In the Lanfang Garden, Yao Ji sat upright in the main hall while an older woman—a court nurse—went over the rules of the inner palace with her. The woman’s tone was anything but kind.
Perhaps it was Yao Ji’s beauty that made her seem unnatural, perhaps it was the rumor that the emperor had refused her at court, or perhaps it was simply that she’d arrived as tribute from the southern kingdom—whatever the reason, the elder treated her with barely concealed contempt.
Yao Ji listened with an expression of polite indifference, her delicate eyes drifting toward the palace gates as though something beyond them held her interest. The nurse noticed and snapped, “What are you staring at? You’re not going anywhere. Once you enter the harem you become the emperor’s servant. If you don’t learn the rules now, don’t complain later.”
Her words were laced with disdain, a lowered sneer. Yao Ji’s brow twitched once, twice, but she kept silent. She was an outsider here, dependent on others; a mere maid’s insolence could have been dangerous, yet she swallowed her pride. This was a part of her father’s plan—if she endured now, the glory to come would be worth it.
Turning slightly toward the woman, she lifted her voice, soft as a bell. “Please, teach me well.”
Her smile curved, the mole between her brows seemed to come alive. Her blue-green eyes flashed like sea glass. The nurse, caught for a moment by that beauty, quickly masked it with disapproval. “A devil,” she thought. Leave her in the palace and who knew what trouble she’d cause.
She opened her mouth to deliver another barb, but a voice from the gate cut her off. “Imperial edict!”
Eunuch Li appeared, holding a bright yellow scroll. Everyone knelt at once to hear the proclamation.
“By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: the fifth princess of the southern kingdom, Yao Ji, renowned for her beauty and virtue, has come to our Dongsheng. She is hereby granted the title Princess Yaoguang and shall henceforth reside in the Lanfang Garden. So it is ordered.”
Eunuch Li enunciated each word with a harsh clarity. A ripple of surprise ran through the hall. Yao Ji herself blinked; she had expected to be taken as a consort, not raised to the rank of junzhu. The nurse’s face went ashen—she who had been scornful a moment ago now pictured the reversal of fortune. A junzhu’s rank was not the same as a concubine’s. A concubine who fell from favor became nothing; a junzhu, publicly styled as the emperor’s relative, commanded a different kind of authority. Panic broke out across the nurse’s forehead as she scrambled mentally for how to make amends.
“Rise, Princess Yaoguang. Receive the edict.” Eunuch Li handed the scroll forward.
Yao Ji took it with some hesitation. A small, unsettled knot tightened in her chest. What was the emperor’s intent? Had he seen through whatever secret purpose had brought her here? Or did he simply have no interest in her at all? The thought pricked her like a shard of ice. Since childhood in the southern kingdom she had been celebrated as the most beautiful woman there—worshipped almost—yet here she had been conjured into the palace and handed a title without ceremony. Did the emperor truly care?
Her unease hardened into a flare of indignation. She had always been admired; she would not be dismissed. The nurse, sensing her shift in status, sidled up with an obsequious grin. “Princess, how the palace turns on a whim—now that you’re a junzhu, you don’t need lessons in etiquette, do you?”
Yao Ji’s patience snapped. In a voice that cut through the murmuring of the attendants she said coldly, “Leave.”
When the woman’s back finally cleared the hall, Yao Ji’s expression closed like a shutter. The graceful composure she had shown moments before vanished, replaced by a quiet, lethal calm. Her blue eyes gleamed; if earlier she had seemed compliant, now a different intent sharpened them. Her mind returned to the Empress—yesterday at court a single sentence from her had sent Yao Ji into the palace without a single protest from the emperor. The two of them spoke with a familiarity that looked almost like affection.
If she wanted to unsettle the Dongsheng harem, she would have to begin with that connection. A rift between emperor and empress could shake the very foundations of the realm. The thought lit a cruel, clever smile at the corner of her mouth. Already she could see the outlines of a future where she had bent the court to her will.
Night fell and the palace dimmed. There was to be a banquet that evening in honor of the southern envoys, but Dongfang Yi had no intention of going. The day’s events had left her tired and restless; she wanted nothing to do with the ceremony, not if it meant crossing paths with uncertain loyalties.
“Donghua?” she called.
Ever since Donghua had teased her about the gossip between her and Shen Fu that afternoon, the maid had kept her distance. Even the evening meal had been laid out by a junior attendant.
“Donghua!” Dongfang Yi tried again.
Footsteps announced a slender silhouette at the screen—Donghua, finally. She bowed with the stiff, cold courtesy of someone still sulking. “Your ladyship,” she said, stilted, “what orders do you have?”
Dongfang Yi frowned. The girl’s temper seemed unusually sharp for her age. Though Dongfang Yi knew she had been in the wrong, she didn’t think a child would stay offended so long. She straightened, adopted an exaggerated sternness, and scolded, “What is this? Why are you sulking—because of the Empress?”
Donghua’s eyes clouded. Her lower lids reddened; for a moment she looked as though she might cry.
Dongfang Yi softened on the spot, then played a part. She shifted back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, pressing a hand to her foot. “Oh! My foot—how it aches. An old injury acting up, perhaps.” She feigned real pain.
Donghua’s face changed instantly from anger to worry. She rushed forward, frantic. “My lady, are you all right? Your old injury—?”
Dongfang Yi suppressed a smile, lifting her head just enough to flash an imploring look. “Don’t be angry. I won’t force you to marry. I promise.”
The tension broke. Donghua’s mouth twitched into a smile through the residue of her tears. “You mustn’t think of marrying me off,” she said, voice small but firm. “I don’t want to marry!”
Dongfang Yi nodded like a little drummer, earnest and guilty all at once. Donghua laughed, and the sound brought warmth back into the room. Outside, the moon hung clear and bright. Inside, two women had patched their rift; they settled down together, their small reconciliation a quiet promise of a peaceful night.