The Poison Banquet
The Hall of Eternal Harmony blazed with a thousand lanterns, each flame a lie painted gold.
Shen Weiyu stood at the edge of the coronation banquet, his formal robes weighing on his shoulders like a burial shroud. The silk was the color of dried blood—a shade the court called "imperial crimson"—and the embroidery of phoenixes and dragons seemed to writhe in the flickering light. He had not eaten in two days. The visions had left him hollow, scraped clean, and the bond with Yuning thrummed with a tension that made his teeth ache.
Across the hall, Zhao Yuning sat at the head of the long table, surrounded by ministers and generals who had once called him a reckless fool. Now they called him "Your Imperial Highness" with the same mouths that had whispered treason behind his back. He wore the crown of the heir apparent, a circlet of jade and gold that seemed too heavy for his brow. His smile was bright, practiced, and utterly false.
Weiyu felt it through the bond—the nausea beneath the grin, the cold sweat under the silk, the way Yuning's fingers kept touching the jade cup as if checking it was still there.
*He is afraid*, Weiyu thought. *He is afraid, and he is hiding it, and I am the only one who knows.*
The Princess of Yan sat to Yuning's right, her face a mask of serene beauty. Lady Lin Xiu—that was her name, though Weiyu had heard it whispered with other titles in the palace corridors. She wore robes of pale blue, the color of winter ice, and her hair was pinned with silver butterflies that caught the light like frozen tears. She had been kind to them. She had taught Weiyu that love could take many forms. She had offered her army to secure Yuning's coronation.
Weiyu had trusted her.
The memory curdled in his stomach like spoiled milk.
Three days ago, he had seen it. The final vision had come to him in a fever dream, his body still broken from the First Prince's torture, his mind swimming in the haze of pain and prophecy. He had seen the throne room, the banquet, the wine. He had seen Lin Xiu's hand, steady and sure, pouring a powder the color of bone into Yuning's cup. He had seen Yuning's face turn gray, his lips blue, his eyes wide with betrayal.
He had told Yuning. Yuning had laughed and called him paranoid. "She saved us," Yuning had said, his hand warm on Weiyu's cheek. "She gave us her army. She stood between me and the First Prince's assassins. Why would she poison me now?"
"Because she wants a puppet," Weiyu had replied. "Not a king."
But Yuning had not listened. Yuning was tired. Yuning was grieving his father, his brother, his old life. Yuning wanted to believe that someone in this gilded cage was honest.
Weiyu had not pushed. He had told himself he was being paranoid. The visions were not always true—he had rewritten them before, bent them, broken them. Perhaps this one was a shadow, a possibility, not a certainty.
He had been a fool.
The first course was served—soup of swallow's nest, clear and delicate, floating with slivers of ginseng. Weiyu watched the servants move, their faces blank, their hands steady. He watched Lin Xiu lift her spoon, her movements precise and elegant. He watched Yuning drink, and the bond sang with the warmth of the broth, and nothing happened.
*Perhaps I was wrong*, Weiyu thought. *Perhaps the vision was a lie.*
The second course came—steamed fish in ginger, the scales glistening like pearls. The ministers laughed and toasted Yuning's health. The generals clapped him on the back. The court musicians played a melody of victory, the strings bright and sharp.
Yuning caught Weiyu's eye across the hall. His smile softened, just for a moment, into something real. *I am fine*, that look said. *Stop worrying.*
Weiyu's chest ached with love so fierce it felt like a wound.
The third course was wine.
It came in a jade flask, carried by a servant Weiyu did not recognize. The man was tall, with a scar across his jaw and eyes that did not blink. He poured the wine into Yuning's cup, then into Lin Xiu's, then into the cups of the nearest ministers. The liquid was pale gold, almost clear, and it smelled of peaches and honey.
Weiyu's vision swam.
He saw it again—the powder, the bone-white grains dissolving into the wine. He saw Lin Xiu's hand, steady and sure. He saw Yuning's face, gray and still.
*No.*
He was moving before he knew it, his body acting on instinct. The bond screamed in his chest as he crossed the hall, pushing past ministers and servants, his formal robes tangling around his legs. He heard gasps, whispers, the scrape of chairs. He did not care.
