Yun Jichu quickly shut her eyes and shrank back, burying herself in the man’s arms.
Then she suddenly realized how overly intimate the gesture was. She pressed both hands against Helian Jin’s chest, trying to put some distance between them.
Her efforts were in vain.
Helian Jin’s hand gripped her waist with domineering strength, allowing no resistance.
As she shifted, the thin blanket slid off her body. Only then did Yun Jichu notice that she was down to just her bustier and skirt—the outer robe that had covered so much of her skin had been removed long ago.
Helian Jin’s palm wandered upward, clasping her bare arm. The heat in his hand was no longer the icy chill of that morning; it finally carried the warmth of a living person.
“Ah Chu…”
Yun Jichu reached for the thin blanket to cover herself, but the man’s body arrived first.
He seized her shoulders and pinned her to the bed. The sky had grown even darker, and no lamps burned in the bedchamber, leaving Helian Jin’s expression shrouded in shadow.
All she felt was a searing gaze tracing her brows and the tip of her nose before settling on her lips.
When exactly had Helian Jin woken up?
Why had he made no sound upon stirring?
Before she could puzzle it out, pain stung her lips. Helian Jin…
He nipped at her lips first, then soothed the spot with a gentle flick of his tongue. Finally, the tip of his tongue lingered between her upper and lower lips.
Tap after tap, like knocking lightly on a door.
It was too familiar.
Too much like Helian Jin.
Of course, the image that surfaced in Yun Jichu’s mind was the man from years ago.
Such teasing was Yun Jichu’s greatest weakness. Almost by habit and instinct, she parted her lips and teeth, letting Helian Jin plunge straight in.
In that instant, her heart clenched. She thrust out her tongue to block his intrusion, desperately trying to push him away.
He didn’t like her being too forward. If she accepted him so readily, he would surely fly into a rage.
It had happened just like that last time.
Sensing her resistance, Helian Jin pressed in forcefully until the woman beneath him could resist no longer and yielded with obedient reciprocity.
Yun Jichu had twelve points she wanted to make.
~~~
What kind of twisted preferences did Helian Jin have?
Too eager was unacceptable, too passive wouldn’t do—he only seemed pleased by this push-and-pull, this tantalizing dance of advance and retreat?
The hands Yun Jichu had braced against Helian Jin’s chest had long since been captured and pinned above her head. Meanwhile, his other hand gently stroked her neck.
Her most vulnerable spot. Disrupted breaths from their deep kiss made her delicate skin rise and fall beneath his touch, the frantic pulse of her swallows transmitting straight through his palm to Helian Jin.
A sign of vibrant life.
Their lips and tongues tangled for far too long, and Helian Jin was far too aggressive. Tears glistened in Yun Jichu’s eyes as she longed to beg for mercy, but no words would come.
Yet he was gentle too—his hand pinned hers without pressing her injured right wrist, and his kisses came in intermittent waves, granting her moments to catch her breath.
It dragged on forever.
By the time Yun Jichu was finally released, night had fallen completely.
“Your Majesty… has your headache eased at all?”
“All better.”
Silence blanketed the pitch-black bedchamber, punctuated only by Yun Jichu’s ragged, uneven breaths.
It had been nothing but a kiss—why did it feel like so much more?
Yun Jichu struggled to quell the heat stirring in her chest.
“Ah Chu forgot Zhen.” He seemed to be speaking to himself. “No matter.”
Helian Jin brushed a light kiss to the corner of her lips. “You’ve come back—that’s enough, my wife. Your return is all that matters.”
This was the realization he had come to lately.
Ah Chu’s return was heaven’s grace, something to treasure above all.
She couldn’t escape her fate as a stand-in.
Any lingering warmth Yun Jichu had felt evaporated in an instant. She even pitied Helian Jin in that moment.
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t that woman—just a soul from another world—and that the Late Empress in Helian Jin’s storyline here was merely a System construct, a pitiful string of data.
But she couldn’t. She wanted to live.
The fleeting realness from that morning now rang hollow. Yun Jichu flexed her newly freed hands.
“Your Majesty, this concubine…”
Helian Jin seemed to anticipate her words. He rose, retrieved a light gauze outer robe from beside the bed, and draped it over her shoulders. Then he drew her back into his arms, reluctant to release her. “Zhen understands. Take it slow.”
He was so unusually meek that Yun Jichu wondered what vicious scheme he was brewing.
Helian Jin’s voice was soft. “Go back.”
They sat facing each other on the imperial couch as moonlight began to rise, casting just enough glow to make out faint outlines. Yun Jichu peered intently at his face.
Could she leave? Or not?
Trusting her scant knack for reading people, Yun Jichu nodded. “This concubine takes her leave.”
She slid off the couch and realized they had awoken here on the imperial couch, not the low couch from morning.
After straightening her clothes and slipping on her shoes, she had taken only two steps when her arm was seized.
