The study was a sanctuary of silence, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos that had gripped the Forbidden City since the fire at the Silkworm Nursery. Late that night, long after the last of his new, stern tutors had departed, Ying Zheng was finally alone with his general and the spoils of their first victory.
Meng Tian stood guard by the door, a silent, immovable monolith. His presence transformed the room. It was no longer just the study of a boy-emperor; it was now the command center for a secret war. On the table before Ying Zheng, illuminated by the soft glow of a single candle, lay a book bound in rich, green silk. It was the master ledger of Li Lianying's spy network, the heart of Cixi's web of fear and control, stolen from the nursery just moments before it would have been consumed by flames.
Ying Zheng ran a small, careful hand over the smooth silk cover. This was more valuable than any of the jade or gold trinkets Cixi had received for her birthday. This was power. Real power. He opened it.
The pages were filled with the elegant, precise calligraphy of a master clerk. It was a treasure trove of secrets, a meticulous record of treason and corruption. The ledger detailed every payment made by Li Lianying's network over the past five years. It listed names, dates, and the amounts of silver paid. But most importantly, it detailed the services rendered—the information purchased.
As he turned the pages, a complete, damning picture of the court's rotten inner workings emerged. He saw it all. He saw the name of a high-ranking minister in the Board of War who had been selling military deployment plans to a foreign embassy. He saw the name of a captain in the Imperial Guard who was being paid to report on the private conversations of his own commander. He saw the names of dozens of eunuchs, a vast network of spies who reported on each other, on the concubines, on the princes, creating a self-perpetuating cycle of blackmail and betrayal. He even found, to his cold amusement, entries detailing payments to the very treasury clerks who were supposed to be overseeing the spy network's budget—including the recently disgraced Prince Su.
"This is not just a list of traitors, General," Ying Zheng murmured, his voice a low whisper in the quiet room. He looked up at Meng Tian. "It is a list of tools. Every name in this book represents a weakness. A vulnerability. A man who sells secrets for silver can be made to sell different secrets for more silver. Or, he can be made to provide them for free, out of fear."
But the raw intelligence was useless in its current form. It was too dense, too complex. He needed it processed, analyzed, and weaponized. He needed his Grand Historian.
He moved to his writing desk and took out the beautiful Duan inkstone he had gifted to Weng Tonghe. He had, of course, kept it. The one he had given the disgraced tutor was a perfect replica, also treated by Shen Ke. This was the master device. He ground a small amount of the special pine-soot ink onto its surface and wrote a short, simple summons on a piece of high-quality paper: a request for Scholar Shen Ke to attend him to discuss "a matter of classical annotation." It was a summons that would pass any inspection.
He then brushed the paper with a weak solution of tea from his own cup. As the paper dried, faint, brownish characters appeared between the lines of his original message, visible only to one who knew where to look. The work begins. Bring the necessary tools. Burn this. It was the first official use of his new, secure communication system. He passed the note to Little An, his pliable young eunuch, for immediate delivery to the Hanlin Academy.
Shen Ke arrived within the hour, brought to the Emperor's chambers under the cover of darkness. He knelt, his face a mixture of terror and fierce, resolute loyalty. He had no idea why he had been summoned, only that it was a matter of the utmost importance.
Ying Zheng did not waste time with pleasantries. He gestured for the scholar to rise and pointed to the green-bound ledger on the table.
"Scholar Shen," he said, his voice calm and direct. "Your first commission was to demonstrate your skill with a brush. Your new commission is to demonstrate your skill with a blade—a blade of pure information."
Shen Ke's eyes widened as he took in the ledger, realizing what it must be.
"This book," Ying Zheng continued, "contains the name of every snake in this palace. I need you to take it and, in absolute secrecy, create a master analysis. You will not merely copy it. You will dissect it. Cross-reference the names with their official posts, their family connections, their known rivalries. Map out the factions. Create for me a vulnerability report on every key player. Who is motivated by greed? Who acts out of fear? Who has secrets that can be used to control them? Who can be turned to our cause, and who is a lost cause that must be… eliminated?"
He looked at the young scholar, his gaze intense. "You are no longer a mere copyist, Scholar Shen. You are now the Grand Historian of this court's treason. You will be my Sima Qian. Record their crimes, analyze their weaknesses, and give me the knowledge I need to dismantle Cixi's network, piece by piece."
This was a task of immense, terrifying danger. To be caught with this ledger was a death sentence. To be caught analyzing it was a sentence to the worst tortures imaginable. But Shen Ke felt no fear. He felt a surge of righteous purpose. This was the work he was born to do—to use his intellect, his analytical mind, to bring order to chaos and to expose the corruption that was strangling the empire he loved. This was a far greater honor than transcribing poetry.
He bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the floor. "This scholar's life belongs to Your Majesty," he said, his voice trembling with the weight of his new responsibility. "I will not fail you."
He left the study moments later, the green ledger hidden in a false compartment of his scholar's box. His role had evolved. He was no longer just a scribe or a secret weapon of mockery. He was now the head of a clandestine intelligence analysis unit, working directly for the mysterious and powerful will that resided on the Dragon Throne.
Ying Zheng watched him go, then turned to Meng Tian. He now had the weapon, the analyst to aim it, and the warrior to strike. The three pillars of his new strategy were in place. The game of whispers and courtly intrigue was about to become much more direct.