The banquet hall shimmered with gold-threaded lanterns and long silken drapes, incense curling like coiled dragons through the air. Laughter rang in measured bursts, a harmony of music, formality, and veiled disdain.
Ziyan entered in simple robes dyed in muted crimson, her hair adorned with a modest jade pin. Beside her walked Lianhua, elegance hidden beneath grace learned in the brothel, and Li Qiang, silent and calm, drawing glares for his unpolished boots and soldier's gait.
At the highest dais sat the Emperor, flanked by the Empress, three favored concubines, and senior princes arrayed in descending rank. Faces carved from jade and pride, the women smiled like painted masks — distant, poised, and watchful.
Eyes followed Ziyan's group as they passed. A noble lady whispered behind a fan. "The dog returns wearing feathers."
One of her companions smirked. "And with such companions. A street girl and a mutt with a blade."
The words bit, but Ziyan walked on, spine straight. She could feel the heat of the insults, like ash beneath silk — but said nothing.
Behind the golden lattice screens near the rear of the hall, two figures sipped wine in silence. One, a young prince in dark robes embroidered with mountain peaks; the other, a general with iron-gray eyes and a scar that crossed the bridge of his nose like an old wound.
"She's sharper than expected," murmured the general. "Even under those stares."
The prince hummed. "She embarrassed Yuan Jie in front of the entire court. But Zhao's death was no child's accident. If she keeps digging…"
"We'll dig first," the general replied. "And deeper."
Their cups clinked once, soundless beneath the music.
Far below, another general entered late. Younger, broad-shouldered, his robes free of dust but his stance unmistakably military. His eyes followed Ziyan's figure through the crowd, pausing only briefly on her face — curious, but not dismissive.
Ziyan noticed. But said nothing.
As the music paused and dishes were cleared, a cluster of young nobles approached — sons and daughters of minor lords, gleaming in lacquered hairpins and pearl-dusted sleeves. Their leader, a girl named Lady Ruan, smiled sweetly with knives in her voice.
"Miss Li," she said, voice louder than necessary. "You must forgive our surprise. We were told only the best minds of Qi would be here tonight."
Soft laughter followed.
Lianhua stiffened. Li Qiang's eyes darkened.
Lady Ruan turned to him. "And what field did you top? Sword sharpening? Or scaring chickens in the courtyard?"
Another noble added, "Perhaps he just held the brush for Ziyan while she wrote."
Ziyan let the room still for a heartbeat.
Then, she gave a sharp gasp and reached behind her collar, tugging — hard — on a silk thread.
From her back, a strip of ceremonial ribbon came free, fluttering dramatically to the ground… along with three others tied to their chairs.
The nobles blinked — then realized: their own sashes had been quietly loosened, thread cut without notice. Their formal robes began slipping slightly from their shoulders, causing gasps and frantic adjustments.
Laughter rose from a nearby table.
Ziyan bowed just enough to be courteous. "Forgive me, Lady Ruan. I was taught that form matters as much as words. Perhaps tonight… we've all learned something."
Even the musicians chuckled. The Empress smiled behind her fan, though her eyes did not crinkle.
From the rear, the young general tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face like dawn beneath armor.
Lady Ruan flushed, face burning, and turned away quickly. Her companions followed in retreat, shoulders stiff.
As the banquet drew on, courses of sea cucumber, lotus-wrapped duck, and jade-green dumplings were served, but Ziyan barely tasted them. Her eyes moved from noble to official, gauging, measuring. Lianhua whispered observations into her sleeve, and Li Qiang marked troop crests sewn into robe hems.
Later, an official approached with quiet words. "Accommodations have been prepared for the honored candidates. A courtyard beneath the southern wing."
Ziyan thanked him. But as they left, Lianhua glanced back — just in time to catch a narrowed gaze from one of Lady Ruan's attendants, whose fan no longer fluttered.
The look was brief, but sharp. Enough to whisper danger.
As they stepped into the moonlit corridor, Ziyan turned slightly, murmuring to her companions.
"Stay alert tonight. Some guests don't enjoy being laughed at."
Beneath the quiet canopy of stars, the court's games were far from over. And behind silk, shadows stirred.