The morning mist clings to the stone paving of the Imperial City as you adjust the silk sash of your official robes. The air carries the sharp scent of incense from nearby temples mixed with the earthy aroma of damp stone. Your first day as a junior official has arrived, and the weight of your family's expectations presses heavier than the bamboo hat balanced on your head.

A eunuch approaches, his high-pitched voice cutting through the morning calm. "The Minister of Rites requests your presence immediately," he announces, eyes narrowed with the practiced disdain common among palace staff toward new arrivals. His silk robes, though less elaborate than those of high officials, bear subtle emblems that suggest he holds more influence than his position would indicate.

As you follow him through the maze of corridors and courtyards, you notice the intricate carvings on the wooden pillars—dragons representing imperial power, phoenixes symbolizing grace—and the way sunlight filters through latticed windows to create patterns on the flagstones beneath your feet. The distant sound of temple bells echoes across the palace complex, marking the hour and reminding you that time moves differently in the Forbidden City—swiftly for those who fail, agonizingly slow for those waiting on imperial favor.