The Hall of Blossoms had been prepared with suffocating elegance. Incense curled from silver braziers, petals dusted the polished floor, and gauzy curtains swayed like ghosts tethered by silk threads.
Jiao Shui stood at the center of the room, a single clay lamp flickering behind her like a small, stubborn star.
She wasn't alone.
Twenty court maidens knelt in two rows, heads bowed. They were dressed for the Selection: pale colors, shimmering sleeves, the faintest hint of trembling beneath the embroidery.
And above them all, watching from the raised terrace, sat the Emperor.
He lounged in a carved chair as though this entire ritual were a morning diversion, but his attention never drifted far from Jiao Shui. She felt it like a hand pressed between her shoulder blades.
A herald's voice cut the quiet.
"By decree of His Majesty, the first round of Selection will begin… now."
A wave shuddered through the kneeling girls.
The Emperor rose, the movement fluid, the air sharpening around him.
"Ladies," he said, voice deceptively warm, "we begin with a simple question."
He descended the steps, each tread echoing lightly. When he reached the first girl, he lifted her chin with cool fingers.
"What is devotion?"
The girl stammered out something about loyalty, respect, duty. The Emperor nodded, content enough, and moved to the next.
But with each girl, the air grew thinner. They offered rehearsed lines, perfect bows, borrowed phrases dusted with fear.
He didn't seem impressed.
When he reached Jiao Shui, he stopped.
Silence pricked the room like needles.
"And you?" he asked. "What is devotion to you, Jiao Shui?"
She swallowed. Her heart,—small and stubborn—pounded against her ribs. Hundreds of eyes weighed on her. But the Emperor's question felt heavier.
She chose a truth that tasted both dangerous and clean.
"To me… devotion is not something promised. It is something proven."
A soft, startled murmur rippled across the hall.
The Emperor's smile appeared slow and silent, like dawn deciding to enjoy itself.
"Proven?" he echoed.
"Yes," she said. "A word means nothing. A deed, everything."
He leaned closer. "And what kind of deed earns yours?"
"I'm still deciding, Your Majesty."
A blade-thin glimmer sparked in his golden eyes.
He straightened.
"Very well."
He turned from her and faced the room.
"Hear this," he announced. "All participants will demonstrate not only grace, but substance. From this moment on, the Selection will test character, wit, and intent."
The maidens shifted uneasily.
Then he added:
"And the final decision will be influenced not by titles, but by merit."
That broke the room.
Gasps. Whispered outrage. A few pale faces flashed with horror. Even the officials along the walls shifted like startled cranes.
Because everyone understood the weight of that proclamation.
If this selection was no longer about noble houses and alliances—
—then Jiao Shui was no longer a harmless outsider.
She was a threat.
And someone else in the hall realized it immediately.
Prince Yang.
He stepped out from behind one of the silk screens, draped in ceremonial black, sharp-eyed and composed. His expression revealed nothing, but the tension in his jaw told a deeper story.
"Brother," he said lightly, "surely the Selection should remain a political affair. Otherwise, we risk… unexpected results."
The Emperor laughed once, soft and direct.
"That is precisely the point."
Their gazes clashed like crossed blades.
Prince Yang shifted his focus to Jiao Shui.
And held it.
Long enough for the message to settle.
I see you.I know what you are becoming.And I will stop you.
The Emperor stepped closer to her again, his sleeve brushing hers with pointed intention.
"Jiao Shui," he said quietly, "stay near me today."
Every maiden in the hall inhaled sharply.
The Emperor walked back to his seat, leaving her floating in the sudden storm of envy and silent rage around her.
Her lamp flickered.Her pulse raced.Her world tilted.
Because he had chosen her.Publicly.Recklessly.Dangerously.
And Prince Yang wasn't going to let it stand.
Not for a heartbeat.
Not for a breath.