The sun had set by the time Wei Mei finished her story.
She sat on the broken stool inside their courtyard, her younger brother crouched at her feet, listening. The oil lamp between them cast flickering shadows on the cracked walls.
"Madam Yan," she said, "needs extra hands for a banquet. At the princess's mansion."
Wei Lin's eyes narrowed. "The princess?"
"The eldest princess. She's hosting a gathering in a few days." Wei Mei tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Madam Yan's household is helping with the arrangements. She asked if I could work in the kitchen."
Wei Lin's jaw tightened. "You just recovered."
"I'm fine, little—" She caught herself. "I'm fine. It's just kitchen work. Peeling vegetables, washing dishes. Nothing heavy."
"You said that last time. Then you came home with a fever."
Wei Mei reached over and patted his head. "That was different. I was standing outside in the cold. This is inside. Warm fires, plenty of food." She smiled. "And they pay well."
Wei Lin said nothing. He stared at the flame.
"Madam Yan," he thought. "Kind. Rich. But still noble."
He didn't trust nobles. The hooded stranger was the only exception.
"How long?" he asked.
"Just the one evening. I'll leave before dusk and return before midnight." She paused. "Madam Yan said I could bring someone to help. If you want."
Wei Lin looked up. "Me?"
"To carry things. Run errands. Stay out of the way." She smiled. "You'd see the inside of a real mansion. Maybe even taste some of the leftover snacks."
He wanted to say no. He wanted to keep her close, where he could see her.
But the silver in his pouch was running low. And the medicine wouldn't buy itself.
"Fine," he said. "But you rest tomorrow. No working."
Wei Mei laughed—a soft, tired sound. "Yes, little general."
He blushed and turned away. But he didn't correct her.
General. He liked the sound of that.
---
On this night the candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows across the ornate chamber. Incense smoke curled lazily from a bronze burner, mixing with the scent of spilled tea.
Madam Ling sat by the window, a heavy invitation in her hands—thick paper, gilded edges, the princess's seal embossed in dark purple wax. She had read it twice. The princess's banquet. Three days from now.
She set it down on the lacquered table with a soft *thump* and rubbed her temples.
Behind her, her son paced.
Ling Feng's robes were disheveled, his collar loose, his hair escaping its clasp. He had already thrown one teacup against the wall; the maids had cleaned the shards in silence and retreated.
"Mother." He stopped pacing and turned to face her. His voice was hot, impatient. "How can you let that woman help her?"
Madam Ling didn't look up. "Madam Yan is my friend, not my servant. I cannot order her to—"
"She's helping *Wei Mei*." He said the name like a curse. "That seamstress's daughter. The one who looked down on me. Refused me. *Me*."
Madam Ling finally lifted her gaze. Her son's face was flushed, his jaw tight. She had seen this expression before—too many times.
"Wei Mei is no longer of—" she began.
"I don't care!" He slammed his palm on the table. The invitation jumped. The teacups rattled. "I don't care what she is or what she was. I want her. Only her. No one else."
Madam Ling pressed her lips together. She looked at the invitation, then at her son, then at the dark window where the moon was rising.
"Ling Feng," she said quietly, "your father indulges you too much."
"I'm the only son." He straightened, his voice hardening. "Of course that's how it's supposed to be."
She had no answer for that. There was no answer. Her husband had always given the boy whatever he wanted—new horses, fine clothes, servants to bully. And now he wanted a girl who didn't want him.
"And I cannot stop him," she thought. "I never could."
She looked down at her hands. The rings felt heavy.
"Madam Yan hired her for the princess's kitchen," she said. "She'll be there the night of the banquet. Away from the main hall. Away from the guards."
Ling Feng's pacing stopped.
"She will?"
Madam Ling nodded slowly. She picked up the invitation again, turned it over in her fingers. The wax seal caught the candlelight.
"I received this today," she said. "The princess expects us."
Ling Feng walked to the table, snatched the invitation from her hand, and read it quickly. Then he smiled—not a warm smile, not a kind one.
"I'll attend," he said. "To pay my respects to the princess, of course."
Madam Ling said nothing.
"And perhaps," he continued, setting the invitation down, "I'll take a walk. See the gardens. Visit the kitchen."
His mother closed her eyes.
"There is nothing I can do."
"Be careful," she said. "The princess does not tolerate disorder."
Ling Feng laughed. "It's a kitchen, Mother. What disorder?"
He walked to the window and looked out at the moon. The same moon that shone over the small, broken courtyard where Wei Mei was resting.
"I've waited long enough," he murmured.
Behind him, Madam Ling watched. Her hands were still. Her face was still.
But her heart was tired.