Author Archives: Thingyan

The main hall’s door was open, but no one was in sight. It seemed that the mother and son had only just gotten home and were still inside settling in.

Qi Beinan led Xiao Yuanbao into the house. Yuanbao, sharp-eyed, immediately noticed that the door to the southern inner room was also wide open.

That was the room he shared with Chao Ge’er. It was said to be the children’s room, but in truth, only when Xiao Hu was home did the two kids actually sleep there together.

Usually, Qin Niazi feared Chao Ge’er would catch cold, so she always brought him into her room to sleep with her.

Xiao Yuanbao turned abruptly and ran into the room, where he saw Chao Ge’er—whom he hadn’t seen in days—currently rummaging around in front of the cabinet.

All the drawers were flung wide open without being pushed back in, clearly the result of a thorough “inspection.”

“What’s this?”

As soon as Chao Ge’er had come home, he’d rushed into the room, dug through everything, and found a fist-sized box and a little brush with fine bristles.

He’d casually tossed the brush aside, more curious about the box, thinking it might be face powder.

He’d pried open the box quickly, and sure enough, there was some powder inside.

He leaned in—it had a faint fragrance, with a trace of herbal scent. But the powder was coarse, not like the fine stuff his mother used when they went to town.

When he saw Xiao Yuanbao return, there was no excitement from not seeing him for days, nor any guilt from being caught messing with someone else’s things. Instead, he bluntly asked where the stuff came from.

“It’s tooth powder—for rinsing the mouth and cleaning teeth,” Xiao Yuanbao said, rushing up and carefully picking up the brush that Chao Ge’er had tossed aside.

He treasured it very much and always stored it neatly in the cabinet after use.

Seeing how casually Chao Ge’er had thrown it aside made his heart ache.

“Gege bought it,” he added.

Chao Ge’er wrinkled his nose. Sure enough, when he wasn’t around, they’d gone and bought things just for Xiao Yuanbao.

Tooth powder? He hadn’t even heard of such a thing, let alone seen it. Just looking at it, he could tell it was expensive.

He felt very upset that Xiao Yuanbao had something he didn’t—and the fact that Yuanbao cherished it only made it worse.

He yanked the little brush from Yuanbao’s hands and declared domineeringly, “It’s mine now.”

Xiao Yuanbao had long been used to Chao Ge’er snatching things. Qin Niazi always said the younger brother should give in to the older one.

Gege was older and hadn’t seen or used these things before—how pitiful, she said.

Though reluctant, Xiao Yuanbao had always endured.

But this time, he really didn’t want Chao Ge’er to take his tooth powder.

Despite being timid, he still mustered up some courage and puffed out his chest a little: “Gege bought it for me.”

Chao Ge’er, used to Yuanbao giving in, was startled to see him resist and immediately grew fierce: “Then have him buy you another one!”

Xiao Yuanbao took a step back, startled, but when he saw the box in Chao Ge’er’s hand, his desire to protect it outweighed his fear.

He rushed forward again. “But this one was already bought for me!”

Qi Beinan, having just set down all their bags, turned around and saw Yuanbao was gone. Hearing the noise from the southern room, he quickly headed over.

As soon as he entered, he saw Chao Ge’er shoving Xiao Yuanbao roughly. Yuanbao staggered and nearly fell.

“What are you doing!”

Qi Beinan immediately grabbed Yuanbao’s hand.

Yuanbao had been holding back tears, but the moment he saw Qi Beinan, his nose tingled and he covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Chao Ge’er wants to take the tooth powder and brush Gege bought me.”

Chao Ge’er, furious that Yuanbao told on him, huffed and glared.

The evidence was still in his hand, so there was no denying it. He simply shoved his hands behind his back, glared at Qi Beinan, and shouted:

“Everything in this house is mine! You’re just an outsider—none of your business!”

“Well, well, it’s only been a few days and we’re crying like it’s a drama already,” came Qin Niazi’s voice as she followed the noise into the southern room.

She saw the two children quarreling but acted as if she were blind to it, pretending not to understand what was happening.

Turning to Xiao Yuanbao, who stood by Qi Beinan’s side, she softened her tone and said affectionately, “Aiya, my son, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in days—I missed you terribly!”

“Come let Mother hold you. You’ve probably gotten thin staying with your father these past days.”

She reached out as if longing to embrace him.

But rather than being moved, Xiao Yuanbao shrank behind Qi Beinan, clearly uneasy.

Qin Niazi’s arms stiffened midair. “This child, just a few days without seeing his mother and now he’s gotten distant.”

She tried to coax him again: “Mother brought back all kinds of treats for you—come, let me hold you and show you.”

Xiao Yuanbao sniffled and whispered, “Gege already bought buns and braised goose for me in town.”

“Aiyo, what Gege buys can’t compare to what your mother brings you.”

Qi Beinan had seen enough. He no longer wished to maintain even the appearance of harmony.

He said coldly, “Qin Niazi, don’t make things harder for the child.”

With that, he strode forward and snatched the tooth powder and brush right out of Chao Ge’er’s hands.

Holding the items, he said flatly, “This is something used in the mouth—for rinsing and brushing teeth. It’s already been used. And you, Qin Niazi, want to pretend you neither saw nor heard anything and still let Chao Ge’er take it?”

“We might be rough folk, but even we have a sense of hygiene. You—this is beyond careless. You want everything—someone who knows would say you’re just inconsiderate. Someone who doesn’t know might think you’re just plain desperate.”

Qin Niazi saw that Qi Beinan wasn’t easy to fool. He directly tore through the pretense, even saying things that were sharp and unpleasant. She was deeply displeased.

But still, she used the last of her reason to suppress her temper as best as she could.

“Chao Ge’er’s never seen things like that before—he just wanted to take a look. You’re making such a fuss over it. Talking about stealing and fighting, driving a wedge between children—what kind of example is that for an older brother?”

“And I haven’t seen Bao Ge’er in so long. I miss him. I just wanted to hug him—how is that suddenly ‘making things hard’? Why are your words so harsh?”

Qi Beinan gave a cold laugh.

After everything he’d learned from Xiao Hu, he no longer had to pretend with Qin Niazi—no need to keep up appearances, not even if Xiao Hu saw it.

If he kept being polite to her now, it would only make him, a supposedly sensible and educated man, look like he had no spine.

He said sternly, “If you really cared about the child, would you have left him to return to your parents’ house right before the New Year? If you’re going to leave, then leave entirely. If you’re going to take him, then take him entirely. Leaving one behind while taking the other—who exactly are you showing your affection to?”

“If your heart’s biased, then fine—but why put on this act of being some loving, virtuous mother? Coming all the way back just to do this? Aren’t you tired of pretending? If you want to put on a show, maybe go to the county and learn how proper opera actors do it.”

“With a performance like yours, even an audience wouldn’t pay for tea—and they might just throw it in your face.”

“You—!”

Qin Niazi stared wide-eyed at him, stunned that he would speak to her like this.

Back when she first arrived at the house, he was all respectful nods and polite words. She had only been gone from the Xiao family a few days, and now this brat dared to talk to her like this?

She’d already returned from her maiden home full of frustration, and she hadn’t even been back in the house for a cup of tea before being insulted by this little bastard?

With her husband not home, what was stopping her from putting this little upstart in his place? If she didn’t scold him now, he might think he ran the house!

“I went back to my family, and you think it’s any of your business?” she snapped, her expression changing on the spot, baring her teeth and glaring as she launched into a tirade.

“A freeloading wretch like you thinks he can judge me? Your father and mother are long gone, and here you are, thick-skinned, mooching off the Xiao family—who’s really the beggar here? Still dreaming of playing the tyrant? Bah! Picked the wrong house!”

“All these days and you still haven’t packed up and gone crawling back to that Qiu County of yours—what scholar acts so shamelessly?”

Xiao Yuanbao had never seen Qin Niazi so ferociously angry. She’d never been kind before, but at least she kept on the mask of civility. Now, her mask had dropped completely. He didn’t understand all the words, but the tone and venom terrified him.

He burst into tears on the spot, bawling out loud. He might not know exactly what they were arguing about, but he could understand one thing: Qin Niazi wanted to kick Qi Beinan out.

Clutching Qi Beinan’s hand tightly, Xiao Yuanbao sobbed, “Qin Niazi, don’t make Gege leave!”

“He’s not your Gege! Chao Ge’er is your brother! You little fool—always siding with outsiders. At this rate, you and your father are going to ruin this whole household!”

Qi Beinan was about to reply, but before he could open his mouth, a deep, angry voice rang out from outside: “Why are you taking your anger out on the child again?!”

Xiao Hu had just returned home. Before he’d even stepped into the courtyard, he heard the shouting from inside the house.

Their home was far from the cluster of houses in the village—it was always quiet. For there to be such a commotion, he feared someone had come looking for trouble while no adult was around, and rushed back in a hurry.

What he saw when he returned was Qin Niazi with a fierce face, making the child cry.

The anger that had been building in Xiao Hu these past few days surged to the top all at once, and he immediately shouted out in fury.

She had packed up and gone back to her maiden home for days, and the moment she returned, she started acting like a tyrant again—scaring the child like this. Did she think he was dead or what?

“Uncle Xiao…” Qi Beinan’s expression shifted the moment he saw Xiao Hu and softly greeted him.

But before he could say more, Xiao Yuanbao let go of his hand and ran to Xiao Hu, his little face streaked with tears.

“Qin Niazi wants to make Gege leave. Don’t make Gege leave, Father, please don’t let Gege leave…”

He cried as he repeated the same words, his sorrow gut-wrenching. Xiao Hu’s heart twisted into a knot, and he quickly picked the boy up.

“No one’s making Gege leave. No one will make him leave,” he said gently.

Qin Niazi was dumbfounded. These two kids might as well be performing in a teahouse with how dramatic they were being.

She’d been furious just moments before and had lashed out too carelessly with her words. Now that Xiao Hu had caught it all—it was as if even drinking water came with bad luck.

And that little brat—he sure knew how to pick his moment to cry, and say just the right words. Why didn’t he mention who started the fight?

But seeing Xiao Hu clearly furious, she knew there was nothing she could say. She felt like she’d swallowed bitter herbs and had no way to spit them out.

Since she and Chao Ge’er had returned from her maiden home, and Xiao Hu hadn’t gone to fetch them, they’d already lost the upper hand.

She thought Xiao Hu might still be angry, so her plan was to say some sweet words and soften him up.

She had originally wanted to drive Qi Beinan out in one go, partly out of pent-up frustration—but she’d been too rash.

There was still a long year ahead. Once the new year passed and the hunter went off to the mountains for long stretches, she’d be the one in charge again. Driving that brat out would be easy then.

So now she swallowed her temper and said as kindly as she could, “I wasn’t trying to kick the child out. Beinan must’ve misunderstood me. I lost my temper and said things a little too harshly, and Bao Ge’er must’ve thought I meant to drive him away.”

Xiao Hu saw Qin Niazi softening her tone again and instantly felt how false it all was.

The once-gentle face he used to think of as virtuous now looked especially fake.

He no longer fell for it and spoke with clear resolve: “What urgent words? You weren’t speaking out of impulse—you were clearly upset about Beinan staying here, so you ran back to your parents’ house. Now you return and shout at the child as soon as you step through the door. How much resentment do you have to treat a child who’s lost his parents like that? If you don’t want him in this home, then why even come back at all?”

Qin Niazi was silenced by the scolding.

What was going on today? It felt like no matter where she turned, she was unwanted.

At this moment, seeing Xiao Hu in a fiery mood, she knew arguing would only make things worse.

She hadn’t learned nothing from her days in the Wang family—she still knew how to bend low and act meek. That always worked on men.

So she clutched her chest and started crying. “We’re husband and wife, how can you say such hurtful things? Are you telling me I can’t even come back anymore? I married you—doesn’t that make this my home too?”

“I want this to be your home,” Xiao Hu replied coldly, “but the question is—do you treat it like it is?”

His voice dropped further: “You’ve returned at just the right time. If you hadn’t come back today, I was going to your parents’ place myself. There are some things I need to ask you face to face.”

Qi Beinan could tell this was about to become a full reckoning. He stepped forward, picked up Xiao Yuanbao, and quietly said, “Uncle Xiao, I’ll take Yuanbao back to the room first.”

Xiao Yuanbao was still sobbing and buried his face in Qi Beinan’s shoulder.

Qi Beinan gently patted his back and exited quietly with the boy.

Qin Niazi didn’t understand. She watched the two children leave and began to feel uneasy—what exactly did Xiao Hu mean?

Her heart started pounding. Something didn’t feel right.

Xiao Hu turned and went inside with heavy steps. Qin Niazi hesitated for a moment, then followed him in.

Chao Ge’er stood frozen in the room, clearly used to this kind of explosive arguing from his days in the Wang household. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised—almost like it was just a normal part of life.

What did catch his attention was Xiao Yuanbao saying something about buns and braised goose.

He’d been at his grandparents’ house these past few days eating plain food. It wasn’t as good as the Xiao household, where they had meat every few days. He’d been craving for a while.

They’d come all this way and hadn’t even had lunch yet. Seeing Qin Niazi heading out, he quickly called, “Mother, when are we eating? I’m hungry.”

Qin Niazi was fuming. She snapped, “You brainless child! What did you grab that tooth-cleaning thing for, huh? You think it’s food? You just had to stir up trouble, now your stepfather’s heard everything—what rotten luck I’ve had!”

Chao Ge’er, scolded harshly, pouted and ran off to the side, feeling wronged.

Qin Niazi entered the main room. Xiao Hu was already sitting silently on a stool.

Her heart fluttered with unease. She softened her voice, trying to play it safe: “I was wrong, okay? Why are you so angry—you’re making me a joke in front of the children.”

Xiao Hu looked at her deeply, ignoring her excuse, and said heavily, “I don’t believe I’ve ever treated you poorly. We have twenty-five mu of land—twenty of them leased out. Dry fields bring in eight strings of cash per year, the wet ones five to six stones of grain, all of which you manage. Every time I go to the mountains and bring back goods to sell, didn’t I hand you the money?”

“You’ve taken our grain, our money, and kept giving to your parents’ household. I never once complained. I don’t ask for much—only that you treat the child well. And yet—how have you really treated him?”

Qin Niazi’s heart grew unsteady under his questioning. She couldn’t deny she was guilty. This man had never been the sharp type—how was he suddenly so pointed?

She snapped, “Was it that Qi brat? Is he turning Bao Ge’er against me behind my back?!”

Xiao Hu’s temper flared even more: “Beinan has never said a single bad word about you to Yuanbao. It’s you—always thinking the child must be in the wrong!”

Qin Niazi was stunned. She wiped her tears and tried to play the victim: “Then tell me—what did I do wrong? You, of all people, know how I’ve treated Bao Ge’er!”

“When he played in the water and caught a high fever—remember? There was a thunderstorm outside, and I nearly slipped into the river going to fetch a doctor. He burned with fever for days, and I was so worried I got blisters in my mouth. I nearly got sick too!”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking what’s changed!”

Xiao Hu’s voice rose. These past days, he’d thought it over again and again.

“When Bao Ge’er outgrew his clothes, you didn’t sew new ones. When his hands and feet cracked from frost, you didn’t treat them. The doctor said his constitution is weak and he needs careful care. Was everything you did for him before just for show? Something you did for me to see?”

Qin Niazi tried to find an excuse, but Xiao Hu went on to talk about how she always praised Chao Ge’er in front of him, but behind his back made Yuanbao do all the chores.

She was stunned—how had he even found that out?

Xiao Hu saw her flinch and knew it was true. She clearly hadn’t expected him to know. She had no prepared lie for this.

His heart sank.

Xiao Bao had truly been mistreated under her hand—and he, as the father, had failed his duty.

“Xiao Bao isn’t your own son—fine, you’re biased. But what did the Fang family ever do to you? Neighbors for decades—what reason did you have to slander them? To falsely accuse their children of stealing? I watched those two kids grow up—they used to visit often, and even if you left copper coins on the table, no one would touch them.”

“You’re not just biased anymore—your character is rotten!”

Qin Niazi hadn’t expected that in just a few days of her absence, everything had changed. Xiao Hu even knew about the situation with the Fang family.

Her head spun, and she nearly collapsed to the ground.

“You’re telling me all this—for what?”

Startled by Xiao Hu’s sudden roar, Qin Niazi burst into tears.

She didn’t even know what all he had learned.

“They always say you help those in crisis, not those in poverty. That Fang family’s nothing but sick and weak. Eldest Fang’s over twenty and can’t even get a wife—if that’s not poor, what is? They’re only ‘nice’ to us because they want to suck our blood. I’ve seen plenty of relatives like that when I was in the Wang family. Nothing comes out of dealing with them except giving things away!”

“And now you’re saying my character is bad, when I was just being practical and looking out for our household!”

Words like that used to feel reasonable to Xiao Hu. Now, they just felt hollow and manipulative. With a loud slam, he struck the table with his palm.

“Enough! At a time like this, you’re still pretending it’s all for the sake of this household. When have you ever treated this place like a home?”

Qin Niazi trembled again, suddenly recalling that terrifying moment when the old man in the Wang family had raised his hand against her.

She feared Xiao Hu now and didn’t dare keep up the act.

So she gave up all pretense and snapped, “You say I don’t treat this place like a home—but have you ever treated me like family?”

“When I first married in, I gave everything to you and this household—but you? How did you treat me? Cold, silent, always thinking about her!”

“You still keep the things she used, can’t even bear to burn them! You lock the room she used to sleep in and won’t let anyone enter! I resent her—and I resent you! You think of her every day, and you expect me to believe you’ll treat Chao Ge’er and Bao Ge’er the same?”

Xiao Hu finally heard the truth.

He stood silent for a long while, then let out a deep sigh.

On this one point, he couldn’t deny he was at fault. Even after all these years, he had never let go of Xiao Bao’s mother in his heart.

He had done his best to meet Qin Niazi’s material needs, tried to fulfill her requests. But this part of himself—he truly couldn’t give.

“When the matchmaker brought the proposal, I told you plainly during our talk: I had deep feelings for Xiao Bao’s mother. If that troubled you, we could drop the matter. But you said a man who still remembers his late wife is a man of deep feeling, and that you respected that.”

Xiao Hu said coldly, “So why are you bringing it up now, as an excuse for mistreating Xiao Bao?”

Qin Niazi wept bitterly. “A woman can’t control her feelings! I fell for you—what’s wrong with that?”

“My mistake was being born unlucky. My mistake was meeting you too late, after everything was already gone. If my useless brother hadn’t gambled our family to ruin, would I be suffering like this now?”

Xiao Hu shook his head again and again—not even sure if he was regretting his past decisions or grieving how his own carelessness had let his child suffer so much.

He fell silent for a long time before speaking with resolve.

“You and I—we’re not compatible. Even if we drag things out after today, there’s no trust left. I can’t go on pretending, not with someone who’s already hurt my child.”

Qin Niazi wiped her tears. “What do you mean by that?”

“After the New Year, I’ll ask the village head to draft a divorce agreement. After that, we each go our own way.”

Qin Niazi’s whole body went cold. She looked at Xiao Hu in disbelief. “You really are that cruel?”

Xiao Hu didn’t respond. He had already fallen silent again, just like the quiet man he always was.

Panic and dread surged in Qin Niazi’s heart.

She couldn’t imagine being driven out of the Xiao household. If she had to return to her parents’ home, what kind of life would await her there?

