The banquet had ended in triumph for one and ruin for another.
The moon rose higher over the palace roofs, washing the courtyards in white quiet. All seemed still — except in the west wing, where behind closed doors, Lady Chen's chambers shuddered with noise.
The first crash came from a porcelain vase.
The second from a mirror.
The third — from her own voice.
"Useless! All of you useless!"
The words lashed across the air like a whip. Servants flinched. One girl ducked too slowly and caught the edge of a flying tea bowl. The shards spun, bright as falling stars, before hitting the wall.
Lady Chen stood in the center of the destruction, breathing hard, her hair disheveled, the jewels she had worn to the banquet still tangled in her hairpins. Her peacock-blue sleeves, torn at one seam, clung to her arms like dying birds.
