Ch 212: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World

As autumn set in, the temperature had dropped noticeably. Lu Yao, dressed in a beige trench coat, black pants, and leather boots, with light makeup, walked out of the cinema, catching the attention of passersby.

The store owner, slender and tall, now had hair that had grown past her shoulders since spring. It was styled with soft, voluminous waves at the ends. While locals had gradually accepted such styles, whenever Lu Yao changed her look, she couldn’t help but attract glances.

Lu Yao climbed into the carriage and called to Harold and Ye Xiao, “Let’s go.”

Harold glanced at Ye Xiao before getting into the carriage, while Ye Xiao took the reins, steering them toward Zhuque Gate.

At the gate, Lu Yao noticed the same young eunuch, Chang Rong, from her last visit. He immediately came forward upon seeing the carriage.

Typically, riding or driving inside the inner palace was not allowed. However, since the cinema’s carriage was loaded with film equipment, Chang Rong had prepared a decree from the Emperor. The guards quickly checked inside and let them pass.

Lu Yao had brought Chang Rong some small treats—cookies, a small can of popcorn, two cans of fruit-flavored soda, and two new keychain figurines. Although these were not particularly valuable, they were unique items within the palace. Each item was packed in small, lightweight containers, easy to tuck into a sleeve.

Chang Rong sat on the driver’s seat, his face lit up with a wide grin. “Thank you, boss Lu. His Majesty has instructed me to guide you to the Imperial Garden to set up. He and the consorts are expected to arrive around midday. If there’s any heavy lifting or other difficulties, just let me know.”

Chang Rong added that the Emperor was still in the Hall of Diligence, reviewing memorials to free up his afternoon for the screening.

The carriage entered the Imperial Garden, drawing curious gazes from young palace maids and eunuchs who peeked over with wide-eyed wonder. The Emperor had reserved the most open and level part of the garden for the screening, where seats had already been arranged. Lu Yao counted over fifty chairs.

She’d heard that not only would the Emperor and consorts be present, but the unmarried princesses and princes would also attend. Fortunately, they’d brought a large projection screen; a smaller home-sized one would have been insufficient.

Chang Rong expected the setup to be challenging, so he called over a group of palace maids and eunuchs to assist. But with the help of the semi-mechanical equipment, Harold and Ye Xiao had the setup complete in just two quarters of an hour under Lu Yao’s guidance.

Chang Rong looked up, eyes wide in surprise, and stammered, “It’s…already done?”

Lu Yao nodded. “We’re all set. Just need to test the projection to make sure it’s ready for the Emperor and the consorts.”

However, even before Chang Rong could inform the palace, word had already spread that the cinema had arrived to put on a movie. The consorts had gathered in the Empress’s Fengxi Palace, sending people to keep an eye on the preparations.

When a little eunuch came to announce that everything was ready in the garden, Consort Xian, known for her lively personality, eagerly turned to the Empress, “Your Majesty, they’re ready. Shall we head over now?”

Consort De, lowering her teacup and dabbing at her lips with a handkerchief, teased, “Consort Xian, you’re as impatient as ever.”

Consort Xian stamped her foot lightly. “Oh, please! I don’t believe any of you aren’t curious. The commoners outside have been watching movies daily, but we poor souls in the palace haven’t seen a single one yet!”

Though they’d never seen a film, all the consorts were well aware of the many tales about the cinema. Bound by their status, they’d been unable to experience it firsthand. The Empress herself was also intrigued. Seeing the other consorts growing more restless, she rose gracefully. “I’ve heard the cinema’s owner is quite the character. Let’s go and see for ourselves.”

The Emperor’s invitation to the cinema’s owner hadn’t been kept secret, and the fact that the owner was a young woman had stirred quite a bit of interest among the palace ladies. As the Empress mentioned this, a hint of vigilance arose in the consorts’ minds.

