Dawn had just broken.
The imperial city was still wrapped in a thin veil of morning mist.
From the direction of Cining Palace, the morning bell tolled slowly—deep, resonant, echoing again and again against the palace walls.
It sounded like courage—
and like power, reasserting itself.
The side hall of the Internal Affairs Bureau was quieter than usual today.
Oppressively so.
The Empress Dowager sat at the head seat.
Beneath the phoenix throne, incense smoke curled upward from the burner. The sandalwood scent was steady, pure—so refined that no impurity could be detected.
Her expression was gentle.
Her gaze soft.
But her fingers moved slowly over the prayer beads.
One bead.
Then another.
As if counting something.
"Director of Food investigating grain…"
She finally spoke.
Her voice was calm.
Almost casual.
"I understand."
No one in the hall dared move.
"But the grain offered to the temple concerns sacred devotion."
Her fingers paused briefly.
"If it disturbs the public…"
She lifted her eyes slightly.
"I fear it will not end well."
One sentence.
Three layers of blades hidden beneath it:
— This is my grain.— You have overstepped.— You cannot bear the consequences.
Several senior stewards of the Internal Affairs Bureau lowered their heads.
Respectful.
Obedient.
But from the corners of their eyes—
they all glanced toward Qing Tian.
They were waiting.
Waiting for her to step back.
Waiting for her to kneel.
Waiting for this confrontation to end—
the way it always did.
Qing Tian stood in the center of the hall.
Her robes plain.
Her expression calm.
She did not kneel.
In that instant—
the air became both weightless—
and unbearably heavy.
A flicker of cold passed through the Empress Dowager's eyes.
But Qing Tian listened to her words—
and smiled.
A faint smile.
Yet it made everyone's heart tighten.
"Your Majesty is right."
Her voice was soft.
But every word was clear.
Neither humble nor defiant.
The Empress Dowager raised a brow slightly.
Qing Tian continued:
"Which is precisely why the temple grain…"
"…must be clean."
The prayer beads stopped.
The atmosphere froze.
Qing Tian raised her hand.
A single, decisive motion.
"Bring them in."
The doors opened.
Two figures were brought forward.
One—
the old night soil cart driver.
Clothes worn. Back bent.
The other—
an elderly eunuch who swept the temple courtyard.
Thin. Hollow-cheeked. Trembling.
They knelt together.
Heads lowered deeply.
But when they spoke—
their voices were unexpectedly steady.
The old driver rasped:
"The temple grain… never reaches the altar."
The air tightened instantly.
"It only enters the night carts."
A quiet sentence.
Yet it struck like thunder.
The old eunuch followed:
"The temple offers grain three times a day."
"But I've been sweeping there for three months…"
His voice shook.
But he forced the words out:
"I have never seen a single new sack."
Silence.
Absolute.
The kind that chills the spine.
The Empress Dowager's gaze darkened.
She hadn't expected this.
She hadn't expected the lowest people—
to be connected.
And she certainly hadn't expected—
these insignificant "specks of dust"—
to dare speak like this in front of her.
The prayer beads began to move again.
But heavier now.
Her voice remained gentle—
yet cold to the bone.
"Impudent servants."
"Do you know that slandering the temple is a capital offense?"
Both men trembled.
But neither took back their words.
The temperature dropped.
And at that moment—
footsteps sounded outside the hall.
Gao Dequan entered slowly.
He bowed.
And spoke only one sentence:
"His Majesty's verbal decree—"
"From today onward, temple grain will be audited exclusively by the Food Office."
The hall erupted into kneeling figures.
Breaths turned chaotic.
This was imperial power—
directly cutting into the temple.
For the first time—
the Empress Dowager's fingers tightened.
Just slightly.
She fell silent for a moment.
Then said lightly:
"If the temple is devoted to purity…"
"…it should not be stained with blood."
This was not retreat.
It was cutting off the path.
Midnight · Western Storage
The accounts were delivered to Yangxin Hall.
Page after page.
A full sheet.
Temple designation.
Night cart numbers.
Transfer stewards.
Final destinations.
Every entry—
attached to a name.
Yangxin Hall
The lights still burned.
The Emperor finished reading.
He remained silent for a long time.
Then finally said:
"Good."
His voice was calm.
But for the first time—
it wasn't because of food.
Not because of soup.
But across power itself—
he acknowledged her.
Same Night · Cining Palace
A jade Buddha pendant shattered on the floor.
The sound was sharp.
Piercing.
The Empress Dowager's gentle expression was gone.
Cold fury filled her eyes.
"Qing Tian…"
She spoke through clenched teeth.
"You are forcing my hand."
Food Office
Qing Tian stood under the lamplight.
Reading the newest intelligence.
A palace servant spoke quietly:
"Director… the grain doesn't move through just this one route."
Her gaze darkened instantly.
She closed the ledger slowly.
And understood—
the real web had only just begun to reveal itself.