She grabbed Xiao Hu’s arm and pleaded, crying, “I know I was wrong. Please give me another chance. I’ll treat Bao Ge’er well, I swear. If you like Beinan staying here, then let him stay—I won’t make trouble for him again.”

But Xiao Hu didn’t budge.

Seeing no results, she raised her voice sharply: “If you divorce me, aren’t you just forcing me to die? If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well throw myself into a wall right here at the Xiao house!”

Xiao Hu had always been more susceptible to soft talk. Harsh threats never worked on him—only hardened him more.

Sure enough, the moment Qin Niazi switched to that tone, his resolve only strengthened. He knew full well she wouldn’t dare leave Chao Ge’er behind and throw herself into anything.

He brushed her hand away and, unwilling to watch her make a scene, walked out of the room.

Qi Beinan had heard the entire argument, not missing a single word.

He shook his head.

People only start reaching for “love” when their basic needs are already secure. Back when they were just worrying about food and warmth, no one had time for all this emotional drama.

In the struggle to stay warm, people beg for warmth. But once they have it, they start demanding affection too. Human greed knows no end.

Falling in love wasn’t the mistake—it was letting jealousy take over.

Qi Beinan had guessed Xiao Hu wouldn’t take Qin Niazi’s deception lightly. A man could forgive many things, but being lied to—especially like this—wasn’t one of them.

But even so, he hadn’t expected Xiao Hu to actually propose divorce. That kind of resolve was surprising.

Still, it was probably for the best. Better a short pain than a long one.

Otherwise, with them living under the same roof, who knew what other chaos might happen.

Qi Beinan snapped out of his thoughts to find Xiao Yuanbao standing right by his leg, clinging tightly, his small face full of fear.

Because he had been listening for Xiao Hu’s final decision, he hadn’t closed the door. He was standing right at the threshold, and the loud voices and crying from inside had carried clearly.

When Sun Yuan had still been alive, Xiao Hu had always been gentle and close with her. And even with Qin Niazi, up until now, they had at least maintained a polite peace.

Xiao Yuanbao had likely never witnessed such a fierce argument before—he couldn’t help but feel scared.

Clutching tightly at the corner of Qi Beinan’s coat, he looked up with tearful eyes and whispered, “Why are Father and Qin Niazi fighting? Qin Niazi cried really hard—why was Father still so fierce with her?”

Qi Beinan knew that Xiao Yuanbao still couldn’t quite tell right from wrong. In his little world, someone speaking gently to him simply couldn’t be bad.

To him, Qin Niazi was still a grown-up—still someone to respect.

Qi Beinan squatted down and patiently explained, “Father wasn’t being mean to Qin Niazi for no reason. It’s because she did something wrong, and she didn’t want to admit it. That’s why Father got angry.”

Xiao Yuanbao furrowed his brow. “What did Qin Niazi do wrong?”

“She lied to Father, and because she thought she was stronger, she picked on people weaker than her.”

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao pursed his lips and looked straight into Qi Beinan’s eyes. “It’s wrong to bully others.”

“That’s right. And people who bully others should be punished—even grown-ups, like Qin Niazi.”

After hearing Qi Beinan’s explanation, Xiao Yuanbao no longer felt sorry for Qin Niazi just because Father yelled at her.

Even if he didn’t know who else Qin Niazi had bullied, he’d seen her bully Gege. It was freezing, with snow on the ground, and she still tried to kick Gege out—she was bad.

Thinking about how Qin Niazi had just tried to drive Gege away, he reached out and took Qi Beinan’s hand, gently comforting him: “Gege, don’t be scared. Father won’t make you leave.”

Qi Beinan’s heart softened. “What about you? Weren’t you the one who wanted to send Gege to live with Uncle Tian’s family?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s big eyes flickered with guilt.

He threw his arms around Qi Beinan’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder, shyly mumbling, “Xiao Bao likes Gege.”

Qi Beinan warmed up with the soft hug and couldn’t help but tease him: “But Uncle Li at Osmanthus Gate makes osmanthus cake, you know.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought hard for a moment. “Then when it’s autumn, Xiao Bao will go pick osmanthus flowers at Uncle Tian’s place and make osmanthus cake for Gege.”

Qi Beinan raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you know how to make cake? How come Gege didn’t know that?”

“I don’t know yet,” Xiao Yuanbao confessed, shaking his head sheepishly. Then, confidently, he promised, “But when Xiao Bao grows up a little more, I’ll learn!”

“And when exactly will that be?”

“When I grow as tall as the stove!”

Qi Beinan chuckled but put on a mock-grumpy face. “So I have to wait until then and only eat osmanthus cake?”

Xiao Yuanbao, afraid Gege would leave for another family, quickly added, “You can eat other things too! Whatever Gege wants to eat, I’ll make it!”

“Then I want snow cabbage with baby bamboo shoots, braised eggplant, sesame oil tofu, and spicy marinated lotus root…”

Qi Beinan rattled off a whole list of dishes.

Xiao Yuanbao listened, blinking in confusion. He knew bamboo shoots, eggplant, and tofu—but some of those names he’d never even heard before.

Even so, he thought hard for a moment, then nodded seriously. “Okay.”

Qi Beinan didn’t push the little guy any further. He nodded. “Then let’s pinky promise.”

…

The next morning, Xiao Hu was headed to the village head’s home.

Qi Beinan took a copybook out of his book chest. He had considered gifting a handwritten notebook as well, but that had been left to him by his father—he couldn’t bear to part with it.

So instead, he decided to copy it out cleanly first, and then present the copied version as a gift.

He had promised earlier to gift the village head’s child a copybook and a notebook. He hadn’t found the time these past days, and giving only one would seem stingy.

So he took out a copy of the Classic of Filial Piety. Though not one of the Four Books or Five Classics, he remembered it had shown up in a past children’s exam—though he wasn’t sure which year or which round.

Still, reading more was never a bad thing. A scholar needed broad knowledge, so they wouldn’t be stumped on the exam.

Moreover, as he’d mentioned before, most good land and books were in the hands of powerful families. Good texts and commentaries rarely made it among commoners.

Even books that were technically available in bookstores were too expensive—often a hundred wen or more per copy. Ordinary folks couldn’t afford to read widely.

So even if this Classic of Filial Piety was a bit old, and even if it wasn’t likely to show up on an exam—it was still a meaningful gift.

He bundled the book and copybook together and gave them to Xiao Hu. Since he was heading to the village head’s place to request a divorce contract, bringing a gift made things smoother.

As Xiao Hu left, Qin Niazi trailed behind him tearfully, still trying to pester and plead for him to change his mind.

Qi Beinan didn’t bother getting involved. He glanced out at the fields and hills covered in a blanket of white. From time to time, there was the crack of firecrackers in the distance—this was clearly not going to be a peaceful New Year.

Still, the year was long. Once this matter was settled, the days ahead would be more peaceful and grounded.

“So many people over there!”

Xiao Yuanbao saw flakes of snow drifting in the courtyard like fluttering willow fluff. Qi Beinan stood by the base of the courtyard wall, looking toward something.

He wanted to go see what it was too—but then spotted a line of people walking against the wind and snow along the eastern village road, with a donkey carrying goods. It looked lively.

Qi Beinan heard his voice and glanced over too.

“Must be folks from the manor on the east side of the village,” he said.

He remembered Xiao Hu mentioning before that the old steward there had been reassigned by the landowning family, and that a new steward would be arriving just before the New Year.

From now on, any mountain goods deliveries would be handled through the new steward.

It seemed they had finally arrived just in time—right at the end of the year.

Qi Beinan glanced at the endless snowfall outside, but didn’t pay much attention to the newly arrived steward. He simply took Xiao Yuanbao’s hand and led him back into the house.

Though the steward was technically just a servant, he was backed by a powerful household. Families like his were usually connected to real aristocracy.

Servants raised in such households came equipped with insight and social networks that most common folk could never dream of.

In this village, such a person naturally held a great deal of sway.

There was no shortage of villagers hoping to curry favor—build ties, maybe get themselves a labor position when the manor started hiring, or, in the case of their sons or daughters, maybe even secure a spot working in a noble household as a servant.

For farming families used to toiling in fields and breaking their backs daily, this kind of slim chance to connect with the wealthy was too precious to ignore.

But Qi Beinan had no interest in forging those connections for now. If the opportunity ever came in the future, then he’d consider it.

As for Xiao Hu and Qin Niazi—their formal separation was finalized at the very end of the month.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Linga County, Ligao Village, the Qin household.

“Mother, Little New Year’s almost here—does it look like Big Sister-in-law is planning to spend the whole New Year at her maiden home?”

Early in the morning, the Qin family’s eldest daughter-in-law had a worn-out apron tied around her waist, stained here and there, nearly polished with grease over time.

With one hand scrubbing the wok, she kept glancing toward the west room. It was already well into the morning, yet her sister-in-law hadn’t gotten up. Sleeping in like a child.

Even their oldest son was already up, but Chao Ge’er was still sleeping. And he didn’t even come to the kitchen to help, learn to light the stove or cook—how was she supposed to get married acting like that?

One or two days like this would be fine, but it had already been three or five.

The eldest daughter-in-law was long annoyed. Taking care of a big household was already frustrating, and now her sister-in-law came back to eat and stay—wasn’t that just bringing trouble on purpose?

Just then, another daughter-in-law entered the kitchen rubbing her hands. Seeing her mother-in-law come in, the eldest daughter-in-law finally couldn’t hold it anymore. She raised her voice toward the west room and asked when her sister-in-law would be leaving.

Old Madam Gu heard this and immediately glared at her. “This is second girl’s home. If she wants to come back for the New Year, she can. What kind of question is that?”

“I was just asking,” the daughter-in-law said, sticking out her tongue, intentionally loud enough for those in the west room to hear. “Big sister-in-law spending the New Year here—won’t her husband be upset?”

“Don’t say such things and curse your sister-in-law’s marriage,” Old Madam Gu scolded.

Seeing her mother-in-law side with her sister-in-law, the eldest daughter-in-law swallowed her frustration and shut her mouth.

Old Madam Gu poked at the fire a couple of times, then got up and went to the west room.

Qin Niazi had just quietly gotten out of bed from beside the still-sleeping Chao Ge’er.

She grabbed a cotton coat to slip on. In her thirties now, with little work and good meals over the past few years, her complexion was rosy, her figure full—more charming now than she was as a maiden.

The room felt cold—nothing like the Xiao household where they had a charcoal brazier.

The paper-covered windows glowed brightly. From the light, it looked like either a heavy frost had fallen or it had snowed.

Just then, her mother came in through a crack in the door, carrying a basin of hot water.

“Up already, girl?”

“Mm.”

Qin Niazi draped the coat over her shoulders and responded, “Mother, why are you bringing in water?”

“It’s snowing outside. It’s freezing.”

Old Madam Gu glanced at Qin Niazi wringing a cloth in the warm water and probed gently, “The snow’s come. The road’s bad. If you’re planning to go back to the Xiao family, it won’t be easy.”

Qin Niazi paused mid-motion, suddenly tense. “So now even you’re taking my sister-in-law’s side and think I’m a burden, that you want to send me and Chao Ge’er back to the Xiao family?”

“You’re overthinking,” Old Madam Gu said, flustered by how easily her daughter saw through her. “Your mother’s happy to have you both back—how could I want to send you away?”

Still feeling exposed, Old Madam Gu added, “It’s just that the Spring Festival’s coming and I haven’t seen that hunter come fetch you. I just hope nothing’s happened.”

“What could happen? He didn’t even go up the mountain.”

“I’m talking about that scholar who came to stay. Just hope he hasn’t stirred up trouble at the Xiao house, made your husband cold toward you. Didn’t you say he’s a clever type? He’s a reader, right?”

Old Madam Gu sighed. “You shouldn’t have come back this time. Leaving that man room to badmouth you isn’t smart.”

Qin Niazi’s chest tightened. “If I hadn’t come back, how would that hunter know what really matters? He’d have never driven that scholar out! Do you think I can tolerate someone else under my roof watching me like a hawk?”

“How can I sneak meat or coins home for us like before with him there watching? I did this for our family—so we could survive. That’s why I had to get rid of him!”

As she spoke, Qin Niazi grew aggrieved. It had already been seven or eight days since she returned, and her husband still hadn’t come to fetch her. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t anxious.

Now her own family seemed eager to send her away first.

Qin Niazi covered her face and cried:

“If my brother hadn’t gambled away the family’s money back then, if those debt collectors hadn’t grabbed him and said they’d chop off his hand without repayment, would we have pawned off everything of value just to pay it off?”

“To save him, I was married off to that cannibalistic Wang family. I barely survived that old brute before I remarried into the Xiao family. I never once blamed this family. I even supported you when father was sick. My brother may have quit gambling, but he still doesn’t earn much. I scrimped and still sent things home—and now you all find me a nuisance after just a few days back!”

“What’s the point of me living anymore!”

Old Madam Gu felt ashamed.

Their family hadn’t always been like this. Old Man Qin had been well-off and known far and wide for his cooking—people called him “Master Qin Stove” across several villages.

They only had one son and one daughter. Life had been easy, and they had good savings.

Old Man Qin doted on his son and wanted to pass down his skills. But Eldest Qin didn’t like cooking—he wanted to be a peddler.

The two constantly clashed. Whenever the son tried to sneak off to peddle, he was dragged back and beaten. His goods smashed.

Depressed and bitter, Eldest Qin eventually got tricked into gambling—and lost everything.

The family sold off anything of value, but it still wasn’t enough. In the end, they used Qin Niazi’s dowry to cover the rest.

Old Man Qin was so angry he coughed up blood, and it left him with a chronic illness. He coughed and wheezed constantly—who would still want to hire a sick man to cook for a banquet? No one knew if he could even pass on his craft.

People outside began to look down on him, and gradually, Master Qin Stove lost all his business and simply became Old Man Qin.

The household had already been squeezed dry from earlier troubles, and now without Old Man Qin’s income, life became tight overnight.

Fortunately, Qin Niazi had remarried. The betrothal money from the Qin family gave them some breathing room, and over the past year, she often brought home rice, flour, meat, and oil from the Xiao family, giving the household a bit of flavor again.

The family knew they owed Qin Niazi, but what could they possibly use to repay her?

Now that there seemed to be a rift between husband and wife, the family was anxious—afraid of losing this son-in-law.

“Aiya, my good daughter, why are you crying now? You’ll wake the child!” Old Madam Gu quickly moved to comfort her.

Qin Niazi sobbed, words catching in her throat. “You and Father have always favored Brother and not me. Even Grandma favors Brother’s son over Chao Ge’er! You all have such cruel hearts!”

Outside, Eldest Qin had just gotten up. Hearing the crying inside, and seeing his wife sneakily listening from the side, he gave her a side glance. “What are you eavesdropping for? Is breakfast done?”

The eldest daughter-in-law casually pinched Eldest Qin. “All you care about is eating. Your sister and your mother are arguing—why don’t you go in and try to help?”

“Women arguing—what can a man even say?” he muttered, hunching over and ducking into the warm kitchen.

After breakfast, Qin Niazi, red-eyed, packed up and dragged Chao Ge’er out of the village.

Half-asleep, Chao Ge’er didn’t know what was going on. Sitting in the ox cart, he asked, “Mother, weren’t we waiting for Stepfather to come get us? Why are we going back on our own?”

“It’s Little New Year today. I saw aunt slaughtering a duck.”

Qin Niazi cursed angrily, “We don’t need their duck meat! When we’re back at the Xiao household, there’ll be plenty of chicken, duck, and fish. Your aunt has a wicked heart—she stirred up your Grandma to speak badly of your mother, all just to get us driven out and hog the house for herself. She’ll get what she deserves sooner or later.”

That house full of heartless people—once she was back at the Xiao household, she wouldn’t be sending them another scrap of food. Let them suffer.

…

It snowed lightly today. Qi Beinan waited until the snow stopped before heading to the county town. By the time he arrived, it was already late.

Snow made the cold even sharper. It was Little New Year, and households in the city were all hanging red lanterns. Firecrackers echoed through the afternoon, adding to the festive mood.

It was clear that he wouldn’t make it back in time for lunch, so he had already told Xiao Hu in the morning that he’d return in the afternoon.

He also reminded Xiao Hu to just cook rice later—he’d bring some meat back from the city for their Little New Year dinner. It was the holiday, after all—no harm in eating something nice.

Perhaps because of the cold, or maybe because families were gathering, Bai Qiaogui didn’t show up today.

Xiao Yuanbao was a little disappointed, but since he had just learned to count coins yesterday, and business was trickling in, he focused on sorting and counting the copper coins he collected—keeping himself busy.

It was already much better than hiding timidly behind the stall like the day before.

“Here, over here!”

Qi Beinan had thought business would be slow today, but just after he finished ghostwriting one family letter, several well-dressed young men arrived at his stall.

The boy leading the group came up grandly and said, “Write ten sets of couplets for me—use the best paper you’ve got.”

Qi Beinan was about to confirm when one of the boy’s companions interjected, “Are you even going to use all that? Don’t waste it.”

The young man snorted, “Our house has so many doors, I’m more worried we won’t have enough. And if there’s extra, I’ll gift them to the students at the private academy. One set for each of them. Let them all paste them up.”

“When that old man comes to my house, I’ll be waiting at the door. I’ll ask him—Sir, aren’t these couplets written beautifully?”

Just imagining it made him giddy. “Let’s see how smug he still looks.”

Qi Beinan continued writing as he listened. Judging from the conversation, this boy was likely one of the old man’s students from yesterday—and apparently didn’t get along with him.

In Qiu County, Qi Beinan’s father had also been a teacher, and though some students were unruly, they still treated him with respect. It was rare to see someone so intent on embarrassing their own teacher.

Then again, that old man’s character was poor—respect was hard to earn.

The boy paid generously and left happily with the couplets.

Since they were having meat tonight, Qi Beinan ate lightly at noon. He bought two veggie pancakes and two bowls of lamb offal soup.

The hot soup and warm pancakes filled their stomachs nicely. Xiao Yuanbao enjoyed it more than the taro and amaranth his father had cooked at home.

Business was slow in the afternoon. The wind picked up, signaling more snow on the way.

Xiao Yuanbao was called over by the lady at a nearby noodle stall to warm up by the stove. He stood by the big pot, watching the woman cook noodles and chop meat with great interest.

Qi Beinan rubbed his cold-stiff hands and waited about another hour before packing up.

He bought two jin of pork scallion buns and half a braised goose—ready-to-eat food that only needed reheating. He didn’t buy raw meat.

Xiao Hu’s cooking skills were on par with his own—no need to get fancy and risk ruining good ingredients.

With everything bought and bundled, Qi Beinan picked up Xiao Yuanbao and caught the ox cart home early.

The two of them walked with light, relaxed steps, and just as they reached the courtyard gate, voices could be heard coming from inside.

Carrying a small bag of buns, Xiao Yuanbao’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. He suddenly gripped Qi Beinan’s hand tightly and said, “Qin Niazi and Chao Ge’er are back!”

His round eyes flashed with surprise for a moment—then his mood visibly dropped.

He lowered his head, staring at the toes of his shoes muddied by slush, not quite sure what he was feeling.

Qin Niazi and Chao Ge’er had been gone for quite a few days—seven or eight, and they hadn’t seen each other at all. Now that they were finally back, he should be happy.

But the moment he actually heard they’d returned, his heart didn’t feel joyful at all. Instead, the cheerful excitement he brought back from the trip to the county town seemed to fade by half.

