Inside the Palace of Heavenly Purity, the newly replaced palace lanterns swayed in the cold wind during the New Year, casting flickering light on the palace attendants on duty.
Their restrained expressions of anxiety were particularly evident in the quiet atmosphere.
Fang He, returning from leave, encountered news that the Emperor had personally beaten a eunuch from Yuqing Palace to death and had completely replaced the palace staff there.
Within two days, this shocking incident had spread throughout both the imperial court and the inner palace.
Everyone, from consorts to princes and ministers, was eager to understand why the Emperor had suddenly erupted in such fury, trying all means to gather information.
Although no concrete details had leaked, the imperial consorts had noticeably quieted down in the past few days—none had even come forward to offer food or drink to the Emperor.
The palace attendants serving closely beside the Emperor, fearing for their own lives, sharpened their ears and widened their eyes, desperate to piece together the story.
But the palace’s strict regulations kept everything shrouded in secrecy, and no one could make sense of it all.
Fang He, staying true to the original host’s indifferent nature, lounged idly in a corner, vaguely overhearing some details.
She only managed to gather that the Crown Prince had fallen from his horse and broken his leg, alarming even the Grand Empress Dowager, who had sternly reprimanded her grandson.
As for affairs of the imperial court, the palace attendants had no way of knowing.
The only ones with true insight, Liang Jiugong and Li Dequan, remained as tight-lipped as clams.
However, within just two days, several attendants had been publicly punished by the Emperor, making the atmosphere even more tense.
Fear gripped every palace servant.
Especially today, when the afternoon saw the Grand Minister of the Imperial Guards, Songgotu, entering Hongde Hall—only to leave with an injury on his forehead.
That evening, Kangxi skipped his dinner, isolating himself in Zhaoren Hall, remaining awake deep into the night.
Within the Palace of Heavenly Purity, the air was thick with fear.
Despite the presence of hundreds of palace attendants, the silence was as oppressive as a graveyard.
***
The oppressive atmosphere in Zhaoren Hall spread all the way to the Imperial Tea Room.
One of the daytime tea-serving maids had already been sent to the Punishment Bureau’s laundry division.
Tonight, it was Ru Yue and Qiao Wen’s turn for night duty.
They whispered nervously in the dimly lit tea room.
“As long as things at Yuqing Palace don’t improve, His Majesty’s anger won’t subside anytime soon…” Ru Yue twisted her fingers anxiously.
At least she didn’t have to worry about dealing with the head maid in charge of laundry anymore—there was now a vacancy in the tea room.
But what she feared most was that at any moment, she too might be replaced.
“Yinghong was sent to the laundry division, so now there are only four of us left on rotation. Qin Gugu won’t allow any more leave.”
Qiao Wen’s peach-like face was clouded with worry.
The tea room had six palace maids in total, divided into shifts of three for morning and evening duty.
When someone was on leave, the shifts were reduced to two per team.
With their numbers dwindling, taking any more time off was out of the question.
Qiao Wen’s face grew paler as she spoke.
“Qin Gugu even warned me, telling us all to be extremely cautious in the coming days. If anyone ends up in the Office of Punishments and gets sent to Anping Hall, she won’t be able to save them.”
Anping Hall, located in the northwest corner of the Forbidden City, was where seriously ill or gravely injured palace servants were sent.
Once admitted, leaving alive was rare.
Ru Yue pursed her lips and leaned against the tea cabinet, anxiously picking at its edge.
As she glanced around the tea room, her gaze suddenly froze.
She nudged Qiao Wen’s arm lightly and whispered, “We almost forgot—there’s still one more person here.”
Following her gaze, Qiao Wen turned toward the dimly lit corner, where a small clay stove simmered with boiling water.
Next to it sat a thin, silent figure.
Oh, right.
Fang He had returned from her leave and was now on night duty with them.
Fang He was usually so quiet and withdrawn, always shrinking into corners, that people often forgot she existed.
Even the ambitious palace maids in Qianqing Palace overlooked her when it came to bullying.
Qiao Wen’s eyes flickered, her lips murmuring a doubtful “Can she handle it?” but her face visibly relaxed.
