Chapter Text

Heads Up (=`ω´=)

Welcome! If this is your first time reading one of my uploads, just a heads-up—I'm only the translator ヾ( `ー´)シφ__

English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance if you come across the occasional grammar mistake, odd wording choice, or awkward phrasing. I do my best to keep the translation smooth and natural, but I’m still learning and improving with every project (´･ᴗ･`)

A Note on Titles Blurbs and Chapters

If you've already read a few of my projects, you might have noticed that I often use my own 'adopted' English title rather than a direct translation. There's a lot of thought behind this! Often, a direct title can be too generic, overly long, or just not capture the story's soul.

My goal is always to grab your attention with a title that's catchy, readable, and reflects the story's heart. And this philosophy doesn't stop there! I also write my own versions of the story blurb and chapter titles. If an original chapter title feels uninteresting or doesn't capture the chapter's essence, I'll craft one that does.

But don't worry—I'm always transparent about this. For the main title, I always include the original English title (the one you'd find on NU or other sites) right under my blurb on the NOTES section. So if you're curious, it's just a quick scroll away.

As for the original Chinese title and author, you can find that listed on my Patreon, which is linked in my Carrd.

The Nuts & Bolts of My Translation

My Philosophy: Creative Translation & The Skeleton/Expansion Method

Like my other projects, this translation isn't word-for-word. My goal is to make the story flow smoothly in English and capture the emotions and spirit of the original, not just the literal words. This means I take creative liberties where I feel they're needed.

Let me be perfectly clear: my translation is a subjective interpretation, not a 100% identical copy. The journey you read here is filtered through my lens.

My process generally has two main steps:

1. Step 1: The Skeleton. This is the first translation pass. It establishes the core plot, dialogue, and all essential story beats. Even here, my choice of wording and interpretation is shaped by my own lens—it's not a literal, word-by-word conversion.

2. Step 2: The Expansion. This is where I take that skeleton and flesh it out. I smooth out the prose, draw out subtext, expand on scenes that felt rushed, and interpret tone and character dynamics to make the story feel alive and natural in English.

Most chapters or projects only receive this basic expansion, which stays very close to the original structure and intent. I would estimate that for these chapters, the final translation is about 85-90% faithful to the original story's meaning and events.

However, this "expansion" phase can sometimes go further. This is where I apply the "special treatment."

This "special treatment" can include:

• Writing and inserting entirely new, original chapters or extra scenes that don't exist in the source material.

• Changing a side character's gender.

• Interpreting a platonic relationship as having romantic potential and steering their interactions to have that nuance—or even developing it into a full-blown subplot.

A crucial reminder: I'M NOT THE AUTHOR. Even with these creative choices, this is fundamentally a translation crafted as a transformative work, not a full-blown original fanfiction. I will never change the main plot or the core heart of the story. The journey's destination and its major milestones belong to the original author; the scenic routes, the color commentary, and the lens through which you see the characters' inner lives are shaped by my work as a translator.

As such, this translation is a fan-created, transformative project. It is not intended as an official or authoritative version of the work, but as a creative bridge to it.

In short: think of it as a creative collaboration with the original text. The story's soul is preserved, but its voice in English is uniquely mine. You could call it 'Reiya's version' of the story—a transformative, adaptive translation that lives in the space between a literal conversion and a full fan adaptation.

A Final Note on Responsibility & Intent: This translation is presented as my own creative interpretation. The choice to create an adaptive, "creative translation"—rather than a strictly literal one—serves two purposes: to make the story more vibrant for English readers, and to operate thoughtfully within the space of fan-created content by adding a distinct interpretive layer. I am responsible for the words I write here on AO3 (as Psueds Rikhi) and on Webnovel (as Reiya_Alberich). I am not responsible for, and do not endorse, any reposting, plagiarism, or unauthorized commercial use of this work by any third party.

A Peek Into My (Chaotic) Process

As for my general workflow... it might be a bit unconventional, but it works for me. I'll be the first to admit that for casual reading, I usually rely on a Google Translate browser extension.

Yeah, that one. We all know how cursed it can be (ಥ﹏ಥ)

For translation, my process is a little more involved. I always have two browser tabs open for the same chapter: one with the original text and another with a machine translation. When I hit a wall or need a second perspective on a tricky sentence, I peek at the auto-translation to compare.

To keep myself consistent, I use a simple notepad to jot down terms, names, or specific phrases I've translated. I have to confess, my system isn't perfect. Sometimes I delete an entry thinking a word was a one-time use, only to find it becomes important chapters later. The worst is when I simply not write it down at all.

This is especially true when I return to a novel after working on others, as I usually juggle multiple projects at the same time, which can get chaotic. In those cases, it's hard to remember the exact word I used, and I often end up making a new choice, which leads to inconsistencies. Of course, sometimes I just suddenly want to change a term I already used. For that, I sincerely apologize.

