Li Mei's accidental genius had somehow spread through the palace like wildfire.
She hadn't meant to impress anyone—especially not the Emperor—but now her mere existence had become the empire's favorite entertainment.
Every corridor whispered her name.
Every courtyard hummed with rumors, like bees circling honey that wasn't supposed to exist.
And every servant's glance was a gamble—pity, envy, or that subtle kind of quiet loathing that made her skin prickle.
She could feel it. The attention. The weight of it.
It was like walking through a hall of mirrors where every reflection wanted her gone.
The System, ever faithful and ever dramatic, chose that exact moment to ruin her morning.
([Warning: Multiple high-level NPCs now aware of Host's presence. Probability of intrigue-related disasters: 82%.])
Li Mei stopped mid-step, blinking. "…Eighty-two percent? That's basically my funeral odds!"
([Correction: 83%. The percentage increases when you panic.])
Her jaw dropped. "How—how does my panic make it worse?!"
([You are very bad at being calm.])
She threw her hands into the air. "Oh, fantastic. I'm emotionally unstable and statistically doomed!"
A few passing servants turned to stare, eyes wide, before quickly pretending they hadn't heard anything. Li Mei pasted on an awkward smile, pretending to study the wall. Normal maid behavior. Totally normal. Just... chatting with herself. Loudly.
She pressed her palms to her cheeks, feeling the heat of humiliation rising. If she could have melted into the palace floor and become a decorative tile, she would have done it on the spot.
But no—she was still painfully, tragically human.
And unfortunately, she still needed breakfast.
"Okay," she muttered under her breath. "Food. Food helps. Maybe bread. Or dumplings. Or an entire pig."
Her stomach grumbled in agreement.
She turned down a corridor lined with golden lattice windows, sunlight spilling in soft ribbons across the marble. Outside, the imperial gardens shimmered with dew, too perfect, too serene, like the world hadn't decided to make her its latest gossip headline.
For about five blissful seconds, she almost convinced herself that she could just walk to the kitchens, grab a bun, and pretend she wasn't a walking disaster magnet.
Then the System chimed again.
([Correction: Target level: fluorescent magenta.])
Li Mei froze. "…What?"
([Yes. You are impossible to ignore.])
Her mouth fell open. "Seriously?! Fluorescent magenta? That's not a color—that's an assault on retinas!"
([Affirmative.])
She groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "Why can't I just be… beige? Quiet, humble, unnoticeable beige?"
No answer. Just silence.
And her reflection in a polished pillar, looking every bit as horrified as she felt.
Somehow, that was worse.
She sighed, straightened her uniform, and whispered to herself, "Okay, Li Mei. Step one: survive the day. Step two: avoid doing anything remotely intelligent. Step three: pretend you're wallpaper."
Her pulse slowed. For a heartbeat, she even believed she could manage it.
But then the next corner waited for her—and, as fate would have it, so did trouble.
Her plan for edible therapy shattered the moment she reached the imperial hall.
Because Lady Yun was already there.
The woman stood by the Empress's dais like a painting come to life — elegant, serene, and terrifying in the way only someone born to power could be. Even her silence had edges.
Li Mei froze mid-step. Oh no. No, no, no.
Lady Yun's gaze slid toward her like the slow unsheathing of a blade.
"So," she said lightly, voice as smooth as chilled silk. "The famed noodle girl arrives."
Li Mei bowed so fast she nearly concussed herself. "M-my lady! I was just—uh—passing by. With purpose. And a spine."
Yun's lips curved. Not quite a smile. "With purpose, indeed." She took a single, deliberate step forward, the hem of her embroidered gown whispering across the floor. "Tell me, little maid… do you often address nobility with such creativity?"
Li Mei's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "No! I mean—yes? No—wait—uh—"
([Warning: Host suffering from 'Immediate Social Death' debuff.])
"Not helping," Li Mei hissed under her breath.
The Empress, seated high upon the golden throne, hadn't spoken once. She didn't need to.
Her stillness commanded the air itself.
Celestia wore gold the way others wore armor — effortlessly, beautifully, fatally. Her crown was a circlet of phoenix feathers and light, her eyes a shade that made Li Mei's heart feel too small for her chest.
When Celestia finally did move, it was with the kind of calm that made earthquakes seem polite.
Her gaze swept over the court, over Lady Yun, and finally — inevitably — over Li Mei.
"Enough," she said softly.
The word rippled through the hall like thunder muffled in velvet.
