Weeks had passed since the incense-stick punishment. Yin Yue's daily life had returned to its steady rhythm, yet life in the residence had grown sharper, more hostile. The three girls she shared a room with no longer whispered behind her back—they now spoke directly, mocking her every move. Their cold laughter, their sharp words, and the purposeful way they bumped against her in the halls had intensified. Xiao Lan, older and sharper, had abandoned subtlety entirely, confronting her directly with criticism.
"Lingxi (Yin Yue), you move fast, but don't forget—it's not skill that saves you here," Xiao Lan said one morning, her tone flat, precise, and cutting. "One misstep, and even patience won't protect you."
The other three girls watched from a distance, their eyes narrow and calculating. Their hostility was open now, unrestrained, and Yin Yue had learned that speaking or reacting only gave them power. Silence, careful observation, and precise action were her shields.
That morning, Eunuch Wei Jun was occupied with urgent matters outside the residence. Madam Lian appeared at the hall where Yin Yue was arranging the morning supplies, her presence quiet but commanding.
"Lingxi (Yin Yue)," she said, her voice calm but firm, "fetch Consort Yan Zhen's morning meal from the kitchen. See that it is done properly."
Yin Yue bowed slightly, acknowledging the order. "Yes, Madam," she said softly. The concubine-given name still felt foreign, but it marked her place and identity within the palace.
As she passed through the corridors toward the kitchen, a small thought formed. While she was retrieving the consort's meal, she could prepare a simple sweet pastry—a minor gesture of gratitude. She had worked in kitchens before, knew the timing and skill required, and saw this as an opportunity to demonstrate care and competence without seeking praise.
Chef Liang Wen , the assistant chef she had quietly aligned with over months in the kitchen then, was already at the preparation table when she arrived.
"You are ambitious this morning," he observed, noting her movements, her steady hands, and her focus.
"I only wish to serve well," Yin Yue replied, measured. "A small pastry, if there is time—a token of thanks for Consort Yan Zhen."
He studied her silently for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Be precise, be quick. Mistakes will draw attention you do not want."
Working together, they prepared the sweet pastry. Golden, lightly sugared, simple yet careful. Yin Yue timed it to coincide with the main tray of the consort's breakfast, ensuring it appeared natural rather than an addition. Chef Liang Wen offered small guidance, but allowed her to take initiative, testing her skill while watching her alignment with palace norms.
Tray in hand, Yin Yue moved carefully through the halls, her eyes briefly flicking to Xiao Lan and the three girls. Their expressions were sharp, tight with jealousy and irritation. They had noticed her rising skill, the subtle shifts in the way Madam Lian and the kitchen allowed her space to act, and it fueled their anger. Their hostility was a physical weight, pressing against her as she passed. She ignored it, her focus entirely on the task at hand.
Reaching Consort Yan Zhen's chambers, she set the tray down and **bowed deeply**, head lowered, then knelt, hands folded in front of her. "This is the morning meal, Your Highness," she said softly. "I have also prepared a small pastry as a token of thanks for your hospitality since my arrival."
The concubine's eyes flicked toward the tray. She made no gesture, said no word of approval, her pride and restraint clear. Yin Yue's gaze stayed lowered; she understood that this palace rewarded subtlety, observation, and deliberate action far more than overt flattery.
Moments passed. Then, the consort spoke—not to her, but to Eunuch Wei Jun, who had just arrived:
"Wei Jun, see to it that Lingxi (Yin Yue) becomes your assistant kitchen runner. Train her well."
Yin Yue remained kneeling, careful not to move prematurely. The concubine's command was recognition, indirect but powerful, a quiet acknowledgment of skill and diligence.
Once the consort and Wei Jun had spoken, Yin Yue **bowed again**, carefully, before speaking softly, "Thank you, Your Highness." She then **cleared the tray and the table**, making sure every item was in place and the meal fully attended to, her movements precise and respectful.
Returning to her quarters, she felt the immediate sting of attention. Xiao Lan's eyes blazed with anger, her lips pressed into a tight line, jaw clenched. The other three girls whispered pointedly, their resentment open and biting.
"She thinks she can rise above us," one hissed. "Who does she think she is?"
"She will fall. One misstep and she'll regret it," another added, sneering.
Xiao Lan's voice cut across the room, sharp and direct. "Lingxi, don't think a small act like this makes you clever. The concubine does not favor you yet. One slip, and this will all be undone."
Yin Yue did not respond. She met Xiao Lan's gaze evenly before turning away. Their fury, she knew, was a reflection of her success, of the quiet competence that had earned her this small foothold. She let the anger of others pass over her like wind, focusing instead on her path and her careful alignment.
She unpacked her work from the morning, reflecting on what had transpired. The act of preparing the small pastry had been minor in itself, but it had shifted her position within the palace. She had gained recognition from Eunuch Wei Jun, aligned herself further with assistant Chef Liang wen , and established herself in a more central role—closer to the inner workings of the residence.
The morning had also revealed much about observation and influence. Xiao Lan's open fury, the cold eyes of the three girls . Each glance, each comment, each silent calculation was a tool. Yin Yue filed them away carefully, as she had done countless times before.
By midday, Yin Yue returned to her usual tasks, steady and deliberate. She polished stone, tended to the flowers in the garden and sweeping and cleaning the residence.Every movement was precise, every breath measured. Even as the palace carried on around her—Xiao Lan plotting, the three girls murmuring—she held herself in calm, quiet control.
In that quiet time, she allowed herself a single thought she rarely admitted aloud: she had survived another challenge, claimed another small victory, and continued her careful climb. Step by step, observation by observation, patience by patience, she would endure.