The soft morning light spilled through the silk curtains, spreading a gentle glow across Empress Lian An's chamber. The scent of sandalwood lingered faintly, mingling with the cool breeze drifting in from the courtyard.
For once, the palace was calm. No summons. No lectures. No accusations. Only peace—brief, fragile peace.
Lian An stretched lazily, her back cracking slightly from the strain of the past few days. As she glanced across the room, her eyes fell on the corner where her three ghost companions hung limply, still tied to the large porcelain vase with the red silk rope from the night before.
What she saw next nearly made her choke on her laughter.
All three were fast asleep—mouths open, heads lolling to one side like children after a sugar crash. Fen Yu was drooling transparent ghostly mist, Wei Rong's snoring sounded like faint wind rustling through leaves, and Li Shen muttered something in his sleep about "stolen pastries."
