The royal kitchens were not ready.
Lin Yue had announced, in full scandalous regalia, that she was throwing a tea party for the kingdom's most dangerous women—sorceresses, spies, scorned noblewives, and at least one exiled pirate queen who only responded to the name "Mistress Killsalot."
"Why?" Yun had asked, panicking over a tower of scones.
"Because," Lin Yue said, folding a napkin into an origami dragon, "we need a network. A sisterhood. A gossip-fueled alliance of magical mayhem."
"You want to fix the empire with snacks and scandal?"
"Exactly."
The invitations were scented with forbidden lotus ink and sealed with kiss marks that may or may not have been spelled to sing flirty limericks when opened. The palace staff had mental breakdowns. The Empress sent a royal eyebrow raise of cautious approval.
Jin, ever lurking in corners like a suspiciously handsome coat rack, warned, "You're inviting enemies."
"Enemies drink tea too," Lin Yue replied.
The Tea Party of Chaos began at noon. By 12:05, someone's cleavage had summoned a wind spirit, and at 12:12, Mistress Killsalot challenged a duchess to a dagger dance-off.
Lin Yue sipped jasmine tea and felt proud.
Meanwhile, Prince Li Xian was sulking dramatically under a willow tree.
"She's consorting with war criminals!" he whined to Jin.
"She's building influence," Jin said.
"She's letting them braid each other's hair and share assassination tips!"
Jin smirked. "You jealous?"
"I'm aroused and jealous, and I hate it."
In the center of the pavilion, Lin Yue clicked her cup against a ceremonial gong.
"Ladies and magically-inclined murderesses," she announced, "welcome. Let's talk revolution—preferably while wearing something fabulous."
Cheers erupted. Fireworks (literal and emotional) soared.
Later that night, tucked in a stolen scroll chamber (formerly the Chamber of Chaste Meditation), Lin Yue pored over a forbidden tome. It buzzed under her fingertips—an erotic grimoire disguised as poetry. Ancient spells layered between suggestive stanzas:
To bind a prince's heart: drip moon-wine on his tongue and kiss him with intent.
To dissolve a tyrant's rule: summon the Court of Scandal by whispering the empress's true name.
To seduce fate itself: wear red ink and lie shamelessly.
Yun peeked in. "You're not planning anything reckless, right?"
"I'm planning everything reckless."
Yun nodded solemnly and backed out.
By moonrise, Lin Yue had penned her own spell. She dubbed it: The Charm of Political Undressing.
At dawn, she'd test it. On the Council. In public. While wearing sequined robes.
But Lin Yue hadn't accounted for the Chief Minister of War, Grand Lord Shou, who had all the warmth of a tax audit and the sexual charisma of a damp scroll. He sat at the head of the Council with the confidence of someone who never once had to flirt to get what he wanted.
He took one look at Lin Yue's sequined robes and said, "This is highly inappropriate."
Lin Yue twirled. "I call this my 'Seduction of Stability' collection."
Another minister sputtered. "She bewitched the fashion designer!"
"I paid in compliments and dumplings," Lin Yue corrected.
The spell began subtly—her voice took on a melody that tugged at hidden longing. Her eyes shimmered like sugared sake. Her very existence suggested sin and sincerity in equal measure.
"What is the purpose of this... demonstration?" Grand Lord Shou asked.
"To prove diplomacy doesn't have to be dry, drab, or devoid of thigh."
Jaws dropped. Some from shock. Some from desire.
"I propose a new role," Lin Yue declared. "Official Charm Chancellor. My duties include conflict resolution, event coordination, and mildly dangerous seductions for peace."
"Absolutely not," said Grand Lord Shou.
"I second it," Prince Li Xian said, stepping into the chamber with Yun and Su Ya at his side. "And I offer my body as collateral."
Everyone blinked.
Lin Yue sighed. "Baby, you can't just offer your royal butt for every policy I invent."
"I can, and I did."
Chaos followed. Votes were cast. Ministers argued about propriety, power, and whether sequins counted as armor. In the end, it was Mistress Killsalot—now inexplicably the ambassador from the Eastern Isles—who delivered the deciding vote via dagger-embedded scroll.
"Let her charm. Or else."
The motion passed.
Lin Yue was official.
Charm Chancellor. Master of Scandal. Minister of Sass.
By evening, she was drunk on plum wine, dancing on the Moon Bridge with a tiger illusion she conjured just for ambiance.
"You did it," Yun whispered, proud and mildly horrified.
"Of course," Lin Yue said. "The empire just needed a little lipstick and leverage."
She raised a toast to the stars.
"Long live tea, tits, and terrifying women!"