For a long moment, no one said a word.
The maid's voice hung in the air like smoke.
"In the kitchen… cooking," Grandmother Mo repeated, slowly lowering her teacup. "My grandson?"
The maid nodded quickly. "Yes, madam. Wearing an apron. He—he told the servants not to interfere. Said he'd handle breakfast himself."
Madame Mo blinked once, as if she'd misheard. "You must be mistaken," she said, though her tone wavered. "Mo Ying doesn't even pour his own tea."
"I'm certain, madam," the maid insisted. "The servants are gathered outside Lady Lin's courtyard right now. They… don't know whether to help or run."
A sharp, incredulous laugh slipped from Mo Lan before she could stop it. "The General in an apron? Has the world lost its balance?"
"Lan!" Grandmother Mo's voice snapped, but the old woman was already pushing herself to her feet, the scrape of her chair cutting through the tension. "Enough talking. Let's see this nonsense for ourselves," she said.
