The novel never specified Cen Hejue’s age, but the man before her was far younger than Qin Fei had imagined.
He looked to be in his early twenties. His dark robe embroidered with dragons swept the floor, cinched at the waist with a white jade belt. Unlike Song Jinglan, his black hair was not bound in a scholar’s crown but tied high with a silver coronet. Tall and lean, his frame carried the elegance of pine and crane, radiating nobility.
He did not lift his eyes to her—perhaps because the original Qin Fei had never been close enough to meet his gaze. That left her free to study him openly.
Fair skin, long brows, dark eyes. A tiny crimson mole sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, adding a touch of charm to his striking features. His beauty was undeniable, yet his bearing was aloof, cold, like a thousand shards of icy jade—distant, untouchable.
Holy— He was gorgeous.
If the original Qin Fei were still alive, she would have told her straight: *Respect, sister. You’ve got guts.* Cen Hejue looked like this, and she still despised him?
Qin Fei’s gaze flicked between Song Jinglan and Cen Hejue. The difference was immediate, glaring. Were the original’s eyes growing out of her heels?
Before, Qin Fei had only admired Cen Hejue’s political skill. Now she had converted from career fan to face fan.
“Did you hear that, Hejue?” the Emperor chuckled. “Fei’er has long admired you.”
Qin Fei nodded vigorously, hoping to catch the handsome man’s attention. But he didn’t spare her a glance.
“Your Highness, do not mock your servant,” Cen Hejue said, his words falling like pearls on jade, his voice low and rich.
Even his voice was beautiful!
“Fei’er, Fei’er,” the Emperor nudged her with his elbow when she froze.
Qin Fei snapped back to herself and turned to the old fool. “What did he say? He’s too handsome—I was busy staring at his face.”
The Emperor repeated: “He said you were mocking him.”
Cen Hejue’s brows furrowed as he finally raised his eyes to Qin Fei. This woman was acting strangely today—had that Song fellow whispered some crooked scheme into her ear?
“Ahem…” Qin Fei straightened her expression. “Perceptor, my feelings are sincere. If I weren’t serious, why would I choose to ‘mock’ you and not someone else?”
Cen Hejue’s brow arched, his disdain plain in his gaze. “After all, Your Highness’s devotion to Master Song is clear as the sun and moon. Did you forget? At the academy, you even composed a poem in public to confess your feelings to him.”
Qin Fei froze.
Academy? A poem? Right—the novel had mentioned Cen Hejue teaching the princes and princesses. In such cases, they could select ministers’ children as study companions. Song Jinglan was the Second Prince Qin Jin’s companion.
As for the original Qin Fei writing a poem for Song Jinglan—she truly didn’t remember. Likely just a passing detail.
“I… wrote a poem…” Qin Fei stammered, then a sudden idea struck. She stepped closer to Cen Hejue—and nearly gasped. Up close, he was even more handsome than from afar. She jabbed a finger against his chest. Solid muscle. Firmer than the martial brothers she’d seen at the training hall. Clearly a man of discipline. If not for Cen Hejue’s expression icing over at lightning speed, she might have been tempted to poke him again.
“Eighth Princess,” Cen Hejue ground out between his teeth.
Qin Fei withdrew her hand, feigning a pout. “And whose fault is that?”
Cen Hejue’s face darkened. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I only wanted to test whether you cared,” Qin Fei huffed, then shot Song Jinglan a glare before turning back to Cen Hejue with feigned tenderness. “I wanted to know—if I liked someone else, would you be jealous?”
Cen Hejue’s expression remained unmoved, clearly unconvinced.
Song Jinglan, however, frowned deeply. He prided himself on reading hearts. Qin Fei’s girlish affection for him had once been genuine—so why had she suddenly changed sides?
The Emperor coughed twice from the throne. “A young girl’s heart is truly hard to guess.”
Earlier Qin Fei had seemed to loathe Cen Hejue, so even the Emperor believed she had no interest. But if she did, then the marriage would be easy to arrange.
“Hejue, Little Eight has gone to great lengths for you. I still recall—your father’s favorite among my daughters was Little Eight. Now that he is gone, and you’ve remained unmarried all these years, it is time you considered a match.”
Qin Fei sneered inwardly. She had suspected something was off. The old Emperor was always calculating—why would he suddenly ask Cen Hejue’s opinion? A false kindness, in truth, a pressure tactic.
Cen Hejue replied coolly: “I am fine alone.”
The Emperor cared little about whether Cen Hejue remained single. What concerned him were the rampant rumors of Cen Hejue’s devotion to Qin Xiu—and above all, the safety of his precious daughter.
Qin Fei guessed what the old emperor was worrying about. She leaned closer to Cen Hejue and lowered her voice: “Perceptor, it’s better if you marry me.”
Cen Hejue’s gaze fixed on her face, his eyes flickering slightly.
Qin Fei pressed on: “Qin Xiu’s schemes are more tangled than the knots in the Matchmaker’s red strings. If you marry her, you’ll exhaust yourself daily. But if you marry me—well, I have no great virtues, but I don’t like to think too hard, I’m lazy and fond of food. Easy to manage.”
“Manage?” Cen Hejue studied her. Gone was the usual arrogance and petulance. The Qin Fei he knew prided herself on her brilliance—she would never belittle herself like this. Which meant… this was not the same Qin Fei.