Off balance, she tumbled into Helian Jin’s embrace. He crushed her against him.
“Ah Chu.”
He held her fiercely, as if he meant to meld her into his very body. Only after a long while did he loosen his grip. “Go.”
Yun Jichu was still in a daze even after stepping out of the Grand Hall, nearly colliding head-on with someone approaching.
The newcomer wore a dark blue Daoist robe. Under the pale moonlight, he truly embodied the ethereal grace of an immortal sage. He seemed to have anticipated her arrival and calmly stepped back, flicking his whisk as he said, “Greetings, Consort.”
His voice was sharp yet deferential, carrying an odd undertone.
Yun Jichu steadied herself in a fluster and met his gaze.
In that instant, a flicker of shock, panic, and forced composure flashed in his eyes. Yun Jichu rarely glimpsed so many emotions at once and couldn’t help stealing another glance at the Daoist.
But he had already lowered his gaze to conceal his feelings, following Xue Gui into the hall.
Lady Shuxiu stepped forward with congratulations. “My felicitations, Consort.”
Yun Jichu was utterly bewildered. “For what?”
“His Majesty has favored you. Surely your position won’t be a lowly one.”
“…” Yun Jichu flushed crimson and waved her hands hastily. “No, it’s not like that. We just… slept together, that’s all.”
Lady Shuxiu didn’t shy away from the topic. In the rear palace, receiving the emperor’s favor was a mark of status and power—no one would refuse to flaunt it.
“For years, the rear palace has stood empty, and His Majesty hasn’t summoned anyone. Yet you’ve been granted intimate service without even a formal title. He must truly dote on you.”
So Helian Jin was still some chaste, conservative soul after all. But that earlier encounter on the Imperial Couch—his practiced familiarity and insatiable greed—had seemed utterly at odds with any image of ascetic restraint.
What a jarring contrast.
The man who had slain countless foes with his sword was him. The one who knelt to gently wipe away the princess’s tears was also him.
The one who had mourned his late wife for years, refusing to fill the rear palace, was him. And the one who, upon meeting a beauty, tangled with her in heated, lingering intimacy was him too.
Perhaps his mind was damaged. Every time the headaches struck, he looked as if he were caught between desperate life and agonizing death. How stable could his mental state be?
Yun Jichu stopped arguing and nodded to Lady Shuxiu. “Who was that man in the blue robe just now?”
“Daoist Wei, a man His Majesty holds in high regard.”
“What does His Majesty seek from him? Immortality?”
Lady Shuxiu shook her head. A few years ago, His Majesty had been consumed by a desire for death. Why would he pursue eternal life now?
“What His Majesty seeks must be connected to the Late Empress.”
“A mysterious woman and a superstitious man,” Yun Jichu muttered under her breath with a shrug. Suddenly, she felt a sticky wetness in her palm. She opened her hand under the moonlight and saw a fresh smear of blood.
Vibrant and glistening, it looked newly applied.
Yun Jichu knew she hadn’t been injured and couldn’t recall any wounds on Helian Jin.
Fearing Lady Shuxiu might notice and grow suspicious, she didn’t dare examine it closely. Instead, she quietly withdrew her hand and wiped the blood on the inside of her sleeve.
Back in the Side Hall, she dismissed the palace servants and sat alone by the window.
She probably wouldn’t die now. Helian Jin cherished her as if she were the Late Empress herself—he wouldn’t bear to kill her.
But why did she feel so hollow inside?
During their intimacy, she had repeatedly reassured herself to treat this man as the one from five years ago. They looked the same, after all.
Perhaps Helian Jin was thinking the same.
Yet those dreams lingered in her mind, impossible to shake.
In the dreams, Helian Jin was still young and inexperienced; when she reached for his hand, he would shy away.
Later, he became so fervent—in the lotus pond, inside the carriage, before the bronze mirror, and so many other places…
Yun Jichu suspected she was simply too bored in this world. Without demanding work to drain her energy, her emotions ran hypersensitive. It was all just a game—what was there to miss or not miss?
Knock knock—
Someone was lightly tapping on the window frame.
Yun Jichu pushed open the window to find Wei Shan standing outside in his blue robe. Unlike the poised arrogance she’d seen before, his eyes now bored into her fiercely as he hissed, “Who exactly are you? Where is Yun Lin’er?”
Who was Yun Lin’er?
Yun Jichu replied, “Have you lost your mind? Trespassing into a consort’s chambers is a capital offense.”
No one knew better than her what actions led to death.
Wei Shan said, “I haven’t entered.”
“…” Yun Jichu answered, “I don’t know this Yun Lin’er you’re talking about. You’d best leave—now!”
Wei Shan grew frantic with rage. “What did she give you to make you dare impersonate her?”
Yun Jichu racked her brain. After loading the game save, a message had popped up: Yun Lin’er has escaped to safety, stuffing the fainted you into a carriage. The selection will begin in one month.
