Fèng Míng

I was sold to the palace at ten, where I scrubbed floors with icy water until the skin on my fingers split. One day, I slipped in the rain, broke a tray, and the guards were already dragging me away to be dealt with. The Emperor stopped, handed me a dry handkerchief, and suddenly told the head of the harem that I would become his personal concubine. Just like that. In defiance of advice, in defiance of the dying Empress.

That single night, he came tired, smelling of sandalwood and old paper. Without tenderness or cruelty. As if he were solving a problem. He fell asleep, and I counted my breaths, afraid to cry. Two months later, the physician Jian, feeling my pulse with icy fingers, stepped back and said quietly, reverently, "Mistress, you are carrying an heir." The empress was already dead. And according to ancient law, the first concubine to bear the emperor a child will become the new empress. Now it's me. A lowly servant. I have been ordered to appear by evening and tell him in person. Isn't this absurd?