Morning at the Zenin Clan estate began with a flurry of hurried footsteps.
Those footsteps traveled from one end of the corridors to the other, doubled back, then passed through again, as though someone were using invisible drumsticks to beat out a never-ending tune along every hallway, around every corner, and beside every pillar of the ancient residence.
Attendants in dark uniforms carried all manner of things-gift boxes wrapped in red silk, bamboo baskets brimming with flowers of every color, neatly folded fabric still warm from the iron, and gift lists bearing names and blessings tucked into exquisite envelopes.
The buildings, usually solemn and imposing in their ancient grandeur, took on a fresh, vibrant brightness that day.
Rows of lanterns hung beneath the eaves, their paper shades painted with delicate golden patterns that gleamed in the morning light.
Wide ribbons of pale gold silk were tied between the corridor pillars, fashioned into full, symmetrical bows. The fine silk took on a flowing sheen in the light, like ripples across water.
Whenever the wind swept through the corridors, the ribbons fluttered gently, like a flock of golden butterflies startled awake, beating their wings with a faint rustle.
Pots of neatly trimmed plants in full bloom lined both sides of the main path to the main hall. Morning dew still clung to their petals, sparkling in the sunlight.
The stone lanterns in the courtyard had also been carefully wiped down. The moss left by years of wind and rain had been preserved, but the dust was gone, leaving the green unusually fresh, as though it had come back to life overnight. New candles had been placed atop the stone lanterns, their white wicks neatly trimmed, awaiting the moment they would be lit.
Throughout the Zenin Clan estate, from the front gate to