I tried to lay low as they suggested for a few weeks, but being a product of the digital age, I was losing my mind. Look, in a historical drama, sure—every day is full of emotional standoffs, romantic tension, surprise betrayals. But in real life?
There's a whole lot of… nothing.
No streaming. No Spotify. No Instagram. Not even a cursed email to delete for the dopamine. Just me, some flowers, and an army of overly polite girls who refused to let me wander more than five meters without supervision.
By the end of the first week, I had stared at so many lotus blossoms I started naming them. There was Petal Chan, Blossom Li, and my personal favorite: That One That Looks Like It's Judging Me.
"Miss, are you speaking… to the flowers?" one of the servant girls asked one morning, genuine concern in her voice.
"Yes," I replied flatly. "They're the only ones who don't remind me which corridors are off-limits."
She didn't know whether to bow or call a healer.
I tried to fill the hours with reading. I thought it might be a deeply enriching, soul-broadening experience. You know, "When in Rome," and all that.
Spoiler: I wasn't in Rome. I was in Hell's antique library.
The texts were dense, filled with classical Chinese that my fifteen years of Mandarin classes never prepared me for. The characters blurred together like they were holding hands in a dance circle, spinning wildly just to mock me. I got through one paragraph in two hours and felt like I'd aged a decade.
At one point, I found an entire scroll that I think was about moral cultivation… or possibly tax codes. It was hard to tell.
By week three, I had resorted to braiding my own hair in increasingly complex patterns just to pass the time.
"Wow, triple-loop with side twists," I said to my reflection. "New record. Too bad no one invented hair tutorials yet."
I wasn't just bored—I was creatively, spiritually, cosmically bored. There are only so many times you can watch a koi fish swim in a circle before you start to relate a little too much.
Desperate for something—anything—to do, I finally asked the servant girls if there was a task I could try. Their eyes lit up like they'd been waiting for this moment their whole lives.
They handed me an embroidery set.
Embroidery.
I stared at it like it was a cursed relic.
Me? Embroidery? This should be interesting. I didn't even sew buttons back home. I once hot-glued the hem of a dress and called it a day. But sure, ancient needlecraft. Why not?
I gave it a shot.
Ten minutes in: mild confusion. Twenty minutes in: finger pricked. Thirty minutes in: finger pricked again but now with a bit of flair and blood.
By the time I looked down and saw what could only be described as a tangled mess of thread vaguely resembling a dead spider, I was convinced embroidery had been invented as a punishment for women with too many opinions.
My fingers looked like I'd challenged a rosebush to a duel and lost. I finally threw the hoop down in defeat.
"Why does anyone do this for fun?" I muttered, cradling my hand like it had been personally betrayed.
By week three, I was officially losing it. Dopamine detox. I could no longer tell if the palace was a sanctuary or a very pretty padded cell.
I needed human interaction—not polite servant girl nodding or koi fish side-eye.
I needed Wei Wuxian.
I marched right up to Madam Hui, who was inspecting something on a scroll, and planted myself in front of her like a woman with a mission.
"Madam Hui," I said, trying to sound composed and not like someone who had just stabbed herself with a needle seventy-two times. "May I speak with Prince Wei?"
She looked at me carefully, her sharp eyes flickering with curiosity. "Of course, Miss Mei Lin," she said after a pause. Then she turned to a nearby servant. "Go inform Prince Wei that Miss Mei Lin wishes to speak with him."
As the girl scurried off, I tried for small talk.
"Madam Hui… What do people do here when they're bored?"
She blinked at me like I'd just asked where they kept the Wi-Fi.
"Miss," she said with a trace of amusement, "the servants are rarely bored. They have their duties. As for the nobles, they spend their time in leisure—painting, composing poems, playing instruments. Some ride horses or practice archery."
Ah yes, nobles and their hobbies. Nothing says "a fun time" like writing sad poems alone in your garden while someone plays the guqin behind you dramatically.
I sighed. "I want to be useful. Is there anything I can do? Something meaningful?"
