The Crown Prince's order came abruptly.
At the hour of the Monkey the next day, while I was still scrubbing potatoes until my hands turned pale, a eunuch suddenly yanked me up and dragged me toward the inner palace.
"His Highness demands your presence."
I almost thought I'd misheard.
Everyone in the kitchens knew the Crown Prince never involved himself with the lowly—why summon a mere scullion? But before I could ask, I was shoved into a side chamber.
The Crown Prince reclined on a raised dais, sipping tea to soothe his throat.
He didn’t look at me. Instead, he addressed his attendant: "This is the one who knelt too quickly last night?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"...This lowly one has no name. Before entering the palace, the Ministry of Revenue registered me as 'An Qi.'"
Finally, he lifted his gaze—like inspecting goods.
"An Qi?" He laughed softly, the sound chilling my spine. "I’ve never seen a eunuch with a red mole on the back of their neck."
My heart seized. Ice flooded my veins.
—He remembered. It wasn’t an accident. He’d seen it all along.
"Are you afraid of me?"
I stayed silent.
He tapped the table, voice gentle as coaxing a kitten: "Relax. I don’t kill clever people."
"But you’ll need to prove you’re worth my silence."
The words left me speechless.
He knew I was a fraud, yet hadn’t exposed me. Instead, he offered terms—letting me choose my fate.
I forced myself to steady.
"...How does Your Highness wish me to prove it?"
He tossed a letter before me.
"Deliver this to the Vice-Minister of the Shuntian Office within three days."
Taking it, I glimpsed the sealed emblem—a cipher used only by the Eastern Palace’s inner circle.
A test. And a warning.
"Fail, and the Shuntian agents will carve you up before I lift a finger."
His smile turned frigid. "Succeed, and you’re no eunuch. You’re mine."
"From today onward, your name is An Wuyang—'An, Without Harm.'"
I knelt, forehead pressed to the floor, fists clenched.
Cold sweat slicked my back.
I understood: the price of survival was selling my life to the Crown Prince.
That night, back in the kitchens,
I hid the letter against my chest and trembled in the corner.
To others, I was just a frozen little eunuch. None knew my mind raced with questions:
—Is this a larger scheme?
—Why me?
—What if the letter isn’t a test, but a trap?
Before I could unravel it, a shout erupted outside:
"There’s a spy in the Imperial Kitchen Directorate! Seal the inner quarters at once!"
My blood turned to ice.
—He’s made his move.
But I didn’t know whether the Crown Prince was covering for me—
Or leading me to the executioner’s block.
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