Maomao sat quietly on a stool as Chue diligently brushed a fragrant oil into Maomao 's damp hair, using her damaged hand 's limited ability to grasp the strands as dexterity practice. The mirror in the room was a much smaller one than the Empress ' mirror in the Jade Pavilion, but it too was made of glass, offering a perfect reflection of her face.

She thought she looked pale and wan. Aside from the wake when she had cried herself to sleep in Jinshi 's arms, she had been having trouble sleeping since her dad died.

For such a modest man, with a modest funeral, it had been well attended. She had heard stories of Luomen 's life from people she never imagined he knew - stories of his youth. He had been remembered as both diligent and brilliant, but with a fine streak of mischief from time to time as a boy.