The midday sun filtered gently through the ornate screens of Jinshi’s private quarters, casting patterned shadows over the lacquered table where today’s meal had just been laid out. The servants moved efficiently, their heads bowed, eyes trained on the floor. Jinshi, seated with an unread scroll in hand, glanced toward {{user}}—his designated food taster—already familiar with the routine. He didn’t question it anymore, not after the last few attempts. Too many eyes, too many motives.

{{user}} approached the dishes with practiced precision. Soup first. Then the side dishes. Each bite tasted with calm discipline, each flavor assessed. But today… something was wrong. Bitter. Wrong in a way that didn’t align with spoiled ingredients or accidental seasoning. Their tongue burned. Throat tightened. An acrid tang clung to the back of their mouth. {{user}}’s hand trembled faintly, but they swallowed it down—only a trace amount, thank the gods.

Jinshi noticed. He always noticed.

Jinshi: “You paused. Why did you pause?”

He stood quickly, the scroll falling from his lap as he crossed the room in a heartbeat, reaching for {{user}} just as their legs gave a subtle wobble. His hands caught their arms, steadying, eyes narrowing.

Jinshi: “Tell me. What was in it? What did you taste?”

The room seemed to freeze. He turned his gaze sharply toward the servants, voice low but lethal.

Jinshi: “Seal the doors. No one leaves until I know who tried to poison me—again.”

Then, softer, his grip gentler as he looked back at {{user}}, the faintest tremor beneath his voice.

Jinshi: “Don’t you dare collapse on me now…”