Xiansi had climbed from a junior maid of the Laundry Bureau to female official in the Emperor's personal service—a rise of nearly five ranks—and by the Emperor's grace, she would not have to leave the palace even when she reached the age for release. In the eyes of most servants, she was someone truly worthy of awe.
But there were also those who believed she would sooner or later share Liu Lun's fate—driving herself too hard, overtaxing her body, ending up like him, frail and ailing in middle age, driven from the palace or thrown into the Cold Palace.
Such gossip circulated only in the shadows. Anyone who dared openly wag their tongue about the Palace of Heavenly Purity would be dragged off and whipped to death.
Day after day, Xiansi performed her duties with quiet placidity. In a life of servitude, of being ordered about without pause from morning to night, she had found meaning in her existence through serving the Emperor.
In a few days, if granted permission, she would formally put up her hair and vow never to marry, with several old eunuchs and senior maids as witnesses, alone in the world, following Senior Maid Jinshu's example—
That was what she set her heart on, as if she had been born solely to serve the Imperial Presence.
The Emperor had saved her life. She was a servant, and she was willing to serve him for the rest of her days.
Most importantly, the palace was like a great, sturdy tree to which one could cling—it would never collapse. Absolute authority. As long as the dynasty endured, there would always be a scrap of sustenance for her to survive on. Though it was diseased, filthy, treating people as less than human, she had soaked in this sickness for so long that she had come to crave this morbid stability.
Day by day, Xiansi served with diligence and devotion.
Watching Xiansi gradually earn greater trust—overseeing the night watch, serving the imperial meals, managing the study affairs with perfect order—Liu Lun felt a measure of pride. Sometimes, watching her busy figure from behind, his eyes would unknowingly grow moist.
After all, she was someone he had personally trained, and his feelings for Xiansi were exceedingly complicated.
He had assumed she would leave the palace at the proper age and marry an honest commoner, living out a peaceful life. Who could have guessed she would prove so capable, destined to remain within the Forbidden City.
She was so thin she seemed as if she would crumble at a touch, with a natural, unadorned beauty, wearing no powder or rouge, yet pleasing to the eye. When surprised, her eyes would widen and her baby fat would puff up—utterly endearing.
Yet her emotions rarely rose or fell dramatically; most of the time she stood in a corner like a sheet of soft white cotton paper.
Liu Lun sighed inwardly in resignation.
The sorrow, the sacrifice, the bitterness of being a servant.
Liu Lun, too closely involved, could not see clearly—but his godson Wang Fulu, watching from the side, saw it plainly: Miss Xiansi had a boundless future ahead of her; her life need not end as a palace maid. His Majesty was in the prime of his years and his thoughts ran deep. Whether Miss Xiansi sank into the mire or ascended to the heights of power rested on a single word from the Emperor.
Such forbidden thoughts, Wang Fulu dared only to turn over in his own mind.
The fourth month's sunlight was clear and bright, sifting through the vermilion-lacquered lattices into shafts of golden light.
The Emperor stood in the light, his expression impassive, his shadow pooling black on the floor. Compared to the warm sunlight, his presence felt more like cold order—control, boundaries, clarity and reason, rules—not the rules of the palace or the ancestors, but his own.
He was unlike any emperor before him.
The imperial menu comprised forty-eight categories of food—meats, soups, staples, and the like. That, of course, was an extravagantly lavish display; ordinarily, only twelve categories were served at the Emperor's meals.
Even so, the Emperor only symbolically sampled a few dishes at will; most of the food went to waste. The dazzling array of dishes served mostly a "selection" function—to guard against poisoning.
On the huanghuali wood banquet table, dozens of dishes were arranged in sequence, each one exquisite.
Chen Bingzhong, like a fawning lapdog, bowed his head and respectfully announced: "Your Majesty, please partake of your meal."
Hanzheng casually pointed to two dishes: one of stir-fried leafy hearts with almonds, and one from the Huaiyang cuisine repertoire—Bright Moon Snow-Velvet Tofu.
Xiansi swept her eyes over them and, in a refined and graceful manner, used the dedicated small spoon to take a small taste of each herself, then tested them with a silver needle. Poison testing confirmed, the serving eunuch presented the dishes before the Emperor.
Having served for so long, she still felt nervous facing the Emperor at such close range.