On the Tricky Subject of Names

I also have a specific weakness I want to confess: figuring out names that aren't standard Chinese ones. Whenever a character has a Western name, or one from another Asian country like Japan or Korea, I tend to struggle.

The original text writes these names in Chinese characters, and localizing them back to their "original" language is... tricky, to say the least. I even double-check with AI tools sometimes, and they often give me different suggestions!

A perfect example is from the novel 'My VR Games Terrify the World': I initially translated the character 杰明·沃克 (Jié Míng · Wò Kè) as something like "Jemin Walker." But after digging deeper, I realized the intended name was "Benjamin Walker," since the Chinese characters are a phonetic representation.

It gets even trickier when the author doesn't specify a nationality. For instance, in 'Reborn as the Fallen Idol, I Leaned Into the Chaos!', there's a character named 利贵勋 (Lì Guìxūn). Is he Japanese? Korean? I ended up with a few variations like Li Guixun, Lee Gwi-hoon, and others because there was no clear answer.

So, if you notice some inconsistency or a name that feels a bit off for a non-Chinese character, that's the main reason! (Well, that, and my sometimes-forgetful notepad system). I'm always working to improve this, but it will probably remain one of my weak points. Thanks for your understanding! (＞﹏＜)

On Cultural Specifics in Language: Siblings, Swears, & Exclamations

You might notice—especially in my newer projects or the later chapters of ongoing long series—that I keep certain Chinese terms in the dialogue. The most common are relationship terms like Jiejie (older sister), Gege (older brother), Meimei (younger sister), and Didí (younger brother).

I do this because these terms carry a cultural weight that gets lost in direct translation. In many Asian cultures, they're not just for blood relatives. They're used to show affection, respect, playful mockery, to establish social hierarchy, or even just basic politeness to a stranger.

Why "Jiejie" isn't just "Sis":
Calling someone "Lin-jie" is different from calling them "Miss Lin" or "Sister Lin"—it implies a specific kind of closeness or deference. Replacing it with a simple "Sis" or "Bro" flattens that meaning entirely. It's similar to how in Korean, calling someone 누나 (Noona) carries a different social weight than the English word "Sister."

A Broader Look from My Culture (Indonesian/Javanese):
This system of nuanced address is widespread. In my culture, we have a similar map:

• Mas is used for an older male where the age gap or status difference isn't vast.

• Mbak is used for an older female under the same conditions.
  
  Both Mas and Mbak can also be used among peers of similar age and, or status as a term of friendly closeness and respect—it doesn't always imply hierarchy.

• For someone younger, we use Dek (Adek), which is gender-neutral.
• There are also the more standard, neutral terms Kakak/Kak (older sibling) and Adik/Dik (younger sibling), which are also used for all genders.

The rules of this system can become even more intricate when family hierarchy overrides simple age.

For example, let's say my mother has an older brother, and he has a son who is younger than me. Despite being older than him, I would call him Mas, and he would call me Dek. Why? Because in our family hierarchy, he is from the generation of my mother (his father is my mother's older brother). His generational rank is higher, so I use the term for a slightly older male (Mas) out of respect for his position in the family tree, and he uses the term for a younger person (Dek) to acknowledge the difference.

This shows it's a multi-layered social GPS where factors like generational rank can override the simple fact of who is older.

This concept applies to extended family as well with terms like:

• Paklek / Bulek (from bapak cilik / ibu cilik). "Cilik" means "little" or "smaller." This is used for someone older than you and of higher status, but younger or of a slightly lower standing than your parents. It essentially means "respected person who is like a younger uncle/aunt."

• Pakde / Budhe (from bapak gedhe / ibu gedhe). "Gedhe" means "big" or "greater." This is used for someone of your parents' generation, age, or social status, or even higher/older. It means "respected person who is like a senior uncle/aunt."

• Om / Tante (Uncle / Aunt) are also used as general, respectful terms for neighbors, shopkeepers, or any friendly elder, with no implication of blood relation.

You can call a neighbor "Paklek" or the shopkeeper "Tante" without implying any family tie. Choosing the right term isn't random—it conveys the exact nature of your relationship: the level of respect, the estimated age difference, and the social hierarchy between you. English collapses this entire system.

"Uncle" can't distinguish between your father's brother, a respected older neighbor, and a middle-aged stranger you're being polite to. That's what I mean by "flattening." The rich, contextual information embedded in the original term is erased.

Why Preserving This Nuance Matters:
Without this cultural layer, readers can get seriously confused. I once saw a story (likely a translation) in TikTok, where the female lead was in love with her "little uncle." The comments were flooded with "UNCLE???" and disgust, even though it was clearly stated he was adopted and their age gap was less than ten years. The English word "uncle" triggered a literal, biological alarm that the original term (which might have been something like "shushu" 叔叔) was never meant to convey. The cultural flavor wasn't just lost—it created a major plot misunderstanding.

