Tong Jiaying had been here for several days but had yet to meet Kangxi. This was mainly because she had been unconscious for an entire day upon her arrival, and in the following days, she had been drifting in and out of sleep.
After all, she had entered the body of the Original Host, and with her soul completely replaced, it was only natural that she felt unaccustomed. She hadn’t fully absorbed the Original Host’s memories yet, only vaguely aware of certain shadows—she would only recognize them when she actually encountered them.
There was no time for elaborate grooming. Tong Jiaying rose from the kang, lowered her gaze, and straightened her clothes slightly. She gritted her teeth: this wretched feudal society, where even a sick person had to personally greet visitors.
Shuangyu also smoothed out the Changyi behind Tong Jiaying to ensure she wouldn’t appear disheveled before The Emperor and lose her composure.
Tong Jiaying felt nervous inside. She was about to meet the emperor, yet her gaze couldn’t seem to leave the bowl of steaming green japonica rice porridge.
She could almost hear her stomach rumbling.
Just as she lifted the curtain to step out, Kangxi strode in with an air of authority, bringing a slight chill with him.
“Greetings to The Emperor, Your Majesty…” Tong Jiaying hurriedly performed the ritual as she remembered from the Original Host’s memories, but before she could finish her words, Kangxi reached out and took her hand.
Tong Jiaying’s body stiffened slightly. Being in such close contact with a strange man made her deeply uncomfortable.
“Cousin, you’ve grown thinner,” Kangxi remarked, then glanced at the simple dishes arranged on the sandalwood side table on the kang, his eyes instantly filled with a hint of concern. “Has your health improved?”
Tong Jiaying wore soft-soled satin embroidered shoes, and her head barely reached Kangxi’s shoulder. From this perspective, Kangxi seemed taller than recorded in history—or perhaps the Original Host was simply short? Random thoughts flashed through her mind. Hearing Kangxi’s words, she immediately replied, “I’m much better.” After saying this, she quickly tried to add the self-referential term ‘slave,’ but the two words stuck in her throat and refused to come out.
She, a perfectly free person, had come to the Qing Dynasty only to become a ‘slave concubine.’ The Qing Dynasty was not only a feudal society but also carried traces of ‘slavery.’ In this era, only the emperor and the Imperial Clan were masters; everyone else was a slave.
Even Kangxi’s Imperial Consorts were his slaves, with the Empress being the sole female master.
“Sit and speak,” Kangxi’s voice was deep and slightly magnetic. He led Tong Jiaying to sit on a nearby rosewood round-backed chair. His cousin seemed not only distant after a few days apart but also somewhat changed in temperament.
Tong Jiaying sat beside Kangxi, daring to place only a third of her bottom on the chair. Nervously clutching the handkerchief in her hand, she felt utterly flustered. Kangxi! She had met a living emperor! Part of her was excited, while another part was terrified by her own predicament, leaving her hands and feet at a loss.
Kangxi observed Tong Jiaying. Her snow-white face bore traces of illness, and her autumn-wave-like eyes were free of makeup, making her appear even more pitiable. Her usually lively gaze now held a hint of panic, her hands twisting the handkerchief as she fidgeted uneasily.
It took Tong Jiaying a while to mentally prepare herself before she finally dared to lift her gaze slightly, stealing a glance at Kangxi before immediately looking away. Kangxi looked somewhat different from the Original Host’s memories—his face was long and dignified, with a high nose bridge, deep-set eyes that sparkled with intensity, and slightly thin lips that resembled paper. He was tall and slender in stature.
Compared to the handsome and dashing cousin in the Original Host’s memories, there was a slight discrepancy. Still, Kangxi wasn’t bad—perhaps just a bit above average in appearance. However, having been emperor for so long, accustomed to high status and accumulating authority over time, he carried an imposing and dignified presence.
At the very least, he seemed more intimidating than her former boss from her previous job.
“Have you not eaten yet?” Kangxi remained silent for a long while, but seeing that Tong Jiaying still hadn’t spoken, he had to break the stalemate himself.
His Cousin had fallen ill, and her temperament seemed much more timid than before.
Tong Jiying clutched her handkerchief and replied, “Yes, I was just about to eat…” Midway through her sentence, she felt her words might have been inappropriate and hurriedly explained, “It’s because I’ve been ill and had no appetite, which is why I’m eating at this hour. I didn’t mean to imply anything about Your Majesty’s timing.” She swore she absolutely hadn’t meant to suggest that Kangxi had come at an inconvenient time.
The Qing Dynasty followed a system of two main meals with snacks in between. Breakfast was at Chenshi (7–9 a.m.), and dinner at Shenshi (3–5 p.m.). Snacks could be eaten at any other time, though these weren’t necessarily pastries—just simpler dishes compared to the main meals.
Now, with the sky nearly dark, it was likely close to Xushi, or around 7 p.m. She had simply woken from an afternoon nap to find four hours had already passed.
“Cousin seems somewhat different today?” Kangxi held a pale green, sunflower-patterned bowl in his hand, filled with milk tea freshly brewed in the small kitchen.
Tong Jiaying lowered her head even further. No matter how much mental preparation she had done, when it came time to face him, she was still as nervous as a dog. Gritting her teeth and steeling her heart, she raised her head to look at Kangxi’s face, deliberately avoiding his sharp, penetrating eyes.
“Your Majesty, I have erred.” Tong Jiaying knew she was no master of schemes. Compared to someone like Kangxi, who ascended the throne at eight, took personal control of governance at fourteen, and outwitted Ao Bai at sixteen, her tactics and cunning were as plain as a blank sheet of paper.
They could be seen through at a glance.
Kangxi took a small sip of milk tea and asked, “What error have you committed?”
What error have you committed? Hearing these words, Tong Jiaying was certain that Kangxi had indeed observed all of the Original Host’s actions. The Original Host had desired the position of empress, which aligned with the principle of “people striving for higher ground.” However, if the one holding the power to decide was unwilling to grant it, no amount of contention would be of any use.
The Original Host herself was like an egg, smashing against Kangxi, the unyielding stone, ending in utter defeat—bedridden at a young age and passing away prematurely.
Tong Jiaying didn’t want to die. A miserable life was still better than a good death. She had to change Kangxi’s perception of her. If things remained as before, she feared her own fate wouldn’t be much better.
“Your Majesty, I was mistaken before. I failed to live up to Your Majesty’s expectations and beg for your forgiveness.” Not being a true native of ancient times, Tong Jiaying struggled to organize her words properly and could only offer a simple, general summary.
Only after hearing her words did Kangxi set down his tea bowl and glance sideways at Tong Jiaying. She was dressed in a pale blue, plain silk Changyi, her dark hair loosely tied at the back. Having lost weight due to her illness, the clothes hung loosely on her, accentuating her frail and pitiable appearance.
Falling ill has made her wiser, understanding his intentions. However, she is, after all, his cousin, not just anyone, and he could not simply abandon her like other Imperial Consorts. Thus, he said in a deep voice, “Knowing your mistake is enough. Do not repeat it in the future.” Seeing her pitiful state, Kangxi reached out and gently patted her pale, delicate hand.
Tong Jiaying felt as if she had been granted a pardon, her anxious heart finally settling halfway. With a bit of reassurance, she immediately raised her hand and vowed, “Your Majesty, I will never think of such things again. If I do, may the Tong family be struck by lightning and meet a wretched end.” No matter how tempting the position of Empress might be, one must be alive to enjoy it.
Kangxi glanced at her. There was no need for such an absolute statement—his cousin had leaped from one extreme to another.
“I heard you have been spending time with Wuya Shi?” Kangxi asked casually.