Hanzheng took a spoonful of the Bright Moon Snow-Velvet Tofu.
Xiansi noted it to herself—the Emperor did indeed favor Huaiyang cuisine more.
He nodded. "The flavor is excellent."
At these words, everyone's faces lit up with joy, meaning the serving attendants and the kitchen staff would all be rewarded.
Hanzheng then pointed to the White-Robed Shrimp. The coastal shrimp were plump and full, and since the Emperor preferred light flavors, they had been steamed. Xiansi performed the poison testing as usual, peeled away the shells, and dipped one in vinegar sauce—her translucent fingertips seeming as clean and unblemished as the shrimp flesh itself.
She set the shrimp dish down with quiet composure, flawless in every way.
Hanzheng barely touched the food, his gaze lingering more on her fingertips, still damp from the moisture from the shrimp.
He set down his chopsticks and looked at her calmly, saying: "Give her a portion."
Clearly and unmistakably, it was bestowed upon Xiansi.
Her pupils froze for an instant—out of nowhere, it was like hearing a thunderclap. She blinked, and her body moved before her heart could; she swiftly knelt and kowtowed in gratitude, filled with overwhelming honor and trepidation:
"Your humble servant thanks Your Majesty—"
All around, eyes were lowered, but an indescribable, extreme envy fixed itself upon Xiansi; jealousy nearly bored holes through her.
Food bestowed from the imperial table was favor and honor of the highest order. Never mind for a servant; even for ministers and consorts, it was an immense distinction.
Chen Bingzhong was particularly shaken. His eyes trembled. Not daring to commit a breach of etiquette before the Emperor, he forcibly suppressed his overwhelmingly intense jealousy, nearly to the point of tears.
At once, a eunuch brought forward a small white porcelain dish, reverently transferring the Emperor's bestowed portion of shrimp into it, and handed it to Xiansi. She straightened up slightly, opened her mouth, and trembling, took that bite of shrimp into her mouth.
Hanzheng was still watching her.
Xiansi felt as though that mist-like gaze was burning through her. Light of hand and nimble of movement, overwhelmed by the unexpected favor, she chewed with care, cleanly, savoring every little bit of it. Then she lowered her head, as if unworthy of such heaven-reaching grace, and once more said:
"Your humble servant is ashamed—thank you for Your Majesty's boundless grace."
Hanzheng said indifferently, "It is nothing."
Xiansi rose, trembling ever so slightly, her mind reeling from the favor, everything around her seeming to blur.
She knew that after that midday meal, she would surely become one of the most celebrated people of the Palace of Heavenly Purity—a legend—even Chief Steward Liu Lun could not hope to match, truly standing at the very pinnacle of servanthood.
All for a single bite of shrimp from the Huaiyang cuisine.
…
Xiansi's rise was meteoric, and soon all the servants in the palace knew that she had been granted a bite of the Imperial meal by the Emperor—the greatest of honors.
Jealousy and resentment churned in the whirlpool beneath the palace's calm surface; many spent sleepless nights. Such heaven-reaching luck—how had it landed on Xiansi? How had she won the master's favor?
For a time, countless servants in the Six Palaces were eager to challenge her.
Xiansi took full charge of the work of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, gradually replacing Liu Lun. Liu Lun, with his aged, declining body and the listless air of a lifelong eunuch, truly could not match Xiansi's crisp efficiency and quick wit.
Seeing such fortune befall someone he had trained, Liu Lun felt a quiet, secret gratification.
Honestly, that bite of shrimp she'd eaten that day was the most wonderful thing Xiansi had tasted in all her twenty-three years. A palace maid's meals couldn't compare to even a thousandth of the imperial cuisine. When she was younger, worked and abused by her uncle and aunt, she had never eaten a single bite of fresh, filling food. As the imperial delicacy slid down her throat, she felt as though she were dreaming.
That one bite of shrimp—she'd be savoring it on her deathbed decades from now!
She admonished herself: no pride, no impatience. She had to remain kind, refined, and obedient, with cleverness showing through at her core, if she wanted to keep the Emperor's favor long-term.
His Majesty was a practitioner of cultivation, and the Palace of Heavenly Purity saw not only grand secretaries coming and going, but Daoist priests as well.
