By midmorning, the outer corridor had grown busier. People who had no right to enter still found reasons to circle the nearby routes, hoping a guard might notice them or that they might steal some small piece of information about which gifts Peony Pavilion accepted and which were sent back. More offerings arrived from an official in the inner flower office, a storehouse manager responsible for incense, a minor treasurer from the southern pavilion, and even a fabric supervisor who had never previously bothered to look toward Peony Pavilion. Now he sent light silk that was supposedly ideal for summer cushions. Not one gift was accepted automatically. Each was inspected, recorded, kept aside, or returned with language polite enough to deny the sender any comfortable reason for open anger. “The one who mocked us yesterday sends silk this morning,” one of the foreign maids murmured while lowering pale blue fabric

The morning sun had barely brushed across the palace roofs when the corridor leading to Peony Pavilion was already filled with people pretending they were merely passing by.A senior eunuch stood near a pillar with a wooden box in his hands, a fabric supervisor waited while pretending to study a storehouse register, and a minor official from the memorial office remained far enough away that no one could immediately accuse him of currying favor.The inner guards held the passage like two living walls. They never raised their voices, yet anyone who tried to step too close was stopped by a flat look that was usually enough to straighten his back and remind him where he stood.Yanliu sat at the outer table with a brush, a record tray, and the morning list of names. She was not yet entirely comfortable with the authority now resting at the tip of her brush, but her hand had steadied enough that people who once treated her like dust were now forced to announce themselves with greater care.

By the time the morning approached noon, the gifts themselves had become the least interesting part of the scene. What mattered was the people standing behind them. Near midday, Hanim finally allowed Senior Eunuch Luo to enter. The elderly man kept his expression as composed as he could, but his shoulders carried an ache that no amount of etiquette could completely disguise. “This servant has brought an inkstone,” he said. “I have already seen it,” Hanim replied. “This servant has also come to offer respect.” “You stood at the entrance to yesterday’s gathering with equally proper respect.” Luo did not answer immediately. The words were not an open accusation, which made them more difficult to defend against, because palace mistakes rarely disappeared merely because no one repeated them

The tea had never been the purpose of his visit. Everything in that room had been arranged to measure him. The lamp in Zhao Lin’s study was still burning when he returned home, as though the flame and the memorials piled across his desk had no idea that their owner had just sat in a room dirtier than any rat hole in the palace. The inkstone remained wet, two rolls of tax reports had not been closed, and an old cup of tea at one corner had lost its warmth more than an hour earlier. Zhao Lin removed his outer robe slowly. He did not throw it aside, strike the table, or curse, and the restraint in every movement immediately told the old servant who had accompanied him for years that something had gone far worse than ordinary anger. The servant was Qin Bo, a former clerk whose eyes were no longer sharp enough for tiny memorial script but remained perfectly capable of reading his master’s face. <

“Seeing is not always the first warning you get,” Du Song replied. They moved deeper into the pine road. Black branches intertwined overhead like thin hands closing across the sky. Then the horse on the left suddenly neighed. It was not a long cry, but a broken, sharp sound, as though something had moved just beyond the edge of the lantern light. Zhao Lin had no time to open the curtain farther. The carriage struck a large stone and threw his body to the right, and at that same instant a shadow descended from above the dark line of pines. The figure landed without any great noise. There was only a brief rush of displaced air and a flicker of darkness above the lantern before a man in black stood in front of the leading horse, his face concealed behind a dark jade mask and his eyes catching the light with a dim, wet gleam. “Pull back!” Du Song shouted as he