The walk to the concubine Yan Zhen's residence was quiet but tense. I kept my steps measured, head lowered, hands folded neatly before me, walking alongside three other girls. Every echo of our footsteps on the palace stones reminded me of the countless eyes that might be watching—even when none seemed present. The corridors stretched endlessly, sunlight filtering through latticed windows, casting fractured patterns on the polished floors. Shadows danced beside us, like ghostly companions, mirroring every careful step. My breathing was slow and deliberate, each inhale and exhale aligning with the rhythm of my feet, keeping the tension in my chest steady.
Eunuch Wei led the way. His movements were precise, deliberate, his presence commanding even without raising his voice. Every corridor seemed to bend to his authority, and I noticed how his gaze swept across the floors, the walls, the corners—nothing escaped him. I did not meet his eyes, but I watched him closely, absorbing every detail: the polished spears in the hands of the guards, the faint shimmer of silk curtains, the subtle scent of incense mixing with polished wood. Each element mattered. Each detail could be observed, remembered, used.
Finally, the gates of the residence came into view. Polished beams reflected the muted sunlight, intricate carvings of peonies and phoenixes adorned the doors. Guards flanked the entrance, expressionless, unblinking. The air was heavier here, carrying the subtle fragrance of incense and the faint perfume lingering from the concubine herself. I knelt instinctively on the cold stone, the weight of the palace pressing down on my shoulders.
"This is your station," Eunuch Wei said quietly. "Stay close and remain obedient."
We nodded, stepping into the courtyard. The open space was immaculate, with stone lanterns casting soft shadows over manicured shrubs and carefully arranged flora. I inhaled slowly, steadying my racing heart, reminding myself that observation was survival.
The gates of Hóng Yè Táng (红叶堂), the Hall of Crimson Leaves, opened before us, revealing a grand interior. Polished beams gleamed in the soft glow of lanterns, delicate carvings adorned each column, and a faint fragrance of incense mingled with the smell of polished wood. Even the air seemed to measure itself, heavy with authority.
Eunuch Wei stopped at the threshold, bowed deeply, and addressed the concubine seated on her low embroidered divan. "Your Highness," he said, voice precise, "these are the servant girls you requested."
Consort Yan Zhen's sharp gaze swept over the four of us, assessing and calculating. Eunuch Wei bowed again and quietly withdrew. We remained kneeling, heads bowed, hands folded, careful not to breathe too loudly. Not a single glance was allowed toward her.
"Names," she commanded, voice soft but carrying authority.
Eunuch Wei had already spoken them, but she required the words directly from us.
"Yin Yue," I whispered, voice steady though my pulse raced.
"Li Mei," the second girl murmured.
"Chun Hua," the third said softly.
"Xiao Yun," the fourth barely breathed.
The concubine's eyes lingered on me a moment longer than the others, sharp and calculating. Then, decisively: "Very well. You shall be called by names more fitting of this hall."
"You, Yin Yue, shall be called Lingxi."
The second girl's new name was Jinglan.
The third girl, Chun Hua, became Mingzhu.
The fourth girl, Xiao Yun, was now Yuerong.
We repeated our new names softly, bowing lower, murmuring in unison, "Thank you, Your Highness." Not a glance was raised, not a gesture exceeded what was proper. The names were more than labels—they were our identities now, assigned by the one whose authority shaped our lives.
Without delay, Consort Yan Zhen assigned our duties.
"You, Lingxi," she said, her voice calm but firm, "you will handle the cleaning of this hall and tend to the indoor gardens. Every corner must be spotless, and each plant properly cared for. Mistakes will not be tolerated."
Jinglan was assigned to polishing silverware and maintaining the dining implements in the silver storage chamber.
Mingzhu and Yuerong were directed to laundering delicate fabrics and ceremonial linens in the designated laundry rooms.
Then, with a subtle gesture, Consort Yan Zhen introduced her three senior servants:
"This is Wei Jun," she said, gesturing to the eunuch whose quiet presence carried authority and experience. "Madam Lian," she continued, indicating the older woman, sharp-eyed and composed. "And Xiao Lan," she added, pointing to the young adult woman, slightly older than us, precise and attentive.
"These girls will be under your guidance," the concubine instructed. "Ensure they obey instructions and follow you carefully."
Xiao Lan stepped forward, her eyes meeting ours briefly. "Come," she said, voice soft but commanding, motioning for us to follow her. She would lead us to our assigned rooms.
Once the rooms were shown and we were settled briefly, Consort Yan Zhen directed us to start work immediately. I grabbed a broom and began moving across the polished floors, kneeling occasionally to clean corners, water the delicate orchids in the courtyard, and polish the stone pathways. Jinglan moved to the silver chamber, scrubbing and shining, while Mingzhu and Yuerong carried delicate linens to the laundry area, folding and preparing them with care.
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POV: Lingxi (Yin Yue)*
*This is not a punishment, nor favor. This is observation.*
The hall itself spoke. Each polished beam, each plant, every subtle smell—these were lessons, tests, and opportunities. The senior servants watched, and through them, the concubine watched us. My survival depended on careful attention, silent obedience, and a mind ready to seize opportunity wherever it appeared.
I memorized every detail: the arrangement of lanterns, the stone paths, the subtle way the sunlight shifted across the hall, even the faint scratches on the window frames. Nothing was insignificant. Nothing was unobserved.
*Captivating Hearts*—my silent plan—waited patiently in my mind. The hall would not notice me yet, but it would remember the precision of my hands, the care in my work, the quiet diligence of my motions.
The other girls moved around me. Jinglan's silverware shone faintly under the lantern light, Mingzhu and Yuerong handled linens with care, and I observed each movement, noting potential allies, threats, and small openings to act without drawing attention. There were no friends here. None could be trusted fully. Survival required attention, intelligence, and patience.
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Third-Person POV: Consort Yan Zhen
She observed quietly from her divan, her sharp eyes sweeping over every movement. The girls were young, untested, and nervous. Lingxi drew her attention more than the others. Her posture was steady, her hands precise, even in mundane cleaning and watering. There was a subtle deliberation in her actions, a hint of patience and calculation.
"Observe them closely," Yan Zhen murmured to Madam lian.
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Lingxi POV:
I knelt on the cold stone, hands damp from watering orchids, yet my mind was alive. There were no friends here. None could be trusted. Survival required observation, intelligence, and patience. Each polished corner of the hall, each carefully tended plant, each obedient motion built a record, proof of diligence.
In Hóng Yè Táng, influence was silent, patience was survival, and observation was power. My presence might go unnoticed, but the details of my work would linger. They would remember the quiet hands, the meticulous care, the subtle attentiveness. And that would be enough.