The palace at night was not the same creature it was by day.
By daylight, it gleamed — orderly, dazzling, gilded to the point of blindness. But when darkness fell, the palace seemed to exhale. Shadows crept along the lacquered walls like spilled ink, and every flicker of a lantern stretched unnaturally long, as if even the flames were afraid.
The air was thick with lotus oil and sandalwood — sweet, cloying, layered too heavy, as though it tried to smother something rotten underneath. And through that perfumed stillness came whispers. Always whispers.
They slid through corridors more easily than footsteps, curling around pillars, slipping beneath doors. Words no louder than breath — yet they carried far, like secrets that refused to sleep.
Selene lay awake on her straw mat, eyes tracing the wooden beams above her. The rough mat scratched at her skin, each shift sending tiny prickles of irritation across her arms. But that wasn't what kept her awake.
It was the faintly glowing line still hovering at the edge of her vision.
(Active Quest: Assist Lady Zhen in gaining favor.)
She stared at it until her eyes blurred.
Assist her in gaining favor.
She wanted to laugh. Or maybe scream. As if I have any power here.
She was nothing — a servant girl with a borrowed name, a stranger dropped into a nest of dragons. An insect scurrying beneath the silken hems of giants.
And yet… the word survival pulsed like fire behind her ribs.
The System had not been wrong so far. Every warning, every tiny percentage shift, every emotionless line had been right. It saw this place clearly — the quiet cruelty beneath the gold, the way power shimmered just long enough to blind you before it burned you alive.
The palace was merciless.
One wrong word, one wrong bow, one misplaced breath — that was all it would take to end her. If Lady Zhen fell from grace, Selene would vanish with her, snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
The thought dug into her chest like a hook.
She drew her knees close and pulled the thin blanket around her shoulders, clutching it until her knuckles ached. The other maids in the servants' quarters slept soundly — one snoring softly, another murmuring in her dreams — blissfully unaware of the storm unraveling behind Selene's half-lidded eyes.
Beyond the paper screens, the night wind rattled faintly against the shutters, carrying with it echoes of laughter and faint music from the inner halls. Nobles still feasted while the world outside slept.
Selene pressed her fists against her knees, breath coming shallow. I have to think. I have to act.
Doing nothing was the same as signing her own death sentence.
Doing nothing is the fastest way to die.
But what could she do?
Every option felt like juggling knives in the dark. One wrong move, and she wouldn't just cut herself — she'd bleed out before she even knew what hit her.
When dawn finally bled across the palace roofs, it brought no comfort. Only the shimmer of danger in daylight.
The summons came just as the sun brushed gold over the tiles.
"Li Mei," called a senior maid, her tone clipped, precise — like the snap of a fan. "Lady Zhen requires your presence."
Selene froze mid-step. Me? Personally?
Her stomach dropped like a stone into a well. Lady Zhen rarely summoned anyone herself. Certainly not a new maid.
The walk to the concubine's private quarters felt like a pilgrimage — each step slow, deliberate, echoing too loudly in her ears. Corridors stretched long and gleaming, the red lacquer of the walls catching shards of sunlight that made the carved dragons seem to coil and breathe.
Servants moved past her in practiced silence, bowing, murmuring, their gazes sliding right over her. As if she were invisible. Or worse — unimportant enough not to exist.
By the time she reached Lady Zhen's chambers, her palms were slick with sweat.
The doors opened — and it was like stepping into another world.
Lady Zhen's residence shimmered with restrained opulence. Curtains of sheer silk cascaded like waterfalls, glowing faintly pink and gold where sunlight touched them. The air was warm, perfumed with amber and jasmine, heavy enough to make breathing feel decadent.
Golden censers smoked lazily near the corners, the spirals of incense twisting up like prayers that would never be answered.
And there — reclining on a couch carved from sandalwood, framed in light and shadow — was Lady Zhen.
Her hair fell like a spill of midnight over her shoulder, smooth and gleaming. A scroll of poetry rested in her hands, but her gaze seemed far away, turned inward. Her beauty was quiet, but it commanded the room — like the silence before a storm.
"You are the new maid," Lady Zhen said without looking up. Her voice was soft, velvet over steel. "Li Mei, yes?"
"Yes, my lady." Selene bowed low, heart hammering so hard she thought it might echo.
When Lady Zhen's eyes finally lifted, Selene felt it — that weight, that impossible stillness. Those eyes didn't just look; they searched.
"You watch more than you speak," Lady Zhen murmured. "I prefer that."
Selene blinked. She wasn't sure if it was praise… or a warning. Maybe both.
Then Lady Zhen tilted her head slightly. "Tell me, Li Mei," she asked, voice soft but sharp enough to slice silk, "what do you see when you look at me?"
Selene's throat tightened.
The (System flickered in her vision.)
(Warning: Answer carefully.)
Her thoughts tumbled over one another. What did she see?
That Lady Zhen was beautiful. That her grace was armor, her voice a blade wrapped in perfume. That she was powerful, yes — but cornered too, surrounded by rivals waiting to strike. A tiger in a golden cage.
