At my daughter’s birthday banquet, the longevity lock in its brocade box had been replaced with a decapitated snake.
As every noblewoman in the courtyard screamed in terror, my husband’s former beloved reddened her eyes, hugged her son, and apologized.
“He is only a child.
He did not mean to curse the young lady with an early death by bringing her a headless snake.”
Beneath her lowered gaze was a taunt.
She was waiting for me to fly into a rage and ruin my own daughter’s celebration.
I merely gave a quiet hum.
At once, a servant swung a cudgel into the back of her knee.
She dropped to the ground before me, smashing her forehead against the flagstones.
Blood streamed down her face.
She looked utterly wretched.
I tapped the lid of my teacup without even looking up.
“Drag her out and kill her.”
“The child may not know better, but is the adult dead too?”
