The Maid's Ritual

Mingyao woke earlier than usual, her mind restless and alert. An unease lingered in her chest, whispering of danger. Something about Princess Taiping did not sit right with her. Yes, the princess had been generous the night before, showering her with a lavish feast and offering her help with Zhao Qingmei's troubles—but Mingyao knew better than to be lulled by kindness.

Life in the palace had taught her a harsh truth: blood was water, but power was iron. Such ties meant little when weighed against power and ambition. A woman like Princess Taiping did not extend her hand without expecting something in return. Mingyao could feel it—she was being sized up, measured, and perhaps already marked as a tool to be used.

That was why she had risen early. She would not be caught unprepared. She was ready.

She swung her legs off the bed, fingers brushing the cold floor, eyes darting to the sword—Yue Ying's sword—the only possession that she couldn't afford leave behind. Zhao Qingmei, Li Xiulan... if she didn't reach them first, they would become pawns in her aunt's game. She tightened her grip on the hilt, ready to slip away. If she moved quickly, she might reach the Su estate before dawn.

A sudden knock jolted her.

Her breath caught. At this hour? The sun hadn't even risen. Her first instinct screamed to ignore it, but silence might draw suspicion. Best to answer, quickly, and send whoever it was away.

Mingyao slid the sword beneath the bed and mussed her hair before shuffling toward the door with feigned grogginess. She cracked it open, her voice deliberately drowsy, laced with mild irritation.

"Who is it?"

A tall woman stood in the corridor, her face shadowed by the torchlight. Mingyao recognized her instantly—the eldest among the seven women from yesterday's strange test. In her arms she carried folded robes of pale blue.

"It's time for your first assignment," the woman said, holding out the folded robes. They were simple, plain—servant's attire.

Mingyao blinked. "What?"

"You had wishes, didn't you?" The woman's gaze was sharp and unwavering. "This is how you earn them."

Mingyao's lips parted, but she forced herself to stay still.

"As per the agreement," the woman continued smoothly, "you'll work your way up. Otherwise, your sister, your pavilion, your ambitions—the princess will not lift a finger for any of it. She rewards only those who prove themselves."

Mingyao's heart tightened, though her face betrayed nothing. Memories of the feast flickered in her mind—the princess with wine-flushed cheeks, swaying as she laughed like a doting aunt, her voice rich with promises. Promises to help her rescue her sister. Promises to raise Yin Lian Pavilion. Promises to restore her title.

But Mingyao had seen through the act even then. Princess Taiping had not been careless—she had been flaunting knowledge, detailing Mingyao's secrets like toys, only to ensnare her further. And now, this… this charade of servitude was no doubt meant to remind Mingyao that every move she made was under her aunt's gaze.

Without a word, Mingyao extended her hands and accepted the tray.

The woman's lips curved slightly. "It's good you understand. Oh—Her Royal Highness asked me to give you this." She produced a folded parchment and set it atop the tray. "It will help… clarify things."

Mingyao inclined her head. "Thank you," she said, voice even.

"Don't take too long," the woman warned as she turned away. "Roll call is at dawn. I expect to see you there."

Her voice lingered like smoke in the quiet hall as her footsteps faded.

Mingyao shut the door, exhaled, and let her frustration slip out in a low hiss. She set the robes aside, unfolded the parchment, and began to read.

Hello, Royal Nephew.

I imagine you must be frustrated. Perhaps even angry. But trust me—this is for your own good. Think of it as a game. Another game. And every game, of course, comes with rewards.

The first reward should already be in your hands.

Mingyao's gaze slid to the servant's robes. A bitter laugh escaped her throat. That? That was a reward?

Her fist clenched against the parchment before she forced it to relax. She read on.

Right now, you rank at the lowest level. Work hard, rise, and you'll be rewarded again. Isn't that more entertaining than being handed everything? We won't meet until you climb higher, but I'll be watching. Always. And when you're ready—we'll talk about my best friend's inheritance.

So play along. Live as someone else for a while. You may even find it… fun. Good luck.

Mingyao let out a dry chuckle, frustration curling through her chest. Why did her aunt take such twisted pleasure in these so-called games? The power she wielded was undeniable; opposing her outright would only end in disaster. No—for now, compliance was survival. She would play along, bide her time, and find a way to slip free. Yue Ying's kidnapping, Zhao Qingmei's looming wedding—those were the battles that truly mattered.

Mingyao lifted the folded robes from the tray, holding them up against the dim gray of dawn. The moon still clung weakly to the sky, while the first strands of sunlight slipped over the horizon. The hanfu looked simple enough—servant's blue, unadorned, plain.

But the moment the fabric touched her skin, her world shifted.

