The morning sun had just reached the upper eaves when the Duke's estate came fully alive.
Servants hurried through the corridors with trays of steaming buns and bowls of rice, the smell of tea leaves and warm soup filling the air.
By the time Emperor Zhao Rui entered the dining hall, the Duke's household had already gathered — polite, but unguarded.
Duke Lian rose immediately, bowing. "Your Majesty honors this humble house."
"Please," Zhao Rui said, raising a hand, "today I am only a guest. Let's not drown breakfast in ceremony."
The Duke smiled, glancing toward his wife. "You hear that? His Majesty wants no ceremony. Bring the congee before it cools."
The Duchess chuckled softly. "Yes, yes. Our guest speaks like our own child."
Zhao Rui froze for a moment — our own child.
No one had ever called him that before.
The dishes were simple — steamed buns, pickled vegetables, eggs sprinkled with herbs, and warm fish porridge.
