Outside Qiankun Palace.
A young eunuch with ordinary features hurried beneath the covered corridor, fine rain misting his indistinct features into further obscurity. Palace attendants serving before the Emperor passed by in haste, none noticing him—he moved among the crowd like a drop of water merging into the sea.
He produced his token, and Yinglu permitted his entry.
“Your humble servant pays respects to the Emperor.”
“Rise.”
An attendant was removing Xie Zhihang’s ceremonial crown when he waved the man away for being too slow. The young eunuch stepped forward with practiced ease to assist: “After Consort Xi paid her respects at Jianzhang Palace today, she encountered Feng Pin on her return to Xianfu Palace. After loudly greeting her, she exchanged brief words with Xu Guiren before returning to Xianfu Palace. Qingzhou is currently maintaining surveillance.”
Since identifying Lady Yun as the one possessing the power to Rewind time, Xie Zhihang had dispatched two shadow guards to monitor her in rotating shifts day and night.
Qingzhou and Chenzhou were his most skilled operatives in intelligence gathering.
Both bore unremarkable faces and, having no official rank to aspire to, never speculated about imperial intentions to curry favor—they simply executed missions with blind loyalty, becoming extensions of the Emperor’s authority.
Xie Zhihang tilted his chin up slightly to facilitate the loosening of his collar ties: “What was said between them?”
While meticulously adjusting the Emperor’s attire, Chenzhou provided a detailed account of their conversation.
After listening, Xie Zhihang acknowledged with a hum: “Continue surveillance. Take no unnecessary actions.”
“As you command. This servant takes his leave.”
Chenzhou performed the full kowtow before retreating from the hall.
This was the advantage of shadow guards—they neither overthought nor overquestioned.
On the first day of deploying guards to surveil Lady Yun, Xie Zhihang had contemplated issuing an assassination order. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came—the ability to reverse cosmic order and Rewind time belonged only to Immortals.
The Emperor received his mandate from Heaven, his authority divinely ordained, making him sovereign over all creation.
Though this era lacked philosophical concepts like “pragmatism,” Xie Zhihang embodied its principles through action—assessing all people and things for potential utility, adopting what proved valuable while discarding the useless without hesitation, constantly weighing risks and costs. During literary gatherings, his brothers led by Prince Kang often found their eldest brother unappreciative of refinement, seeing only power and wealth. Yet this very quality made him far outpace his siblings, becoming their late father’s most suitable successor.
He applied the same approach to Lady Yun.
How many more divine abilities might Lady Yun possess beyond what she’d shown? Could mortal means truly kill an Immortal?
Emperor Wuyi offended deities and died struck by lightning—having transgressed against Heaven, could there be any escape?*
If he provoked an Immortal’s wrath, the consequences would be beyond any mortal’s endurance. With her power to Rewind time alone—even if he retained awareness and memory—Lady Yun could trap him in endless cycles, reducing him to a raving madman in others’ eyes, possessed by nightmares.
At the very least, the current Lady Yun wasn’t hostile toward him.
His established strategy was to engage her gradually, observe closely, and discern what advantages might be gained…
Xie Zhihang paced to his writing desk.
“Your Majesty, your servant requests audience.” Yinglu’s voice outside the door recalled him to the present: “Enter.”
Yinglu entered with bowed head, reverently presenting several books in both hands.
The Emperor was not one for casual reading, yet some days ago he had ordered Xie Zhihang to collect numerous folk tales about mortals falling in love with celestial maidens or mountain spirits. Many of these stories featured past emperors as protagonists, weaving the most elegant prose around deeply suggestive themes. Had they been published in modern times, their titles would surely have been along the lines of The Forbidden Secrets Between the Goddess of Mount Wu and King Huai of Chu, When the Jade-Rinsing Immortal Fell for Li Jing, Lord of Southern Tang, King Mu of Zhou and the Queen Mother of the West: A Thousand-Mile Pursuit of Love, or Nüwa: The Arrogant King Zhou of Shang Is So Cringe.
The content was so explicit it made even this eunuch blush!
Who would have thought His Majesty had such wild tastes?
“Set it aside, I shall read it later.”
“As you command.”
Just as Xie Zhihang was about to sit down and examine the books closely, Prince Duan requested an audience outside.
Hearing it was Prince Duan, Xie Zhihang’s stern face finally cracked a slight smile.
The Eldest Prince was not particularly close to his younger brothers, except for the second prince, with whom he shared a bond of mutual trust and loyalty. With a wave of his hand, Xie Zhihang permitted the prince to enter, making no attempt to conceal the books.
Thus, the moment Prince Duan stepped inside, his eyes were assaulted by the scandalous literature spread across the desk.
After paying his respects and being granted a seat, he ventured, “Your Majesty, might I be so bold as to ask if I could take a look?”
“Go ahead.”
Prince Duan still clung to a sliver of hope.
Surely, his elder brother was using these licentious books as covers, with state secrets hidden inside. And since he was allowed to see them, it proved how much his brother trusted him, treating him as a true sibling. However, upon opening one, he discovered the contents were even more explicit than the titles suggested. He snapped the book shut instantly, his face flushing crimson. “Reading such material in broad daylight… this is hardly conduct befitting Your Majesty! If you must read them… please keep them well hidden! If word gets out, the court officials will gossip endlessly.”
