The Emperor's Atpyical Request

That night, as usual, the Emperor entertained a party of concubines. Considering the afternoon's events and her pact with the Emperor, Beatriss watched himnot like a bashful coquette, but like a tactician. What caught her attention even more than his appetites was the uncanny intuition of one concubine: a poised, commanding woman named Biyu. She seemed to know exactly when each woman should sing, when they should dance, when to bare themselves—and when one alone should yield to the Emperor while the others withdrew.

When Biyu half-mockingly invited Beatriss to share the feast, she addressed her by name, mispronouncing it in exactly the same way Jiaohu had done that morning.

After the Emperor succumbed to sleep, one woman remained beside him while the rest arranged cushions on the floor. Beatriss did not sleep. An hour passed. Then she saw Biyu quietly rise and slip from the chamber.

Beatriss's gaze shifted to the Emperor, ears straining to read the cadence of his breath, to judge how deeply he slept.

She had little time. Moments later, another woman entered the room. She looked like Bayan—but her movements were wrong. Too smooth. Too serpentine. She moved with an unnatural grace that was almost grotesque. And in her hand was a knife. Her eyes were fixed on the Emperor.

But she paused. She had seen Beatriss.

Their eyes locked.

Beatriss did not scream. She opened her mouth and loosed a battle cry that split the silence like a spear through silk. It was the sound she would make before striking a man dead.

The assassin charged—not at the Emperor, but at Beatriss—panicking, lashing out. Beatriss never flinched. Only at the last instant did she turn her head, and the blade meant for her face sliced across her temple instead.

The guards burst in just as the Emperor, already rising, lunged from the bed, reaching for "Bayan" as she vaulted out the window. Chaos erupted. Some guards surrounded the Emperor, others issued sharp commands to lock down the palace and apprehend Bayan. Beatriss, bleeding, sat upright. The Emperor tended to her wound himself. The rest of the women were gathered and questioned. The gardens were found empty. Biyu had vanished.

Bayan, however, was discovered fast asleep in her bed.

The Emperor’s advisors urged caution. But he relented. As Beatriss pointed out, if Bayan had crept into the Emperor's bedchamber, she wouldn't be carrying a knife. Bayan was given a chance to prove her innocence—by finding the true assassin. Especially if it was Biyu, who might be hiding in the Women’s Palace—a place the Emperor’s guards could not normally enter.

Within the harem, Biyu was known as quiet and discreet. No one seemed to know which room she used. After much coaxing, an elderly lady-in-waiting led Bayan through moonlit gardens, steamy bathing halls, and shadowed corridors to a small chamber. Bayan dismissed her and stepped inside alone.

There was a figure in the bed—a girl. A young woman. She had been strangled.

Bayan knocked on the neighboring door and roused a drowsy concubine to confirm the body was Biyu. She nodded, horrified. Bayan hushed her, thanked her, and sent her back to bed.

Then she waited.

After some time, another figure entered the room. Bayan’s own face. Her own body. Her own knife. 

Bayan didn’t speak. She attacked with a silent kick to the spine, followed by a flurry of blows. The false Bayan shrieked and bolted, her features warping, collapsing into the shape of a young woman. As cries echoed through the hall, Bayan warned the residents: "Stay inside. Anyone in the corridor risks death."

Locks clicked. Lights vanished.

The creature tried to strangle her. Its slender hands warped into barbed claws. Bayan drew her dagger and plunged it into the fiend’s side. It screamed, bled, and—cornered—begged for its life. It promised to surrender. To speak to the Emperor.

Bayan agreed.

The promise was false.

In the final struggle, Bayan slew the thing. It slumped, pale and grotesque—its body gray and formless, face collapsing like wet clay. She dragged it from the Women’s Palace. Guards helped carry it to the Imperial chambers, where the Emperor beheld it with his own eyes.

For the rest of the night, the Emperor slept alone.