Returning to my chambers, I was greeted by silence, polished floors gleaming faintly under the moonlight. Normally, this quiet would have been a blessing, a chance to finally rest and recharge. But tonight, the calm felt oppressive. The bed was neat, the blankets tucked just so, yet the moment I sat down, my thoughts refused to obey.
The palace had a way of making every stone, every piece of furniture, and every shadow feel like it was watching you. And tonight, my imagination was running wild. The missing papers from the eastern wing were gnawing at my mind. Treasury ledgers, council records—gone. The palace knew, everyone knew, and the very thought of being implicated made my stomach twist.
I paced, my boots echoing softly, the room itself feeling too small, too unfamiliar. Even the moonlight through the tall windows didn't soothe me. I kept replaying the events of the day, analyzing every glance, every word. Prince Lei had been… odd. Too casual. Too easygoing when everyone else would have jumped on me for even breathing the wrong way.
But more than his odd behavior, I couldn't shake the real danger looming over me: the crown prince. If Prince Jian discovered that the documents were missing and believed I was involved—even partially—there was no telling what he would do. In the novel, the original Yuan Wei had been clever, yes, but even he had risked imprisonment, exile, and disgrace. And I? I had no experience surviving the wrath of a crown prince who could command death with a single glance.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. Great. Suspicion, missing papers, no memories, and now I'm potentially the villain in someone else's story. If Jian found out I had touched those papers—or worse, had taken them—he wouldn't hesitate. Not a warning. Not a scolding. Instant judgment, and I might be executed before even understanding what happened.
I pulled a thin parchment from the desk, scribbling notes in messy, tiny handwriting. Eastern wing: papers missing. No known hiding place. Guards and clerks suspect. Potentially lethal mistake if caught. Observe, don't act, survive.
The problem was obvious: the novel didn't say exactly where the original Yuan Wei had taken the documents. I didn't know if they were hidden in the palace, smuggled out, or destroyed entirely. That meant every guess I made could either lead me closer to survival—or straight into the gallows.
I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts of Prince Lei lingered, but I forced myself to focus on the real danger: the crown prince. Jian was calm, measured, intelligent… and capable of swift, lethal judgment if he felt betrayed. I imagined the scorn in his eyes, the way his voice would tighten with anger, how one false word could make me his enemy forever.
And all of this because I don't know where the papers went.
The silence of my chambers did little to calm me. Every creak, every distant footstep, made my heart jump. Guards were always patrolling, and a wandering official could appear at any moment, asking questions I had no answers for. If they pieced together my proximity to the eastern wing, or remembered me lingering near the missing documents, I could be in real trouble.
I sighed, letting my hands trace the carved patterns on the wooden desk. Thinking like the original Yuan Wei was no longer an abstract exercise—it was survival. He had been clever, sly, and ruthless when necessary. And now, I had to adopt those traits if I wanted to live another day. Every room, every corridor, every person in the palace could hold a clue—or a trap.
Glancing at the window, I studied the eastern wing from afar. The gardens were silent, hedges casting long shadows that looked like waiting hands. Maybe the documents had been taken there, hidden somewhere along a path no one would notice. Or maybe they had been taken out entirely. I didn't know. And not knowing made each moment of inaction feel deadly.
I sank back onto the bed, trying to force calm. But my mind refused. I considered every possible hiding spot in the palace: storage rooms, servants' quarters, treasury vaults. Every place was either too obvious, too secure, or too well-patrolled. And if I tried to search now, I could be caught—or worse, mistaken for the thief.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. The weight of unfamiliar rules pressed down on me. This wasn't my world. The streets, the café, the bar—all were simple compared to this. Here, one mistake could end my life. The crown prince's judgment wasn't just administrative; it was absolute. One slip, one false move, and I'd be dead before Prince Lei's leniency could even be relevant.
Leniency… or a trap? The thought flickered. Prince Lei had covered for me today, using a false alibi about drinking in his chambers. I knew it was a lie, yet it kept me alive—for now. But what if this was the real test? To see if I could navigate palace suspicion while under constant observation? The more I thought, the more the scenario twisted into a web I could barely untangle.
I got up again, pacing slowly. Observation. Guards, servants, courtiers—all eyes everywhere. I needed to watch quietly, record movements, notice patterns. Subtlety was key. Any overt investigation could mark me as the thief, or worse, a spy. My modern world tactics of snooping and probing weren't safe here. A single mistake and Jian's anger would descend like a storm.
I paused, hand on the window frame, looking down at the silent gardens. I imagined the original Yuan Wei moving unseen, slipping through shadows, clever and bold. I had to think the same way: avoid suspicion, gather information, and most importantly, survive. One wrong step, one misjudged glance, and I could be the villain before the story even reached the girl or the eventual chaos.
The thought made my stomach twist again. Death before the main plot? That was a terrifyingly real possibility. The crown prince's anger, tempered by justice or courtesy, could end me instantly. I couldn't risk it. Not now, not ever.
I sank back onto the bed, fingers tracing the carvings in absent thought. The palace was more than a maze—it was a living entity, and I was a small, fragile piece in its machinery. Every movement mattered. Every word, every expression could mean life or death. And the documents… whoever had taken them, whether the original Yuan Wei or some unknown player, had set traps that I now had to navigate blind.
Sleep seemed impossible. My mind spun with strategies, contingencies, and observations. If I stayed in the bed, the crown prince could discover me awake, wandering, or overly curious—and suspicion would arise. If I ventured out, guards could see me. If I asked questions, someone could lie to protect themselves—or frame me. Every choice was a risk, every hesitation a potential death sentence.
I let out a low laugh, bitter but quiet. "Welcome to your new life, genius. Survive the palace. Avoid suspicion. Charm, lie, improvise. And maybe, just maybe, find the papers before someone decides you're guilty."
The night stretched endlessly. I stared at the ceiling, traced the moonlight across the floor, and imagined the original Yuan Wei moving stealthily, clever and ruthless. I had no memories of those actions, only the scraps from the novel. Yet I had to act as though I did. Every improvisation was a shield, every smile a strategy, every nod a negotiation with fate.
Eventually, I let myself lie down, keeping my mind sharp. Sleep might come, it might not—but I was awake enough to know one thing: the crown prince's anger, should it descend, was more dangerous than any shadow, any guard, or any thief. And the papers were still missing.