The next day, Yu Qijian was once again inexplicably summoned to the Imperial Secretariat.
Compared to yesterday, she was much less anxious today. On the way there, she even had the leisure to admire flowers and tease birds.
But the moment she stepped into the office, she was so shocked by the towering stack of documents on the desk that it completely blocked Fang Jinxian from view.
“Wow, Chief Eunuch, you’re so diligent. No wonder everyone else gets crushed by you.”
Fang Jinxian peeked out from behind the pile, half his face visible, a faint smile in his eyes.
“These are palace accounts and personnel transfer drafts. Since Your Majesty is already familiar with the general situation of the palace, please try handling these trivial matters first. Use cinnabar ink for annotations, follow the established rules. If anything is unclear, you may ask this minister.”
Yu Qijian: “……Me? You’re giving all this to me?”
Fang Jinxian pulled his head back behind the documents.
“Since Your Majesty has taken up the Phoenix Seal, you must perform the duties of the position. Please proceed.”
Originally, he intended to let her take it slowly, and even expected her to complain or refuse.
But Yu Qijian simply stretched lazily, as if accepting her fate, and sat down opposite his massive desk.
“Fine. I’ve had a few days off anyway—consider it a long holiday.”
She rested her chin in her hand and looked at the pile of books.
“But honestly, my intuition around you has never been accurate. Chief Fang, you’re really hard to read.”
Fang Jinxian: “……”
He did not understand what she meant.
“Do you have charcoal pencils? Or a thinner hard pen? The cinnabar brush is too thick. Aren’t you afraid I’ll smudge everything into a mess?”
Fang Jinxian paused, then called out, “Mo Fang, prepare a charcoal pen.”
While waiting, Yu Qijian had already started flipping through the documents. Some characters she guessed, others she simply asked about.
After she asked twice, Fang Jinxian looked up again. “How many books have you read?”
Yu Qijian puffed her cheeks and muttered under her breath, “Civilization evolves, times call for change. The characters I read are different from yours. It’s normal that I don’t recognize some complicated ones. Don’t underestimate me—I’m going to make you see today…”
Fang Jinxian: “What?”
“I said I’ll show you what I can do!”
Fang Jinxian: “……”
Yu Qijian worked quickly. Soon, she sorted all the documents into four piles: finances, personnel, supplies, and disputes.
When Mo Fang delivered the charcoal pen, she took a blank sheet of paper and wrote a few characters to get used to it.
Fang Jinxian noticed her grip on the pen was a little strange, but the writing itself was indeed better than brush calligraphy.
Then she read through all the documents once—and began to review them.
Not with simple approvals or rejections.
She treated them like tasks in some strategic game.
Case 1: The northeast corner of the Sixth Palace has been poorly maintained for years; roof tiles are falling and eaves damaged, affecting appearance. Request: 2,000 taels for full repair.
She wrote: First verify exact damage and estimate necessary repair costs. Redirect remaining funds to fixing leaks in lower-ranking palace servants’ quarters. Appearance can be reduced; function must be prioritized.
Case 2: A dispute between the Imperial Kitchen supervisor and the Inner Treasury charcoal eunuch. The former wishes to pre-request premium silver charcoal to test a new warming hotpot for the Emperor and Empress Dowager. The latter refuses, citing lack of precedent and improper regulations.
She wrote: Approve 30 jin of charcoal. Require written trial documentation. If the hotpot is approved by the imperial household, write it off; otherwise deduct from the kitchen’s monthly allowance. If they argue again, both sides’ salaries will be halved before winter.
Yu Qijian worked extremely fast—almost skimming through everything in one glance before writing concise, decisive answers.
In less than fifteen minutes, more than half the stack had already been processed, neatly categorized and clearly arranged.
Fang Jinxian had originally been reviewing serious memorials, but his eyes kept drifting toward her.
He watched her move the pen swiftly. The light from the window slanted in, falling across her lowered lashes and casting a faint trembling shadow.
She handled these trivial palace matters with surprising precision, yet the rigid rules of the palace seemed to her merely optional guidelines.
“For matters like these, one could simply approve or reject them directly.” He finally spoke. “Is it not tedious to examine them so closely?”
Yu Qijian did not look up.
“It’s just habit. If I write it clearly, they won’t come back asking again. It’s called precise allocation and accurate communication. Those weird ‘clients’ should learn this mindset. I’d probably live a few more years if they did.”
Fang Jinxian frowned at her for a moment but said nothing. He returned to his own memorials.
Only the sound of her charcoal pen scratching across paper remained—light, quick, like sudden spring rain.
Before long, the sound stopped.
Yu Qijian gathered the completed documents and pushed them to the center of the desk with a satisfied pat.
“Done!”
Fang Jinxian gave a slight nod. “Well done.”
Yu Qijian rested one hand on the desk and tilted her head at him. Her gaze fell on the mountain of memorials in front of him and the already-cold tea by his side.
“You’ve been sitting here since morning without moving, haven’t you?”
Fang Jinxian thought she was about to mock his speed and answered mildly, almost amused, “Mm. These cannot be rushed. A single wrong character could lead to disaster.”
“There’s always more work than you can finish.”
Yu Qijian suddenly thought of her past life as an overworked office worker. She walked to the window, pushed it open halfway, and a breeze carrying the scent of flowers drifted in, softening the heavy ink smell in the room.
She looked back lazily.
“Get up and move around. Drink some hot tea. Your face is pale like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you even want your neck anymore? You’re not that young anymore—you should take care of yourself.”
She spoke casually, with her usual lack of restraint.
Fang Jinxian’s eyelashes trembled slightly, caught off guard by this sudden concern.
Then his brows tightened again. “Who is not young anymore?”
“Oh, so you care about that.” Yu Qijian smiled. “Fine, even if you’re young and strong, you still shouldn’t overwork yourself.”
She leaned against the window frame, looking out at the sky beyond the palace walls. Her voice softened.
“Power, fame, money… none of it matters more than life.”
That rare seriousness made Fang Jinxian look up. “…Why do you say that?”
Yu Qijian shook her head, not caring whether he understood.
“Before I came here, I literally worked myself to death. Sixty-eight straight hours without sleep for work, and I just collapsed. And that life didn’t even earn me much money. Now that I’m here, if possible, I just don’t want to live that exhausted anymore.”
Fang Jinxian tried to process her words. He only understood about seventy to eighty percent, but something in him shifted in a way he could not name. He blurted out, “You were… very poor in the past?”
Only after speaking did he remember she had once said she was an orphan. At the time, he had not fully believed it—but now… he no longer felt the need to doubt it.
He tried to imagine what kind of life she had lived, and something in his chest quietly collapsed.
Fang Jinxian looked at her calm profile framed by the window light.
Such a vivid, living person—there was not a trace of the hardships she must have endured.
She must have… suffered greatly too.