After pouring out her grievances, Yu Qijian suddenly fell silent.
She stayed quiet for a long time, then was surprised to realize that she had been unconsciously speaking to Fang Jinxian with surprising frankness despite their shallow acquaintance—and that he no longer felt as frightening or intimidating as when they first met.
This realization made her slightly uneasy.
She glanced sideways at Fang Jinxian, who seemed lost in thought, and tried to figure out why.
It definitely was not because he was the only one who knew she was not the original owner of this body.
After thinking for a long time, she finally understood.
From the very first time he interrogated her about where she came from, every single thing she said—even when it sounded absurd to him—he had always listened with seriousness.
Yes, seriousness. And when she occasionally said things he did not understand, he would think for a moment and try to infer the meaning himself.
Zhao Yan and Shuanglan were the same.
And Yu Qijian… she liked nothing more than people who listened to her seriously.
She thought she might be starting to like this place.
Perhaps it was because the feeling of her voice being swallowed up in the past had been too deeply etched into her memory.
At the orphanage dining table, she once said, “I want half an extra bowl of porridge,” but her voice disappeared into the surrounding noise without response. The caregiver reached past her and gave the last half scoop to the child crying louder next to her.
In school group discussions, she would just begin to organize her thoughts when a more outgoing classmate interrupted loudly, “I think it should be like this!” Everyone would immediately turn toward that voice. She opened her mouth, then quietly closed it again, her pen unconsciously drawing circles on the paper.
While doing part-time labor moving goods, she raised her hand countless times: “I can do it, I’m strong.” No one paid attention; instead, they turned to a thinner man beside her and let him try first. She could only shut up, rush forward first, lift the goods herself, and still hear, “You’re a woman, you can’t do this. How many times can you even lift it? Stop wasting time.”
After repeated setbacks, she proved she could do it, but in the end she only gained a chronic back injury.
Even after entering the workforce, it was the same. In countless meeting rooms, her analysis reports were casually set aside by clients, who only looked at her boss’s face. When she pointed out flaws in proposals, senior colleagues patted her shoulder and said, “Xiao Yu, good ideas, but we just do whatever the client says.”
Perhaps she should have been grateful that she met a boss who treated her like a lucky charm, hiring her not for her ability but for superstition about her birth date and orphan status, trying to use her—someone with only a high school education—to bring him fortune.
But to prove her worth, she spent two years using every spare moment to read, study, and gather information, achieving progress most people would struggle to match.
She slowly learned to write her thoughts in emails, organize them in PowerPoints, and use bold text and hard data to fight for even a small chance of being seen.
Even so, most of her late-night long reports sank without a trace. No one cared.
Until she finally fought for a project that could prove herself—after two months of maneuvering with the client, she was one step away from finishing it… and then she died from overwork.
The more she thought, the more she wanted to laugh. “May the primordial god shut heaven and earth.”
Fang Jinxian could not laugh.
He saw the tears Yu Qijian had not let fall.
“All right, I’ve finished dealing with this too. Just have people send the documents directly to the Palace of Eternal Peace next time. It’ll save me the trip.”
Fang Jinxian’s lips pressed into a line. “First try handling proper duties here in the Imperial Secretariat. Once you are familiar with it, then they may be sent to the Palace of Eternal Peace.”
“Fine. I’m leaving then.”
“…Mm.”
Two days later, the Yunshao Troupe entered the palace as scheduled.
Aside from tighter security, there was nothing ostentatious about it. As Fang Jinxian had said, everything was kept low-key.
The stage was set up in a waterside pavilion in the imperial garden. Yu Qijian deliberately asked Zhao Yan to come early after his studies, and mother and son sat in the best viewing spot, with snacks she had prepared for “drama-watching” placed in front of them.
“Mother Empress, did you often watch plays in the past?”
Yu Qijian: “Uh… not often.”
She had watched television dramas before, but not much, and she had never really seen live opera. So she was actually quite looking forward to it.
Yue Jilian did not perform today. He stood in white robes beneath the stage, watching his troupe perform with a faint smile on his refined profile, his eyes full of satisfaction and confidence in their work.
A performance of The Legend of the White Snake unfolded on stage—melancholy, tender, and lively. The actress playing Bai Suzhen was especially outstanding, her figure and singing both exquisite, her expressive eyes full of emotion.
Zhao Yan watched without blinking, even forgetting his favorite almond custard.
Meanwhile, Yu Qijian chewed on dried beef. It was too tough, making her jaw ache, and she could not even finish a bite for a long time, losing focus.
Having seen a TV adaptation before, she honestly struggled to appreciate every line of this long operatic singing. It felt a bit like a wild boar trying fine food—it simply did not suit her palate.
All she could say was that the actors looked very pleasing to the eye, and the lively atmosphere alone was already a rare joy in this dull palace.
Leaning back in her chair to avoid aggravating her back pain, she let the performance pass in a blur. By the time it ended, most of the day had gone by.
She rewarded the troupe generously, then specifically called Yue Jilian forward.
“Manager Yue, this performance was truly excellent,” she said politely, smiling as she handed him a booklet in a brocade pouch. “I have a new script here—a little story about a pair of siblings who outwit a villain and bring justice to the people. The text is simple and quite interesting. Please take a look and see if your troupe can stage it. Next time, perform it for His Majesty.”
The booklet had been written down by Shuanglan so it would be easy to read.
Although she could not fully appreciate the finer details of traditional opera, judging from Zhao Yan’s reaction, he would likely enjoy the story she had brought.
Yue Jilian received it with both hands but did not open it immediately.
“It is this commoner’s honor to be appreciated by Your Majesty. The troupe will do its utmost and not fail Your Majesty’s expectations.”
Ah, his way of speaking was really pleasant.
His voice was nice, his demeanor comfortable, just standing there felt like a spring breeze.
On a whim, she added, “Today I watched your performance and felt that the irritation I had been carrying for days has eased. It feels a pity to only watch once. How about every five or six days, the troupe comes into the palace to perform? No need for grandeur—just a small pleasure for His Majesty and me.”
Yue Jilian looked slightly surprised and lowered his head with a faint smile, just about to reply when a cool, expressionless voice came from the side.
“Your Majesty.”
Fang Jinxian had arrived at some point and stood a few steps away under the shade of a pillar in the corridor, his crimson robe making his complexion appear even paler.
He walked forward slowly.
“Foreign troupes performing in the palace are subject to strict regulations. Such frequency is improper and unreasonable. Today is already an exception—how can it become the norm?”
Yu Qijian did not show any anger. Instead, she smiled properly and replied, “That is true. I saw His Majesty enjoying it so much that I spoke on impulse. It was my mistake. We shall follow the usual rules.”
Her quick and easy concession left Fang Jinxian without any follow-up argument.
His gaze flicked to the script in Yue Jilian’s hands, and that indescribable irritation rose again in his chest.
She had insisted on watching the play, yet when it was right in front of her, she barely looked at it—her attention kept drifting toward the troupe leader instead.
Did she like him that much?
Enough to personally write scripts for him, even thinking of summoning him into the palace every few days?
And yet, when she was asked to stay in the Imperial Secretariat these past two days to handle official matters, she refused to linger at all, finishing quickly and leaving without hesitation.
An inexplicable sense of imbalance made his throat feel slightly tight.