The garden behind the east pavilion had been designed for peace.
White stones traced the footpaths. Water trickled from a curved bamboo fountain into a basin carved from black jade. Plum trees leaned over the lattice fence, heavy with early bloom. The wind carried the faint scent of pine, mingled with the ash from the tea fire.
I sat alone in the center of it all, behind a single low table swept clean of anything unnecessary. Two cushions. One teapot. No guards. No distractions.
She would assume I wanted her to be relaxed.
Let her.
I had chosen every detail myself. Not just the tea leaves—oolong, soft and smooth, but with a bite when brewed just so—but the placement of the tray, the exact distance of the table from the stones, even the slope of the roof that let in just enough sun without its heat. The blossoms had been left to fall freely. Nothing trimmed. Nothing perfect. Just… honest.
The Empress would have liked it. The Imperial Concubine would have hated it.
