On the third day after the edict was issued—
The audit of the Buddhist Halls officially began.
The very first rule sent a chill through the entire Inner Palace:
No one was permitted to reorganize the ledgers.
No backdated entries.
No alterations.
No replacement of personnel.
Whoever managed the shrine would step forward.
Whoever kept the books would reconcile them in person.
This was not an audit.
It was a mirror that revealed monsters.
The investigation began with the three Buddhist shrines under Cining Palace.
Qing Tian did not avoid suspicion.
She presided over it personally.
Because she understood one thing clearly—
If the blade did not fall from the highest place first, those below would dare to muddy the waters.
Day One.
The accounts were immaculate.
Almost flawless.
Grain. Incense oil. Offerings.
Every figure aligned perfectly.
Even the senior palace auditors nodded.
"It seems someone merely borrowed the shrine's name to cause trouble elsewhere."
More than one person quietly exhaled in relief.
Day Two.
Qing Tian spoke two words.
"Open the storeroom."
A ripple of shock.
"Open the physical inventory of the shrine," she repeated calmly.
The doors were unlocked.
And the moment they opened—
The air changed.
The ledger recorded:
Three hundred jin of incense oil.
The actual stock contained:
One hundred ninety-seven jin.
A deficit of one hundred and three jin.
No one dared to breathe.
Qing Tian did not even look up.
"Record it. Incense oil short by one hundred and three jin. Calculate monthly distribution backward for one year."
The abacus began to clack.
Sharp.
Cold.
When the final number fell, it was devastating:
One thousand two hundred and thirty-six jin.
Someone's knees buckled.
Because this was no minor diversion.
This was systematic depletion.
Long-term.
Deliberate.
"Where did the offerings go?" Qing Tian asked.
No one answered.
And then—
A voice broke the silence.
"I know."
It was soft.
But it shook the entire hall.
"I am willing to speak."
All eyes turned.
It was Consort Xian.
She did not cry.
She did not collapse.
She stepped forward.
Bowed deeply to the Empress Dowager.
"For years, the 'surplus' from the shrine was handed to the Internal Administrative Office for 'temporary circulation.'"
"They claimed it was to prevent waste."
The Internal Administrative Office.
Three words, sharp as a needle.
Qing Tian finally lifted her eyes.
"Who managed it?"
Consort Xian closed her eyes briefly.
"Consort Shen."
The air froze solid.
Consort Shen.
Once the Emperor's favored beauty.
Of noble background. Gentle reputation. Known for her charity.
The earliest advocate of expanding the Buddhist Halls.
"I was not unaware," Consort Xian continued.
"But she said the grain would be sent to charity granaries outside the capital."
"And was it?" Qing Tian asked evenly.
"It was sold," Consort Xian said.
"In private markets."
No one objected.
Because the proof was already laid bare.
Qing Tian took out a document from the desk.
"Southern City Rice Merchant. For three consecutive years, they received shipments labeled 'Buddhist oil and grain.'"
She looked at Consort Xian.
"The seal used—was the shrine's private stamp."
Iron evidence.
Consort Xian knelt.
Not to beg forgiveness.
But to declare her allegiance.
"I am willing to testify."
"The 'compassion' Consort Shen spoke of never reached the people."
"It reached only power."
In that moment—
Qing Tian knew.
The chessboard had begun to flip.
The Empress Dowager said nothing.
But her silence—
Was already an answer.
That evening—
A confidential memorial bypassed the Grand Secretariat and went directly to Yangxin Hall.
It contained only one sentence:
"Beneath the Buddhist Hall, hunger spreads."
Signed—
Director Qing of the Shangshi Bureau.
Meanwhile—
Inside Zhaohua Palace—
Consort Shen was lighting incense.
Before her, the Buddha statue wore a serene smile.
She let out a soft, cold laugh.
"So."
"They've finally traced it to me."
She pressed the burning incense deep into the burner.
Sparks scattered.
"Then let's see—"
"Who burns first."