Sabotage Tactics

The morning of the Chrysanthemum Banquet dawned crisp and golden, but the Smith mansion's courtyard hummed with frosty tension.

Ella stood beneath a ginkgo tree, its fan-shaped leaves fluttering around her like whispered warnings. Her attire—a soft sage gown trimmed in ivory—drew gasps from her cousins, though not the kind one might hope for.

"By the gods," Amy giggled, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Did the laundry maids raid their own closets for this masterpiece?" Her rose-pink skirts swirled as she twirled, matching the smug tilt of her lips.

Cindy hovered nearby, her peacock-blue sleeves embroidered with enough silver thread to blind a sparrow. "Perhaps she's auditioning as a nun," she murmured to Grace, who stood statue-still in a gown of blood-red silk. "A fitting vocation for someone who prayed her way into Father's good graces."

Ella adjusted her sash, its simplicity stark against their gaudy splendor. Emily fussed behind her, rearranging a single pearl hairpin. "Ignore them, my lady," she whispered, though her trembling fingers betrayed her anger.

Chloe descended the marble steps like a queen surveying peasants, her emerald train hissing against the stone. "Child," she sighed, tilting Ella's chin with a jeweled finger. "This… modesty insults our family's honor. Change at once."

Ella met her gaze, noting the glint of triumph in Chloe's eyes. She wants me to beg for finery, to play the docile fool. Instead, Ella knelt abruptly on the cold courtyard tiles, hands clasped in prayer. Gasps rippled through the watching servants.

"Mother's jade pendant," Ella declared, her voice ringing clear. "I wear her memory today, not silk. Let the heavens witness my filial devotion as Father marches north." She bowed her head, hiding a smirk. Let's see them shame piety.

A muscle twitched in Chloe's jaw. For a breath, silence reigned—broken only by the clatter of Emily dropping to her knees beside Ella, head bowed in solidarity. Then, slowly, the servants followed suit—gardeners, maids, even the stable boys—until the courtyard rippled with kneeling figures.

Grace hissed in Chloe's ear, "Call off this farce before the neighbors gossip!"

Chloe's smile turned brittle. "Rise, dear niece," she spat. "Your… devotion… touches us all." Her gaze flicked to the waiting carriages. "But such humility deserves a fitting escort. Emily!" She snapped her fingers. "Prepare the ivory coach for our Cindy. Ella may ride the palanquin."

The "palanquin" was a rattling wooden box meant for transporting turnips. Ella bit back a laugh. So it begins.

As Cindy preened into the silk-draped carriage, Amy leaned out, smirking. "Don't fret, coz! I'll save you a seat… by the refreshment tables."

Emily helped Ella into the creaking palanquin, her cheeks flushed indignantly. "This is absurd! Even the grooms ride better!"

Ella settled onto the threadbare cushion. "Comfortable solitude beats suffocating in their perfume." She parted the moth-eaten curtains, sunlight dappling her face. "Besides, slower travel has its advantages."

"Like arriving late and humiliated?"

"Like memorizing every shop on King's Way." Ella pulled a charcoal pencil from her sleeve, jotting notes on a hidden ledger. "The tea house Lady Wen frequents. The blacksmith Ethan Davis visited thrice this week. Oh look—the apothecary where Aunt Grace's maid buys arsenic-laced beauty powders."

Emily's eyes widened. "You planned this!"

"They mistake isolation for weakness." Ella tucked the ledger away, smiling as the palanquin lurched forward. "But a lone hawk sees farther than a flock of squabbling sparrows."

The banquet gates loomed ahead, alive with laughter and music. As Ella emerged, her cousins froze mid-gloat—for though her gown lacked sparkle, her posture held the steel of a blade freshly unsheathed.

"Fear not, Emily," she whispered, straightening her mother's pendant. "Tonight isn't about their jewels." Her fingers brushed the hidden ledger. "It's about taking notes."

And as she stepped into the lantern-light, the whispers began—not about silks or jewels, but the girl who'd turned humiliation into reverence, and solitude into power.