At that hour, Hazel was deeply immersed in weeding. She was having so much fun pulling out all the weeds that she didn’t even realize the day had gone by. Only when it became too dark to see her own hands did she stop.

“Oops.”

Hazel was startled to find that the sun had set already. She looked around and admired the mountain of weeds she’d pulled out. She wasn’t finished yet, but this had been quite a productive use of her afternoon. Which was nice, but...

Why wasn’t anyone bothering her?

Hazel tilted her head. She couldn’t understand what had happened. That palace official had run away in such haste before, so why was everything still quiet? After thinking briefly to herself, Hazel decided to forget about it.

What’s there to worry about? It’s not like anyone’s going to barge in right this minute. Today was only the first day, after all. And if she wanted to have some warm soup for dinner before going to bed, she needed to hurry up and do something about the inside of that house.

Hazel turned around. Her outdoor work was done, and now it was time to clean the indoors. When she opened the creaky door and stepped inside, she was met with a scene that screamed “abandoned.” There was a never-ending amount of work waiting for her, but she was still excited.

“Now, then! Where should I begin?” she exclaimed enthusiastically, looking around the house for a moment before she realized that she couldn’t see a thing. Indeed, there was no light.

Hazel fumbled around the pile of trinkets in a corner of the kitchen and found an old lamp. In it was a candle that was burned halfway. It was too difficult to dig through all the belongings in her bag to find a match, so she took out her tinderbox to light a fire.

Hazel liked her rooms brightly lit. She collected candle stubs from all over the house and lit them all. Finally, the house was bathed in warm light—as was all the dust she’d kicked up walking around.

Coughing, she made her way back outside. She gathered a few weeds and tied them to a stick to use as a makeshift broom. Then she folded a clean piece of cloth and tied it behind her head to cover her mouth, and began to sweep the floors.

Cleaning was a task she was confident in. Soon enough, the dry and cakey layers of dust were gone. Most of the furniture was ruined and had to be discarded, but the dining table was still in decent condition. She was even able to salvage one chair.

After pouring her heart and soul into scrubbing the surface, she restored the once-ashy tabletop to its original wooden hue. Then she wiped all the grime from the oven until it was sparkling clean. By this point, even Hazel couldn’t help but feel tired.

“Let’s take a break,” she said to herself.

She found a bucket of clean water, though she couldn’t tell whether it was rainwater or drawn from a well. Hazel started a fire in her oven and brought the water to a boil. Then opening her treasure box and taking out a bunny-patterned tea set—one that she cherished immensely—she decided that rosehip tea would be good for relieving her fatigue tonight. And just as she slathered butter on a biscuit and took a big bite...

Boom!

Following the sound was someone’s footsteps. Hazel’s eyes grew wide, her mouth still full of biscuits.

Uh-oh. Somebody’s coming. She hesitatingly rose to her feet, then stopped herself. Why am I nervous? I’m in my own home.

Hazel sat back down and faced the door with her head held high.

“Come in,” she called.

The door creaked open.

Standing at the entrance was a middle-aged palace official. His neatly combed silver hair was tinged orange under the glow of the lamp, and he wore a monocle. He was dressed in a uniform with golden trim, on which several medals gleamed at the chest.

Hazel instantly knew. “You’re the supervisor to the one who was here earlier, aren’t you? Well, anyway...”

She was about to explain her rights to this house, but the man wasn’t even looking at her. He seemed to be ignoring her completely. And that wasn’t all. Once he strode in and glanced at the doorplate...

“A farm? What kind of useless, good-for-nothing...” he spat.

Hazel couldn’t believe her ears. What did he just say?

Feeling deeply insulted, she looked straight into the eyes of the palace official, only to feel surprised. She had never seen anyone look this exhausted before. His face was hollow and gaunt, and Hazel was sure he’d skipped dinner just like her. The next moment, she forgot all about her surge of anger.

Farms couldn’t always have friendly visitors. Even unwelcome people like tax officers would stop by from time to time, and Aunt Martha had always made sure to invite them in and serve them something, no matter who it was.

“Right. Well, I suppose you’re the first visitor at Marronnier Farm,” Hazel said, springing to her feet. When she hurriedly took out another bunny-patterned teacup, something else fell out of the box. It was a packet of coffee beans, a gift she’d received on her last day working as a private tutor three years ago. The palace official flinched horribly and took a step back, as though he were afraid he might touch the packet.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hazel said, quickly picking up the coffee.

She placed a sachet of rosehip tea leaves into the new cup, then filled it with hot water. She even took out some more biscuits.

“I was just having tea,” she said. “We can talk after we eat first.”

But the man didn’t even spare her a single look. Even though she’d offered him her biscuits, a snack she’d sparingly permitted herself to eat only on days when work at the bank was especially brutal. Even though she’d given up the one and only chair in the house to him! The palace official swept past her without a word, his expression cold as ice.

Hazel was stunned. She wasn’t imagining it—this man was treating her like she was invisible.

