At midnight, snowflakes began to drift from the heavy sky, and the sound of firecrackers rose and fell in every household. The new year arrived amidst the swirling snow.
The old year had passed, and those keeping the New Year's Eve vigil gradually fell into silence, yet there were always some who found it difficult to sleep.
Just like in the Prince Zhou Mansion, where the Concubine's courtyard was locked. She stood alone by the window, lost in thought, her expression desolate.
The past year in the Prince Mansion had been oppressing, slowly wearing down her pride and adding a touch of melancholy and light sorrow between her brows.
"Concubine, it's time to rest," her close maid stepped forward and reported softly.
The Concubine replied, "I will stand a little longer."
Concubine, concubine—a mere prefix of a word—since then, she could not have the favor of the official red color. Even on a reunion day like New Year's Eve, she could not share the bed with her husband.
