The palace at night was a maze of shadows and danger, and Yue had already broken the one rule no concubine dared to defy—never miss curfew. Can she make it back unseen, or will one misstep cost her everything?
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The sky was a deep purple, and the last bits of sunlight disappeared behind the tall palace walls.
Lanterns lit up one by one along the outer gates, making shadows move like ghosts on the stone paths.
Yue stood in front of the closed gates, breathing fast and feeling her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.
The big iron doors seemed like a judge giving her a silent decision.
The guards looked at her one last time—with pity, but they did not move then turned back to their posts.
Yue had to get back to her quarters, she had no choice.
Fear rose quickly, like water breaking through a dam. Her throat tightened, and her palms were sweaty inside her sleeves.
If someone found out she was missing, it would be more than a simple punishment.
She wasn't just a maid now—she was a concubine. One mistake, and she is in big trouble.
The night was getting colder, and the wind was sharp on her cheeks, smelling like pine and stone.
She needed to get back before the first bell, before the maids woke up and noticed her empty bed.
There had to be a way. There had to be.
Then it hit her like a light turning on—she remembered.
The tunnel.
Years ago, as a quiet maid cleaning floors, she overheard girls whispering during a storm.
"A passage," they said.
"From outside, hidden past the old servant quarters. Not big enough for anyone to walk straight."
"Only big enough to crawl, like a rat," one old maid had whispered, holding her shawl tight as thunder shook the windows.
"It was used during a war to send secret messages. Long sealed. Forgotten. But it's still there."
Most laughed, thinking it was a made-up story. But Yue had not forgotten.
It's a long shot, but it's the only one she's got.
Yue pulled her cloak tightly around herself and moved silently away from the gates.
Without wasting time, she turned and vanished into the shadows, heading to the far back of the palace walls, hoping to find the hidden passage from the past.
Her footsteps were soft on the old stone paths, while the cold night air tugged at the hem of her robe.
She moved like a shadow, slipping through patches of moonlight and crouching behind ancient stone lanterns that no longer held candles.
The ground began to change under her feet.
Grass turned into tangled roots, and the neat gravel paths gave way to wild bushes and plants.
Here, the outer walls of the palace met the edge of an ancient forest, where low branches seemed to reach out like watching arms, and moss clung stubbornly to the stones like secrets that refused to die.
There, she saw it.
A part of the wall was broken, almost invisible in the darkness.
Time had cracked the stone, and thick vines hung down like curtains, concealing what lay beneath.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the vines aside, revealing a narrow opening at the base of the wall.
The entrance was partly buried in earth, littered with dry leaves and brittle twigs.
Yue paused for a brief moment. The thought of what might be inside—spiders, snakes, or worse—made her feel uneasy.
But time was short.
She knelt down, feeling the cold ground seep into her knees, and lowered herself into the hole.
The earth was damp and pressed against her sides as she crawled forward. Her elbows scraped the walls, sending dirt crumbling onto her back with each movement.
Roots dangled like fingers from above, catching in her hair and scratching her face. The passage narrowed mid-way, and panic set in when her shoulder got stuck against a stone.
She froze.
The air was thin and clammy.
"Am I stuck?" she thought.
With a slight twist and shift of her weight, she grunted and pushed forward. Her chest scraped against the rough ground, and her knees burned with each drag.
Her fingers clawed through the muck, nails encrusted with cold soil. The tunnel felt like it would never end, as if she were being swallowed whole by some sleeping giant.
Still, she didn't stop. Because ahead, beyond this darkness, there was light. Soft and silver, it shone faintly through a small crack.
She bit her lip hard and surged forward one last time.
Her fingers emerged first, followed by her head, and then her whole body as she spilled out of the tunnel onto a bed of soft moss and scattered stones.
She lay there for a moment, chest heaving, stars spinning above her in the narrow strip of night sky.
She had made it inside the palace.
Yue gazed up at the night sky, breathing heavily.
She noticed a cloud drifting across the stars, with the moon shining through like a watching eye.
