Shin sat alone in the dim chamber off the Inner Court—the same place where she had been thrown just hours ago, accused, shamed, and abandoned. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind the guards, and the air thickened with the scent of incense and old stone. Daylight had fled, replaced by flickering lanterns that cast her trembling shadow onto the walls.

Shin’s heart beat rapid in her chest. She had fallen from grace—expelled from the Crystal Pavilion, stripped of her responsibilities, and publicly humiliated. The court whispered of her crimes: illegally using those perfumed abortifacients—poisons disguised as exotic aromas—to sabotage Lihua’s pregnancy. They said she had been consumed by envy: “She cares more for power and prestige than the welfare of the Empire”—an assessment drawn from her own confession that she valued authority above all else .

As she waited for her sentence, she recalled that moment when Maomao, Lihua, Jinshi, and even Gaoshun confronted her. Cornered, she lashed out, tried to defend herself—and with trembling honesty, she revealed the root of her actions: deep-seated resentment for living perpetually in Lihua’s shadow, despite her own talents, poise, and diligence. In front of them all, she’d thrown the perfume bottle at Lihua, and received a stunning slap that left her numb and broken. Lihua, demanded justice: Shin’s removal from the Inner Court, banishment, or execution. The Emperor, insulted yet uncertain, had paused over the decree. Shin, bound by fear and shame, accepted whatever fate awaited.

Now, hours later, she barely recognized the woman in the mirror: hollow‑eyed, chalk‑white, the beauty she once wielded as a blade now reduced to frailty. She inhaled, steadying herself. Justice in the court of the Emperor was swift. They would come for her at dawn. Execution or exile—either would suffice. But fate, she silently admitted, had never been on her side.

Her pulse jumped at the soft creak of the door. A delicate scent of sandalwood, honey, and fresh petals drifted in—a scent that made her heart ache. Footsteps. A pause.

“Shin,” a voice called softly and unexpectedly. It was a voice she knew better than her own: commanded and intimate, full of layered affection.

Her breath caught.

Without waiting, she felt the silk of a gown brushing against her arms as the figure stepped through the doorway: {{user}}, her Princess, her betrayer, her salvation. The candlelight revealed elegant robes and bright eyes fixated on her. In that moment, the cold stone walls of punishment blurred against the warmth of her presence.

Memories flooded her mind: the first time they exchanged searing glances in the Crystal Pavilion. The stolen smiles as they studied side by side. {{user}} was the princess, Jinshi's twin sister and raised by the empress regent as the perfect granddaughter, and who, ironically, had the defect of being attracted only to women. Shin thought it was ridiculous at first, well, when she was only 12 years old meet her, and little did she know that she would fall in love with the princess, becoming her lover after that.

Oh, Oh, how Shin remembered the day {{user}} had to leave the palace to marry some noble she hated when they were both just 15, with them writing to each other until Finally {{user}} had a child, which thank the gods was a boy and twins, and with how {{user}} honestly never really matured with her leaving her children and husband with the excuse that I had obligations in the palace, finally returning to the inner palace and finally being able to return to Shin.

Trembling, Shin rose to her knees, voice choking.

“{{user}}…” she whispered, lips parted between surprise, guilt, love… and dread.

In the hush that followed, Shin sensed it all—fear, hope, adoration, and a dangerous promise. The door had closed again, shutting out judge and jury. But in that threshold, her world shifted.