The applause from the banquet had barely faded before the shadows began to move.
That night, the air in Hua Lian's chamber felt heavier than usual. The lanterns flickered strangely, casting shapes that danced like specters against the walls. Outside, the moon hung like a sharpened blade, cold and unsympathetic.
She sat on her bamboo stool, gently wiping the strings of the guqin, her thoughts adrift. The echo of the crowd's cheers still lingered in her ears, yet her heart was not at ease.
Something wasn't right.
Her instincts—honed from years of hiding and surviving—whispered of danger. Her senses had become too familiar with betrayal, with the scent of steel and poison.
Tonight… felt too still.
Just as she stood to bolt the window, the flame of her oil lamp blinked out.
The silence was no longer peaceful. It was deadly.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then—they came.
Three shadows, swift and silent, slipped into her chamber like smoke. Dressed in black, their faces hidden behind cloth masks, they moved with lethal precision. Their blades gleamed with moonlight, drawn for the kill.
Assassins.
Sent for her.
But they had made one mistake.
They underestimated her.
Hua Lian spun to the corner where her medical satchel hung—and pulled out not herbs, but a narrow blade, polished and curved. Her fingers closed around the hilt like second nature. This was no ordinary maid. This was a girl who had trained in the dark, beneath the stars, beneath tutelage meant for warriors.
The first assassin lunged—fast, but not faster than she was.
With a fluid sidestep, she drove her dagger into the soft space between his ribs. He fell without a sound.
The second came from behind, slicing downward—but she rolled forward, grabbing the edge of a low table, and swung it hard into his knee. He buckled. Before he could rise, she kicked the blade from his hand and buried her weapon in his neck.
The third hesitated—he had seen enough.
He tried to retreat.
She didn't let him.
In a flash, she hurled a poisoned dart into his shoulder—crafted from crushed snowberry seeds and nightshade resin. His limbs went numb, and he collapsed with a gasp.
She stood over him, breathing hard.
Her hand tightened around the collar of his robes.
"Who sent you?" she demanded, her voice low and cold.
The man's eyes widened with fear. He gritted his teeth—but the poison worked fast.
"It… it was… Princess Mei Xiao," he rasped. "S-she said… to make it look like an accident…"
His eyes rolled back, and he fell silent.
Hua Lian stood frozen.
The sound of her own pulse pounded in her ears. She had known—deep inside—that Mei Xiao harbored ill intent. But this? Sending assassins to kill her just after a party?
So, the princess's fake smile at the banquet had only been a mask.
A mask that hid murder.
Hua Lian took a shaky breath and looked down at the blood staining her floor.
She couldn't report this. No one would believe a maid over a noble princess. If she exposed Mei Xiao without solid proof, she could be accused of murder herself—and executed.
She would have to clean up the bodies, erase every trace, and wait.
Wait for the right time.
The storm had begun.
And in this palace, beauty was not a blessing—it was a curse draped in silk.
Her face, once hidden beneath artificial scars, now attracted eyes like a beacon. But not all attention was admiration. Some wanted her gone. Erased. Forgotten.
She stared at her reflection in the bronze mirror.
"Is this what I get… for being beautiful?" she whispered.