Ru Yue didn’t answer, but her hands gradually stopped picking at the tea cabinet.
Fang He sat on a recently chosen wooden stool, leaning lazily against the wall, her eyes fixed on the small clay stove as if she had heard nothing.
But in truth, her hearing was excellent.
Though her back was turned to them, her brow arched slightly.
It seemed her presence still wasn’t insignificant enough—at a time when heads were on the chopping block, people had actually remembered her.
Sigh!
She had been here for half a month, but it wasn’t until her visit to the Palace Affairs Bureau that she truly grasped how life was worthless in this place.
She recalled the little eunuch who had been dragged away, looking barely old enough to be in middle school.
A strange, indescribable heaviness settled in her heart, reinforcing her determination—she had to survive and get out of the palace.
Fang He’s parents divorced when she was four.
They treated her like an unwanted burden, barely raising her until she was eighteen before tossing her some tuition money and telling her to fend for herself.
She had learned early on to adapt.
Even if she died, at least there’d be compensation—enough to repay her parents for bringing her into this world.
No one would grieve for her.
Life was just life, no matter where it was.
She was even younger in this body.
As long as she stayed low in the tea room and eventually left the palace, she could keep drifting elsewhere.
Anything was better than her old nine-to-five job.
From the start, she had been careful not to reveal any differences between herself and the original body’s behavior.
But in a place like the Forbidden City, trouble was impossible to avoid.
Still, she wasn’t too worried.
She had worked in the hotel industry for four years, climbing from a lobby attendant to a front desk manager.
She had handled more crises than she could count—it was second nature by now.
Even her time travel had happened while dealing with a problem—two drunken idiots fighting over a woman.
The woman, two-timing both men, had started sobbing like a delicate flower on the sofa when she got caught.
The two burly men, calling each other “brother” one moment, were at each other’s throats the next.
One grabbed the handbag the side guy had gifted the woman and tried to throw it into the fireplace.
The other, a shameless homewrecker, threatened to smash a bottle over his head if he dared.
The bag got thrown.
The bottle got smashed—but not on target.
And for some godforsaken reason, she had decided to intervene.
Why?
Because that handbag was a rare Hermès crocodile-skin beauty, and the scent of money was just too intoxicating.
Now look where that got her.
Not only did she fail to save the Hermès, but she got sent straight into the Kangxi era, where she was about two wrong moves away from getting her skull cracked open.
All she could do now was scream Oh my god in her heart.
***
Just as Fang He was lamenting her fate internally, hurried footsteps echoed from the doorway.
Qiao Wen and Ru Yue instantly straightened their backs, their expressions stiff as they performed a respectful bow.
Recognizing the visitor, Ru Yue cautiously inquired, “Eunuch Li, does… does His Majesty wish for tea?”
Li Dequan, the adopted son of Liang Jiugong, the Chief Steward of Qianqing Palace, nodded with a tight expression.
“His Majesty wants Junshan Silver Needle. Hurry up!”
Qiao Wen rushed to the cabinet, swiftly pulling out the tea leaves while replying in a flurry.
“Right away! I’m best at brewing southern teas—I’ll prepare it immediately for delivery.”
Ru Yue, on the other hand, quickly stepped outside while ingratiatingly adding, “Silver Needle pairs best with savory pastries. Since His Majesty skipped dinner, I’ll notify Chef Mao in the imperial kitchen to have some ready.”
Li Dequan ignored them and turned on his heel.
His foster father was still waiting for him to check in at Yuqing Palace and report on the Crown Prince.
Earlier, during the Longtaitou Festival, the Crown Prince and the Eldest Prince had accompanied Kangxi to the southern hunting grounds for a horse race.
With many princes and high-ranking officials in attendance, the Crown Prince—better at scholarly pursuits—had come up slightly short in the competition.
His older half-brother, the Eldest Prince Yinti, who was two years his senior, had smugly teased him on the way back.
The eleven-year-old Crown Prince Yinreng, known for his fierce competitiveness, had been in a sour mood ever since.
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