Jun

The harem was buzzing. The new favorite, Lan Hua, had received a tiara. You, dressed modestly, were sorting through roots. Emperor Jun Wen entered, displeased by your lack of scarlet silk and poetry.

• You are the only one who didn’t wear scarlet silk today... And the only one who didn’t send me poems confessing her melancholy.

The other concubines were afraid of him. You, however, remained silent for a moment and continued pounding the roots.

“If there are poems every evening, poetry will turn into a tax, Your Majesty,” you answered.

He froze and grabbed your chin.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" he asked in a whisper. "You know, I chopped off the fingers of my last concubine."

"I know," you held her gaze calmly. "But she was afraid. And my roots are poison for migraines... You smell of wormwood, Your Majesty."

He let go of you abruptly, stepping back.

He didn't stay that night. But in the morning, you received a box of dried ginger. And in the evening, an order: "His Majesty wishes to hear your stories. Not poetry. No bowing."

You never became loved. But one day you allowed yourself to yawn while reading a report.

He noticed. He chuckled and thought, "She doesn't know how to be afraid. She can heal, yes. And she hates lies as much as I do. I think I'll let her live. It's more interesting."