Jiang Yue sighed as she settled back against the pillows, the fabric cool against her back. She tucked one leg beneath the other, fingers absently brushing a crease from her skirt. Across from her, in a nest of cushions and soft lamplight, Old Madam Luo sat like a figure carved from time—thin, regal in her own weathered way, and utterly unapologetic.
Jiang Yue's eyes drifted over the older woman's face—lined but unyielding, softened only by age and not by temperament. Even now, weakened by treatment and time, she still radiated that same keen-eyed presence that had once made generals nervous and stubborn children obedient.
