How to Ruin a Royal Ball in 10 Seconds

**Disguise of the Dubious Duke**

Master Long Jian’s idea of “blending in” with nobility involved a silk robe borrowed from a scarecrow, a fake mustache glued on upside-down, and a title he’d plucked from a fortune cookie: *“Duke Flapdoodle of the Western Turnip.”* He swaggered into the Imperial City’s Jade Gate, tripping over his own sash and shouting, **“MAKE WAY FOR MY… *uh*… *DIGNITY*!”**

The guards exchanged glances. **“That’s either a nobleman,”** one muttered, **“or a raccoon in a bathrobe.”**

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**The Etiquette Gauntlet**

The Imperial City was a labyrinth of gilded absurdity. Nobles sipped tea with their pinkies *precisely* angled, discussed the “scandal” of mismatched chopsticks, and bowed so low their foreheads kissed the floor (a habit Long Jian mistook for naptime).

His first test: the **Grand Chrysanthemum Banquet**, where guests were required to:

**Compose a haiku about soup** (*“Hot broth, steam ascends… My wife’s ladle haunts my dreams… Please pass the dumplings”*).

**Eat a single grain of rice with a 10-foot golden chopstick** (*Long Jian accidentally launched his grain into the Emperor’s wig*).

**Discuss “the weather”** (*“Your Majesty, does ‘hurricane of regret’ count as small talk?”*).

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**Mei Ling’s Ladle of High Society**

Unbeknownst to Long Jian, Lady Mei Ling had arrived days earlier, her reputation preceding her. The nobles adored her. They’d dubbed her *“The Baroness of Broth”* after she’d silenced a rowdy viscount by balancing a teacup on his head.

**“She’s divine,”** sighed Duchess Pretzelbottom. **“So *refined*. So *graceful*. So… *terrifying*.”**

Mei Ling’s disguise? A gown stitched from **dragon-scale silk** and a hairpin that doubled as a *Ladle of Subtle Threat*.

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**The Ballroom Blunder**

The **Moonlight Masquerade** was the pinnacle of Imperial pomp. Long Jian, masked as a “mysterious pheasant,” stumbled into the ballroom, immediately:

- **Stepping on the Grand Chancellor’s toe** during the *Dance of the Floating Swan*.

- **Mistaking a priceless vase for a spittoon**.

- **Challenging a duke to a duel** over the last pork bun.

**“En garde, sir!”** Long Jian declared, brandishing a shrimp skewer. **“I’ll skewer your honor… *and your appetizer*!”**

Then he saw *her*.

Mei Ling, resplendent in jade-green silk, waltzed past with the Emperor himself. **“Your Majesty,”** she cooed, **“have you met *Duke Flapdoodle*? He’s *famous* for forgetting… *everything*.”**

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**The Ladle Tango**

The orchestra struck up a *Waltz of a Thousand Lanterns*. Mei Ling seized Long Jian’s arm, her grip like a vice. **“Shall we dance, *Duke*?”**

Their “dance” was less waltz, more slapstick:

- Mei Ling’s ladle “accidentally” smacked his shins.

- Long Jian’s sash unraveled, tripping a line of aristocrats.

- They spun into the dessert table, launching a cake into the Empress’s lap.

**“BRAVO!”** the crowd cheered, mistaking chaos for avant-garde performance art.

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**The Chase of Golden Goose Proportions**

Cornered in the palace gardens, Long Jian scaled a statue of the **First Emperor**—a man famously *“great at conquering, bad at hide-and-seek.”** Mei Ling cornered him, ladle gleaming.

**“You forgot our anniversary,”** she hissed.

**“But I remembered your favorite dessert!”** He tossed a stolen mooncake.

She caught it, glared, then took a bite. **“…Pineapple? *You know I hate pineapple*.”**

**“FORGIVE ME!”** he yelped, backflipping into a hedge shaped like a duck.

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**The Imperial Aftermath**

The next morning, the Emperor issued a decree: *“No more pheasant masks, no more shrimp-skewer duels, and *absolutely* no pineapple mooncakes.”*

Mei Ling, now honorary **Ambassador of Soup**, received a golden ladle engraved with *“Don’t Forget.”*

And Long Jian? He fled the city in a stolen palanquin, muttering, **“Next time, I’ll disguise myself as a *literal* turnip.”**

A turnip, nearby, sighed.

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