Moh suddenly spoke up.
“Speaking of which, I’m actually surprised you haven’t read this book.”
His tone was casual, as if chatting about ordinary aristocratic gossip.
“More than half the court nobles were following the serialization. When the finale dropped, there was a chorus of outrage. I guess everyone prefers a happy ending.”
Anna: “…”
Were those highborn fairies really that free?
Still, to dare write scandalous stories about herself and His Majesty, the author had to be someone of high standing.
Anna asked, “Is the author the Grand Duchess, Grand Duke Filippov’s wife?”
Moh’s fingers paused mid-page.
He raised his head, unhidden surprise in his eyes.
“How did you guess? It was published anonymously.”
“I’ve read her Grace’s other works,” Anna replied calmly.
Moh said, “Were those published too? Let me see.”
Anna said, “Only a small number of self-printed booklets that circulate in ladies’ social circles. I can borrow one for you.”
Moh said, “I could recommend her for official publication.”
“Most are romance stories modeled after other lords and nobles. One of them is a fantasy novel starring you and Grand Duke Filippov.”
Moh narrowed his eyes.
“…Does my dear minister know how his wife portrays him?”
“I asked him.” The corners of Anna’s lips curved slightly upward.
“He said he couldn’t understand why, in his wife’s stories, he was either gender-bent into someone’s wife, reduced to a vassal, or cast as the submissive partner. What troubled Filippov most was why, in her eyes, he was always the one being dominated. Did he not possess even a shred of manly stature?”
Moh froze for a second before a burst of uncontrollable laughter erupted in the carriage, nearly honking like a goose.
“Hahaha—*cough*—”
Moh laughed so hard his shoulders shook, the book nearly slipping from his fingers.
He propped himself up against the cushion with his other hand, his icy-blue eyes crinkling into crescents.
“No, wait… Filippov… hahahahaha… did he really say that?”
Anna nodded calmly.
“Word for word.”
“And what did his wife write him as…?”
“In one story, he is a foreign noble captured by an Inazuman warrior woman, forced to learn tea ceremony and flower arranging every day. In another, he is a fairy prince imprisoned by a Sumeru scholar, daily demanding his captor groom his fur. In a tale set in Liyue, he is a mortal scholar noticed by an adeptus, who transforms into a gorgeous woman to knock on his door at midnight to borrow books, rain or shine. Though most are still stories about Snezhnayan fairy nobles.”
Moh laughed until tears glistened at the corners of his eyes.
He hid half his face behind the book, his shoulders still trembling.
As a ruler, enjoying the misfortunes and absurdities of his subordinates was endlessly entertaining.
Who would have thought the Grand Duchess was a fanfic writer who constantly put her own husband through the wringer?
He never could have imagined it.
Grand Duke Filippov—who was always deadly serious at court, wearing a thousand faces but always presenting a cold exterior—was, in his wife’s stories, a perpetual victim trapped in the submissive role forever.
Shipper girls really were terrifying creatures.
A memory from his days on the Astral Express flashed through his mind.
Those were the days spent Trailblazing alongside Himeko and the others.
During a gap between warps, March 7th had slyly shoved a comic into his hands.
On the cover were two figures he knew all too well.
*The Galactic Love Triangle: Aha, Nanook, and Akivili*.
Author: Xuzhao.
Pardon my disrespect, turns out it was written by the Aeons’ harshest mother figure after all.
After reading it back then, he had written a line on the Data Bank message board:
“Shipping everything only keeps my diet balanced.”
Dan Heng had walked past, stayed silent for three seconds, and quietly crossed out “balanced.”
Replacing it with “excessive.”
And now, history was repeating itself in Teyvat.
Moh stifled his laughter, trying hard to maintain his majestic emperor’s composure, though the corners of his eyes remained curved.
“Does her Grace… have any other works?”
“Are you sure you want to read them?” Anna’s voice was calm, but a subtle gleam of amusement lingered in her eyes.
