Midnight had not yet arrived.
The palace gates were closed—
But not locked.
It violated protocol.
And it was entirely intentional.
Because tonight, the Emperor did not want anyone to claim they had "arrived too late."
When the entrance to the underground granary was reopened,
Torches were lit one by one, illuminating the stone staircase that descended into darkness.
The place was damp.
Cold.
The air carried the thick smell of mold and stale grain.
Like the scent of a truth that had been buried for far too long.
The first prisoner brought in was not the Iron Abacus.
Instead—
It was Zhao Cheng, the warehouse registrar.
A painfully ordinary official.
In his fifties.
Hands shaking.
His official cap crooked on his head.
The moment he saw the Emperor, his legs gave out beneath him.
"Y-Your Majesty… this servant is innocent… I was only following regulations…"
The Emperor didn't even look at him.
Instead, he said one sentence to Qing Tian.
"You question him."
Those three words—
Were more terrifying than any torture device.
Qing Tian stepped forward.
Her tone calm.
"Registrar Zhao."
"The Imperial Kitchen's grain intake this year is recorded as eighty-three thousand shi."
"But how much actually entered the granary?"
Zhao Cheng's lips turned pale.
"E-eighty-three thousand…"
"Tell the truth."
"…."
He began to tremble.
As if finally realizing—
No one could save him this time.
"…S-sixty… a little over sixty thousand."
The air tightened instantly.
"Over twenty thousand shi missing."
Qing Tian continued steadily.
"Where did it go?"
Zhao Cheng suddenly looked up.
"That's the rule from above!"
The words burst out of him like a scream.
"It's not just me! I didn't steal it myself!"
"It's—"
His voice choked.
On the edge of collapse.
"It's the palace rule!"
For the first time—
The Emperor raised his eyes.
"Rule?"
"What rule?"
Zhao Cheng crawled forward desperately, clutching the floor like a drowning man.
"Your Majesty!"
"Whenever there are grand offerings… Buddhist ceremonies… imperial birthdays…"
"The grain must look pure."
"The accounts must look perfect."
"But the grain allocated from above…"
His voice cracked.
"…is never enough!"
"And what do you do then?" the Emperor asked quietly.
Zhao Cheng's face collapsed.
"…We take it from below…"
"Below?" the Emperor asked.
"Who is 'below'?"
"…Kitchen workers… laborers… night guards…"
His voice shattered.
"After all…"
He couldn't finish.
"After all, they…"
"…have no power to bring their complaints before the throne."
The underground chamber fell into a deathly silence.
The Emperor slowly stood.
He did not rage.
He did not shout.
He simply asked one question.
"Who made this rule?"
Zhao Cheng closed his eyes.
His voice barely more than a whisper.
"…The Empress Dowager's shrine."
The words struck harder than thunder.
Even Gao Dequan dropped to his knees.
"Your Majesty—!"
The Emperor raised a hand.
Silencing everyone.
Then he turned and looked at Qing Tian.
"You heard that."
It wasn't an accusation.
It was confirmation.
Qing Tian nodded.
"I heard."
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
She fell silent for a moment.
Then answered honestly.
"I am."
"But if I remain silent today…"
"More people will die."
The Emperor looked at her.
For a very long time.
Finally—
"Good."
He turned back toward the chamber.
His voice calm.
Clear.
"Deliver my decree."
"From this day forward—"
"Anyone who diverts the rations of the lowest workers under the name of 'offerings'…"
"Will be treated as accomplices."
"No matter which palace they serve."
He paused.
"I will show no mercy."
The torch flames flickered.
Long shadows stretched across the stone walls.
Ancient rules—
Rules that had stood for years—
Cracked for the first time.
And Qing Tian knew.
This was only the first brick falling.
What waited ahead—
Was an entire wall
Ready to collapse.