The palace air was thick with incense and judgment.
Anhai could feel it before she even crossed the threshold of the Hall of Elevated Virtue—the silent weight of eyes, the unspoken laws pressing down on her silk-wrapped shoulders. A gentle wind stirred the silk banners above the gate, but the air inside remained still. Unforgiving.
Her slippers made no sound on the polished floor. She had practiced the walk a thousand times—steps smooth as water, spine a drawn brushstroke. Her sleeves fluttered as she bowed, her forehead grazing the cool stone tiles. When she rose, the silence deepened.
The chamber was vast. Light filtered through latticed windows, casting shadows like prison bars across the jade-tiled floor. Every beam of sunlight was a spotlight. Every breath, a risk.
To her left, the nobles' wives sat in silent rows, their jewels glittering like a field of stars. To her right, ministers and senior concubines leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes sharpened like blades. And ahead, behind a golden veil of carved screens, the Emperor watched. Unseen. Unblinking.
Only one face was fully visible.
The Crown Prince.
He sat beneath the imperial crest, still as a painted scroll. His robes were white—not ceremonial white, but mourning white. A reminder. His eyes met hers for only a breath before shifting away, unreadable.
The Grand Historian stepped forward.
"Lady Anhai of the Qian family," he announced, voice smooth and impersonal, "descendant of Lin House through maternal line. Candidate for consortship to the Crown Prince."
The words echoed.
A pause. A challenge.
Anhai inclined her head with the grace of someone who had never been allowed to err in public. Her throat was dry. Her palms cold. But her spine remained straight.
Let them measure her.
---
The First Trial: Bloodlines
The historian's voice rose again, reciting her lineage like poetry written with knives.
"House Qian: provincial landowners, known for administrative appointments in outlying territories... Independent affiliations with border trade and foreign scholarship... House Lin: retired gentry... no current ties to court."
A ripple passed through the nobles like a wind through silk screens.
Anhai stood perfectly still.
She had known this would come. The sting of her father's wrong sort of intelligence—too curious, too progressive, too far from the capital's embrace. The unspoken question danced in the air: If your father dares to think differently, what might you do with power?
The Empress Dowager's gaze pierced through the silence like a needle through silk.
"Speak, Lady Anhai," she said. "What does your family bring to the palace?"
Anhai's voice was soft, but clear.
"We bring grain, not jewels. Roads, not warhorses. My father teaches farmers to write. My mother mends scrolls no one else can read. We bring quiet usefulness, not titles."
A pause.
Then the Empress Dowager sat back. No nod. No smile.
But no dismissal.
---
The Second Trial: Skill
A guqin was brought forward. Polished wood, strings taut with expectation.
Anhai's fingers trembled for only the first breath. She sat. She played.
The melody was not bold. Not bright.
It was still.
"Spring on Distant River." A song of patience. Of water carving stone not with force, but with persistence. The notes shimmered in the air like mist above reeds.
When she finished, the strings still hummed under her fingertips.
There was no applause. There never was.
But something in the Crown Prince's gaze had changed—just barely. As if he had finally begun to listen.
---
The Third Trial: Temperament
The Empress Dowager stood once more.
"In a palace ruled by favor," she said, her voice ice-cold and ceremonial, "what will you do when another is chosen above you?"
The hall waited.
Anhai looked up—not at the Empress Dowager, but at the space beyond her. At the sky she could not see.
"I will pour tea with both hands," she said, "and close my doors without bitterness. There is honor in harmony. But if I am wronged unjustly, I will not wither quietly."
The silence cracked like frost under foot.
The Empress Dowager narrowed her eyes. "A tongue sheathed in silk," she murmured. "But not dulled."
---
The Final Trial: Use
A scroll was placed before her. Sealed in red wax.
"You have one hour," a minister said, "to read and respond. Write clearly. No aid."
She bowed.
The moment she was alone behind the silk divider, her hands moved with practiced calm. The scroll contained a border trade dispute—minor, but riddled with political implications. She saw at once the trap: favor the imperial merchants or favor the border towns.
She chose the border towns.
Wrote it cleanly. Signed her name at the bottom in precise brushwork. She did not tremble.
---
An Hour Later
She stepped forward again and laid the unsealed scroll before the dais.
The Crown Prince reached for it without ceremony. His fingertips touched her calligraphy. He did not speak.
But he read every word.
And somewhere behind the golden screen, the Emperor whispered to his chief attendant: "She chose reason over reward."
"She chose the realm," the attendant replied softly.
---
Outside, the first petals of early spring drifted from the plum trees. Inside, Anhai left the chamber without applause, without verdict. Only the watching eyes remained.
But behind her, the Empress Dowager spoke again.
"A flower without perfume... but with thorns. She will survive."