Morning light filtered through the palace corridors, pale and cold, carrying with it the scent of incense and fresh silk. The palace was already awake—maids hurried with trays, eunuchs called softly to one another, and distant laughter drifted from courtyards where preparations for the festival neared completion.
In the Empress's courtyard, Lian An was sitting quietly when footsteps approached.
A maid from the Dowager Empress's residence bowed stiffly.
"Her Highness, the Dowager Empress orders that all prepared works for the festival be delivered immediately to her courtyard for inspection."
The words were polite.
The tone was not.
Lian An's fingers paused mid-movement.
So… it begins.
She had known this moment would come. From the instant she picked up the crochet needle, from the first crooked stitch, she had known this would not end kindly.
Yet her spine straightened.
"I understand," she said calmly.
