The palace awoke earlier than usual. Eunuchs scurried through the corridors, their slippers whispering against the polished tiles. Servants carried silk bundles, fragrant sachets, and trays of jade trinkets. Even the air itself seemed heavy with anticipation.
Wan Mei was arriving.
Li Yue sat by her window, the embroidery frame before her abandoned. An Ruo flitted nervously around the room, smoothing cushions, adjusting vases, as though their humble quarters might be inspected.
"My Lady," she whispered, "what if she truly is as beautiful as they say? The whole palace will—"
"Fall to its knees?" Li Yue finished for her. Her smile was thin. "Perhaps. Or perhaps beauty is a flame. The brighter it burns, the faster it consumes."
An Ruo swallowed, unconvinced.
By mid-morning, the courtyard overflowed with curious eyes. From her balcony, Li Yue watched as the imperial carriage rolled in, its lacquered surface gleaming in the sun. Music swelled, drums and flutes filling the air with triumph.
Then she stepped out.
Wan Mei.
Her beauty struck like a blade wrapped in silk. Dressed in robes of pale green, her movements light as willow branches, she seemed untouched by the dust of the world. Her smile was demure, her gaze lowered just enough to stir protective instincts. Even the empress herself leaned forward, a rare spark of approval in her eyes.
The emperor's gaze lingered too long. Li Yue saw it. So it begins, she thought.
When Wan Mei was led past the assembled consorts, she paused gracefully to bow. Her voice, soft as falling petals, carried just enough to reach the crowd.
"This humble girl thanks His Majesty for granting her the honor of serving within the palace. I vow to devote myself with sincerity."
The words were modest, yet somehow every syllable dripped with charm. The court ladies sighed in unison.
Li Yue remained silent, her expression unreadable. She knew this script by heart. Wan Mei's every gesture, every word, was designed to weave itself into the hearts of men.
But Li Yue was no longer the naive woman who once watched this scene with envy. She watched with sharpened eyes, calculating every ripple.
That evening, when the feast was held in Wan Mei's honor, Li Yue attended in her simplest gown of white silk, hair adorned with only a thread of silver. She made no attempt to outshine the new arrival. Instead, she faded gracefully into the background.
Yet her silence spoke louder than words.
Wan Mei, seated near the emperor, laughed gently at his remarks, her voice like wind chimes. The courtiers basked in her light, even Xiao Han's usually bored expression flickered with interest.
But when his gaze drifted across the room, it landed—briefly, but pointedly—on Li Yue.
And Wan Mei noticed.
Her smile did not falter, but Li Yue caught the faint tightening of her fingers on the wine cup.
So you feel it too, Li Yue thought. Good. This will not be as easy for you as last time.
The feast wore on, laughter and music filling the grand hall. Yet beneath the golden light of lanterns, two women watched each other in silence, the first threads of rivalry already weaving themselves into an unbreakable knot.