🎧 Change Language

Waking up kneeling on the polished wooden floor, dressed in layers of embroidered fabric and surrounded by women speaking too quickly in a language she didn't understand, was definitely not part of Alice's plans for that week.

"The Palace of a Hundred Tears" was a historical production set in some fictional empire of a nonexistent Eastern country. Perhaps the Kingdom of Jinshui, if Alice wasn't mistaken. It was one of those series in the catalog that blended mythology, ancestral ceremonies, and palace intrigue, with settings so beautiful they hurt.

Alice tried to process the scene: the floral-embroidered pillows, the delicate tapestry, and the scent of incense with a hint of impending humiliation. Elegantly dressed women walked around with a practiced grace, as if each step already had a soundtrack. And she? She was clearly the extra lost in the middle of the scene.

A woman with an impeccably painted face, arched eyebrows, and an air of superiority strutted through the room in a floor-length purple silk dress. Around her, two maids paced in unison, balancing silver trays. One of them (Alice, apparently) appeared to have dropped something.

Or said the wrong thing.

Or simply existed.

“何をしているの？！” cried the maid, which Alice mentally thought meant something like, “Are you stupid, or are you just pretending?” If the interpretation was incorrect, the intonation suggested otherwise.

Alice opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried to smile. Coughed. Bowed respectfully, hoping the gesture was culturally acceptable and not a declaration of war.

"I don't speak... that. Uh... English? ASL?”

No response.

She glanced at the other maids, who looked startled. The purple concubine wrinkled her nose, as if she were smelling something unpleasant, like poorly formatted code.

Alice took a step back and tripped over a cushion.

"No. No. No. This is all wrong. I shouldn't be here. I don't know the lines. I don't know the rules. I don't even know my name here!"

She closed her eyes for a second and wished she were at home. Or at the office. Or in the middle of the street with a sign saying, "Commit me to a mental hospital."

When she opened it, a small floating screen appeared before her.

Session Settings

She blinked.

It was the platform menu. The same floating menu from the catalog, now reduced to a translucent square with icons:

Audio / Subtitles / Skip Intro / Exit (disabled)

With trembling fingers, Alice clicked on Audio.

A new submenu opened:

🔘 Original language
⚪ English (dubbed)

She pressed English as if pressing an emergency button.

The transition was immediate.

"Did you spill tea on the lady's tunic again, you good-for-nothing?" One of the maids said, now perfectly understandable.

"That girl is a disaster. It was the third time this week."

Alice straightened.

"Ah, now yes. Much better. Thank you very much, dubbing professionals!"

The concubine eyed her suspiciously.

"Are you thanking me...?"

Alice gave the most respectful curtsy her modern body could muster.

"I'm sorry, madam. I... didn't sleep well last night."

"Good. Sleep better next time. If you mess up again, you'll spend the night scrubbing the courtyard."

Alice sighed and nodded.

It was clear now: she was a maid in that period drama. The one she'd dropped just as the plot began to veer into political intrigue, difficult names, and murders veiled with fans.

Alice walked to the corner of the room, where other maids were arranging flowers in vases. She positioned herself, trying to imitate their gestures. Gradually, the language settled into her mind.

The setting was stunning. Carved wooden columns, windows with white linen curtains, and the constant scent of tea and chrysanthemums. The flowers before her were beautiful. White, yellow, and pink, with petals so delicate they looked like rice paper.

Alice cautiously picked up one of the vases and tried to copy the movements of the servant girl next to her, who was inserting the stems as if she'd been doing it since childhood. The maid noticed Alice's flustered look and let out a sigh that said, "Here we go again."

"Are you new?" she asked, her tone more exasperated than welcoming.

"Apparently," Alice replied, praying her answer wouldn't sound insolent in that reality.

"New, clumsy, and lacking in protocol. It'll be a miracle if she lasts a week."

Alice smirked. It seemed HR's welcome was universal.

"What's your name?" the other asked.

Alice froze.

"My... name?"

The maid frowned.

"Yes. You're replacing the last helper, right? The one who fell off the scaffolding last week."

Alice made a face that she hoped expressed "yes" and "maybe" simultaneously.

"Ah. Then you must be Lin."

"That's right. Lin. That’s precisely my name. I've had it since I was a baby."

The maid stared at her for a second longer, as if trying to figure out if the girl was just stupid or if she was pretending. In the end, she just snorted and went back to arranging the flowers.

Alice took a deep breath and tried to imitate the gestures with the same almost choreographed precision as the others. The choreography of the handmaidens. If she got it wrong, she could be beheaded or demoted to cleaning horse feces. Depending on the story, both were options.

As she tried to appear helpful, her mind raced. What episode was that? She vaguely remembered a few scenes from the story, but not the whole thing. It was like trying to put together a puzzle with pieces from different boxes. And each one had subtitles in a different language.

Alice glanced up discreetly, hoping the floating menu would reappear with some miraculous option. A tutorial. A summary of the previous episode. A spoiler button.

Nothing.

Alice was lacking in these details. She had no idea what was coming next. And there was no skip-episode button.

She took a deep breath, adjusted the wide sleeves of her tunic, and tried not to look like a complete fraud. At any moment, someone might ask her to serve tea, recite a poem, decipher an imperial betrayal, or, worse, sew something.

Alice didn't know how long she could keep up the charade. But, at least for now, she was dubbed, alive, and with a half-empty vase of flowers.