Xiansi had become the most sought-after senior maid in the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Not only did she manage routine duties like the night watch, sweeping, and serving the imperial meals, she also tended His Majesty's "sacred plants"—camellias, a solitary peach branch, pine branches, bamboo, gourds, and the like.
Incense was rarely burned in the Palace of Heavenly Purity; smoke felt vulgar and cloying. The faint fragrance that drifted through the chambers, now thick, now thin, all came from these sacred plants. That Xiansi could tend them was a great honor, for the sacred plants were sacred, and only a servant of spiritual purity could touch them. The Emperor entrusting them to her represented his recognition and trust.
Xiansi did not betray that trust. Every day she watered them and trimmed dead leaves, her movements elegant and hushed, always tiptoeing softly in everything she did, her sense of propriety impeccable.
That was just how she was—whatever task was given to her, one could rest a hundred percent assured.
She bustled about, inside and out, perfecting everything, and her body was quietly being drained. The exhaustion accumulated day by day—unnoticeable at first, but gradually eroding her into a hollow shell.
After autumn, a batch of elderly palace maids and eunuchs would be dismissed, leaving vacancies in the duties. On the last day of the month, a group of newly selected young maids was delivered to the Palace of Heavenly Purity. As a senior maid with rank and standing, Xiansi went to give them a talk.
Facing the timid, bewildered gazes of the young maids, Xiansi had just opened her mouth when a wave of dizziness suddenly struck her. She couldn't help swaying, but still forced herself to finish the talk.
Wang Fulu, standing nearby, saw that something was wrong and quietly came to her aid.
Xiansi held on, and only after she was completely out of everyone's sight did she dare let the cold, clammy sweat show.
Wang Fulu was Liu Lun's godson. As he helped Xiansi back to her room, he saw her dwelling: plain walls enclosing the room, a wooden bed with a thin mattress neatly arranged, a simple and austere elm table bearing a bronze mirror, a comb, the black cord for tying her hair, and a stool. Whitewashed ceiling, no windows, damp floor, cramped. Her room was spotless—shabby, yet without any sense of abjectness. It was her own little world of solitude.
Compared to the low-ranking palace servants who slept in the communal sleeping quarters, it was already far better.
Lately she had been on night watch every night, and hadn't returned to her little room in a long while.
Xiansi lay on the bed, terribly weak.
High-ranking servants had a special privilege: when unwell, they could rest a little. They could also describe their symptoms and ask a senior eunuch to go to the Imperial Medical Bureau and have medicine prescribed on their behalf.
But ordinary servants could not afford this privilege. The masters needed attendants every day and would not wait for a servant. Moreover, masters would avoid a servant who had fallen ill and never favor them again.
Xiansi's mind stayed clear, and after a while, the dizziness faded.
She said apologetically, "Eunuch Wang, sorry to trouble you. I'm fine, I'm not sick."
"Luckily you held on just now and no one saw, or even your godfather couldn't have protected you," Wang Fulu said. "Tell me the truth—what illness have you got?"
Sick palace maids and eunuchs were, by rule, all sent to the Bao'an Hall in the Cold Palace; concealing an illness was a capital offense.
Xiansi spoke in a weak voice, tears actually glistening at the corners of her eyes. "No, Eunuch Wang, I'm not sick. Look how thin I am—I was busy with my duties this morning and didn't eat. It's just a momentary lack of qi and blood. I'll be fine once I've had something to eat. I'm perfectly healthy. Please, I beg you, don't make it known."
"If I wanted to report you, would I have waited until now?"
Wang Fulu sighed. "Just rest. I'll bring you some pastries and steamed buns in a while. But my silence doesn't mean no other eyes are watching. You know how it is…"
The palace was full of underhanded schemes—open backstabbing and covert maneuvering, people clawing their way up at any cost.
Xiansi wiped her tears and nodded. "Your kindness, Eunuch, I will never forget. Allow me to call you brother."
"Don't."
Wang Fulu hesitated, wanting to speak but stopping himself. She was trying too hard.
Seeing her like this, he couldn't bear it.
His godfather had feelings for her, yet even he couldn't make things easier for her.
"I'll go get you something to eat first."
Xiansi closed her eyes. Though the partitioned room was sealed off from sunlight, she could sense it was morning—the light felt weightless, clear and warm. She rose before dawn every day and returned only deep in the night, never once experiencing the feeling of lying in bed during daylight. Now, in her daze, it all felt faintly unreal.