"Stop," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't drink."
Yuning's cup was at his lips.
He froze, the wine an inch from his mouth. His eyes met Weiyu's, and the bond flared with confusion, concern, a flicker of annoyance. "Weiyu? What—"
"The wine," Weiyu said. He was breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. "It's poisoned."
The hall went silent.
Lin Xiu's face did not change. She set down her cup with perfect composure, her smile still in place. "Scribe Shen," she said, her voice smooth as oil, "you are interrupting the coronation banquet. Surely you have an explanation for such a grave accusation."
Weiyu turned to face her. The bond pulsed with Yuning's rising alarm, but he forced himself to focus. "I saw it," he said. "In a vision. You poured poison into the heir's cup."
"A vision," Lin Xiu repeated. She laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "The Jade Scribe is known for his prophecies, but this is the first time he has used them to disrupt a feast. Are you certain you did not simply imagine it? The curse has been known to cloud the mind."
"I am certain."
"Then prove it."
Weiyu's hands trembled. He had no proof. The vision was a ghost, a whisper of what might be. The powder could already be dissolved, invisible, untraceable. He had nothing but his word, and in this court, words were cheaper than rice.
But the bond was screaming now. Yuning's fear, sharp and cold, bled through the golden thread. *She is dangerous*, the bond seemed to say. *She is dangerous, and she is smiling.*
"Test the wine," Weiyu said. "Call a physician. Feed it to a dog. Do something."
Lin Xiu's smile widened. "An interesting suggestion. But I have a better one."
She lifted her own cup, the wine sloshing gently against the jade. "If the wine is poisoned, then I will die as well. I drank from the same flask. I poured the same wine." She raised the cup to her lips. "Shall I prove my innocence with my own life?"
The hall held its breath.
Weiyu watched her drink.
She swallowed, set down the cup, and smiled. "See? No poison. The Jade Scribe's visions are not as reliable as he believes."
Weiyu's blood turned to ice.
*She knew*, he realized. *She knew I would accuse her. She prepared for this.*
He looked at Yuning, who was staring at him with a mixture of relief and frustration. "Weiyu," Yuning said, his voice low, "perhaps you should rest. The visions have been hard on you. You are not well."
"I am well," Weiyu said. "I am telling you the truth."
"And I believe you," Yuning said. "But the wine is not poisoned. The princess drank it herself. You saw."
Weiyu wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Yuning by the shoulders and shake him until he understood. The bond was still screaming, a high, thin note of warning that would not stop. *Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is—*
Yuning lifted his cup again.
Weiyu moved.
He crossed the distance in three steps, his hand closing around Yuning's wrist. The cup tipped, wine spilling across the table, staining the white cloth red. "Don't," Weiyu said. "Please. Don't drink it."
Yuning's eyes widened. "Weiyu—"
"Trust me," Weiyu said. His voice broke. "Please. Just this once. Trust me."
For a long moment, they stared at each other. The bond pulsed between them, raw and desperate, a thread of light that connected their hearts. Yuning's expression shifted—frustration, confusion, and then something softer, something that looked almost like surrender.
"Fine," Yuning said. He set down the cup. "I will not drink."
Relief flooded through Weiyu, so sharp it made him dizzy. He released Yuning's wrist, his hand shaking. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
Lin Xiu's smile did not waver. "A touching display," she said. "But the wine is not poisoned, and the banquet grows cold. Shall we continue, or shall we let the Jade Scribe's paranoia ruin the heir's coronation?"
The ministers murmured. The generals shifted in their seats. Yuning looked at Weiyu, then at Lin Xiu, then at the spilled wine staining the table.
"Continue," Yuning said. "But bring a new flask. And have it tasted by a physician first."
"Of course, Your Highness," Lin Xiu said. She clapped her hands, and servants scurried to obey.
Weiyu did not move. He stood beside Yuning's chair, his heart still pounding, his eyes fixed on Lin Xiu's face. She was too calm. Too composed. She had planned for this, prepared for it, and the poison was still out there, waiting.
*She will try again*, Weiyu thought. *She will not stop until Yuning is dead.*
The new wine arrived. The physician tasted it, nodded, and declared it safe. Yuning drank, and the bond pulsed with warmth, and nothing happened.