Seven or eight days is a long time. Back when Father used to go up into the mountains, those days would feel like forever.

But this time, they’d flown by in the blink of an eye. It felt like Qin Niazi had only gone to her parents’ house yesterday.

He thought, maybe it was because Gege had come to stay, because he got to play at Grandpa Fang’s house, because he went to the county fair—every day had been full of fun, and time had slipped away like the wind.

Kids aren’t completely clueless. They may not be able to explain things clearly, but their hearts still keep measure of what feels good and what doesn’t.

Qin Niazi always acted in ways that left him unable to speak up against her. But more often than not, his little heart had been heavy and unhappy.

With Qi Beinan around, though, he felt truly happy every day. For the first time in a long while, he was tasting that carefree joy again—just like when his mother had still been alive.

Now, seeing Qin Niazi suddenly return made it feel like those gloomy, unhappy days might be coming back.

Whatever little spark of joy came from seeing someone familiar was quickly drowned by the fear of falling back into that life again.

Qi Beinan noticed the boy’s energy had drained all at once. He patted his hand gently and comforted him, “It’s alright. Gege’s here.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. Just moments ago, he’d been hopping and skipping through the slushy road, but now he was quiet and timid again, sticking close to Qi Beinan’s side as they walked into the courtyard.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

“Will it even work in the palace?” Fu Chi asked, puzzled.

Lu Yao shook her head. “No signal. But it’s good enough for taking pictures of the imperial garden or the palace consorts.”

Fu Chi: “…”

Currently, the intranet only covers the shops across the shopping street and extends to VIP customers within its world.

The Emperor’s phone was loaded with the shopping street’s app, and after signing a confidentiality agreement, he was registered as an intranet user. However, to actually browse his phone, he still had to visit the cinema to use its network.

In light of the earlier unexpected situation, the Emperor’s willingness to let it slide meant Lu Yao had to show a bit of goodwill.

Initially, she had considered gifting him something else, such as a few technical books that weren’t too sensitive.

But as they entered the tea room, they saw the Pavillion master hiding in a corner fiddling with his phone.

When phones were distributed earlier, all the cinema staff had received new ones. However, the older native employees weren’t very familiar with using them.

The younger staff, like Zhu Zhu and Wen Jian, who often operated machinery or computers, picked it up quickly.

For someone like the Pavillion master—who had spent a lifetime wielding weapons and licking blood off blades—holding a phone felt more like carrying a brick. He didn’t know where to start.

Still, unwilling to admit defeat, he had been secretly trying to figure it out, only to accidentally crash the phone, leaving him stuck on unresponsive screens.

Lu Yao restored his phone with a single tap and promised to teach him how to use it later. The Emperor, observing this, became intrigued.

He wanted one too.

Lu Yao explained clearly that the phone would only connect to the network within the cinema, could only be used for an hour and a half a day, and required frequent recharging.

The Emperor declared that he could assign two eunuchs specifically to look after the phone, shuttling between the palace and the cinema to charge it.

If an emperor could assign someone to care for a parrot, why not his phone?

After finishing his state affairs, he could personally visit the cinema during his leisure time.

In short, he insisted on having the phone.

After some thought, Lu Yao decided there was no harm in letting him have it. Since it couldn’t connect to external networks, the most he could do was use the camera. She handed over a brand-new phone with a detailed instruction manual and even threw in a large-capacity power bank.

The Emperor, eager to try out his new toy, learned the basics of phone operation and left in high spirits, taking the building blocks as an afterthought.

As they departed, Wan Baozhu and the Eighth Prince repeatedly cast meaningful glances at Lu Yao, which she pretended not to notice.

Waving at Fu Chi, Lu Yao said, “That’s enough talk. The inn is waiting for me to install pipes and divert the hot spring. Hold down the fort here—this is a one-time thing.”

With the documentary premiere wrapped up, Fu Chi was also preparing to resign formally.

After six months of recovery, both his physical and mental health had improved significantly. Staying at the cinema as a lobby manager for life wasn’t in his plans.

However, he hadn’t yet shared this decision with the other staff members.

…

At the inn, Heici, Beef Cube, Yuanwei, Zhu Zhou, and Budu were waiting for Lu Yao.

Yuanwei and Zhu Zhou knew Lu Yao had discovered a hot spring on her last outing. Since there were no guests and the weather was particularly pleasant, they wanted to join her for a stroll.

Whether it was one little person or three, to Lu Yao it was like carrying an extra apple in her pocket—no big difference.

The pipes and digging tools were stored in her portable warehouse. Her backpack only held a lunchbox, water bottle, and a small hand-sewn coin pouch containing the tiny tools the little ones used for gathering. They planned to pick some fresh wild vegetables on the way back.

As Lu Yao and Budu headed for the door, she called back over her shoulder, “The shop’s in your hands. We’ll be back as soon as we finish installing the pipes.”

Ji Qingyan was cleaning the windowsill opposite Room 1’s guest area, where Lu Yao planned to build the hot spring house. She waved back without turning around, “Go ahead, go ahead.”

Xiao Zheng, wearing an apron, peeked out of the kitchen. “I’m baking choux pastry shells. They’ll be just right for eating when you return.”

In just a few days, half the snow in Thorn Valley had melted. Grass blades sprouted, bare trees budded, and spring arrived in lush greenery.

Lu Yao had purchased a large roll of rubber hose, soaked it in magical potion for three days to enhance its durability and flexibility, and engraved a reinforcement magic array on its surface.

Her plan was clear: she wanted to connect a water pipe from the hot spring she had discovered last time to the inn, creating a hot spring-themed guest area. Additionally, she wanted to carve out a subspace behind the kitchen wall to build a large hot spring for humans.

With her goals in mind, she headed straight for the mountain spring.

The warming weather had caused the plants around the hot spring to flourish. Yuanwei, Heici, and Zhu Zhou trailed behind, eagerly grabbing at the fresh wild vegetable sprouts they spotted along the way.

Budu lagged, sweating profusely. For him, the weather was already uncomfortably warm.

As Lu Yao climbed to the mountainside, she passed the two flowering trees from her previous visit and the large warm pool they had soaked in. Climbing another ten meters, she reached a rocky slope where she took out her tools and water pipes.

Under the rocks, hot spring water gushed steadily. The spring source was likely at the mountain’s summit, but Lu Yao had no intention of going that high. The current location was perfect for water collection.

She cleared away the rocks, dug a large bowl-shaped basin, and lined the edges with small magic stones to form a reinforcement array. She then covered the basin with a stone slab to protect it.

Once the collection point was set, she inserted the pipe into the basin, sealing any gaps with crushed stones and further reinforcing it with magic. Along the way, she buried the pipe underground, directing the spring water toward the inn.

Setting aside the pipe she had inserted into the basin, Lu Yao bent down and began digging trenches.

Burying water pipes was hard labor. Even with magic-driven tools, the task would take at least half a day.

On the thick branches of the pink-flowered tree, Jiexiang and Ziye crouched together, their small faces scrunched like walnuts.

“She’s back again,” Jiexiang muttered.

Ziye, scanning the area, added, “I don’t see anyone else, just her.”

Jiexiang’s eyes landed on the conspicuous pink cloth bag in Lu Yao’s basket, which contained a box. She knew exactly what it was.

Unconsciously licking her lips, Jiexiang whispered, “She brought food again.”

Ziye’s eyes lit up as he remembered the yellow berries and meat chunks they had picked off a rock last time. Slowly, he asked, “Do you think if we trade wild vegetables with her, she’d agree?”

Those foods they found last time had been the most delicious thing they’d tasted in an entire moon cycle.

Recently, Jiexiang and Ziye had been searching for yellow berries during their outings but found nothing but flowers and wild vegetables.

Jiexiang stared wide-eyed at Ziye, horrified by his suggestion. She lowered her voice and said, “Are you crazy? Look at her—so big! She must be one of those legendary evil humans. How could we possibly approach her?”

Jiexiang’s companion, Ziye, hailed from the Shenmu tribe. Compared to other tribes, Shenmu tribe members were often considered a bit “slow.”

Yet Ziye’s golden hair and handsome features always made Jiexiang’s heart race. No matter how often he acted foolishly, one look at his face was enough for her to forgive him.

“What should we do, then?” Ziye asked, puzzled.

Jiexiang glanced at the pink cloth bag in Lu Yao’s basket and silently swallowed her saliva.

Human food smelled so good. Just looking at that bag brought back memories of the taste of the berries and meat from last time.

Ziye noticed Jiexiang secretly swallowing and smirked. Her greedy expression was so adorable—he never tired of it.

After a moment of thought, Ziye proposed, “Look, she’s busy right now. She’ll probably get hungry later and start eating. When she eats, she’ll definitely drop crumbs everywhere like last time.”

Jiexiang considered it and reluctantly agreed. That seemed like the best plan for now.

Stealing the human’s lunchbox was never an option for the two tiny people.

To them, the lunchbox was far too large, and the human herself was an even greater threat. They’d rather wait silently than risk their lives.

Lu Yao had long noticed that Nitean smallfolk had very straightforward thinking. They could be cunning, selfish, and even a little greedy, but they never resorted to deceit. Compared to their simplicity, the complex and calculating nature of adult humans might indeed seem truly “evil.”

As Lu Yao worked under the tree, sweating from exertion, the two smallfolk perched above grew increasingly anxious.

About half an hour later, Budu arrived with Yuanwei and her husband, Heici, along with Beef Cube and Zhu Zhou.

Yuanwei, seated in Budu’s palm, was glowing with excitement. “Lu Yao, Lu Yao! We found lemongrass! When we get back, I’ll make pancakes for you to try.”

Yuanwei had recently been exchanging culinary tips with Xiao Zheng, learning modern cooking techniques and becoming increasingly energetic each day.

Lemongrass, in Lu Yao’s world, was akin to common flavor enhancers like scallions, ginger, and cilantro, but on the Nitean continent, it was rare, especially in this season. Yuanwei had found three stalks with fresh sprouts, perfect for adding a fragrant touch to pancakes.

Lu Yao noticed Budu looked smaller than usual. Taking the three smallfolk and Beef Cube from his hands, she pulled a large block of ice from her portable warehouse, stuffed it into Budu’s arms, and made him sit in the tree’s shade.

“You’re not going to last like this. From now on, you’ll have to stay in the shop. I’ll build you an icehouse,” Lu Yao said, concerned. “When summer comes, you might have to live in the freezer.”

Budu sighed in relief, clutching the ice. “As long as I can stay near Mother, I’m happy to live in a freezer.”

“You’re so fragile; it worries me,” Lu Yao replied, her brow furrowed.

Budu shook his head. “It’s my fault for not being strong enough. But don’t worry, Mother. As long as you’re here, I won’t truly die. When I’m no longer a child, I won’t fear sunlight anymore.”

Lu Yao decided to head back to the shop and build Budu his icehouse.

Meanwhile, Yuanwei, Heici, and Zhu Zhou clung to the edge of the backpack, staring longingly at the lunchbox inside. They’d been outdoors for half the day and were now hungry too.

Lu Yao bent down and retrieved the lunchbox.

Xiao Zheng had outdone himself this time, preparing a two-tiered large lunchbox alongside a smaller four-tiered one for the smallfolk.

Sitting under the tree, Lu Yao handed out the lunchboxes, one for each.

This time, the meal included fried shrimp sandwiches, triangular seaweed rice balls, egg rolls, and mini sausages. From her insulated water bottle, Lu Yao poured hot soup into small cups for everyone, its rich aroma wafting in the air.

High above, Jiexiang and Ziye peeked from the tree trunk, nearly drooling with envy.

Lu Yao sat with a sandwich in one hand and a cup of hot soup in the other.

A pink petal drifted gently into her cup, creating ripples on the surface. She looked up, spotting Jiexiang and Ziye frozen in place, clinging to the tree trunk and holding their breath.

“What’s wrong?” Yuanwei asked.

“Nothing,” Lu Yao replied, shaking her head. “It must be the wind.”

After finishing her sandwich, Lu Yao brushed petals off her shoulders, packed up her tools, and prepared to take Budu and the smallfolk back to the shop.

Before leaving, she wrapped half a fried shrimp, a small piece of egg roll, and a sausage end in a leaf and carefully placed it on a branch of the flowering tree.

…

At the cinema, as the post-credits scene ended, the bustling scenes and lively sounds disappeared like illusions. The tantalizing aromas that had filled the air faded as if erased, leaving the audience in their seats, still caught in their viewing posture, struggling to return to reality.

Fu Chi pushed the door open and clapped lightly. “The screening is over.”

Feng Xiang snapped out of his daze, turning to look at Fu Chi. Rising too quickly, he tripped over the chair leg and nearly fell.

Catching himself on the armrest, he steadied his footing and, ignoring everything else, quickly strode toward Fu Chi.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

The Emperor’s movie companions included Wan Baozhu, the Eighth Prince, the commander of the imperial guards, a few inner attendants, and shadow guards hidden in the dark—an imperial outing could not risk any mishaps.

In the midst of the group clad in traditional attire, Lu Yao stood out sharply. She wore a mid-length white lightweight down jacket, her short ear-length hair loose, with a striking and exquisite golden lotus earring adorning her left ear.

The guests from the shopping street stared directly at the staircase, utterly bewildered by the scene.

Feng Xiang and Du Mingyan stole a glance at Fu Chi, assuming this was some special event he had arranged, like having actors in costume appear during the premiere.

But Lu Yao standing there, amidst this group of “actors,” gave the impression that this was just a promotional activity for the theater.

Feng Xiang felt increasingly uneasy.

What was Fu Chi doing, indulging in these frivolous antics? Could anything decent still come out of such efforts?

Du Mingyan also signaled with her eyes, questioning: What’s going on? Aren’t we just here to watch a movie?

Fu Chi calmly avoided her gaze and turned to look at Lu Yao.

In truth, Lu Yao’s timing had been perfect. It was just that the shopping street guests arrived slightly earlier than expected. Had they come two minutes later, the Emperor’s group would have already left.

Fu Chi had never personally received the Emperor before but understood that in the Great Wu dynasty, the Emperor was absolute. The shopping street guests, as important as they were, could not overstep the Emperor.

At the same time, forcing the shopping street guests to bow or kneel before imperial authority would make for an equally awkward situation.

Fu Chi’s eyes screamed for help: Boss, what do we do? What do we do?!

Lu Yao subtly waved her hand at her side, signaling him not to panic. She tilted her head slightly toward the Emperor and said, “During my last trip, I came across a few interesting trinkets. Would Your Majesty do me the honor of viewing them in the tea room?”

The Emperor had already noticed the guests near the door, whose attire and demeanor closely resembled Lu Yao’s. Over the past six months, he had learned a great deal about the origins of the cinema and could roughly guess where these people came from.

As Baozhu had once remarked, the cinema’s owner possessed the incredible ability to bridge ancient and modern times yet harbored no visible ambition.

It seemed she genuinely only wanted to run her business well.

For the Great Wu dynasty, making an enemy of such a person was unwise.

The cinema held knowledge and technology far beyond Great Wu’s grasp. The best approach was the current one: mutual reliance and support.

The Emperor’s gaze swept over Lu Yao. It was rare to see her so cautious and deferential. These guests were likely of considerable importance.

This shopkeeper truly ran a remarkable business.

Though deep and calculating, the Emperor was not rigid. He nodded slightly, granting his approval.

Descending the stairs, Lu Yao led the Emperor’s group to the left, toward the tea room.

Fu Chi had never moved so quickly. In just a few steps, he positioned himself at the entrance, blocking the shopping street guests from advancing further, bowing slightly toward the Emperor as they passed.

Feng Xiang and the others were left utterly perplexed.

Ji Feirong, however, seemed to catch on. Her gaze met the Emperor’s from a distance, and she nodded slightly out of courtesy.

The others, sensing something unusual, lowered their heads in acknowledgment.

Feng Xiang caught sight of a fleeting swish of embroidered fabric and froze briefly.

As a director who had once made several blockbuster period films, Feng Xiang had developed a keen eye for historical clothing and props. The embroidery on that fabric was extraordinarily intricate—far too fine to be part of a standard film costume.

What exactly was going on here?

Once the tea room door closed behind the Emperor’s group, Fu Chi straightened up, his expression calm as he explained, “Those individuals were also guests. Apologies for the disturbance. I’ve already arranged tickets for the two last-minute attendees. Let me take you upstairs.”

Both Ji Feirong and Bai Jing had informed Lu Yao in advance, and the assistant and Bai Lu had signed confidentiality agreements online as visitors.

However, since neither was on the cinema’s pre-approved guest list or beta test roster, they hadn’t received movie tickets through the system.

Given the unexpected situation, Fu Chi was eager to smooth things over quickly.

They ascended to the second floor, entering a spacious waiting hall lined with a row of claw machines. Screening rooms were located on both sides, but only one was designated as the holographic screening hall.

As they walked, Fu Chi provided a simple introduction. “Some of you may have visited the cinema before, while others are here for the first time. However, I believe this will be everyone’s first experience with holographic films.”

Bai Zheng and Bai Jin, who had been to the cinema before, whispered to each other.

Bai Zheng said, “Do you think those guests just now might be…?” He gestured upwards, hinting at something unspoken. Lu Yao’s quick reaction had made it clear they weren’t ordinary visitors.

Bai Jin nodded in agreement. “Didn’t you notice? There was a eunuch among them.”

Walking beside them, Bai Lu widened her eyes, wanting to ask but unsure where to start. Ever since they arrived at this street, everything had felt increasingly bizarre—not frightening, but dreamlike. Even her dreams had never been so imaginative.

Unable to hold back, Feng Xiang asked, “Fu Chi, when you say holographic film, do you mean this cinema has holographic technology?”

Hearing the skeptical tone, Fu Chi, familiar with his old friend’s fiery temper, still nodded calmly. “Yes, that’s correct.”

Feng Xiang opened his mouth to say more, but Ji Feirong interjected, “Then what are we waiting for?”

She was already eager to experience holographic technology. The other guests, too, looked excited, not doubting the reality of the claim.

Feng Xiang glanced at Du Mingyan, seeking an ally, but she shook her head, signaling him to hold back. It was evident this cinema was extraordinary, and the guests didn’t seem like naive fools. Better to wait and see.

They soon arrived at the screening hall, and Fu Chi decided against further explanation. With Feng Xiang’s stubborn nature, anything he said would only sound like a sales pitch—it was better to let the experience speak for itself.

Pushing open the door, the group entered the holographic screening hall. The stark white walls and empty floor greeted them—no chairs, no screen, nothing. The room was so barren it seemed like a poorly executed prank.

Feng Xiang, too bewildered to be angry, glanced at Fu Chi, incredulous. Was he really this mischievous at his age?

Fu Chi walked to the wall, pressed a smooth panel, and activated the system.

“Whoa!!!” Bai Zheng pointed at the floor, exclaiming.

The once-empty room now revealed about twenty chairs, faintly shimmering as they materialized. The chairs were widely spaced, with a massive silver-gray screen suspended mid-air in front of them.

Fu Chi gestured toward the seats. “Please find your assigned seats according to the numbers on your tickets. There’s a drawer in the right armrest with glasses; please put them on.”

Bai Jin cautiously reached out, his hand confirming the chair’s solidity. Circling around, he sat down, feeling the soft leather surface—it was no illusion.

“This is so cool!!!” Bai Jin wiggled excitedly in his chair, pressing a button on the right armrest. A drawer popped open, revealing a pair of glasses inside.

