Chapter 1: The Selection Makes Her Attendant Shen

“The emperor has been on the throne for ten years.” The Empress Dowager took a sip of tea and set down her cup, letting her gaze travel slowly over the assembled women.

“There are no few women in his harem, yet we still have no news of an imperial child. When I think of it at night, I often cannot sleep.”

The Empress Dowager herself presided over this year’s palace selection, with the empress and the Noble Consort seated beside her. More than thirty young candidates stood in order in the hall, heads bowed and hands folded, their ornaments chiming softly.

The empress sat upright, her makeup flawless. At these words she merely smiled and inclined her head, otherwise perfectly still.

The Noble Consort lowered her eyes a fraction, her nails digging into her palm without her noticing.

The Empress Dowager paused. Her tone remained mild, but the weight of her words made it hard to breathe.

“Today I ask for neither family standing nor learning. There is only one thing I care about.”

“Whoever bears the emperor his first son, I shall see that the child is made crown prince.”

The candidates all stared in shock. A moment later, several of the bolder ones could no longer hide the burning excitement in their eyes.

For ten years the emperor had had no heir, and the position of crown prince remained vacant. At court, some had already whispered about adopting a child from Prince An’s branch of the family. Prince An had three daughters and two sons; though his was a collateral branch, his household was thriving.

The emperor, meanwhile, was in the prime of life and had neither son nor daughter. It was a sore point no one in the palace dared touch. Now the Empress Dowager had spoken plainly, laying a path to the heights of power at every woman’s feet.

The empress kept her impeccable smile, not even the curve of her lips changing. The Noble Consort clenched the handkerchief in her sleeve until her knuckles turned white. In eight years at court, she had received the most favor, yet she too had borne no children. The words were meant for the candidates, but how could they not cut into her heart?

The selection proceeded in an orderly fashion. The Empress Dowager chose six women herself, and the empress chose two. The two most outstanding in looks and family background were made First Attendants; the other six became Attendants.

The emperor never appeared. He sent only his chief eunuch with a message: “Everything is to be arranged as Mother sees fit.”

As the young women thanked the throne for its favor, the Noble Consort finally looked up. Her gaze passed over their fresh young faces, one by one, her smile never reaching her eyes.

The empress glanced at her. “You look a little pale, Noble Consort. Are you tired?”

The Noble Consort curtsied. “Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. I am quite well.” Her voice was flat.

The Empress Dowager acted as if she had heard nothing. She told the senior attendants to take the newcomers to their quarters, then added, “Have the imperial physicians check each new consort’s pulse and prepare a prescription to strengthen her health.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

No one spoke again. Only the steam from the tea curled into the gathering dusk.

At the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Chief Eunuch Zhao Quan’an entered carrying the green selection plaques. Emperor Li Xuandu set down his vermilion brush and looked at the neat stack, his face as dark as the sky that had hung over the palace all day.

Zhao Quan’an had served him for ten years and knew how to read his moods. The selection had just ended, with the Empress Dowager choosing candidates in person. The court remonstrators had only been quiet for a few days; before long, they would surely start in on the succession again.

Softening his footsteps, Zhao said in a low voice, “Your Majesty, it is time to choose a plaque.”

Li Xuandu did not move. Zhao dared not press him. He remained bowed, holding the sandalwood tray steady in both hands.

The candle flame flickered. Li Xuandu’s gaze fell on the row of newly submitted plaques: six Attendants and two First Attendants, every name tablet brand-new, the ink still wet.

Suddenly, he found it ridiculous. Ten years on the throne, so many selections, so many women brought into the palace—and what had come of it? He had not even heard a princess cry.

He knew perfectly well what people said behind his back, however careful they were in public. Prince An was only twenty-six and already had sons and daughters. Whenever he brought his family to pay their respects during a festival, the sight of them standing there together felt like a slap in the emperor’s face.

Officials had begun cautiously raising the matter of adoption in his fifth year on the throne. This year they had grown even bolder. Only the day before yesterday, that old fellow from the Ministry of Rites had said, “Your Majesty is in the prime of life, but the foundation of the state cannot remain unsettled forever.” He might as well have carved *You can’t do it* on his forehead.

Li Xuandu drew a deep breath and forced down his irritation. He turned over a plaque at random, barely looked at it, and tossed it to Zhao Quan’an.

Zhao caught it and announced, “Attendant Shen, Shen Zhiyi.”

The name echoed through the hall and faded into the night. Zhao noted it down briskly. As he withdrew, he gave the choice a moment’s thought.

Attendant Shen had the humblest background of anyone selected that day. Her father was the head of Dahe Village; plainly speaking, she was a country girl. She was remarkably beautiful, though. Standing among the other candidates, she had made them all look ordinary.

But beautiful women were the one thing the palace never lacked. Could beauty put food in her mouth? Could it keep her alive?

He kept his thoughts to himself and went to pass on the order.

In the west wing of Changchun Palace, Shen Zhiyi sat staring into space. By her reckoning, only three *shichen*—about six hours—had passed since she crossed into this world, and her mind was still reeling.

She was Shen Zhiyi, twenty-six, an operations worker at an internet company. After working overtime until three in the morning, she had fallen asleep at her desk. When she woke, she was freezing. Water surged into her nose and mouth from every direction; she thrashed instinctively before someone hauled her from the water. She coughed up what felt like half a bellyful and opened her eyes to find a crowd in historical costumes calling her “Candidate Shen.”

At first she thought all that overtime had driven her mad. Then she discovered it had not. She really had transmigrated into the body of a selection candidate named Shen Zhiyi.

On her way to the selection, the original owner had been pushed into a lotus pond in the imperial garden and had nearly drowned. The person who woke up in her body was someone else. As for who had pushed her, the original owner’s memories were hazy: only the hem of a pale yellow skirt and a pair of hands. Beautiful hands, with long, slender fingers and nails painted a delicate pink.

Before Zhiyi had time to dwell on it, she was dressed in fresh clothes and presented to the Empress Dowager and empress. Soon afterward, she was installed in the west wing of Changchun Palace as the emperor’s “Attendant Shen.”

Now she sat on the edge of the canopy bed and looked around. The room was not large, but it was tastefully furnished, with rosewood furniture, speckled bamboo curtains, a potted orchid on the table, and a black lacquer screen painted with gold in the corner. Several dishes of pastries sat beside a teapot decorated with winding lotus vines. The tea was still warm.

The maid who had shown her here was Bitao, a lively, round-faced girl of fourteen or fifteen who spoke with easy fluency. From her chatter, Zhiyi had quickly worked out her position: she was now officially a member of the emperor’s harem, ranked an Attendant and housed in Changchun Palace’s west wing. Her immediate superior was Honored Consort Rou, who presided over the palace.

The other maid, Qingluo, looked steadier and was perhaps seventeen or eighteen. She said little and worked efficiently. While Bitao had chattered, Qingluo had made the bed and even prepared hot water for washing.

Zhiyi studied her new face in the mirror. Its contours resembled her own in the modern world, but the features were much finer. It was an extraordinarily beautiful face: brows and eyes as delicate as a meticulous painting, skin so pale it was almost translucent, and naturally soft pink lips. Best of all, a tiny vermilion beauty mark between her brows lent her an alluring touch.

She finally understood why someone had pushed the original owner into the water. In the harem, a face like this was a target.

She sighed and muttered to her reflection, “Is it too late to run?”

No sooner had she spoken than Bitao rushed in, her face alight with the kind of wild delight Zhiyi had seen only in television dramas.

“My lady! My lady!” Bitao cried. “Word came from the Palace Affairs Office. His Majesty has summoned you to attend him tonight!”