The gates of the Cold Palace were colder than Qing Tian had imagined.
There was no wind here.
Yet the chill felt deeper than the back alleys of the Imperial Kitchen.
She stood before the gate, her cloak swallowed by the night.
The lantern in her hand cast a small, trembling circle of light at her feet.
She had brought no attendants.
Not out of bravado.
But because she knew that if she brought anyone—
it would alert far more than she intended.
"The Cold Palace granary… is in the western corner."
The old eunuch who told her this spoke in a hushed voice, his eyes avoiding hers.
"That place… was supposed to have been sealed years ago."
The door hinges shrieked as she pushed the gate open.
Dust.
Mold.
The scent of cold iron.
The air was thick with decay.
Broken offering tables leaned against the walls.
Cracked incense burners lay scattered nearby.
Old shrine banners curled on the ground like dead snakes.
But the granary itself was new.
The wooden crates were spotless.
The seals intact.
Even the ground looked freshly swept.
"Offerings?"
Qing Tian let out a quiet laugh.
She crouched and opened the first crate.
White rice.
Top grade.
The second crate.
The third.
All the same.
Full.
Perfect.
She stood slowly—
just as a voice echoed from the darkness.
"You came later than I expected."
The voice was not sharp.
Not hoarse.
It was a voice that should no longer exist in this world.
The lantern in Qing Tian's hand flickered violently.
"Lin Fu."
When she spoke the name, her tone was steady—
though it took effort to keep it that way.
Lin Fu.
Former inspector of the Imperial Kitchen.
A loyal man of the Liu family.
Three years ago—
he had supposedly died of illness while being escorted into exile.
And yet now—
he stood alive in the shadows of the Cold Palace granary.
Thinner.
But very much alive.
"Director Qing."
"Good memory."
Lin Fu smiled faintly.
"You should have died."
"But instead… you're thriving."
"These grains?"
"I moved them."
He stepped forward slowly.
"I didn't steal them."
"I simply exchanged them."
"The grain meant for servants became 'offerings.'"
"And offerings can always be traded again."
"For favors."
"For influence."
"Why not?"
Qing Tian stared at him.
"Consort Shen?"
Lin Fu let out a short, mocking laugh.
"She's only the face people see."
"The ones truly eating this grain…"
"…are people you still cannot afford to anger."
He leaned closer.
His voice dropped to a whisper near her ear.
"You think the Emperor doesn't know?"
"He knows."
"He has always known."
The words pierced Qing Tian like a needle.
But she did not step back.
"So the reason you're still alive…"
"…is because the Emperor arranged it."
Lin Fu blinked.
He hadn't expected her reaction to be so calm.
"You were left here deliberately," she continued.
"That means you still have value."
"So who exactly is he testing through you?"
For a moment—
even the air in the Cold Palace seemed to shift.
Lin Fu's smile faded slowly.
"You're sharper than I expected."
He stepped back.
"Go home, Director Qing."
"You've already dug far enough."
"If you go any deeper…"
"…you won't be the only one who dies."
"Consider that my final warning."
But Qing Tian asked only one question.
"The grain stolen from the lower ranks…"
"Will it be returned tomorrow?"
Lin Fu was silent for a long time.
Then he answered.
"No."
Qing Tian nodded once.
"Then tomorrow…"
"I will continue investigating."
She turned and walked away.
Behind her, Lin Fu spoke quietly.
"Director Qing."
"Are you truly not afraid?"
She didn't turn around.
Her voice drifted back through the darkness.
"If I were afraid…"
"Do you think I would have made it this far?"
The gates of the Cold Palace slowly closed.
From the shadows, an imperial shadow guard stepped forward.
"Your Majesty."
"She has met Lin Fu."
Inside Yangxin Hall, the Emperor closed the memorial in his hand.
"Let her continue."
"Do not interfere."