The Bai siblings’ five seats were arranged in a directional “East-South-West-North” layout. One of the seats was reserved for Bai Yi, who hadn’t arrived yet. Bai Lu, who was a last-minute addition, sat diagonally across from Bai Jin.

Feng Xiang and Du Mingyan’s seats were at the center—typically the best seats in traditional theaters. However, in holographic films, every viewer was placed at the heart of the story’s world, with the perspective shifting according to their senses. Seat location mattered little.

Ji Feirong, Ji Feichen, and the assistant sat close to one another, composed and unfazed. Despite being thoroughly impressed, they maintained their poker faces.

Next came Luo Huan and Jing Yuxi, equally quiet as they took their seats.

Once all the guests were seated and had donned their glasses, the room fell into an anticipatory silence. The screening was about to begin.

Fu Chi checked the time and prepared to start the screening.

At that moment, Bai Yi pushed open the door, taking small steps to her seat.

Lu Yao had learned that all the staff wanted to watch the film, but adjusting everyone’s leave schedules was impractical. As a compromise, she granted them a half-day perk called “movie leave.”

With twenty seats available in the holographic screening hall, there were still some unoccupied.

As the film began, Fu Chi quietly slipped into the shadows, taking a seat behind Du Mingyan.

At first, the guests were filled with curiosity but also wary skepticism.

They couldn’t help but feel that true holographic technology was still far in the future, and that whatever this cinema offered was likely a diluted version of what they envisioned.

Then, the screen flickered. A loud “Dong dong dong” of wooden clappers echoed around them.

Feng Xiang instinctively looked down and found himself standing on a silent, deserted street. A cold wind brushed his face, sending chills from his scalp to his feet.

Thankfully, this unnerving sensation didn’t last long. Soon, a sliver of light appeared on the horizon, and he saw a woman in a cotton-padded jacket and skirt pushing a wooden cart to a stall adorned with a small flag.

“Zhu’s Duck Blood Vermicelli Noodles.”

The woman quickly and skillfully unloaded her ingredients and steaming broth from the cart.

Feng Xiang wrinkled his nose. The lid of the broth barrel had jostled loose during transport, releasing a faint, rich aroma. Was he imagining things? He could almost smell it!

Meanwhile, Bai Zheng and Bai Jin sat at Aunt Zhu’s stall, observing the other patrons devour their noodles, swallowing hard as their mouths watered.

Bai Jin propped her face on her hand, frowning. “I always used to wish food bloggers’ videos came with smell-o-vision. Now I realize how naïve that thought was.”

Bai Zheng nodded vigorously. “Exactly! Being able to smell but not eat it—how cruel is that? This feature is worse than useless!”

The two of them had been chatting casually when the movie started, but now they were fully absorbed.

Bai Jin slapped the table in frustration. “Right?! What’s the point of just smelling it? If they’re so advanced, why can’t they deliver the food through the internet?”

Bai Zheng sighed. “This holography is so amazing—seeing, touching, and even smelling—but you still can’t eat? What a waste!”

Thanks to the holographic technology, the film faithfully recreated the bustling stalls of everyday Song’an Street, down to the ingredients, aromas, and tactile sensations.

For the residents of Liangjing, this was ordinary daily life. But for the modern guests, it was an enchanting, unforgettable experience.

Little did Liangjing’s residents know that in a distant future, a genre called “ancient transmigration” novels would capture readers’ hearts, driven by modern people’s fascination with the lives of those in the past.

Holographic technology brought the details of this era to life with a precision unmatched by novels or history books.

The shopping street guests felt as though they had truly traveled back in time, walking through a lively ancient street filled with endless sights to explore.

Feng Xiang stood transfixed outside a tailor’s shop, rising on tiptoes to admire the exquisite embroidery on the skirts and sleeves hung high above. He barely registered the lively chatter of nearby citizens discussing the cinema.

Du Mingyan lingered between Jinyu Pavilion and Rouge House, captivated by the ancient hair accessories and cosmetics on display.

Bai Lu, meanwhile, had followed the bustling crowd to the cinema’s entrance. She stopped short at the sight of the large sign reading Lu Yao’s Interdimensional Cinema in bold characters, paired with the lavish, eye-catching decor of the building.

Her heart raced as understanding dawned.

So that’s what this is!

Seeing the guests so immersed in the movie’s world, Fu Chi quietly got up and left the screening hall, heading downstairs.

Lu Yao was just coming in from outside. Upon spotting Fu Chi, she said casually, “The Emperor has already left. You keep an eye on things here—I need to go to the inn to redirect the hot spring.”

Lu Yao had her eye on a natural hot spring on the mountain and wanted to divert a stream to the inn while building a hot spring bathhouse.

Fu Chi asked, “What did you give the Emperor?”

Lu Yao shrugged. “A set of building blocks and a smartphone.”

Fu Chi: “???”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

“Boss Lu,” a voice called.

Lu Yao looked up to see Wan Baozhu walking toward her, her face radiant with a warm smile.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” Lu Yao replied, returning the smile. It had been some time since she had seen Wan Baozhu, who no longer intentionally wore men’s clothing, yet her aura of authority was even more captivating than before.

Wan Baozhu chuckled softly and lowered her head. “You can just call me Baozhu. No need to be so formal.”

“Is Your Highness on leave today?” Lu Yao inquired.

“How could I miss the premiere of the new film?” Wan Baozhu replied, pulling Lu Yao aside into a quieter corner. She leaned in and whispered a few words.

Lu Yao’s expression shifted subtly but quickly returned to normal. She nodded and said, “I will await you all night.”

With business concluded, Wan Baozhu showed no intention of leaving. Instead, she held onto Lu Yao, chatting about the interesting happenings in Liangjing City over the past half-year.

After the cinema’s initial launch, Lu Yao had opened the Childhood Tutoring Center and the inn. Most of the cinema’s operations had since been handed over to Fu Chi, reducing Lu Yao’s public appearances.

Wan Baozhu privately regarded Lu Yao as a confidante and wasn’t about to let her go so easily now that she had her attention.

Before they could exchange many words, Prince Jing, Xie Xu, and Chen Yuning approached. After greeting Wan Baozhu, they saw Lu Yao and began chatting idly, showing no signs of leaving.

A little later, Xie Wan and Sun Qinghe came over to greet Lu Yao as well, accompanied by several young girls whom Xie Wan taught to address Lu Yao politely.

Noticing Lu Yao’s puzzled expression, Xie Wan explained, “These are students from our academy.”

Inspired by the cinema, Xie Wan and Sun Qinghe had committed themselves to establishing a girls’ school, teaching women literacy and moral reasoning.

After months of experimentation, their efforts were finally showing results.

The film premiering today also featured the girls’ school, with footage personally directed by Lu Yao.

It wasn’t just familiar faces attending; shopkeepers from other collaborating stores had also arrived early to queue for tickets.

After buying tickets, they stopped by to greet Lu Yao, exchange pleasantries, and catch up briefly.

In the crowd, a few individuals in foreign attire watched Lu Yao intently.

On their journey to the capital, they had frequently heard the name of the cinema. Upon arriving in Liangjing, its presence was everywhere.

A few days ago, after their audience with Emperor Wu, they eagerly came to see the movies.

Movies were fascinating even if they couldn’t fully understand the language. The visuals alone were enough to captivate them, and with repeated viewings, they started grasping the meaning.

Hearing that a new film was premiering today, they arrived early. This was their first time encountering Lu Yao at the cinema.

Among them was a tall man whose eyes were fixed on Lu Yao, unblinking.

When the announcement for ticket inspection was broadcast, Lu Yao seized the chance to excuse herself from the mingling and headed to assist with ticket checks.

Interestingly, while the Great Wu Dynasty audience typically debated whether to watch in 2D, 3D, or full immersion due to the price differences, this time most chose 2D for the documentary. On the other hand, the foreign guests all opted for the full-immersion experience.

In contrast, customers from the Shopping Street all chose full immersion, even for a documentary—after all, it was full immersion!

The premiere drew a significant crowd, but as guests filtered into the theater, the bustling atmosphere began to quiet down.

The little digits from Lingxiao Pavilion, now employees at the cinema, managed operations efficiently. Even the former pavilion master was upstairs tending to the claw machines, occasionally offering tips to first-time players.

With the cinema under the diligent care of Chang Ming and Hong Yu, it was as secure as an iron fortress, leaving no room for mishaps.

Inside the screening room, the audience of Liangjing citizens settled into their seats with an anticipation unlike any they’d felt before.

The pre-film safety announcements and advertisements played as usual before the lights dimmed, leaving only the glowing screen to capture everyone’s undivided attention.

The film began with a brisk and powerful opening sequence, transitioning smoothly into the main narrative.

A faint streak of light appeared on the horizon. The sound of cartwheels rolling over cobblestones echoed through the tranquil morning air.

Creak… creak… thud.

A wooden board was lifted, followed by hurried footsteps as someone moved back and forth unloading goods from the cart.

A gentle breeze rustled the flags, which unfurled to reveal embroidered characters that caused a small stir among the audience.

“Zhu’s Duck Blood Vermicelli Soup.”

Wasn’t that Zhu Daniang’s stall?

It was the roadside stand they frequented, now unexpectedly showcased on the cinema’s big screen.

And there she was—Zhu Daniang herself.

The woman was tidied up immaculately, and her stall was equally clean and orderly. The steaming soup, fine rice vermicelli, duck blood, bean sprouts, and fresh vegetables unloaded from the cart were all enticingly fresh.

The camera panned out from this humble street corner stall, and gradually the soundscape filled with the shuffle of footsteps, the creak of cartwheels, and the clatter of horse hooves.

Tofu pudding stands, bun stalls, fried pancake and soy milk vendors, and butcher stalls came into view. The vendors called out loudly to one another, and the entire street awakened in the simple yet vibrant bustle of everyday life. This was how most Liangjing residents began their day.

Inside the screening room, the audience watched the steaming food scenes unfold, and many couldn’t help but swallow secretly, as if the familiar aromas were already wafting to their noses.

This was the street they walked daily. No matter what they fancied, a stroll to the end of the road would always lead them to something they had eaten before.

This segment was filmed by Lu Yao, Zhu Zhu, Ku Ba, and Tai Er over three consecutive mornings, with only the finest scenes making the final cut.

In one of the screening rooms, half the seats were filled with Zhu Daniang and her neighbors.

Zhu Zhu, who usually stayed at the cinema, had caught glimpses of the editing process while Fu Chi worked. She would often go home and talk about it, though her descriptions were too vague to convey much. Zhu Daniang, not entirely understanding, would tell her neighbors that Lu Yao had filmed their morning routines and included them in the movie.

The gossip only fueled anticipation. They even agreed to take half a day off together just to catch the premiere.

When they saw the lively and beautifully captured scenes, much better than they had imagined, they couldn’t stop smiling at one another.

The film transitioned from the bustling morning street to a sequence like a curious yet composed gaze wandering through various scenes: a newly opened bookshop, a pawnshop, a cosmetics store, a tea house being cleaned, a busy pastry kitchen, a tavern, and students on their way to school.

In just a few minutes, the audience was completely immersed in the familiar morning of Liangjing.

The next moment, something unfamiliar happened.

On Song’an Street, between Chunxi Lou and Rongxi Bookstore, a shop that had been vacant for ages suddenly had a new sign overnight. It seemed ready to open for business.

“Lu Yao’s Interdimensional Cinema.”

A peculiar and enigmatic name, but even more striking was the shop’s bold and modern design, with no regard for whether the locals could accept such a glaringly unconventional style.

The residents of Song’an Street were abuzz with gossip.

This scene was a re-creation. Every time a new movie premiered, the locals would gather outside to watch.

Fu Chi had positioned multiple cameras across the first and second floors to capture similar moments repeatedly. These clips were later edited together and voiceovers added to perfectly recreate the reaction of Liangjing residents when the cinema first opened.

During post-production, Fu Chi discussed this scene with native Liangjing voice actors who had experienced the opening firsthand. They enriched the dialogue with personal anecdotes and fine-tuned the lines multiple times.

The result was a performance that struck a balance between refinement and relatability.

“Relatability” here referred to accessibility—the reaction captured the essence of the film while resonating with the audience, who felt it mirrored their own experiences, without a hint of exaggeration.

Looking back on those initial reactions, the audience, reflecting on the cinema as it is today, began eagerly anticipating the scenes depicting the cinema’s formal opening.

Regardless of the public’s initial skepticism and curiosity, the cinema quickly launched into full operation.

It started with recruitment—advertisements calling for staff—and then the premiere of its first film, The World’s Greatest. This wuxia film caused an absolute sensation on Song’an Street, solidifying the cinema’s reputation.

When the audience once again saw the original trailer for The World’s Greatest, it felt almost surreal.

It had only been a little over six months, yet it seemed like a distant memory.

From that first film, the cinema continued to release hit after hit—culinary tales, romantic comedies, suspense thrillers—each sparking waves of excitement and discussion across the streets of Liangjing.

The first street interviews were simple.

“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Who’s your favorite character?”
“Do you like the cinema?”

“I love The World’s Greatest.”
“I like The Little Chef of Shengjing.”
“My favorite is Sea Train Serial Murders.”
“I adore When Blossoms Fall.”
“I enjoyed The Moon Landing Project…”
“I liked The Crown Princess…”

At first, the people interviewed were visibly nervous, awkward, and unsure of themselves. Over time, they grew more confident and enthusiastic.

“My favorite character is Ye Qingzhou. I’ve also dreamed of being a great martial artist.”
“I like Annie; she’s beautiful and clever.”
“I love Huashi…”
“I admire Shen Xiang…”
“I’m fascinated by the great whale in the deep sea…”

The quick-paced street interviews captivated the audience. For the residents of Great Wu, this format was completely novel. Occasionally, the person being interviewed might turn out to be a neighbor from the same street, making the experience even more engaging.

When Lu Yao reviewed the sample edits, she noticed Fu Chi’s meticulousness. His editing had a clarity and organization reminiscent of an annual report.

After summarizing the cinema’s released films across various genres, the narrative shifted to the business collaborations between the cinema and nearby shops.

The cinema’s first commercial advertisement came from the century-old bakery Yuguizhai, whose elder proprietor, Yu Jixiang, personally negotiated with Lu Yao.

For the Mid-Autumn Festival, the cinema and Yuguizhai launched a co-branded mooncake gift box, setting an example for other shopkeepers on Song’an Street.

From that first collaboration, the cinema began working frequently with other nearby establishments: Chunxi Lou, Rongxi Bookstore, Rouge Pavilion, Baxiang Hall, Fuxian Residence, Six Happiness House, the kiln workshop outside the city, the carpenter’s shop, Jiang’s Paper Mill…

The camera zoomed out, returning the audience to the bustling streets of Song’an.

Somewhere along the way, popcorn stands began to appear on the street, along with wooden carts selling marinated skewers.

The carpenter’s youngest son, inspired by a bicycle shown in a movie, started experimenting with crafting a similar vehicle out of wood. The master craftsmen at the kiln worked tirelessly to replicate the thick yet translucent glass used in the cinema. The papermakers at Jiang’s were determined to figure out how to produce soft, durable tissues like those at the cinema.

Meanwhile, a local constable experimented with “forensic thinking” to solve cold cases, and a group of women handed out handwritten flyers to promote their girls’ school, recruiting new students on the streets.

At first, the cinema simply provided the residents of Liangjing with a new and unheard-of form of entertainment.

Over time, films and the cinema became deeply woven into the fabric of this thousand-year-old city, influencing the people’s spirits, daily lives, commerce, and craftsmanship in countless ways.

The final scene features Lu Yao alongside Kuba and Tai Er, conducting their last street interview. By chance, they encounter the carriage of Her Lordship, Wan Baozhu.

Wan Baozhu lifts the curtain of the carriage and, upon seeing Lu Yao, steps out to accept the interview.

When asked about her favorite film, Wan Baozhu hesitates deeply.

She eventually says, “The most impactful one for me is The Moon Landing Project. In fact, I’ve watched every film ever shown in the cinema multiple times, and each rewatch offers new inspiration. But personally, I hold a special fondness for I Come from a Thousand Years Ago. There are still so many mysteries in this world, but I sincerely thank the seed from a thousand years into the future for choosing this era—choosing Liangjing.”

This answer surprises the distinguished young men and women seated in the theater. They hadn’t expected someone of Wan Baozhu’s status to appear in the film.

In private discussions, they had speculated that Her Lordship might have a particular fondness for the film The Crown Princess. The movie tells the story of an ambitious princess climbing step by step to the pinnacle of power—a tale eerily reminiscent of the first half of Wan Baozhu’s life.

With the current Emperor Wu’s high regard for her, the latter half of the story could almost be seen as a prophecy, potentially coming true at any time.

However, Wan Baozhu’s admission of liking I Come from a Thousand Years Ago feels genuine. Many noble heirs who have worked alongside her in the court have significantly revised their opinions of her.

This woman has ambition, but she also has talent and resolve.

She doesn’t conceal her aspirations to ascend the dragon gate even in the imperial court; why would she need to act on the streets?

Standing opposite her, Lu Yao responds, “It’s not just the seed that chose the era—Liangjing and its people also embraced the seed with open hearts, allowing it to take root and sprout. Cause and effect are intertwined; it’s as simple as that.”

Wan Baozhu, hailing from a thousand years in the past, and Lu Yao, born a thousand years in the future, share a smile.

The common folk don’t fully grasp why this film has the subtitle Conversations Across Millennia. Yet, some viewers in the theater already understand—the climax has passed.

The overhead lights come on, but the audience remains seated.

The hour-and-a-half runtime feels too brief, leaving a sense of longing.

Never before had they imagined that their ordinary lives, framed within the four corners of a screen, could captivate others, compelling them to sit still and savor every detail.

As the ending song concludes, the screen lights up with the word “Easter Egg” accompanied by a line of small text: “Unreleased interview footage has been compiled as an Easter egg, approximately 15 minutes long.”

Frequent moviegoers understand the meaning of “Easter egg,” and those preparing to leave quietly sit back down.

After watching the Easter egg, the audience orderly exits the theater. Some head to the restrooms, while others step outside to stand on the theater’s front steps, gazing down the long street.

Glass, once a luxury, now adorns the storefronts of many shops like Jinyu Pavilion and the pawnshop, replacing traditional counters.

On the street, some young people wobble along on wooden bicycles. Women walking by have brightly colored lips and radiant smiles.

From a nearby street corner, the crisp voice of a girl reading aloud drifts out from within a wall. In the tailoring shop, sleek and practical new short outfits are quietly displayed.

Compared to half a year ago, the changes on the street are far greater than anyone imagined.

Yet, immersed in these daily transformations, people failed to notice them.

It was only after seeing the old Song’an Street in the film and comparing it to the present that they suddenly realized—time flows silently, day by day. Even as ordinary citizens, they are swept along in the torrent of history.

The premiere of the new film far exceeded Fu Chi’s expectations. Unfortunately, its long runtime, combined with the Easter egg, meant only one screening could be held in the morning and another in the afternoon.

During the midday break, Fu Chi said to Lu Yao, “The inn is busy; since Die Qi and I can manage here, there’s no need for you to stay around all day.”

Lu Yao instructed the cleaning lady to thoroughly clean the second-floor holographic theater again, then turned to Fu Chi. “No, a guest is coming tonight. We need to prepare this afternoon.”

