At our daughter's funeral, my wife, the Grand Tutor, suddenly received an urgent message delivered by express courier from a hundred li away. Even my usually composed and self-possessed wife turned pale as she read it. She hurriedly took off her white mourning clothes and left without giving me a chance to question her. I stood there holding our daughter's memorial tablet, my fingertips white from gripping it so tightly. A secret order from the Emperor? My father is the Emperor's uncle. She's only the Crown Prince's Grand Tutor. What could be so urgent that she would ignore even the day of our daughter's burial? I wanted to see what had left her so panicked.
