Jade towers and golden halls, laurel palaces and orchid courts.
Outside the Zichen Hall, the palace maids held their breath, not daring to lift their eyes toward the chamber within.
“Justice is clear as day! How could I, Princess Qin Fei, ever be forced to wed Cen Hejue, a treacherous minister? If Father insists on compelling me, then I shall, right here before all…” Her face had been set in defiance, ready to die rather than yield. Yet in the next instant, her expression went blank, her words veering sharply: “…then I shall, right here before all, agree to this marriage!”
Emperor Qin choked on his tea, caught between swallowing and spitting, nearly fainting on the spot. “Wh-what?!”
Qin Fei exhaled deeply in her heart. She had transmigrated.
Just now. Into a notorious tearjerker of a novel—*A Farewell to the King*—a story said to make readers shed eight pounds in tears.
Whether it was tragic or not didn’t matter. Qin Fei’s focus was entirely on those eight pounds.
The novel was cruel for cruelty’s sake: the hero and heroine loved each other, but the hero was ambitious and opportunistic. For the throne, he became a “phoenix man,” filling his harem with powerful women, climbing ever upward. Though he saved twenty years of struggle, he left the heroine battered and broken. Their misunderstandings were never resolved; she took her own life, and he later died of grief at her grave. In the end, the villain triumphed, reaching the pinnacle of power.
Qin Fei admitted the writing was vicious. She felt nothing for the melodramatic love story, but found herself fascinated by the villain’s rise.
She had been driving when she finished listening to the audiobook. Not a single tear fell; instead, she wanted to slam the brakes and write a ten-thousand-word scathing review. But before she could, she crashed into a guardrail, tumbled off a bridge, and sank into the river— And now, here she was, inside this body.
Not the frail, tragic heroine. Not the venomous rival. But a minor cannon-fodder character who happened to share her name.
Cannon fodder was fine. Cannon fodder without sense was fatal.
The Eighth Princess of Qin, Qin Fei, youngest of the royal brood, spoiled into arrogance by her father’s indulgence. Outwardly cherished, but in truth, the Emperor’s real affection lay with his third daughter, Qin Xiu—the novel’s vicious supporting role.
Rumor had it that Cen Hejue, long unmarried, was secretly devoted to Qin Xiu.
Cen Hejue, Preceptor of the court, wielded immense power. His elder brother was the General of the Auxiliary State, commanding the army.
The Cen clan stood in both civil and military spheres, a looming threat to the Emperor. How could he send his beloved Qin Xiu into the tiger’s jaws? Instead, he offered up the pampered Eighth Princess as a token gesture.
A neat, ruthless sacrifice. That was the original Qin Fei’s purpose—nothing more than a shield. But the girl herself didn’t know. She only saw her father’s sudden coldness, his decree that she marry a notorious “traitor.”
In the current plot, Qin Fei had already been ensnared by the hero’s schemes and naturally refused to wed Cen Hejue.
Thus, this scene: her public rejection of the match, her bold declaration that she would marry the son of the Minister of State, none other than the hero, Song Jinglan.
Song Jinglan was cunning and ruthless. He seduced Qin Fei, courted Qin Xiu, all to seize the throne.
Qin Fei, a twenty-something with zero romantic experience, regarded such trash men as disposable.
“…”
Silence fell around her. After finishing her inner monologue, Qin Fei turned to survey the men before her.
Closest stood a young man of striking beauty—jade-like features, red lips and white teeth, clad in flowing white robes, elegant and debonair.
Hmm.
A textbook pretty-boy face.
“Master Song?”
Song Jinglan’s brows knit. This foolish princess had always gazed at him with adoration, calling him *Song Lang*. Why was she suddenly so polite today?
The face was the same—radiant, yes—but the mind was empty, nothing compared to Nian’er. Still, that was a kind of advantage. First bring this idiot into the fold, then bring Nian’er in. With his skill, controlling this fool would be no problem. He would never let Nian’er suffer, and his father would be appeased.
“Princess, do not anger His Majesty for Jinglan’s sake.” Song Jinglan leaned closer, lowering his voice in feigned devotion: “His Majesty is your father. If he truly wishes to tear us apart, then Jinglan can only bury his feelings deep within. Alas, you are to marry Perceptor Cen, that sort of man. If only Jinglan could rival him, I would steal you away to my side.”