The banquet continued.
Weiyu did not eat. He did not drink. He stood guard like a shadow, watching every servant, every cup, every smile. The hours crawled by, each minute a knife at his throat.
And then, at the final toast, Lin Xiu rose.
"To the new Emperor," she said, her voice ringing through the hall. "May his reign be long, and may his enemies fall."
She raised her cup.
Yuning raised his.
Weiyu saw it.
The servant who refilled Yuning's cup—the same tall man with the scar across his jaw. The way his hand moved, quick and practiced, as he switched the flask. The way the wine in Yuning's cup was a shade darker, a hint of amber instead of gold.
*No.*
Weiyu opened his mouth to scream, but the words would not come. The bond flared, a burst of heat and pain, and Yuning's face went white.
The cup slipped from his fingers.
It shattered on the floor, wine spreading like blood across the marble.
Yuning's hand went to his throat. His eyes found Weiyu's, wide and terrified. The bond screamed, a sound that was not a sound, a pain that was not a pain, and Weiyu felt it—the poison, cold and sharp, spreading through Yuning's veins like liquid fire.
"Yuning," Weiyu breathed.
He caught Yuning as he fell.
The hall erupted in chaos. Ministers screamed. Guards drew their swords. Lin Xiu's voice rose above the noise, sharp and commanding: "The Jade Scribe has poisoned the heir! Arrest him!"
Weiyu did not hear her.
He was holding Yuning, feeling the poison burn through the bond, feeling Yuning's life flicker like a candle in the wind. The golden thread between them pulsed, once, twice, and then began to fade.
*No. No. No.*
Weiyu looked at the wine on the floor. The spilled cup. The amber liquid that had stolen Yuning's breath.
He made a choice.
He reached for the cup, his fingers closing around the jade. The wine was still there, a mouthful left, dark and cold.
He drank.
The poison hit his throat like fire, and the bond screamed, and Yuning's eyes flew open, and Weiyu smiled.
"Now we share the same fate," he whispered. "I will not let you die alone."
The last thing he saw was Yuning's face, twisted with grief and rage and love, before the darkness swallowed them both.
Shen Weiyu stood at the edge of the coronation banquet, his formal robes weighing on his shoulders like a burial shroud. The silk was the color of dried blood—a shade the court called "imperial crimson"—and the embroidery of phoenixes and dragons seemed to writhe in the flickering light. He had not eaten in two days. The visions had left him hollow, scraped clean, and the bond with Yuning thrummed with a tension that made his teeth ache.
Across the hall, Zhao Yuning sat at the head of the long table, surrounded by ministers and generals who had once called him a reckless fool. Now they called him "Your Imperial Highness" with the same mouths that had whispered treason behind his back. He wore the crown of the heir apparent, a circlet of jade and gold that seemed too heavy for his brow. His smile was bright, practiced, and utterly false.
Weiyu felt it through the bond—the nausea beneath the grin, the cold sweat under the silk, the way Yuning's fingers kept touching the jade cup as if checking it was still there.
*He is afraid*, Weiyu thought. *He is afraid, and he is hiding it, and I am the only one who knows.*
The Princess of Yan sat to Yuning's right, her face a mask of serene beauty. Lady Lin Xiu—that was her name, though Weiyu had heard it whispered with other titles in the palace corridors. She wore robes of pale blue, the color of winter ice, and her hair was pinned with silver butterflies that caught the light like frozen tears. She had been kind to them. She had taught Weiyu that love could take many forms. She had offered her army to secure Yuning's coronation.
Weiyu had trusted her.
The memory curdled in his stomach like spoiled milk.
Three days ago, he had seen it. The final vision had come to him in a fever dream, his body still broken from the First Prince's torture, his mind swimming in the haze of pain and prophecy. He had seen the throne room, the banquet, the wine. He had seen Lin Xiu's hand, steady and sure, pouring a powder the color of bone into Yuning's cup. He had seen Yuning's face turn gray, his lips blue, his eyes wide with betrayal.
He had told Yuning. Yuning had laughed and called him paranoid. "She saved us," Yuning had said, his hand warm on Weiyu's cheek. "She gave us her army. She stood between me and the First Prince's assassins. Why would she poison me now?"
