The palace at night was not the same creature it was by day.
By daylight, it gleamed—orderly, dazzling, gilded to the point of blindness. But after dusk… after dusk it breathed differently. Shadows crept along the lacquered walls like ink spreading across parchment, and every flicker of a lantern seemed to stretch unnaturally long, as if the fire itself was nervous. The air smelled of lotus oil and sandalwood, cloying sweet, like a perfume layered too thick to disguise something sour beneath. And always—always—there were whispers. Whispers carried farther than footsteps.
Selene lay awake on her straw mat, staring up at the wooden beams overhead. The mat scratched her skin, each shift sending prickles of irritation along her arms. Yet the itch wasn't what kept her awake. It was the glowing words still faintly visible at the edge of her vision:
Assist Lady Zhen in gaining favor.
She wanted to laugh. Or maybe scream. As if I had any power here. She was nothing—a servant girl with a borrowed name, a stranger thrown into a nest of dragons. An insect scurrying beneath the feet of giants.
And yet… the word survival pulsed like fire behind her eyes. The system had not been wrong so far. Every prompt, every percentage drop, every warning—each had proved chillingly accurate. The palace was merciless. The smallest misstep could end with a blade at her throat or a rope around her neck. And if Lady Zhen fell from grace, Selene's own life would collapse with her, like a candle snuffed in a storm.
She drew her knees up and hugged the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders. The other maids in the servants' quarters breathed evenly in their sleep, blissfully unaware of the gnawing thoughts clawing at her skull. Someone snored softly. Someone else murmured in a dream. Beyond the paper screens, the wind rattled like a thief at the doors, carrying faint traces of music and laughter from the inner chambers where nobles still drank and feasted.
Selene pressed her fists into her knees. I have to think. I have to act. Doing nothing is the fastest way to die.
But what could she do? Every option felt like juggling knives in the dark.
When dawn finally came, it brought no relief.
The summons arrived as the first light of morning glazed the palace roofs in gold.
"Li Mei," a senior maid called, her tone as clipped as a snapped fan. "Lady Zhen requires your presence."
Selene blinked. Me? Personally? Her stomach dropped like a stone into a well. Lady Zhen rarely summoned new maids herself—if ever.
The walk to the concubine's private chambers felt endless. Corridors stretched like rivers of red lacquer, sunlight striking the gilded dragons carved into each pillar until they seemed to coil and writhe. Servants bustled past, bowing and murmuring, their gazes sliding over Selene without lingering—as if she were invisible, or unworthy of attention. Which, to be fair, she was.
At last, they reached the threshold. The chamber doors opened, and Selene stepped into another world.
Lady Zhen's residence was a garden of silk and shadow. Curtains draped like waterfalls, translucent layers catching the morning light in shifting shades of rose and pearl. Incense burned from golden censers, trailing smoke that twisted lazily toward the high ceiling. The air was warmer here, perfumed, suffocating and soothing all at once.
Lady Zhen herself lounged on a couch carved of sandalwood, embroidered pillows at her back. Her hair spilled like midnight over her shoulder, glinting faintly where the sun kissed it. A scroll of poetry lay open in her pale hands, but her attention seemed to rest more on the rhythm of her own breath than the words upon the page.
Up close, her beauty was almost cruel. It demanded attention, the way a tiger's stripes demanded fear. Her eyes—soft at first glance, deep and dark as still water—carried a weight that made Selene feel as though every hidden thought was being peeled open and examined.
"You are the new maid," Lady Zhen said without glancing up. Her voice was velvet laced with steel, calm yet edged. "Li Mei, yes?"
"Yes, my lady." Selene bowed low, heart drumming so hard it threatened to crack her ribs.
Lady Zhen's gaze finally lifted. Her smile was gentle, lips curved like petals, but her eyes—those eyes—were sharp enough to cut.
"You watch more than you speak," she murmured. "I prefer that."
Selene swallowed. She wasn't sure if it was praise or a warning. Maybe both.
Then Lady Zhen tilted her head slightly, and the air shifted. A pause lingered, heavy and deliberate, before she asked, "Tell me, Li Mei—what do you see when you look at me?"
Selene froze.
The system flickered in her vision. Warning: Answer carefully.
Her mouth went dry. What do I see?
That Lady Zhen was beautiful, obviously. That she was poised, powerful, dangerous. That she was also vulnerable, her position precarious, every rival waiting for the moment she stumbled. That she was a woman balanced on the edge of a blade, the palace watching to see if she would bleed.
What was the right answer?
Selene inhaled slowly, steadying herself. "I see…" Her voice wavered, then steadied. "…someone the Emperor should never overlook."
The silence stretched so taut Selene thought it might snap.
Then Lady Zhen laughed.
It was soft, melodic, like the first notes of spring rain. A laugh that could soothe, but also one that could draw blood if it wished.
"You are bold," she said, her lips curving. "I like boldness. But boldness is a flame—beautiful, yet dangerous. Do not let it burn you."
Selene bowed deeper, hiding the tremor in her hands. Congratulations, brain. You survived another round of 'Say the Right Thing or Die.'
"Yes, my lady."
And with that, something subtle shifted in the air between them.
