18 Whether this plan succeeds or fails rests with Heaven’s will.

On the first day of May, although the sky had yet to brighten, the entire palace seemed to awaken.

Within the Eternal Alley, the young women of the palace busied themselves with their grooming and preparations. The consorts and concubines of the harem found it difficult to rest. Every three years, the palace held its selection of new entrants, and no matter how many people were already within the palace walls, it always seemed insufficient.

The neatly arranged young women headed toward the Zhangtan Courtyard, where the steward and a group of palace attendants awaited, periodically counting their numbers.

“Jade Lotus, little sister.”

Seeing Pan Yulian’s expression so solemn—so unlike the radiant and spirited demeanor she had shown before—Ruan Xiuzhu pulled her aside with concern. “Have you not rested well these past two days?”

Pan Yulian shook her head.

Watching this scene, Pan Wenjun suddenly felt dizzy and breathless.

She had tolerated Pan Yulian’s previous arrogance and aggressive demeanor, thinking she was a woman with a plan.

But now, when it came to the critical moment, Pan Yulian displayed such useless timidity!

Suppressing her anger, Pan Wenjun reached out, grabbed her, and whispered harshly, “Pan Yulian, if you dare go before the emperor with such a downcast and shamefaced look, and cause a scene at court, do you even want to keep your life?”

While Pan Wenjun’s fury flared, the other two from Jinrun Xuan arrived quietly. He Yushan took a discreet corner and waited silently, resigned to being rejected despite receiving flowers.

Even at such a tense moment, when the pair from Jinrun Xuan—the so-called “Crouching Dragon and Hidden Phoenix”—were assembled, the entire courtyard’s eyes subtly turned toward them.

Seeing Pan Yulian and He Yushan so eerily quiet today, the onlookers exchanged glances and smirked, thinking their performance a little late, a mere joke.

Zhong Miaozhen was one thing—she appeared as a delicate, melancholic noble lady to outsiders.

But Pan Yulian and He Yushan? Everyone who had spent days with them knew exactly what they were like.

One, a frivolous, shallow beauty with a large bosom and no brains.

The other, petulant and willful, possessing an irritating stubbornness.

And yet they still dared to hope for selection into the palace?

The nobles above would surely look down on them, and they would undoubtedly be rejected.

Rejected?

That word sent a chill through every young woman in the courtyard.

Yes, these two “peculiar flowers” from Jinrun Xuan were certain not to enter the palace.

But among the candidates, how many truly wished to enter the palace, willingly sacrificing their lives for a hope so faint?

The young women’s gazes shifted, now looking at Pan Yulian and He Yushan with altered expressions.

On reflection, these two “Crouching Dragon and Hidden Phoenix” had been loud and troublesome before them, but had never broken any rules and had quietly awaited the selection.

They mocked others openly, but perhaps behind their backs, the mockery was returned.

“Hey!”

Such lack of fairness, such disrespect!

He Yushan sensed the strange looks from those around her but refused to inquire why, boldly returning their glares.

In the tense atmosphere, a procession entered, led by a eunuch in a red robe.

The red-robed eunuch strolled into the courtyard unhurriedly. Upon hearing the steward confirm all were present, he nodded and took the roster. The eunuch beside him then loudly announced, “In the twelfth year of Zhaoping, ninety-nine young women enter the imperial selection.”

...

Just as Aunt Sun had once said, the young women followed the eunuch in the order their names were called.

No one spoke, nor cared whether Pan Yulian and He Yushan were using cunning, underhanded tactics. All stood nervously in place, ears straining to hear the names.

Pan Yulian’s heart was a chaotic mess as she awaited the summons.

The midnight fright had unsettled her determination to enter the palace.

She hesitated, unsure whether being selected or rejected was better.

Pan Wenjun left first, casting a final glance at Pan Yulian.

Meeting Pan Wenjun’s gaze, Pan Yulian sighed inwardly.

A mad dog gets beaten; a reckless person gets slapped.

She truly was an impatient, short-sighted fool, a cannon fodder courting death.

Why had she dared to flaunt herself before the heroine, provoking recklessly? Now her escape route was a sheer cliff.

If rejected, returning to the Pan household...

And then there was the hero, with his keen interest and mastery of every art, waiting to ensnare her.

The word “tragedy” was practically stamped across Pan Yulian’s forehead.

Of course, Pan Yulian had asked herself:

What if the hero was not so shameless and cruel in nature?

Then the question arose—should she stubbornly bet that the hero was a pure and kind soul?

Since crossing over, Pan Yulian had never truly encountered Murong Ye, the hero.

She only knew that at this moment, Murong Ye was firmly in power.

Judging others by herself.

A man in power might still feign courtesy before others.

But behind closed doors—especially toward the woman who once scorned him, then threw stones at him in his time of misfortune, who broke their engagement and humiliated him, only to suddenly crawl before him with her life in his hands—what would he be like?

No one had ever called Pan Yulian ugly, despite the ridicule—calling her shallow, vulgar, and unfit for the stage.

Her beauty at this moment was like a cruel, eerie blade.

Consider that the hero would ultimately become emperor.

The man who could ruthlessly trample over royal kin to seize that position...

Would you believe he was a “benevolent and kind” ruler?

But if she entered the palace and was crushed under that monstrous force...

At the thought, Pan Yulian shuddered. If she were to vomit right then, who would be responsible?

“The daughter of He Lizhi, Right Assistant Minister of the Supreme Court, He Yushan.”

“The daughter of Pan Tongdian, Assistant Director of the Ministry of Works, Pan Yulian.”

“The Prefect of Suzhou...”

It was her turn, her turn, her turn.

He Yushan walked ahead, Pan Yulian followed closely behind. Zhong Miaozhen had already left after her group. The remaining four candidates were unfamiliar to Pan Yulian.

In the original story, there was no unexpected twist in the heroine’s selection, nor was the hero present. The selection process was comparatively simple.

The candidates did not need to perform talents or dazzle with skills, nor engage in exchanging poetry. They simply presented themselves in groups of six before the emperor. As the number of candidates was not large, the process was swift.

As the eunuchs called their names, the line of young women knelt neatly before the emperor.

From the moment they entered until the grand kowtow, no one dared to look up or speak.

The emperor, clad in a dragon robe embroidered with twelve symbols, sat high upon the throne—his figure vague yet darkly imposing like a ghostly presence.

The towering imperial city of glazed golden tiles, the solemn guards standing firm, and the emperor looking down upon them...

At that moment, Pan Yulian felt the image of the foolish, fat, and ugly emperor in her memories blur, as though an invisible hand pressed her waist down, preventing her from raising her eyes, her heartbeat seeming wildly out of control.

Pan Yulian forced herself to suppress her trembling impulse, frantically thinking of anything to distract herself—

The emperor... however much he needed to weigh many matters, was still the emperor. He need not humble himself. The many elegant, gentle, and graceful consorts already selected showed his preferences.

At this point, whether she was selected or not was beyond her control.

Yet, in that instant, her subconscious longing to be chosen overwhelmed her distaste for the emperor’s image.

She could not say why, but she earnestly prayed in her heart:

Please let me be chosen.