"Because she wants a puppet," Weiyu had replied. "Not a king."
But Yuning had not listened. Yuning was tired. Yuning was grieving his father, his brother, his old life. Yuning wanted to believe that someone in this gilded cage was honest.
Weiyu had not pushed. He had told himself he was being paranoid. The visions were not always true—he had rewritten them before, bent them, broken them. Perhaps this one was a shadow, a possibility, not a certainty.
He had been a fool.
The first course was served—soup of swallow's nest, clear and delicate, floating with slivers of ginseng. Weiyu watched the servants move, their faces blank, their hands steady. He watched Lin Xiu lift her spoon, her movements precise and elegant. He watched Yuning drink, and the bond sang with the warmth of the broth, and nothing happened.
*Perhaps I was wrong*, Weiyu thought. *Perhaps the vision was a lie.*
The second course came—steamed fish in ginger, the scales glistening like pearls. The ministers laughed and toasted Yuning's health. The generals clapped him on the back. The court musicians played a melody of victory, the strings bright and sharp.
Yuning caught Weiyu's eye across the hall. His smile softened, just for a moment, into something real. *I am fine*, that look said. *Stop worrying.*
Weiyu's chest ached with love so fierce it felt like a wound.
The third course was wine.
It came in a jade flask, carried by a servant Weiyu did not recognize. The man was tall, with a scar across his jaw and eyes that did not blink. He poured the wine into Yuning's cup, then into Lin Xiu's, then into the cups of the nearest ministers. The liquid was pale gold, almost clear, and it smelled of peaches and honey.
Weiyu's vision swam.
He saw it again—the powder, the bone-white grains dissolving into the wine. He saw Lin Xiu's hand, steady and sure. He saw Yuning's face, gray and still.
*No.*
He was moving before he knew it, his body acting on instinct. The bond screamed in his chest as he crossed the hall, pushing past ministers and servants, his formal robes tangling around his legs. He heard gasps, whispers, the scrape of chairs. He did not care.
"Stop," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't drink."
Yuning's cup was at his lips.
He froze, the wine an inch from his mouth. His eyes met Weiyu's, and the bond flared with confusion, concern, a flicker of annoyance. "Weiyu? What—"
"The wine," Weiyu said. He was breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. "It's poisoned."
The hall went silent.
Lin Xiu's face did not change. She set down her cup with perfect composure, her smile still in place. "Scribe Shen," she said, her voice smooth as oil, "you are interrupting the coronation banquet. Surely you have an explanation for such a grave accusation."
Weiyu turned to face her. The bond pulsed with Yuning's rising alarm, but he forced himself to focus. "I saw it," he said. "In a vision. You poured poison into the heir's cup."
"A vision," Lin Xiu repeated. She laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "The Jade Scribe is known for his prophecies, but this is the first time he has used them to disrupt a feast. Are you certain you did not simply imagine it? The curse has been known to cloud the mind."
"I am certain."
"Then prove it."
Weiyu's hands trembled. He had no proof. The vision was a ghost, a whisper of what might be. The powder could already be dissolved, invisible, untraceable. He had nothing but his word, and in this court, words were cheaper than rice.
But the bond was screaming now. Yuning's fear, sharp and cold, bled through the golden thread. *She is dangerous*, the bond seemed to say. *She is dangerous, and she is smiling.*
"Test the wine," Weiyu said. "Call a physician. Feed it to a dog. Do something."
Lin Xiu's smile widened. "An interesting suggestion. But I have a better one."
She lifted her own cup, the wine sloshing gently against the jade. "If the wine is poisoned, then I will die as well. I drank from the same flask. I poured the same wine." She raised the cup to her lips. "Shall I prove my innocence with my own life?"
The hall held its breath.
Weiyu watched her drink.
She swallowed, set down the cup, and smiled. "See? No poison. The Jade Scribe's visions are not as reliable as he believes."
Weiyu's blood turned to ice.
*She knew*, he realized. *She knew I would accuse her. She prepared for this.*
He looked at Yuning, who was staring at him with a mixture of relief and frustration. "Weiyu," Yuning said, his voice low, "perhaps you should rest. The visions have been hard on you. You are not well."
