The second morning of her stay at the Lian residence dawned clear and bright, the kind of morning that should have felt peaceful.
But even peace in a noble household could feel fragile—like porcelain, too easily cracked.
Ananya sat beneath the veranda, the scent of her mother's tea mingling with the warmth of the sun.
For the first time in months, she heard laughter—her sister's voice drifting from the courtyard, her mother calling out to the maids.
It should have comforted her.
But the stillness around her had weight. Something in the air had shifted.
Fen Yu lay sprawled on her stomach atop the low table, sighing dreamily. "It's so quiet here. No scheming concubines, no cold Emperor, no creepy eunuchs… just warmth."
Wei Rong snorted. "Don't get soft. Peace never lasts long when she's around."
Li Shen's fan flicked open with a soft snap. "He's not wrong."
Ananya smiled faintly. "You're both terrible omens."
