The shift in attitude was immediate.
Xiao Zhi did not need anyone to announce it to her, nor did she need to overhear whispered conversations to understand what had happened. The palace moved like a living organism, and when its center decided someone no longer mattered, the rest followed without hesitation.
Kabil did not favor her.
That fact spread faster than any official decree.
At first, it was subtle. Smiles that no longer reached the eyes. Greetings that became snorts or were skipped altogether. Servants who once bowed properly now did so hastily, if at all. When she passed through the corridors, conversations would pause, then resume in quieter, sharper, sneering tones once she was gone.
Then it became obvious.
The concubines no longer bothered to hide their contempt. They mocked her openly now, laughter ringing out without the cover of fans. They commented on her appearance, her posture, and her accent. They made sure they spoke loudly enough for her to hear. When she passed, they blocked her path just long enough to force her to bow or step aside. Sleeves brushed against her on purpose, teacups were "accidentally" tipped, splashing hot liquid dangerously onto her skin. Servants were sent away, so she was left standing alone to tend to her own wounds and clean their mess.
None of it left marks.
That, she realized, was the point.
"Take that, you dirty woman!"
"I heard she couldn't even keep the Prince interested for a single night."
"No wonder. Look at her."
Even the palace maids assigned to her grew careless. They delivered meals late or cold. They responded slowly when she called, and sometimes not at all. Guards posted outside her chamber spoke loudly about her on purpose, discussing her like she was an object already discarded.
"Prince must be bored."
"She won't last long."
"Hua women don't belong in Tughril."
She learned quickly that protest would only make things worse.
She lowered her eyes. She kept her mouth shut. She endured.
The days blurred together into a pattern she came to dread. During daylight, the insults were verbal and constant. Not enough to provoke a scene. Just enough to grind her down piece by piece.
At night, the fear sharpened.
Kabil did not come every evening, and she learned to cling to that small mercy like a lifeline. But when he did appear, it was never by accident, and never without intent.
He would enter without greeting, without explanation, as if her chamber were simply another extension of his own space. Sometimes he spoke, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he was quiet, which was worse.
He always left her shaken.
And always amused.
Xiao Zhi stopped sleeping properly.
She lay awake each night, listening for footsteps, her body tense even when exhaustion dragged at her limbs. Every sound made her flinch. Every creak of wood tightened her chest. She hated herself for the way fear had trained her senses, for how alert she had become to his presence.
She remembered the first time she read Lin Rui's novel.
She had laughed.
She had mocked Princess Lian Zhi for being weak. For crying quietly. For accepting her fate. For enduring humiliation without ever fighting back.
"What an idiot," she'd thought. "If it were me, I'd flip the table."
Now?
Now she was the one lying trembling in fear, tears sliding silently down her cheeks every night. Swallowing insults she couldn't return, shrinking herself smaller and smaller just to survive.
She had become the weak princess.
And she hated it.
The realization tasted bitter in her mouth.
This wasn't her.
She wasn't this person.
She was Xiao Zhi. The editor who tore bad writing apart without mercy, who called out lazy tropes, who never shut up when something was wrong.
So why was she quiet now?
Because this wasn't fiction anymore.
Because this wasn't a manuscript she could close.
Because pain here was real.
She needed to become herself again. She needed to fight back.
***
One afternoon, after a cruel morning of whispers and being ignored, she went back to her room and noticed something out of place.
A small porcelain bottle sat on her table.
It had not been there before.
Her first instinct was suspicion. She stood still for a long moment, eyes fixed on it, her mind racing through possibilities. No one had announced a delivery. No maid had mentioned anything. The bottle was plain, unmarked, and sealed carefully.
Slowly, she approached and picked it up.
It was light.
She opened it and tipped the contents into her palm. Several small pills rolled out, round and dark. She frowned, examining them, then lifted one closer to her nose.
Scentless.
They said curiosity killed the cat, and Xiao Zhi was never one to listen to advice.
She took one pill and put it in her mouth. Not to swallow, just to taste.
It was bitter.
She spat it out.
Then, a few seconds later, her eyelids grew heavy.
She barely had time to process the sensation before darkness folded over her.
***
When she woke the next morning, sunlight was already creeping across the floor.
Her head felt strange. For a few seconds, she couldn't remember where she was or why her body felt so sore. Then memory returned all at once, sharp and unwelcome.
She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her temple.
The bottle.
Her gaze snapped to the table. It was still there, the lid loosely placed beside it.
Sleeping pills.
Someone had left her sleeping pills.
The realization settled uneasily in her chest.
They knew.
Someone knew she hadn't been sleeping. Knew she spent her nights in fear, waiting for a door to open, for footsteps to approach. Someone had thought to help her. Quietly, without drawing attention.
But who?
Ruhan?
The thought surfaced instinctively, followed immediately by doubt. She hadn't seen him in days. No quiet visits. No medicine. No familiar presence moving through her chamber. It was as if he had vanished entirely.
Where did you go?
She let out a short, humorless laugh and leaned back against the table.
"Thanks for the gesture," she murmured to the empty room, "but I don't think sleep is the problem."
A pill could make her unconscious, yes. But it couldn't protect her. It couldn't stop Kabil from entering. It couldn't stop what followed.
Still, the fact that someone had tried lingered in her mind.