The palace was never still. By day, it glittered with ceremony, banners fluttering, silk robes glinting under sunlight, every footstep measured and precise. But at night, it became a living thing, pulsing with secrets. Shadows crept along the red lacquered walls, gathering like smoke, and whispers moved through corridors faster than footsteps. Lanterns swung gently in the breeze, casting uncertain light that made the polished floors appear liquid, rippling with phantom figures. Every corner held a possibility of danger, and every glance could be a trap.
Selene learned quickly that survival meant learning to move like a shadow, to blend into the palace's rhythm without drawing notice, and yet remain close enough to observe the unfolding games of power.
Since the night of the poisoned tea, Lady Zhen's eyes lingered on Selene more often. Not openly, but in the way a hawk measures prey—every glance deliberate, every tilt of the head a question. Selene could feel it in the subtle way her mistress's gaze weighed her loyalty against usefulness, courage against recklessness. The danger was far from over. If anything, it had deepened.
And the others noticed too. Lin Hua never struck again directly, but her smile had grown more predatory, the sweetness of honey masking the sharpness of glass. Selene caught it in fleeting glances—Lin Hua pretending to adjust a hairpin, brushing past her shoulder, and lingering just long enough for Selene to feel the intent. Other maids tested her with minor cruelties: spilling water where she might slip, misplacing brushes, whispering "lucky rat" under their breath when they assumed Selene could not hear. Each small act carved unease into her daily routine, a constant reminder that in the palace, vigilance was survival.
Selene endured it all. She bowed her head, memorized every face, recorded every voice, every subtle shift of expression. The system's words still burned in her mind: Survive. That was all that mattered. Everything else—status, comfort, even affection—was irrelevant if she did not live to see tomorrow.
One afternoon, sunlight slanted through the silken curtains of Lady Zhen's private chamber, painting the polished floor with elongated stripes of gold. Selene approached cautiously, her tray balanced with the precision of a tightrope walker, aware that a single tremor could undo her. Lady Zhen sat at her carved couch, draped in flowing rose silk that shimmered like water catching the sun. Her posture was relaxed, yet every line spoke of control, every gesture threaded with authority.
"You are learning," Lady Zhen said, her voice soft but edged with steel. It cut through the quiet of the room like a knife through silk. Selene's heart skipped, unsure whether to respond, to bow, or to shrink into the shadows.
"You watch. You listen. That is good," Lady Zhen continued, her dark eyes tracking her movements with careful precision. Selene felt a shiver crawl along her spine.
"But watching is not enough," Lady Zhen added, leaning forward slightly, the silk of her sleeves brushing the floor like a whisper of wind. "A woman who wishes to live in this palace must also act. Tell me, Li Mei, if poison were set before me again, what would you do?"
Selene's throat tightened. The image of that faint shimmer in the tea—the system's glowing choices, the way her hands had trembled—returned in a rush. Her mind raced through the impossible options, each one carrying its own danger. She forced her voice steady, because even shaking would be seen as weakness.
"I would ensure it never touched your lips, my lady," she said, each word deliberate, measured.
Lady Zhen's lips curved faintly in what might have been a smile, though her eyes gave nothing away. "An obedient answer," she said softly. "But obedience is not survival. Remember this—truth is often more dangerous than poison."
The words lingered in the air long after they were spoken. Selene's stomach churned. Was this a warning? A lesson? Or a test to see whether she could read between the silken lines? Probably all three.
The rest of the day passed in a tense haze. Servants scuttled silently through corridors, and even the courtyard felt alive with unseen eyes. Selene found herself hyper-aware of every shadow, every shuffle of fabric, every faint footfall behind her. She realized that survival here was not merely about caution—it was about anticipation, understanding the rhythm of danger, and moving one step ahead of it.
As evening approached, the air in the palace seemed to shift. Lanterns glimmered like fireflies, suspended above marble pathways, and a subtle buzz of excitement ran through the servants' quarters. Rumors moved faster than silk on polished floors: the Emperor was to host a banquet beneath the blooming plum trees. Every favored concubine would be present, and every slight, every glance, every sip of wine could carry the weight of life or death.
Selene's hands instinctively tightened around her sleeves. A banquet meant danger. Wine could be poisoned, smiles could mask daggers, and a single misstep might spell ruin for Lady Zhen—and for herself. Her mind replayed the lessons learned since her arrival: watch, listen, anticipate, and always, always survive.
