Surviving the Succession (A Transmigration Fantasy)

Character Index

Zhou Xianchun: Archduke, brother of the current Emperor.

Yang Lihua: A young laundry maid in service of Xianchun.

Yu Bianfu: Archduchess, married to Xianchun. Her marriage was arranged via Imperial Edict by Yunqi as a means of removing her from military service.

Liu Boyue: Xianchun's childhood friend and strategist.

Zhou Yunqi: The current Emperor.

Zhou Kuang: Posthumously titled a Grand Prince, older brother of Yunqi and Xianchun.

Zhou Ying: Posthumously titled Emperor Xuanzong, father of Yunqi and Xianchun.

Consort Liu: Xianchun's mother, was originally a laundry maid.

Xianchun awoke to the ruckus outside his bedroom.

What on earth could it be this late at night?

His sense of danger kicked in a second later, and he kicked off the blankets, grabbing a sword from his bedside to peek out the door. He let the door swing fully open, staring flabbergasted at the scene before him.

Servants were being hustled this way and that by Imperial Guards, none of whom approached the direction of his quarters. A guard caught sight of him and approached, bowing deeply.

"Ten thousand apologies for disturbing your rest, my lord," the guard said.

"What on earth is happening here?" Xianchun asked.

"Due to a security concern, the servants sent from the palace are being recalled on immediate notice," the guard said apologetically. "Please be assured, they will be replaced in full, and a senior eunuch from the palace will be temporarily assigned until the new servants can be trusted to serve you properly."

"What the–what do you mean, security concern?!"

"I cannot say more on this matter," the guard said. "But this is for your safety, my lord."

"I'm perfectly safe! This is entirely unnecessary!"

"This is the Emperor's order, my lord."

Xianchun felt his heart drop to his stomach. He nodded stiffly, and the guard obligingly went away.

The sounds around him were fading out to the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Lihua, Xianchun thought in horror. She's also from the palace.

What the hell was he supposed to do? What could he do? He glanced around wildly and realized how alone he was.

Asking Yu Bianfu was useless and needlessly cruel–hadn't she only just fought with him over the laundry maid, ignoring all his protests that he'd never so much as thought of Lihua that way?

Asking Liu Boyue, somehow, seemed even worse. Liu Boyue would help him. But the disgust just under the surface of the strategist's actions would taint him forever.

It's not worth it, Xianchun told himself. She's just a girl I shared a few words with here and there. With all the ruckus that's resulted in, this might just be for the best.

The peace it brought him lasted no more than two heartbeats before Xianchun felt the invisible noose tightening around his neck.

I can't do this.

Once entered, the inner palace was as deep as an ocean. If Lihua went back, when would he see her again? In six years, when she reached the mandated age of leaving the palace at twenty-five? Or–

A security concern.

Would she even be alive by then?

Xianchun numbly made his way back into his rooms, closing the doors firmly behind him. He could almost hear Lihua's pleas in his ears, though that was surely impossible. The quarters for the laundry maids were so far away from his–with so many guards present, a civilian girl could never make it this far.

Brother wouldn't. He's not the type to kill on such a broad scale, not even for Third Brother's death!

But what if? What if? Xianchun was so far removed from the court these days that he had no idea what Yunqi had become.

Xianchun could hear something inside him crack.

He didn't even recall grabbing the communication device, but by the time he came to his senses, he was already speaking with Zhao Wenyuan.

"Please," he forced the words out. "I need your help."

Zhao Wenyuan didn't hesitate. "I understand. I'll be right there."

Xianchun belatedly dropped the sword he was still holding. What use was a sword in battles like these? With stilted movements, he dressed himself and made his way to the entrance of the household. Imperial Guards bowed and kept out of his way.

His old steward hurried over, still in his sleeping clothes.

"My lord, this–!"

"Duke Zhao will be here shortly," Xianchun said. "We may be short on people, but be sure to greet him with due courtesy."

"Ah, y-yes, of course! Right away."

The man hurried off with a quick glance over Xianchun's shoulder. The Archduke soon learned why.

"My lord!"

Xianchun winced at the all-too-familiar voice, turning to meet his wife head on.

"My lady," he said stiffly.

"What on earth is this?! How can they switch out the servants without even a single notification?!"

"It is my brother's orders," Xianchun replied.

"Unbelievable! Are you just going to accept this?!"

"Does my lady want me to march to the palace and demand answers instead? We won't even make it outside our gates," Xianchun said.

