Morning sunlight spilled gently into the Empress's courtyard, warm and pale, touching the stone tiles and climbing the carved pillars inch by inch. The palace was unusually quiet at this hour. No ministers shouting. No maids rushing. No urgent bells.
For once, there was peace.
Empress Lian An sat on a low wooden stool near the small table under the shade of a flowering tree. A porcelain plate rested in her lap, piled with fresh fruits—pears, peaches, and slices of apple glistening with morning dew.
She peeled an apple carefully, the knife moving smoothly in her hand.
Across from her—visible only to her—sat three ghosts.