The night of the banquet approached like a storm. Lanterns swayed, casting long shadows across the courtyards, and the scent of plum blossoms mixed with incense, curling into the night air like smoke from a ritual fire. Selene moved like a ghost behind Lady Zhen, every step cautious, every heartbeat synchronized to the unspoken rhythm of palace politics. The palace was about to bare its fangs.
The inner gardens had been transformed into a vision of spring, yet it was a spring carefully curated for power, not beauty. Plum blossoms drifted down like pale snow, their fragrance mingling with incense that curled through the night air in lazy spirals. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, golden orbs reflecting off lacquered tables laden with delicate dishes—steamed buns shaped like flowers, jade-green tea, glimmering fruits that seemed too perfect to be real. Musicians plucked silk strings, their notes rising and falling in waves that might have soothed a simple heart—but in this palace, even music could wound.
Selene followed Lady Zhen's flowing rose silk, her eyes fixed on the ground, careful not to step on shadows or overstep protocol. Her heart thrummed like a war drum, every nerve alert. The concubines gathered in radiant silks, their jeweled hairpins glinting in the lantern light like hidden blades. Each smile, each bow, each fluttering hand was a calculation, a potential threat disguised as elegance.
"Focus, Selene," she whispered under her breath. "Every movement counts."
At the head of the hall sat the Emperor, his expression distant yet penetrating, the weight of endless ceremonies pressing on his shoulders. But as Lady Zhen entered, her robe the color of dawn and her posture flawless, his eyes sharpened faintly. Something sparked in the air—an invisible thread of attention, fragile yet undeniable.
Selene's pulse spiked. This was no ordinary gathering. Lady Zhen's rise in favor was not merely noticed—it was being measured, weighed, and perhaps envied. And Selene, shadowing her mistress, could feel that her own survival depended entirely on Lady Zhen's success tonight.
The system flared briefly at the corner of her vision:
Main Quest Updated: Support Lady Zhen during the banquet.
Selene's hands grew damp, her fingers curling around the silk tray she carried. Every cup, every dish, every slight gesture could be a threat or a shield. She reminded herself: Observe. Anticipate. Protect. Survive.
The concubines began their intricate dances of subtle intimidation. Lady Hua, the third concubine, moved with a whip-crack precision, her eyes glinting as she passed Lady Zhen. Lady Lian, the fourth, smiled like a rose with thorns hidden in the petals, her laughter bubbling with unspoken challenge. Whispers swirled in the spaces between them, silk brushing silk, words sharp enough to pierce armor.
Selene's throat tightened. She had to stay invisible yet alert, a ghost tethered to Lady Zhen. One misstep and a cup of poisoned wine, a dropped napkin, a misplaced compliment could spell catastrophe. Her eyes flicked to Lin Hua, who lingered at the edges of the gathering, her lips curved in that same dangerous sweetness, her gaze tracking Selene with thinly veiled malice.
Lady Zhen approached the Emperor with elegance that masked her nerves. Every movement, every bow, every flicker of her eyes was measured to perfection. Selene felt as though she were watching a blade being honed—one wrong strike, and the tip could pierce the very heart of the court.
When Lady Zhen spoke, her voice was soft but carried across the courtyard like a gentle wind stirring a hidden storm. "Your Majesty, may I present the first blossom of spring?"
Selene held her breath as the Emperor's eyes lifted, narrowing slightly. He inclined his head faintly, a spark of interest lighting in the depths of his gaze. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Selene saw it. Victory, if only partial, was hers and Lady Zhen's for now.
She reminded herself: This is only the beginning. The palace does not forgive weakness.
As the banquet continued, Selene moved like water, placing trays, observing the subtle shifts in posture, reading the unspoken battles waged in smiles, curtsies, and casual gestures. Lady Zhen's eyes occasionally flicked to her, and Selene returned a quiet nod—acknowledgment, not deference. Their silent communication was a lifeline amid the storm.
Even in the moments of calm, tension rippled through the gathering. A clink of porcelain, the soft brush of silk, a faint cough—each sound could be a signal, each glance a warning. Selene realized the palace had transformed into a battlefield where words, flowers, and gestures were weapons, and she had no choice but to learn their language swiftly.
By the time the Emperor rose to leave, Lady Zhen's composure had not faltered. She had been noticed, measured, and, for now, deemed worthy. Selene exhaled silently, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough to remind her: tonight she had survived, but tomorrow, the games would begin anew.
And outside the circle of lantern light, the palace whispered its secrets once more, shadows curling around walls, listening, waiting, ready to strike. Selene understood fully now—the palace had fangs, and she was walking straight into the mouth of them.