Pushing herself up, Yue dusted off the dirt and leaves from her robes.
She surveyed her surroundings, her heart still racing.
This place was familiar. It was the old garden behind the palace's eastern wing, long forgotten like a distant memory.
The pathways were cracked, and weeds had taken over the once tidy hedges.
In the center stood an old stone pond, now dry and filled with dead leaves. The air smelled of damp wood and neglect.
Almost there, she thought, scanning for a clear path to the inner courtyards.
Then she heard it—footsteps. They were heavy, steady, and armored.
Quickly, she hid behind the remains of a stone pillar, holding her breath.
Two guards approached from the far side of the garden, their torches lighting the way. The flames cast long shadows across the overgrown plants and broken tiles.
They chatted casually until one of them stopped.
"Did you see that?" the taller guard asked in a low, alert voice.
The other guard turned his head. "See what?"
"A shadow. Something moved."
Yue held her breath even tighter. She could hear her heart thudding in her ears.
The torchlight was drawing nearer.
"Who's there?" one of the guards called out as he stepped onto the cracked path.
Without hesitating, Yue sprinted from behind the pillar, her robes flaring around her ankles.
"Hey!" one of the guards shouted.
She ran as fast as she could, narrowly avoiding a low-hanging branch that scratched her cheek.
The garden blurred around her, with thorns catching her sleeves and mossy stones slipping under her feet. She stumbled once but kept moving, adrenaline fueling her legs.
The guards crashed through the bushes behind her, shouting and calling for reinforcements.
But Yue didn't stop. She couldn't afford to.
She raced through the trees and past the garden's crumbling gate until the wild darkness gave way to orderly paths again.
Stone corridors unfolded before her, lined with ornate railings, flowering walls, and bronze lanterns casting a faint glow in the night.
She was on the edge of the inner palace. She had made it. But she didn't dare slow down.
"Why does this palace have so many hallways? "Yue wondered, her heart racing like a drumbeat.
She kept turning one corner after another, breathing quickly with each turn, and her eyes darted into every shadow.
The palace felt like a confusing maze at night, unlike its perfect appearance during the day.
Each hallway seemed to stretch endlessly into darkness.
Desperately, she searched for something recognizable—a familiar statue, a painted screen, or even a corridor she knew.
But the palace taunted her with its sameness: dark wooden doors, red concrete walls, and cold, flickering lanterns.
She realized she was lost.
Then, through the darkness, she saw it. A soft, golden light was coming from an open door at the end of a narrow hallway.
Light.
Without a second thought, Yue dashed toward it.
The door was slightly open. Yue slipped inside and quietly closed the door, pressing her back against it.
Her heart was pounding so loudly she feared someone might hear it. Outside, the footsteps faded away.
No one stopped. No one knocked. Only then did Yue finally release a shaky breath.
She was safe, at least for the moment.
Cautiously, she looked around.
A lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a warm amber glow on the counters.
Shelves lined the walls, stacked neatly with bowls, ladles, and jars. A clay pot bubbled quietly over a small fire
"A kitchen?", Yue thought
But it wasn't the grand imperial kitchen. This one was more simple
"Perfect. I'll ask someone here for directions, sneak back quietly, and no one will know I was gone…"
But when she looked around, her heart sank.
The room was empty. There were no maids bustling about or giving orders.
The only noise was the occasional pop from the pot.
Yue's stomach growled loudly. She hadn't eaten since the morning, and the food's aroma was making her dizzy.
She moved closer to the pot, steam rose into the air, warm and moist.
She looked inside. Pale congee bubbled away, thick with soft rice and floating lotus seeds.
It looked comforting, though a bit off.
The rice was clumpy, and some black grains stuck to the pot's edge.
The color was uneven—too thin in spots and too thick in others.
Whoever cooked this must have tried, she thought, trying not to laugh. They just didn't get it quite right.
She was just about to sneak a taste when—
"Girl! What are you doing standing there?" a sharp voice called out behind her.