In the week following the confrontation at the reception, a fragile, tense peace settled over the Forbidden City. Cixi, having been forced to publicly back down, retreated into a cold, simmering fury. Prince Gong, having won his victory, consolidated his position and waited. The court held its collective breath. For Ying Zheng, this period was an opportunity. His feigned frailty and the subsequent diagnosis of "nervous exhaustion" had become his greatest shield. He was largely left to his own devices, his handlers treating him like a piece of delicate porcelain that might shatter from the slightest stress.
This newfound solitude was interrupted one afternoon by a rare, personal visit. It was not Cixi, who now communicated with him primarily through Li Lianying, but the other Empress Dowager, Ci'an. She arrived at his chambers with only two attending maids, her presence a stark contrast to Cixi's usual retinue of guards and eunuchs.
Ci'an possessed a gentle, quiet grace that Cixi's imperious nature overshadowed. Her concern, Ying Zheng had observed, was often genuine, rooted in a softer heart that was ill-suited for the brutal politics of the court. Today, she had come to check on the Emperor's health, bringing with her the Head Imperial Physician, Dr. Zhuang, for a follow-up examination.
"I was worried about you, Zaitian," she said, her voice soft as she sat on a chair beside his daybed. "There has been so much… tension in the palace lately. It is not a healthy environment for a child."
Dr. Zhuang knelt and respectfully took Ying Zheng's wrist. As the physician's fingers settled on his pulse point, Ying Zheng focused his will inward. He did not need to perform the dramatic, chaotic rhythm from before. His goal now was to show a slow, steady recovery. He commanded his heart to beat with a rhythm that was still weaker than a healthy boy's, but stronger and more regular than it had been during the last examination. He allowed a subtle warmth to return to his skin, a sign of his "qi" no longer being completely stagnant.
Dr. Zhuang nodded slowly, a look of professional satisfaction on his face. "It is as I had hoped," he announced to Ci'an. "Your Majesty's calming presence is like a soothing balm to the Emperor's spirit. His pulse is stronger today. The disharmony lessens. With continued rest and peace, he will make a full recovery."
Ci'an smiled, relieved. She had brought the boy a small gift. It was not a treasure of gold or jade, but a simple, charming toy: a brightly painted songbird in a delicate bamboo cage. When a small string was pulled, a tiny bellows inside the bird would let out a cheerful, warbling song. It was a true child's gift, chosen with affection rather than political calculation.
"You see?" she said, handing the cage to him. "You must not worry yourself with the troubles of the great court, Zaitian. It is a place of storms. Your only duty right now is to focus on getting well. A healthy mind resides in a healthy body."
Ying Zheng pulled the string, and the little bird chirped. He looked from the toy to the kind face of the Empress Dowager. He saw his opening. Cixi was a wall of ambition and paranoia, impossible to reason with. But Ci'an… Ci'an had a conscience. She was the weak link in the Dowagers' united front, a potential pressure point he could use to counterbalance her co-regent. He decided to test her, to probe the depth of her disapproval of Cixi's methods.
He set the birdcage down and looked at her, his large, dark eyes filled with a carefully crafted sadness and confusion.
"I heard Prince Gong was very angry at the reception," he said, his voice a small, troubled whisper. "It makes Huang A Ma Cixi unhappy. When she is unhappy, the whole palace feels cold." He paused, then delivered the critical line, framing a massive political crisis in the language of a child caught between feuding parents. "Is it my fault?"
The question struck Ci'an to the heart. She saw not a calculating monarch, but a frightened little boy who believed he was the cause of the conflict that was shaking the empire. Her face softened with a wave of pity and compassion.
"Oh, no, my child," she said, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. "Of course not. None of this is your fault. You must not ever think that." She sighed, a deep, weary sound that betrayed her own exhaustion. "Great ministers and the regents sometimes disagree on how best to serve the throne. It is the way of things. Prince Gong is a loyal man, just… passionate. He worries for the army."
She looked away for a moment, towards the window, and her next words were softer, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "And your Imperial Mother Cixi… she carries the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. Sometimes that weight makes her… severe. She only wants what is best for the dynasty, in her own way."
Her words were meant to be reassuring, a gentle smoothing-over of a complex problem. But Ying Zheng heard what she did not say. He heard the weariness in her voice, the sadness in her eyes. She did not defend Cixi's actions with passion; she explained them away with a tired resignation. She did not approve of her co-regent's methods, but she felt powerless to stop them.
Ying Zheng had his confirmation. Ci'an was not his enemy. She was not a firm ally of Cixi. She was a neutral, potentially movable piece on the board. If the right crisis occurred, if the right leverage were applied, her conscience could be turned against Cixi. She could be made to see that her co-regent's actions were a danger to the very dynasty she sought to protect.
He had survived the dangerous fallout from his first major gambit. He had successfully protected his agent, framed a corrupt official, and inadvertently forged a powerful alliance between his two most useful proxies. And now, he had identified a crucial weakness in the partnership of the two women who held his throne.
The political board had changed dramatically in his favor. He now had pawns, knights, and a clear view of the cracks in his opponent's defenses. Now, he could begin to plan his next, more ambitious move.