Days passed.
Nothing changed.
If anything, the inner Palace grew sharper toward Xin Ying—like silk pulled too tight, ready to cut.
Whispers followed her wherever she went.
"She thinks she belongs here."
"Outer court filth."
"Don't stand so close to the drapes—you'll stain them."
Sometimes it was words.
Sometimes it was action.
A basin tipped deliberately, water splashing across her robes. A broom knocked from her hands. Work assigned twice, then blamed for being slow. Once, someone stepped on her fingers as she knelt to clean, grinding just enough to hurt—but not enough to leave proof.
Xin Ying never protested.
She wiped the water away. Picked up the broom. Finished the work.
She kept her head down and her mouth shut.
Endure, she told herself. If I fight back, it will only worsen.
She had learned that lesson long before the Palace—back in classrooms where authority twisted easily into cruelty, where standing out meant being targeted.
The Palace was no different.
Only quieter.
Supervisor Qian noticed everything.
She said nothing at first.
But on the seventh day, she stopped in the corridor and watched as three servants surrounded Xin Ying near the storage alcove.
"You missed a corner," one sneered.
"I cleaned it," Xin Ying replied softly.
A hand shoved her shoulder. "Don't talk back."
Xin Ying stumbled, caught herself on the wall, and bowed her head.
"I will redo it."
Supervisor Qian turned away.
That night, she sought out Li Yuetong.
Li Yuetong listened without interrupting.
Her expression did not change, but her fingers tightened slightly around her teacup.
"She has endured this for how long?" Li Yuetong asked.
"Days," Supervisor Qian replied. "Without complaint."
Li Yuetong lowered her gaze.
"…I see."
The next afternoon, Xin Ying was assigned to clean the west corridor—quiet, rarely used, and conveniently hidden from most oversight.
As she knelt to scrub the floor, voices approached.
"You're still here?" someone scoffed.
A shadow fell over her.
"Maybe if you grovel properly, someone will teach you your place."
Xin Ying did not respond.
A foot kicked her bucket, sending water spilling across the stone.
Her hands tightened briefly.
Then relaxed.
Don't react.
Behind the corridor's carved pillar, Li Yuetong stood unseen.
She watched.
She saw the bowed head. The steady breathing. The way Xin Ying absorbed each insult without raising her eyes.
Just as expected.
Li Yuetong stepped forward.
The sound of her footsteps was soft—but unmistakable.
The servants froze.
Their faces drained of color.
They dropped to their knees instantly, foreheads hitting the floor.
"L-Lady Li—!"
They did not wait for permission.
They fled.
Silence followed.
Xin Ying blinked.
Confused, she looked up—and in rising too quickly, she collided with someone solid.
Her shoulder struck silk.
Her breath caught.
She fell to her knees at once.
"I have offended you—!" she said hurriedly, bowing deeply. "Please forgive me—"
A calm voice interrupted her.
"It's fine."
Xin Ying froze.
She lifted her head slowly.
Li Yuetong stood before her, composed, unreadable.
Fear surged through Xin Ying's chest.
She bowed again, lower this time. "I greet Lady Li."
Li Yuetong studied her.
"You may rise."
Xin Ying obeyed, hands folded, eyes lowered.
"Not many people," Li Yuetong said quietly, "can endure what you have endured—for that long."
Xin Ying hesitated, then answered honestly.
"I just don't want to get into trouble."
Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled slightly.
"If I fight back," she continued softly, "things will only become worse."
Li Yuetong's gaze sharpened.
"…You've learned that lesson well."
She was silent for a moment, then spoke again.
"I came here to find you," Li Yuetong said.
Xin Ying's heart skipped.
"There is a mystery," Li Yuetong continued, "that I want you to solve."
Xin Ying lowered her head.
"Yes."
The corridor remained quiet, but the air had changed.
Endurance had been seen.
And endurance, at last, had been answered.
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