It was the third watch of the night, and the bridal sedan had been sitting at the palace gates for over half an hour.
Shen Zhiyi lifted a corner of her red veil and peered through a gap in the curtain. The vermilion gates remained tightly shut, and the two rows of palace lanterns swayed in the night wind, their flickering light enough to make anyone anxious.
Outside the sedan, the head maid in charge of the wedding procession lowered her voice and hissed, “This is too much! You are a lady of the Prince of Zhenbei’s manor, after all. The auspicious hour has passed, and they haven’t even sent a guide!”
Shen Zhiyi let the veil fall back into place, a faint curve touching her lips.
She knew exactly why.
She knew because the “Lady” sitting in this sedan was a complete fake.
Three days ago, she had been in a modern military academy lab, running simulations on game theory models. The next second, a piece of equipment exploded, and she woke up as the most neglected illegitimate daughter of the Prince of Zhenbei.
The original owner of this body was also named Shen Zhiyi. With a cruel legal mother and a spoiled elder sister, she had lived like a ghost—invisible to everyone.
But being invisible had its perks: no one watched you.
So, when the news broke that the legitimate daughter, Shen Zhihua, had eloped with her lover, the stepmother’s first thought for a sacrificial lamb was her.
“Your sister is in poor health; you will take her place in this marriage.”
The stepmother hadn’t even looked up when she said it, as if she were merely ordering a servant to pour a cup of tea.
Shen Zhiyi had stood there with her head bowed, her mind lightning-fast as she ran a data analysis.
Option A: Resist the marriage. Survival rate: 0%.
Option B: Take her place. Historically, tyrants rarely reigned for more than three years. After three years, a new emperor would ascend, and by custom, the former consorts would be released. Survival rate: 37%.
“I obey, Mother.”
Her answer was so blunt that the stepmother actually froze.
Shen Zhiyi understood that expression perfectly. The woman had expected a fight, only for this “stupid girl” to jump into the fire herself.
Jump away, Shen Zhiyi thought.
She never intended to stay in this strange era forever anyway. If she could just endure three to five years until the tyrant kicked the bucket, she’d take her saved allowance, leave the palace, buy a small farm, and spend her days growing vegetables and researching ancient agricultural technology.
Creak—
The palace gates finally groaned open.
Shen Zhiyi pulled herself out of her thoughts as the sound of approaching hoofbeats grew louder.
“Which one is the lady from the Prince of Zhenbei’s manor?” a shrill voice asked. A eunuch.
The head maid quickly replied, “It… it is our Young Mistress.”
“Fine, follow me,” the eunuch interrupted. “The Emperor has flipped Concubine Shu’s name-tag tonight. He won’t be coming to the bridal chamber. The Lady should go straight to her quarters and rest.”
The maid’s face turned a shade of bruised purple from the insult.
Inside the sedan, Shen Zhiyi smirked.
Not coming? Perfect.
It saved her the trouble of dealing with the whole “wedding night” ordeal. She had researched ancient wedding customs back in the modern world—the ceremonial wine, the hair-tying ritual—it was all a massive headache.
“I trouble the Father-in-law to lead the way,” she said through the curtain. Her voice was soft and timid, mimicking the tone the original Shen Zhiyi always used.
The eunuch paused, seemingly surprised that this new bride was so easy to deal with. After a moment, he gave a curt “Mm.”
The sedan was hoisted up again.
Leaning against the wall of the carriage, Shen Zhiyi used the rhythmic swaying to map out her future strategy.
The Plan: Lay Flat. Avoid Favor. Minimize Presence.
Faking illness would be the easiest route. She’d call for the imperial physicians every few days, claiming heart palpitations and fatigue. Those doctors were terrified of responsibility; they certainly wouldn’t dare force her to attend to the Emperor.
She’d also have to watch her diet—nothing too flashy, but she wouldn’t starve herself either. Back in her own time, she was a strategic analysis expert. If nothing else, risk assessment and resource allocation were her specialties.
Oh, and she needed an exit strategy. If the tyrant died suddenly or a palace coup occurred, she needed to know which way the wind was blowing immediately. She’d see if she could bribe a low-level eunuch or two; a few silver scraps for “worthless” gossip.
“We’ve arrived.”
The sedan touched the ground. “My Lady, please step out,” the eunuch’s voice drifted in.
Shen Zhiyi took a deep breath, adjusted her veil, and reached out for a hand to help her down.
The moment her feet hit the pavement, a gust of night wind caught the corner of her veil. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the “palace” before her. The red lacquer was peeling, weeds grew from the eaves, and the two stone lions at the entrance were tilted at absurdly crooked angles.
“Fangcao Hall,” the eunuch said with a thin, mocking smile. “Rest well, My Lady.”
With that, he led his party away.
Shen Zhiyi stood still, staring at the crooked plaque for three silent seconds.
This wasn’t a consort’s palace. This was a woodshed next to the Cold Palace.
“Miss…” Her only dowry maid, Qingtang, was trembling. “How… how can anyone live here?”
Shen Zhiyi pulled off the veil and turned to look around. The area was indeed deserted. The head maid who escorted her had vanished long ago, likely fearing the bad luck of this place.
Instead of being upset, Shen Zhiyi felt a wave of relief.
“It’s livable,” she said, stepping toward the hall. “It’s just a bit dilapidated. We’ll just tidy it up.”
Qingtang froze, watching her mistress’s back. She felt something was… off.
Her mistress had never sounded this… certain before.