The Inner Palace had gone strangely… calm.

Maomao noticed it immediately—mostly because nothing had tried to poison anyone in at least three hours.

She sat cross-legged on the engawa outside one of the quieter pavilions, a low tray balanced in front of her. Mortar. Pestle. Dried chrysanthemum petals. She ground them with idle precision, half-lidded eyes watching the powder form more out of habit than necessity.

“This is what peace feels like,” she muttered. “Suspicious.”

Across from her, Xiaolan lounged dramatically on her side, chin propped in her palm, hair half undone in a way that would’ve earned her a scolding on a normal day. Today, no one cared.

“Don’t jinx it,” Xiaolan said, popping a candied plum into her mouth. “If you say it out loud, someone will collapse.”

Maomao hummed noncommittally, brushing powder into a small paper packet. “Statistically, you’re not wrong.”

Nearby, a few court ladies sat in a loose circle, embroidery forgotten as they whispered and laughed softly. One fanned herself lazily. Another leaned back against a pillar, eyes closed, enjoying the breeze drifting through the open screens.

Inside the pavilion, Jinshi had abandoned his usual immaculate posture. He reclined against a cushion, outer robe loosened just enough to be scandalous by palace standards—though entirely intentional. A cup of tea steamed gently in his hand as he listened to Gaoshun speak.

“…and for once,” Gaoshun finished, expression faintly incredulous, “there are no reports.”

Jinshi blinked. “None?”

“None.”

A slow, dangerous smile curved across Jinshi’s face. “How unsettling.”