The Empress's courtyard had gone quiet again.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—
but the kind that pressed on the chest.
The late afternoon sun slanted across the stone floor, drawing long shadows from the pillars. The Empress sat beside the small table, her fingers loosely holding the edge of her sleeve. She looked calm on the surface, but her thoughts were tangled beyond repair.
The scarf.
The Emperor.
Her scarf… on his shoulders.
She still couldn't wrap her mind around it.
Across the room, the three ghosts hovered together, whispering furiously like conspirators plotting against fate itself.
Fen Yu paced back and forth in the air, her translucent skirt fluttering with every sharp movement.
"I still don't believe it," she said for the tenth time. "The Emperor bought that scarf? The same Emperor who barely looks at her and spends all his time with Lady Chen?"
