Chapter Four: Eyeliner and Testing

It wasn't until Shang Jiuya stepped back into the relatively "familiar" yet equally chilling space of the Purple Light Palace that several expressionless maids surrounded her, mechanically removing the heavy crown and elaborate outer robe that almost broke her neck, and changing into slightly lighter but still dark-colored palace attire. Only then did she seem to regain some control over her body, but the fear and anxiety in her heart entwined her even more tightly like vines.

She couldn't continue like this. Sitting idly by and waiting for death would only lead to her demise. Her experience at the Daqing Hall clearly demonstrated this. Those wolves and tigers would not let her go just because she was behaving herself; that bowl of calming soup was proof enough. She had to do something. At the very least, she needed to figure out her surroundings, who was around her, who were her eyes and ears, and who might… even with the slightest chance of being used or remaining neutral.

A strong will to survive, mixed with the observational skills and environmental analysis instincts honed in the modern workplace, temporarily overwhelmed the bone-chilling fear. She took a deep breath of the air, which carried the unique scent of sulfur and sandalwood from the demon realm, and forced herself to calm down.

Feigning exhaustion from the morning council and a need for rest, she dismissed most of her maids, leaving only two waiting at the distant palace gate, claiming she would summon them again if needed. Then, she began to pretend to be unconsciously "strolling" within the limited area she could move around in, in reality conducting a careful reconnaissance.

The Purple Light Palace was vast, with a complex internal structure. Besides the main bedroom where she awoke, there was a study with a massive obsidian desk but not a single book, a bathtub steaming with faint sulfurous heat, and several spacious side halls adorned with old, grotesque tapestries whose purpose remained unknown. Every decoration was extravagantly luxurious and grotesque in the demonic style; enormous beast head carvings protruded from the walls, their hollow eye sockets seemingly staring at her.

She paced back and forth, her gaze like the most precise probe, carefully scanning everything.

She carefully observed the palace maids and guards standing in the corners or along the corridors. Their uniforms seemed to have subtle differences. For example, the two palace maids guarding the outer chambers had a dark pattern resembling a coiled venomous snake embroidered along the hem of their skirts; while the guard guarding the corridor leading to the side hall had a relief of a unicorn horn on his shoulder armor. Most of them had beautiful or handsome faces, conforming to the generally high-颜值 (good-looking) description of demons, but their eyes seemed to be molded from a standardized training mold—downcast, indifferent, and lifeless.

She tried to engage in some seemingly casual interactions.

Around a corner, she saw a young palace maid carefully wiping a floating magic crystal lamp, her movements slow and gentle, as if afraid of disturbing something. Shang Jiuya stopped, her voice as soft as possible, even deliberately weak: "How long... have you been on duty here?"

The palace maid seemed to be pricked by a cold needle. She turned around abruptly, knelt down, her body trembling slightly uncontrollably, her voice trembling noticeably: "Reporting...Reporting to Your Majesty, this servant...this servant has been in the palace for three years, and has been on duty in the Ziguang Hall for...half a year..." After saying this, she lowered her head tightly, her forehead almost touching the cold ground, refusing to say another word, as if speaking another word to her would bring about her death.

Shang Jiuya felt a wave of helplessness and had no choice but to let her get up.

She strolled to the vicinity of the palace gate, where two composed guards stood watch. She casually asked one of them, "Anything interesting happening in the capital lately? I'm getting a little bored staying in the palace all day." She tried to use a conversational tone.

The guard immediately stepped forward, bowed with perfect form, and said in a flat, reciting tone, "Your Majesty, matters outside the palace are beyond my jurisdiction. If Your Majesty is feeling troubled, you may summon the Music and Dance Department." His answer was impeccable, and he immediately passed the buck back to the palace, while also implying a subtle warning: "Don't ask what you shouldn't ask."

Even the meals became a window into her observations. At lunchtime, she looked at the dishes the maid had laid out. The tableware was still exquisite, but the contents seemed perfunctory. One dish of roasted demon lizard meat had slightly charred edges, and the fruit in another platter of spirit fruits was noticeably less vibrant in color than the ones she remembered the original owner enjoying when she was still the "Eleventh Prince." She picked up her jade chopsticks, stirred the food, and whispered to the maid serving the dishes, "The roasting of this meat seems different from usual?"

The maid paused, a fleeting look of panic crossing her face. She then lowered her head and replied in a formulaic tone, "Your Majesty, the Imperial Kitchen has recently appointed a new head chef, perhaps whose skills still need refinement. If Your Majesty is not pleased, I will remove the chef immediately."

"No need." Shang Jiuya put down her jade chopsticks, a cold smile playing on her lips. Change the cook? They were quick to come up with excuses for cutting corners and being negligent. This kind of deliberate, subtle neglect was more torturous than direct swords; it silently reminded her that she, the Demon Lord, couldn't even guarantee her most basic quality of life, and her life and death were entirely in the hands of others.

After several attempts, Shang Jiuya's heart sank completely. This place was essentially an incredibly luxurious prison; everyone she saw was an eye and an ear. Their respect was a facade; surveillance was the real purpose. Behind them stood different forces—perhaps an elder, perhaps a sibling. The original owner, in this position, would likely have been thoroughly infiltrated, with no secrets and no true allies. She was like someone living in a transparent fishbowl, every move exposed to countless gazes.

Just as her mood grew heavier and she was almost driven mad by the omnipresent feeling of suffocation, and even began to doubt the usefulness of her observations, a series of slightly hurried but deliberately heavy footsteps came from outside the hall, breaking the oppressive silence.

A maidservant, her eyes gleaming with undisguised shrewdness and arrogance, dressed far more exquisitely than the palace maids of the Purple Light Palace, strode in, guided by a guard from the palace gate. The guard announced in a low voice, "Your Majesty, the Ninth Prince has sent someone to inquire after you."

