Before leaving for the war, her father left a message: "Let her learn to dance and enter the palace in three years." But her mother misheard one word. Three years later, I entered the palace covered in tendons and flesh. While others were reciting poems and painting, I held up the sandalwood table with one hand. I was supposed to be a concubine in the harem, but I was made a sword-wielding guard in front of the emperor on the spot. From catching thieves in the cold palace, to breaking the situation in the imperial garden; from blocking the bloody horse, to killing the traitor in the bloody night; they wanted to use my hand as a chess piece, but I stepped into the game step by step. But within the palace walls, there was never a place to survive by relying on brute force. When the storm really came, I realized that the real enemy never stood on the bright side. And this time, I don't want to be a chess piece, I want to be the one who plays chess.
