"Your Majesty, there's a woman in the moon garden!" the footman shouted as he tumbled in.
"What happened?" Ye Shurong stepped into the moon garden, silk whispering, eyes amused and sharp. Guards formed a neat ring. Moonlight washed the torn hem of a plain dress, and a red dudou lay on a marble bench like a dropped accusation.
"She was found by the west pavilion wall, Your Majesty," a guard said. "Her skirt was torn. There's the dudou."
Fu Jinmian arrived like a drawn fan—calm, bright, a smile sharpened under rouge. She lifted her hand and the court stilled around that gesture.
"This is intolerable," Fu Jinmian declared. "A low palace wench in the moon garden at this hour. She tarnishes the imperial household. Punishment must follow."
"She could have been robbed," an attendant offered, eager to please Fu Jinmian.
"Or worse," Fu Jinmian said. "Or this is seduction used as mockery against our Empress's care. The Empress's household must be pure."
Sun Caixiu knelt on the stones, one hand over her chest, face pale. Her voice rushed out in a thread of words.
"I was returning a ribbon, Your Majesty. Footmen came—someone pushed—my skirt snagged on a branch. I lost my sash. That's the dudou. I—"
Fu Jinmian cut in, loud enough for the wall eavesdroppers to hear. "She was in a lover's place. This dudou marks her. Public punishment will set example."
Ye Shurong let the night settle on
