The West Residence was no longer forgotten.
Once, it had been a hollow husk of a building at the far edge of the palace grounds, its corridors empty and its gates rusted. Now, it breathed with life. Chickens strutted across the courtyard, sparrows nested in the eaves, and the faint laughter of servants drifted through its cracked walls. What had been meant as a punishment had turned into a spectacle.
By now, half the palace buzzed with tales of the "wildcat princess" who raised chickens beside her bedchamber, mocked ministers at banquets, and somehow survived the Crown Prince's scorn without bowing her head. Every retelling grew taller, like weeds reaching for sunlight.
Some said she bathed in wine to spite court etiquette. Others whispered she slept on straw, surrounded by her animals as though she were a farmer's daughter rather than the wife-to-be of the empire's heir. There were even rumours that she had bewitched His Highness, that her defiance was some hidden sorcery no one dared name aloud.
In the Eastern Pavilion, where the emperor's favoured concubines gathered to sip tea and watch the koi ripple beneath jade bridges, the gossip was especially sharp.
Concubine Lian, her crimson gown shimmering like a serpent's tongue, leaned back against her cushions with calculated grace. She twirled her lacquered fan, painted with orchids, and let her lips curl into a poisoned smile.
"Imagine," she drawled, her voice syrupy with disdain, "the future Crown Princess smells of goat and garlic. The heavens must weep at such a tragedy."
A ripple of laughter ran through the women, thin and brittle. Yet not all were foolish enough to only mock.
Concubine Mei, draped in soft lavender silk, lifted her porcelain teacup with elegant fingers. Her lashes lowered, concealing the gleam in her eyes. "True, true," she murmured in a voice gentle as falling snow. "Yet His Highness has visited her twice already. Even the emperor does not command his steps so often."
Lian snapped her fan shut, the sound sharp as a blade. "Visited, yes—but surely to remind her of her place."
Mei's lips curved, faint and secretive. "Or perhaps, elder sister, to test her spirit. Men grow weary of pretty dolls that nod and smile. Sometimes, they desire... something else."
The women stilled. A hush fell, broken only by the trickle of water in the garden fountain.
"Do you mean," one younger consort whispered, wide-eyed, "that His Highness could... prefer her?"
Mei sipped her tea, savouring the weight of the moment before answering. "One wonders if the Crown Prince's disdain is only an act. After all, the opposite of love is not hatred. It is indifference."
Concubine Lian's nails bit into her fan's handle, her smile no longer as steady as before. "Attention is not affection," she said coldly. "And affection is fleeting. A wildcat scratches—eventually she will bleed herself dry."
But the whisper had already taken root. It crept through the corridors, through servant mouths and eunuch ears, until even the kitchens and guard posts carried the tale. Perhaps the Crown Prince's gaze lingered too long. Perhaps the wildcat's claws had already left their mark.
Back in the West Residence, XiaoQi had no patience for gossip.
The rumours might swirl like storm clouds outside her gates, but here, in the cracked courtyard and musty chambers, she kept her hands busy. She crouched over a clay pot, pestle in hand, grinding feverfew leaves until their sharp scent filled the air. Dried chrysanthemum petals lay in neat bundles beside her, alongside ginger root, liquorice, and honey sealed in small jars. Her sleeves were rolled past her elbows, and faint green stains smudged her fingertips.
"The palace attendants are dropping like flies with coughs and fevers," she muttered, her brow furrowed. "No one cares if a servant falls ill. But if they aren't treated, it will spread."
Bai Hu lounged nearby, tail flicking lazily as he watched her work. "Why bother with this?" he asked, his voice dry, golden eyes glinting in the lamplight. "The palace attendants whisper about you too. They say you stink of goat and dirt, that you clawed a nobleman with your tongue. And still you choose to help them?"
