The morning after the Granny Gauntlet ended, Xue Yan smiled with her lips and screamed with her eyes.
She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that ridiculous old woman smirking at her from the soup bowl. Or worse—Madam Chu, crowing with laughter, calling her "all silk and no thread." It was a humiliation she could not scrub off, not with the finest perfumed water in the palace.
And Xue Lian.
Sweet, simpering, so-innocent Xue Lian had come out of it looking like a phoenix plucked straight from the ashes. Again.
"She's manipulating them," Xue Yan hissed, pacing her room. "She's weaving lies with tea leaves and powdered herbs and granny sweat."
Her hand slammed against her vanity.
A maid flinched.
"Fetch tea," Xue Yan snapped. "Not that peasant brew. The ceremonial kind. For the next tasting."
The upcoming evaluation was simple in theory—tea preparation for the household judges. It was meant to test elegance, precision, and discipline. But the truth was, it was the perfect setting for correction.
If one wanted a rival to falter, to seem careless… to appear dangerous…
A single drop was all it took.
---
The tasting ceremony was held in the side hall of the southern compound—an airy room with lacquered screens, golden peonies painted across the walls, and enough tension to turn silk into steel.
Each daughter had a table to present her own blend. The judges, composed of palace ladies, a few elder nobles, and a representative from the Empress's household, would sample each cup and quietly record their thoughts.
Xue Lian had chosen a calming winter plum blend, designed to settle nerves and sharpen the senses. Simple. Understated. Pure.
She poured the hot water over the leaves and waited for the scent to bloom.
Then she noticed it.
The faintest shimmer on the inside rim of the second teacup.
Not a crack.
Not dust.
A residue.
She leaned in slightly. Her nose caught the scent—not bitter, not floral.
Burnt almonds.
Her stomach sank.
Poison.
---
Xue Lian did not panic.
She coughed lightly, a deliberate sound, and swept the cup aside as though she had made a mistake. She reached for another set, carefully placed behind her. Calmly, precisely, she poured a new batch from her untouched leaves. The poisoned set was removed before a single judge lifted a lid.
No one noticed.
No one but her.
And the girl watching from across the room—Xue Yan—who went perfectly still.
---
The judges murmured approvingly at Xue Lian's tea.
"A delicate aftertaste."
"Soothing, but not dull."
"A fine choice. Thoughtful."
Xue Yan, meanwhile, smiled demurely beside her own chrysanthemum blend, hands folded. But her eyes flicked toward the discarded tray. And then toward the servant girl who had carried it in.
That servant was already trembling.
She didn't understand why she was being looked at like a war criminal, but she understood danger when it crept into the corners of the room.
Later that afternoon, a steward called Xue Lian into one of the smaller audience chambers.
The judges were not present.
But Xue Yan was.
And the servant girl knelt before them, weeping.
"She did it!" Xue Yan claimed. "I saw her place the tray down. Lian-jie, I know you wouldn't do such a thing, but perhaps someone in your quarters is... careless?"
Xue Lian's expression did not shift.
Her hands were folded neatly in her sleeves.
"Meiyu is seventeen," she said calmly. "She cannot read. She has no access to my medicinal herbs, nor would she know which blend was meant for the judges."
"Still, perhaps she heard something—"
"She doesn't speak Mandarin fluently."
Xue Yan faltered. "Well, perhaps another servant… She must have been told to carry it. Or perhaps you did not check thoroughly—"
Xue Lian smiled. "Are you suggesting I poisoned my own tea?"
"No! Of course not. I only mean, well… this could reflect poorly on all of us. I would hate to see you blamed unfairly."
Xue Lian's smile widened just slightly. "How noble of you."
---
The steward looked between them, clearly disoriented by the tension swirling just under their courtly words.
But Meiyu's tears had slowed. Her head tilted upward. She glanced at Xue Lian, who gave her the faintest nod.
Then Meiyu spoke.
"I only delivered what was handed to me… by someone else. Not from Lady Lian's quarters. It came from the general tea station."
The steward frowned.
Xue Yan tensed.
Xue Lian stepped forward. "If there is concern, let all cups and sets be tested. Let the blend be replicated and examined. I will offer my own hands for inspection if there is doubt."
Such calm. Such grace.
It made Xue Yan want to scream.
---
Later that night, in the quiet of her own chambers, Xue Lian brewed herself a simple cup of ginkgo root and jujube.
She did not drink it.
She only watched the steam rise and fade.
Then a knock came.
Not at the front door. At the side screen.
Soft. Deliberate.
She opened the panel.
No one was there.
Only a slip of parchment fluttered down from above.
She caught it before it touched the ground.
It was plain. No ribbon. No fragrance.
But the handwriting was neat. Slanted.
Just six words:
"You weren't supposed to survive this long."
---
She folded the note carefully, then burned it over the candle.
The flame twisted, shrank, and vanished with a puff of smoke.
Xue Lian stared into the ashes.
The game was changing.
She was no longer merely enduring Xue Yan's petty schemes or deflecting subtle social traps. Someone had escalated it into something far darker.
This wasn't just about rankings or favor anymore.
Someone wanted her gone.
Not embarrassed.
Not dismissed.
Erased.
---
She returned to her writing desk and pulled out her grandmother's old medicinal manual—an heirloom she had restored during her first rebirth days.
Then, she dipped her brush in ink and began to copy formulas. Quietly. Thoroughly.
This, too, was a kind of war.
And the first rule of survival?
Know every poison.
And every antidote.
---
Meanwhile, in a separate corner of the palace, Xue Yan tore her chamber apart.
The letter had been meant for her to find, not her sister.
And she hadn't written it.
Which meant someone was moving behind her back.
Which meant—
She was losing control.