With a sense of urgency, a group of consorts strode into the Imperial Garden just as Lu Yao was testing the projection setup.

On the snow-white screen, the new lipstick advertisement played.

On either side of the screen, young eunuchs and palace maids stood in awe, unable to contain their amazement as the moving figures appeared on the screen.

After confirming that the projection and audio were functioning well, Lu Yao adjusted the volume and restarted the lipstick advertisement from the beginning.

As the sound surrounded them, the Empress and her consorts stopped in their tracks, looking around in surprise and confusion.

Moments later, they focused on the screen ahead, unable to tear their gaze away.

Seeing was truly believing; the women on that unusual wall moved as if alive. Yet the most captivating part was how stunningly beautiful each of the women looked in their costumes. The quick transitions between looks left them spellbound.

What kind of lip color were they using? Why wasn’t it available in the palace?

Lu Yao, noticing the group of women, adjusted the equipment and approached them, reading their expressions. She began to introduce, “These ladies are wearing a special lipstick, a collaboration between our cinema and Yan Zhi Pavillion. Lipstick is a kind of lip color. However, this set differs from ordinary lip colors. The formula includes a rare ingredient, Posey Grass, which hydrates and repairs chapped lips, resists smudging, and is easy to remove. The four shades are designed for different styles, so women of all ages and statuses can find a shade that suits them.”

Her straightforward, modern marketing spiel left the consorts taken aback.

Consort Xian, practically glued to the screen, was too focused on the advertisement to notice who was speaking. She eagerly asked, “Where can I buy this lipstick?”

The Empress cleared her throat, pulling her consorts out of their daze. “So, you must be Lu Yao?”

Lu Yao nodded slightly, “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

The consorts came to their senses, and all eyes turned to Lu Yao in surprise.

Yes, she was young, but she was also very different from what they’d expected.

Strange.

This was all very strange.

And what was she wearing?

To enter the palace without binding her hair—it was beyond bold.

Didn’t she value her head?

Noticing the Empress’s expression, Consort Xian took small steps forward, gripping her handkerchief, preparing to assert the Empress’s authority.

Lu Yao, however, waved her hand, signaling Harold, who stepped forward from behind the screen carrying a box, handing it to a nearby palace maid.

Harold and Ye Xiao weren’t even supposed to be in the Imperial Garden, but the Emperor had made an exception for the screening. They kept their distance from the consorts, mindful of the situation.

Perhaps it was the heat of the moment, but everyone seemed to overlook that they hadn’t been properly greeted.

The young palace maid approached the Empress and the consorts, bowed, and, with their permission, handed the box to Lu Yao.

As Consort Xian was about to continue, Lu Yao opened the box, taking out the lipsticks and a handheld mirror. “I brought a few sets of our latest lipsticks today. The shades featured in the advertisement are all here. Would Your Majesties like to try them?”

After a brief demonstration, Lu Yao presented the box to the Empress.

She had done her homework. The Empress was from a prestigious family, deeply loved by the Emperor, with a reputation for virtue, fairness, and wisdom, which earned her great respect in the court.

The Empress lowered her gaze without refusing, motioning for her attendant to accept the box.

The consorts crowded around, forgetting their initial intentions.

The unseen lipstick cases, the vibrant and moisturizing shades, and the clear, life-like mirror were all things they had never encountered before.

The concubines were fully immersed in the allure of the lipstick, while the Empress maintained her calm composure, seated gracefully in the center.

Lu Yao gestured to Harold, who once again brought out a box from behind the screen, handing it to a young palace maid. The Empress’s fingers twitched slightly on the armrest, her gaze lingering on the box.

Lu Yao stepped forward to accept the box and looked at the Empress, asking, “Your Majesty, may I take a photograph of you?”

The Empress wasn’t familiar with the concept of a photograph, but there was something distinctly intriguing about this woman. Although many of Lu Yao’s manners broke palace conventions, her presence did not come off as offensive or irritating. She was a breath of fresh air, a rare find within the palace walls.