Fu Chi noticed Lu Yao’s serious expression and, realizing something, offered, “Shall I ask my friend and the other guests to make way?”

Lu Yao shook her head. “No need for that. After all, there are two screening halls. Besides, this guest may arrive early, so they might not even run into each other.”

Kuba pushed the door open and entered. Over the New Year, he had once again persuaded Lu Yao to let him change his hair color. Now he sported streaks of pink highlights as he stood by the door. “Lu Yao, there are some tribal folks lingering at the entrance, insisting they want to see you.”

Lu Yao thought for a moment and then told Kuba to invite them to the guest lounge.

Sure enough, it was the same group of people in foreign attire that she had noticed earlier in the morning. Their purpose was straightforward: they wanted to do business with her.

This visit to Liangjing felt markedly different from their last. The city had grown significantly more prosperous, radiating an indescribable vitality.

After watching the morning’s film, it felt as if they had witnessed Liangjing’s transformation day by day into what it was now.

Their eyes burned with envy, mixed with a touch of indignation.

They fantasized about opening a cinema like this in their own territory. In three or five years, what would their city look like then?

Hearing their request, Lu Yao felt it might be a tricky matter.

She politely declined and instead recommended several large, well-regarded merchants in Liangjing, whose businesses could fully meet their needs for supplies.

Liangjing was full of skilled artisans, many of whom drew inspiration from films and began developing various tools and products. In truth, the cinema was primarily an entertainment venue and couldn’t offer them much in terms of tangible support.

After sending off the foreign guests, Lu Yao took a short nap in the lounge before getting back to work.

It was destined to be a particularly busy day.

The cinema operated as usual in the afternoon, while the shopping street remained lively since the morning.

Lu Yao made a brief stop at the inn and then toured the shops one by one. By the time she returned to the cinema, it was close to closing time.

In the evening, only a few staff members stayed behind to assist the remaining guests, while the rest of the employees clocked out on time.

As soon as the “Closed” sign was hung on the cinema door, a discreet carriage slowly came to a halt at the entrance. Lu Yao walked forward alone to greet it.

Wan Baozhu lifted the curtain and was the first to step down, giving Lu Yao a playful wink.

Following her was the Eighth Prince, and finally, the Emperor himself.

That morning, Wan Baozhu had relayed the message that Emperor Wu would be sneaking out of the palace in disguise to watch the premiere of the new film that evening.

Emperor Wu had visited the cinema privately several times before, and Lu Yao, having received him on each occasion, was already accustomed to the routine.

She personally escorted the distinguished guests upstairs. Wan Baozhu, despite having already seen the film once during the day, had to accompany the Emperor to watch it again.

However, the morning screening had been in 2D, while the evening screening was in holographic format, which might make it less monotonous.

After ensuring the guests were comfortably settled, Lu Yao closed the screening hall door and turned to leave.

Once the film ended and the Emperor was safely sent on his way, she would finally be able to return to the inn.

As for the guests in the shopping street, she left them to Fu Chi’s care.

…

Shopping Street – Noon

One car after another turned off the main road and onto the side street, winding up the gentle slope toward the shopping street.

The assistant drove, with Ji Feirong sitting in the front passenger seat. Following them in the convoy were Ji Feichen, Luo Huan, Jing Yuxi, and Bai Jing’s family.

The parking lot was already packed with the employees’ cars. Ji Feirong’s vehicle barely squeezed into a spot, while the others had to park along the side road, leaving their cars in the middle of the street.

After stepping out of the car, the assistant struggled to maintain her composure.

She could never have imagined that the “special place” Mr. Ji had mentioned would be located in such a remote, rural area.

What baffled her even more was that all the luxury cars trailing behind them belonged to families that appeared to be at least middle-class or affluent in Yaoguang City. She couldn’t fathom what had drawn them all to this unlikely spot.

The assistant reminded herself not to let her ignorance show on her face, but as she glanced over the row of luxury cars, she spotted two small electric scooters squeezed in between them. Blinking, she leaned forward for a better look, thinking she must have been mistaken.

What kind of place was this?

Ahead, other guests were also getting out of their cars. Ji Feichen, Luo Huan, and Jing Yuxi had all come alone, while four people emerged from Bai Jing’s car.

Bai Lu had been adamant about not watching the film.

However, over the past two or three days, Bai Jin and Bai Zheng had been unusually excited, constantly chatting and occasionally staring at their phones with goofy grins. Their behavior, slightly unsettling, piqued her curiosity.

At noon, Bai Jing suggested going to the shopping street for lunch.

Bai Zheng and Bai Jin enthusiastically agreed, claiming they were also craving the food there.

Bai Lu couldn’t resist her curiosity and decided to join them.

After getting out of the car, she felt uneasy, her gaze sweeping the surroundings. Not seeing Lu Yao, she felt slightly relieved.

The entire trip had been nerve-wracking for her, fearing an awkward encounter. Now that the tension eased, she finally took in her surroundings.

Desolate. Remote.

Was there really any business here?

Yet, judging by how unfazed the other guests were, Bai Lu held back her questions.

Hearing the sound of engines, the shop staff, who were on their lunch break, came out from their stores and offices to see what was happening.

Bai Lu immediately noticed Ji Qingyan and Zheng Ziyang stepping out of the inn, her mood becoming complicated.

She wasn’t surprised about Ji Qingyan, but what about Zheng Ziyang? Wasn’t he the one who claimed poor health made him unfit for reception work?

At this moment, Bai Lu started to feel something was off.

Was she the only one who thought this job wasn’t ideal?

Ji Zhixin saw Ji Feirong and froze for a moment, surprised to see her there.

He walked over to help her with her bag. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Ji Feirong replied breezily, “I’m just here to relax—do I need to report everything to you?”

During the years when Ji Zhixin’s leg injury had kept him grounded, Ji Feirong had been like any ordinary, worried mother, setting her career aside.

Now that Ji Zhixin had recovered and chose to stay in the shopping street, Ji Feirong had returned to the Ji family’s central business operations, her demeanor sharp and decisive once more.

Ji Qingyan, whom Ji Feirong had recommended to Lu Yao, quickly came over to greet her. “Aunt.”

Ji Feirong gave her a glance, a smile on her lips. “I thought you might not stay. Are you settling in well?”

Ji Qingyan smiled and nodded. “It’s quite fascinating here. I really enjoy this new job.”

Bai Lu: “…”

The group arrived early, intending to have lunch at one of the stores.

Since Lu Yao and Fu Chi were busy at the cinema and didn’t show up, Ji Zhixin led them to the Little Pet Cafe instead.

Among the group, only Bai Lu and the assistant were first-time visitors. Ji Zhixin handed each of them a wristband pass, which they had to wear to enter the café’s more unique setting.

The café, situated in a deep-sea-themed world, left Bai Lu and the assistant astounded.

Now they understood why people spoke about this place with both secrecy and enthusiasm.

Lunch was a leisurely affair, with moments where both Bai Lu and the assistant felt as if they were dreaming.

After the meal, there were still thirty minutes before the film screening began. The group strolled to digest their food, not wanting to feel uncomfortable during the movie.

At that moment, two more cars slowly drove in from the main road. Unable to find parking, they stopped behind Bai Jing’s vehicle.

Feng Xiang and Du Mingyan had followed their phone’s navigation to this spot. Seeing the crowd and cars gathered, they were utterly perplexed.

Fu Chi received the message and came out to greet them. Counting the attendees, he realized everyone was present.

Without much explanation, he led them toward the cinema.

Du Mingyan and Feng Xiang wanted to chat with Fu Chi but couldn’t find an opportunity.

As they entered the cinema, they were instantly enveloped in a nighttime atmosphere despite it being broad daylight outside. Startled, some turned back, confused about what had just happened.

Fu Chi called out ahead of them. “There’s a bit of a time shift—don’t worry about it. The holographic screening hall is on the second floor. I’ll take you up.”

After taking a few steps, he turned back. “I heard we have two last-minute guests. They’ll need to get tickets first.”

As he spoke, several people dressed in traditional clothing descended the staircase from the second floor.

Lu Yao was in the middle of the group, chatting casually with Emperor Wu. Suddenly, she sensed the surrounding atmosphere grow quiet.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

In the distant Tianji City, Ji Feirong finished watching the movie trailer and immediately purchased a “599” full-immersion holographic movie ticket.

Customers at the shopping street all possess VIP bracelets with their information embedded. For the beta test, their VIP accounts were linked to their online accounts, enabling seamless payment through direct deductions from their VIP balance.

If the account balance is insufficient, recharging and payments can be completed online.

The premiere of the film was scheduled for three days later. Ji Feirong instructed her assistant to clear her schedule, allowing for a two-day break, and planned to fly directly to Yaoguang City on the day of the event.

As the assistant was about to leave, Ji Feirong called out:
“This time, I’m going to a special place. If you’re interested, book an additional ticket.”

The assistant was surprised. Previously, Ji Feirong had only gone to Yaoguang City for Ji Dashao (the eldest young master) and never requested company.

The Ji family already had representatives in Yaoguang City, so typically, no one from the main household was sent unless it was for a special reason.

This sounded like an opportunity for promotion.

But what kind of special place in a remote city like Yaoguang, thousands of miles from the Ji family in Tianji, could deserve Ji Feirong’s attention?

The assistant paused at the door.

During the New Year, the two current family heads and Ji Dashao all returned from Yaoguang City.

Without overthinking, the assistant returned to her desk and booked two tickets.

That same day, every customer who received the beta invitation purchased a movie ticket, and all opted for the 599 full-immersion version.

Bai Zheng and Bai Jin, still captivated after buying their tickets, attempted to recharge their accounts to access VIP content, only to be informed:
“During the beta phase, paid services are unavailable.”

Bai Zheng & Bai Jin: “…”

They assumed the beta test was just a hook, and they were willing to bite, but it seemed the only purpose was to sell movie tickets.

Noticing their younger cousin Bai Lu casually scrolling through social media nearby, they managed to calm down slightly.

Bai Lu looked up, curious: “What were you two so engrossed in just now?”

Bai Jin and Bai Zheng exchanged glances. If the holographic movie was as immersive as they imagined, taking their younger cousin along wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Bai Jin turned toward Bai Lu with a serious expression:
“It’s kind of special. In a few days, your brother Zheng and I are going to see a new movie. Want to join us?”

Bai Lu, intrigued, began browsing the movie schedule: “What’s coming out soon that’s worth seeing?”

“It’s not a publicly released film. It’s… that shop owner you met before, Boss Lu. She’s hosting an event.” Bai Zheng, feeling awkward, explained in vague terms.

Just then, both Bai Zheng and Bai Jin received a message from the same account. Upon inquiry, they realized it was Bai Yi.

Bai Yi created a group chat and named it “Yaoguang City F4”, including herself, Bai Jin, Bai Zheng, and Bai Jing.

[Bai Yi]: “Here we go! Finally, we have our happy place!”

[Bai Jin]: “@Bai Yi How’d you find us?”

[Bai Yi]: “Your nicknames are the same as on WeChat. I just tried my luck, and it worked.”

The app’s contact feature includes a contacts tab where users can see the number of active accounts and their nicknames.

Since many beta participants had exchanged social contacts with Lu Yao, she cleverly used their social account nicknames as default entries when setting up the app, along with randomly generated avatars. Users could modify these details upon login.

Bai Zheng and Bai Jin, completely absorbed in VIP’s content, had forgotten about this feature, leaving an opening for Bai Yi to exploit.

[Bai Zheng]: “@Bai Yi @Bai Jing Are you guys coming to that movie?”

[Bai Yi]: “Of course! I’ve never seen a holographic movie before, and Director Fu is giving out tickets!”

[Bai Jin]: “What’s this about free tickets? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

[Bai Yi]: “Director Fu gave all the shopping street employees free tickets. Whether or not they attend is up to them. I think most will go—after all, it’s a holographic movie, and it’s free.”

【Bai Zheng: I’m so jealous!】

【Bai Jing: I’ll also be there on the premiere day. When are you guys going?】

For online ticket purchases, customers can freely adjust their movie showtimes within the time slots provided by the cinema, depending on their own schedules.

Lu Yao deliberately arranged the showtimes so that customers from the shopping street and those from Great Wu Dynasty wouldn’t overlap. The two groups had staggered schedules.

There’s about a half-day time difference between the Great Wu Dynasty and the shopping street; when it’s afternoon in the shopping street, it’s evening in the Great Wu Dynasty.

For shopping street customers, the available showtimes range from 1:00 PM to 11:00 PM.

The Yaoguang City F4 chatted happily in their group for a while and agreed to meet at the shopping street on the premiere afternoon.

Bai Jin looked up at Bai Lu and said, “Bai Jing-ge is going too. If you want to come, we can let the boss know in advance.”

Bai Lu, recalling her previous interview experience, hesitated to decline.

However, hearing that Bai Jing would also be there made her waver.

“I was pretty rude last time. Would it be awkward if I showed up at the store again?”

Bai Zheng, straightforward as ever, replied, “You’d just be a customer. Lu Yao wouldn’t give you a hard time.”

Bai Jin noticed Bai Lu’s lingering concerns and tugged on Bai Zheng’s sleeve, signaling him not to push too hard. Turning to Bai Lu, he said, “No worries at all. If you don’t want to go, it’s totally fine.”

Meanwhile, Fu Chi finalized the two guests he decided to invite: a well-known producer, Du Mingyan, and a famous director, Feng Xiang.

Both were personal friends of Fu Chi and highly influential in their respective fields.

Lu Yao obtained their contact details and asked Fu Chi to call and inform them first.

After confirming everything, Lu Yao planned to use the internal system to contact the customers.

With the new internal network system in place, expanding the customer base had become much more efficient. There was no longer a need to bring people physically to the shopping street—everything could now be handled online, saving time and effort.

Feng Xiang had just finished speaking with Fu Chi on the phone. As he hung up, he wondered why Fu Chi, after six months of rest, had suddenly gone off to shoot a film, keeping the project shrouded in mystery. Fu Chi didn’t even disclose the genre, only saying that a preview would soon be pushed to Feng Xiang’s phone.

No project involving Fu Chi had surfaced online recently, and even the movie title wasn’t mentioned. How was it supposed to be pushed to him?

The next moment, a strange message popped up on his phone—a golden gift box tied with a ribbon.

【You have a new movie trailer. Would you like to watch it?】

In the top-left corner of the pop-up, a 30-second countdown timer began ticking down.

Feng Xiang hesitated. Could this be the trailer Fu Chi mentioned? It seemed suspiciously like some sketchy online ad.

As the countdown dwindled from two digits to one, Feng Xiang lazily tapped “Yes.”

The gift box burst open, revealing a small screen.

Feng Xiang’s frown deepened as he watched the trailer. A documentary? About opening a cinema in ancient times? Was this a joke for kids?

The title, Conversations Across Millennia: The People of Liangjing and the Cinema, sounded more like an academic thesis than a movie title. It practically screamed “box office flop.”

Still, he had promised Fu Chi to attend the premiere. When another prompt appeared on the screen, Feng Xiang resignedly clicked “Yes” again.

Before he realized it, a new app named Lu Yao’s Shopping Street appeared on his phone. To log in, he had to sign an unusual “confidentiality agreement.”

The terms were vastly different from the standard disclaimers he’d encountered before. Some clauses seemed almost childish, but after ensuring there were no traps in the wording, Feng Xiang cooperatively signed it.

His role was listed as “Visitor,” which restricted access to most features of the app. The only active feature was the “Contacts” section, where a small chat window displayed his holographic movie ticket.

Holographic?

Feng Xiang frowned.

Could it be that Fu Chi had lost his mind, indulging in such flashy, over-the-top gimmicks?

Feng Xiang couldn’t hold back his thoughts. He immediately exited the app and dialed Fu Chi’s number.

Busy.

He waited a few minutes and called again.

Still busy.

Feng Xiang put away his phone.

Forget it. He’d be seeing Fu Chi in a few days anyway. By then, he’d have a serious conversation with him—starting with recommending a change of rehab center. Half a year of rest, and not only was Fu Chi’s spirit unhealed, but his brain seemed to have deteriorated as well.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, the person keeping Fu Chi tied up was none other than the other invited guest, Du Mingyan.

Like Feng Xiang, she had received the movie trailer via her phone.

Du Mingyan, with her sharp instincts, immediately sensed something unusual—not just with the trailer but also the method of its precise delivery.

She called Fu Chi right away. Unable to divulge much, Fu Chi simply asked her to follow the instructions and log into the shopping street app as a visitor.

After some back-and-forth, both guests successfully obtained holographic movie tickets for the cinema.

However, both Feng Xiang and Du Mingyan couldn’t shake a sense of unease about the upcoming screening and agreed to discuss it with Fu Chi in person when they met.

Over the next two days, real-time monitoring showed the internal network system stabilizing, and employees and customers participating in the beta test gradually grew accustomed to it.

The movie trailer also premiered on the large ad screens at the cinema. While the documentary, centered on Liangjing’s citizens and its cinema, might not seem immediately compelling, the participation of many local fans—especially in street interviews—drew interest.

Liangjing’s residents were deeply honored by the prospect of appearing on the big screen. The film, tied closely to their daily lives, naturally struck a chord.

Within half a day of its trailer release, tea houses, taverns, and markets across Liangjing were abuzz with discussions.

“Are you going to see that new cinema film?”

“Of course! Boss Lu even filmed me on the street back then. I might even make it to the big screen.”

The person across the table chuckled. “You? With your mumbling, how could you possibly make it into the movie?”

“I’m telling you, don’t underestimate me! They called it a ‘street interview.’ I don’t get it, but Boss Lu even paid me a few coins, saying my clip might be used.”

…

At Aunt Zhu’s duck-blood vermicelli stand, a group of customers was also chatting.

“That documentary—are you going to watch it?”

“Definitely. We can’t afford advertising, and Boss Lu isn’t going to film just us. But the whole street’s in the trailer; I bet our shop will show up!”

“So, will you watch the cheap screening or the expensive one?”

“The cheap one. As long as we can see it, that’s enough. Why pay extra for some immersive experience when we can just walk out onto the street?”

The diner burst into laughter.

Beyond the ordinary residents, prominent figures like Eunuch Wan Baozhu, Xie Xu, Prince Jin, and other aristocrats and noblewomen were also eagerly anticipating the film.

They had already noticed the significant changes the cinema brought to Liangjing’s everyday life but never thought these transformations would be captured in a movie.

As the saying goes: “A mirror of bronze to dress neatly; a mirror of antiquity to learn history; a mirror of men to understand right and wrong.”

The new movie trailer was like a moving mirror, reflecting Liangjing City and its people’s lives. It offered the chance to refine, reflect, and understand.

With the internal network and cinema plans settled, Lu Yao shifted her focus back to the inn.

…

On a sunny day, Lu Yao carried a bamboo basket on her back and set out with Budu, Heici, and Beef Cube for a little outdoor exploration.

The area around the inn looked barren after the thorny bushes were cleared.

Lu Yao planned to plant some flowering trees and greenery during the favorable Sunshine season. However, she wasn’t sure if directly transplanting plants from other worlds would work, so she decided to explore the local environment and vegetation on the Nitean Continent first.

This time, she chose to head behind the inn.

Behind the inn lay a gentle slope that gradually steepened into a rugged hillside as it rose.

The snow along the path was melting, and beneath the thin layer, tiny green buds the size of rice grains were emerging.