XiaoQi paused, glancing down at him, and a faint smile curved her lips. "Because they're people. Because if you show kindness when they least expect it, it plants roots deeper than fear. And besides," she added with a sly tilt of her head, "I'd rather have a few friends in this den of snakes than none at all."
The fox spirit huffed, unimpressed, though his ears twitched in reluctant approval.
Bai Hu leapt down, landing softly on the table, sniffing the bundle with a wrinkle of his nose. "You are wasting time. They will not remember kindness when the court turns against you."
XiaoQi met his gaze, calm and steady. "Perhaps. But if even one child sleeps easier tonight because their mother's cough has eased, it is worth it."
By nightfall, she moved like a shadow through the palace's back corridors. Bundles of her remedies, wrapped in plain cloth, slipped quietly into the hands of weary servants. A feverish scullery boy blinked at her in disbelief before stammering thanks. A laundress with a hacking cough clutched her hand to her chest as if she had been given a priceless jewel.
"Take one spoon with hot water before bed," XiaoQi whispered, pressing the packet into another maid's palm. "And rest, if you can. Don't tell anyone where you got it."
The whispers that returned to the West Residence were no longer cruel. They were cautious, reverent.
"The wildcat princess has a healer's hands."
"She gave this to me without asking for anything."
"She is not what they say she is."
The higher ranks still sneered. But among the lower servants, respect began to take root, spreading quietly, like herbs pushing through cracks in stone.
Word of her nighttime errands spread faster than XiaoQi expected. Too fast.
By the third evening, when she returned from delivering remedies to the servants' wing, her robe hem damp with dew and her hands still smelling of crushed herbs, a shadow stood waiting at the gate of the West Residence.
DongZe.
XiaoQi froze mid-step, clutching the wicker basket against her hip. Her first instinct was to laugh it off, but something in his expression warned her this was no moment for mockery.
"You have been busy," DongZe said at last, his voice even, dangerously quiet. "Sneaking from your quarters in the dead of night. Whispering with servants. Distributing... concoctions." His gaze dropped briefly to the bundle of herbs poking from her basket. "Do you fancy yourself their saviour?"
XiaoQi lifted her chin, stepping past him into the courtyard. Bai Hu scampered down from the wall, ears flat with wariness. She set the basket on a table before turning to face the Crown Prince squarely.
"I fancy myself human," she replied. "Unlike some, I don't watch people cough blood into rags and do nothing."
DongZe's eyes flashed, though his tone remained clipped. "You overstepped. The servants are not your concern. Their welfare is managed by the palace physicians, not by a... wildcat playing apothecary."
Her lips curved into a thin smile. "Then those physicians are deaf and blind, for I've seen no one tending to them. Only the weak carrying heavier loads until they collapse."
The silence that followed was sharp as glass.
DongZe stepped closer, close enough that the scent of his robes—smoke, cedar, steel—brushed against her. "You defy me openly. Again." His voice had dropped, low and cold, but beneath it there was something else, some shadow of conflict. "Do you wish to make enemies of the entire court?"
XiaoQi did not retreat. "I do not care for the court. But I will not sit idle while children go hungry because their parents are too sick to work."
Her words struck him harder than he expected. For a heartbeat, DongZe faltered, staring at her with something unreadable in his eyes. She stood there, cheeks flushed with conviction, hair falling messily from its pins, nothing like the demure consorts who bent under his gaze. She was reckless and very infuriating
His jaw tightened. "You think kindness will protect you? That a few grateful servants will shield you when daggers come for your throat?"
XiaoQi crossed her arms, unshaken. "Better to have daggers at my throat for kindness than for cruelty."
For the first time, the mask of cold disdain slipped. DongZe's lips twitched—just barely—as if against his will. Respect. Grudging, bitter, unwanted, but respect all the same.
He exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half a growl, and turned away before she could see more. "You are a fool," he said. "But a bold one."
His cloak swirled as he strode toward the gate, issuing a curt command for the guards to leave them. Before disappearing into the night, he paused, his voice carrying low but firm through the quiet courtyard.
