In the secluded West Garden of the Inner Palace, a breeze swept through the willows, carrying with it the faint scent of plum blossoms. The stillness of the air made the occasional laughter echo louder than it should have — sharp, cold, and biting.
Seated beneath a floral pavilion were five of the emperor's concubines, their finely embroidered robes spread gracefully around them like petals on a still pond. But there was nothing gentle about the conversation between them.
At the center of the gathering sat Lady Nùi, First Concubine of the Shen Yao Empire.
Graceful and poised, she was a woman of undeniable nobility — not only in title, but in bearing. With sharp almond eyes and lips painted in imperial crimson, she carried herself with the effortless authority of someone born to power. Her dark hair, swept up into an elaborate phoenix-shaped pin, bore the emblem of the Lü Clan, the fifth most powerful force in the Central Continent. As the beloved daughter of the clan leader, she had been sent to the Imperial Palace as both a bridge and a chain — a tool to forge alliance between her clan and the Shen Yao Empire, and a leash to ensure both sides remembered who held leverage.
Though she bore the title of concubine, Lady Nùi's status was not far from that of the Empress herself. Few dared to offend her.
Today, she sipped tea calmly as the others gossiped, her presence radiating smug amusement.
"…So they say the child didn't even have a spark of affinity. Not even the lowest grade of earth or wood," one concubine whispered, barely containing her glee.
"Truly a disgrace," another added, adjusting her sleeves. "No wonder His Majesty refused to acknowledge him. What woman would still dare show her face after giving birth to such a useless creature?"
"He didn't even cry properly, I heard," the third one laughed. "What kind of man will he become? A mute beggar who can't even light a candle with spiritual fire?"
The group burst into laughter, their voices carrying easily across the garden.
Lady Nùi remained quiet, her smile curling slowly at the corners.
"She always thought her beauty alone would carry her," she said at last, her voice like silk over a blade. "But what's beauty worth if it cannot produce a proper heir? She's nothing now — not even a passing amusement to His Majesty."
The others nodded in agreement, feeding off her disdain.
Then Lady Nùi's voice dropped lower, thoughtful. "Perhaps… it is time we remind the world exactly how low she has fallen."
The laughter paused.
One of the younger concubines blinked. "Remind them, my lady?"
Lady Nùi placed her teacup down and leaned slightly forward.
"With the tournament about to begin, nobles and sect masters from every corner of the five continents are already arriving. What better moment to reveal that His Majesty — the great Shen Hóngtú, sovereign of the Shen Yao Empire — has sired a trash?"
Gasps fluttered around the pavilion.
"You want to… leak the news?" asked one concubine, her voice trembling with both awe and fear.
Lady Nùi's smile deepened. "Think of it. The great emperor, humiliated in front of the world. His face darkened with fury. And who will be the target of his wrath?" She tapped her finger on the armrest of her chair. "Not us, certainly. But the woman who birthed that shame. Lady Qingcheng."
The others murmured in agreement, eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
"But… what if he finds out we were the ones who did it?" one of them whispered hesitantly, a note of dread creeping into her voice. "You know what His Majesty is like when he's truly angry. He gave a direct order. If he discovers it was us… you might be safe, Lady Nùi, but the rest of us—"
"—will be fine," Lady Nùi interrupted smoothly. "You worry too much."
She glanced around, then beckoned the doubting concubine closer. With a practiced grace, she leaned in and whispered something into the woman's ear — something too quiet for the others to hear.
As she pulled back, the concubine's eyes widened, then lit up with understanding.
"Oooh… clever," she breathed.
The others leaned in, hungry for details, but Lady Nùi only offered a sly smirk and said nothing more.
Soon the garden was once again filled with mocking laughter, their voices rising like cruel birds over the palace walls.
Lady Nùi raised her cup and took another sip, her eyes flicking toward the distant East Wing — where Lady Qingcheng and her newborn son remained alone, shunned, and unprotected.
A predator's satisfaction shimmered in her gaze.
Let the world laugh, she thought.
Let them all know that even the most beautiful rose can give birth to a weed.