Xu Chen closed her eyes, but she didn’t actually fall asleep straight away.
Those ten years in the psychiatric hospital had made it difficult for her to accept anyone getting close to her, let alone falling asleep beside another person.
So she was fully aware of what Lu Qiuci did after she’d closed her eyes.
The man froze for a moment, presumably finding it hard to believe that Xu Chen had simply fallen asleep like that. All the mental preparation he’d made had gone to waste, like a fully inflated balloon suddenly having the air let out of it.
He stood there in a daze for nearly a full minute, seemingly confirming that Xu Chen really wouldn’t do what he’d anticipated. Only then did Lu Qiuci, like a little kitten, nudge gently to the left and then to the right before slowly lying flat on the bed.
Then, with great care, he pulled the quilt up to his chin, settling himself properly in preparation for sleep.
Xu Chen smiled imperceptibly, finding the sight rather endearing. She didn’t dislike him; on the contrary, she found his appearance to her taste and his personality easy-going—which was important.
Xu Chen had already decided to dote on Lu Qiuci. He was to her liking, and even if it was all just for show, it made things a little more pleasant.
Lu Qiuci seemed quite tense. Although he had lain down, his breathing hadn’t relaxed; instead, he was struggling to control his breathing rhythm, as if worried that the sound of his breathing might disturb Xu Chen.
With him so tense, Xu Chen naturally couldn’t sleep either, but she didn’t take any action; after all, Lu Qiuci didn’t really carry much weight in her heart.
Xu Chen was lost in her own thoughts.
The assassination plot had been a success, but this was only the beginning. If she were in the eye of a storm, this was not even a light drizzle.
Having dealt with the traitors, she now found herself severely short of available personnel, forcing her to handle many matters personally.
No sooner had Emperor Yongji departed today than she was immediately greeted by several other imperial princesses, including her greatest adversary—the Sixth Princess.
It was now the sixteenth year of the Yongji era, meaning it had been sixteen years since her so-called mother-emperor had seized the throne.
The Emperor Yongji has four adult princesses, including herself: the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Princesses.
If one were to rank them by birth order, she would be fourth, with the three older siblings all being princes.
In the Great Zhou, the succession order for princes and princesses is not separated; they are ranked together, with those who died in infancy excluded, so there is a place for everyone.
The original host is not yet nineteen this year; counting her lunar age, she is twenty, which marks the age of coming of age.
The Fifth Princess was born in the same year as her, the Sixth Princess is a year younger, and the Seventh Princess is another year younger still.
The four grown princesses were almost all born in the early years of the Yongji era, coinciding precisely with the years when the original host’s biological father, the late empress was still alive.
After the late Emperess passed away and Consort Chun came into favour, no more princesses were born into the imperial family. The harem was reduced to a mere handful, all of them princes, and most were frail in health.
It was only in recent years that princesses began to be born again, though they are all still very young—one has just started walking, and another is still being breastfed.
The Sixth Princess, Xu Zhao, brought the Fifth and Seventh Princesses to test her. Xu Chen needed to dispel their suspicions, but impersonating the original host was no easy task; for Xu Chen, it was like a tiger trying to disguise itself as a cat.
If they were common folk, they would certainly fail to discern the difference between Xu Chen and the original host, for in their eyes, both Xu Chen and the original host appeared equally cold and ruthless.
The Sixth Princess, however, was different. As the true heir apparent favoured by Emperor Yongji, she and her mother were allies in the plot to sideline the original host.
Consequently, Xu Zhao was acutely aware of the original host’s true nature—all bark and no bite—which made it all the more difficult for Xu Chen to impersonate her, demanding far greater mental and physical exertion.
As for whether such impersonation could be avoided…
No… at least in the short term, or rather, at least in the presence of enemies, it was impossible.
The plan devised by Emperor Yongji and the Sixth Princess to marginalise the original host had proven quite successful. The reason the original host’s character had deteriorated so badly was partly because she had actually sensed that something was amiss, yet could not pinpoint the root of the problem.
Consequently, like a cornered beast, she could only lash out in impotent rage, venting her frustration through childish and cruel means.
Had Xu Chen not travelled back in time, the original host would have been deposed within the next year or two at the latest.
For the plot against the original host had already reached its final stages, and turning the tide would be extremely difficult.
With the enemy strong and us weak, the disparity was vast; a head-on confrontation was clearly not a wise choice. She needed time to bide her time and cultivate her strength, to bide her time and develop her capabilities. She needed Emperor Yongji and the Sixth Princess to maintain their contempt for her; she must not reveal herself too soon, so that she could accumulate power. By then, she would no longer need to feign anything.
Xu Chen closed her eyes, slowly sorting through the tasks ahead in her mind.
First, she needed to restore her reputation. The original host’s situation was already bordering on total abandonment by her allies—precisely what Emperor Yongji and the Sixth Princess were eager to see, making all their efforts worthwhile.
The bitter consequences sown by the original host must now be borne by Xu Chen. The very people the original host had driven away were precisely those who would stand by her side, forming the force to safeguard the Crown Princess’s right to the throne. The original host had reduced herself to a solitary figure, whilst Xu Chen must now win these people back, turning them into a united force rallying around her.
Secondly, she must cultivate her own faction. With so few people at her disposal, she is currently hampered in her actions and finds herself in a very passive position.
Only those she has personally nurtured can be trusted, and this is a matter of the utmost urgency.
