chapter 21: a veiled courtesy

The Hall of Serene Harmony was bathed in the soft glow of lantern light when the attendants arrived, bearing gifts from the Empress Quin. The maids of Empress Ming lined up in neat rows, their faces carefully composed as the eunuchs unfurled a brocade scroll detailing the offerings.

"Her Majesty, Empress Quin, sends these humble gifts to celebrate the auspicious return of Your Majesty to the palace," the chief eunuch announced with a practiced bow.

Empress Ming, seated gracefully on the high platform, smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. She glanced at the lacquered chests being presented before her—silk embroidered with golden phoenixes, jade hairpins of the finest craftsmanship, and rare medicinal herbs said to restore one's vitality. A display of generosity, on the surface.

But Empress Ming knew better.

Her gaze lingered on a particularly elaborate set of red-gold hair ornaments—symbols of authority, traditionally reserved for an empress in power. A deliberate provocation wrapped in courtesy.

"The Empress is too kind," she said smoothly, her tone carrying neither warmth nor displeasure. "Such exquisite gifts… It must have taken much thought."

"Her Majesty the Empress hopes that Your Majesty will soon recover your strength and return to court affairs," the eunuch added with a deferential bow.

A hollow sentiment. Everyone in the palace knew that Empress Quin had spent years consolidating power in Empress Ming's absence. This grand gesture was no more than a performance—a declaration that she held the upper hand.

Empress Ming's smile deepened, a glint of steel flashing in her dark eyes. "Since the Empress has been so considerate, I must return the favor."

With a flick of her wrist, she gestured to her maid. "Prepare a gift for the Empress—something… equally thoughtful."

Her tone was light, almost amused, but the maids who had served her long enough recognized the subtle edge beneath her words.

The chief eunuch bowed and retreated as the attendants began to clear the gifts, leaving the lacquered chests neatly arranged before Empress Ming. At her side, Lady Han, her most trusted attendant, stepped forward and leaned in slightly.

"Your Majesty, Empress Quin's intentions are clear," she murmured. "She wishes to remind you of her position."

Empress Ming traced the rim of her teacup once more before setting it down with a soft clink. "A reminder? No, Lady Han. This is a warning. She is telling me that my return is nothing more than a formality, that she remains the true mistress of the inner palace."

Her voice was calm, but a cold amusement flickered in her eyes.

"And yet," she continued, her lips curving in a slow smile, "if she were truly unshaken, she would not need to send such an elaborate show of support."

Lady Han's gaze flickered with understanding. "Would Your Majesty like to send something in return?"

Empress Ming leaned back against the silk cushions, her posture serene as she considered the chessboard before her. A mere acceptance of Empress Quin's gifts would be an admission of passivity, but an open rejection would stir unnecessary trouble. No—her move had to be subtle, yet sharp.

She turned to Lady Han. "Prepare a set of gifts for the Empress. Have a selection of silks and jewels sent to her, but ensure they are all…" She paused, tapping her fingers lightly on the armrest. "Old-fashioned designs, ones that were in fashion before my departure."

Lady Han's lips twitched in understanding.

Empress Ming continued, her voice soft yet purposeful. "And include a box of ginseng—an exceptionally strong variety, meant for those who are… overburdened with responsibilities."

A gift that carried a hidden sting. It suggested that Empress Quin had aged in the years she spent holding power and that perhaps she ought to take better care of herself—or even consider stepping back.

Lady Han bowed. "Your Majesty is wise."

Empress Ming exhaled softly, her smile never faltering. "This is merely the opening move. Let us see how she chooses to respond."

The gifts would arrive with all the grace and decorum expected between empresses, but beneath the veil of courtesy, the message would be unmistakable.

Empress Ming sat gracefully on her high seat as the attendants presented the latest "gift" from Empress Quin—a set of pearls.

The eunuch who delivered them bowed low. "Her Majesty, Empress Quin, sends these pearls as a token of appreciation for Your Majesty's kind gifts."

Lady Han stepped forward and lifted the lid, revealing lustrous pearls… except for one detail—they were yellowed with age, their once-bright sheen faded.

A murmur rippled through the palace women. The insult was clear: Empress Quin was calling Empress Ming a woman past her prime, a relic unfit to compete.

Yet, rather than react with anger, Empress Ming merely chuckled, a sound so soft and amused that it sent shivers through the servants present. She lifted one pearl between her fingers, turning it under the light.

"How thoughtful," she mused. "Pearls of such… distinct character."

Lady Han, ever attuned to her mistress's mind, smiled slightly. "Indeed, Your Majesty. Their color speaks of years endured. But as we know, pearls are most treasured not for their youth, but for their resilience."

A statement laden with meaning. A woman who has endured and returned is stronger than one who merely remained.

Empress Ming set the pearl down gently and turned to her attendants. "Prepare one final gift for Empress Quin," she instructed, her tone as light as the falling petals outside.

A short while later, an elegant lacquered box was sent to Jade Harmony Palace, where Empress Quin received it with thinly veiled anticipation.

Lady Shu, who had been by her side when the yellowed pearls were sent, lifted the lid of the box—then stiffened.

Inside lay a single, flawless white pearl, radiant in its perfection.

Empress Quin's fingers twitched.

Beneath the pearl was a delicate silk scroll with a simple inscription in Empress Ming's elegant hand:

"A single perfect pearl shines brighter than a chest full of dull ones."

A calculated, devastating blow.

The meaning could not have been clearer—while others may have spent years hoarding power, a single woman's return, unmarred and unchallenged, could eclipse them all.

Empress Quin's expression darkened, her nails biting into her palm as she stared at the pearl.

She had lost this exchange.

Word of the final gift spread swiftly through the palace, and though nothing had been said outright, everyone understood: Empress Ming had reentered the palace not as a fallen woman, but as a rising sun—impossible to ignore and impossible to outshine.