"Keep your remedies hidden. Do as you please, but do not make me explain to my father why the palace whispers of a Crown Princess who plays at being a healer. If the Emperor hears it, he will not be so... tolerant."
XiaoQi blinked, caught off guard by the smallest curl of leniency in his words. She opened her mouth, but he was already gone, footsteps fading into the shadows.
Bai Hu nudged her side with a tiny paw. "Little mistress, I daresay you are making the Crown Prince's heart uneasy."
XiaoQi laughed softly, the sound low and triumphant. "Good. Let him stew in it. He will learn—wildcats are not tamed so easily."
***
The following morning, chaos erupted like wildfire.
A squirrel spirit, small and copper-furred, darted into the imperial library, leaping from shelf to shelf. Ancient scrolls toppled in a cascade of parchment and ink. Scholars and attendants lunged to save them, only to slip and trip over one another, their shouts echoing in the vaulted hall.
A sparrow spirit, bold and mischievous, flitted straight onto the Emperor's crown during morning prayers, chirping with an absurdly cheerful melody. His hand froze mid-bow, eyes widening, while the assembled courtiers froze in awkward silence. The Emperor blinked, then barked a laugh that echoed off the marble walls.
The worst calamity, however, was the lantern-winged sprite, glowing like a miniature sun, who had taken a liking to Concubine Lian's towering wig. It fluttered around her head, weaving through the elaborate coiffure until it sparked and glowed furiously, leaving Lian shrieking and flailing in a panic that drew every gaze in the hall. She stomped and swatted at the invisible interloper, the gold and crimson of her robes rippling chaotically.
Concubine Lian, her face pale under layers of rouge and powder, seized the moment like a hawk swooping for prey. Bowing low before the Emperor, she allowed her voice to drip with honeyed venom. "Your Majesty, perhaps Lady Chen's eccentricities... endanger the sanctity of the palace."
The court held its breath, waiting for judgment. Even the ministers stiffened, fingering the edges of their robes.
But the Emperor's reaction was not what anyone expected. His booming laughter rolled across the hall, echoing off the gilded walls. The sound was rich, unrestrained, like a summer storm breaking over calm waters. For the first time in decades, the palace felt alive with rowdiness, with irreverence.
The courtiers froze, startled by the rare display of amusement. Even Concubine Mei, sitting demurely at the edge of the hall, allowed a small smile to tug at her lips.
Lian's smile faltered, her pout deepening, but she insisted, voice sharper now, as if trying to claw back control. "Your Majesty, I only wish to preserve decorum. Surely a future Crown Princess must not—"
The Emperor waved her off, still chuckling. "Decorum? I would rather have laughter in my halls than silence. The girl has spirit. Let us see how it serves the empire."
All eyes snapped toward the entrance. XiaoQi had been summoned to the hall like a criminal, her boots echoing against the marble floor. She stepped in, hair slightly tousled, sleeves rolled, and eyes bright with defiance. Her small figure carried the calm of someone who had survived worse indignities than whispers or glares.
"Lady Chen," the Emperor called, voice playful yet commanding. "Do you find our palace suitable for your... pets?"
XiaoQi bowed slightly, lips tilting into a careful smirk. "Your Majesty, they are well-behaved, for the most part. Only one seems particularly fond of Concubine Lian."
A ripple of restrained laughter ran through the hall. Even the ministers, who prided themselves on seriousness, could not stifle smiles.
Concubine Lian's hands clenched in her lap. Her painted lips quivered with fury, but she dared not interrupt.
XiaoQi straightened, meeting the Emperor's gaze with clear, unwavering eyes. "If mischief entertains Your Majesty and does not harm the palace, I see no reason to apologize. Perhaps next time, I shall bring tea for the ministers as well."
A few ministers blinked in stunned silence, the tension in the room twisting into admiration they had not expected. The Emperor's laughter rang again, warmer, approving.
