Lin Anran stared at the yellow-green Shanshan melon wrapped tightly in red silk, looking like some giant freshly laid egg, and began questioning her life choices.
Was wrapping a cantaloupe up like this supposed to hatch a dinosaur or something?
She only glanced briefly at the “precious” fruits before her attention landed firmly on the glittering gold, silver, jade, and jewels.
Lin Anran had always believed she was not particularly greedy for money.
Now she realized she had been completely mistaken.
In her previous life, she had simply been too poor, which was why she thought she viewed money like dirt.
But now, looking at all this wealth, she felt as though she had encountered true love itself. She almost wanted to rush over and kiss the treasure twice just to express her emotions.
At last, she finally understood why rich people kept desperately trying to earn even more money despite already being wealthy.
Because money was just too adorable.
Lin Anran instructed Chunhua to cut up the Shanshan melon for Luo Li to eat, while Dongxue was told to store the jewelry and silver away in the treasury. Meanwhile, she herself dipped her fingers into scented balm and gently massaged Luo Li’s wrist.
The scented balms of ancient times were all-natural—no preservatives, no lead or mercury—so they felt much safer to use.
“Little A’Li, from now on, practice calligraphy for no more than one shichen a day at most,” Lin Anran reminded her gently. “If you write too much, it’ll hurt your wrist. Understand?”
Feeling Lin Anran’s concern, tears welled in Luo Li’s big eyes as she nodded vigorously.
She dared not speak, carefully cherishing this hard-won maternal love.
Seeing how easily the child was moved, Lin Anran smiled and pinched Luo Li’s chubby little cheeks teasingly.
“My little A’Li is so easy to touch emotionally. In the future, won’t some sweet-talking young man be able to steal you away with just a few flattering words?”
Women who were too easily moved were easily deceived by men.
Although Luo Li was only three, making such comments seemed a bit early—but prevention was better than correction. Teaching these things subtly from childhood was far more effective than trying to lecture her after she grew older.
After all, ancient girls married young, and discussions of marriage began even earlier. A girl’s upbringing was centered around molding her into a good wife.
Even imperial princesses like Luo Li were no exception.
And because Luo Li was already mentally more mature than most three-year-olds, the moment she heard Lin Anran’s teasing, her little face flushed red with embarrassment.
“Mother Empress,” Luo Li replied shyly, “this daughter is a princess of Great Xia. My future prince consort will surely be an outstanding man carefully selected by Father Emperor and Mother Empress. This daughter certainly will not be tricked away by some frivolous young master who only knows sweet words.”
In ancient times, marriage was determined by parents and matchmakers. It was never something women themselves could decide.
That was the tragedy of ancient women—and also the duty of a Great Xia princess.
Even if one day her father and mother ordered her to marry into an enemy nation for political alliance, she could not complain, nor resist. She could only sacrifice herself for peace between the two kingdoms.
The more sensible Luo Li behaved, the more Lin Anran’s heart ached for her.
She wanted to carve out a piece of freedom for this child.
Tenderly rubbing Luo Li’s wrist, Lin Anran spoke with certainty.
“Little A’Li, when you grow up, Mother Empress will absolutely let you choose the prince consort you truly like.”
Although Lin Anran dreamed of retirement and a carefree, peaceful life, for Luo Li’s sake she could switch out of retirement mode and into battle mode at any time.
Perhaps, she thought, this was what people meant by: women may be born weak, but mothers become strong.
Just then, Chunhua approached carrying the sliced Shanshan melon.
Out of habit, Nanny Jian stepped forward intending to help serve the fruit to Luo Li, but Chunhua stopped her.
Displeased, Nanny Jian was just about to scold Chunhua when Chunhua smiled gently and said:
“Nanny Jian, perhaps you are unaware, but when our Empress spends time with Princess Shengshi, she dislikes being disturbed. Please forgive us.”
Chunhua’s calm yet neither humble nor overbearing attitude made Nanny Jian look at her in a new light.
Had it been any other palace maid, knowing she had been sent by the Empress Dowager, they would either have treated her with excessive respect or behaved timidly and cautiously.
Yet Chunhua handled herself perfectly—establishing boundaries on the Empress’s behalf while simultaneously demonstrating the affectionate bond between mother and daughter.
If even the maid serving beside the Empress was this capable, then how simple could the Empress herself truly be?