The 3rd day of the 10th month, Shaosheng Era, Year 3.
The first cold wave of autumn in Bianjing. The wind blew from the Yellow River, carrying sand and withered leaves, stinging the face like needles. The queue outside Tea Ji was shorter than usual—not because there were fewer customers, but because the weather was cold and the milk tea cooled too fast. Eunuch Li was working the abacus behind the counter, the crisp clicking sounds torn apart by the wind.
Zhang Maocai ran in from outside, his face as white as paper, panting as he leaned against the doorframe.
"Niangzi, something terrible happened. At Qingfeng Tower—someone drank the milk tea and vomited blood. They were carried away. Three of them."
The brush in my hand stopped.
"They say there's something wrong with Tea Ji's recipe. People are shouting on the streets that the Empress's tea is killing people. They say recipes from the palace were never meant for human consumption."
The abacus stopped. The queue at the door stopped too. People pointed and whispered, the sound indistinct but audible. A buzzing noise, like a disturbed hornet's nest.
A crowd had already gathered on the Imperial Street. A sedan chair was parked outside Qingfeng Tower, its curtains drawn, empty inside. The door of the clinic was half-open, and muffled wails came from within, sounding as if something were stuck in throats. There was a puddle of water mixed with mud on the ground. A woman knelt at the clinic's entrance, her hair disheveled, her clothes stained with dust. She wasn't crying; she just knelt there, staring straight at the half-open door.
"That's her son," Zhang Maocai whispered. "He drank the milk tea and vomited blood."
I walked over. The woman raised her head, looking at me. Her eyes were red, but tearless. In those eyes was something—not sadness, but something deeper, twisted and on the verge of snapping.
"Are you from Tea Ji?"
"I am the manager of Tea Ji."
She suddenly stood up and grabbed my sleeve. Her hand was thin, knuckles protruding, dirt embedded under her fingernails.
"My son drank your tea and vomited blood. The doctor said it's poison." Her voice trembled like a string stretched too tight. "Tell me, what did you put in the tea?"
"I put nothing. The pearls are lotus root starch, the osmanthus is honey-pickled, the tea is pre-Qingming Longjing. No poison."
"Then why did my son vomit blood?" Her voice sharpened, like a knife scratching against porcelain. "Why today? My son is only eight."
She let go of my sleeve, squatted down, and buried her face in her knees. Her shoulders shook as she finally cried, but she suppressed the sound. That kind of crying was harder to bear than wailing.
The clinic door opened, and the doctor walked out. Grey robes, medicine stains on the cuffs. He looked at the kneeling woman, then at me.
"Who is the family member?"
"I am." The woman raised her head. "Doctor, how is my son?"
The doctor took a silver needle from his sleeve. The tip was black. "I tested what he vomited. Arsenic."
The woman lunged forward, her fingernails scratching the back of Zhang Maocai's hand as he blocked the way, leaving a red mark. She didn't advance further, standing there, her chest heaving like a cornered beast.
"Your tea has arsenic! You killed my son!"
"It wasn't me. My tea has no arsenic."
"Then why was my son poisoned?"
"I don't know. But I will find out. When I do, I will give you an answer."
She looked at me for a long time. Then she turned around, walked into the clinic, and closed the door.
The wind on the Imperial Street grew stronger, rattling the notice board. "Empress's Tea Ji: Honest to old and young. Lotus root pearls, honey-pickled osmanthus. We don't compare prices; we compare conscience." The words were still there, but no one was looking at them. Everyone was staring at the closed door of the clinic, at the dirty puddle on the ground, at the imprint where the woman had knelt.
I stood in the wind for a long time.
That evening, Zhao Xu came to the Qingzhou Palace to find me. His face was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes.
"That child... the doctor said the poisoning wasn't severe. He can be saved."
"How do you know?"
"I sent the Imperial Physician. He tested with a silver needle. The amount of arsenic was small. His stomach was pumped; he just needs a few days to recover."
"Then why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because you were standing on the Imperial Street. I wanted you to stand there, to draw their eyes to you. That way, when the Imperial Physician went in, no one followed."
He didn't speak. He grasped my hand. My hand was trembling; he held it tight.
"Arsenic. They used arsenic. Not impeachment in court, not rumors in the market, but arsenic. They didn't just want to destroy Tea Ji, or me. They wanted that child. They used an eight-year-old boy."
"That child, I will protect. And you too."
The Imperial Physician sent over a toxicology report. Tea Ji's milk tea—pearls, tea water, osmanthus, lotus root starch—every ingredient was tested. The silver needle did not turn black. But in the boy's vomit, there was arsenic.
Zhao Xu sat under the lamp, staring at that page for a long time.
"The arsenic wasn't in the tea. It was somewhere else. Someone put it there. Not someone from Qingfeng Tower, but someone close to the child. Tomorrow, you continue operating Tea Ji. I will investigate. I will check the child's family, what he ate, drank, and who he saw today."
"Okay."
He stood up, walked to the door, then turned back.
"Today on the Imperial Street, you stood for a long time. Were you afraid?"
"Yes. But fear is useless. If I fear, they win."
He smiled. That smile was light, like wind blowing over water.
"Where you stand is Tea Ji. If Tea Ji stands, you stand. If you stand, I stand."
That night, I wrote on a slip of paper: Poisoning. Eight-year-old boy. Arsenic not in tea. Zhao investigating inner circle. Wind rattles the notice, but the lamp does not go out.
The wind blew all night outside the window. The lamp at Tea Ji was still on, orange and warm, swaying in the wind, but not extinguished.
[End of Chapter 54]