After Qingtang left, Shen Zhiyi walked around the hall.
It had been too dark the night before to see clearly. Now in daylight, Fangcao Hall looked even more dilapidated than she’d imagined.
The main hall had three rooms, with two side rooms each on the east and west wings. At the back was a small kitchen—the stove had collapsed halfway, and the remaining half was coated in thick dust. It hadn’t been used in at least three to five years.
But there was one advantage.
Seclusion.
How secluded?
Standing in the courtyard, if she shouted, the echo would be louder than any human reply.
Shen Zhiyi nodded in satisfaction.
Remote, run-down, and with her allowances skimmed—an ideal starting setup.
The tyrant wouldn’t come. The concubines wouldn’t bother stepping foot here. Even the eunuchs and maids avoided the place.
Perfect for quietly growing vegetables, reading books… and waiting for the emperor to die.
The only variable was the man from last night.
“Entering my harem, life and death are left to fate.”
She recalled the look in his eyes when he said that. It hadn’t been a warning—it was a test.
Testing what?
She walked to the window, took out the Records of Astronomical Observations from her sleeve, and flipped again to that annotated line.
“The Emperor Star is dim; the Empress seat lies vacant.”
The handwriting was old, the ink yellowed—at least ten years.
Who wrote this line ten years ago?
Who were they trying to warn?
Did Xiao Jue know this book existed?
Shen Zhiyi tucked the book away and looked up at the sky.
The afternoon sunlight was harsh; she narrowed her eyes.
This book appearing in Fangcao Hall wasn’t a coincidence.
Who was the previous occupant?
Why would they have texts from the Imperial Observatory? Were they deliberately left behind, or hastily forgotten?
She needed more information.
But information wouldn’t come to her on its own.
She had to wait.
She crouched down and began pulling weeds from the courtyard with her hands.
Since she had nothing better to do, she might as well till the soil first. Once the seeds arrived, she could plant them right away.
By evening, Qingtang returned.
Not only did she bring the seeds—she also brought news.
“Miss,” Qingtang whispered, leaning in close.
“That steward… he returned the silver.”
Shen Zhiyi paused mid-motion. “Oh?”
“Three taels. Not a single coin missing.”
Qingtang handed over the loose silver, looking puzzled. “H-he suddenly…”
“What did you say when you collected it?”
“Nothing much,” Qingtang thought for a moment.
“I just said I was from Fangcao Hall to collect the monthly allowance.”
“He asked which consort, and I said Consort Shen. Then he asked if the emperor came last night. I said yes, and then I left.”
Shen Zhiyi smiled.
That made sense.
When the steward asked if the emperor had come, it wasn’t gossip—it was probing her standing.
She had told Qingtang to answer truthfully because the truth was more useful than a lie.
The emperor had indeed come, stayed for a quarter of an hour, and nothing happened.
In the palace, nothing happening was often more unsettling than something happening.
The steward returning the silver wasn’t a sudden burst of conscience.
He just didn’t dare to gamble.
“What else?” Shen Zhiyi asked.
Qingtang glanced around, then leaned in even closer. “This servant heard… something happened at Consort Shu’s place last night.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Just that His Majesty had selected Consort Shu last night, but left halfway through the night without even drinking tea.”
“This morning, a palace maid was carried out from her quarters… they said she… didn’t make it.”
Shen Zhiyi narrowed her eyes.
When Xiao Jue came to Fangcao Hall last night, he had smelled of alcohol—and blood.
That blood hadn’t been his own.
“Anything else?”
“There’s more…” Qingtang hesitated.
“People in the palace are saying that the new consort—His Majesty didn’t even spare her a proper glance and sent her straight to the Cold Palace area. The people around Consort Shu were laughing quite loudly about it.”
Shen Zhiyi nodded and continued turning the soil.
Qingtang grew anxious. “Miss, aren’t you worried?”
“Worried about what?”
“They—they’re talking about you like that…”
“Aren’t they telling the truth?” Shen Zhiyi looked up, smiling gently.
“His Majesty really didn’t give me a proper glance. I am living next to the Cold Palace. Everything they said is true—why should I be worried?”
Qingtang was speechless.
Shen Zhiyi brushed the dirt off her hands and stood up. “Alright, bring me the seeds. Let’s plant the radishes before it gets dark. If it rains tomorrow, we won’t even need to water them.”
Qingtang hesitated as if she wanted to say more, but in the end, she turned and ran to fetch the seeds.