“Consort Jiang, with such a delicate and beautiful appearance, if you don’t take this opportunity at the Palace Banquet to showcase your talents for His Majesty, I’m afraid you won’t get another chance to see the Emperor.”
At the Palace Banquet, Jiang Huan felt as if she were being roasted over a fire, her anxiety triggering a headache.
“Sister Jiang, the Emperor is looking at you. Why aren’t you going up?”
Consort Yu’s eyes curved with a smile, but her intentions were clearly malicious.
As the senior consort in her palace, Consort Yu had once accused Jiang Huan of being restless when the aroma of her midnight cooking drifted into Consort Yu’s bedchamber a month ago. But was that reason enough to target her so blatantly at the Mid-Autumn Palace Banquet?
Jiang Huan instinctively glanced up and met Huo Lin’s gaze directed at her, her hands tightening around her handkerchief.
Huo Lin was notorious as a tyrant. At twenty-four, he had murdered his elder brother to seize the throne—unpredictable, merciless, and responsible for replacing countless palace staff within a single year. Dressed in his Purple-Gold Dragon Robe, his striking handsomeness was overshadowed by the mere lift of his chin, which evoked sheer terror.
As his cold, sharp dark eyes fixed on her, Jiang Huan had no choice but to brace herself and rise.
Jiang Huan had transmigrated into the novel Tyrant Dynasty three months ago. The book chronicled the reign of the tyrant Huo Lin, while Jiang Huan had become a minor cannon fodder character mentioned only once in passing.
The original Jiang Huan had entered the palace through the imperial selection three years prior. Though her father held only a low-ranking seventh-grade official post, her exceptional beauty secured her a place in the harem. Among the imperial concubines from illustrious families, Jiang Huan was the most inconspicuous. Timid by nature, she kept her head down and lived cautiously.
Until three months ago, when an Imperial Concubine, in a foul mood, publicly slapped Jiang Huan, frightening her into a severe fever that claimed her life overnight—paving the way for the current Jiang Huan to transmigrate into her body.
But Jiang Huan had no particular talents to rely on. She didn’t aspire to climb the ranks; she only wished to remain an unnoticed figure and, if possible, leave Jin Hua Palace to escape Consort Yu’s torment!
Now, with no way out, she was being forced into the spotlight.
“This humble one lacks both talent and beauty, and dare not embarrass herself before Your Majesty.”
As she spoke, Jiang Huan made a move to pick up the wine cup from the table to propose a toast. But before she could lift it, Huo Lin’s voice rang out from above, laced with gritted teeth.
[Another toast, is it? Every concubine comes to toast me. I haven’t eaten a bite all night—just downed over a dozen cups of wine. Why don’t you all drink me to death? Sooner or later, I’ll have every last one of you in the harem executed!]
Jiang Huan’s hand trembled, spilling most of the wine in shock.
Earlier, during the performances by the other imperial concubines, Jiang Huan had been listening to Huo Lin’s critiques for some time.
“Dancing like a clumsy monkey—not even as graceful as the toads in the imperial garden.”
“Does this melody sound pleasant to your own ears? How dare you flirt with your eyes? I’ll have them gouged out!”
“After a full day of handling state affairs, I have to listen to you all vying for favor. Is this what being Emperor is supposed to be?”
Jiang Huan had watched the spectacle unfold, relieved it wasn’t her turn yet. But she wondered: since the Emperor was so vicious with his words, why were these consorts still eagerly stepping up to perform?
It wasn’t until Huo Lin’s latest remark—”I’ll have every last one of you executed”—that Jiang Huan’s pupils shook with fear, and she shrank back, staring at the distant figure in bright yellow.
In her three months since transmigrating, this was her first time seeing the Emperor. Yet, with her knack for reading people, she sensed he wasn’t truly enraged—after all, he hadn’t actually ordered anyone killed.
Moreover, the consorts below continued to watch from the sidelines, egging her on to perform, clearly enjoying the drama without any concern for the consequences.
At that moment, Jiang Huan’s mind jolted, suddenly struck by a thought—could it be that only she could hear the words the Emperor had just spoken?
Jiang Huan promptly replaced her wine cup with the food box she had brought along.
“This humble one is unskilled in song and dance, but proficient only in culinary arts. This bowl of fermented rice sweet soup warms the body—may Your Majesty partake.”