And then? Then she had opened her eyes inside the carriage, already en route to the palace.
Wasn’t that just the game’s setup?
Was there more to the story? Judging by Wei Shan’s expression, Yun Lin’er must be someone deeply important to him.
But since Yun Lin’er had escaped, Wei Shan was likely one of those out to harm her.
“I don’t know her. Please leave, Daoist Wei.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll expose your false identity to His Majesty?”
“I am Yun Shen’s daughter from Minzhou, Yun Jichu. Where is the falsehood in that?”
Wei Shan let out a sinister chuckle. “The real Yun Jichu died long ago. You’ve immersed yourself deeply in the role—aren’t you afraid His Majesty will one day cut you down with his own hands?”
The real Yun Jichu had died long ago? Then who was she?
Yun Jichu’s heart jolted. Suddenly, it hit her: she had arrived in this world with her body intact, not merely as a drifting soul.
That meant there had originally been a “Yun Jichu” in this world—but she had died, and Yun Jichu had taken her place?
Wei Shan spotted her panic immediately. His tone abruptly softened as he coaxed her. “You’re not the sharpest, but you do look the part. His Majesty is as fickle as the weather; he might dote on you today, but tomorrow he could cast you aside—or even have you killed. If you want to live, serve me, and I’ll make sure you have a way out down the line.”
Yun Jichu asked, “‘How did the original Yun Jichu die?!'”
Wei Shan shot her a disdainful glance. This woman who had popped up out of nowhere was deeply suspicious, having thrown his entire plan into disarray. Fortunately, he had dirt on her—she wouldn’t dare refuse.
He decided to scare her a bit more. “Her? Forced a cup of poisoned wine down her throat, and in less than fifteen minutes, she was silent forever. The blood she vomited took seven or eight basins of water to wash away. What a mess.”
Yun Jichu’s face drained of color. “You killed her.”
Wei Shan sneered. “Sixty-nine selection candidates this year, and she just happened to have ‘Chu’ in her name, all the way out in distant Minzhou—the perfect mark with the longest road to cover.”
Yun Jichu pieced it all together.
Wei Shan had killed Yun Shen’s daughter and swapped in Yun Lin’er—who bore a striking resemblance to the Late Empress—into the carriage headed for the palace. But Yun Lin’er had escaped midway and shoved the still-dazed Yun Jichu, fresh from crossing worlds, into the carriage in her stead.
Minzhou? Transport Commissioner Yun Shen? None of that had anything to do with her.
A chill raced up from the soles of her feet. In this world, life and death were so utterly casual. Yun Shen’s daughter had been just a teenager when she died, and Yun Lin’er must have endured terrible torment to risk fleeing midway like that.
And the man behind it all, Wei Shan, stood there in his satin Daoist robes, ethereal and aloof, barking orders.
Yun Jichu adjusted her hairpin and clenched her fists. “What do you want me to do?”
Her voice trembled faintly.
Wei Shan smirked with mockery. “Lean in close.”
Yun Jichu approached the window.
Smug as could be, Wei Shan whispered a few words. Yun Jichu’s hands shook harder than ever.
At last, he drawled, “Got it all memorized—”
Before he could finish, Yun Jichu whipped out her hairpin and stabbed viciously at Wei Shan’s neck.
Unfortunately, she lacked the strength, and he reacted swiftly; it missed the vital spot and lodged only in his shoulder.
Blood gushed out in an instant. Wei Shan cried out in pain but didn’t dare raise a full alarm. He lashed out with his whisk to strike her, but Yun Jichu was ready. She yanked the hairpin free, scrambled back, and slammed the window shut with all her might.
“Filthy Daoist!”
The shout echoed loudly enough that Lady Shuxiu hurried inside. She stood at the doorway, asking from a safe distance, “Consort, what was that?”
Yun Jichu hid her hands behind her back, heart still pounding as she forced a calm tone. “Nothing at all. The wind caught the window and slammed it shut—gave me a real fright.”
Lady Shuxiu bowed her head and withdrew.
Only then did Yun Jichu bring her hands forward.
The Butterfly Golden Hairpin lay still in a small pool of blood pooling in her palm. Its delicate tassels quivered, and the metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils.
The surge of righteous fury from moments ago vanished in a flash.
Yun Jichu’s body swayed. She slumped against the wall, trembling uncontrollably—shaking worse than she had when Helian Jin had held a sword to her throat, ready to kill.
A suffocating pressure crept over her, like sinking into silent, icy depths. Yun Jichu slid slowly down the wall and finally collapsed to the floor.
She frantically wiped at the blood, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Dad… Mom…”
The more she scrubbed, the worse it smeared. Wei Shan’s filthy blood rubbed onto the inside of her sleeve, concealing the mysterious bloodstains she had discreetly wiped there after leaving Zichen Hall earlier that day.