Heici, perched on Lu Yao’s shoulder, spotted the budding greens, slid down her clothes, and, with Beef Cube, ran over, squatting to pluck the tiny buds and stuffing them into their cheeks until they were puffed up like balloons. Finally, Heici turned to Lu Yao and called out, “It’s delicious! Lu Yao, come try it!”

Lu Yao and Budu carefully approached, mindful not to step on the budding vegetation, and squatted beside Heici and Beef Cube.

“What is this?” Lu Yao asked.

Heici handed her a small handful, urging her to try.

Unable to refuse, Lu Yao picked up one and took a small bite. It burst with fresh, crisp juice in her mouth, sweet and tender.

Heici looked up at her expectantly, smiling as she reacted.

“What’s so funny?” Lu Yao asked, puzzled.

Heici shook his head and started running uphill, Beef Cube following behind with quick, short breaths.

Their small figures scurried ahead, but Lu Yao and Budu easily caught up in a few steps.

Halfway up the mountain, the terrain grew rocky, with bare, tall trees standing straight and gnarled like stern sentinels.

The sound of rushing water reached Lu Yao’s ears. She bent down, picked up Heici and Beef Cube, and followed the sound.

Budu trailed steadily behind her.

The closer they got to the water, the lusher the vegetation became. Delicate branches and vibrant green leaves surrounded them, and yellow flowers bloomed in clusters from cracks in the rocks.

The sound of water grew louder until a narrow stream, just wide enough to fit her foot, appeared. Pink and white blossoms floated down the current in clusters.

Lu Yao knelt to scoop up some water. The moment her fingers touched it, her brow arched in surprise.

It was warm.

Hot spring water.

Finding a hot spring on the mountain was excellent news.

Energized, Lu Yao continued upstream with her companions.

The plants near the hot spring thrived even more. The path felt like stepping into a hidden paradise.

After about 200 meters, they came upon two thick flowering trees standing on either side of the stream, their branches covered in pink and white blossoms. Petals fluttered into the water with the breeze. Behind the trees, a natural hot spring basin formed by rocks emitted steam, with only a small stream of warm water trickling out through the stones.

“This is truly a beautiful spot,” Lu Yao exclaimed.

Heici slid off her shoulder, discarded his fur wrap, and grabbed a leaf to use as a makeshift umbrella before leaping into the warm pool with a splash. Soon, he was floating on the leaf, his two pale buttocks bobbing above the water.

Beef Cube hesitant around water, stood on a rock, anxiously squeaking.

Heici, clearly experienced with hot springs, flicked water off his ears and shouted to Lu Yao on the shore, “Lu Yao! Bath time!”

Lu Yao took off her shoes and socks, rinsed her feet at the edge, and then sat on a rock, dipping her legs into the pool.

The water was slightly hotter than expected but incredibly relaxing.

Unfortunately, Budu couldn’t join in and sat at a distance under the flowering trees.

Lu Yao picked up a fallen flower from the stones and placed it in Heici’s leaf boat. The pale pink blossoms piled up like a small mountain before Heici swiped them into the water, where they floated and drifted.

After soaking for a while, Lu Yao pulled out a lunchbox prepared by Xiao Zheng from her bamboo basket and placed it on her lap.

Inside were two types of sandwiches: one filled with egg spread, tender steak, and vegetables; the other with sweet corn, ham, and vegetables.

Lu Yao, Budu, and Heici shared the sandwiches, while Beef Cube contentedly crunched on a single freeze-dried dog treat.

Spring day, hot springs, and an outdoor meal.

The three humans and one wolf enjoyed the warmth of the season, unaware that midway up the trunk of one flowering tree, a hollow concealed a tree-dwelling couple of little people.

The tiny couple, having endured the long, harsh ice period, were just about to venture out to forage under the pleasant weather. However, early that morning, they discovered big humans near their home. Trembling with fear, they stayed hidden in the tree, cautiously observing.

After finishing their meal, Lu Yao and her group packed up to leave.

Before departing, she circled the flowering tree several times to memorize its features, planning to transplant a few smaller ones around the inn.

In addition to this flowering tree, she intended to relocate other flowering plants she had spotted along the way to the inn’s surroundings. Once the weather warmed up, the inn would be surrounded by a vibrant sea of blossoms.

While Lu Yao was circling the tree, the little people hiding within nearly wrapped themselves into cocoons out of fear.

Once the humans finally left, the couple lay against the trunk, recovering from their terror.

When they could no longer see the humans in the distance, they cautiously climbed down and noticed corn kernels scattered near the hot spring pool.

Back at the inn, Heici proudly carried a large bag of freshly picked buds—the tiny green shoots he had shared with Lu Yao earlier—and presented them to Yuanwei and Zhu Zhou.

Jing Qingyan and Xiao Zheng also received a small handful to taste.

Their first reaction was to snap photos and post about it: “A springtime gift from our native colleagues—super sweet!”

Lu Yao sat on a small stool by the door, sorting through the seedlings in her basket.

She had dug up a few plants on the way back and planned to test-plant them around the inn.

While handling the seedlings, she noticed the calamus saplings stored in her portable warehouse and had an idea: could these tiny plants be grown as well?

However, the calamus saplings were different from the other plants. They were unusually short and small, almost like miniature versions. Most flora on the Nitean Continent was not of this diminutive size.

They were so small that planting them casually by the roadside would risk them being trampled.

Lu Yao decided to prepare small flowerpots for them, like those used for succulents, making them easier to care for.

Busy days flew by, and soon it was the premiere of Conversations Across Millennia: The People of Liangjing and the Cinema.

Late that night, Fu Chi arrived promptly at the cinema. Lu Yao was already there, and a line of eager moviegoers stretched out from the entrance.

Lu Yao patted Fu Chi on the shoulder. “Director Fu, this is a blockbuster hit in the making!”

In the Great Wu Dynasty, the New Year celebrations were still ongoing. Rumor had it that foreign emissaries had come to the capital to present gifts, and the streets were occasionally dotted with people in exotic clothing.

Standing at the front desk for a while, Lu Yao recognized several familiar faces among the crowd. Sure enough, a few individuals in foreign attire were also queued up to buy tickets.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Budu’s little face brightened, completely different from the pale, colorless expression moments ago, now glowing with the excitement of a child entrusted with their first errand.

“What is it? I’ll do it perfectly,” he said.

Lu Yao bent down, extending her hand toward him. “We’ll talk about it when we get back. The other day, I passed by here and saw the flower trees along this riverbank sprouting buds. Budu, have you ever seen spring during your time on Qianmen Mountain?”

Budu’s hands were as cold as iron, never warming even when tucked into pockets, and she wasn’t wearing gloves today.

He hesitated, not reaching out, and instead looked at her in confusion, shaking his head slightly.

Qianmen Mountain was blanketed in snow year-round, and as a snow spirit, warmth meant death to him. He had never witnessed the melting of winter snow or the revival of spring.

Lu Yao stepped forward, taking his hand and leading him along the path lined with flower trees just beginning to sprout tiny rice-grain-sized buds. “I want to take a break today, so let me show you the spring in the human world.”

Budu lowered his head slightly, pressing his lips together to stifle the smile threatening to break free.

Spring or winter, it didn’t matter to him. As long as he could stay by her side, he was content.

Lu Yao continued, “I don’t understand much about gods, but I’ve had the fortune to meet a few. If you stay with me, all you’ll learn is how to be human.”

Budu’s heart skipped a beat, and he looked up at her.

Lu Yao stood on tiptoe, pulling down a thin branch extending toward the water. Its brownish twigs were densely covered with budding shoots. “But I think, before becoming a god, perhaps being human for a while isn’t such a bad idea.”

Budu’s gaze moved from the slender branch she held to her face, his heart trembling like the branch in her hand.

Lu Yao released the branch, smiling with her eyes, the light in them piercing through like sunshine breaking into the water, reaching the depths of his soul.

“Budu, don’t reject the spring,” Lu Yao said. “There are all kinds of gods—compassionate ones, cruel ones, arrogant ones, and selfless ones. What kind of god do you think you’ll become? I’m looking forward to it.”

[I’m looking forward to it.]

The words reignited the lonely, stubborn corners of Budu’s heart, and his crimson eyes glowed even brighter.

He nodded firmly. “Okay.”

It was still early spring, and this riverside path lined with flower trees wasn’t nearly as vibrant as the previous year when Lu Yao first arrived at the shopping street. The branches were only beginning to form buds.

A cold wind blew in from the river, causing Lu Yao to sneeze. Budu immediately insisted they return.

As they turned to head back, a muffled “plop” resounded from behind.

Lu Yao stopped and turned at the sound, spotting the splash of water. Without a second thought, she ran over, threw her coat to Budu, kicked off her shoes, and jumped into the river.

Budu stood on the riverbank clutching her coat, his face filled with worry.

About a minute later, Lu Yao surfaced, dragging someone with her.

She pushed the person toward the shore, where Budu pulled them out.

The person, coughing and retching from the water they’d swallowed, collapsed in a disheveled heap on the ground.

Lu Yao climbed out, sitting on the ground with her knees up, dripping wet from head to toe. Water streamed continuously from her hair and clothes.

She glanced sideways at the person, raising an eyebrow. “It’s you.”

The woman raised her head, her brow furrowed tightly. She didn’t recognize Lu Yao.

Lu Yao stood up, taking the coat from Budu and wrapping it around herself, still shivering from the cold. “We met at the hospital once. You probably didn’t notice me. I’m Lu Yao.”

The woman looked down, tidying herself up, her voice hoarse from the water she’d swallowed. “I don’t remember. But thank you.”

Lu Yao asked, “You weren’t trying to end your life, were you?”

The woman shook her head. “I just came out to get some air and got lost in thought.”

What kind of heavy mind does it take to become that lost in thought?

Lu Yao recalled the two times she had seen her and felt a pang of sympathy. “You’re drenched. My place is just up there. Why don’t you come and change into some dry clothes?”

Yu Shu shook her head. “Thank you for your kindness, but my car is parked just up ahead. I’ll head back now.”

Lu Yao followed her gaze to see a white sedan parked on the riverside embankment.

Perhaps she really was just out to clear her head.

Lu Yao didn’t press further, watching as Yu Shu trudged up the embankment and drove away. Only then did she and Budu head back.

Returning to the shopping street, Ji Feiming was startled to see Lu Yao dripping wet.

Lu Yao brushed him off, heading to the nail salon to shower and change into dry clothes before returning to the inn.

Budu was there with Ji Qingyan, building models. Meanwhile, Yuanwei and Xiao Zheng were in the main kitchen, exchanging cooking tips, and Heici and Zhu Zhou were outside practicing driving the miniature train.

Post-ice period, the weather on the Nitean continent was mostly clear.

Lu Yao inspected the inside and outside of the inn before grabbing a small stool and a basket of model parts. “Budu, want to come with me to fix the tracks?”

Budu put down the model in his hand and jumped off his high stool. “I’ll go.”

Lu Yao headed toward the door. “Bring your own stool.”

During the inn’s initial days, Lu Yao, Harold, and Budu had built a path outside the Thorn Valley, later adding a circular track along the fence.

Now that the ice period had ended and the sunshine season was approaching, life was beginning to flourish again. This season was said to be one of the most active for the Nitean people.

The inn aimed to take advantage of this season to increase income and complete system tasks.

Lu Yao planned to build four main roads extending in four directions from the inn, interspersed with train tracks and mini car paths, creating a spiderweb-shaped transportation network centered on the inn.

It was a massive project, but replicating the design of the first road and track would simplify the process, allowing it to progress step by step.

The main road from the Red Pig Tribe already connected to the inn; now they only needed to build a track to link it on either side.

Lu Yao and Budu sat on opposite sides of the fence, ready to begin. Lu Yao pulled out a gift box from her portable storage and handed it over. “This is for you.”

Budu took the gift box, which looked similar to the ones distributed to the nail salon staff the previous day, except this one had a different wrapping pattern.

The wrapping was a cool silver-gray with intricate snowflake designs and plump little snowmen.

Budu ran his fingers over the textured pattern, a slight smile curving his lips.

Lu Yao smiled along. “Open it and see.”

As expected, inside was a sleek silver smartphone.

Lu Yao explained, “This phone is different from the others. In addition to the internal network system, it also has the back-end system, just like mine.”

Budu lifted his gaze, staring intently at her.

Lu Yao continued, “What I said earlier by the river wasn’t just to comfort you. The internal network spans multiple worlds and taps into various forces. While staff and guests are bound by agreements, there’s no guarantee there won’t be loopholes.

“Desire fuels power, and with so many unknown worlds, we can’t predict when something might breach the network. As the developer and operator of this system, I need someone who is absolutely neutral and absolutely powerful to manage it. In this world, no one but you is qualified.”

Lu Yao envisioned Budu not just guarding the internal network but also protecting the boundaries between worlds. No one was more suitable for the role than a god—or a deity in training.

Budu clutched the phone tightly, his heart pounding.

Seeing his serious expression, Lu Yao reached through the fence and ruffled his silver hair. “Relax. There’s still so much for you to learn. Our inn has many exceptional human staff members. Observe and ask questions. Don’t be shy.”

Budu lowered his head, his expression softening. “Okay.”

…

Yaoguang City, Downtown.

Bai Jing stepped out of the meeting room holding a stack of documents, his expression carrying a hint of fatigue.

Back in his office, he set the documents down casually and leaned back in his chair. Removing his glasses, he closed his eyes and massaged his brow. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Ignoring it, Bai Jing continued rubbing his temples and rested for a while longer before reaching for his phone. A new message lit up the screen:

[Dear VIP user, good afternoon. Lu Yao’s Shopping Street invites you to participate in the client beta test. Would you like to download the “Lu Yao’s Shopping Street App”?]

Bai Jing’s brow twitched slightly. He had been swamped since the Lunar New Year and hadn’t visited the Shopping Street for nearly two weeks.

When did Lu Yao develop an app?

Every visit required signing a strict confidentiality agreement. Launching an app and promoting it widely—was this really okay?

Moreover, given that the stores were all from other worlds, how could an online app provide services? Bai Jing couldn’t fathom why Lu Yao had created this feature.

Despite his doubts, he tapped “Yes” with his finger.

The page transitioned: [Response received. Downloading app…]

Five minutes later, Bai Jing returned with a cup of hot water to find his phone screen displaying: [Download complete.]

Setting the cup down, he sat back in his chair and opened the newly installed app, named “Lu Yao’s Shopping Street.” Its interface was simple, with a black, white, and gray color scheme. The layout was sparse, with four main tabs at the bottom: Contacts, Shopping Street Feed, VIP, and User.

Before exploring the functions, a supplementary confidentiality agreement popped up on the screen.

To participate in the beta test, clients were required to sign this updated agreement.

Bai Jing hesitated briefly before selecting “Agree” and scanning his fingerprint.

Once inside the User tab, he found himself automatically logged in.

The interface displayed his real information, including his name, VIP level, the date he became a VIP client, his status, account code, subscribed channels, and user guidelines.

His VIP registration date was listed as last year, and his level correlated with his spending at the marketplace.

As one of the earliest VIP clients of Lu Yao’s Shopping Street, Bai Jing’s status was marked as “Senior VIP Client,” adorned with a public crown icon.

Following this was his account code, an empty subscriptions section, and a usage guide. The final option was “Delete App.”

The Contacts function resembled a dedicated chat feature for the marketplace, while the Shopping Street Circle was similar to conventional social media feeds. The VIP tab, however, remained inaccessible for now.

Bai Jing exited the user tab. So far, nothing about the app seemed particularly groundbreaking compared to others.

He tapped into Contacts and Shopping Street Feed, but as he hadn’t added any friends, both sections were empty.

Bai Jing grew increasingly puzzled. Was this app merely a means to maintain VIP clientele?

Just then, the clock in the corner of his screen ticked from 16:59 to 17:00, and a new message popped up:

[Dear Senior VIP user, during the beta test, the VIP is open to you free of charge for 30 minutes daily. Enjoy your experience!]

Bai Jing stared at the message for half a minute, zeroing in on the key phrase “free of charge.” The implicit message: “After 30 minutes, continued access will require payment.”

Interesting.

In this age of information overload, modern users had grown accustomed to novel and intriguing content, with a high threshold for fascination.

Unfortunately, Bai Jing, being a surgeon, rarely encountered content that genuinely compelled him to pay for access.

He doubted that the rudimentary app from Lu Yao’s Shopping Street could offer anything truly extraordinary, but since it was free, there was no harm in exploring.

He tapped the screen lightly, entering the VIP section.

Simultaneously, many other clients who had received the beta invitation also began exploring. Among them were Jing Yuxi, idly resting after piano practice; Luo Huan, heading home after a game of basketball with friends; and Ji Feirong, just finishing a board meeting.

Two days ago, news about the shopping street’s development of an online platform spread, and Ji Feichen, a newly joined VIP client, found himself unexpectedly included in the beta test list.

The number of customers from the current world was small, even fewer than the staff in some shops. To gather more valuable data, Lu Yao had to invite all the clients to participate in the beta test.

…

In a city cinema, Bai Zheng, Bai Jin, and Bai Lu had just finished watching a movie.

While Bai Lu went to the restroom, Bai Zheng and Bai Jin sat in the lounge area, pulled out their phones, and immediately noticed the beta test invitation.

They exchanged a glance and began downloading the app.

By the time Bai Lu returned, her cousins were glued to their screens, completely ignoring her.

She leaned closer to see what they were doing but was baffled as their phones appeared as if protected by privacy screens.

Meanwhile, Bai Zheng and Bai Jin seemed entranced, their eyes widening with each passing moment, occasionally muttering phrases like, “Whoa,” “Oh my,” and “Holy—.”

Feeling exasperated, Bai Lu plopped down next to Bai Jin, pulled out her own phone, and started scrolling through social media, waiting for them to snap out of it.

In the hospital office, Bai Jing had just entered the VIP section.

The interface suddenly transformed. A pale blue border decorated with colorful doodles appeared—at first glance, seemingly childish, but upon closer inspection, exuding a refreshing charm.

The layout was reminiscent of a typical social media content platform, with rows of gray content boxes resembling a “daily to-do list.” It was unclear what lay within each box.

In the top-left corner of the screen was a countdown timer, displaying 30 minutes.

Ignoring the timer, Bai Jing tapped on the first gray box. The bar expanded into a small screen—

On it appeared a translucent blue slime with pudgy little arms, each finger seemingly adorned with something.

At this point, Bai Jing hadn’t realized the gravity of what he was witnessing. The slime’s soft, glistening appearance was strikingly lifelike, far removed from typical 3D-rendered visuals.

The adorable blob began to chant, “O dark forces hidden within—”

Snap, snap, snap! The nails on its chubby fingers detached and transformed.

Accompanied by a classic transformation BGM, an armored, gallant young figure emerged from a watery curtain, with light blue eyes and long hair. His face bore a striking resemblance to Lu Yao’s.

Bai Jing took a deep breath, glancing at the top-left corner of the small screen. The account info displayed a cute slime avatar with a bow icon next to the ID, “Jiji.”

Was this a synthesized video or a genuine daily share from the Shopping Street?

Bai Jing couldn’t immediately tell.

Even as a seasoned VIP client, this was his first time encountering such content. Knowing the mysterious nature of the Shopping Street only made it harder for him to stay composed.

If the daily shares on this platform were all authentic glimpses from the Shopping Street’s otherworldly domains, then paying for this content might genuinely be worth it…

Unknowingly, Bai Jing’s thoughts had already shifted. Eager to confirm his suspicions, he tapped on the next gray box.