From that day forward, Selene was no longer invisible.
Lady Zhen began to notice her. At first it was small, harmless things: fetching a particular tea set, arranging fresh blossoms near the couch, carrying messages sealed in delicate silk paper. They were menial tasks on the surface, yet each one carried the weight of risk. A flower chosen poorly could be an insult. A message delayed could mean disgrace.
But for Selene, it meant something more dangerous: attention.
The other maids noticed too. Their eyes tracked her every movement, sharp with envy or suspicion. Whispers curled in her wake like smoke.
"Why her?"
"She's new. She doesn't deserve it."
"Maybe she's luckier than she looks."
Selene kept her head down, though every whisper scraped her nerves raw. Great. Just what I needed. A fan club made of people who want me dead.
The danger finally bared its teeth one evening.
The chamber was quiet, washed in amber light from lanterns swaying against the dusk breeze. Selene stood at the low table, hands steady as she prepared Lady Zhen's evening tea. She had memorized every step—warm the pot, rinse the leaves, pour with grace—but her chest still tightened each time, as though she were performing surgery on an emperor.
That was when Lin Hua appeared.
Lin Hua, with her sweet face and honeyed voice, the kind of smile that looked like a blessing until you noticed the sharpness in her eyes. She drifted close, too close, and said softly, "Allow me to help."
Selene stiffened. "It's fine. I can manage."
But Lin Hua was already reaching for the tray, her sleeves brushing the porcelain. Too insistent. Too eager.
And then Selene saw it.
Just for a heartbeat—the faint shimmer of powder dissolving into the steaming tea. A flicker, barely there, but enough.
Her blood turned to ice.
Poison.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The chamber suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in, the air heavy as lead. Lady Zhen sat just beyond, serene and radiant, completely unaware that death had just kissed the surface of her cup.
The system pulsed.
Warning: Risk detected.
Options flared before Selene's eyes, sharp and merciless.
Option A: Expose Lin Hua immediately.
Option B: Discreetly switch the cups.
Option C: Pretend not to notice.
Her throat constricted. Expose her? And make an enemy who'll slit my throat the first chance she gets? Switch the cups and drink it myself? Or do nothing and watch Lady Zhen drop dead? Fantastic menu tonight.
Seconds ticked. Her palms sweated.
Selene's hand trembled as she reached for the tray. Her pulse roared in her ears.
She chose.
Lady Zhen lifted the cup with effortless grace, lips parting as the steam curled like white fingers toward her face.
Selene's chest tightened until she thought her ribs would shatter. She braced for the worst.
But nothing happened.
Lady Zhen sipped, serene, her expression as calm as still water. She set the cup down with elegance, her face unbothered.
The system blinked.
Quest Complete. Survival rate +4%.
Selene almost collapsed in relief. Her knees wobbled, her lungs finally dragging in air.
Across the table, Lin Hua's gaze flickered—wide, sharp, shocked—for the barest fraction of a second before smoothing back into practiced innocence. Her lips curved sweetly, as though nothing at all had happened.
But Selene saw it.
The message was clear.
War had begun.
That night, she could not sleep. Every creak of the floorboards made her flinch, every sigh of the wind against the shutters felt like a blade sliding from its sheath. She realized the truth with cold certainty: her enemies were not only the women above her, but the very girls who shared her roof and her chores.
The palace was not just a gilded cage.
It was a pit of serpents.
The palace loomed around Selene like a gilded labyrinth, every hall stretching into silence so complete it threatened to swallow her whole. Her slippers whispered against the marble floors, the sound fragile in the vastness, as though even her footsteps did not belong here. The air was perfumed faintly with sandalwood and smoke from lantern oil, yet beneath the sweetness lingered something colder, like stone soaked in centuries of secrets.
She could not shake the weight pressing upon her. Every carved screen, every golden pillar, every mural of long-dead emperors seemed to watch her with quiet judgment. The palace was not built for warmth. It was built to remind those within its walls that power belonged to few, and obedience to the rest.
Selene had barely spent a single day here, yet the place already felt suffocating. Her heart thudded beneath her plain robes, not because of the grandeur, but because she knew this glittering prison was now her reality. There was no exit. No waking up. No running away from the roles and rules pressed into her hands.
When she passed through the inner garden, moonlight fell through the latticed windows and spilled across the tiled floor. White orchids bloomed in precise rows, delicate as porcelain, their beauty so carefully arranged it felt lifeless. For a moment, she stopped and touched one, the fragile petal cold against her fingertip. How different it was from the wild flowers she used to see back home, untamed and free.
A shiver rippled through her. The orchids were beautiful, but they were cultivated to perfection, stripped of freedom, trimmed until they could only bloom the way their keepers desired. Selene pulled her hand back quickly, as if the flower's silence had warned her of what awaited here.
The murmur of voices echoed faintly down the corridor ahead, pulling her thoughts back to the present. She straightened, smoothing her robes with trembling fingers. Every sound mattered in this palace. Every glance, every step, every word spoken—or unsaid—could decide her survival.
She exhaled slowly and forced her feet to keep moving. Somewhere deeper within these walls, fate was already waiting for her.