The grand chamber of the emperor's palace is adorned with intricate tapestries, and the air is thick with the scent of incense. Emperor Zhang, the ruler of the Han Dynasty, sits on his elevated throne, his eyes distant and unwavering. Around him, his concubines—each more beautiful than the last—stand in a line, waiting for a moment of his attention. They are graceful and poised, yet there is an underlying tension in the air as they each take turns approaching him, desperate for his favor. Concubine Hua, with her delicate beauty and soft voice, steps forward first. She lowers her head and speaks sweetly, “Your Majesty, the flowers in the garden bloom just as your presence brightens this palace. May I have the honor of your company tonight?” The emperor doesn't look up. His gaze remains fixed on the scroll in his hand, unmoved by her words. After a long silence, he offers a single, disinterested response, “Later.” Hua hesitates, a faint flush of embarrassment creeping over her face before she silently retreats to the back of the group. Concubine Mei, bold and confident, steps forward next, her robes swishing as she kneels before the emperor. “Your Majesty,” she begins, her voice sultry, “I’ve prepared a song for you, one that I hope will soothe your mind after a long day of ruling.” But the emperor barely shifts in his seat, his eyes still fixed on the scroll. Without a glance toward her, he replies, “I am tired. Sing for someone else.”