“I promise, if you marry me, I won’t interfere in anything you do. Outwardly, you’ll have a wife, and a princess at that. Even if others want to send beauties your way, they’ll hesitate because of my status.” She winked. “All I ask is food and lodging. Let me be a happy salted fish in your household.”
“Salted fish?” Cen Hejue’s eyes narrowed, a trace of mocking amusement glinting within. “Does Your Highness not know the rumors about me?”
“Of course I do. Perceptor Cen is capable of anything.” Qin Fei shot him a look. “With you assisting, Qin’s empire will be unshakable.”
Her words were hard to read—whether careless or deliberate. But one thing was true: Cen Hejue hated trouble. His household was empty, fueling endless speculation. Only by securing the Emperor’s trust could he accomplish his aims.
Qin Fei—or rather, whoever now wore Qin Fei’s skin—might indeed serve as his shield.
“Your servant dares to beg His Majesty’s grace: permit me to wed the Eighth Princess.” Cen Hejue bowed slightly, his words ringing through the Zichen Hall, echoing long after.
Red-tiled roofs, carved beams, painted rafters. Qin Fei sat in her bridal sedan, admiring the scenery, her mind still replaying Cen Hejue’s request to marry her.
To suddenly wed the novel’s great villain—even if she had asked for it herself—was hard to digest. Yet Cen Hejue had been easier to persuade than she imagined. Perhaps because she had struck the right chord.
In the novel, Cen Hejue was cast as the antagonist, scheming for the throne, destroying the royal family, and branded as ambitious and disloyal.
But in truth, it all stemmed from a battle years ago. His father, then a general, was captured while saving the Emperor. The Emperor could have commanded the army to rescue him, but out of cowardice, he delayed, waiting for reinforcements. Father Cen lost his life.
Cen Hejue, upon learning the truth, had endured years of patience at court to avenge his father. In the end, he seized the throne and slaughtered the Qin royal family.
By her guess, a ruthless man like Cen Hejue would never weigh love above ambition. The old emperor was desperate to plant a woman in his household—better to give him someone simple like her than a clever schemer. Less trouble all around.
As for the rumor that Cen Hejue loved Qin Xiu, the novel had mentioned it, but the two had no real storyline together—not even a shared scene. Whether true or false remained uncertain.
“Bang—” The sedan jolted violently. Qin Fei’s reflexes saved her from tumbling out.
“Fool! How dare you bump into the Eighth Princess!” The voice was delicate, affected—clearly not a simple character.
Qin Fei looked up. A woman in pale green brocade glided forward, her face delicate as carved jade, lovely as a lotus fresh from water, her frown carrying a fragile charm. A beauty, yes—but with a distinct whiff of tea.
“Eight Sister, don’t mind this blind servant,” the beauty smiled.
Qin Fei: “Oh.”
The smile faltered. Normally, Qin Fei would have flown into a rage. Today she seemed like a different person.
“Were you just meeting Brother Lan?” the beauty asked, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. “Last time he watched the moon with me, he said he was troubled by how you clung to him.” Feigning shock, she covered her mouth. “Oh, what a slip! Don’t take it to heart, and don’t quarrel with him.”
Qin Fei raised a brow. “Fine.”
“Ah?” The beauty’s eyes widened at her unexpected response.
Qin Fei thought a moment. “Qin Xiu?”
Qin Xiu nodded. Yes, still the same unruly Qin Fei. Normally, she would flare up soon, giving Qin Xiu the chance to feign illness and play the victim before Song Jinglan. How could he ever marry a coarse, arrogant woman like Qin Fei?
“You like Song Jinglan, don’t you?” Qin Fei rested her chin in her hand.
Qin Xiu frowned. “How do you know?”
Qin Fei: “You’re a little too obvious.”
Qin Xiu scowled. “What do you mean? Just because Brother Lan doesn’t care for you, you’re taking it out on me?”
Qin Fei wagged a finger. “If you like him, don’t fight me. I don’t want Song Jinglan.”
Qin Xiu glared. “You’re lying. Everyone in the palace knows you like him.”
“Fine, fine.” Qin Fei spread her hands. “I don’t anymore. He’s yours.”
Qin Xiu paused. “Why?”
Qin Fei smirked. “I don’t like competing with beauties.”
Qin Xiu clutched her chest. “Eight Sister, mocking my looks again?”
Her maid Ah Bi cried out: “The Eighth Princess is vain of her beauty, but she shouldn’t insult our Third Princess like this!”
Qin Fei blinked, pointing at herself. “Me? Insult her?” She turned to her own maid. “Did I?”
The maid glanced at Qin Fei’s face, then at Qin Xiu. “You are much prettier than the Third Princess.”
Qin Fei’s eyes widened. “I’m that good-looking?”
Qin Xiu twisted her handkerchief, tears brimming. “Eight Sister, you claim not to like Brother Lan, yet you humiliate me because of what I said. I—I…” She clutched her chest, face reddening, about to collapse.
Qin Fei cursed inwardly. The old emperor adored Qin Xiu. The novel described how she often feigned heart trouble, making Qin Fei look like a bully. Every clash ended with Qin Fei branded disrespectful, fueling the emperor’s dislike and his plan to marry her off abroad.
“Third Princess! Someone—” Ah Bi began to cry out, but was cut short by a dull thud.
Qin Fei’s maid shrieked: “Help! The Eighth Princess has fainted!”
Qin Xiu froze mid-collapse, straightened, and looked ahead. “She fainted?”
Qin Fei lay sprawled on the stone floor, motionless, like a slaughtered pig on a butcher’s block.