Xin Ying was given her robes at dawn.
They were placed in her arms without ceremony—folded neatly, dyed a dull gray, coarse to the touch. The fabric scratched faintly against her skin as she changed behind a wooden screen with several other women. No one spoke. The silence felt practiced, learned through years of survival.
When she stepped out, she barely recognized herself.
The robes swallowed her figure, sleeves long enough to hide her hands. Her hair was pulled back tightly and tied with plain cloth. No ornaments. No color. No identity.
A servant overseer walked past, eyes sharp and indifferent. "From today onward," he said, "you belong to the Palace. You will speak only when spoken to. You will work until ordered to stop. Any disobedience will be punished."
Xin Ying lowered her head.
"Yes," she replied softly.
Inside, her mind was already moving.
She was assigned to the outer palace first—where new slaves were tested. Her tasks were simple, yet endless. Sweeping stone corridors that never seemed to grow dirty. Carrying water buckets heavier than they looked. Scrubbing steps worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
Her palms blistered by noon.
Still, she did not complain.
She watched.
The Palace was a city within walls—layered courtyards, curved roofs rising like waves, red pillars etched with gold. Servants moved like streams, always flowing, never colliding. Every step followed rules she had not yet learned.
Hierarchy, she realized. Everything here runs on hierarchy.
As she worked, voices drifted through the corridors—soft, respectful, cautious.
"They're arriving today."
"All four?"
"Of course. The court meeting is this morning."
Xin Ying's grip tightened on the broom.
The four highest clans.
She remembered the novel clearly.
The Wang Clan.
The Li Clan.
The Zhang Clan.
The Ling Clan.
The pillars of the kingdom.
She kept her head down as she followed the other servants into the main courtyard, where they were ordered to kneel along the sides. The air shifted subtly—as if the Palace itself were holding its breath.
Footsteps approached.
First came a man dressed in elegant white and blue robes, embroidered with silver thread. His posture was relaxed, his expression warm, eyes gentle as they swept across the courtyard.
Whispers rippled.
"The Wang Clan…"
Xin Ying dared a glance.
Wang Tianhua.
He looked exactly as described—refined, kind, dangerously easy to trust. When his gaze passed over the kneeling servants, it lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, as if he truly saw them.
Her chest tightened.
So that's him, she thought. The man who will never raise a blade against the throne.
Next came a woman.
Her presence was quiet, but it commanded attention. She wore deep crimson robes edged with gold, her hair bound in a style reserved only for those of the highest authority. Her face was calm, her eyes sharp and assessing.
Li Yuetong.
The leader of the Li Clan.
The air felt heavier around her, as though soldiers marched just beyond sight. She did not glance at the servants—not out of cruelty, but discipline. A general's habit.
Strongest army, Xin Ying recalled. And loyal—to the Empress.
Then came another man, dressed simply compared to the others, though the quality of his clothing was unmistakable. His expression was solemn, his movements restrained.
Zhang Shuqin.
When he walked, he bowed slightly toward the Palace halls—a gesture of respect that did not go unnoticed.
Xin Ying lowered her gaze again.
Three had arrived.
The courtyard grew colder.
Then footsteps echoed—slow, deliberate.
A man in dark robes stepped forward, the fabric catching the light like a blade. His smile was thin, calculated, eyes glinting with ambition barely concealed.
Ling Zhihao.
Xin Ying felt it instantly.
Danger.
Her instincts screamed even as she remained perfectly still. His gaze swept over the servants—not dismissively, but with interest, as if he were already measuring usefulness.
When his eyes passed over her, Xin Ying felt an icy pressure crawl up her spine.
For just a heartbeat, his gaze lingered.
She forced herself not to react.
He doesn't recognize me yet, she thought. Good.
The four clans moved toward the inner halls, their figures disappearing beyond carved doors. The courtyard exhaled.
Only then did Xin Ying realize she had been holding her breath.
"Back to work," the overseer snapped.
She rose slowly, muscles aching, mind racing.
She had seen them.
The protectors.
The loyal.
The ambitious.
The future traitor.
And somewhere beyond those walls—
The Empress.
Xin Ying tightened her grip on the broom.
I've entered the Palace, she thought. Now I must survive it.
Above her, banners fluttered softly in the morning breeze.
And fate, once written, waited to be challenged.
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