Shang Fuqu could feel the young Emperor’s gaze fixed squarely on her, like a pancake in a sizzling pan, so hot it made her scalp tingle.
And it was extremely odd.
That look… she couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t looking at a beauty, but at some famous minister whose name gleamed with golden light, or some divine weapon.
She bowed her head even lower, secretly twisting her sleeve, unable to fathom this sovereign’s thoughts.
So, did he mind her lack of talent or not?
While she was still deliberating, Lu Huai was staring at the System panel that had suddenly popped up before him.
[New function unlocked.]
[The Host may now view the attributes of the cultivation target.]
The literature row was pitifully low. He paused, then asked, “Can you recite the Three Character Classic?”
The Three Character Classic?
Only then did Shang Fuqu notice the words ”Three Character Classic” written on the spine of the book in his hands.
When Eunuch Qi had delivered it earlier, she had been too busy practicing to notice what this book was, let alone imagine the Emperor would conduct a grand examination.
Was spiritual communication really necessary to this degree?
“Your concubine cannot,” Shang Fuqu answered honestly.
She had a face that looked perfectly capable of writing poetry.
In reality, her only true skill was her calligraphy, taught to her personally by her Father. His writing could rank among the best even in the south, land of many talents.
She had read the Three Character Classic during her childhood lessons, but only read it—she could still rattle off the first two pages by rote, but the rest had slipped from memory.
Shang Fuqu had no idea the Emperor had already seen through all her secrets. Those red bars, long and short, summed up in one sentence—an ordinary pretty girl with a clever head and a sturdy body.
In the skill section, nearly half blank, only a few entries stood out like towers rising from flat ground.
She was skilled at the abacus.
And she had considerable strength… Reining in his thoughts, Lu Huai pushed the book toward her.
“Then tonight, start by memorizing this.”
“Ah… ah?”
Shang Fuqu nearly doubted her own ears, and confirmed, “Your Majesty, you wish for your concubine to memorize this entire book… all eighteen pages, tonight?”
Was there such a rule among the Great Chen consorts when attending the Emperor’s bed?
Or had he added it himself?
The Emperor’s expression retained the aloof dignity and distance of their first meeting, yet carried an inexplicable, hidden anticipation. “If you can’t finish tonight, you may continue tomorrow.”
In the past, he had been assigned coursework by eighteen Grand Tutors in rotation, so this amount was nothing to him. But Shang Fuqu was different—one look and you could tell she had disliked studying since childhood, all her talent condensed onto her face.
What if she wore herself out? What would become of his peaceful reign over the four seas?
So after careful deliberation, he decided a slow and steady approach was best—more patience, more national fortune.
“Very well, it’s getting late.”
Lu Huai slid the lamp forward, its flickering light falling across that handsome face, the hazy glow lending it a trace of ambiguous charm—yet his expression was so solemn it inspired reverence, stirring not the slightest worldly desire, only the urge to sail the ocean of knowledge.
“An inch of time is an inch of gold. Begin at once, Shang Fuqu.”
Shang Fuqu opened the book in speechless resignation.
On this night that should have been spent making heirs, she instead recited aloud: “At birth, man’s nature is fundamentally good…”
Outside the hall, the several matrons in waiting had already ordered water prepared. The young Emperor had never been with a woman, so this first time required careful advance arrangements.
Xiaodie, squeezed among a crowd of unfamiliar faces, was so nervous her brows knotted, while a wave of sadness welled up in her heart.
If her young lady hadn’t entered the palace, she would have married into some ordinary, well-off family, becoming an ordinary new bride with a red veil, a bridal sedan, and dragon-phoenix candles…
Until the words came tumbling out from the inner room, three characters at a time, and that little bit of sorrow suddenly shattered.
The woman’s voice was muffled, indistinct through the tightly closed doors and windows.
But everyone could tell what it was—a classic, recited over and over.
Shang Fuqu had been born with a beautiful voice; anything she read sounded lovely. Set against the sparse stars hanging over the eaves and a few drifting fireflies, listened to closely, it did carry a certain tender, lingering charm.
The head matron sighed with feeling, “His Majesty is truly diligent. What fortune for Great Chen.”
The others nodded along, faces full of admiration.
Absurd as it was, they couldn’t imagine any more absurd possibility.
The moon climbed over the willow tips.
When the beauty’s voice had grown somewhat hoarse, sounding all the more pitiable, the inner room finally stopped and called for water.
Shang Fuqu clutched her handkerchief, tears of exhaustion welling at the corners of her eyes, her mood one of utter collapse.
A healthy body depends on healthy habits.
Back home, she had always gone to bed early. It had become habit—the moment a certain hour struck, drowsiness would overtake her. But tonight she’d run into an emperor-husband more overbearing than any mother-in-law, tormenting her with reading and refusing to let her sleep.
After the nosebleed, now her face was smeared with tears.
But Shang Fuqu had no attention to spare for any of that. Her mind was full of the Emperor’s words—memorize it for a few more days…
What did that mean?
Was he going to come back and force her to recite again?
She wet the handkerchief with warm water and wiped her face clean. Then, with lightning speed, Shang Fuqu took down her own hair, not even calling for Xiaodie or Xing’er, terrified that if she was slow, Lu Huai would misread it as reluctance and make her read it a few more times.
“Your Majesty, it’s getting late. You should rest.”
She stepped forward, reaching out to help him change, but he evaded her hand.
Lu Huai’s tone was flat.
“Bring another set of bedding. I shall sleep on the side couch tonight.”
Her eyelids heavy, Shang Fuqu hastily rallied and said, “That would hardly be proper, Your Majesty. You are of supreme standing—let me, your humble consort, take the side couch instead.”
The young emperor made no reply.
He simply removed his outer robe and lay down.
That was just how it was with someone unfamiliar. Just as Shang Fuqu was about to blow out the lamps, she heard him speak again.
“Leave one lit.”
His voice was as ever—steady, even, without a trace of emotion, like a wooden plank. Having been lectured on the virtues of study for most of the evening, Shang Fuqu had developed a psychological scar; at the sound of his voice, she obeyed without thinking.
She lay down as well.
Silence settled all around.
The young man slept quietly, his breathing light and shallow.
He was entirely in a reserved, contained state—just like the man himself. After a whole night in his company, Shang Fuqu still couldn’t fathom what sort of temperament lay beneath.
Staring motionless at the soft bed curtains above, she suddenly remembered something important.
The book said that this young emperor was ascetic and indifferent to sensual pleasures, avoiding women entirely. From what she’d seen, that was if anything an understatement—he wouldn’t even touch a bed a woman had lain on.
Though it was never stated outright, he presumably disliked rouge, powder, and perfume. That was why, among a crowd of heavily painted beauties, he had noticed Zhao Shuran—like a lotus rising from clear water, naturally unadorned.
And then been moved by her talent and uniqueness.
As for herself, a minor supporting character, the book devoted little ink to her. In the early chapters she seemed deliberately overlooked, brushed past in a hasty stroke—so much so that it was impossible to determine when, or over what, she had incurred the Emperor’s dislike, ending with her dying of illness in the Cold Palace…
Drifting hazily into sleep, Shang Fuqu kept feeling as though she had overlooked something… Only halfway through her sleep did it suddenly come to her, and she turned her head with a blank expression to glance at the young man on the side couch, sleeping with his back to her.
Her mind, muddled by the Three Character Classic, finally cleared, and she realized something was off.
No.
So he had fetched the lamp really just to come over and force her to recite a Three Character Classic?