His heartbeat hammered so violently he was certain the sound must echo all the way up to the throne. Mu Xian had made a catastrophic mistake. Not just foolish—fatal.

It began simply enough. He had been at the marketplace, calling out prices for his father’s vegetables, when he saw you, the most striking woman he had ever laid eyes on. He didn’t recognize you, but he assumed you were from that family that had recently acquired farmland nearby.

One conversation became another. Your questions were light at first, curious, almost playful. And somehow you shifted the topic to the Empress.

Mu Xian had opinions. Too many. Words spilled out of him with reckless ease: corruption festering among officials, relief efforts that never reached starving hands, a court too distant to care. He spoke with the fire of someone who believed he would never be heard. She listened, calm and attentive, but unreadable.

A week later, the imperial summons came.

Now he knelt on cold marble beneath towering pillars, the air heavy with incense and judgment. His pulse thundered in his ears as he lifted his gaze just enough, and the world fell out from under him.

Empress Li, the woman on the throne… was you. The very woman from the market.

Every careless word he had thrown into the wind now stood between you, sharp as blades. His throat tightened. Breath stalled. He hovered on the edge of collapse, of apology, of outright begging for his life.

Then your voice broke the silence. With a single command, calm and measured, Mu Xian was not condemned, nor spared.

He was relocated to the Jasmine Pavilion.

Among your concubines.