Chapter One: The Silk Veil
"At fourteen, wrapped in silk and shadows, Wu Zhao stepped into the palace, and survival was everything."
In 624 AD, a force was born, one the Tang Dynasty never expected, but would never forget. Her name was Wu Zhao.
She was the daughter of Wu Shihuo, a mid-ranking official with ties to the imperial court, and Lady Yang, a refined woman from a scholarly family. Though born into privilege, Wu Zhao's childhood was no gilded cage, it was a crucible. As the youngest of four children, she grew up watching her brothers prepare for civil service, while she sat quietly in the corner, absorbing everything.
Where other girls were taught embroidery and silence, Wu Zhao was taught philosophy and poetry. Her father, though traditional, allowed her to listen in during his study hours. Her mother encouraged her curiosity, quietly, cautiously. She devoured the Confucian classics, the teachings of Laozi, and tales from dynasties long gone. She learned history not just as stories, but as tools, seeing how power moved through words, not just swords.
Confucius taught women to obey. Wu Zhao read his words, memorized them, and then began to ask, Why must obedience be my fate?
By age twelve, her wit was sharper than most grown men. By thirteen, she could recite The Analects in her sleep. And by fourteen, her father summoned her with a heavy heart.
"Wu Zhao," he said one evening, standing in his study, hands clasped behind his back.
"Yes, Father?"
"You are of age now. You will enter the palace, Taiji Gong, as a concubine to the Emperor."
Her lips parted. "Why me? Why so soon?"
He didn't answer at first. The silence pressed like stone.
"It is an honor," he said eventually, "for our family. You will go as a cairen, a fifth-rank concubine. You must uphold our name. Make us proud."
She bowed. Her limbs moved on their own.
Inside, her heart thundered.
The palace gates were carved with dragons, rimmed in gold, but they looked more like teeth.
As her litter was carried inside, Wu Zhao kept her face veiled in red silk. Her hands trembled beneath her sleeves, her back straight. Girls were brought in by the dozen every season, most forgotten within months.
The palace was a world of rules. Speak only when spoken to. Walk with small steps. Keep your gaze low. Never turn your back on a superior. Every movement was watched. Every breath measured.
She was lodged in the Quiet Lotus Quarters, reserved for lower-ranked concubines. Her room was small but clean, with a lattice window overlooking a barren courtyard. No garden. No color. Just silence and discipline.
Every morning, she woke at dawn to practice bowing, walking, serving tea. Every afternoon, she sat with other low-ranking women in the lesson hall, learning court etiquette, history, and calligraphy. The tutors were strict. The eunuchs colder.
At night, she sat alone, counting stars through the lattice. Days bled into weeks.
"Am I nothing more than a name on a registry?" she often wondered.
Then one morning, everything changed.
The lesson hall was quiet. Wu Zhao had just finished arranging her brushes when a hush fell over the room. The air shifted.
Then he entered.
Emperor Taizong.
He was taller than she expected. His robes shimmered with gold thread, the dragon embroidery coiling like it lived. His gaze was hard, the kind that weighed and judged without mercy.
Wu Zhao dropped to her knees, silk brushing stone.
"So, you are Wu Zhao," he said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He tilted his head. "You read The Book of Songs?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "And what does it teach of loyalty?"
She swallowed. "That loyalty begins with truth. But in court, truth is often cloaked."
A pause.
Then, surprisingly, the corner of his mouth twitched—barely a smile.
"You will learn well," he said, turning. "Don't waste time fearing shadows."
When he left, the silence cracked.
The Emperor had spoken to her. Not to her tutor. Not to her escort. To her.
For one brief moment, she had been seen.
But that moment came with a price.
Later that week, a summons arrived, one that made her fingers go cold.
She was to attend tea at the Jade Orchid Pavilion, hosted by Consort Wei, Zhaoyi, third-rank, one of the Emperor's most favored.
The pavilion was a paradise of luxury. Silk curtains floated like mist. Incense curled through the air. Consort Wei reclined on a chaise of ivory and red lacquer, her robe drenched in crimson silk and golden phoenix embroidery.
Beside her sat two other consorts, Yin and Xu, both high-ranking and beautiful in the most dangerous way.
Wu Zhao bowed low. "Greetings, Your Graces. I am honored to be in your presence."
Wei sipped her tea. "So, the new scholar girl graces us."
There was no warmth in her tone.
"Tell me," Wei continued, her voice smooth as poison, "did you bow properly just now?"
"I believe I did, Your Grace."
Wei set her cup down with a clink. "You believe?" she echoed. "Belief is dangerous here. Bowing an inch too shallow could be seen as defiance. Do you know what happened to the last girl who 'believed' too much?"
Giggles. Cold ones.
Wu Zhao bowed again, lower.
"I meant no offense, Consort Zhaoyi."
Wei stood, circling her.
"You read too much. You speak too clearly. You think that will save you? No, child. It will doom you. This court is not ruled by knowledge, but by cunning."
She leaned in, voice low. "Ambition in your eyes. That's what I see. Be careful. This place devours girls like you."
With a flick of her sleeve, she turned away.
"Leave us. While you still have the Emperor's curiosity."
As Wu Zhao backed out, a voice whispered from behind a silk fan, "Pretty face. Pity she won't last the season."
That night, in her room, Wu Zhao sat beneath flickering candlelight. The walls seemed to close in, shadows dancing like ghosts.
Her heart ached, not from fear, but rage.
I bowed. I obeyed. I respected every rule. Yet they still tried to break me.
She stared into the flame.
If this palace was a cage, then she would learn every lock, every whisper, every crack in the walls.
She would not be forgotten. She would rise.
And in the cold heart of the harem, something stirred. Not fear. Not tears.
Resolve.