The cold war within the palace had entered a new, more insidious phase. Ying Zheng's days were now a monotonous cycle of rote memorization under the stern, watchful eyes of his three new tutors, a form of intellectual starvation designed to stunt his mind. But Cixi was not a woman to rely on a single strategy. Having been outmaneuvered in the realms of politics and covert operations, she decided to open a new front, one that was far more personal and potentially more dangerous.
She made a surprise visit to his chambers one afternoon, an event that had become rare since the appointment of the new tutors. She arrived not with the usual retinue of guards and high-ranking eunuchs, but with a smaller, more intimate entourage, her face a carefully constructed mask of maternal warmth and concern.
"Zaitian," she said, her voice as smooth and sweet as honeyed tea. She sat beside him, her perfume filling the air. "This Empress has been so worried about you. Your new tutors are so stern, so focused on the classics. But a boy cannot live on books alone. A boy needs a friend, a companion to share his games and ease the burdens of his lonely position. I have searched the entire palace, and I believe I have found the perfect companion for you."
She gestured to Li Lianying, who stood smiling by the door. The head eunuch stepped aside to reveal a boy who had been standing just out of sight.
The boy stepped forward and performed a bow of such fluid, perfect grace that it seemed more like a dance than a gesture of subservience. He appeared to be about ten years old, a few years older than Ying Zheng's physical form. He was strikingly handsome, with large, intelligent eyes, a bright, infectious smile, and a delicate, almost feminine beauty. He was a picture of youthful perfection.
"Your Majesty," Cixi said, her smile widening. "This is Lianhua, or 'Lotus.' He is the orphaned son of a distant cousin of mine from a noble Manchu family. He is clever, well-mannered, and has been brought to the palace to serve. I thought he would make a wonderful playmate for you."
Ying Zheng looked at the boy named Lotus. He saw the charming smile, the bright eyes, the graceful posture. And behind it all, he saw the trap. His mind, honed by a lifetime of surviving assassination attempts and sniffing out conspiracies, recognized the nature of this "gift" instantly. This was no playmate. This was a spy.
This was Cixi's real counter-attack. She had failed to break through his intellectual defenses with her rigid tutors. So now, she was sending a weapon designed to bypass his mind and target his heart. She was sending a trained operative to get close to him on a personal, emotional level, to become his confidant, his friend. This boy, Lotus, would be with him constantly. He would share his meals, his games, his private moments. He would be there to listen, to watch, and to report every childish word, every secret sigh, every flicker of true emotion back to his mistress.
Ying Zheng knew he had to accept. To refuse the gift would be a grave insult and an admission that he understood the game. He played his part perfectly. His face lit up with a convincing imitation of childish delight.
"A friend?" he said, his voice filled with wonder. "For me?"
Lotus stepped forward, his smile never wavering. "It is this humble servant's greatest honor to be chosen as Your Majesty's companion," he said, his voice clear and pleasant. He immediately knew how to speak to a young child, his tone friendly and engaging. "Perhaps later we could play a game of shuttlecock in the courtyard? Or I could show you a new string puzzle I have learned."
He was a perfectly crafted tool, designed to be irresistible to a lonely, isolated four-year-old.
Ying Zheng agreed with enthusiasm, while his mind raced, analyzing this new threat. Standing silently in the corner of the room, Meng Tian was conducting his own analysis.
As the Emperor's new shield, he had been observing the boy named Lotus from the moment he had entered the room. And his own superhuman senses, the gift of the elixir, were screaming at him that something was profoundly wrong. He saw what others missed. He saw that beneath the boy's fluid, graceful movements, there was a coiled, predatory tension, the perfect balance of a trained fighter. He saw that the boy's delicate-looking hands, when he gestured, had the faint, hard calluses on the knuckles and along the edge of the palm that came only from years of brutal, repetitive weapons training.
Most telling of all was the scent. To everyone else, the boy smelled faintly of soap and clean silk. But to Meng Tian's heightened senses, there was another smell clinging to him, a faint, almost imperceptible herbal aroma. It was the scent of die da jiu, a powerful medicinal liniment made from dozens of herbs, used by martial artists and soldiers to treat the deep muscle bruises and sprains that came from intense, violent physical training. Meng Tian recognized it instantly from his own army camps two thousand years ago.
He knew what this boy was. He was not a playmate. He was a predator of the highest order, a serpent sent into the garden.
After Cixi departed, pleased with the success of her plan, Lotus stayed behind. He immediately began his work, trying to charm Ying Zheng, suggesting games, asking him simple, innocent questions about his lessons and his dreams. He was probing, testing, trying to find a way into the boy's confidence.
Ying Zheng knew he was being constantly evaluated, that every word he said would be scrutinized. The stakes of the game had just been raised exponentially. The threat was no longer just political, confined to the court and the study. It was now intimate, personal, and constant. It would be sleeping in the room next to his, walking beside him in the garden, listening to his every breath. Cixi had placed her most dangerous spy right at his side.