Concubine Lian, desperate to reclaim the Emperor's favour, straightened her posture and let her voice drip with venom. "Your Majesty, this girl brings ill omens to your halls. Her spirits meddle where they do not belong. Who knows what disaster she may summon next?"
But before His Majesty could respond, a cold, cutting voice sliced through the murmur like steel.
"My consort's worth is not for idle tongues to measure."
The hall fell into sudden silence. Heads turned as Yan DongZe stepped forward, the weight of his presence commanding every corner of the chamber. His midnight-blue robes trailed behind him like a shadow, and his dark eyes seemed to pierce through the courtiers' pretence.
"Those who call her unfit," he continued, voice low but steady, echoing off the gilded walls, "should remember one thing: she humiliated half this court with her wit, yet still won my father's laughter. She delivers remedies to the weak where others hoard perfumes and jewels. If that is unfit, then the rest of you are worse than useless."
Gasps erupted. Some courtiers swivelled in disbelief, others leaned forward, whispering to one another. Even the Emperor, whose eyes usually flicked over the daily absurdities of court life with detached amusement, arched a brow and allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.
Concubine Lian's mouth opened, then snapped shut. Her false confidence faltered. "Y-Your Highness..." she stammered, voice tight. "Surely you do not—"
DongZe's glare cut through her words like a blade. "I do not tolerate petty scheming in my court. You will restrain your tongue, or I will ensure it is silenced."
XiaoQi's own pulse thudded wildly in her chest. She had expected outrage, punishment, perhaps even ridicule—but not this. She blinked, stunned, as DongZe's dark eyes met hers across the hall. There was no mockery nor sarcasm in them.
Her lips curved into a small, incredulous smile. She had faced disdain and scorn for her entire life, but something about the way DongZe had spoken—firm, unyielding, protective even—stirred a peculiar warmth inside her chest.
The silence lingered for a heartbeat too long. Then the Emperor's laughter, low and indulgent, rippled through the hall, breaking the tension. "Well said, My Son. Perhaps Lady Chen is exactly the sort of spirit this palace needs."
That night, the West Residence was quiet, save for the soft rustle of curtains in the evening breeze and the faint clatter of stray sparrow spirits settling into their nests. XiaoQi sat cross-legged on the floor, the moonlight slanting across her face, bathing her in silver. Bai Hu nestled against her knee, tail flicking lazily, eyes gleaming with faint amusement.
"He hates me," she muttered softly, voice barely above a whisper. "He has to. I mock him, embarrass him, and defy every rule he values. No decent man could respect that—let alone care."
Bai Hu leaned into her touch, head nudging her hand. His golden eyes met hers with a knowing, almost mischievous gleam. He flicked his tail once, and the faint rustle of leaves outside the window punctuated the silence.
"So why," she murmured, staring into the shadows, "why would he defend me? Why would he... protect me?"
XiaoQi let out a low sigh, leaning back on her hands, gaze tracing the worn stones of the courtyard floor. "I've never had anyone... see me like that before. Not really. Even kindness feels like a trap sometimes. But his... his words—they weren't mockery, not like the others. They were real."
Her lips curved into a faint, incredulous smile, the kind that comes from barely admitting a dangerous hope. "I still want to punch him in the face for looking at me like that."
Somewhere deep within the palace, Yan DongZe stood beneath the soft lantern light in a secluded corridor. The flickering flames reflected in his dark eyes as his fingers brushed against his lips, tracing the ghost of the memory that refused to leave him—their accidental kiss, heated and unbidden. His jaw tightened, the memory stirring both irritation and a strange, unwelcome longing.
"She is still a thorn," he murmured, voice low and edged with frustration. "A thorn that scratches, provokes, and refuses to yield. And yet..." His hand clenched at his side, knuckles white against the black silk of his sleeve.
"Heaven help me, I cannot pull her out. I cannot rid myself of her presence. No matter how hard I try."