Madam Hui's expression softened ever so slightly. "Miss, you are a guest of Prince Wei. It is he who will decide how you may be of service."
Translation: don't get too ambitious until Wei Wuxian gives the okay.
Fair enough.
But if someone didn't give me a purpose soon, I was either going to go feral… or try embroidery again. And frankly, both options terrified me.
Moments later, the servant girl returned and whispered something to Madam Hui. She gave a small nod, then turned to me with her usual composed expression.
"Prince Wei is ready to see you," she said. "Please, follow me."
A surge of anticipation ran through me. Finally, someone who might understand that watching koi fish loop in slow-motion was not a sustainable lifestyle.
Madam Hui led me through a series of quiet corridors, each one lined with intricate wood carvings and silk banners that fluttered slightly in the still air, like even the palace itself was trying to look busy.
When we reached Wei Wuxian's quarters, he greeted me with that easy, slightly mischievous smile of his.
"To what do I owe the honor today?"
I plopped onto the nearest cushion with all the grace of a drama queen whose last nerve had snapped.
"Your Highness, I'm gonna be real with you. I am bored out of my mind. No internet. No streaming. No PC gaming. I haven't scrolled in three weeks. I think I'm starting to hallucinate motion just to feel something."
Wei Wuxian blinked. "Internet? Streaming…?"
I waved a hand. "Modern magic. Don't worry about it. Anyway—chores. Can I do some?"
Madam Hui, who had apparently followed us in, looked like I'd just asked to polish the Emperor's boots.
"Miss, you are a guest of the Prince. How could we possibly allow you to perform such tasks? The servants are here to handle such things."
"Right," I said. "Servants do the work, nobles stare at flower arrangements. Got it."
Turning to Wei Wuxian, I asked, "So what do you and Hanguang-jun do all day? When you're not fighting off giant demon-scorpions, I mean."
Wei Wuxian chuckled. "Ah, well. I have my duties—court affairs, letters, diplomatic headaches. Lan Zhan usually trains with the cultivators or meditates."
"So… spiritual Excel spreadsheets and soul push-ups. Cool." I slumped slightly. "What about the non-magical folks? The peasants without glowing swords and princely responsibilities?"
Wei Wuxian's eyes lit up with a spark of inspiration.
"Would you like to watch the cultivators train? We have a practice ground nearby. It might offer some… stimulation."
I perked up like someone had just said Wi-Fi. "Yes! Finally, something with movement and energy. I don't even care if I understand what's happening — I just want to watch people do flips and shout intimidating things."
Madam Hui, of course, looked like I'd suggested bathing in front of the entire court.
"Miss Mei Lin, you are a young lady! You cannot go mingling among rough cultivators and soldiers. It is highly improper. And dangerous."
Wei Wuxian waved a hand dismissively, still grinning. "She'll have a guard. Lan Zhan will arrange everything. She can watch from a safe distance — it'll be completely respectable."
Madam Hui's mouth thinned into a line of pure scandal.
"Your Highness, with all due respect, gossip in the palace spreads faster than fire. Allowing her near the training grounds could tarnish her reputation and your reputation."
Wei Wuxian's smile softened. He walked over and gently placed a hand on her shoulder — a rare gesture that immediately shifted the mood.
"Madam Hui, I understand. And I wouldn't put Mei Lin at risk. She won't go alone, and she won't be among the men. She'll just observe, from a proper distance. Please… trust me."
Madam Hui's stern expression held for another moment, then she exhaled slowly — the kind of sigh only someone responsible for other people's chaos learns to perfect.
"Very well," she said at last. "But only with Hanguang-jun's arrangement. And only from the observation terrace."
I practically lit up. "Thank you, Madam Hui. I swear, I'll be the picture of decorum. I'll sit so still and silent, they'll mistake me for a statue."
She gave me a long look.
"That would be a first."
Fair enough.
I could barely contain my excitement. Finally, something interesting to do! I had no idea what to expect, but anything was better than wandering around the palace aimlessly.
As we left Wei Wuxian's quarters, I couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of anticipation.
This might be just the distraction I needed to keep my sanity in this ancient world.