"We at least deserve a proper explanation," Yu Bianfu snapped, looking as if she were holding back a torrent of insults.

"My lord," the steward called, hurrying back. He hesitated, glancing at Yu Bianfu, then at Xianchun. "Duke Zhao is here."

"What?" Yu Bianfu stared at the steward in disbelief. "Why is he here?!"

"I called him," Xianchun said.

"Why?" Yu Bianfu's disbelief was now focused on him. "I thought this was under the jurisdiction of the Imperial Guard?"

"I have my own reasons," Xianchun said, avoiding her eyes.

At the worst timing possible, Zhao Wenyuan turned the corner to appear in sight, escorted by a bleary-eyed doorman.

"My lord, my lady," Zhao Wenyuan greeted them, his eyes politely averted from Yu Bianfu who was still in her nightclothes.

"Duke Zhao," Xianchun replied.

Even if he didn't look at her, Xianchun could sense the realization dawning over Yu Bianfu.

"You begged Zhao Wenyuan for that girl? A girl of such low birth?!" Yu Bianfu said in disbelief. "Why? You–how could you have fallen this low?!"

Xianchun studiously avoided her furious gaze.

"Excuse us, my lady. I have official business to discuss with the Archduke," Wenyuan said firmly. He resolutely pulled Xianchun down the hallway to the study, ignoring Yu Bianfu raging behind them. Closing the doors, he slapped on a privacy talisman and turned to Xianchun.

"I'm sorry," Xianchun said grimly. "I don't know what's become of her–or of me."

"The only thing maintaining our pride and dignity is circumstance," Wenyuan replied. "When circumstances change, anyone can become unrecognizable."

Xianchun shook his head, the prince within him bristling.

"To be honest, I would have liked never to beg you," Xianchun said. "Even when my life was on the line when Father suspected me, I tried not to beg you!"

"It was usually the other way around," Wenyuan agreed. "But I would help you whether or not you put on a good face for me. So please be at ease, my lord, and act as you would like."

Xianchun felt something thawing deep within him. With an angry huff, he strode through the room and sat down on the closest chair, eyes flashing with anger.

"What on earth is all this about anyways?!"

"Something happened in the palace," Wenyuan replied. "Nothing that endangers the Emperor, but there seems to be sufficient cause for concern that servants from the palace are being recalled from their posts outside, to avoid implicating innocents."

"This is deliberately targeting me!"

"It's not quite political persecution, my lord. But to be honest, your household is the only one with such a high share of palace servants," Wenyuan replied.

"Not by my choice."

"I know."

The room fell silent. Xianchun grappled with his pride a bit longer, and finally managed to eke out his request.

"Wenyuan, the personnel transfer…is there anything you can do to stop it?"

"It's beyond me," Wenyuan admitted. "But if you have any specific requests, I can try to petition them to the Emperor on your behalf. Or, if you would like, I can get you an audience."

Somehow, the idea of begging the Emperor over this was too humiliating for Xianchun to consider.

"The petition, if you would," Xianchun said stiffly.

Wenyuan nodded for him to go on.

"There's a laundry maid," Xianchun said, his words becoming increasingly stilted as they went. "I would like to prevent her transfer."

Of course, Wenyuan knew exactly who he was talking about. How could he not, with how many eyes he had on the house? The thought of it was suffocating, and Xianchun forced his mind away from it before the walls could start closing in on him again.

Wenyuan nodded. "If my lord would like her as a concubine, the petition should go through easily enough."

"No!" Xianchun shot up from his seat. "It's not like that! I don't know how the rumors got out, but it's not that type of relationship!"

Wenyuan was polite enough not to say that the rumors got out because Yu Bianfu's voice could be heard from the street, with the servants too stunned by the outburst to use a privacy talisman in time. Their training really did leave quite a bit to be desired.

"My lord, that actually makes it more difficult," Wenyuan said. "Even if it's a falsehood, and forgive me in advance for any offense, but having had intimate skinship between you two would be a good reason for her to stay. Otherwise, keeping a laundry maid out of fondness between master and servant seems too insignificant compared to the possible security risks. It's a different story if the two of you are intimate, especially since you still have no children."

"I don't want to smear her name like that!" Xianchun snarled.

Wenyuan sighed, suddenly looking exhausted.

"Archduke, I do want to help you. But please don't make this too difficult for me."

"You're really not in charge of this," Xianchun said in realization. "It's my brother."

Wenyuan grimaced slightly. "It's for your safety."

"Just what the hell happened?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"You're turning my household upside down here, I deserve to know!"