Qin Fei nearly failed to hide the contempt in her eyes. Still, credit where it was due—she actually saw a flicker of red sincerity there. Serves him right to live off this kind of trickery!
She slowly turned her head, catching the Emperor’s bewildered gaze.
Wait. In the novel, Qin Fei only appeared in ten chapters. At the public refusal scene, the great villain Cen Hejue was present in the hall. Her eyes swept the chamber, then caught on a black-lacquered screen embroidered with silver mountains and rivers. Large enough to hide a man. Her heart stirred. Song Jinglan thought she was faltering, ready to press his advantage—when suddenly her collar was yanked back by a woman’s hand, and a sharp knock landed squarely on his head.
The Emperor recoiled in shock; the screen trembled.
“Well, well, Song Jinglan! Daring to slander my future consort before me—how many lives do you think you have? Careful, or I’ll chop off your head and water the flowers with it!”
The Emperor gasped, “Future consort?”
Qin Fei tossed Song Jinglan aside and cooed sweetly: “Yes, Father. In truth, I have long admired Perceptor Cen. Since you wish to grant me to him, then surely he is my future consort.”
Behind the screen, a eunuch serving tea sneaked a glance at Cen Hejue. The man’s face held only scorn.
“But didn’t you say Cen Hejue was a sly, black-hearted fox, guilty of every evil?” the Emperor asked, not realizing he had just bartered away his daughter.
Qin Fei’s smile stiffened.
In the novel, the original Qin Fei loathed Cen Hejue to the bone—she would burn mugwort after merely brushing past him, to ward off ill luck. Though she had no memory of the original, the text made it clear: their relationship was terrible. Yet now, she had no choice but to marry Cen Hejue. Not because Song Jinglan was too awful. On the contrary, if marriage to Song Jinglan were truly possible, she might grit her teeth and endure it. But the Emperor had no intention of pairing her with Song Jinglan.
The Qin realm seemed calm, but the rival Qi kingdom repeatedly provoked them. The aging Emperor feared war and had long planned to marry off a princess.
The unlucky pawn chosen was Qin Fei. In the novel, the Emperor believed she had only two uses. First, by marrying her into the Cen family, she would ruin them—since a royal consort could not hold military power, Cen Hejue’s elder brother would be forced to surrender his command. Second, if Cen Hejue refused the marriage, Qin Fei could be sent to Qi as a peace bride.
The original Qin Fei’s fate was exactly that: betrothed to Qi. But before reaching the kingdom, she was assaulted and killed by “bandits” along the way—though in truth it was orchestrated by Qi, meant to provoke war with Qin.
The Emperor, a coward, ignored the obvious truth. His daughter’s tragic end didn’t move him; he simply sent another minister’s concubine-born daughter in her place, a pitiful, fawning substitute.
Qin Fei loathed this old fool. Yet to maintain her character’s image, she clung to his sleeve and wheedled: “Father, I am still a maiden. How could I openly confess my feelings for Perceptor Cen? My scolding was just a way of showing affection—‘to strike is to love, to curse is to care.’”
The Emperor inhaled sharply. “Then what about the straw dolls you stuck with pins for Perceptor Cen?”
“Straw dolls??” Qin Fei pointed at herself. “Me?”
“Yes.” The Emperor, oblivious to Cen Hejue’s presence, began listing her misdeeds: “On rainy days, you had his umbrella torn, when he rode, you removed the wheel from his carriage, when he wrote memorials all night, you smeared them black, and—”
“Enough!”
The novel had never mentioned any of this. Qin Fei’s head throbbed. “Let’s just say I was uncouth before.”
The Emperor raised a brow.
“It was only to catch his attention,” Qin Fei forced a smile, her eyes darting toward the screen.
With Cen Hejue’s legendary abilities, surely he was already plotting how to silence her without a trace.
The Emperor stroked his chin. “Who would have thought? You truly are devoted to him. But marriage must be mutual. Hejue, come out.”
Qin Fei’s heart sank. What was this? Why not simply decree the marriage—why ask Cen Hejue?
From behind the great black-lacquered screen, a figure slowly emerged.
Qin Fei’s gaze flickered, involuntarily drawn to the tall silhouette. The novel had never described Cen Hejue’s appearance. Judging by how much the original Qin Fei despised him, he must have been plain. After all, who doesn’t like a handsome face?
She looked at him without much expectation.