The air in Empress Dowager Ci'an's chambers was thick with the scent of jasmine tea and unspoken fear. The quiet, gentle regent had summoned the young Emperor for a private audience, an act that was in itself a quiet rebellion. Since the disastrous Grand Council meeting that had shattered her partnership with Cixi, Ci'an had found herself adrift in a sea of political isolation, her every move watched by spies she now saw everywhere.
The recent incident with the French doctor had been the final straw. It had been a move of such breathtaking cruelty and cynicism—to attempt to have her own nephew, the Son of Heaven, declared medically insane for political gain—that it had extinguished the last dying embers of her sisterly affection for Cixi.
"She tried to have you declared mad, Zaitian," Ci'an said, her voice a low, trembling whisper as she poured tea for the small boy. Her hands shook slightly. "I was there. I heard it. She brought that arrogant foreigner here to brand you as a lunatic. And the attack on your loyal guard, Meng Ao… it was her order. I am certain of it. Her paranoia has become a sickness, a poison that will kill the dynasty if we do not find an antidote."
She looked at Ying Zheng, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "But what can we do? She still commands the loyalty of half the court. Li Lianying's web is everywhere. To move against her openly is to invite civil war within the palace walls."
This was the moment Ying Zheng had been waiting for. He had spent months carefully nurturing Ci'an's conscience, validating her authority, and stoking her quiet sense of duty. She was no longer a reluctant pawn to be pushed; she was now an ally, actively seeking a solution. It was time to show her the true nature of the war they were fighting, and to ask her to become not just a supporter, but a co-conspirator.
He did not respond with a childish dream or a cryptic fable. He met her gaze directly, his ancient eyes holding hers, and spoke to her as one ruler to another.
"The time for subtle moves is over, Huang E'niang," he said, his voice quiet but devoid of its usual childish lilt. "A serpent cannot be tamed. It must be caged or killed."
He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. From the shadows of the antechamber, his two personal attendants, Lotus and Ying, entered. They moved with a silent, synchronized grace, their presence immediately changing the atmosphere in the room. Ci'an gasped softly. She knew who—and what—they were. Lotus was the charming "playmate" sent by Cixi. And the girl, An, had been recently assigned to the Emperor's household, but Ci'an had heard the rumors of her lethal skill. To see them here, acting as the Emperor's trusted servants, was a profound and unsettling statement of his hidden power.
The two former assassins carried a series of lacquered boxes. At Ying Zheng's gesture, they opened them on a low table. They did not contain gifts or toys. They contained proof.
This was the culmination of months of espionage, the fruits of Shen Ke's tireless analysis. It was a meticulously prepared dossier of Cixi's crimes.
Lotus, his face pale but his hands steady, unrolled the first scroll. "Your Imperial Majesty," he began, addressing Ci'an with formal respect. "This is a copy of a page from Head Eunuch Li Lianying's private ledger, the one believed lost in the fire at the Silkworm Nursery."
Ci'an leaned forward, her eyes wide. The page detailed a series of large, clandestine payments made from a secret fund. The recipient was listed simply as "The Hidden Valley." The purpose was noted as "Spring Orchids," a chillingly poetic euphemism.
"The School of the Silent Orchid," Ying Zheng explained softly. "A secret academy where Her Majesty Cixi has been training a private force of spies and assassins, loyal only to her. Lotus and my maid, An, are both graduates. She has been building a secret army, an act of treason."
Next, Ying unrolled a series of architectural plans and expense reports. They were the originals, procured by the architect Lei Tingchang. Ci'an immediately recognized the lavish designs for the new Summer Palace. But laid beside them were the official treasury reports, showing the funds for the Northern Fleet being systematically diverted to pay for rare hardwoods, Venetian glass, and, most damningly, the immense cost of the Marble Boat.
"She has been embezzling naval funds to build her personal pleasure garden," Ying Zheng stated, his voice cold. "While our coasts remain undefended, she builds a boat of stone."
The final document was perhaps the most insidious. It was a summary prepared by Shen Ke, comparing the original, urgent military memorials sent from the provinces with the altered, watered-down versions that were eventually presented to the Grand Council. It showed a clear, systematic pattern. Reports of Russian troop movements were downplayed. Warnings about Japanese naval expansion were softened or omitted entirely. Pleas for better equipment for the banner armies were edited to seem less urgent.
"This is not just mismanagement, Huang E'niang," Ying Zheng said, his small hand resting on the damning report. "This is a deliberate effort to keep the court weak and ignorant, to prevent any minister or general from becoming too powerful or too successful. She would rather the empire remain weak and vulnerable than risk a hero emerging who might challenge her own power. She is not a regent protecting the dynasty. She is a parasite, actively feeding on it, weakening it to ensure her own survival."
Ci'an stared at the mountain of evidence, her face ashen. Each document was a nail in the coffin of the woman she had once called sister. The rumors she had dismissed, the whispers she had ignored—they were all true. It was not just paranoia and vanity. It was a calculated, long-term pattern of treason.
Ying Zheng looked at her, his expression now one of profound seriousness. "You asked what we can do. The answer is before you. We can continue this slow, secret war of whispers and shadows for years, while the empire continues to bleed. Or, we can use this overwhelming evidence to act decisively. We can lance the boil before the poison spreads any further."
He was offering her a choice, a final, terrible choice. To continue as a quiet dissenter, or to become an active revolutionary. To join him in a political coup d'état that would permanently strip Cixi of all power, for the good of the empire.
Ci'an looked from the damning papers to the face of the small boy who commanded assassins and spoke with the wisdom of a sage. She thought of the future, of the Japanese ships in his toy-boat prophecy. She thought of the dynasty her husband had entrusted to her and Cixi to protect. She realized, in that moment, that Cixi was no longer its protector. She was its greatest threat.
Her fear and hesitation finally burned away, replaced by a cold, hard certainty. She had been chosen for this moment, by fate or by Heaven. She stood up, her back straight, her gentle face now set with an iron resolve.
"You are right," she said, her voice clear and strong. "The parasite must be removed." She looked at him, no longer as a child, but as her partner, her commander. "What must be done?"