Wenyuan shook his head. "It's out of my hands, my prince–my lord."

The old slip of tongue sent both of them into silence. A mix of emotions and memories surged into Xianchun's chest, and it was a long moment before he composed himself enough to speak.

"Wenyuan, are you in trouble?" Xianchun asked.

Wenyuan looked surprised at that question. "Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I am not."

Xianchun nodded stiffly. "Anyhow, I…I have not had any relations with that girl. We haven't even touched each other. It's really not what people think–not even what my wife thinks!"

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Shame roiled over him, followed by indignant anger.

"If it were up to me I wouldn't be begging your help over such a petty matter either!"

"I would never think this is a petty matter," Wenyuan said solemnly. "We speak of the nation's interests, but what is a nation but countless individuals, along with all the love and hatred that they bear? I'm more than willing to help you, so there's no need to denigrate your own request."

Xianchun nodded slowly, hiding the abject relief that threatened to spill out onto his face.

"The girl's name is Yang Lihua," Xianchun said. "She's nineteen, and she works as a laundry maid."

"Does she want to stay?"

"She begged me not to send her away after I argued with the Archduchess. She said she wants to stay."

"I will see what I can do," Wenyuan said. "But…won't you let me frame this in a way that can help you both?"

"It will hurt her in the long run," Xianchun said. "I'm not in a position…I don't hold those sorts of thoughts towards her. I just–it's been so long since someone didn't expect anything of me."

Wenyuan let out a soft sigh. "For what it's worth, Your Highness, I'm sorry about all this."

Xianchun shook his head. "Brother really is incredible," he said. "I see why you chose him."

Wenyuan pointedly did not glance in the direction of Yu Bianfu's rooms or ask about Liu Boyue. Xianchun was grateful for the feigned ignorance–it let him keep some last shreds of face.

"I will order the Investigators to let her stay for now," Wenyuan said. "But she will have to remain in custody until this matter is settled, and I can't guarantee that I can settle it."

"You can," Xianchun said without thinking.

"I can," Wenyuan agreed after a thoughtful pause. "Then until later, my lord."

"Thank you," Xianchun said to Wenyuan's departing back. Wenyuan paused at the door, glancing towards Xianchun without turning his face around.

"Of course," Wenyuan said softly. And then he was gone.

Xianchun slumped back into his seat, dropping his face into his hands. Beside him, on the table, a decorative mirror sat tauntingly.

Drawn by the same urge as always–to prove his past perceptions wrong, Xianchun straightened his back and glanced into the mirror.

Lit only by the dim light of the lamp, Xianchun stared at his own sepia-toned reflection in the bronze mirror with the same sudden shock of panic that always hit him at the sight. His facial hair had grown out over the past few years, and he now looked almost exactly like his father. He'd known as much from Wenyuan's reaction when they met at the palace's last New Year banquet a few months ago.

Wenyuan had frozen on the spot, his face vulnerable and open in something that wasn't quite grief and wasn't quite joy. If Xianchun didn't know better, he would have thought that Wenyuan looked close to tears. The Duke had to be prompted by a sharp jab to the ribs by his wife before he remembered himself and bowed in greeting.

That encounter alone would have cemented Xianchun's fears, but Yunqi and Mingda's reactions at the banquet only served to drive the point home. Both had jolted to a stop, their faces and bodies stilling before greeting him, almost as if they had forgotten where they were for a brief moment. Xianchun wished he had shaved before going to the palace, but to do so now would be seen as unfilial. After all, one's body, hair, and skin were granted by one's parents. It wouldn't have helped him either way. Even with his face bare, Xianchun looked more and more like Emperor Xuanzong with each passing day.

He had stopped looking at his own reflection. Xianchun didn't give any orders to the servants, but he avoided the pool in the garden, broke the still surface of the water in his washing basin before he even looked at it, put away his mirror, and avoided Yu Bianfu's room where he would inevitably find one anyways. But every time things went wrong, Xianchun felt the need to check again, just to see if he had been mistaken before.

He had never been one to care much about looks–the inborn privilege due to one who was born handsome and never realized how much effort others had to put into their appearance to achieve even a fraction of the effect he had. In fact, other than the charm it lent to him, his looks had been one of the things that mattered to Xianchun the least. There were bigger, better things to be concerned with.

Now, though, he felt as if he was dragging a lonely ghost through the halls. Even worse, his mother had completely disappeared.

