Chapter 2: Sent to Spend the Night with the Emperor at the Hall of Mental Cultivation

Shen Zhiyi stared at her in silence.

For three seconds she stood frozen, her mind racing.

Attend the emperor in bed?!

She knew the phrase. She had heard it countless times in palace dramas, but she had never imagined it would apply to her.

No—wait. She was in the palace now. She was an Attendant, and the emperor had chosen her plaque. Of course she had to go to him. That was the procedure, the rule, the natural order of things.

But she didn’t want to!

She had been here all of six hours. She didn’t even know what the emperor looked like, and now she was supposed to sleep with him?

How was this any different from an ancient blind date? No, it was worse. On a blind date, at least you could chat for a while and leave if things didn’t work out. Could she leave after spending the night with the emperor?

And where would she go if she did?

Seeing her stand motionless, Bitao assumed she was nervous. She hurried over to comfort her. “Don’t be afraid, my lady. I’ve already asked the senior attendant about all the rules, and I’ve remembered every one. We’ll take it step by step.”

Zhiyi opened her mouth, then swallowed whatever she had meant to say. She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down.

She was a piece on a chessboard now. Whether she wanted to move or not, she had to—unless she wanted to be dragged out and beaten to death tomorrow. No, she definitely didn’t want that.

She soon came to terms with it. It was only sex, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if she had never done it in her old life.

“All right,” she said, more steadily than she had expected. “Then I’ll go.”

Bitao beamed and turned to arrange her bath and clothes. Qingluo came over to gather Zhiyi’s loose hair. “My lady,” she said quietly, “there’s something I don’t know whether I should say.”

“Go on.”

“The eunuch who brought the message had barely left when someone went to report it to the main hall.” Qingluo spoke so softly it was as though she feared the wind might carry her words away. “I’m afraid Honored Consort Rou may not be pleased.”

Zhiyi’s heart sank. She was a newly arrived Attendant, chosen by the emperor on her very first day, and she lived on Honored Consort Rou’s turf. Wasn’t that a blow to the woman’s pride?

Rou might rank below the empress and the Noble Consort, but she controlled a palace of her own. She was unlikely to be easy to deal with. And after the Empress Dowager’s fierce declaration at the selection—that the first imperial son would be crown prince—how could Rou feel comfortable about a newcomer being summoned on her first day?

Still, Zhiyi was not the only new woman in the harem. If it weren’t her, it would be someone else. Perhaps it wasn’t such a great matter after all.

Bitao returned with hot water, chattering away. “Let me tell you the rules for attending His Majesty, my lady! First you bathe, and then—”

Zhiyi listened with half an ear, her mind working rapidly. She was a modern woman, and though she was an overworked corporate drone, she had spent five years navigating office politics. At their core, how different were palace intrigues from workplace struggles? Resources were scarce, there were too many people competing for them, and if you didn’t fight, you got nothing.

An Attendant in the harem hierarchy was roughly equivalent to a new intern: no backing, no connections, and nothing to offer except her face. She set herself a modest goal: forget riches and promotion. First, survive three episodes.

As for how to do that…

She glanced at her reflection in the bronze mirror. There was no fear or nervousness on her face, only a curious composure. Perhaps she was simply used to surviving under pressure.

An operations worker at an internet company faced KPIs, daily reports, weekly reports, review meetings, product managers fighting over requirements, and clients who kept changing the plan. Were any of those easier to handle than palace intrigue? Not necessarily.

She took a deep breath and stood. “Come on,” she told Bitao. “Let’s start with the bath.”

Bitao blinked, surprised that her mistress had adapted so quickly. A moment ago she had been staring blankly; now she seemed like a different person.

After the bath, Qingluo helped her into a new outfit: a moon-white jacket over a pale green gauze skirt, with a translucent scarf draped over her shoulders and a sash embroidered with silver flowers at her waist. Zhiyi studied herself in the bronze mirror and had to admit that this body was unfairly beautiful. Even without makeup, she was enough to hold anyone’s gaze.

