Morning sunlight filtered into the Whisper Bowl's courtyard like warm gold dust as steam billowed from the kitchen. Empress Lian An's sleeves were rolled up, hair tied loosely, moving from pot to pot with practiced grace.
Fen Yu hovered beside her, sniffing dramatically, occasionally wiping her nose with her sleeve. Her usually perfect ghostly appearance was ruined—hair dirty, robes torn, face full of tear stains.
She wailed softly, "Empress… I am dying… dying emotionally…"
Lian An didn't look up. "Ghosts cannot die."
Fen Yu cried harder.
From the pantry, Wei Rong's ghostly voice thundered, "STOP your wailing or I'll drown you in the water basin!"
Fen Yu hid behind a bunch of stacked bowls.
Li Shen, floating calmly above the cooking pots, shook his head. "A calamity… she is a calamity in a dress."
Lian An only sighed and continued to stir the simmering pot of bone broth. The aroma filled the hall, pulling workers like magnets.
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Outside — the Emperor Was Still Gardening
