That night, the lights of Yangxin Hall did not go out at the usual hour.
When Qing Tian was summoned, it was already the third watch of the night.
There had been no formal decree.
Instead, Gao Dequan himself appeared at the entrance of the Office of Provisions and spoke only one sentence:
"Director Qing, His Majesty requests that you come… quietly."
The word quietly weighed heavier than an imperial edict.
The palace paths were empty under the deep night.
Qing Tian carried a lantern and walked steadily.
She knew very well that the Emperor had not summoned her for comfort.
There were more important matters waiting.
Inside Yangxin Hall, the Emperor was not wearing his dragon robe.
He was dressed in dark, simple clothing, sleeves rolled slightly upward.
He sat at the desk, flipping through ledgers.
Not memorials.
But old Internal Affairs records.
"You're here?" he said without looking up.
His voice was calm.
"Your servant Qing Tian greets Your Majesty."
"Enough."
Only then did he glance up at her.
There was no imperial pressure in that gaze.
"Do you know why I called you tonight?"
Qing Tian did not hesitate.
"Because of the granary."
The corner of the Emperor's lips shifted slightly.
Not quite a smile.
More like confirmation.
"What have you found?"
Qing Tian did not answer immediately.
She removed a thin stack of papers from her sleeve.
"These are the abnormal entries from the Office of Provisions over the past three months."
"On the surface, the records are flawless."
"But grain loss ratios have increased month by month."
She raised her eyes.
"It isn't that the workers are eating more."
"It's that the grain is disappearing too quickly."
The Emperor nodded slowly.
Then he pushed another ledger across the desk.
"This is what I had retrieved from the Internal Affairs Bureau."
"The actual records of the shrine offerings."
Qing Tian froze.
She opened the book.
In the next instant—
Her pupils shrank.
Three entries appeared under the shrine's name:
Temporary grain allocations.
The dates matched perfectly with the empty warehouse crates.
"But the shrine never received them," the Emperor said calmly.
"Those old monks live on vegetable porridge."
"They do not eat white rice."
The air grew cold.
"So," the Emperor said quietly,
"The grain carried the shrine's name…"
"But ended up in someone else's pocket."
Qing Tian exhaled slowly.
"It was Consort Shen."
Not a question.
A conclusion.
The Emperor did not deny it.
"She's clever."
"She never touches the accounts herself."
"She only makes suggestions."
"Suggestions for temporary grain transfers."
"Suggestions for 'compassionate relief.'"
"Suggestions for 'short-term circulation.'"
"So the people who actually move the grain…"
"…are hers."
Qing Tian suddenly let out a quiet laugh.
Not amusement.
A cold realization.
"That's why she dared to stand at the granary door."
"And speak of the Empress Dowager's allocation right in front of me."
The Emperor studied her in silence for a long time.
Then he stood and walked toward her.
"Qing Tian."
"This matter has reached the point where it cannot be turned back."
"If we continue digging, it will no longer be about the kitchen."
"It will involve the lifeline of both the Inner Court and the Internal Affairs Bureau."
Qing Tian met his gaze.
"That is why I need Your Majesty."
The Emperor smiled faintly.
Then turned away.
He picked up a brush.
On a blank Internal Affairs note, he wrote only one sentence:
"Investigate the flow of shrine offerings thoroughly. Leave no traces."
Then he stamped it.
"I will have people investigate."
"But the blade…"
"…will not fall from my hand."
He looked at her again.
"I want you to wield it."
Qing Tian understood.
Once again, the Emperor had placed the initiative in her hands.
"One more thing," the Emperor added.
"The ghosts in the granary… there is more than one."
"Someone has already begun moving the evidence."
Qing Tian's heart tightened.
"Tonight," the Emperor said quietly.
"When you return, do nothing."
"Let them think you've been frightened off."
He paused.
"Tomorrow, I want to watch them panic."
The candlelight flickered.
Their shadows crossed along the floor.
After this night,
no one in the palace knew that the ghosts of the granary
had already been marked
by two pairs of eyes.