The palace bloomed with spring, yet its beauty could not disguise the venom laced in every smile. Li Yue had grown used to the weight of eyes on her, measuring, calculating. Attention was both shield and blade.
Since the incident of the hairpin, she noticed small changes. Servants bowed deeper, whispers lingered longer, and even the lowest eunuchs treated her with newfound caution. But with recognition came envy. She could almost taste it in the air.
An Ruo tugged nervously at her sleeve one morning. "My Lady, I overheard the laundry maids speaking… They say a new beauty is being prepared for entry into the palace."
Li Yue stilled. Her ink brush hovered above the parchment, then touched down again with deliberate care. "What did they say of her?"
"That she is the daughter of a noble family, a girl of unmatched elegance. Some even call her 'a pearl among mortals.'"
The words rang like a death knell. Li Yue's hand tightened. So it begins.
She knew who this "new beauty" must be: Wan Mei, the so-called heroine of the original tale. Sweet as honey, graceful as spring rain—and a poison to everyone else's future. In her past life, Wan Mei had stolen the emperor's affection effortlessly, every step of her rise gilded with fortune. Li Yue, like countless others, had been reduced to a backdrop for her brilliance.
But not this time.
The following days only confirmed the rumors. Eunuchs rushed to prepare new chambers, tailors worked tirelessly on silken robes, and even the empress ordered rare spices to be burned in welcome.
An Ruo's fear grew with every passing hour. "If she is truly as beautiful as they say… what will become of you, my Lady?"
Li Yue's smile was sharp. "What became of me last time, you mean."
Her maid flinched, not understanding, but Li Yue's gaze was far away. She remembered the humiliations, the way the emperor's eyes had softened at Wan Mei's every word, how the court had bowed before her rise.
But foreknowledge was power. She would not wait helplessly for Wan Mei to arrive. Instead, she would plant her own roots deeper, so that when the heroine bloomed, the soil itself would already belong to her.
That night, Li Yue visited the empress's quarters. She did not arrive with gifts of jewels or flattery, but with a scroll of rare poetry she had transcribed herself.
The empress arched an eyebrow. "You transcribed this?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Li Yue answered with a calm bow. "I know I am unworthy, but these verses reminded me of your grace. I wished to offer them as a humble gesture."
The empress studied her. "You are clever. Too clever, perhaps. What do you seek?"
Li Yue lowered her gaze. "Only a place where I may serve quietly, without being discarded like a broken cup."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then the empress's lips curved. "You are not like the others, Lady Li. I shall remember this."
Li Yue's heart steadied. It was not open favor, but a crack in the empress's mask—a crack she could widen with patience.
Back in her quarters, she gazed at the moonlight spilling through the lattice. Wan Mei's shadow loomed closer every day. But this time, when they met, Li Yue would not be a forgotten name. She would be an obstacle, perhaps even a threat.
And maybe, just maybe, she could change the ending.