If Li Mei had to sum up the imperial court in one word, it would be: nightmare.
The moment she stepped into the grand hall, the weight of centuries pressed down on her chest. The air was thick with the scent of incense, lacquered wood, and the faint metallic tang of authority. Every polished jade pillar reflected slivers of sunlight, making the room seem endless. Nobles glimmered in silks that whispered like rivers of knives, their jeweled hairpins catching the light—and her gaze—like deadly glints. Ministers barked over each other, voices cracking like angry roosters at dawn. Generals' boots thundered over the marble floor, punctuating the chaos like storm clouds rumbling before a lightning strike.
Li Mei clutched the hem of her maid's skirt so tightly her knuckles whitened. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage like a frantic drum. Behind Empress Celestia, she was supposed to be invisible—unseen, unheard, a shadow slipping between flames. But she had a very bad track record at being inconspicuous.
System, you dragged me here to die, didn't you?
[Correction: The Empress dragged you here. I am merely observing your tragic choices.]
"Helpful, thanks," Li Mei muttered under her breath, though she was sure the nearest courtier could hear her tone of panic.
The council was in full swing. Ministers argued over grain shortages in the northern provinces—something about floods, failing harvests, and transporting supplies through treacherous terrain. Every third word was "tribute quota" or "logistics chain," and her brain slowly began translating it into: giant piles of rice falling off wagons and crushing innocent villagers. Maybe with soy sauce. She blinked, glazed, utterly lost.
Then came the thunder: the Emperor's gaze. Cold, sharp, unblinking, it swept across the room like a storm over cliffs.
"If solutions are lacking, then this council is useless," his voice rolled over the hall, echoing off stone like distant thunder. "Does no one have an answer?"
A suffocating silence fell. Every noble and official froze mid-breath, because the wrong answer could end careers—or lives.
Li Mei's stomach did a somersault. She could feel the sweat tracing icy lines down her back under her stiff maid uniform. The system pinged suddenly, like a warning alarm blaring in her mind.
[Ding! Side Quest triggered: Provide a solution to the grain shortage. Reward: +200 XP. Failure: Public humiliation and possible execution.]
WHAT?! she screamed mentally. I—why me?!
[Quest accepted automatically.]
"Wait, NO—"
Too late. Her mouth betrayed her. Words tumbled out in a panic before her brain could intervene.
"Um—what if… we, uh… made noodles?"
Silence slammed into the hall like a wall of ice. Every head whipped toward her. She realized with horror that she had spoken aloud. She wanted to vanish into the polished marble tiles. Preferably into a noodle shop in Shanghai.
A minister's monocle nearly popped off. "Noodles?!" he sputtered. "What nonsense—"
Celestia's silver eyes swept over the hall, and in a single movement, she raised her hand. Silence fell. Every whisper stilled. All eyes were now on Li Mei.
"Explain," the Empress said, her voice deceptively soft yet slicing through the tension like a blade.
Li Mei blinked. Explain?! Explain what? I was just thinking about lunch!
[Tip: Try not to mention ramen cups.]
She forced a shaky breath and cobbled together words. "I-I mean… grain is hard to transport long distances because it's heavy and goes bad quickly, right? But if you… process it into noodles or flour first, it lasts longer. Easier to carry. You can even dry it. Less spoilage. More… portable?"
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Ministers exchanged wide-eyed glances, some nodding thoughtfully. Generals frowned, jotting notes.
One elderly official cleared his throat. "The maid… has a point. Dried grain products are lighter… and soldiers already eat field rations similar to this."
Another muttered, "It would reduce loss during transport…"
Li Mei's brain short-circuited. Wait. Did she just… make sense? Accidentally?
Celestia's lips curved slightly, the faintest hint of a smile. "Remarkable. The girl speaks with clarity where seasoned men hesitate."
Li Mei almost fainted on the spot. No! I'm not remarkable! I'm just hungry! she wanted to scream, but her lips stayed clamped.
From the corner of her vision, Jianyu's laugh slithered through the tension like velvet. "How amusing," he drawled. "My mother's maid proposes strategies while ministers wring their hands. Perhaps we should replace the council with kitchen staff."
The court chuckled nervously, the tension rippling but not entirely dissipating. Li Mei wanted to curl up in a dumpling-shaped ball and disappear.
But the Emperor—stern, unreadable, terrifying—softened fractionally. He tapped the arm of his throne. "It is unorthodox… but worth trial. Have a report drawn on feasibility."
"Yes, Your Majesty," chorused the ministers, bowing deeply.
Li Mei swayed on her feet. Did she just… win? By accident?