The Empress leaned forward, peeking into the box filled with unfamiliar objects. She asked casually, “How should I proceed?”

Lu Yao took out the instant camera, snapped a shot of the Empress, and handed her the photo once it developed. “This is a photograph,” she explained.

The Empress received it, a faint look of surprise crossing her face. In the small frame, she saw herself, along with Consort Xian and some other beauties testing the lipstick nearby. Unlike a painting, the photograph captured her exact likeness, almost indistinguishable from real life.

Consort De leaned over, gasping, “It looks so real!”

The other concubines quickly gathered around, enraptured by the photo, and each eagerly pleaded for a photo of their own.

Lu Yao took out another camera, explaining as she held it up, “This one works a bit differently; the image quality is even sharper, but the photos need to be developed back at the cinema.”

After demonstrating the photo function, she then showed them the video function, mesmerizing the palace ladies with each new feature. Even the Empress joined in the lively chatter, her usual composure giving way to laughter and curiosity.

Lu Yao snapped individual photos of the Empress and the concubines, as well as group shots, promising to deliver the developed photos in a few days. She then politely requested permission to take some photos of the palace’s flowers and architecture. The Empress granted her permission gladly.

Knowing how much Fu Chi wanted authentic palace footage, Lu Yao had opted to request permission rather than sneak photos, and so far, it was working smoothly.

When the Emperor arrived at the Imperial Garden after finishing his affairs, Lu Yao was telling the concubines amusing stories from the cinema. Nearby maids and eunuchs were also captivated by her tales.

The Emperor’s presence cast a slight chill over the relaxed atmosphere, bringing an air of authority. Soon after, the young princes and princesses who hadn’t come of age arrived at the garden.

The Emperor didn’t have many heirs; following the tragic death of the Crown Prince, his remaining adult sons had all proved to be disappointing. Currently, only the seven-year-old Eighth Prince, a bright and perceptive child, had won the Emperor’s favor.

As the film began, each prince and princess sat next to their mother, except for the Eighth Prince, whom the Emperor called to sit beside him.

Lu Yao noticed the Empress glancing briefly at the Eighth Prince before shifting her gaze away. The Empress had only one son, the deceased Crown Prince. Since his passing, ministers had repeatedly petitioned the Emperor to appoint a new heir, but he had ignored the calls. However, as his health seemed to decline in recent years, such petitions had only increased.

Standing in the shadows, Lu Yao’s gaze was calm. She noted that the numbers floating above the Emperor’s head had diminished since she last saw him. Whether he was aware of this or not was unclear, but the existence of these numbers made it difficult to pinpoint what truly troubled him.

The Emperor had requested three films: When Blossoms Fall, The Sea Train Serial Murder Case, and the 2D version of Moon Landing.

The first film, set in an ancient fantasy, resonated with the concubines, and by the end, many were in tears. Even the palace maids and eunuchs on duty were discreetly wiping their eyes.

During The Sea Train Serial Murder Case, Lu Yao spotted Princess Deyi in her elegant attire. Their gazes met briefly in silent acknowledgment, each nodding in greeting. The Empress, noticing this, leaned over to inquire, “Princess Deyi, do you know Lu Yao?”

Wan Baozhu openly admitted that she frequently visited the cinema and had become acquainted with Lu Yao, which drew envious looks from the other ladies.

The setting and story of The Sea Train were harder for them to follow than When Blossoms Fall, but the novelty of the sea train, telephone, and telegraph held their attention. And having just seen the camera, they were readily convinced that such devices must exist somewhere.

By the time Moon Landing was ready to screen, night had fallen, casting a serene ambiance over the Imperial Garden.

The Emperor instructed the palace staff to prepare dinner, and only after they finished dining did they continue watching the final film.

The 2D version of Moon Landing lacked the immersive impact of 3D, yet the theme of “reaching the moon” itself was deeply inspiring and evocative.

