The shift in attitude was immediate. Kabil did not favor her. And 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, sneering tones once she was gone.
Then it became obvious.
The concubines mocked her openly now, laughter ringing out without the cover of sleeves or fans. They commented on her appearance, her posture, her very existence. 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. Shoulders brushed violently 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.
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.
She learned quickly that protest would only make things worse. So she just lowered her eyes, kept her mouth shut. She just... endured.
Well… not completely. Sometimes, she let a modern curse slip under her breath. Words no one here would ever understand. Tiny rebellions, just enough to remind herself she wasn't completely powerless. That she wasn't just a pathetic loser.
The days blurred together into a pattern she came to dread. During daylight, the insults were verbal and constant. Never enough to cause a scene. Just enough to wear 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, his visits were never accidental 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 laughed. Sometimes he was quiet, which was worse.
He always left her shaken, and he was always amused by it.
Xiao Zhi wanted to fight back. She wanted to shout, to defy him, to prove she was not just some timid pawn. She even remembered the small bundle her mother had given her, meant for moments like this.
But fate was cruel.
That bundle had been left in the carriage. And the bandit from the desert had stolen everything she owned.
So here she was, fists clenched, teeth gritted, with nothing but her own voice to fight with.
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, mocking Princess Lian Zhi for being weak. For crying quietly. For accepting her fate and enduring humiliation without ever fighting back.
"What an idiot," she had 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, at least the way she wanted to. 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?
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, dark, round pills rolled out. She frowned, examining them, then lifted one closer to her nose.
Scentless.
They said curiosity killed the cat, and Xiao Zhi had never been 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 minutes 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 heavy.
Then, it all rushed back.
She rubbed her temples, trying to shake off the grogginess as she looked toward the table. The small porcelain bottle was still sitting there, its lid tipped over to the side.
Sleeping pills.
Someone had left her sleeping pills. A cold, nervous shiver ran through her. Someone had been watching her. They knew she was spending her nights wide awake, terrified and waiting for Kabil.
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. It was as if he had vanished entirely.
Where did he go?
She let out a short, bitter 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, and prevent what followed.
Still, the fact that someone had tried lingered in her mind.