We were going back to the palace.
Which meant Yuling needed a disguise.
Not just a put-on-a-different-robe-and-keep-your-head-down disguise. No. We needed full witness-protection-program-level transformation. If the wrong person recognized her, we were all done for.
So naturally, I did what any rational girl with absolutely no professional experience and only half a working plan would do:
I went shopping.
And by shopping, I mean I scoured the entire marketplace for every pot of rouge, powdered pearl, rice flour base, charcoal brow paint, and crushed flower pigment I could find. It was like raiding a Qing Dynasty Sephora—but with worse lighting and zero testers.
I haggled like my life depended on it (because, well, it kind of did), shoved everything into a basket, and rushed back to the inn like a woman on a mission.
Yuling was half-asleep when I stormed in.
"Sit up," I said. "Your face is my canvas now."
She blinked at me. "What?"
"No time," I muttered, already mixing powders like a deranged apothecary. "The palace is a landmine of toxic power-hungry people with amazing memory and questionable morals. You can't just waltz in there looking like yourself."
I pulled her closer and assessed the situation.
Good bone structure. Strong brows. Minimal puffiness from the almost-dying thing. We had a shot.
I cracked my knuckles.
And began.
I used powdered rice flour as a base—not ideal for blending, but manageable with enough water and emotional damage. I added a slight bronze tint using crushed dried petals from some overpriced vendor, giving her cheeks a subtle warmth. Not too much. Just enough to whisper "I'm healthy but mysterious."
Next came contouring.
Yes, contouring.
With charcoal.
I shaded the sides of her nose like I was chiseling a statue. Gave her jaw just enough shadow to imply aristocracy but not enough to look like she could lead a rebellion. I feathered out her brows—using a tiny brush made from one of my hairpins—into soft arches that looked demure, not fierce.
And the lips?
Just a soft tint of rose, with a little pearl dust in the center to catch the light. Slight shimmer. Not enough to look seductive. Just "who is she?" level pretty.
As I worked, I couldn't help it—my brain slipped back to my old world. All those YouTube tutorials I'd binge at 2am. Watching twenty-minute breakdowns of "soft glam," "no-makeup makeup," "siren eyes," and "how to contour like your ex's new girlfriend doesn't exist."
Somewhere, deep in my muscle memory, 2019-me was THRIVING.
Sure, I didn't have Fenty or Charlotte Tilbury. But I had rage, powder, and a girl to protect.
By the time I stepped back, hands dusty and satisfied, Yuling was blinking up at me in confusion.
She didn't look like herself.
She looked like someone who worked in the palace… maybe in records, or managing textiles. Soft-spoken. Sweet. Totally not a threat. But beautiful in that "I-can't-place-why-but-I'd-trust-her-with-my-fortune" kind of way.
And I?
Was proud.
No one said anything, but when the others came in and saw her, their stunned silence was everything.
I slayed.
In ancient China.
With crushed flowers and despair.
We returned to the palace just before sundown.
The guards bowed, the gates opened, and just like that, we were back in the belly of the beast.
Everything looked the same—perfectly swept courtyards, servants rushing like they were being timed, that faint scent of lotus and secrets in the air. But it all felt different now. Like the sky itself was holding its breath.
Yuling walked beside me in silence, head lowered, steps perfectly measured.
Not a single person looked twice.
To them, she was just another palace maid. One of many. One more girl in soft robes with good posture and no voice. And that was exactly how we needed it to be.
But I kept glancing at her anyway.
Every time we passed someone important, my heart would stutter just a little. Waiting. Expecting.
But no one blinked.
No one whispered.
No one saw her.
It was the first time I'd ever felt genuinely grateful for the palace's obsession with hierarchy and uniformity. To them, she was furniture. Background. Invisible.
Perfect.
Xiaohua came out to greet us.
She took one look at Yuling—disguised, unfamiliar—and her eyes widened in a mix of confusion and silent accusation, like: Who exactly did you pick up on the way back? And is she staying for dinner?
I gave her the briefest explanation—just enough to convey "she's with us, don't ask too many questions."
Xiaohua didn't blink.
She didn't press. Didn't even hesitate.
She simply nodded once, turned to Yuling with a professional smile, and said, "This way."
Then she whisked her off toward the maid quarters like she'd done this a hundred times—like hiding someone in plain sight was just another Tuesday.
Later, in the quiet of my room, Xiaohua pulled me into a fierce, tear-soaked hug.
"You're alive," she whispered. "You're really alive."
She didn't say much else—and she didn't have to.
Her arms were warm and trembling around me, and for the first time since I'd crash-landed into this twisted historical drama, something in my chest finally settled. Like I'd found a tether. Like I wasn't drifting anymore.
Xiaohua wasn't just a palace maid.
She was family now.
And before I could even sit down, she was already whispering to Yuling—timing of the patrols, which wings to avoid, which servants couldn't keep a secret and which ones would trade their silence for a candied chestnut.
She folded Yuling into the palace rhythm like she'd done it a hundred times before.
Bless Xiaohua.
The girl could run a rebellion with a mop, a bun pin, and a glare.
****
Since we returned to the palace, everything had gone… still.
Too still.
Wei Wuxian, who usually moved through life like a chaotic wind chime possessed by charm and mischief, was unnaturally restrained. He couldn't just walk into the Wei ancestral shrine and start yanking up floorboards. Not yet. Not when every minister, servant, and spy disguised as a gardener would be watching him the moment he stepped out of line.
So, for now, we waited.
The next morning, I sat in the inner courtyard sipping lukewarm tea while Xiaohua brushed my hair with the kind of delicate precision that made me wonder if she'd once trained as an assassin.
I tilted my head slightly. "Xiaohua?"
"Yes, Miss Mei Lin?"
"I've been gone for weeks. Practically disappeared. Prince Wei too. Ming Yu. Even Hanguang-jun. Shouldn't someone be… I don't know… suspicious? One royal consort vanishes into thin air and no one raises a brow?"
She paused—just long enough to smirk behind my back.
"No one knows the truth," she said simply. "After we couldn't find you, Prince Wei told everyone that you loved the River Jade Villa and would like to stay longer."
I blinked. "Wait. That's what everyone thinks?"
Xiaohua nodded. "Mhm. Prince Wei's word is law when it suits the court's comfort. Lady Wang returned to the palace first and didn't object to the story."
I frowned. "Yufei didn't expose me?"
"No." Xiaohua's voice lowered. "I think… she was hoping you wouldn't come back. I still couldn't believe she pushed you."
I sat still, her words hanging in the air like smoke.
So that was it.
Yufei had stayed quiet.
Not to protect me.
But to let the story bury me. Let time and rumor do her work for her. If I never returned, she'd win by default.
But now I was back.
And she hadn't expected that.
I set down my teacup, a slow chill blooming under my skin—but not from fear.
From something deeper.
Sharper.
"Then I suppose," I said softly, "it's time for me to return the favor."
Because the thing about palace games is: the longer you wait, the deeper the cut when you finally move.
And Yufei?
She'd just run out of time.