Finally, she must secure funds. Building a faction requires money, and the original owner’s Crown Princess’s residence was by no means wealthy.
The original host possessed no small quantity of rare treasures and precious metals, which had allowed her to maintain a lavish lifestyle.
Emperor Yongji was eager to bestow lavish rewards upon the original host; on the one hand, to project an image of benevolence, and on the other, to use wealth to numb and corrupt her.
She would invariably follow a stern reprimand with a lavish gift—a carrot after the stick—treating the original owner like a dog to be trained, leaving her utterly unable to discern whether Emperor Yongji truly loved her or not. Over time, this was bound to foster a twisted personality.
Moreover, Emperor Yongji need not feel the slightest pang of conscience over these gifts; after all, once the original host had been deposed, whatever lavish rewards had been bestowed could all be reclaimed from the Crown Princess’s residence.
When viewed in this light, the original host’s fate was nothing short of tragic; her life had long been shrouded in an impenetrable veil of malice.
It was, in fact, strikingly similar to her own situation.
The difference was that Xu Chen had never once broken down; that was why she was still here today. Her journey through time had brought her to a world unlike any she had known before. Her enemies from the previous life were now out of reach, and she could only hope that the contingency plans she had laid in advance would prove effective.
As a second-best option, she would take her revenge on the substitute in this life—a small token of atonement for having taken the original host’s body.
Xu Chen could not allow this situation to continue. The mountains of gold and silver in the treasury were merely a fleeting illusion; moreover, she had to maintain her own private army, and no matter how much wealth she possessed, it would eventually be squandered.
After all, an army was the true money-guzzler of this world.
Xu Chen needed productive enterprises, which happened to play right into her old line of work. In her previous life, Xu Chen had been a merchant—a businesswoman in China, no less—and her greatest skill lay in building real businesses and making money.
Moreover, the unknown force that caused her to cross over had bestowed upon her a small ‘golden finger’ as a bonus. The mental hospital where she had stayed in her previous life had now become her private domain; she had tested it once before and found she could move freely in and out of this space, which contained nothing but the hospital itself.
The psychiatric hospital was deserted, yet the items within remained exactly as they were. Although Xu Chen did not know what lay in the other patients’ wards or the doctors’ offices, she knew exactly what was in her own room.
There were many paper books. Over the course of those ten years, she had read nearly every book available in the hospital library, as the staff, fearing her, had forbidden her from using any electronic devices.
Those books were still there. Books were knowledge—such a substantial capital that would be more than enough for her to stage a spectacular comeback.
Xu Chen’s initial plan was to start with a textile mill and a soap factory. The raw materials for soap were simple, and the production process straightforward, making it ideal for the early stages.
As for textiles, the Zhou Kingdom already possessed primitive hand-cranked spinning wheels. She merely needed to make a few modifications, converting them into foot-powered spinning wheels, which would significantly boost productivity, allowing for faster and greater production of yarn and cloth, and reaping a substantial profit.
By comparison, whether it be improving steel smelting, glassmaking, salt production, or papermaking and printing, there were simply too many technical hurdles to overcome; moreover, these ventures were sensitive matters likely to alarm the great noble families of the Zhou Kingdom, or even Emperor Yongji personally.
She could only expand into these technologies once she had secured the initiative.
The Zhou Kingdom was not a unified empire; to the south lay the Yu Kingdom, to the south-west the Xiang Kingdom, and even to the north were the sixteen tribes of the grasslands. Her ambition extended beyond merely inheriting the throne of the Zhou Kingdom; she intended to conquer the entire realm.
As she meditated, Xu Chen sensed the breathing beside her finally relax; Lu Qiuci had fallen asleep.
Xu Chen opened her eyes in the darkness, tilted her head slightly, and saw Lu Qiuci’s face in the dim light.
He did not sleep soundly; not daring to draw near her, he curled up beside her, looking rather pitiful.
Xu Chen turned her head back and closed her eyes as well, the crackling of the candle flame echoing intermittently through the room.
This time, Xu Chen finally drifted off to sleep.
For Xu Chen, falling asleep with someone lying beside her was no easy feat.
Perhaps Xu Chen had concluded that Lu Qiuci posed no threat whatsoever, that she was entirely harmless; coupled with the fact that two guards she now fully trusted were standing watch outside, the environment felt safe to her.
In the dead of night, Lu Qiuci, who had been lying properly, began to misbehave, slowly nuzzling her way closer to Xu Chen.
Xu Chen was a light sleeper to begin with, and she woke the very moment Lu Qiuci moved closer.
Xu Chen felt Lu Qiuci press his face against her arm, then wriggle this way and that, unable to find a comfortable position for ages; he frowned, almost waking up.
Xu Chen had no choice but to pull her arm away, allowing him to rest in her embrace.
With a soft chuckle, Xu Chen closed her eyes again, thinking to herself that this man seemed quite well-behaved when awake, but was surprisingly unruly once asleep.
This time, Xu Chen actually fell asleep even faster than the first time.
The candles burned out, the night passed without dreams, and as the first light of dawn broke, Lu Qiuci opened his eyes on cue, fully awake.
Freshly awake, he was still a little dazed, but soon realised he seemed to be pressed against someone. Suddenly, he remembered that he had slept with Xu Chen last night; he nearly jumped out of his skin, but quickly restrained himself, worried he might wake Xu Chen.
With no other option, Lu Qiuci could only inch his way out of Xu Chen’s embrace, bit by bit.