Li Wenzhu feared he might lose control and ruin her virtue. She also dreaded that he might bewitch her mind.
In a small voice, she said, “How could Yun Jichu possibly die? I saw her today, and she was perfectly hale and hearty. Did she come down with another raging fever?”
The Daoist’s grip on her tightened. His eyes bulged wide in the darkness.
“What did you say?! Perfectly hale and hearty? Isn’t she supposed to be hovering between life and death on her sickbed?”
Li Wenzhu’s arm throbbed with pain from his grasp. Tears spilled from her eyes.
Trembling, she replied, “His Majesty dotes on her so much. He stayed by her side day and night. Perhaps the true dragon’s aura protected her, turning peril into safety.”
The Daoist flew into an even greater frenzy. With a great shout of “This is bad!”, he vanished into the night.
It wasn’t until morning, when Li Wenzhu awoke and saw the ring of bruises on her arm, that she realized in a daze—it hadn’t been a dream at all!
She had truly encountered a raving madman.
She had heard tales that the palace held ceaseless rituals and incense burning year-round. Palace servants never walked alone at night. Even the summer breezes carried a bone-chilling cold. This Mad Daoist must have been one of those driven mad by fear of His Majesty and fled from the palace.
Yun Jichu’s words had already left Li Wenzhu deeply unsettled. The fright from last night had halved her long-held yearning to enter the palace.
Now, seeing the Empress Dowager dead set on using her to assassinate Yun Jichu, Li Wenzhu was in utter misery. She kowtowed again and again.
“Please, Empress Dowager—for the sake of Zhuer’s father, spare Zhuer’s life!”
The Empress Dowager’s anger eased slightly upon hearing this. She sat down and said slowly, “Useless thing, get out.”
Li Wenzhu wiped away her tears and fled Shouning Palace as if her life depended on it.
The Empress Dowager sat high upon her throne, her gaze lowered.
A man emerged from behind the screen. He loosely covered his face with a cloth towel and wore gray coarse clothes. His figure was gaunt, and his voice was hoarse, as if scalded by something.
“How can Your Ladyship entrust such a matter to an idiot like that?”
The Empress Dowager covered her nose against the medicinal scent. Seeing this, the man retreated a few steps, and Meng Dong stepped forward to fan it away.
The smell dissipated. The Empress Dowager asked, “What brilliant idea do you have?”
The man spoke with difficulty but forced the words out in his rasping voice. “This matter needs to be handled swiftly. Your Ladyship, rest assured. Leave everything to this poor Daoist.”
Yun Jichu felt herself drifting off to sleep. She thought there was good reason why His Majesty disliked these scriptures.
For the lofty Nine-Five Supreme to doze off while listening to them would hardly do his imperial dignity any favors.
Better to simply declare he didn’t like them and skip it altogether.
That would nip any future troubles in the bud.
The Empress Dowager never appeared, even by noon. Finally, Meng Dong came to say, “The Empress Dowager is unwell and needs to rest. Please return, Your Ladyship.”
She fell ill every few days; she really ought to take some tonics.
Yun Jichu nodded and glanced at Lady Shuxiu behind her. “Ask Eunuch Cui if there are any fine tonics available, and have him send some to Shouning Palace on my behalf.”
She had no other choice—she could only pass along a gift from palace stores. After all, she only had three hundred taels to her name.
Back in the side hall, Yun Jichu rummaged through her vanity case and pulled out that comic book. She read it with relish.
The artwork was impressive. Many details appeared dashed off at first glance but clearly showed careful thought.
“Lady Shuxiu, if I get bored, may I go exchange pointers with the palace painters?”
Lady Shuxiu nodded. “The painters are at work in the Imperial Garden today. Your Ladyship may summon them anytime to relieve your boredom.”
Yun Jichu said, “The weather’s lovely today. Let’s go for a stroll.”
Soon enough, they reached the Imperial Garden.
He wore a small black cap and had a slender build—exactly like the figure she’d spotted on the path that day while walking back from Taiye Pool to Chengxiang Hall.
There were no additions or changes; it was still the same few painters.
They were scattered amid the flowerbeds and trees, intently selecting their subjects and painting.
Yun Jichu strolled along, pausing here and there, until she finally stopped before a painter tucked away in the corner.
The painter had a handsome face and slightly drooping eyes, as if he never got enough sleep. He looked up at her, shock flashing across his features, and hastily knelt to pay his respects.
Yun Jichu made no reply. She only examined what he was painting: vibrant peonies and swaying monthly roses, along with two figures not yet fleshed out. One wore a dusky blue dress, the other a dragon robe that gleamed with dark gold in the sunlight.
From afar, she spotted Little Lian standing five meters away, holding a privacy screen fan. This was a flowerbed, so she couldn’t enter.
Up close, Lady Shuxiu stood right behind her, never straying.