What was the right answer?
Selene inhaled slowly. Her voice came out quieter than she meant. "I see…" She hesitated, then steadied herself. "…someone the Emperor should never overlook."
Silence.
So taut it hummed.
Then, slowly — Lady Zhen laughed.
The sound was low and melodic, like rain beginning to fall after a long drought. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"You are bold," she said, the corners of her lips curving. "I like boldness. But boldness is a flame — beautiful… and quick to burn."
Selene bowed deeper to hide the tremor in her hands. Congratulations, brain, she thought dryly. You survived another round of 'Say the Wrong Thing and Die.'
"Yes, my lady."
For a heartbeat, something shifted in the air — small, invisible, yet undeniable.
And with that, something subtle changed between them.
From that day forward, Selene was no longer invisible.
Lady Zhen began to notice her.
At first, it was small things — simple, harmless tasks: fetching a particular tea set, arranging fresh blossoms near the window, carrying sealed messages on silk paper to quiet corridors.
On the surface, these were routine chores. But in the palace, nothing was ever just routine. A flower placed wrong could offend. A message delivered late could spell disaster.
Still, each time Lady Zhen called for her, a strange flicker of pride stirred beneath Selene's nerves. She noticed me.
But the others noticed, too.
The other maids' eyes followed her like shadows — sharp, curious, cruel. Their whispers slithered through the air the moment her back turned.
"Why her?"
"She's new."
"She doesn't deserve it."
"Maybe she's luckier than she looks."
Selene pretended not to hear, keeping her face still, her hands busy. But inside, every word scraped raw against her thoughts. Great. Just what I needed. A fan club made of snakes.
Still, she did her work — careful, quiet, invisible where she could be. Until the day the danger smiled at her.
It happened during evening service.
The chamber was calm, painted in amber light from swaying lanterns. Shadows breathed along the silk curtains. Lady Zhen sat by the window, her figure outlined in gold, while Selene prepared the tea with practiced care.
Warm the pot. Rinse the leaves. Pour steady.
Her movements were deliberate, her hands graceful, her heart steady only because she forced it to be.
Then came her.
Lin Hua.
Sweet-voiced, soft-faced Lin Hua — the kind of girl who smiled like spring but hid winter in her eyes. She approached silently, her perfume faint and sugary, and said in that honeyed tone, "Allow me to help."
Selene stiffened. "It's fine. I can manage."
But Lin Hua didn't wait for permission. She reached forward, sleeves brushing porcelain, too smooth, too eager.
And then — Selene saw it.
Just a shimmer. A tiny wisp of powder dissolving into the steaming tea. So faint it could've been a trick of light. But no — her gut knew. Her blood froze solid.
Poison.
The realization hit like ice water. Her pulse roared in her ears, every muscle turning rigid.
Lady Zhen sat mere steps away, serene, oblivious — one sip away from death.
The (System pulsed.)
(Warning: Risk detected.)
Options flared before her eyes in clean, merciless clarity.
(Option A: Expose Lin Hua immediately.)
(Option B: Discreetly switch the cups.)
(Option C: Pretend not to notice.)
Her throat constricted. Each choice felt like walking barefoot through blades.
Expose her — and paint a target on her own back.
Switch the cups — and risk dying herself.
Do nothing — and let Lady Zhen fall.
Fantastic, she thought bitterly, a murder buffet. Pick your poison — literally.
Seconds ticked.
Selene's hands shook as she reached for the tray, careful not to show the tremor. Her heart pounded so violently she could feel it in her throat.
Lady Zhen's gaze lifted, calm as moonlight. She reached for the cup.
No… please don't…
Steam curled like white fingers between them.
Selene held her breath.
Lady Zhen sipped. Slowly. Gracefully.
Nothing happened.
Her expression remained poised, untroubled — as though death hadn't brushed her lips just moments ago.
The (System blinked.)
(Quest Complete. Survival rate +4%.)
Selene's knees nearly gave way. She sucked in a trembling breath, forcing herself to stay upright, her relief so sharp it hurt.
Across the table, Lin Hua's eyes flickered — only for an instant. A flash of shock, quickly smoothed over by a smile too sweet to be real.
"Careful," Lin Hua murmured, voice dripping silk. "Hot tea burns."
Selene stared back, pulse still thundering. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning splits the sky.
She understood now.
This wasn't a warning. It was a declaration.
War had begun.
That night, sleep didn't come. Every creak of the floor made her flinch. Every whisper of the wind sounded like breath against her ear.
She lay on her mat, eyes open in the dark, the scent of incense still clinging to her hair.
It wasn't just Lady Zhen's rivals she had to fear.
It was the girls beside her. The ones who smiled. The ones who whispered. The ones who waited.
Her breath shuddered. Her heart ached with something colder than fear — the knowledge that survival here demanded more than obedience. It demanded cunning. It demanded masks.
The palace wasn't a home.
It wasn't even a cage.
It was a pit of serpents.