Lady Yun inclined her head, lips tight. "Of course, Your Majesty. I merely wished to ensure your servants understood proper decorum."
Celestia's eyes lingered on her for one heartbeat too long — enough to draw a tremor beneath the surface. Then, she smiled.
"Your concern is noted," the Empress said. "Dismissed."
Yun bowed, slow and graceful. But as she turned, her gaze cut across Li Mei's face — a promise, a warning, a spark of venom behind silk.
When she was gone, silence followed.
Li Mei stayed bowed, unsure if it was safer to breathe or simply die quietly in place.
"Rise," Celestia murmured.
Li Mei did — awkwardly, limbs stiff, pulse sprinting. "Y-Your Majesty—"
"Do you know why I keep you here, girl?"
Li Mei blinked. "Because I'm… efficient?"
The corner of Celestia's mouth twitched — not quite amusement, not quite disdain. "No. Because you are honest."
That word hit like a slap and a gift at once.
Celestia rose, each movement measured, her voice quiet but lethal in its calm.
"The court runs on lies," she said. "But sometimes, the truth—" she stepped closer, light glancing off the gold threads of her gown "—is the sharper weapon."
Li Mei's throat went dry. "I—I don't know how to use weapons, Your Majesty."
Celestia's eyes softened, just slightly. "You will learn."
Then, as if the universe itself approved of Li Mei's new impending doom, the System chimed softly in her mind:
([New Title Acquired: Protected by Majesty.])
(Passive: Minor immunity to petty court schemes.])
Li Mei blinked. "Minor immunity? Minor?!"
The System, predictably, said nothing.
Li Mei woke the next day determined to keep her head down.
It lasted eight minutes.
By the time she reached the outer gardens, someone was already whispering "noodle prophet" again, and three maids bowed to her like she carried divine broth.
([Reputation Update: Cult-Level Admiration +3])
"Stop that," she hissed at the invisible air. "No more titles."
The palace ignored her. It always did.
Gold dust shimmered across the courtyards; the morning smelled of plum blossoms and secrets. Every surface gleamed too cleanly, like a trap disguised as a mirror. Li Mei carried a tray of scrolls, eyes fixed on the path ahead, silently praying she would not—
"Careful," a voice murmured, low and amused.
The Crown Prince Jianyu caught one scroll before it tumbled.
Of course. Because fate hated her personally.
He stood far too close—sunlight bending around him, dark hair half-tied, an expression that could melt a room or gut it.
"Your reflexes are improving," he said.
"I… practice dropping things, Your Highness."
His smile ghosted wider. "Efficient."
She tried to bow without knocking the tray into his chest. Failed. "Excuse me. I have to deliver these before someone else tries to knight me with noodles."
"Knight you?"
"Long story. Low honor."
He laughed—a quiet sound that felt dangerously human for a man carved from porcelain and power. "Be careful, Li Mei. In this court, even laughter is currency."
Then he stepped aside, and for one irrational heartbeat she missed the weight of his presence.
([Emotional Instability Detected: Fluster +2])
"Oh, shut up," she whispered.
When she entered the archives, Celestia was already there, reviewing reports with a serenity that could slice granite. Jianyu followed moments later, all princely grace and shadows.
Li Mei froze halfway through the doorway, torn between admiration and sheer terror.
Celestia didn't glance up. "Deliver the scrolls."
Li Mei obeyed, quietly stacking them beside the throne dais. The silence between mother and son was too sharp, too still—the kind that hums before lightning.
Jianyu broke it first. "You shield her."
Celestia's pen stopped mid-stroke. "I protect what is useful."
"She's reckless."
"She's alive," Celestia replied. "That's rarer than obedience."
Li Mei contemplated melting into the floor. The System hummed in the back of her skull like a gossiping ghost.
([New Passive Detected: Target of Attention (Legendary). Effect: ???])
Oh no.
The conversation shifted back to politics; Li Mei backed away inch by inch until the corridor swallowed her again.
Only when the doors closed did she exhale. Her pulse was wild, but beneath it—an ember of something else. Not just fear. Not anymore.
She was in the game now.
By nightfall, she stood alone in the moon-silver garden, the plum blossoms trembling in a breeze that smelled faintly of ink and secrets.
The petals drifted around her like falling stars, soft and deadly. She could almost hear the court whispering through the leaves.
Rule #4:Never trust a pretty garden.
Because in the Imperial Palace, beauty was just another kind of trap—
and Li Mei had already stepped inside it.