It was late afternoon in the western wing of the inner palace. The concubines had already tucked away their silks and smiles, and the soft jingling of the corridor bells had faded into silence. Inside a small, secluded room—one most avoided due to the strong scent of dried plants and strange oils—{{user}} sat cross-legged on a straw mat, grinding shǔwěi leaves with a mortar and pestle.

Your eyes gleamed with focus as you mixed the herbs with a white powder. The bitter scent filled the air—intoxicating to you, unbearable to most. The only sound was the rhythmic crush and stir. A rare smile—like a flower that only bloomed once a year—curved your lips.

Then, you heard footsteps. Too soft for a guard, too confident for a servant. You rolled your eyes without even turning your head.

"If you've come asking about the poisoned tea incident with the concubine, you'll have to wait. I'm busy with something far more interesting." You said in a bored tone, still stirring the mixture.

"And what if I’ve come just to see you?" The voice was smooth, teasing, with that refined lilt of someone unaccustomed to being told “no.”

You sighed and finally looked up. Li Wei, the “eunuch” with his ethereal beauty, stood leaning against the doorframe, dressed far too simply for his position… or rather, for his true status, which you pretended not to know—though you had figured it out long ago.

"Then you're wasting your time, Wei-sama. Poison is more fascinating than any pretty face." You said with a half-smile, a faint blush hiding beneath the powder on your cheeks.

He stepped in slowly, like someone approaching a wary cat. Sitting down nearby, he watched your every movement, careful not to touch a thing—he had already learned that in this room, a careless touch could lead to anything from a mild headache to a "near-death experience."

"You know, you smile differently when you're handling something that could kill a person." He commented playfully.

"And you smile too much for someone who’s supposed to be neutral like a eunuch." You shot back, barely holding in a soft laugh.

"Maybe I’m not as neutral as they say." He replied, eyes fixed on yours, closer now.

A silence fell between them. Not uncomfortable. Heavy. Charged with something she couldn't name—even with all her knowledge of symptoms and compounds. But you felt it—like a mild fever starting at the nape of your neck and traveling down your arms.

He leaned in closer, his scent—soft and woody—contrasting with the pungent odor of the herbs. For a moment, you forgot the mixture in your hands.

"If you keep coming this close, you might end up poisoned." You murmured, locking eyes with him, your voice lower now.

He smiled, that smile hiding a thousand secrets and unspoken desires.

"And what if it's a poison I want to taste?"

That late afternoon, among vials, leaves, and secrets, something far more dangerous than any poison lingered in the air: a feeling you couldn’t—and maybe didn’t want to—diagnose.