Some part of Xianchun had always felt that his mother, long-dead, still watched over him. An increasingly blurry image of her could place some aspect of his features in her likeness–the curve of an eyebrow, the rise of a cheekbone. Though Xianchun never really thought about it, he carried her presence inside him like a protective charm that he didn't notice until it was gone.

Not you, Xianchun thought despondently at his father's face in the mirror. Why is it you?

It wasn't just Xianchun who didn't want to see this face–neither Yu Bianfu nor Liu Boyue could quite bring themselves to look him in the eye. At first, when they were still reeling from the shock of what had happened, their relationship had been no different from before. Unsettled and determined to survive, just as they had been as children, their bonds had actually grown stronger for a while.

Then it became clear that Yunqi was not going to kill Xianchun. Quite the opposite, Yunqi made sure that Xianchun lived well. He had a better residence, more servants, higher quality food than he could previously afford. The Emperor occasionally sent gifts, expensive ornaments, books, entertainers, people and items of leisure. His staff were kind and respectful.

Yunqi was good to him, courteous and caring, everything you could hope for in an all-powerful older brother. Court officials didn't throw barbs at him, eunuchs didn't snub him in the thousand subtle ways that they could. He wasn't barred from the palace though he also wasn't encouraged to visit. None of his privileges as an Archduke were denied the way they had been for his many paternal uncles. It was the best existence that a failed contender for the throne could ever hope for.

And all the while, Yunqi was erasing every trace of Xianchun's existence in the political world. Nearing thirty years of age, Xianchun found that the world outside his household seemed to have smoothed over his existence like a wall that had been painted over. All his efforts, any proof of his accomplishments, had simply been wiped away.

And that brought out the resentment that festered and rotted and simmered. Xianchun had been antsy and uneasy in his newfound life of quiet and ease, but it was Yu Bianfu who broke first. Her disgust and anger grew and grew until she refused to share a bed or even a room with Xianchun anymore. That he could understand. He didn't try to fight it or to persuade her to change her mind.

Yu Bianfu had bet her career on him, and he had cost her everything.

Slowly but surely, the same happened with Liu Boyue. The strategist also grew increasingly distant until he barely ever interacted with Xianchun. Now, when Xianchun entered a room, there would be nothing but quiet and the movement of heads turning away from him. The servants who witnessed this uncomfortable atmosphere professionally pretended to see nothing and went on with their unfailing politeness in a way that Xianchun should have been grateful for, but really only made him want to scream.

It was understandable. Xianchun had been the vessel of their hopes, the center of their pasts and futures. But now he was nothing but a reminder of their ruin.

Perhaps he wasn't even that. Xianchun tried to block out the echoes of Yu Bianfu's accusations as they resounded in the empty room. He was a rotting, festering corpse, as so above ground as his mirror image was below.

Begging for a mere laundry maid of lowly birth–Xianchun's anger boiled over, and he knocked the mirror off the desk. It clanged against the ground as it bounced away.

"Damn it, Bianfu! My mother was a laundry maid of low birth!"

Shame followed the sudden outburst as it always did, and Xianchun was all the more grateful for the privacy talisman Wenyuan had left on the door.

If not for the laundry maid of low birth, Xianchun would have lost his mind months ago. He hadn't lied to Wenyuan–he'd never touched Lihua. But it was too difficult to explain.

The sentiment itself was far from complex, but admitting to it seemed more daunting than scaling the highest mountains.

Thank the gods that Wenyuan didn't ask.

Xianchun couldn't even explain it to Yu Bianfu, the one who deserved an explanation the most.

He had met Lihua in a disused courtyard, slightly overgrown with weeds and covered in a thin layer of dust. Xianchun had discovered it after a particularly bad afternoon and managed to drag a chair in without alerting anyone.

His mind flitted back to that day two months ago–it wasn't fateful, and he certainly didn't think it was luck either. But it had compelled him to seek Zhao Wenyuan's help, something Xianchun once thought he would never do again.

Two Months Ago

On that murky afternoon, seemingly only yesterday, Xianchun made his way as far from his wife and strategist as he could manage. Finally alone enough and far away enough from the boring stares of disdain, Xianchun patted the dust off the chair he had dragged over before taking a seat. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, content to be in an unknown place. The relaxation was brief. Xianchun snapped to attention again as there was a sudden bustle of motion in the periphery, holding still as a young laundry maid came into the courtyard.

She didn't see him immediately, humming a song as she walked with a small skip in her step, her hands clasped together. The laundry maid was a plain little thing, probably eighteen or nineteen of age but possibly older than that.