[Quest complete! Reward granted: +200 XP, +1 Intelligence.]
She bit her lip to hold back hysterical laughter. One moment she had been imagining noodles; the next, she was shaping imperial policy—completely by mistake.
The court's whispers hit Li Mei like a swarm of bees. Every pair of eyes seemed to measure her, catalog her, and judge her worth—or decide how much fun it would be to see her squirm. She clutched the hem of her uniform, knees weak, and realized she was sweating in places she didn't even know existed.
System, remind me again why I was dragged into this nightmare?
[Reminder: Because someone has to make noodles in an imperial crisis.]
"Shut up," she muttered under her breath, grateful for the fact that nobody—except possibly the Empress—was listening to her inner commentary.
Nobles whispered among themselves, glances flicking between her, Celestia, and the Emperor. Some wore expressions of cautious admiration, others a glint of envy sharp enough to draw blood. Li Mei could practically feel the invisible knives slicing toward her.
Crown Prince Jianyu leaned lazily against a column, dark eyes glittering with mischief. He tilted his head, watching her like a cat who had found a particularly interesting insect. "So, the maid who proposes noodle strategies… is she a genius, or just incredibly lucky?"
Li Mei groaned inwardly. Both, apparently, but mostly incredibly doomed.
The Emperor's icy gaze softened just enough to make her heart thump painfully. "It is… unorthodox," he said slowly, voice echoing like distant thunder, "but effective. We shall see if the results justify the suggestion."
A murmur of cautious agreement rippled through the hall. Li Mei's stomach did a strange flip—she had actually influenced imperial policy, even if by the most idiotic chain of events.
Celestia's silver eyes remained fixed on her, unreadable, yet Li Mei felt them like a tangible weight pressing her back against the polished marble. The Empress's expression softened fractionally, though the subtle curve of her lips was almost cruel in its restraint.
"Bold," Celestia murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper, yet carrying through the hall like the hint of a drawn blade. "Do you realize what boldness attracts, little maid? Some will admire… others will wish to see you crushed beneath their heels."
Li Mei's throat went dry. Crushed beneath heels… great. Just what I needed. She forced herself to nod, though her knees felt ready to buckle.
I didn't mean to be bold, she thought frantically. I just… really, really like noodles.
The Empress's gaze softened just enough to make Li Mei's chest tighten with a strange, almost dizzying mixture of relief and fear. Celestia straightened, the silver light of her hair catching the sun streaming through the hall's windows. "Stay close to me," she said, voice smooth yet carrying the unmistakable edge of command. "And remember: survival is not a game."
[Ding! Correction: Survival is literally a game. Please stop ignoring the tutorial.]
Li Mei blinked, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. I'm never making noodles again.
As the hall began to empty, whispers trailing her like shadows, Li Mei's thoughts raced faster than her heartbeat. So… I've survived the first crisis. Accidentally. Somehow. And now everyone knows I exist. Great. Perfect.
She followed Celestia through the echoing corridors, still clutching her skirt, her steps small and careful. Every polished tile reflected her anxious expression back at her, magnifying her panic.
System, why did I have to exist in this palace?
[Answer: Because drama is more entertaining with radishes in peril.]
Li Mei groaned. Radishes? Really? Really.
Celestia's eyes flicked to her briefly, catching the silent exchange. Noticing the system again? The silver gaze lingered just long enough to make Li Mei feel simultaneously shielded and hunted. Protected… and threatened. Fantastic.
For the first time, Li Mei felt the duality of her position in the palace. She wasn't just a maid. She was a wildcard, a piece on a board that could be crushed—or leveraged. Every choice, every word, every tiny action carried consequences heavier than the piles of scrolls she had faced the night before.
And the Empress had made one thing abundantly clear: boldness drew attention. Attention drew danger.
Li Mei swallowed, heart hammering. Okay… deep breaths. Noodles were dangerous. But survival… survival is mandatory.
As they approached the private chambers, Celestia's voice softened, almost intimate, yet still carrying that unmistakable edge of inevitability. "Remember, little maid: cleverness without caution is a fast track to oblivion."
Li Mei forced a smile, nodding quickly. "Y-yes, Your Majesty. Understood."
Her mind whirled as the echo of the court faded behind her: ministers murmuring, generals frowning, nobles gaping. And through it all, the tiny, insistent thought lingered like a nagging breadcrumb: I just wanted noodles.
She pressed her hands to her knees, trying not to quake, as the weight of survival settled onto her shoulders. The game of the palace had tightened its grip, and Li Mei—accidental genius, noodle strategist, wildcard maid—was now firmly in its clutch.
And there was no reset button.