Touched by his younger brother’s genuine concern, Xie Zhihang’s mood lifted. “Others, of course, but I need not hide anything from you.”
The words moved Prince Duan to the brink of tears.
He couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Your Majesty’s harem is filled with beauties. Why seek pleasure in books?”
“I am merely curious about the dual cultivation methods between the Mysterious Maiden of the Ninth Heaven and mortals.”
Prince Duan: “…”
An obsession with immortality and spiritual cultivation was practically a required course for every emperor, but was his elder brother starting this quest a bit too early?
“I’d only heard that our third brother was fond of seeking immortality and enlightenment. I never expected Your Majesty to share such interests,” Prince Duan joked. “Your Majesty hasn’t visited the inner palace in over a month. The Register of Palace Affairs remains empty. The Empress Dowager summoned me recently, frantic with worry. So it turns out Your Majesty has been waiting for a celestial maiden.”
“I am simply not particularly enthusiastic about it.”
Xie Zhihang remained unperturbed even when his intimate activities were brought up so directly.
After all, nothing concerning the emperor was trivial—the imperial body was a matter of state. Even officials from previous dynasties with official appointments felt entitled to comment on the frequency of his visits to the inner palace. “Only through dual cultivation with a celestial maiden can one attain the path to immortality.”
Prince Duan nodded with a smile.
But as the foremost admirer of the Emperor in Yan Chi, he had only one thought at that moment:
Has my elder brother lost his mind from reviewing too many memorials?
Of course, seeing how seriously Xie Zhihang spoke, Prince Duan could only advise, “Your Majesty, it would be best to discuss this only with me. Do not even mention celestial maidens to the Empress Dowager.”
Otherwise, the Empress Dowager would truly be driven to despair.
Although she devoted herself to Buddhist worship, what did she pray for before the Buddha? For the emperor to have many sons and blessings. Celestial maidens would be useless unless they could give birth to eight sons in one litter, all male heirs. Otherwise, all this talk was empty. Where could she possibly find a true celestial maiden for the emperor?
“Of course.”
After receiving his elder brother’s promise, Prince Duan felt reassured enough to move on to the next topic.
Meanwhile, the fairy saved her progress and prepared to go out for a stroll.
After all, the side hall was small and offered no other entertainment, making it rather dull to stay in.
No wonder the consorts often schemed against each other.
The palace was truly boring—idleness bred trouble. While higher-ranking consorts could order operas to pass the time, a low-ranking consort like her couldn’t even dream of it.
Gong Mei said, “Mistress, it’s chilly outside. You should wear an extra layer.”
Yun Jiao, who feared the cold, obediently bundled herself up tightly.
Xue Ya frowned worriedly, “Now you won’t catch a cold, but what if you happen to run into the Emperor…” She feared Yun Jiao wouldn’t look presentable enough.
Inspirational sayings like “Don’t live for men” held no weight in the harem. Without missing a beat, Yun Jiao began spouting nonsense: “How many consorts wear thin, flimsy clothes in the snow just to appear slender and captivating? The Emperor must be tired of that. I’ll do the opposite and become a fluffy ball—something the Emperor has never seen before.”
“Besides, isn’t someone still out to harm me?”
“If I’m dressed like this and she pushes me down the stairs, I’ll roll to the ground completely unharmed.”
“If I’m dressed like this and she sends someone to ruin my virtue, by the time the guards arrive, they’ll only have managed to strip off the outermost layer!”
Her reasoning was sound and utterly convincing.
Xue Ya gazed at her in admiration. “Mistress, you’re so clever!”
One dared to say it; the other dared to believe it.
As Yun Jiao stepped out, she passed the main hall. Li Pin was sitting on the swing in her small garden. Spotting them from afar, she rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “Am I seeing things? Is that a furry ball walking out there?”
“Your Highness, that appears to be Consort Xi.”
So this was the Emperor’s current preference?
She didn’t understand it, and she was a little shocked.
But the Emperor’s tastes set the fashion trends in the harem. After pondering it for a long while, Li Pin went back and had her winter wardrobe prepared early.
This chapter mainly discussed Jiao Jiao’s abilities.
A little off-topic: When crafting settings, Que Bao likes to follow a certain logic—the more powerful the protagonist, the more their cheat abilities should be restrained early on. Conversely, an ordinary, mischief-making protagonist can be paired with something incredibly overpowered. It’s easier to write and creates ample dramatic conflict.
“Emperor Wu Yi offended the gods and died by thunder—can one who sins against Heaven escape punishment?”*
This refers to an anecdote about King Zhou’s great-grandfather, Wu Yi, the 28th ruler of the Shang Dynasty.
He was an arrogant man. He made a puppet to fight against, claiming the puppet was a god. Defeating the puppet meant he had defeated a god.
He also filled a leather bag with animal blood, hung it from a tree, and shot it with an arrow, boasting that he had shot the sky and made it bleed. Such irreverent acts drew much criticism.
His end came when he was struck dead by a bolt of lightning.