The morning after the coronation of chaos.
That was the phrase circulating through the Imperial Capital before the sun even managed to drag itself over the palace walls. Scribes were writing "official commendations," nobles were writing "official complaints," and Eunuch Zhao was writing his resignation letter for the fifth time that week.
Meanwhile, Li Ming sat in a courtyard surrounded by manicured lotus ponds and the faint smell of expensive anxiety.
He sipped tea, calmly, as if the previous night hadn't ended with him being knighted as The National Disaster of Honor.
Lan Yue stood nearby, arms crossed. "You realize the whole court spent the night debating whether to praise you or arrest you, right?"
Li Ming nodded.
"Li Ming."
"Yes?"
"Balance doesn't mean both sides equally hate you."
He thought for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Doesn't it?"
Bai Guo, perched on the teapot, added, "In his defense, Senior Sister, hate is still energy. He's cultivating reputation qi."