The second content bar unfolded, and Bai Jing became increasingly convinced that the VIP’s shared posts were all from the Shopping Street’s otherworldly dimensions.

This particular entry was undoubtedly from the Little Pet Café.

The first frame showed a breathtaking sunset in the distance, the camera gradually panning back to reveal a pier. A group of plump, round seals were adorably stacking themselves in a game of “seal tower,” letting out soft “awoo” cries.

Bai Jing’s lips curled upward involuntarily. Having visited the Little Pet Café several times, he instantly recognized these as the shop’s signature waterdrop seals.

The clip was only about ten seconds long, but the waterdrop seals, much like cats, hit all the aesthetic sweet spots for humans.

Furry, snow-white fur, round heads, and soft cries of “awoo, awoo.”

Watching it once wasn’t enough; Bai Jing wanted to replay it. But when he tried, it wouldn’t load again.

The interface displayed: “During the free trial, repeat viewing is not supported.”

Bai Jing: “…”

A sense of impending doom, as if he were about to be “harvested,” crossed his mind. He glanced at the countdown timer in the top left corner—only a few minutes had passed—and relaxed a bit.

However, the thirty minutes flew by faster than expected. Just when Bai Jing thought he’d barely started, he heard a “beep, beep, beep.”

At the final second of the countdown, a golden gift box tied with a ribbon and bow popped up—

“Your trial period has ended. Congratulations! You’ve earned an extra bonus! Open it?”

Bai Jing blinked in surprise and clicked “Yes.”

The gift box burst open, revealing another small screen.

Bai Jing watched for a few seconds and quickly realized that this content must be from the Interdimensional Cinema.

It was a movie trailer—specifically, for a documentary.

The trailer began with a bustling street scene. The marketplace was lined with shops, and pedestrians dressed in rough linen and coarse cloth filled the streets. It looked just like the set of a historical drama.

As the camera gradually zoomed in, an evocative narration led viewers deeper into the ancient world of the Great Wu Dynasty.

The next moment, a shop called Interdimensional Cinema appeared incongruously on one side of the street. Its flamboyant and luxurious design clashed starkly with the surrounding simplicity, but the seeds of movie culture had clearly been sown in this barren land.

Could cinema take root, blossom, and bear fruit in an ancient kingdom a thousand years ago?

How would the people of antiquity view a cinema and its films?

All these questions promised to be answered in the Interdimensional Cinema’s first large-scale documentary, “Conversations Across Millennia: The People of Liangjing and the Cinema”, directed by Fu Chi.

The trailer concluded, leaving an eye-catching red “Buy Tickets” button suspended in the middle of the screen.

Bai Jing: “…”

Other than work-related films, Bai Jing rarely watched documentaries.

Who the hell came up with such a bizarre concept—exploring the impact of a cinema on the lives of people in feudal society?

Oh, right—Fu Chi.

Fine, it’s just a 59 yuan movie ticket. Buy it. I’ll buy it, okay?

He had managed to resist spending money during the free trial, only to succumb to the bonus content.

Bai Jing clicked the “Buy Tickets” button, and two options popped up: 2D Theater, priced at 59 yuan, and Holographic Theater, priced at 599 yuan.

Holographic?

If it wasn’t an immersive viewing experience, he’d raise hell.

Gritting his teeth, Bai Jing selected the 599 yuan option. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford the ticket—it was just that this app was too damn good at wringing money out of him.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a beta test?

Why did it feel like stepping into a trap to be “harvested”?

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

After the Dragon Festival, the nail salon underwent an upgrade and renovation, making the lobby more spacious and luxurious than last year.

Lu Yao pushed open the door and was greeted by Ambrose and Edward, dressed in formal attire like male models, sitting on opposite ends of the long sofas. Behind them sat Sijin, Tina, Clarissa, Mumu, Merulu, Puxiu, Eugenia, and a few newly recruited human staff.

The scene was so grand it felt as though, at any moment, they would bow their heads in unison and chant, “Welcome home, Boss!”

Alarms went off in Lu Yao’s head. Something wasn’t right.

In the back, Harold lay on a single sofa, engrossed in a comic book, pretending to have nothing to do with any of it.

Lu Yao straightened up, took a deep breath, and strolled over casually. “Why is everyone still here? No one’s resting?”

Silence.

Silence filled the nail salon that night.

Lu Yao glanced around. “…Eugenia, your shift ended ages ago. Why haven’t you gone home?”

Eugenia, the most senior human staff member, looked uneasy.

On the Alexander Continent, strength was revered above all else. Humans lived stable lives here only under the protection of the strong. The dragon clan, in particular, was a presence humans could only look up to in awe.

Although Lu Yao favored Harold, Eugenia had no desire to compete with him.

When her shift ended that evening, she and the other human staff had planned to leave but were stopped by Clarissa, the newly ascended archdemon, who insisted they wait for Lu Yao to return.

Originally a half-demon, Clarissa had joined the nail salon not long ago and later advanced into a full-fledged demon. After a visit to the demon realm at the end of the year, her power had grown immensely, earning her the title of archdemon.

Eugenia didn’t dare meet Lu Yao’s gaze and murmured, “I… I’ll leave soon.”

Lu Yao nodded and closed the door behind her. She walked to the center of the lobby, bypassed the sofas, and took the main seat.

A newly hired human staff member quickly stood up and poured her a cup of tea.

Lu Yao accepted the delicate rose-patterned cup, took a sip, and then looked up. “What’s the matter? Speak.”

The new human staff, who had rarely seen Lu Yao before, were astonished. They had heard the boss was a human woman but couldn’t fathom how someone like her could lead so many powerful non-humans. Now, they finally understood.

Ambrose lowered his head, admiring his newly done leopard-print nails as if they held a mysterious allure. He remained silent.

Edward crossed his legs, stroking the emerald atop his cane with an air of elegance and detachment.

The silence was suffocating, broken only by Mumu’s soft, worried “chirp” as her large, watery eyes glanced at Lu Yao.

Lu Yao sighed, set down the teacup, and pulled a second box from her storage space.

“A few days ago, I went to the electronics plaza. With how fast phones are updated these days, I saw some at good prices and decided to buy each of you one as a New Year’s gift.”

Lu Yao sighed again, retrieving the gift boxes from the container.

Each box was individually wrapped with a beautiful ribbon and bow, with the recipient’s name clearly labeled—clearly a well-prepared gesture.

The awkward tension in the room grew, especially for the ringleaders Ambrose and Edward, both well into their years.

Harold peeked over his comic book, silently enjoying the show.

As the gift boxes piled on the table, Lu Yao stowed the container, rested her hand on her forehead, and let out a sorrowful sigh. “If you all have such a problem with me, you probably won’t like these gifts either. Forget it. Tomorrow, I’ll ask the clerk if they can help me return them for a refund.”

Nail Salon staff: “…”

She had clearly prepared carefully, even putting in a lot of thought.

Yet, her face was now completely lost.

…

Lu Yao slumped into the sofa, elbow resting on the armrest, hand covering her eyes, and stopped talking.

Silence filled the room again, this time shifting the pressure to the other side.

Harold put down his comic book, stood up, and walked over to Lu Yao’s side, his brow furrowing as his gaze swept over the surrounding staff, shooting metaphorical daggers from his eyes.

The necromencer, vampire progenitor, archdemon, dragon, and others straightened their backs stiffly, their expressions frozen.

Someone, please, give us a way out!

Mumu slid off the sofa, waddling over to Lu Yao’s side. He reached out his chubby little paw and placed it gently on Lu Yao’s hand. “Chirp.”

The twin fairies couldn’t hold back, fluttering to Lu Yao’s face, tears streaming down like golden beads. “Lu Yao, Lu Yao, we were wrong. Please don’t cry.”

Lu Yao brushed aside her bangs, her jet-black eyes shining brightly. She affectionately patted Mumu and ruffled Merulu and Puxiu’s heads. “So… do you like these gifts?”

Mumu, Merulu, and Puxiu nodded vigorously.

The others collectively relaxed their shoulders, quietly letting out a sigh of relief.

…

When Lu Yao was a teenager, her mother died in a traffic accident, and the compensation money was taken by her uncle’s family. For years, she stayed with them.

During the New Year, her cousins would receive new clothes and toys while she got nothing, wearing only their discarded old clothes.

As she grew older, her cousin would sometimes demand duck legs, throwing tantrums at their mother. Her aunt would return home after work with a single braised duck leg for him, while Lu Yao and her other cousin could only watch him eat.

When Lu Yao went to college, she worked tirelessly to earn money and never returned to her uncle’s home.

These memories rarely crossed her mind now, and when they did, they no longer caused her sadness.

The day she bought Harold his phone, those old memories suddenly resurfaced.

She wasn’t inherently the meticulous person she appeared to be now. Her care and attentiveness were habits forged over years of trials and tribulations.

Recently, Lu Yao had been reflecting on her forgotten memories of Lu Mingxiao and what role he played in her life.

Thinking back to her past self from those days, she found her former self even more surprising than Lu Mingxiao.

…

Lu Yao distributed the phones, instructing Harold to teach everyone how to use them, and had them all sign updated agreements.

The in-house network system was currently limited to the bounds of the shopping street and Lu Yao’s world’s VIP customers. All interdimensional employees had to sign an additional agreement before logging into the network.

Like Harold, they were restricted to three hours of internet use per day. Once they left the store, their phones would switch to “no signal” mode.

Except for work-related matters, interdimensional staff were prohibited from privately contacting staff or customers from other worlds.

…

That night, the shopping street’s backend chat group saw the addition of over a dozen new accounts, all with the prefix “Nail Salon.”

The next morning, Lu Yao woke up feeling unusually uncomfortable. Her blanket was inexplicably heavy, and the pillow and bedding beneath her were lumpy.

She tried to lift her head but was forced back down by the weight of the blanket. “What’s going on?”

Budu, sitting by the bed, answered softly. “Ambrose, Edward, Sijin, Tina, Mumu, the twin fairies, and Harold snuck in multiple times last night, leaving many things in your room. This morning, Eugenia and the new staff also brought freshly brewed wine and smoked meat, leaving them outside.”

Lu Yao stretched out a hand from under the blanket. “Budu, pull me out.”

Budu jumped down from the small bedside table and helped pull Lu Yao out from the pile of gems, herbs, magical beast materials, and gourmet delicacies.

Their awkwardness was almost endearing—none of them coordinated, taking turns sneaking into her room to leave treasures, each offering a pile of rare and precious items.

If not for Budu keeping watch, Lu Yao might have been buried alive, and no one would have known.

Lu Yao woke up late and didn’t have time to tidy up her room. She quickly changed clothes and headed out the door: “Budu, I’m leaving now. Remember to eat properly.”

Budu didn’t reply, silently watching as Lu Yao hurried away. Then, bending down, Budu began picking up the scattered gemstones one by one.

The nail salon staff felt somewhat awkward when they saw Lu Yao emerge.

Lu Yao, however, seemed unaffected. She greeted them with a quick “Good morning” before disappearing out the door.

As a seasoned “master of balance,” Lu Yao considered herself a professional.

If the nail salon staff were given phones, then it was only fair that the staff of the snack shop, blind box shop, little pet café, interdimensional cinema, childhood tutoring center, Qingshan noodle shop, and even the inn received them too.

Unexpectedly, the largest expense at the start of the year turned out to be buying phones.

Lu Yao spent the entire morning distributing phones to each shop.

Once all the employees had joined the backend staff chat group, Lu Yao created separate chat groups for each store.

The staff went wild adding each other as friends, with the general chat group quickly racking up hundreds of messages within minutes.

Messages in different world languages were automatically identified by the system and translated into mutually understandable languages.

This real-time language conversion technology, capable of multi-language display, was inspired by the Dream Fulfillment System. Developing it as a standalone feature had been a significant technical challenge.

The Dream Fulfillment System had previously provided interdimensional language translation services for the cinema and various interdimensional shops. Lu Yao utilized the blessing of the goddess Fula to integrate this feature into the in-house network system.

After numerous tests and adjustments, the system now boasted a 95% accuracy rate. However, the sparse documentation of Nitean characters meant further data collection was necessary.

…

In the main chat group, the employees were as lively as freshmen at the start of a new semester, chattering non-stop.

Lu Yao returned to the nail salon and called Budu out.

Budu, as always, was quiet and obedient, following Lu Yao closely.

The entire street was abuzz with activity, yet Budu remained isolated, left out of the festivities.

As Budu gazed at Lu Yao’s slender, upright back, a trace of black mist crept into his bright red pupils.

No matter what, Budu could never compare to that person.

In that moment, Budu was painfully aware of this reality—both clear-headed and utterly despairing.

Lu Yao led Budu out of the shopping district, down the long staircase by the main road, and all the way to the riverside.

Budu didn’t know why Lu Yao had brought him here. The wind against his pale cheeks made him seem almost translucent.

Lu Yao turned back to look at him. “Tired?”

Budu shook his head and quickly caught up with her.

Lu Yao stopped by the riverbank, gazing out over the water. “Budu, I’ve been thinking lately… should I keep you by my side like this, or…”

Budu tilted his head up to look at Lu Yao, her pupils contracting slightly.

“…send you to kindergarten. You’re not even a year old yet. We could wait a few more years before you go. But I’m busy every day, and having you move around the shopping street all the time doesn’t seem ideal. Maybe in kindergarten, you could make friends your own age and learn about human society’s rules.”

Lu Yao had been considering this for a long time and had even consulted Ji Feiming about it.

But as divine messengers, the Ji clan had never thought about such a thing before.

In other words, the gods they served had never gone to school.

Budu’s tightly clenched fists slowly loosened. “What would Mother prefer me to do?”

Lu Yao: “Whatever you decide, I’ll respect your choice.”

Budu: “I… I want to stay with Mother forever.”

Lu Yao: “Going to school doesn’t mean leaving me.”

Budu: “I don’t want to leave the shopping street yet. Maybe in a few years, I’ll go to kindergarten. Is that okay?”

Lu Yao: “Alright. If that’s the case, I have something important I want to entrust to you. I don’t trust anyone else but you.”

Budu’s eyes widened in shock, and then pure joy flooded his face.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Bu Er pouted and shook his head.
People—what the most scary thing for someone is thinking themselves clever.
If you don’t have a sharp mind, why play petty tricks in front of Prince Zhan?

Duan Wucuo looked at him and asked,
“You understood what just happened?”

Bu Er froze for a second, then hurriedly shook his head.

He scratched his bald head and grinned.
“I don’t really know the whole story, that’s true.
But I can more or less tell that little Su princess has ulterior motives.
As for exactly what she’s plotting—I don’t understand, but that’s not important.
What matters is, Your Highness definitely does!”

Duan Wucuo handed him the prayer beads and said,
“The abbot says counting these can calm the mind and bring clarity.
Try counting a thousand times.”

Even after Duan Wucuo walked off, Bu Er still didn’t understand why he was asked to count the beads.
But it didn’t matter—there were few in this world who could truly read Duan Wucuo’s mind anyway.

---

In Hua Feng Palace

Empress Su reclined on a beauty couch. One maid massaged her legs, while another arranged her hair.

“It would’ve been so much easier to hold the coming-of-age ceremony at the manor.
And now, suddenly they’ve moved it to Yuexi Palace.
As the elder sister, even if I’d rather stay put, I have no choice but to show up.”

She grumbled.

It wasn’t that she disliked her two younger cousins.
She had lost her father early and was raised under Prince Xingyuan’s care.
Though she and Su Ruqing and Su Ruche were technically cousins, their bond was no different from real sisters.

But now that she was pregnant, she had become increasingly sluggish and disinclined to go out.

“Heaven must know Your Majesty’s going out today—clear skies and warm sunshine.
I even saw fresh willow shoots budding this morning.
With such fine weather, perhaps this outing will lift your spirits.”

Zhenzhu offered cheerfully.

Lift her spirits?

The coming-of-age ceremony would bring together all the young noblewomen of the capital.
Who knew which of them might someday enter the harem?

Now heavily pregnant, with recent faint spots appearing on her face, the Empress had no desire to be surrounded by youthful charm—it would only worsen her mood.

Just then, the child in her belly kicked. The irritation in her chest dissipated somewhat, and she allowed herself a faint smile.

So what if more women entered the palace?

She was the Empress of Yi. Once her son was born, her position would be even more secure—unchallenged and absolute.

“Go summon Nanny Jiang.”

Linglong curtseyed and quietly hurried off to call her.

When Nanny Jiang entered the inner hall, she glanced at the Empress’s face.

She walked over, took over from Zhenzhu in arranging the Empress’s hair, and asked,
“Is Your Majesty troubled because of Princess Huachao?”

“I heard from Xiao Chenzi that when His Majesty met with Prince Zhan, he explained the matter from beginning to end—and even pleaded with him in a tone of negotiation.

Prince Zhan didn’t give a clear response, but it’s almost certain he’ll agree.

Everyone says Prince Zhan is unmoved by either force or favor—but His Majesty is the one exception.

People claim Prince Zhan may rebel and seize the throne one day—but I firmly believe he won’t.

They say there’s no family bond within royalty, but these two brothers—they truly have it.”

Nanny Jiang fixed a gold phoenix hairpin into the Empress’s coiffure and asked,
“Then why is Your Majesty worried?”

Why worried?

The Empress narrowed her eyes, gently stroking the child in her belly.

Today, it’s Princess Huachao. Tomorrow, it may be another princess—or a beauty.

How long would this endless scheming to drive attractive women away from His Majesty go on?

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I feel uneasy.”

“You’re almost full term. It’s common to lose sleep when the belly gets large.”

Nanny Jiang said gently.

The Empress fell silent.

She felt a growing sense of dread—and the larger the child in her womb grew, the stronger that unease became.

She had done some things in the past she wasn’t proud of. Back then, they hadn’t seemed like a big deal. But now, she feared those sins might fall upon her child.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and pushed the thoughts away.

Rising, she allowed her maids to help her dress and set off for Yuexi Palace.

---

Qing Yan, following Su Ruqing’s lead, quietly avoided the public eye and slipped through the winding paths behind Yuexi Palace.

She didn’t take the same route as the favored consort of the late emperor once had toward Chang’an Hall, but chose another path, waiting at Ouhe Lake for Su Hongfang to lure the Emperor over.

Ouhe Lake was crafted from jade and stone, dazzlingly beautiful.

Though winter had not fully passed, the lake already bloomed with pink lotuses, swaying gently with a drifting boat.

The surrounding trees shimmered with vibrant colors, mesmerizing to the eye.

Look closer, and one would see—they were made of gold and gemstones.

Qing Yan had heard of this place since childhood, but seeing it in person still stunned her.

She lifted her skirt and ran to the lake, bending down to touch the surface with her fingers.

Thankfully, the water was real.

A breeze stirred the surface into ripples, scattering the sunlight into dazzling sparkles across the lake.

Qing Yan was full of wonder.

Wen Xi approached, looking slightly worried.

She said, “Be careful.
Whether or not you change His Majesty’s mind is secondary—the main thing is not to reveal your identity. Don’t let him figure it out.”

“I know.”

The shimmering water cast jewel-toned light onto Qing Yan’s face, softening her youthfulness and adding an almost intoxicated allure.

Wen Xi suddenly felt Qing Yan might actually succeed.

With beauty like this—what man wouldn’t be moved? Let alone a ruler with a palace full of women already.

Looking at Qing Yan, Wen Xi hesitated, then cautiously asked,
“Qing Yan, are you… prepared for that possibility?”