* * *

Count Albert, the Minister of Palace Affairs, was flabbergasted once he’d stormed into the house. It was just as Cecil had said; the young lady didn’t even look to be twenty. She was indeed a petite woman with brown hair. But for someone so small, her actions had certainly been anything but. In just a day, she’d pulled out all the weeds in the garden, hung up a new doorplate and actually named the place a farm, and even cleaned the inside of the house.

“Goodness! Is she really planning to live here?” he muttered to himself in disbelief.

“Of course,” Hazel answered right away. “It’s my house. You know that nobody can make me leave.”

The minister felt a flare of rage. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. Do kids these days not have any brains? He couldn’t stand it anymore. Someone had to teach this shameless speculator lady a lesson.

There was just one problem—the lingual prohibition order. The minister hastily looked around the house and noticed a straw hat hanging on the wall by the dining table. Facing it, he said, “Your owner is truly shameless.”

Hazel was utterly puzzled. “Why are you talking to my hat?”

“Your owner doesn’t understand how serious this situation is!” he barked. “Her greed has gone too far. I can’t believe she would try to use the palace construction to make a fortune overnight! Is she daring to go against His Majesty? Is she not even afraid of him? Hmm? It must be so!”

“You completely misunderstand,” Hazel said. “I don’t want to sell this land. I was just as surprised to learn it was right by His Majesty’s palace, but—”

“Hah! She’s playing innocent! His Majesty has already seen through her and declared a lingual prohibition order. Nobody can speak to your owner, or even bring her up in conversation. That would be a social death sentence.”

“But not an actual death sentence, right? Then never mind. It won’t affect my farming anyway.”

“And yet your owner continues to spew nonsense about this silly farm. Tell her that it would be best for her to wake up and stop dreaming. She’ll be forced out of here by morning tomorrow.”

“But I have legal rights to this land!” Hazel cried.

“Fine, then I’ll fight the law with law!” the minister shouted, still staring determinedly at the hat.

“Did you know that ownership isn’t everything? Certain independent laws exist in the imperial palace. Your owner doesn’t know that I’m the Minister of Palace Internal Affairs. I’ve been working here for so long that I remember all the laws that everyone else has forgotten already. I can come up with dozens of reasons that this house should be torn down and seized immediately. Shall we start with sanitation laws?”

The minister scanned the house with his sharp eyes, then took out a notepad and began to scribble something in it.

What...? Hazel was taken aback. This wasn’t just a threat. The man was for real. I need to stop him!

She looked around in a panic, then grabbed the curtains as a desperate measure and began to flap them in front of him, sending up clouds of dust.

“Ahem! Ahem!” the minister coughed loudly, taking a step back. “Tell your owner to stop right now! I am allergic to dust!”

“I thought so,” Hazel said knowingly. “Most clean elderly gentlemen are like that. Or maybe they’re clean because they’re allergic.”

“Stop!”

The minister eventually gave up. He’d announced to everyone that he would immediately chase this woman away on his own, but he could not conduct any inspections while breathing in all this harmful dust. More than anything, his precious monocle was now too cloudy for him to see.

Forget it. This is only temporary. A last-ditch effort.

“Tell her to prepare herself for eviction tomorrow!” he yelled, coughing as he left the house.

Hazel finally stopped flapping the curtains. The dust slowly sank to the floor.

What should I do? And why on earth... Why did he think of Hazel as some con artist?

Even back when she was living with the Martins, some of the tax officers would come over with their expressions stiff and mean, clearly misunderstanding something about the farm. But once Aunt Martha warmly welcomed them, they would soon talk it out and leave with a smile on their face.

If only Hazel could have done the same. She looked down at her dining table. Her rejected tea and biscuits were now sitting underneath a blanket of white dust.

She suddenly wanted to cry. The Minister of Palace Internal Affairs was far too powerful of an opponent. He’d been colder than all the tax officials who’d visited the Martins put together. Was he even human? The man hadn’t shown a single ounce of emotion ever since he stepped into this house.

No, actually, he had shown emotion just once—when she accidentally dropped the coffee. Hold on...

Hazel’s head snapped up.

She’d been too flustered before to think straight. Why had the minister been so terrified of the coffee? Hazel had been rather surprised herself at the time. Coffee was expensive, and it would be such a waste if she spilled it all. But the minister was not a poor man. He could buy tons of coffee just by selling off one of the buttons on his uniform. So it couldn’t be because he was scared she might waste the coffee.

Then what had frightened him so? Did he have a coffee phobia? Could such a thing even exist?

Nature produced a myriad of different foods and drinks, and people reacted to them all differently. This was something that had always fascinated Hazel ever since she was young. And once she became curious about something, she couldn’t rest until she got her answer. Her grandfather had scolded her for it plenty, but she needed to find out at whatever cost.

Hazel jumped to her feet and hurried after the minister who’d just run out.

There has to be some sort of secret!