Qingluo dressed her hair again, arranging it in a loose fallen-horse bun with a single white jade magnolia pin. Two pearls no larger than grains of rice hung by her ears. The simple styling only made her face look more fresh and lovely.

Bitao stared. “My lady, you’re so beautiful! In all my years at the palace, I’ve never seen anyone prettier!”

Zhiyi smiled without replying.

By the time she was ready, the eunuchs from the Palace Affairs Office were waiting outside the gate. Their leader, a fair-faced, beardless man of middle age, greeted her with a smiling bow. “Attendant Shen, His Majesty chose your plaque tonight. Please come with us.”

Zhiyi nodded, betraying nothing on her face, though her heart was pounding. She was about to meet the emperor: the man who had reigned ten years without a child, whose ministers were pressing him to adopt an heir and whose mother had urged him to hold another selection.

She suddenly remembered a piece of workplace wisdom she had read before transmigrating: *Don’t think of your boss as a person. Think of him as a requirement.*

The emperor was a requirement too. And tonight, she was the solution.

Her lips curved, though she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

The sedan chair stood ready, waiting quietly in the moonlight. Changchun Palace was not far from the Hall of Mental Cultivation. The chair moved smoothly, and the night wind fluttered Zhiyi’s scarf as she rode. On either side of the palace road, red walls loomed dark beneath the moon. Lanterns hung every few paces, their dim yellow halos winding away into the distance.

She went over the rules Bitao had explained. They weren’t particularly complicated. In this dynasty, the emperor generally summoned consorts to the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Once washed and dressed, a consort waited in a designated room until he finished his state business and came to her.

There was no wrapping her in a quilt, no crawling up from the foot of the bed, none of those other elaborate rules. The thought brought her some relief.

The chair stopped on the passage outside the hall. Zhao Quan’an came out personally to receive her and led her inside.

The Hall of Mental Cultivation was much larger than she had imagined. They passed through one doorway after another, their feet crossing golden floor tiles polished bright by years of use. Eunuchs stood guard on either side, hands lowered, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Zhao brought her to a heated chamber in a side hall. The moment he pushed open the door, a faint scent of ambergris drifted out.

“Please wait here, Attendant Shen,” he said with a smile. “His Majesty is still reviewing memorials. He will come when he has finished.”

Zhiyi nodded and stepped over the threshold. The chamber was small but exquisitely furnished. Pale yellow curtains hung around a rosewood canopy bed, its bedding neatly folded. A small table by the window held a pot of hot tea and several delicate pastries. A landscape screen stood in the corner; behind it was a dressing table with a gleaming bronze mirror, warm water, towels, and everything needed for washing.

Zhao withdrew, and the door closed softly behind him.

Alone in the chamber, Zhiyi could hear her own heartbeat in the silence. She went to the window and opened it a crack. Moonlight washed the courtyard, where clusters of green bamboo rustled in the breeze.

She shut the window and sat on the edge of the bed, only to find sitting unbearable. She rose and paced a few steps, then decided she looked like a fool walking back and forth. At last she stopped at the dressing table and examined herself in the mirror. Her features were lovely as a painting, and the vermilion mark between her brows seemed to glow in the candlelight.

Zhiyi took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Shen Zhiyi,” she told herself, “you’ve weathered all kinds of storms at work. You can handle even the most demanding client. Surely you can handle one man?”

The words sounded wrong as soon as she said them. She quickly made a face. Never mind. There was no point thinking about it.

She would deal with whatever came. When the emperor arrived, she would talk to him properly. If he wanted to sleep with her, she would just lie there. It wasn’t as if she’d lose a piece of herself.

Having prepared herself as best she could, she settled on the bed and poured herself a cup of tea. It had cooled to a pleasant warmth and carried a faint fragrance of jasmine. She held the cup and waited quietly.

She didn’t know how much time passed. Then, suddenly, a eunuch’s high-pitched announcement sounded outside the door.

“His Majesty arrives!”