"I am well," Weiyu said. "I am telling you the truth."
"And I believe you," Yuning said. "But the wine is not poisoned. The princess drank it herself. You saw."
Weiyu wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Yuning by the shoulders and shake him until he understood. The bond was still screaming, a high, thin note of warning that would not stop. *Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is—*
Yuning lifted his cup again.
Weiyu moved.
He crossed the distance in three steps, his hand closing around Yuning's wrist. The cup tipped, wine spilling across the table, staining the white cloth red. "Don't," Weiyu said. "Please. Don't drink it."
Yuning's eyes widened. "Weiyu—"
"Trust me," Weiyu said. His voice broke. "Please. Just this once. Trust me."
For a long moment, they stared at each other. The bond pulsed between them, raw and desperate, a thread of light that connected their hearts. Yuning's expression shifted—frustration, confusion, and then something softer, something that looked almost like surrender.
"Fine," Yuning said. He set down the cup. "I will not drink."
Relief flooded through Weiyu, so sharp it made him dizzy. He released Yuning's wrist, his hand shaking. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
Lin Xiu's smile did not waver. "A touching display," she said. "But the wine is not poisoned, and the banquet grows cold. Shall we continue, or shall we let the Jade Scribe's paranoia ruin the heir's coronation?"
The ministers murmured. The generals shifted in their seats. Yuning looked at Weiyu, then at Lin Xiu, then at the spilled wine staining the table.
"Continue," Yuning said. "But bring a new flask. And have it tasted by a physician first."
"Of course, Your Highness," Lin Xiu said. She clapped her hands, and servants scurried to obey.
Weiyu did not move. He stood beside Yuning's chair, his heart still pounding, his eyes fixed on Lin Xiu's face. She was too calm. Too composed. She had planned for this, prepared for it, and the poison was still out there, waiting.
*She will try again*, Weiyu thought. *She will not stop until Yuning is dead.*
The new wine arrived. The physician tasted it, nodded, and declared it safe. Yuning drank, and the bond pulsed with warmth, and nothing happened.
The banquet continued.
Weiyu did not eat. He did not drink. He stood guard like a shadow, watching every servant, every cup, every smile. The hours crawled by, each minute a knife at his throat.
And then, at the final toast, Lin Xiu rose.
"To the new Emperor," she said, her voice ringing through the hall. "May his reign be long, and may his enemies fall."
She raised her cup.
Yuning raised his.
Weiyu saw it.
The servant who refilled Yuning's cup—the same tall man with the scar across his jaw. The way his hand moved, quick and practiced, as he switched the flask. The way the wine in Yuning's cup was a shade darker, a hint of amber instead of gold.
*No.*
Weiyu opened his mouth to scream, but the words would not come. The bond flared, a burst of heat and pain, and Yuning's face went white.
The cup slipped from his fingers.
It shattered on the floor, wine spreading like blood across the marble.
Yuning's hand went to his throat. His eyes found Weiyu's, wide and terrified. The bond screamed, a sound that was not a sound, a pain that was not a pain, and Weiyu felt it—the poison, cold and sharp, spreading through Yuning's veins like liquid fire.
"Yuning," Weiyu breathed.
He caught Yuning as he fell.
The hall erupted in chaos. Ministers screamed. Guards drew their swords. Lin Xiu's voice rose above the noise, sharp and commanding: "The Jade Scribe has poisoned the heir! Arrest him!"
Weiyu did not hear her.
He was holding Yuning, feeling the poison burn through the bond, feeling Yuning's life flicker like a candle in the wind. The golden thread between them pulsed, once, twice, and then began to fade.
*No. No. No.*
Weiyu looked at the wine on the floor. The spilled cup. The amber liquid that had stolen Yuning's breath.
He made a choice.
He reached for the cup, his fingers closing around the jade. The wine was still there, a mouthful left, dark and cold.
He drank.
The poison hit his throat like fire, and the bond screamed, and Yuning's eyes flew open, and Weiyu smiled.
"Now we share the same fate," he whispered. "I will not let you die alone."
The last thing he saw was Yuning's face, twisted with grief and rage and love, before the darkness swallowed them both.