On the screen, after nearly thirty years of efforts, a Chinese astronaut finally landed on the moon. When the Earth appeared as a blue water-colored planet from space, a young eunuch was so stunned that he accidentally stumbled to the floor.

The Emperor, seated in the main position, watched with intense focus, eyes filled with wonder.

Sitting upright beside the Emperor, the Eighth Prince kept his hands on his knees, his brows raised in awe, eyes wide and fixed on the screen, the dark pupils glimmering with light.

Beyond heaven and earth, there existed a vast world unknown.

The lone astronaut, clutching a flag tightly, took each step forward slowly but resolutely. His back appeared both steady and solitary.

The Emperor’s gaze shifted, his expression contemplative.

This astronaut reaching the moon seemed to embody a similarity with the ruler’s own life.

At the end of the journey, he too stood alone.

The heights they reached were indeed isolating.

By the time all three films had ended, it was well past curfew.

Reluctantly, the concubines rose to leave, sneaking glances at Lu Yao as they departed, conveying their silent pleas for her to “bring more new and exciting items next time” along with the promised photos.

Next to the Imperial Garden lay a lake, and after watching the films, the Emperor strolled toward it, his thoughts seemingly heavier than before.

Lu Yao instructed Harold and Ye Xiao to pack up the equipment before following him.

The Emperor stood by the lake, hands behind his back.

The palace attendants kept their distance, allowing Lu Yao to approach without interruption.

The full moon was reflected on the water’s surface, resembling a round pastry.

Lu Yao halted a few steps behind him, contemplating how best to broach the subject.

This might be her only opportunity to uncover the Emperor’s inner turmoil.

The Emperor lifted his gaze to the moon above and murmured, “Now when I look at the bright moon, it no longer feels so distant.”

Lu Yao seized the chance and stepped closer. “The higher you climb, the further you can see. You’ve already taken a step forward, and so naturally, it doesn’t seem as far as it once did.”

The Emperor fell silent.

Lu Yao felt a moment of awkwardness, but since she had initiated the conversation, there was no turning back.

Finally, after a few minutes, the Emperor dismissed the attendants and spoke again, his tone more introspective.

He spoke obliquely, almost as if talking to himself.

But through her interactions with Princess Deyi and the information shared by Jiang Yudie, coupled with the Emperor’s favoritism toward the Eighth Prince and the Empress’s demeanor, Lu Yao soon pieced together the situation.

Among the Emperor’s sons, none had shown the aptitude for ruling as strongly as the late Crown Prince. As the Empress’s eldest son, he had possessed both virtue and ability but had, unfortunately, passed away before his father.

After the Crown Prince’s death, the Emperor had been despondent for a long time.

During that period, Princess Deyi, as the Crown Prince’s orphaned child, became the focus of the Emperor’s affection.

When he finally regained his senses, he realized that Deyi had developed ambitions she should not have had.

Reflecting on it, the Emperor blamed himself, feeling that he had spoiled Deyi, instilling in her such thoughts.

Yet what troubled the Emperor deeply was that Deyi closely resembled the late Crown Prince: intelligent, diligent, perceptive, and courageous, displaying more concern for the country’s well-being than her uncles.

Lu Yao sensed the Emperor’s simmering fury but maintained her calm demeanor, continuing her tale.

She began again, voice soft but steady: “After that day, Miss Jia never dared to overstep. She withdrew her involvement from household affairs and busied herself in trivial tasks around the manor. She did what was expected of a ‘good woman,’ following every rule without complaint, though deep inside, she felt hollow.

“Years passed, and the young master, her brother, never found interest in the family’s business. With their father growing weaker, the family’s affairs began to decline. Despite her knowledge and capabilities, Miss Jia stayed silent, unwilling to bear the weight of her family’s contempt again. And so, all that her father had painstakingly built eventually fell into ruin.”

