangerous woman in the palace, and I can't say a single word to stop it.
I put the prince's empty cup on the wash rack and keep my head down. Cicada's elbow-deep in duck fat across the room, and she shoots me a look that says don't even think about it. She knows me too well. I've only been here two months and she already knows I'm the kind of stupid that gets people killed.
Nanny Liu sets the bowl on the tray. Adds a small jade spoon. Her hands are shaking.
That's when I know for sure. She's scared. Nanny Liu's been in this kitchen for thirty years and I've never seen her hands shake.
"Cicada," Nanny Liu says, voice flat. "Take this to the Dowager's pavilion. Don't let it cool. Don't let anyone touch it. If she asks who made it, you say it was me."
Cicada's face goes white. "Nanny, I—"
"Now."
Cicada wipes her hands on her apron and reaches for the tray, and I move without thinking. I step in front of her and take it first.
Nanny Liu's eyes go sharp. "Jin."
I don't look at her. I cradle the tray against my chest and bow once, quick and obedient, the way a mute girl's supposed to. Cicada's staring at me like I just volunteered to jump in a well.
"You can't," Cicada whispers. "You don't even know the way—"
I know the way. I was born in this palace. I walked these halls when I was small enough to hide under the serving carts. I know which courtyard smells like jasmine and which one smells like blood that never washes out.
Nanny Liu's mouth is a hard line. She looks at me for a long moment, then waves me off. "Go. Don't stop for anyone."
I go.
The tray's heavier than it should be. Or maybe that's just my chest. The soup sloshes faintly as I walk, and I can feel the heat of it through the lacquered wood. I should've tasted it. I should've stuck my finger in when no one was looking and let the memory sink into my tongue.
But if it's poisoned, I can't risk collapsing before I get there. And if it's not poison but something worse—something slower, something that only works if you're old or sick or already dying—I won't taste it in time anyway.
Mom's gift didn't save her. It won't save me.
The Dowager's pavilion sits at the far edge of the inner grounds, past the peach grove and the koi pond that froze over last winter and drowned six fish. The eunuchs at the gate barely glance at me. A mute kitchen maid with a tray isn't worth their attention.
Inside, the air smells like incense and old wood and something faintly sweet I can't name. The Dowager's sitting by the window with her back to me. She's small. Smaller than I remember. I was ten the last time I saw her, and she looked like a mountain. Now she just looks old.
There's someone else in the room.
I don't see him at first. He's standing in the corner by the scroll cabinet, half in shadow, hands folded behind his back. Then he shifts, and the lantern light catches his profile.
The third prince.
My heart kicks once, hard. What's he doing here? He's supposed to be in the outer study. He's supposed to be anywhere but here.
The Dowager doesn't turn around. "Put it on the table."
I move forward. My shoes are silent on the polished floor. I set the tray down as gently as I can, but the spoon still rattles faintly against the bowl's rim.
The Dowager turns her head. Her eyes are pale, almost colorless in the dim light. She looks at the soup. Then she looks at me.
"You're new," she says.
I bow. Keep my face blank.
"She's mute, Grandmother," the prince says from the corner. His voice is calm, polite. "The head manager sent her."
The Dowager hums. She reaches for the bowl, and I stop breathing.
Her fingers curl around the jade spoon. She dips it into the soup, lifts it. A piece of white meat clings to the edge—chicken, maybe, or fish. She brings it to her lips.
I should move. I should knock it out of her hand. I should do something.
But I just stand there.
She takes the bite.
For three long seconds, nothing happens. She chews slowly, eyes half-closed, tasting. Then her expression shifts. Not pain. Not surprise. Just... disappointment.
"This isn't right," she says quietly.
The prince steps forward. "Grandmother?"
"The broth is fine. The seasoning is fine." She sets the spoon down with a soft click. "But there's no care in it. Whoever made this was afraid."
She's right. I can feel it from here, the faint tremor of fear baked into the liquid. Nanny Liu's hands were shaking.
The Dowager reaches back into the bowl with her fingers this time, fishing around. She pulls out something small and pale. A bone. Thin, delicate, curved like a fingernail.
She holds it up to the light.
"This," she says, "is from a song thrush."
The room goes very still.
"Song thrush isn't on the menu," the prince says slowly.
The Dowager's smile is thin and sharp. "No. It isn't."
She drops the bone onto the tray. It lands with a faint, wet sound.
"Someone," she says, "is trying to kill me. And they're not very good at it."
She turns in her chair, and her eyes lock onto mine.
"Bring me the mute girl who carried this."
I'm already here. I'm standing right in front of her. But she's not talking to me.
She's talking to the prince.
He moves. Three steps, and he's close enough that I can smell the ink on his sleeves and the faint trace of night air that clings to him. He doesn't touch me. He just stands there, between me and the door, and I know I'm not leaving this room unless he lets me.
"Your name," the Dowager says.
I don't answer. I can't.
"She can't speak, Grandmother," the prince says.
The Dowager's gaze doesn't leave my face. "Then you speak for her."
There's a pause. Too long. I feel it stretch and tighten like a rope about to snap.
The prince's voice, when it comes, is very quiet.
"Her name is Jin Su."