Then she looked away — back toward the window, toward the plateau, toward the specific, somewhere-else quality of eyes that have found a point in the middle distance and have decided that point is more interesting than the room.
"'—The guest quarters should be relocated,'" she said. "'—Not the western wing. The eastern guest pavilion is separate from the main palace. Better for a cultivator seeking rest.'" A pause. "'—Better for everyone.'"
She said it as if noting weather.
As if the western wing — the queen's wing, the wing where the queen's private rooms were and had been for the entirety of Lin Yuxi's life — was simply a logistical inconvenience rather than something she was saying specifically to be said.
The queen said, "'—I'll consider it.'"
Lin Yuxi stood.