“Quite a few are modeled after you.”
Moh’s smile froze on his face.
“…Wait.”
He sat up, suddenly alert.
Anna shook her head.
“Besides that one, her most famous work is actually *The Romance of the Remurian King and the Frost Fairy*.”
Moh’s expression visibly turned to stone.
“…How does she even know about *that*?”
His voice pitched up slightly, laced with the subtle awkwardness of having past embarrassments exposed.
Anna answered calmly, “She needed creative inspiration. I happened to mention the time you were pursued during a tea party.”
Moh covered his face with one hand, his voice muffled behind his fingers.
“Don’t bring it up. Just because I’m a shipper doesn’t mean I like being stalked by gloomily obsessed ghosts. Remus… that clingy guy will be my lifelong nightmare.”
Anna crossed her arms, a look of pure schadenfreude on her face.
“I only know the outline. As for the details—I’d love to hear them.”
Moh peeked at her through his fingers, lowered his hand, and spoke in a heavy, serious tone.
“Stop shipping. Shipping everything will destroy you.”
The curve of Anna’s lips remained unchanged.
“Shipping everything only keeps my diet balanced.”
Moh stared at her, their matching icy-blue eyes meeting.
A moment later, Moh narrowed his eyes.
He looked the Grand Duchess—whom he had raised with his own hands—up and down.
“Anna.”
His voice softened slightly.
“Have you… gotten a lot more lively these past few days?”
Anna reined in her smile.
“Your personality is a bit like when you were little,” Moh said casually, though his gaze never left her face.
“During the Archon War, you didn’t smile much. Silent, skilled in battle. You switched from addressing me casually to using formal honorifics—reverent enough, but lacking your childhood intimacy. At the time, I was running around off my feet and didn’t think much of it. I just assumed you had grown up and matured.”
Anna lowered her eyes, her fingertips resting on her knees, without replying.
A smile returned to Moh’s face.
“But I actually miss those days. You used to drag me out to build snowmen and complain that the little snowmen I made were ugly. When I played the violin, you’d sit beside me—never saying a word, but listening all the way to the end every single time. When I told stories of galactic adventures, you’d ask, ‘And then what?’ Life was relaxed back then. No need to think about war, no need to worry about the future.”
The carriage fell quiet for a moment.
Wheels crunched over gravel, and the scenery outside receded slowly.
Anna spoke softly, “You’ve never changed, Your Majesty.”
Moh blinked.
“Hmm?”
“I mean…” Anna paused, seemingly organizing her thoughts.
“You are still the person who stops for refugees, names newborn babies, and laughs out loud at trashy novels.”
She raised her eyes.
“It’s me who changed. During the war, I thought I had to become a colder, sharper weapon to be worthy of standing beside you. To be the Emperor’s spear rather than just a protected girl. I thought that was what you needed.”
She paused momentarily.
“…Only today did I realize that was a misunderstanding of my own making.”
Moh remained silent.
He looked at Anna quietly, his icy-blue eyes reflecting her serene features.
Then he reached out and gently patted the top of her head, just as he had on the snowfields many years ago.
“As long as you understand now,” he said.
Anna didn’t pull away.
Outside the carriage window, the wind gradually quieted, and a stone border fortress appeared at the edge of their vision.
Anna gave a soft cough, pulling her scattered emotions back together.
She straightened her sleeves, regaining the proper composure of a Grand Duchess.
“We’re almost at the border.”
Moh followed her gaze.
The border post of Mondstadt stood not far ahead.
Upon the watchtowers flew banners bearing the crest of the Knights of Favonius.
Below the tower, a squad of well-equipped knights stood lined up.
Dressed in uniform formation, their silver armor gleamed in the noon sun.
Clearly, this honor guard was prepared specifically to welcome the foreign delegation.
There were also a few people in relatively ornate vestments, carrying scriptures and dressed like clergy—likely bishops and nuns of the Church of Favonius.