Her knees buckled. The ground rushed up at her, though there was nothing there to trip over. A crushing weight bore down on her limbs, so heavy she could scarcely breathe. Even dragging herself upright left her trembling, as if she carried a mountain strapped across her back.

"What… is this?" she whispered, every word dragging like iron.

She instinctively gathered her qi to steady herself—but the pressure doubled, tripled, slamming her to the floor again. Every vein screamed, her breath came ragged, and her vision blurred

"This robe…" she muttered between clenched teeth.

She clawed at the fabric, trying to strip it off, but the hanfu clung to her like a living thing. The sleeves tightened, the sash cinched her ribs, and the more she pulled, the more it resisted. It bound her as if it had a will of its own.

The sensation was uncanny. To the touch, it was mere cloth. But she could feel something pulsing within the weave, like a slumbering will. It was no ordinary garment. Her mind flashed back to her master's lessons: artifacts that are born of heaven and earth, treasures infused with essence forged by rare artificers. 

A spirit treasure. That was the only explanation.

For a heartbeat, curiosity sparked in her chest. But it soured almost immediately. What use was a treasure she couldn't remove? Worse—she was expected to wear it through a day of chores? Mingyao's lip curled. A gift? More like shackles.

She pushed to her feet, legs quivering. One step. Her body heaved forward, unbalanced, as though she were a child learning to walk. Another step—then she collapsed again, palms stinging as they struck the floor. Sweat trickled down her temple.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe past the weight. Think, Mingyao.

She had wielded spirit treasures before—her spear, Yue Ying's Moonblade. Their essence resonated with her qi. Perhaps these robes were no different.

Her mind flashed to the duel last night, the moment she summoned Absolute Stillness through the Moonblade. She closed her eyes, forcing her body into the same flow, guiding her qi as though gripping a weapon instead of clothing.

The hanfu shimmered faintly, its pale blue deepening to midnight tones. For a fleeting moment, the weight lifted—then surged back with twice the force, driving her to her knees.

Mingyao lay sprawled across the floor, chest heaving. "Tch…" Her voice cracked with exhaustion. "So that's how you want to play it?"

She lay there, gasping. Hopeless… Despair pricked at her resolve. Am I supposed to wear this all day? Doing chores, no less?

The thought slithered in: Should I just give up? Stop resisting?

Maybe she should abandon qi altogether. Endure with raw strength alone. Her fists clenched, ready to test the idea—

Then the first rays of sunlight slipped through the window. The crushing weight on her chest eased. Golden warmth mingled with silver-blue, and the robes seemed to stir with life. The fabric shimmered, softening into the colors of dawn—luminous, shifting, strange. What had been coarse servant's blue now flowed into a gradient of sky at first light, unexpectedly… beautiful.

Mingyao pushed herself upright, unsteady but no longer crushed. Her fists tightened.

"A reward, huh? More like shackles."

Still, there was no time to waste. She needed to find this so-called roll call.

"The old crone didn't even give me directions," Mingyao muttered under her breath. Her eyes narrowed. "She did it on purpose."

She stepped into the maze of winding pathways, every corridor identical, every courtyard too still. She paused, listening—ears straining for the distant hum of voices, the shuffle of feet, anything that hinted at a gathering. Nothing.

Another test. Of course.

She tilted her head toward the rising sun, gauging its angle. Princess Taiping loved her symbolism—likely feng shui as well. So Mingyao turned east, senses sharpened. Her ears strained for sound, her eyes swept for traces: wet stones, trampled earth, the subtle marks of many feet passing. Step by step, she followed instinct and deduction, reading the faintest trails left behind. She skirted the princess's private courtyards, angling instead toward the outer edges where the servants would likely gather.

At last—movement. A maid turned a corner, then another appeared, then another. Relief flickered across Mingyao's face, only for her body to jerk suddenly to a halt. The robe grew heavier, pinning her feet to the ground.

"Not again…" she hissed.

She pushed her qi outward, recalling the Moonblade's rhythm. Slowly, carefully, she let it flow like coaxing a temperamental beast. The robes eased, their crushing weight loosening just enough to walk, though sweat already dampened her back.

Understanding dawned. Constant qi flow. That's the key. The hanfu demanded a steady current, like breathing. Break the flow, and it would crush her.

The realization twisted into dread. But at this rate… I'll burn through my reserves in half a day. Even with her cultivation of master, she doubted she could endure longer.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Was this what Princess Taiping wanted? To train her like a disciple—or to watch her collapse in exhaustion, humiliated before the others, maybe both?

By the time Mingyao reached the courtyard, the other maids were already dispersing, their chatter trailing off as they vanished into corridors and side paths. Roll call was long finished.

Directionless, she stood in the empty square until a sharp voice cut through the silence.

"You there."

