After an impossibly awkward dinner, I went to hunt down Zhu Mingyu to see what was going on.
I looked for him in his formal study, but all I found was yet another one of his concubines outside the door with a bowl of soup or something in her hands.
Turning away, I went to the only other place that I knew he went to for peace.
I found him in the inner study—one of the hidden rooms tucked between the library and the archive hall. It smelled faintly of ink, burnt oil, and old sandalwood. The brazier in the corner glowed low, casting long shadows over the silk scrolls and lacquered cabinets.
Here, there were servants, no guards, just silence thick enough to drown in.
Zhu Mingyu was standing at the back, his hands folded behind him, shoulders tense. He didn't look at me when I entered.
"You dismissed the garden staff," he grunted when I closed the door behind me.
"I did," I agreed, coming deeper into the room. "Would you like me to reinstate them?"