Her apron was very clean, Xianchun noted, watching her silently. Not the cleanliness of palace consorts who never did a single chore by themselves, but that of a working woman who scrubbed her fading clothes with harsh, industrious vigor. The way his mother did sometimes, even after her station had risen far beyond the need for it.

The laundry maid finally caught sight of him and let out a startled shriek, physically staggering back several steps. Xianchun blinked in surprise at her genuine terror. He hadn't even hidden his presence. He'd been sitting right there the whole damn time, yet he somehow felt responsible for having frightened her.

"Y-Your Highness! I'm so sorry!" The maid dropped to her knees, hastily hiding her hands into her robes. He could practically hear her hammering heartbeat, and waved a hand in exasperation.

"Don't worry about it," Xianchun said. Then added, because he did feel bad, "I'm sorry to have startled you."

"Please don't apologize, my lord, it's my own fault!" The maid was shaking now, fearful of losing her job.

"It's not a problem," Xianchun said gruffly. He cleared his throat and softened his tone. "Get up. No harm was done. There's no need to concern yourself with it any further."

The maid flushed bright red and rose to her feet, head lowered bashfully. So fast that her movement was a blur, she whipped her hands behind her back.

That put Xianchun on alert.

"Hold on, why are you hiding your hands?" Xianchun demanded.

"I-I wasn't–I didn't mean to!"

Xianchun frowned. He scanned her anew, reconsidering the frightened young thing as an assassin rather than a maid. No, that didn't seem likely. An assassin who was frightened by her own target? And with such lack of subtlety–no, it couldn't be an assassin. No one was bothering to assassinate Xianchun anyhow.

More likely she was just a thief. In that case, Xianchun didn't even want to bother with it. His energy suddenly sapped out of him. Handling the internal affairs of the household was the Archduchess' responsibility, one that Yu Bianfu did not want. But she would be greatly offended if Xianchun did not let her carry it out.

He didn't want to see his wife right now. Yu Bianfu with her constant disappointment and thinly veiled anger that she refused to even throw at him outright. The thought of it darkened his mood so that his voice came out cold and forbidding.

"Show me what you have in your hands," Xianchun ordered.

Tears filled the laundry maid's eyes as she obeyed, stretching out empty palms.

"I swear, I didn't hide anything," the young woman said, her voice shaking. "I-I just–"

"Just what?" Xianchun asked flatly.

"I-I just thought my hands were too ugly," she said in a small voice. "I didn't want you to see them."

Xianchun took a closer look. Indeed, the maid's hands were far from shapely. They were short, and stumpy to begin with, and her profession hadn't helped. Her fingers and palms were red and extremely chapped. The dark anger melted away, leaving Xianchun deflated and a little ashamed of himself.

So this is what I've fallen to, taking out my anger on helpless girls.

His mother's callused hands had once earned her the mockery of other consorts. He had hated them for it with a burning passion, and had even gotten in trouble for uprooting their gardens in revenge. Yet here he was, making a maid cry over the same matter.

"Never mind that," Xianchun said, as gently as he could manage. "Your hands aren't ugly."

It was as close to an apology as he could get, but the girl seemed genuinely touched by the words. In fact, she blushed bright red at them.

"T-thank you, my lord!"

"You can go," Xianchun said, trying to keep his tone pleasant.

The girl bowed deeply and turned to leave.

Washing laundry was hard work–Xianchun knew as much from his own mother's tales. The more overworked the women were, the more their knuckles would become swollen and painful. In a household with so much wealth and servants, how did the girl get to the point where her hands were in such a misshapen state? Something surged in his chest, and Xianchun leaned forward in his seat.

"Wait!"

The girl turned back, eyes shining hopefully. Hope, for what? What did she expect from him? Xianchun instinctively withdrew, swallowing back the sentiments that had nearly risen to his tongue.

"What's your name?" Xianchun asked, for lack of anything else to say.

She beamed with the brightness of the sun, seeming to light up so thoroughly that Xianchun's breath caught in his throat.

"My name is Lihua, Your Highness," she said.

The knot in his chest unraveled. She hadn't been expecting anything. Her hope was simply for any gesture of kindness that she could get. Xianchun swallowed thickly past something he couldn't quite pin down.

"Is the work too difficult?" Xianchun asked. "We can hire more laundry maids."

"Oh, it's not that bad," Lihua replied. "It's just that two of the girls caught a cold so they can't work right now, and two others are on their monthly red–I-I-I mean–sorry, I shouldn't–" She stumbled over her words, flushing bright red yet again.