Beside the knights stood several supply wagons.
Personnel dressed in simple robes with cross armbands were unloading supplies, presumably medical staff.
Moh nodded slightly.
It seemed the Anemo fairy messenger had delivered his word. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Barbatos had not only received his message about “temporarily adding a group of human refugees,” but had also arranged the reception team quite thoughtfully.
“Go handle the handover with the Knights,” he said to Anna.
“You’ll be in charge of the details regarding these refugees’ resettlement.”
“Understood.” Anna stood up.
Before stepping out of the carriage, she glanced back at him.
Moh had already picked up *The Domineering Female Tsar* once again.
As if their conversation just now had been merely a brief interlude on the journey.
But Anna knew better.
She lifted the curtain and stepped into Mondstadt’s gentle breeze.
Tranquility returned to the carriage interior.
Moh remained in his reading posture, but his gaze drifted off into space.
It was his own fault for not paying closer attention, failing to notice Anna’s inner turmoil.
Had he placed too much pressure on her?
Because he cared about Anna, he had wanted to leave her the very best of everything, including the throne.
Over their many years together, he had long regarded Anna as family—and family was never a matter of being “useful” or “useless.”
He flipped a page, unable to absorb a single word.
Forget it; today wasn’t a good day for deep reading anyway.
Moh closed the book, set it aside, and leaned his head out the window.
He watched as Anna conversed with the officer in charge of the knights.
The knight had clearly heard of the title “Grand Duchess of Snezhnaya.”
Their demeanor was respectful and cautious.
The red-haired female knight—could that be Vennessa, the original Knight of Favonius?
A Natlan native from the ancient era who had fought alongside the people of Mondstadt to overthrow Decarabian, the King of High Towers.
The group of human refugees who had followed them for over ten days were currently lining up to be registered by the knights.
Elderly people held children by the hand, while women clutched their bundles.
Exhaustion still hung upon their faces, but their eyes were no longer lost.
Here, they would find new homes and a new life.
And the baby named Veronica would grow up under the sunlight of Mondstadt, blessed by him.
Moh leaned back against his cushion, closed his eyes, and allowed his senses to spread along with the gentle breeze.
“Ehehe!”
A crisp, clear voice pierced through the carriage walls.
A breeze carrying the fragrance of Cecilias and the sound of a harp quietly blew in.
Moh opened his eyes.
The surrounding air grew light, and low gasps echoed in the wind.
It was the fairy guards in the honor escort—they had witnessed the arrival of a certain presence.
Then, his carriage door was gently knocked on.
Three knocks sounded in a tentative rhythm.
Like the Big Bad Wolf in a fairy tale knocking on Little Red Riding Hood’s door.
As for what this particular wolf was coveting…
“Monomakh—”
The Anemo Archon’s voice carried through the door panels.
His tone curled upward at the end, carrying a touch of calculated innocence and utterly undisguised anticipation.
“I heard on the wind that you brewed a batch of rather delicious spirits. Won’t you invite me to try a taste?”
Moh didn’t respond right away.
He looked down at the cover of the cheesy romance novel on his lap and immediately stuffed it beneath the seat cushions.
He could jest about this stuff with Anna, but if Barbatos—who had far too much free time—got wind of it, the Archon would surely turn it into a ballad and sing it everywhere just for laughs.
Moh sat up straight, squaring his shoulders and slightly lifting his chin.
He couldn’t afford to lose his dignity before a foreign deity; he refused to let his aura slip in front of others.
Without a smile on his features, the majesty and noble aura of a Snezhnayan monarch emerged.
His cool, composed expression was elegant yet distant, fitting the foreign stereotype of proud, aloof fairies.
Outside the door, Barbatos knocked again, this time adding a playful, wheedling tone.
“Monomakh—I really smelled it! It’s golden, sweet, with a chilled, refreshing crispness, and a mouthfeel that fizzes like popping bubbles—”
That drunkard!
He was definitely craving his SoulGlad!