“Lady Shuxiu, go fetch me some water.”
Lady Shuxiu scanned the area, saw nothing amiss, curtsied, and departed.
Yun Jichu circled the painter once, gazed down at the kneeling man, and smiled. “Teacher Qin?”
The painter’s eyes went wide. Then his face flushed red. Finally, with a mix of restraint and excitement, he said, “Teacher Chu?!”
“It’s really you!” they exclaimed in unison.
“How did you end up here?” they said together.
Silence fell for a moment.
“When did you arrive?” they chorused again.
Another silence. Then Yun Jichu said, “You first.”
“Can you let me stand up? Do I really have to say it on my knees?”
Yun Jichu replied, “Kneel properly. If anyone sees the Empress chatting alone with a painter, do you think the Emperor will hesitate to lop off your head?”
“This humble subject transmigrated here a year and a half ago. I was up late painting a character portrait, and when I opened my eyes—bam, here I was.”
“You didn’t drop dead from overwork, did you?”
Qin Xiao was the only person she could truly call a friend. Back in school, they had been rivals, battling for the top spot for four straight years.
Qin Xiao was talented and hardworking—a genius through and through. And Yun Jichu was much the same.
Years of fierce competition had turned them from nodding acquaintances to contacts who exchanged numbers and holiday greetings now and then.
Long after university graduation, their classmates had scattered to the four winds like stars in the sky. Perhaps out of mutual respect between kindred spirits, she and Qin Xiao had stayed in touch.
Even geniuses couldn’t escape the daily grind of slaving away.
“This humble subject is terrified.”
“…” Yun Jichu said, “Talk normally.”
“Ah, maybe I really did keel over from exhaustion.”
“I transmigrated a month and a half ago. I opened the game, clicked to enter, and suddenly I was here.”
They fell silent.
Qin Xiao suddenly said, “Hang on—you arrived a month and a half ago. So who am I painting right now?”
“You’re painting the Late Empress. What does that have to do with me?”
“How could it be unrelated? The person I’m painting looks exactly like you!”
Yun Jichu shrugged. “It’s normal for them to look alike. Maybe it’s just a string of data.”
“Excuse me,” Qin Xiao said, “would data go into that much detail—like the exact callus on the middle finger from years of drawing? Why would it bother giving a stunning beauty like her a callus? To hog more of your memory space?”
Yun Jichu fell silent. Suddenly, she recalled that day when she’d faked a faint. Before she lost consciousness, Helian Jin had pinched her middle finger while questioning her.
Qin Xiao pressed on. “Would data set up an ancient-style beauty to have a habit of crossing her legs while she paints?”
Yun Jichu gasped in shock. “How did you know I like crossing my legs while drawing?”
“Do you have any idea how many portraits of you I’ve painted over the past year?” Qin Xiao replied. “I’ve stayed up so many nights that my hair’s been falling out in clumps. You don’t just cross your legs—you love snacking on grapes mixed with peanuts, and you paint with conch ink.”
His tone brimmed with resentment. “The Emperor kept summoning me to paint because I had talent for it. By day, I’d depict the two of you in your loving daily moments. By night, I’d draw the hot-blooded adventure comics that the Princess adored. Transmigrating to ancient times has been more exhausting than my modern life ever was!”
Yun Jichu took several steps back. It took her a moment to process his words. “What? You’re saying… Helian Jin had you paint me?”
“Who else stuffs grapes with peanuts? He described you in excruciating detail. I figured you’d transmigrated here and then died! I even burned incense paper for you for three straight days, but then I realized the timeline didn’t add up at all.”
“…”
Yun Jichu felt a wave of dizziness. “You’re saying… I am the Late Empress?”
Qin Xiao straightened up and pointed at the hand peeking from beneath the ink-blue sleeve on the painting. “Look right here. Every single portrait shows that callus on the middle finger. The Emperor specifically instructed us to include it.”
“And here’s one that hasn’t even been delivered to His Majesty yet. Take a look!” Qin Xiao pulled another scroll from his bamboo tube and unrolled it.
The painting depicted a small boat drifting deep amid blooming lotus flowers. She wore a pink skirt, her hair loose and flowing. She gazed down, feeding the brocade carp in the water, while a large bunch of lotus flowers rested on her lap, blending seamlessly with her dress.
She remembered that scene vividly. Helian Jin had promised to row the boat and pick lotuses for her, but once they ventured into the depths, he’d grown terribly mischievous. In the end, they hadn’t returned until dusk, and he’d carried her ashore in his arms.
“If you don’t believe me, go check Fengluan Palace yourself! It’s filled with portraits of you.”
“Then… then… what the hell is going on?” Yun Jichu sensed that something she’d been desperately avoiding—a truth screaming to be acknowledged—was on the verge of bursting forth. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to accept it. She shook her head furiously.