"It's alright, I understand," Xianchun said drily. "I only hope that we are not overworking you."

Her smile was so radiant that it was almost hard to look at.

"Not at all, my lord. It is an honor to serve you."

"Thank you," Xianchun said before he realized what he was saying. At her shocked expression, he hastily cleared his throat. "Very well, you can go now."

Lit up by a happiness that emanated from deep within, Lihua bowed and took her leave.

The courtyard once again cooled to its monotony, and Xianchun leaned back in his seat, pushing the girl from his mind.

He did not succeed in pushing the girl from his mind. Xianchun found himself hovering in the unused courtyard again, but Lihua did not show up. Of course she wouldn't. Why would she return here after encountering her employer there before? What was he even hoping for?

Xianchun couldn't say himself. If he wanted to speak with her, he could simply summon Lihua. It would take him less than a full sentence and the girl would be brought before him, shaking with fear as the housekeeper stared down her nape with suspicion. What did he even want from this? It wasn't to take a laundry maid to bed the way his father once had with his mother. It wasn't even to speak with her or learn more about her. It was just the simple wish to share in the hope that Lihua seemed to hold.

She expected nothing from him. She wasn't burdened by the countless things that had gone terribly wrong along the way. She was just a laundry maid with a radiant smile, and he wanted to meet her again.

The memory faded away to his current reality, and Xianchun slowly opened his eyes, alone again in the dark study. The lamp was going out, and he would need to call someone to light it. It occurred to him that Zhao Wenyuan had not made him beg or grovel, and a strange mix of lamentation and gratitude filled his throat. For some reason, the Duke with no reason to help him was still protecting Xianchun's dignity when even Xianchun's closest persons had given up.

He glanced at the privacy talisman Wenyuan had left on the door, and slowly made his way over. If Xianchun pulled it off, he would hear the harried voices outside as servants were rushed out of their beds to pack their meager belongings. He would hear the frightened whimpers, the angry protests, the dismayed whispering of the servants who had not come from the palace.

Outside, people were probably waking up to crowd over at the ruckus. Rumors would spread, and all kinds of vicious gossip would spread.

Given the dramatic fight he'd only just had with Yu Bianfu, the better half of the rumors would center on sordid affairs and sexual perversions. Xianchun knew the rumor mill well enough to take a good guess at the top five contenders that would gain traction and evolve into fantastical horror stories of his cruelty or lecherous nature.

Wenyuan might fail, and leave him to face Yu Bianfu's disgust, now outright. Xianchun had once thought it would be better to have her curse him to his face, but he was changing his mind now.

Not to even mention Liu Boyue, who had watched the argument from afar with a look on his face that Xianchun hadn't seen since they were children.

Almost as if mocking him, the mirror by his foot showed him a distorted fragment of his father's face. The spite it instinctively drew up in him seemed to dispel everything else.

Zhou Xianchun, since when were you such a coward? Xianchun coldly questioned himself.

Prove yourself worthy of your pride.

Xianchun resolutely removed the talisman and stepped forward into the night.

Cultural Notes

万分抱歉/Ten thousand apologies: A Chinese saying, equivalent of "very sorry about all this".

一入宫门深似海/Once entered, the inner palace was as deep as the ocean: A line from a poem lamenting the sad fate of many women who entered the Imperial Palace. Even if they were only there on limited-term contracts, if they caught a prince or Emperor's fancy, they could see unimaginable upwards mobility, but also become exposed to a great many risks. Most likely, they would also never be able to go home again.

Retirement age of palace maids in Ancient China: This varied greatly by dynasty and many time periods lacked official retirement ages. However, an age limit of around twenty-five was later instituted (aka before they got too old to marry by societal standards. While 25 was old for a first marriage in that day and age, widows often remarried far into their thirties or even forties, so it wasn't that big of a deal). In-story, Emperor Xuanzong set a limit of twenty-five, upon which palace maids would automatically retire unless they had exceptional circumstances.

肌肤之亲/Intimate skinship: An Ancient Chinese phrase referring to physical intimacy between a couple. While standards of chastity varied by dynasty, palace maids were often held to a higher standard.

身体发肤受之父母/One's body, hair, and skin were granted by one's parents: An Ancient Chinese saying rooted in the Confucian value of filial piety. As such, it was considered unfilial to cut one's hair (the Qing dynasty hairstyle legitimately resulted in bloody revolts at the beginning for this very reason).

月红/Monthly red: An Ancient Chinese euphemism for women's menstrual cycles.