Her pace was swift, her determination unshaken. 

“Please, at least come up with a reason for the visit!” Xiu Rong begged, stumbling after her mistress and nearly tripping over her own skirts. 

Lian Mei barely looked back. “Why? Can’t a wife visit her husband?” 

“Not at this hour, not unsummoned, and not without cause,” Xiu fussed, breathless. “You might be Empress, but I’m just a maid! I can’t afford another lecture from the Momo—” 

She shuddered, cutting herself off. Just the thought of one of those lectures—those cold eyes and endless finger-wagging—was enough to freeze the blood. 

Lian Mei stopped so suddenly that Xiu collided into her back. “Ugh, you’re right…” 

They stood in the middle of the corridor like a pair of guilty children while attendants whispered behind their sleeves. 

Even with the rules and the Momos’ warnings etched into her mind like calligraphy on bone, Lian Mei was still impish enough to grin when she set her mind on misbehavior. 

For though she was her father’s daughter—resolute and wise when duty demanded—she was also her mother’s child: lively, impulsive, a spark wrapped in silk. This inner tug-of-war made her who she was, a woman of control, and a woman forever on the edge of rebellion. 

But this side of her, playful and unrestrained, she showed only to her Xiuxiu and her closest kin. 

“Mistress,” Xiu Rong said through gritted teeth, “your inside is showing outside.” 

It was one of Xiu Rong’s many little codes—gentle, familiar warnings to remind her mistress to rein in her emotions and act the part. Thanks to those quiet reminders, Lian Mei was always the picture of refinement in public: serene voice, measured words, impeccable poise. 

But here, in the hushed corridors of the palace, between scrolls and shadows, she could let that mask slip—if only for a heartbeat, and only if Xiu Rong allowed it. 

“Heaven have mercy,” Xiu groaned, thoroughly embarrassed, tugging her mistress into a vacant room.

The door clicked shut behind them. 

The room smelled of old ink and sandalwood. Dust clung to the air like memory. Scrolls lay scattered on low tables, and a neglected lantern flickered in its corner bracket. 

Lian Mei glanced around and chuckled. “Oh—the old study. They haven’t moved the scrolls yet.” 

“Seems that way,” Xiu muttered, cheeks burning as she brushed cobwebs off her sleeve. “They said they would. Clearly someone forgot.” 

“I’ll have someone start tomorrow,” Lian Mei said absently, stepping deeper inside. Her gaze drifted over the half-open scrolls until one caught her eye—half-unrolled, abandoned mid-thought. The word aqueduct was scrawled in careful brushstrokes. 

“How strange…” she murmured. 

“The last poor soul here must’ve been chasing the emperor’s prize,” Xiu said, peering over her shoulder. 

Lian Mei straightened suddenly, her face alight with mischief. “That’s it!” 

Xiu froze. “No—no, mistress, don’t you dare—” 

“I’ll ask Zhao what an aqueduct is,” Lian Mei announced triumphantly, already marching toward the door. “Perfectly innocent. Perfectly intellectual. Perfectly respectable.” 

Xiu stared, aghast. “That’s not a reason! That’s a pretext! It won’t hold up against Gonggong Shucheng’s interrogation!” 

Lian Mei’s greenish-brown eyes flashed; she paired them with a dazzling smile. She was practically glowing with glee. 

“Then we must sell it well.” 

Xiu sighed, unable to resist her radiant mistress any longer. “Fine.” 

“Come, Xiuxiu,” Lian Mei sang, her voice lilting as she flung the door open again. “We’ve wasted enough time already!” 

With renewed ambition, she disappeared down the corridor, silks trailing behind her like comet fire. 

Xiu stood there a moment longer, utterly defeated. “Where does she even get this energy…” she muttered, before reluctantly giving chase. 

Gonggong Shucheng is going to be so mad!  

— ➿ — 

Next Episode — Chapter 9: Great Doors that Divide

Two sighs, two hearts — and one kick that will echo through the empire.