Though her body's exhaustion was released, her spirit was in torment.
Because—she was bleeding.
She knew perfectly well her dizziness wasn't from illness, but from her menses.
Working day and night without pause had thrown her cycle into disarray; her menses had come early.
Years of accumulated strain, plus her thin body, made her periods extremely irregular—sometimes three months without one. Of all times, it had to come now.
Maids during their monthly period could not attend the Emperor—menstrual blood was unclean, a grave impropriety, and a blood omen would clash with the imperial presence. Thus the Bureau of Internal Affairs scheduled carefully, assigning maids in their cycle to outer areas and rough labor.
She could not be reassigned. She could not.
Once reassigned, the rules required a minimum of seven days before returning to her post.
She had only just gained a foothold before the Emperor. In seven days, someone else would have long replaced her.
The chance to serve the Imperial Presence had come at great cost—she absolutely could not lose it.
Fortunately, her disordered cycle brought very little blood, pale as water with only a faint tinge of red, nearly negligible, and no one could smell any blood. Applying the osmanthus and soap-pod scents the maids commonly used would cover it completely.
It was risky, but she stood a good chance.
She hugged her knees and buried her head, utterly exhausted.
…
After resting for less than half an hour, Xiansi returned to duty.
Liu Lun saw her come back looking normal, full of spirit.
Chen Bingzhong lingered and murmured in his ear, "Godfather, could Senior Maid be ill? Might she offend His Majesty?"
Liu Lun said, "Wang Fulu has already told me—she worked too diligently and skipped breakfast. She's not sick."
Chen Bingzhong hesitated. "But…"
"Enough. Go attend to your duties."
Xiansi was tall, her back a straight line, thin as a blade, her neck long as a swan's, arms slender, legs long, pale as white jade. Wrapped in gray, worn palace garb, she still carried an air of standing apart from the world. In a crowd, your eye would miss her at first glance—but once you saw her, you couldn't look away.
Night fell, and the red walls and yellow tiles sank once more into darkness. The moon drifted silently across the night sky, its light swaying in the water vats in rippling lines. The leaves of the pines and cypresses were slashed by the wind into a rustling clamor, steeped in cold.
Xiansi changed into a blue palace gown, washed spotless, slightly faded. She had deliberately dabbed on a little osmanthus fragrance, faint and light.
When the hour came for her night watch, she made her way to the alcove as familiar as ever, respectfully paid her kneeling respects to the sleeping chamber, then stood waiting in the alcove.
"This servant pays her respects to Your Majesty."
When the Emperor arrived, she performed her courtesies without the slightest flaw.
Hanzheng gave a casual "mm" and spread his arms; Xiansi stepped forward to remove his robes. Master and servant were in perfect accord—she attended people with an even, unhurried manner. She took off his outer robe, then knelt to pull off his boots. The whole procedure was practiced, with nothing awkward or fumbled.
Hanzheng sat down as usual, drinking alone, admiring the bright moon. Xiansi stood in the corner with lowered brows and docile eyes. Alone together, master and servant, the awkwardness and silence of their first meeting had dissolved; their auras blended, growing ever more harmonious. She served him devotedly, and he approved of her—between them there was some ineffable feeling that surpassed master and servant.
"Time for bed," he said.
Beyond the latticed window, moonlight fell in dappled patches, pine branches swaying, sifting down moonlight like snow, scattered and sparse, tranquil and still.
Only then did Xiansi remove his upper garment and lower garment.
Deep in the night, Xiansi blew out the candlesticks in the alcove and lay alone on her side on the felt mat. Her legs were curled, her posture measured—even her sleep was precise. The blood of her menses seeped slowly, kept under control the whole time, only very, very little.
After late spring, the palace no longer burned the underfloor heating system, and the rooms grew cold. Sleeping on the floor at night, the chill crept in.
Xiansi had been on tenterhooks the whole time, but the tighter one's spirit is strung, the more easily it snaps.
For a two-hour stretch in the latter half of the night, she did something rare: she truly fell fast asleep, entirely unaware of her surroundings.
In the darkness, the pale, gauzy moonlight fell on her cheek, a strand of hair slightly disheveled. Her light breathing rose and fell; listening closely, there seemed to be a faint rasp in it. She slept deeply—as if fast asleep, or as if dead.