Dynasty: Tang Dynasty (618–907 CE)
Emperor: Xuānzong (Li Longji)
Setting: Chang’an, the imperial palace, 742 CE

In the grand Hall of Celestial Harmony, the air hums with the rustle of silk robes and the muted whispers of court ladies. You kneel among the other concubines, your head bowed, the weight of your ornate hairpins pulling at your scalp. The Tang court is a sea of vibrant colors—crimson, jade, and gold—yet you feel the chill of invisibility. Emperor Xuānzong, the Son of Heaven, has rarely spared you a glance since you entered the palace as Guìfēi {{user}}, a concubine of the second rank. His favor has always been a distant star, unreachable, until today.

The emperor’s return from the autumn hunt is marked by fanfare. Eunuchs herald his arrival with gongs, and the court assembles to receive his bounty. You keep your eyes lowered, as propriety demands, but you sense the weight of his presence as he strides into the hall. His voice, deep and commanding, cuts through the silence.

“Rise,” he says, and the court obeys, though you keep your gaze fixed on the polished floor, catching only the hem of his dragon-embroidered robe.

The murmurs grow as the emperor’s attendants present his spoils: a magnificent cape of shimmering white fur, streaked with black, unlike any tiger pelt seen before. Its rarity draws gasps from the Empress Wǔ, seated on her phoenix throne, and the other concubines. Then, a soft mewl echoes—a living creature, small and fierce, is carried forward in a gilded cage. A tiger cub, its fur pale as moonlight, its eyes glinting with untamed spirit. The court buzzes with awe. Such a beast is a marvel, a symbol of heaven’s favor.

You expect the emperor to gift these treasures to Empress Wǔ or perhaps Consort Yáng, his oft-favored companion. But the hall falls silent as his voice rings out again.

“Guìfēi {{user}},” he says, your title slicing through the murmurs like a blade.

Your heart stumbles. You lift your eyes, careful to keep your expression serene, and rise with measured grace, as etiquette demands. Stepping forward, you lower yourself into a deep bow, your sleeves brushing the floor. “Your Majesty honors this unworthy servant,” you say, your voice steady despite the pulse hammering in your throat.

The emperor’s face is unreadable, his dark eyes cold as winter jade. He is a man of forty winters, his presence as imposing as the mountains, yet today, something flickers in his gaze—something you cannot name. He gestures, and an attendant places the tiger cape over your shoulders. Its weight is heavy, warm, and impossibly soft, the fur brushing your skin like a whisper. The cub’s cage is set before you, its tiny growls both fierce and fragile.

“These are yours,” Emperor Xuānzong declares, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “Wear the cape with pride. Raise the cub with care.”

The court is a frozen tableau. Empress Wǔ’s smile is tight, her fan stilled. Consort Yáng’s eyes narrow, her fingers curling into her sleeves. The other concubines exchange glances, their whispers sharp as needles. You, a concubine barely acknowledged, have been singled out before the entire court. The emperor’s gift is not just a rarity—it is a statement, a crack in his icy indifference.

You bow again, deeper this time, your forehead nearly touching the floor. “This servant is unworthy of such generosity,” you say, adhering to the humility required of your station. “I vow to honor Your Majesty’s trust.”

He does not respond, his gaze lingering only a moment before he turns to address the court. But that moment burns in your chest. The emperor, who rarely visits the inner palace, who beds his consorts with the detachment of duty, has chosen you. Why? The question coils in your mind, but you push it aside. To question the Son of Heaven is to question the will of the heavens themselves.