That ended it.
Not the quarrel—those never end—but the usefulness of continuing it here.
Lady Huai allowed herself to be turned at last, pendants ticking their complaint as she moved toward the cloister. The minnows went with her, eager to hear the letter they would later pretend not to have read.
"Ministers," I called, not raising my voice. "You have a choice. Spend your afternoon counting how many names fit into the word 'propriety,' or spend it confirming that the ropes holding your bells were bought from our own workshop and not from the temple quarter. Anyone who brings me incense instead of a report will wish he'd brought me blood."
They bowed, uneven, some in relief at direction, some in terror of exactly how clear it had been. The garden began to breathe again in small, careful sips.
