Xin Ying woke to movement.
Not gentle movement—but the jolting sway of something being dragged across uneven ground. Her body lurched with every step, the rough surface beneath her back biting into her skin.
Her head throbbed.
She tried to lift her hands.
Chains rattled softly.
Panic surged.
She inhaled sharply—and the smell hit her. Straw. Dust. Old wood. The faint, sour scent of sweat.
A basket.
A narrow one.
Woven tightly, with only thin slits of light piercing through.
Her breath came shallow as memory flooded back—the cell, the chains, the voice in the dark. This wasn't a dream that faded with waking. This was the beginning of the story she had read.
No, she told herself firmly. It's the beginning of my chance.
The basket shifted suddenly, nearly tipping, and Xin Ying bit back a cry as her shoulder struck the side. Outside, rough male voices spoke, low and casual, as if they were discussing livestock.
"Don't drop her," one muttered. "She'll fetch less if she's bruised."
"She's breathing. That's enough," the other replied with a laugh.
Xin Ying closed her eyes briefly, forcing herself to stay calm. Fear would dull her mind. Panic would make her sloppy.
Instead, she focused.
Through one of the tiny gaps in the weave, light spilled in.
She turned her head slightly and peered out.
The world beyond the basket unfolded slowly as they walked.
Stone-paved streets stretched beneath the sun. People passed by in flowing robes—layers of fabric in muted blues, greens, and warm earth tones. Some carried baskets of vegetables. Others haggled loudly over bolts of silk or dried herbs. The air buzzed with life.
Steam rose from food stalls.
She caught flashes of golden-brown buns, skewers sizzling over open flames, bowls of noodles lifted to eager mouths. Laughter rang out. Children darted between adults. Somewhere, a vendor called out his prices in a singsong voice.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
So this is the Southern Lands, Xin Ying thought.
Every building she glimpsed carried the unmistakable mark of ancient craftsmanship—curved tiled roofs, carved wooden beams, red pillars worn smooth by time. Hanging lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their tassels dancing.
This wasn't a set. It wasn't imagination.
It was real.
Her heart clenched.
She was moving deeper into a world where she had no rights, no name, no protection.
The basket stopped abruptly.
Xin Ying tensed.
She heard boots on stone—heavier, steadier.
"State your business," a stern voice demanded.
"Goods for the Palace," one of the men replied smoothly.
"Clean. Young. Strong."
Xin Ying held her breath.
Hands gripped the basket. It tilted sharply as someone inspected it. Light streamed in more fully, blinding her for a moment.
A guard's eye appeared in the gap—dark, sharp, indifferent.
He nudged the basket with his foot. Xin Ying stiffened but did not move.
"Any contraband?" the guard asked.
"Nothing illegal," the man said quickly. "Just flesh and bone."
The guard grunted.
There was a pause—long enough for Xin Ying's heart to pound painfully in her ears.
Then—
"Proceed."
Metal scraped against stone.
Xin Ying felt the ground change beneath the basket—smoother, colder.
And then she heard it.
The gate.
A deep, resonant sound echoed through the air as massive mechanisms shifted. Wood groaned. Chains pulled taut. The Palace gates began to close behind them.
Slowly.
Heavily.
Each second felt like a final breath.
Xin Ying stared through the slits as towering walls rose on either side—gray stone stretching upward, blotting out the sky. Guards lined the entrance, unmoving as statues, their armor catching the light.
As the gates finally slammed shut with a thunderous boom, the sound reverberated through her chest.
The city noise faded instantly.
No laughter.
No vendors.
Only silence—and power.
Xin Ying swallowed hard.
This is it, she thought. The point of no return.
She clenched her fists inside the basket, nails biting into her palms.
I know what happens next, she reminded herself. I know the Palace. I know the fate waiting for me.
Her eyes hardened.
And I will not walk toward death unaware.
Above her, the Palace loomed—vast, ancient, merciless.
And within its walls, her story was about to truly begin.
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Thank you for reading my novel