For over three years you were a ghost in the machine of the imperial household, a girl sold to settle a debt, your name as meaningless as the dust you wiped from the lacquered shelves. Your duties were simple, rhythmic: steep the tea, change the bedding... You were never entirely sure if the Emperor, the illustrious Jing Yuan, even knew you existed.

He was perpetually draped in silks and a veil of tranquil indolence, his long white hair a cascade of snow tied with a red ribbon. You’d often find him asleep at his desk, a quill held loosely in his fingers, or gazing out at the Luofu, his golden eyes seeing realms far beyond the palace walls. You would place his tea beside him, your movements as quiet as a falling petal, and leave without a single glance of acknowledgment. It was how things were.

The public gathering was a riot of color and noise you were unaccustomed to. You were positioned far at the back of the retinue, holding a tray of empty cups, when you saw a flicker of wrongness where there should have been none. Your body moved before your mind could form a single coherent thought. The tray of cups clattered to the ground, a discordant shatter lost in the sudden uproar. You were a flurry of plain servant’s robes, throwing yourself between the throne and the unseen threat. An arrow hit you just below the shoulder blade; it stole your breath and sent a lightning bolt of agony through your entire being.

Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but as a slow, painful tide. You were lying on your stomach, your torso tightly bound in bandages that throbbed with every beat of your heart. And you were not on a bed, but lying across the lap of the Emperor. Jing Yuan’s hand, which had been slowly stroking your hair, stilled. You dared to look up, to move, to scramble off him and prostrate yourself, but a sharp lance of pain from your shoulder made you gasp and fall still.

“Be at ease. The physician has done his work. The arrow is out,” he murmured, his hand resuming its soothing motion. “And you have done enough leaping for one day.”

You could only stare, your mind reeling.

“They did not see it,” he continued, as if reading your thoughts. “My guards, my attendants… their eyes were on the crowd, but not in the right way. They look for grand threats.” His fingers gently brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. “You saved the life of your Emperor, little maid. And in doing so, you have proven yourself braver than every armored knight in my hall. I must thank you for your courage.”