One of the supervisors strode toward her, eyes narrowing. Mingyao straightened instinctively, but the woman's gaze was already heavy with disapproval—the kind of look a mother gave a child caught in some foolish mistake.

"You're late."

Before Mingyao could defend herself, the woman's tone cut the air again, flat and cold. "Follow me."

Mingyao pressed her lips together and obeyed, trailing behind as they wove through winding paths until the courtyard opened into a vast expanse. The space was wide, dotted with gnarled trees whose branches shed their golden leaves in slow cascades.

The woman thrust a broom into her hands. "Sweep. Not a leaf left behind. You are not allowed to leave until this is done."

She didn't wait for a reply. Her figure disappeared down the path, leaving Mingyao with nothing but the sound of the rustling leaves and the weight of the enchanted robes dragging at her limbs.

Mingyao stared at the endless scatter of gold and crimson at her feet. Her bones already ached, but she forced her grip around the broom. Fine. The faster I finish, the sooner I can explore. The estate must have weak points. Somewhere.

She began to sweep, steady strokes pushing leaves into neat little piles. The task was mindless, freeing her thoughts to wander.

What did her aunt really want from her? Training? Control? To mold her into a pawn for some political gambit? Princess Taiping was beloved by the late emperor, respected by the current one. If she wanted influence, she already had it in abundance. So why choose Mingyao—a disgraced heir wrapped in scandal?

The idea gnawed at her. Maybe she was nothing but a test subject, a toy for Taiping's amusement.

But the longer she turned it over, the more the question shifted. Perhaps it wasn't what is her goal that mattered, but how can I bend this game to my own advantage? If she played along, she could learn the residence's layout, uncover its secrets. Leverage, after all, was its own kind of weapon.

Unraveling the princess's mind was wasted effort. Survival meant focusing on her own path—learning this place, gathering leverage, and finding the cracks she could exploit.

"You're doing it wrong."

The sudden, youthful voice broke her reverie.

Mingyao's head snapped up. A girl stood a few paces away, no older than sixteen, grinning as though she'd caught someone sneaking sweets.

"What?" Mingyao asked, brows furrowed.

"You're not doing it right," the girl repeated, stepping closer with a mischievous lilt in her tone.

Mingyao blinked, then gestured to the broom in her hands. "It's sweeping. How can I be doing it wrong?"

The girl only smirked and pointed toward the courtyard.

Mingyao turned—and froze.

Her piles were gone. The leaves blanketed the ground as though she had never touched them. She had swept half the yard already, yet the place looked untouched, undisturbed.

Her grip on the broom tightened. "Impossible. I just…"

The girl sauntered closer, hands clasped behind her back, clearly enjoying herself. "At this rate, you'll be sweeping until nightfall."

Mingyao's brow furrowed. Impossible. I know I swept half this yard. There had been no wind, no disturbance. Yet the piles she remembered were gone.

The girl's grin widened at Mingyao's bewilderment. "See? You've been wasting your energy."

Mingyao's voice came low, strained. "Why?"

"Because you're not following the ritual."

"Ritual?" Mingyao's grip tightened on the broom. "What do you mean by ritual?"

The girl leaned in, lowering her voice with mock seriousness. "Here, in the princess's residence, every task is more than a chore. Sweep, scrub, wash, pour tea—it doesn't matter. Each one has a proper method, rules you must follow. Think of it as… steps in a ceremony. If you skip them, the work undoes itself."

Mingyao's eyes widened. "That's absurd."

The girl only shrugged. "Absurd, but true. A ritual has order. Intention. Rules to guide it. Every sweep must mean something. Every motion must be acknowledged. Otherwise, the leaves return as if you never touched them."

Mingyao scowled. "And no one thought to tell me this?"

"I'm telling you now," the girl said brightly. "Lucky you."

Mingyao exhaled sharply, half tempted to snap the broom in two. Aunt, what kind of twisted cage have you built? Even sweeping the ground is bound by rules.

Her voice dropped, bitter. "Does every maid live like this?"

"Of course," the maid said cheerfully. "That's how we live here." She tilted her head. "Do you want me to show you?"

Mingyao pressed a hand to her temple. "This place is worse than the palace… suffocating rules at every turn."

Mingyao looked at her broom, then at the endless scatter of leaves. Anger swelled in her chest—at the absurdity, at her aunt's games, at being reduced to this. Yet curiosity nagged at her. How had Taiping managed to enforce these strange rules so thoroughly that even the act of sweeping was bound by them? Was it a technique? A spell?

She exhaled sharply. "Fine. Show me."

The maid's eyes gleamed with triumph as she stepped forward, hands already reaching for the broom.

Mingyao bit back a curse. Aunt, you truly are insane.