Qing Yan looked puzzled.

“He’s an emperor. If his heart is moved, he might want you today.”

Wen Xi worried that Qing Yan, being so young, might not understand… might be afraid… or taken advantage of.

Qing Yan blinked, then smiled brightly. “I basically understand.”

“Really?”
Wen Xi was skeptical.

“Really. Before my wedding, the old matron explained things to me.”

Wen Xi was shocked.
“You were engaged?”

Her usual calm voice pitched up with disbelief.

“Didn’t go through with it. I ran away.”

Qing Yan said casually.

She was still smiling, but Wen Xi sharply noticed the moment she turned her head—she bit her lip.

Still reeling from the surprise and confusion, Wen Xi opened her mouth to speak—

But Qing Yan suddenly turned back with exaggerated seriousness and said,
“Sister Wen Xi, truthfully… I’m not a good person. I’ve even killed someone.”

Wen Xi’s mouth dropped open—she was just about to ask for the full story when—

Qing Yan pinched her lips and eyes into a silly face.

Giggling, she pushed Wen Xi gently and said, “Don’t worry, Sister Wen Xi! I can handle it!”

After sending Wen Xi away, Qing Yan straightened her clothes and sat down on a lotus-shaped jade bench by the lake.
She admired the rippling, shimmering surface of the water while quietly waiting for Emperor Wen He to arrive.

But after a while, he still hadn’t shown up.

Qing Yan’s thoughts began to drift.

She thought of her lady again. She didn’t know how heartbroken her lady must be after her husband’s death, or if the little miss had learned to walk yet—whether she was already babbling, giggling…

Back then, she wasn’t called Qing Yan. Her lady used to call her Qing’er gently and fondly.
After meeting Princess Huachao, the princess had scoffed that Qing’er sounded too plain and renamed her Qing Yan.

Thinking back to the past made Qing Yan’s heart ache.

Now that she was back in the Yi Kingdom, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to resist going to see her lady again, so she constantly forced herself not to dwell on the years that belonged to Qing’er.

Qing Yan didn’t want to think anymore.

She got up and walked slowly along the edge of Ouhe Lake, admiring the intricate jade carvings as she strolled.

Eventually, she came upon a small, flat-bottomed boat tied to the shore.

Lifting her skirt, she carefully stepped aboard.

The little boat rocked gently, disturbing the surface of the water.

Qing Yan sat hugging her knees, gazing into the distance at the pale pink lotuses sculpted from jade.

The breeze brushed her face, and the rippling water mirrored the sky.

Before she realized it, she was drifting closer and closer to the distant jade lotuses. She had floated far from the shore.

Startled, she turned toward the back of the boat.

At some point, the rope had come loose—the lakeside now far away.

How had this happened?

Qing Yan panicked.

She didn’t know how to row, and she definitely didn’t know how to swim! Flustered, she fumbled for the oar resting nearby, trying to paddle back.

Just then, a breeze swept past, and a pale monk’s robe brushed against her ear and fluttered across her face.

Qing Yan didn’t react at first. But when it sank in, her entire body froze.

She didn’t move at all, but her bright eyes slowly dropped to the water’s surface.

In the ripples, she saw her own reflection—and the unmistakable figure of Duan Wucuo standing behind her.

Her hands trembled. The heavy oar slipped from her grasp.

Duan Wucuo bent down and caught it just in time before it could fall into the lake.

He leaned forward, brushing past her. Qing Yan caught a faint whiff of sandalwood.

Duan Wucuo sat down cross-legged beside her, unhurried and composed.

He began rowing—but in the direction away from shore.

The wooden paddle sliced through the water with a soft splash.

“When did you get on the boat?” Qing Yan asked, glaring at him warily.

Duan Wucuo didn’t answer. He simply said,
“I saw the princess staring at the pink lotuses and thought I’d bring you over for a closer look.”

Qing Yan’s heart was pounding—she was incredibly nervous.

She didn’t know why, but every time she saw Duan Wucuo, fear gripped her. Her pulse would skyrocket.

She wanted to avoid him—but there was nowhere to hide on the tiny boat.

She cautiously inched away, turning her body slightly to the side, facing away from him.

In just a short time, she had already tucked her hair behind her ear multiple times.

Duan Wucuo glanced at her trembling fingertips and asked,
“What is the princess so afraid of?”

Afraid of you!

Qing Yan sat up straighter, putting on her proud princess act.
“It’s just a little cold, that’s all.
Would the prince kindly row us back to shore?”

But the moment she said it, her ears caught something: the sound of the oars stopped.

No way.

He actually stopped rowing?

Duan Wucuo set the paddle aside and, with elegant ease, took off his monk’s robe and draped it over Qing Yan’s shoulders.

Qing Yan jolted and turned toward him in shock.

Duan Wucuo smiled gently and said slowly,
“I heard the princess fell in love with this poor monk at first sight and has been joyfully waiting to marry me.”

Qing Yan: …What nonsense is this?!

Her eyes widened. They were already slightly rounded apricot eyes—now, they looked utterly adorable.

Duan Wucuo’s eyes carried a faint smile as he calmly met her horrified gaze.

With his monk’s robe off, he wore a snow-white long robe underneath.
A corner of it trailed off the edge of the boat, brushing the water’s surface, catching the colorful shimmer of the lake’s jeweled reflections.

The breeze picked up slightly, pushing the boat along with a gentle drift.

Soon, it floated right up to the pink jade lotuses.

The bow knocked softly against the flower leaves, rocked a bit, then came to a stop.

Qing Yan blinked slowly, trying to steady herself.

Duan Wucuo was far too unpredictable—she didn’t dare decide how to react.

His eyes were clearly smiling, but the smile never reached the depths.
It didn’t feel like basking in spring sunlight, but more like drowning in scalding waves.

Duan Wucuo said,
“The marriage isn’t settled yet. If someone were to find us meeting like this in secret, it would all but guarantee your wish to marry this poor monk.”

Qing Yan felt her panic rising.

This was clearly her original scheme—but her target had been Emperor Wen He, not this living curse Duan Wucuo!

She was certain he knew everything and was now mocking her with his words.

Qing Yan forced herself not to admit anything.
“Heh, Your Highness jests. I’m simply out for a leisurely view. Nothing more.”

Duan Wucuo didn’t care how she responded.

Still smiling faintly, he continued:
“If you want people to really misunderstand, simply riding a boat together isn’t enough.”

With that, he leaned down and grabbed her ankle.

“What are you doing?!”

Qing Yan tried to retreat. The boat rocked violently, and water splashed up, soaking the hem of her skirt.

She immediately froze, afraid she might fall into the lake.

Duan Wucuo looked up at her and asked,
“Can you swim?”

Qing Yan stared at him, lips pressed tight.

He already knew the answer.

He gripped her slender ankle, then removed her shoes and socks—and tossed them into the lake.

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

Su Ruqing’s expression stiffened. All the emotions in her heart dissolved into emptiness.

She had basked in the pride of being the future Princess Consort to Prince Zhan for so long. She had yearned day and night for Duan Wucuo to secularize and leave Yongzhou Temple.

But he didn’t even recognize her…

Still, it didn’t matter. She had always known Duan Wucuo had no romantic intentions toward her.

This engagement—she had used countless connections to make it happen.

Su Ruqing forced a smile, trying to remain dignified.

Just as she was about to speak, Duan Wucuo gave a polite “oh” and said, “Princess Zhenxian.”

A smile immediately formed on Su Ruqing’s face. The tears she had been holding back gathered rapidly in her eyes—a kind of sorrow that stung with a rush of warmth.

The dignity she had just barely pieced together collapsed in an instant.

The noble princess suddenly spoke like a girl with a budding crush—quickly and breathlessly: “I just visited Her Majesty and didn’t expect to run into Prince Zhan here.

What a coincidence.”

Duan Wucuo nodded with a faint smile, then walked past her without even offering the most basic pleasantries.

Su Ruche ran out from behind a corridor pillar and deliberately passed close to Duan Wucuo, stealing a glance at him before quickly looking away. She acted like nothing had happened as she skipped over to grab Su Ruqing’s hand, raising her voice sweetly and calling, “Sister.”

Duan Wucuo didn’t pause. His lips curved into a subtle, unreadable smile.

Heh.

There were two kinds of people in this world—those who were rational enough to keep far away from Duan Wucuo, and those who were so blinded by his appearance that they followed him hopelessly.

The Su sisters clearly belonged to the latter.

But Qing Yan considered herself part of the rational first group.

She believed she couldn’t just sit and wait for fate.

Life in the Cold Palace was quiet and peaceful—something she longed for. So she decided to try for it.

Start with Emperor Wen He?

Qing Yan figured that would be too risky.

If she acted too eager toward the emperor and accidentally became a favored concubine, wouldn’t that attract too many enemies?

That kind of life would be the exact opposite of the peaceful one she wanted.

Start with Duan Wucuo?

Should she run up to him and loudly declare she didn’t want to marry him and that she only wanted to marry the emperor?

Qing Yan touched her own neck. She didn’t have the nerve.

So she set her sights on Princess Zhenxian instead.

It took a lot of convincing to get General Li and Wen Xi to agree to bring her to Prince Xingyuan’s manor to see Su Ruqing.

The Su sisters had visited her yesterday—so today, she came bearing gifts in return, a perfectly proper visit.

The Su sisters were lost in their own thoughts and sat in silence. When a servant reported that Princess Huachao had arrived, they exchanged surprised glances.

“Does she know I almost married Prince Zhan and came to flaunt it?

Or warn me?”

Su Ruqing bit her lip, her long eyes glinting with restrained anger.

Since being brushed off by Duan Wucuo at the palace yesterday, she had lost her temper multiple times after returning home.

“Don’t overthink it, Sister.

She’s far from home and alone—would she really dare to flaunt or threaten?

There’s no need to worry.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to attend my birthday banquet. Or maybe she just wants to chat and make some new friends in the Yi Kingdom.”

Estimating that the maid escorting Qing Yan was nearly here, the sisters said no more.

Though their expressions were sour, when Qing Yan entered, both instinctively straightened their backs and offered polite smiles, embodying the grace of noble ladies.

“Your Highness honors us with your presence.”

Su Ruqing maintained her noble posture.

Qing Yan lifted the light purple veil from her face, revealing pale violet eyes.

She handed the veil to Wen Xi. Without putting on airs or going through empty formalities, she got straight to the point—

“Princess, I’ve come today because I need your help with something.”

A flicker of confusion passed through Su Ruqing’s eyes, but she kept up appearances. After a few polite words, she invited Qing Yan to sit and offered her tea.

With all the formalities complete,

Su Ruqing finally said, half-heartedly, “I wonder what matter has troubled Your Highness. If it’s within my ability, I’ll certainly help if I can.”

Qing Yan opened her mouth as if to speak, but then stopped herself.

Seeing her like that, Su Ruqing and Su Ruche grew even more curious.

Qing Yan let out a long, gentle sigh, her face full of difficulty, and said,
“I don’t want to marry Prince Zhan.”

“Cough, cough, cough…” Su Ruche, who had been drinking tea, choked on the spot. A couple of drops splashed onto the back of her hand.

She stared at Qing Yan in shock, the scalding pain in her hand completely forgotten.

Su Ruqing’s heart, which had been half-dead, suddenly came back to life.

Qing Yan reached out and took Su Ruqing’s hand into her own.

Her light violet eyes were filled with emotion.
“I’ve come all this way to marry the Son of Heaven of Yi—not some monk with a topknot.

If news of this gets back to my homeland, my sisters will laugh me out of court!”

Watching Su Ruqing’s expression closely, Qing Yan continued,
“I heard that Her Majesty the Empress had intended to marry the Princess to Prince Zhan, but the wedding was delayed because he entered the monastery.

Prince Zhan may have found peace in the temple, but you, Princess, waited bitterly for over two years.

How could an outsider like me come in and steal that away?”

She paused and sighed again, her little face scrunching up in worry.

In a soft, downcast voice, she said,
“But people speak both well and ill of Prince Zhan. If, back when the Empress was matchmaking, you were already unwilling, then I won’t dare involve you in this matter today. Just pretend I said nothing.

May I ask—are you still willing to marry Prince Zhan?”

“I am!”

Su Ruqing blurted it out without thinking.

Realizing how abrupt that was, she quickly composed herself. After a moment’s careful thought, Su Ruqing added,
“But marriage is a matter of parental command and matchmakers’ words. How can a girl simply choose as she pleases?

If I did, people would say I was neither virtuous nor chaste.”

Everyone in Yi knew Su Ruqing had long been infatuated with Prince Zhan.

Of course Qing Yan knew too—but she pretended not to. She tilted her head in mock confusion and nodded vaguely,
“I suppose that… makes sense…”

Su Ruqing had hoped Qing Yan would be the one to refuse the match to Duan Wucuo. But seeing Qing Yan’s clueless and innocent demeanor, she started to panic—afraid Qing Yan might actually believe her feigned indifference.

Qing Yan was waiting for Su Ruqing to take Duan Wucuo back.
Su Ruqing was hoping Qing Yan would reject him herself.

Each was gambling on the other making the first move, and for a moment, the atmosphere fell into a standstill.

Su Ruche’s eyes flicked back and forth. She smiled and said,
“I have an idea that could make both of you happy!”

Immediately, Qing Yan and Su Ruqing leaned in closer. Su Ruche began whispering her plan.

Three heads huddled together—each with their own agenda.

And so, Su Ruche’s upcoming birthday banquet was moved to be held in the imperial palace.

As the daughter of Prince Xingyuan and the Empress’s younger sister, it was completely natural for her to hold her coming-of-age ceremony at the palace.

Su Ruqing’s past birthdays had all been held in the palace as well.

Only, with just two days left, the household of Prince Xingyuan had to send out another round of invitations.

Back in the carriage returning to her separate palace residence, Qing Yan opened a box and took out a piece of snow lotus and tuckahoe cake to eat.

Wen Xi gave a surprised “hm?” and asked,
“Isn’t that one of the gifts you brought for the princesses?”

“I’m not giving them this one. I didn’t get enough of it.”

Qing Yan replied, completely self-assured.

Wen Xi shut the box and said sternly,
“Qing Yan, are you really set on not marrying Prince Zhan? You insist on entering the palace?”

“That’s not something I get to decide.”

Qing Yan answered casually.

“Then what was today about, conspiring with those two princesses?

Even if things don’t go your way, you’ve now given them something to use against you.

If not for Prince Zhan acting as a counterbalance, Prince Xingyuan could rebel at any time. Even the emperor of Yi must show him some deference.

In this capital, the last people you want to cross are those three Su sisters.”

Qing Yan looked up at Wen Xi with wide, innocent eyes.
“If I end up in the palace, I’ll avoid pregnancy, never compete for favor, and massage Her Majesty the Empress’s shoulders. That way, I’ll be winning over the eldest Su daughter.

If things don’t go my way and I marry into Prince Zhan’s household, the other two Su daughters will know it wasn’t my wish. They’ll know I didn’t steal away their good husband, and that I worked with them to change this fate.

What could they blame me for?

Maybe they’ll even cry with me about how things didn’t work out for any of us.”

Wen Xi was taken aback, carefully mulling over Qing Yan’s words—it did seem to make a certain kind of sense.

Even if she ended up marrying into Prince Zhan’s household, it would be considered a precaution—softening Princess Zhenxian’s resentment ahead of time and leaving herself a fallback.

Wen Xi began to reassess Qing Yan, feeling suddenly that perhaps she hadn’t seen through this girl after all. She might not be as simple and innocent as she appeared.

“Can I keep eating now?”

Qing Yan smiled sweetly, lips curled into a playful grin.

She picked up another piece of snow-lotus tuckahoe cake and nibbled on it with relish.

Still chewing, her eyes curved into a crescent as she said,
“Sister Wen Xi, next time could you swap the date paste for minced meat?”

Wen Xi’s expression darkened. She didn’t bother replying.

She suddenly felt like she’d definitely overthought things just now.

…

Two days passed in a flash.

Su Ruqing and Su Ruche entered the palace early to receive guests.

The venue for the coming-of-age ceremony was set at Yuexi Palace, once the residence of a favored consort of the late emperor.

Its pavilions and towers were breathtaking.

There were also winding paths leading to quiet places, such as Chang’an Hall, hidden from the eyes of others.

Countless poets and scholars had used these winding paths to write about the late emperor’s love for his consort.

Su Ruche crouched in front of her younger brother, Su Hongfang, whispering into his ear.

“Go.”

She patted Su Hongfang’s shoulder.

He nodded solemnly, then turned and ran off.

Su Ruqing stood beneath the eaves, her thoughts uneasy.

She asked nervously,
“Will it really work?”

“Sister, success depends on our own efforts.

How will we know if we don’t try?

That day, His Majesty nearly conferred the title of consort on the spot—it was only stopped because the Empress suddenly had abdominal pain.

His Majesty already has feelings for Princess Huachao. It’s only the Empress that’s standing in the way.

If someone catches the emperor meeting her in private, His Majesty will simply go along with the tide and bring her into the harem.”

Su Ruqing let out a long breath.
“Let’s hope everything goes smoothly.”

She grabbed Su Ruche’s hand, her eyes full of gratitude.
“Ruche, you’ve done so much for your sister’s marriage. You’re truly a good sister.”

“Sister, we’re family. No need for such polite words.

If you’re happy, I’m happy too.

I still have guests to tend to—otherwise people might get suspicious.

You go and keep Princess Huachao company, keep her settled, and guide her as needed.”

Su Ruche smiled as she spoke.

“I’ll go now.”

Watching Su Ruqing’s departing figure, Su Ruche slowly let her smile fade.

Instead of tending to guests, she headed to Jinglan Pavilion.

She knew Duan Wucuo was there.

After a great deal of coaxing and convincing, she finally persuaded the guards to let her in.

Su Ruche climbed the steep stone steps. By the time she reached the top of Jinglan Pavilion, she was panting, her cheeks flushed red.

Seeing Duan Wucuo’s back in the distance, Su Ruche clutched her handkerchief and calmed herself.

“My sister doesn’t want you to marry Princess Huachao. She’s luring the princess to a private meeting with His Majesty, then plans to bring others to ‘accidentally’ discover them together—so everyone will question her chastity, making her unfit to marry you.”

Su Ruche’s heart pounded with nerves.

“But when I met Princess Huachao a few days ago, I realized she’d fallen for you at first sight—she’s been joyfully waiting to marry you! Even though we’ve only met twice, it felt like old friends. I can tell she’s a good person, and I can’t bear to see her used like a pawn and miss her true love!”

Su Ruche bit her lip.
“I’ve already told you the truth. Whether or not you choose to stop it is up to you now, Prince Zhan!”

She turned and ran down the mountain steps, the sound of her hurried footsteps echoing across the stone.

Whether Duan Wucuo stopped it or not didn’t matter.

If he intervened and married Princess Huachao in the end, she—an outsider with no allies in a foreign land—would be far easier to get rid of than her sister.

If he did nothing and married Su Ruqing, then after today’s revelation of her manipulations, he would grow to resent her, and Su Ruche would have a chance to slip in.

Su Ruche glanced back toward Jinglan Pavilion, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

Duan Wucuo narrowed his eyes toward the distant Yuexi Palace.

The view from Jinglan Pavilion was broad—he could see the palace awash in the colors of beautiful young women.

He slowly rolled the prayer beads in his hand, the corner of his mouth curving into a half-smile.

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