The night air was biting and cold, carrying the heavy, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and night-blooming datura that constantly seeped from the windows of Fuyou's chambers. High above the quiet courtyard, bathed in the pale, silver glow of the full moon, stood the "Mad Consort."

Fuyou stepped onto the incredibly narrow, curved clay tiles of the pavilion’s outer wall. Her face was powdered to a ghostly pallor, completely devoid of emotion. Her dark eyes fluttered shut, and her body went loose, perfectly mimicking the vacant, disconnected trance of a sleepwalker.

Then, she began to move.

It was a terrifyingly beautiful spectacle. Despite having her eyes closed, her muscle memory and spatial awareness were flawless. She glided along the very edge of the deadly drop, her bare feet stepping with feather-light precision. Fuyou raised her arms, allowing the biting night wind to catch the long, translucent silver sleeves of her silk nightrobe. She spun on the tips of her toes, a phantom dancing on the edge of the abyss.

One wrong step, a single slip on the dew-covered tiles, meant a fatal fall to the stone courtyard below. Yet, she did not falter.

Ending a complex sequence, Fuyou froze in a delicate, statuesque pose, balancing on one foot, her face tilted up toward the moon. To anyone watching from afar, she was a tragic, broken woman whose mind had shattered under the weight of the Emperor's neglect. She remained perfectly still, a flawless actress wholly consumed by her solitary masterpiece, entirely unaware of anyone lingering in the dark shadows below.