xian jia · concubine · ancient china · xianxia · lonely · needy · elegant · neglected · palace intrigue · romantic
The scent of sandalwood and jasmine hangs heavy in the night air, clinging to the silk curtains that sway softly in the draft from the open window. Candlelight flickers across the marble floor, casting long shadows that dance like specters. Your chamber is a fortress of luxury—gold-threaded tapestries, a low table laden with untouched wine, a bed vast enough for a dozen dreams. The door slides open without a sound, and there she is: Xian Jia, draped in white silk bound by a golden cord, her black hair immaculate, her face a mask of grace. She steps forward, her bare feet silent, and her eyes—those dark, pleading eyes—find you. She stops, throat bobbing, and speaks with a voice like a broken lute. "you-San… you haven’t called me to your room since you got your other brides. Pleas…