Lu Yao paused, watching the Emperor’s clenched fist slowly relax. His face was shadowed in the dim moonlight, but his posture betrayed the weight he felt.

“There are many versions of Miss Jia’s story,” Lu Yao said softly, “but in each, she never wavered in her loyalty to her family, despite receiving so little in return. Perhaps, she thought, that was the fate set for her from the start, yet her heart was steadfast.”

The Emperor’s jaw tightened. He stood by the lake, silent, as if grappling with an invisible weight, his gaze locked on the reflection of the distant moon.

After a prolonged silence, he spoke, his voice low but heavy with thought. “Sometimes, even the brightest stars are condemned to shine unseen, eclipsed by those who merely bask in their glow.”

Lu Yao offered no response, knowing his words were less for her and more for himself.

After a moment, he turned to her, his gaze piercing. “If Miss Jia had been a man… she might have changed her family’s fate.”

Lu Yao met his eyes and nodded. “But there was only one Miss Jia, and she remained true to her own nature, despite everything.”

The Emperor sighed, his expression unreadable. Then, almost as if dismissing a painful thought, he gestured to the attendants in the distance.

Lu Yao kept her expression composed, even as she sensed the Emperor’s simmering anger.

She had only taken a few steps when the Emperor’s voice, cold and unwavering, reached her once more. “This ‘Jia Family’ story of yours—is there a lesson you wished to impart?”

She paused, then turned back slightly, choosing her words carefully. “Perhaps it’s more of a cautionary tale than a lesson, Your Majesty. Not every story has a clear moral, just as not every ruler finds easy answers to the dilemmas they face. Yet sometimes, the choices we make today shape destinies far beyond what we can see.”

The Emperor’s face remained shadowed, unreadable against the pale moonlight. His silence was unnervingly calm, like the stillness before a storm.

Lu Yao inclined her head and made her way back, feeling the weight of his gaze lingering heavily upon her back. She knew that her story had not merely been received but dissected, turned over in the Emperor’s mind with the precision of one used to parsing hidden meanings.

As she walked, the system’s voice rang out again, this time less accusatory, more wary. “You know, there are risks in stirring a dragon’s thoughts. Are you sure it’s wise to push so close to the flame?”

Lu Yao’s lips curled into a faint smile as she responded internally, “The dragon stirs whether prodded or not. Perhaps this time, a glimpse into its own nature is what it needs.”

And with that, she continued down the palace path, each step echoing quietly in the vast silence of the imperial grounds.

Lu Yao’s steps were light and unhurried, her voice carrying a hint of nonchalance. “I’m simply stating the truth.”

A woman with ambition, who wants to reach high places, make money, or pursue her passions, is often branded as having wild ambitions, being restless, and calculating. When a man does the same, it’s seen as having lofty aspirations, a drive to improve, a testament to his character.

For a woman to win favor, she must relinquish part of her desires, transforming into a clawless and benign symbol. Otherwise, she’s deemed immature or disobedient. Many women, in fact, have come to accept this notion.

The system, somewhat taken aback by her straightforwardness, hadn’t expected such a tale, one that even it could tell was challenging boundaries. Yet, contrary to its predictions, the Emperor hadn’t erupted in fury. Instead, he had let Lu Yao leave the palace unharmed.

Curious, the system couldn’t help but ask, “You’ve identified the Emperor’s concern. So, what’s your plan to address it?”

Lu Yao glanced at it, her tone sharp. “You seem pretty invested in this, don’t you?”

Feigning innocence, the system pursued, “Do you plan to support Deyi’s ascension?”

Lu Yao raised her hands in a mock shrug. “I’m just a humble theater owner; how could I do something like that? When it comes down to it, the matter of succession is all about capability, not gender. This was never our burden to bear.”

The system’s questions lingered, as if nudging her toward choosing sides. Lu Yao merely shook her head subtly, unaffected.

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