The night wind drifted lazily through the Empress's courtyard, stirring the hanging curtains and brushing against the lantern light. Lian An sat quietly at the low table, her earlier frustration now settled into something calmer—determination.
Fen Yu floated in front of her, hands on her hips.
"You're overthinking again."
Wei Rong nodded from the beam above. "If you keep sitting like this, the festival will come and go before you decide anything."
Li Shen folded his sleeves neatly. "Logically speaking, avoidance will not improve the situation."
Lian An sighed. "I'm not avoiding. I'm… considering."
Fen Yu rolled her eyes. "Considering what? You already decided. You'll cook."
"Yes," Lian An said, "but deciding is one thing. Getting approval is another."
Wei Rong dropped lightly to the floor. "So go ask."
She looked up. "Ask… the Dowager?"
Fen Yu grinned. "Exactly. Cooking is an art. Let her hear it from you."