The chief eunuch before Huo Lin caught the signal, stepped forward to receive the food box, tested it for poison with a silver needle, and then presented it to the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, please enjoy~”
Huo Lin’s stern eyes swept over the steaming bowl of fermented rice sweet soup before he slowly raised his hand, appearing rather reluctant.
Jiang Huan remained standing with her head bowed, awaiting the Emperor’s response, when she heard Consort Yu’s mocking laughter ring out.
“The palace has the Imperial Kitchen to attend to His Majesty’s meals. For Consort Jiang to bring out such shabby offerings—isn’t that like showing off one’s skill with an axe before Lu Ban?”
Sparse laughter immediately rippled through the banquet hall, and every gaze directed at Jiang Huan was particularly targeted. Huo Lin’s harem was filled with numerous imperial concubines, each from illustrious families—only Jiang Huan had entered solely on account of her looks. Yet Huo Lin, preoccupied with court affairs, never set foot in the rear palace at all.
These noble ladies, driven half-mad with boredom, had jointly selected a scapegoat to bully, and Jiang Huan was that unfortunate one!
Today, to gain the Emperor’s notice, all the imperial concubines had exerted their utmost skills, yet none had managed to earn Huo Lin’s special regard.
Having failed to gain any advantage themselves, they only wished for Jiang Huan to fare even worse. Had she not overheard Huo Lin’s inner thoughts, Jiang Huan might have truly believed it.
【Food? This is something warm that goes into the mouth and requires chewing to swallow? So there really is warm food in this world—then what do those cold plain congees and vegetables from the Imperial Kitchen that I eat count as?】
【Excellent~ This skill far surpasses the Imperial Kitchen’s. Among all the people in the palace, she’s the only one with the sense to bring me something to eat. Who is she? Why don’t I remember there being a Consort Jiang in the palace?】
Jiang Huan stood rooted in place, feeling as though her ears were about to explode. She forcibly suppressed the urge to look up, her brow furrowed tightly.
This Emperor—why does he have so much to say?
“Passable.”
Huo Lin took a small taste of the fermented rice sweet soup, his expression still icy as he set down the spoon and gave a middling evaluation.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Jiang Huan bowed in gratitude, though inwardly she grumbled.
Still putting on airs, are we? “Passable”? I wonder who it was that just exclaimed “Excellent!” in their heart.
Ever since transmigrating into this book, Jiang Huan had neither eaten well nor slept soundly. Fortunately, she possessed excellent culinary skills and spent her monthly stipend feeding her own stomach in the small kitchen.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat freely at today’s palace banquet, Jiang Huan had specially prepared a generously filled bowl of fermented rice sweet soup—only for it to end up in the Emperor’s belly!
“Consort Jiang, come sit by my side.”
While soft snickers still murmured below, Huo Lin’s single utterance instantly silenced the entire banquet. Jiang Huan glanced at Imperial Concubine Jia seated to Huo Lin’s left, her mind now filled with question marks.
Had her fermented rice sweet soup truly been so delicious that it earned her the same treatment as a favored consort?
But with the Emperor’s command, Jiang Huan dared not question it. She could only steel herself and slowly take a seat to Huo Lin’s right under the weight of numerous resentful gazes, while the imperial concubines below nearly ground their teeth to dust.
If they had known that presenting a bowl of sweet soup could win the Emperor’s favor, why would they have spent months painstakingly practicing their talents?
【Dull gourd.】
Just as Jiang Huan was sitting stiffly, she heard Huo Lin’s cold inner voice again.
Dull gourd—was he referring to her?
Jiang Huan stole a glance at Imperial Concubine Jia, who was chirping and laughing flirtatiously before Huo Lin, then lowered her head even further.
Better to be a dull gourd than a dead one. Without a general father campaigning on the frontiers, how could she dare crack jokes before the Emperor?
Though she hadn’t been in this story long, Jiang Huan had watched enough palace dramas to know her type – lacking special talents to win imperial favor and without family backing – would become cannon fodder if she ever drew attention.
Jiang Huan still wanted to live a few more years.
The talent showcase continued below. The currently dancing Ye Ronghua was bold and innovative, her Western-style costume revealing generous expanses of fair skin as she swayed. The sight of that soft, fragrant bosom made even Jiang Huan, a woman herself, want to bury her face in it.
She couldn’t help wondering: Could it be that the Emperor simply didn’t like women?
Since transmigrating into this story, she’d never seen Huo Lin summon any consort to his chambers.
Just as this thought crossed her mind, that hoarse, gloomy voice echoed in her head again.
[So big! I’m craving it!]