The eastern wing was quieter than the imperial hall, but not gentler.
If the main palace glittered like the blazing sun, this place was its reflection — soft moonlight spilling through silk, beautiful but cold, hiding secrets in every shadow.
The air was thick with perfume and the faint bite of incense. Laughter drifted through painted screens — graceful, musical — but beneath it ran a sharper undercurrent. Whispered barbs disguised as compliments. Sweet voices masking venom.
Selene followed in Madame Xiu's wake, her bare feet whispering against polished marble. The corridor stretched endlessly before her — silver lattices, drifting veils, and carved phoenixes that seemed to watch her every step.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Like a cage made of gold.
And inside that cage, women lived like queens.
Concubines of the Emperor — envied, adored, worshipped. Yet as Selene passed them — their jeweled hairpins glinting, their smiles practiced — she saw the truth behind the perfection.
Every laugh was too measured.
Every glance too sharp.
Every word polished like a blade.
She could feel it in her chest — the tension humming in the air like a plucked string. If this was the battlefield Madame Xiu had thrown her onto, then Selene was walking into it without armor.
They stopped before a chamber draped in gauzy veils of pale blue and silver. Light poured through the latticework, catching on the silk until the room shimmered like water under moonlight. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and polished wood — a calm so precise it was almost unsettling.
And then she saw her.
Reclining among cushions like a living painting was Lady Zhen.
Selene froze. Her breath faltered.
Lady Zhen was beauty crafted to wound. Every line, every gesture, deliberate — fragile at first glance, but edged with danger. Her robes shimmered between deep blue and silver, pooling around her like liquid moonlight. Her hair, dark as a raven's wing, fell in a cascade of silk that gleamed when she turned her head.
But it was her eyes that caught Selene.
Soft. Unreadable. Infinite — like the surface of a still pond that might hide lilies… or serpents. They lingered on her for a heartbeat, then moved on, dismissing her existence as easily as one might overlook a shadow.
Selene's heart thudded painfully.
"This is the girl?" Lady Zhen's voice was like silk drawn over glass — smooth, melodious, but with a faint rasp that hinted at warning.
"Yes, my lady," said Madame Xiu, bowing low. "She will attend you from now on."
For one suspended moment, Lady Zhen studied her. And Selene swore the woman could see straight through her — past the borrowed face, down into the trembling, misplaced soul beneath.
Then, a small, elegant nod. "Keep your eyes lowered and your mouth closed, maid. Do so, and you might survive."
Selene bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the polished floor. Her pulse roared in her ears. "Yes, my lady."
A silence. Then the soft sound of Lady Zhen's sleeve shifting as she turned away.
And just like that, her service began.
The hours bled together in a haze of motion and exhaustion.
Selene carried trays stacked with porcelain teacups so thin they seemed made of breath and moonlight. Her hands trembled with every step, terrified of dropping even one. She polished jade hairpins until her fingertips went numb, the cold stone biting into raw skin. She swept beneath silk screens for what felt like hours, each pass of the broom accompanied by the soft murmur of concubines whispering behind painted fans.
Every task was tiny, but every mistake could kill.
A bow held too long or too short.
A tray lifted too high.
A single word spoken before she was addressed.
Everything here had rules. Invisible ones. Rules that strangled.
The System didn't help — it only reminded her how trapped she was.
(Notification: Action correct. Favorability: +1.)
Selene froze mid-step, blinking at the faint glow in her vision. "Oh great, a gold star. Should I get a cookie too?"
Then, another message.
(Warning: Do not stare too long.)
Her jaw tightened as she realized she'd been glancing too long at Lady Zhen's sleeves while adjusting them. "Seriously?" she thought bitterly. "Now even my eyeballs are being graded? What's next, a breathing meter?"
She forced her face into polite neutrality, but inside, frustration simmered. Every move felt like it was being monitored by an unseen teacher who wanted her to fail. The palace wasn't just a cage — it was a test she hadn't studied for.
As the day dragged on, Selene began to notice things she hadn't before.
The concubines' smiles were too sharp to be kind. The maids' laughter too careful to be genuine. Words here were weapons — disguised as sweetness, coated in silk, dipped in poison.
Each concubine had her own little kingdom — her maids, her allies, her spies. They whispered together behind closed screens, traded secrets like currency, and smiled at one another as if those smiles didn't hide blades.
Selene swept past them quietly, pretending not to hear. But she listened. Always. Every word, every pause. In this place, knowledge was the only armor she had.
Lady Zhen herself remained an enigma. Sometimes she spoke softly to her attendants, her voice velvet-smooth, eyes warm enough to almost make Selene believe there was kindness there. Other times, she went cold — distant — and even the air around her seemed to freeze.
Selene learned quickly.
You didn't survive here by being the smartest.
Or the prettiest.
You survived by reading the tide before it drowned you.
The palace wasn't a home.
It was a battlefield dressed in silk.
And if Selene wanted to live long enough to see another sunrise, she couldn't remain a pawn forever.
That realization sank into her bones like cold water.
By the time the sun slipped below the horizon, the palace had transformed. The gold of daylight faded to a wash of deep amber, and long shadows stretched across the corridors like silent guards.
Selene's body ached — her back, her hands, even the arches of her feet. She could feel every bruise, every tremor of fatigue thrumming under her skin. Her palms were raw from scrubbing lacquered floors that gleamed so perfectly she could see her own reflection, pale and foreign.
That's not me, she thought once, staring down at the face that wasn't hers. That's her. The girl whose life I took.
A cold ripple moved through her chest.
Even exhaustion couldn't bury the unease crawling beneath her skin. The longer she stayed, the more she saw — and the more terrifyingly beautiful it became.
The laughter of the concubines had a rhythm to it now — light, musical, but too precise to be real. The air was heavy with perfume and secrets. Even the silence had texture, like a thread stretched too tight, ready to snap at the faintest whisper.
Every step she took echoed softly, and she caught glimpses — fleeting and haunting — of other maids darting through corridors, carrying trays, keeping their heads down, their faces as blank as painted masks.
Somewhere nearby, a low chuckle drifted through a half-open screen. The sound was soft… too soft.
It wasn't just laughter anymore.
It was calculated.
The palace glittered like a dream, but now she could see the cracks running through it — the smiles that didn't reach the eyes, the words that trembled with unspoken threats.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
And perfection was always dangerous.
She could almost feel the tension in the air pressing down, layer upon layer, until her lungs felt tight. Even the air itself seemed to whisper, Watch your step.
Because here, in the emperor's gilded paradise, power didn't roar.
It smiled.
Selene stood beneath the pale glow of a lantern, its light brushing her skin in soft gold. Her reflection in the lacquered panel flickered — a borrowed face, a stolen life.
And in that quiet moment, with the palace humming faintly around her like a living thing, she understood something she hadn't dared to before.
This place wasn't alive because of its beauty.
It was alive because of the people inside it.
Scheming. Watching. Waiting.
Every word was a move.
Every glance, a trap.
Every breath, a risk.
The courtyards were too quiet.
The walls too thin.
The shadows too patient.
The palace was not a home.
It was a maze of whispers and ambition, built on the bones of those who had smiled too sweetly or trusted too soon.
And Selene — trembling, exhausted, pretending to belong — stood right at the heart of it all.
And Selene was caught at the very center.