The palace had a way of going quiet before something unpleasant happened. Not the ordinary kind of noise—arguments between maids, the clash of porcelain, the sharp reprimand of a steward. Those were daily things. They meant nothing. It was the sudden stillness that carried weight.
That evening, the western courtyard had fallen into that kind of silence.
Shen Li noticed it as she walked along the corridor outside Changhe Hall. The lanterns were already lit, though the sky still held a trace of light. Servants passed quickly, eyes lowered, speaking only in murmurs. No one lingered.
She slowed her steps.
Her teacher had once told her, very plainly, "When you first enter the palace, keep your head down. Don't listen too closely. Don't ask questions. And whatever you do, don't step forward for someone else." At the time, Shen Li had thought it overly cautious. Now she understood.
A commotion broke out ahead. Two guards hurried past her, boots striking stone. A maid who had been kneeling by the steps scrambled out of their way, knocking over a tray in her panic. No one stopped to help her gather the broken pieces. Someone had offended the throne. That was enough explanation.
Shen Li stepped aside, closer to the pillar's shadow. She folded her hands into her sleeves and waited.
The doors to the main hall opened. A young concubine was dragged into the courtyard, her hair disordered, her face streaked with tears. The accusation spread quickly in low voices.
Poison! No one sounded surprised. Only afraid.
Shen Li did not stare. She had seen enough, even in the short time she had been inside these walls, to know how quickly misfortune could become contagious.
The emperor arrived without fanfare. Ling Xuan did not shout. He did not question loudly. He stood at the top of the steps, expression unreadable, and the entire courtyard lowered itself to the ground as one.
Shen Li knelt with the rest. Stone was cold even through layers of fabric.
The concubine sobbed and pleaded. Her words tumbled over one another. She swore loyalty. She swore innocence. No one echoed her defense.
Shen Li kept her gaze on the ground.
The emperor's voice carried clearly, though it was not raised.
"Take her away."
That was all.
The guards obeyed. The woman's cries cut sharply through the air, then faded as she was dragged beyond the gate. Silence returned almost immediately. It always did.
People rose slowly, brushing dust from their sleeves as though they had merely witnessed a minor inconvenience. Conversations would begin again soon. The kitchen fires would continue to burn. The night would proceed as scheduled.
Shen Li stood. For a moment, she allowed herself a single breath of relief. She had not spoken. That alone mattered.
As the emperor descended the steps to leave, his gaze moved across the courtyard—unhurried, distant, taking in nothing and everything at once. It passed over her like it passed over the others. Just a glance. Shen Li lowered her head instinctively.
She was one of many newly entered women in the inner palace, daughters sent for alliances and appearances. In a few days, the emperor would begin summoning them in turn, as custom required. Her name would be called eventually. Tonight was not about her.
Still, as she walked back through the dim corridor toward her quarters, she felt the weight of the palace settle a little more firmly around her shoulders.
The first month decides everything, her teacher had once said. Shen Li adjusted her sleeves and kept walking. She intended to last longer than a month.