Shang Jiuya's heart skipped a beat, and a cold sweat instantly broke out on her back. Her fingers, gripping the teacup, tightened instinctively, her knuckles turning white.

Ninth Prince! Guan Shanyue! That Ninth Sister, so beautiful and ruthless in the fragmented memories, controlling internal affairs and intelligence—she actually sent someone? Is it a routine probe, or… did she discover those insignificant little actions she just made?

The maid named Hanzhu stepped forward, bowing with perfect form, a perfectly timed, insincere smile plastered on her face: "This servant, Hanzhu, has come to visit Your Majesty on the orders of His Highness the Ninth Prince. His Highness heard that Your Majesty was unwell the other day and was very concerned, so he specially ordered this servant to bring you this box of 'Nine Netherworld Mind-Soothing Ointment,' which is made from rare demonic plants collected from the Nine Netherworlds. It is extremely effective in calming the mind, nourishing the soul, and regulating internal energy." In her hands, she held a black jade box carved with a coiled snake pattern. The lid was slightly ajar, and a rich, cloying medicinal fragrance, even faintly carrying a hint of blood, mixed with pure demonic energy, wafted out.

Shang Jiuya's fingertips instantly turned icy cold, and her stomach churned. More "medicine"! The original owner of this body had been sent to her death by a cup of "calming soup," and this so-called calming ointment sounded and smelled ominous.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, suppressing the spasm in her throat and the instinct to back away, and forced a weak but grateful smile onto her face. "Thank you for your concern, Ninth Sister... I'm just... just feeling a little unwell, nothing serious. I'm so sorry to have troubled you with this." She coughed lightly twice at just the right moment, perfectly taking advantage of her body's incomplete recovery.

The maid's smile remained unchanged, but her eyes quickly swept over Shang Jiuya's pale, bloodless face, her trembling fingers as if she couldn't hold anything, and her limp posture leaning against the soft couch. She pushed the jade box forward again, almost touching Shang Jiuya's clothes: "Your Majesty, please accept this. It is a token of His Highness's goodwill. His Highness specifically instructed that the position of Demon Lord is related to the safety of the Demon Realm. Your Majesty is still young and your foundation is not yet stable, so you need to take good care of yourself and absolutely cannot have any more 'accidents'. If the servants do not serve you well, or if anyone offends Your Majesty, you must tell His Highness, and His Highness will definitely 'take care' for you."

The concern in her words was incredibly sincere, like the deep affection between sisters. But the words "accident" and "take charge" were emphasized a little too much.

Shang Jiuya felt a chill run down her spine to the back of her head, her scalp tingling slightly. She understood. This was a warning, a reprimand. It warned her to behave herself and be a dutiful puppet, otherwise next time it might not be "discomfort," but a real "accident." And "taking charge" was more like a declaration of sovereignty, implying that everything inside and outside the Purple Light Palace was under her, Guan Shanyue's, control.

She dared not refuse. Refusing might immediately bring unforeseen trouble. She didn't even dare to show the slightest doubt or fear.

She slightly turned her head, gesturing to a maid from the Purple Light Palace standing beside her to take the box of "generous gifts" that was burning her hand. Her voice grew weaker and more ethereal, even carrying a hint of being flattered: "Thank you so much, Ninth Sister... for your kindness. I... am truly grateful. When I am feeling better, I will definitely... thank you in person."

Hanzhu seemed quite satisfied with her reaction—this sickly, fearful, and easily controlled demeanor was exactly what they wanted. Her smile became more genuine, and she uttered a few more polite phrases such as "May His Majesty recover soon" and "His Highness the Ninth Prince will often think of you," before bowing again and gracefully departing.

The hall fell silent once more.

Shang Jiuya looked at the black jade box placed on the table next to her, as if it were a venomous snake coiled up and hissing, exuding an ominous aura. She didn't dare to touch it at all, and even wanted to throw it out of the hall immediately.

She spent the next half day in a daze. She glanced at the dinner that was delivered and almost lost her appetite. The dishes were still exquisite, but they exuded a perfunctory coldness; one soup was even noticeably undercooked. The clothes that were delivered seemed to feel coarser than when she remembered the original owner as the "Eleventh Prince."

This pervasive oppression and neglect eroded her nerves like a slow poison. She curled up on the soft couch by the window, looking at the eternally gloomy sky of the demon realm outside, filled with swirling purplish-red demonic clouds, feeling like an insect trapped in amber, slowly being solidified by despair and fear, unable to move.

She thought of Rong Jiang again. Rong Jiang was being devoured by countless souls in the River of Oblivion, suffering immense pain, but at least she was still struggling, still angry, still trying to seize every possible opportunity, using every means to survive and become stronger.

And what about himself? Was he to stay in this cold palace, eating cold leftovers, enduring omnipresent surveillance and threats, waiting for the next cup of poison or the next "generous gift" that might come at any time?

A flicker of resentment briefly flared in the depths of that cold despair.

But soon, he was overwhelmed by the sense of powerlessness brought about by the impenetrable cage and the omnipresent eyes and ears in front of him.

What should she do? Where can she find a breakthrough? In this deathly silent palace, is there really not a single crack through which even a sliver of fresh air can seep in?

The "greetings" brought by Hanzhu and the box of "Nine Netherworld Concentration Ointment" that exuded an ominous aura weighed heavily on Shang Jiuya's heart, completely shattering her last shred of hope.

Feigning weakness and lowering one's profile won't bring safety. Those covetous older brothers, sisters, and elders won't even grant her this meager space to live. They see her as an eyesore, someone who must be erased, and they don't even bother to take action themselves, merely sending servants to lightly harass and threaten her time and again, like toying with a young animal trapped in a corner.