Chapter 2: Eyes of Ambition
After her chilling encounter with Consort Wei, Wu Zhao became more reserved, choosing silence over idle chatter. She moved like a shadow in her own chambers, quiet, observant, deliberate. She rarely stepped out unless summoned for lessons or ceremonies. Instead, she dedicated herself to watching the rhythm of palace life.
To survive here, she realized, one had to be more than just pretty or polite. One had to be cunning. One had to know when to speak,
and when to listen.
It didn't take long before she began to see the invisible threads that held the palace together. There was a silent, ruthless hierarchy among the women. The high-ranking consorts bullied the lesser ones, the eunuchs formed their own alliances, and even the palace maids whispered behind veils. Respect was no longer earned by virtue, it was bought with gifts or stolen with influence.
Loyalty meant nothing. Power was everything.
One chilly morning, all consorts and the Empress were summoned for a poetry recital in the garden pavilion. As a Cairen, Wu Zhao's attendance was required. Upon arrival, she and the other low-ranking women were made to kneel on the cold stone floor, away from the main platform.
The noble consorts, dressed in silk robes embroidered with dragons and peonies, strolled in with grace and entitlement. Consort Wei and Consort Xu took turns sneering at Wu Zhao as they passed. Their insults were sharp but masked with polite laughter.
"Poor child," Consort Wei whispered, loud enough to be heard. "Still dressing like she came from a temple yard."
Laughter rippled, but Wu Zhao didn't flinch. Her eyes remained lowered, her lips sealed. But inside, she burned.
Then came silence.
A deep gong rang once.
Then again.
A eunuch's voice rang out loud and clear:
"Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Zhangsun, Mother of the Nation!"
Everyone dropped into deep bows. Wu Zhao pressed her palms to the mat and lowered her head until her forehead almost touched the ground. Even with her eyes downcast, she could not ignore the presence that approached.
She saw the hem of a golden robe, embroidered with twin phoenixes. Jeweled slippers moved with quiet grace. No hurry. No need.
The Empress moved like water.
When she reached the center of the platform, she lifted her hand slightly.
"You may rise," she said. Her voice was calm, clear, and utterly firm.
Wu Zhao lifted her head. Empress Zhangsun stood tall and composed, her hair arranged in a high regal knot, adorned with gold and jade blossoms. Though no longer young, she commanded attention without effort. Her face bore the elegance of wisdom and restraint.
Zhaoyi Wei stepped forward first. Her poem was bold and ornate, with metaphors about stars and power, spoken with confidence. The Empress gave a polite nod but said nothing.
Another followed. Then another.
The Empress's voice, when she finally spoke, cut through the air like a blade wrapped in silk.
"The beauty of poetry," she said, "is not in how high the voice flies, but how deep the root runs."
Wu Zhao felt a chill.
It was the first time she had heard a woman speak with such calm command, not shouting but reshaping the space around her with quiet power. The Empress's eyes moved across the hall and lingered briefly on Wu Zhao.
In that short moment, Wu Zhao felt exposed, studied, seen and dismissed in a single glance.
Later that night, Wu Zhao sat alone in her quarters, staring into the candle's flame.
This is how power moves, she thought.
It doesn't demand attention. It gathers it. It doesn't scream. It simply is.
Can I ever rise that high?
A few evenings later, as the moonlight painted silver trails across the palace courtyards, Wu Zhao and Lian, another young Cairen, walked along a quiet path. They whispered the latest palace gossip, careful not to speak too loudly.
"Consort Wei's earrings today? Real pearls from the South Sea," Lian said, her voice breathless with envy. "The Emperor was practically hypnotized."
Wu Zhao gave a small smile. "She's dangerous. People like her… they're bold when they think no one's watching."
Suddenly, three figures stepped into their path : Consort Wei, Consort Xu, and Consort Yin, the highest-ranking concubine in the palace.
"Well, well," Consort Yin said, her voice smooth as ice. Her eyes narrowed at Lian. "Talking about jewels, are we? Cairens should know better than to dream."
Consort Xu snickered. "Maybe if you spend less time gossiping, someone might notice you."
Lian's face paled. She bowed deeply, trembling. Wu Zhao stayed upright, silent, her gaze steady.
Consort Wei stepped closer, her voice like honey laced with venom. "Careful, little birds. The walls have ears. And gossip has sharp teeth."
Then without warning, Consort Yin slapped Lian hard across the face. The sound cracked through the night. Lian stumbled, clutching her cheek.
Wu Zhao gasped and stepped forward. "Leave her be."
Consort Yin turned to her. "You dare speak?" Her gaze was sharp. "Boldness doesn't suit your rank. Stay quiet, or the next mark will be on your back."
They swept past like storm clouds, their laughter cruel and fading.
Wu Zhao helped Lian to her feet. "We must be cautious," she whispered, her voice low but fierce. "But we must stand."
That night, Wu Zhao sat beside Lian's bed, dabbing a wet cloth on the red bruise. The silence between them was heavy, until Lian finally spoke, her voice shaky.
"You didn't bow. You didn't run. You stood."
Wu Zhao stared into the flickering candlelight. "They want us to cower," she said softly. "To disappear."
Her lips thinned into a quiet promise.
"I won't. Not now. Not ever."
In the hush of night, a fire smoldered in her chest. The other women had rank and wealth.
But she had something they didn't
A mind that watched.
And remembered.
Spring arrived gently, brushing the palace with fresh air and the scent of plum blossoms. One morning, the lesser concubines were summoned to line the garden path leading to the royal shrine.
The Crown Prince, Li Zhi, was scheduled to pass through.
It was custom to kneel in silence, faces veiled, eyes averted. It was meant to keep things orderly… impersonal.
Wu Zhao knelt among them, her back straight, her face covered by a thin silk veil. She had heard of the Crown Prince, young, kind-hearted, different from the cold and demanding Emperor. But this was just ritual.
Then a soft wind stirred the trees. A breeze slipped through the garden… and caught her veil.
It fluttered.
Then fell.
Wu Zhao froze.
Footsteps approached. Then paused.
Li Zhi stood only a few steps away. Their eyes met. Just for a breath.
In that single moment, time cracked open.
He saw her.
Not as a nameless girl among many, but as someone… someone different. Strong. Still. Watchful.
Wu Zhao quickly lowered her gaze, snatching the veil back into place. Her heart pounded, but her face was calm.
Li Zhi moved on. But his steps slowed.
Behind her veil, Wu Zhao whispered to herself,
He looked at me.
The Emperor may never see me…
But his son did.
And sometimes… one glance is the beginning of everything.