The reason I'm currently focusing only on sibling terms in my translations is twofold:

1. My knowledge of the nuanced, context-dependent usage of extended familial terms in Chinese is still growing. I don't want to misuse them and create more confusion.

2. Terms like 姐 (jiě), 妹 (mèi), 弟 (dì), and 哥 (gē) already have relatively common recognition and usage among international readers.

I'm sticking to what I know I can handle accurately for now. However, in the future, I may expand this "no-translation" rule to include common extended terms like 叔叔 (shūshu, little uncle) / 阿姨 (āyí, little aunt) and 伯伯 (bóbo, big uncle) / 姑姑 (gūgu, big aunt) once I'm more confident in their precise application.

I hope you understand, and thank you for your patience as I learn! (´･ᴗ･`)

-

The same care applies to exclamations. You'll often see characters exclaim "Heavens!" or "My Heaven!" instead of "Oh my God." In xianxia and historical settings, "Heaven" (天, Tian) represents fate and the cosmic order—it's the culturally appropriate exclamation.

My goal is to preserve this flavor. I'll try add a translator's note the first time a key term appears (if I remember), but I'll keep the term itself in the text so you can feel the nuance in every interaction. This is a newer "rule" in my translation style, so you'll see it applied more consistently in works I start from now on.

On Telling Time: A Note on Zodiac Hours

When the text uses traditional Chinese Zodiac Hours (e.g., mao hour for 5 AM - 7 AM), I don't simply state the full two-hour range. Instead, I use contextual logic to determine a reasonable specific time within that range.

• I default to the mid-point of the range (e.g., "around 6 AM" for mao hour) unless the context strongly suggests an early or late time.

• I only state the full range (e.g., "between 5 and 7 AM") when the context doesn't allow for a rational estimate.

• The goal is to provide a natural, readable sense of time for the scene without getting bogged down in a technical explanation every time.

A quick note: This is a newly applied rule in my translation style. You may still see instances in older or previously translated chapters where I wrote the full range (e.g., "mao (rabbit) hour (5 AM - 7 AM)"). This is especially likely for scenes describing a ranged activity like "having breakfast during mao hour," where a specific time isn't critical. Going forward, I will use the more streamlined approach.

The Evolution of My Style

Translation is an evolving craft. Each novel and chapter teaches me something new. You might notice my translation style shift and refine over time—not just from one completed project to the next, but sometimes even within a single novel.

Let's say a novel has 800 chapters. The early chapters might feel a bit rougher, as they were my first steps in translating it. Then, by chapter 200 or 300, I might have developed a new preference for handling dialogue. By chapter 500, I might refine how I convey internal monologues and the general narrative style. Since I'm usually juggling multiple projects, a stylistic refinement that happens in one novel can also immediately influence a new project I start, making the newer one feel more polished from the get-go.

However, even as the surface-level style evolves, the core of my translation philosophy remains constant. If you read a few of my different projects, you'll probably start to recognize my distinctive 'voice' and approach underneath it all. The heart of how I interpret and connect with a story is the one thing that doesn't change.

Translator Notes & Extras

You’ll also see translator notes sprinkled here and there—usually for cultural context, terminology, or background info. Sometimes, I also make deliberate changes in the translation. This might be something small, like using a different English term, or it might be larger, such as rewriting a sentence or even adjusting the meaning of an entire paragraph if I feel it reads more naturally in English. When that happens, I'll usually include what the author originally wrote and explain my choice.

For readers who know my style, you've probably also noticed that I like giving nicknames to contracted companions or pets (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧. I usually do this when the author only refers to a pet by its species name. Whenever that happens, I'll add a footnote explaining the original wording and the nickname I chose.

These "translator notes" usually appear right within the chapter text, marked with a clear divider (===) so they're easy to spot. I'm just so used to this system, and I find it's much clearer for readers, especially when the notes get long. Sometimes I might also use AO3's 'Notes' section for extra comments, but the main footnotes with cultural explanations or translation choices will almost always be in the chapter body with my trusty divider.

A Quick Note on Posting Schedules & Offline Reading

I originally thought AO3 had a scheduled publishing feature like Webnovel… turns out it doesn’t (╯▽╰ )

So, my update rhythm here will be a bit different. On Webnovel, I can stockpile chapters and set a regular timer. Here, since I'm juggling multiple active projects, my AO3 updates might be more chaotic. Sometimes I might do a “chapter dump” with a lot of updates at once, then go quiet for a few days or maybe more than a week before dropping another batch. (´･ω･) It really depends on which project I'm hyper-focused on at the moment. I hope you’ll understand!

Also, for those who prefer offline reading, I upload the completed translations for each novel on Gdrive and Terabox. You can find the links on my Carrd.

And for a super detailed, behind-the-scenes look at all my projects, you can check out my public Notion page! It's my personal hub where I keep a full catalog of everything I'm translating, complete with summaries and—of course—my own rambling opinions and notes on each one. Consider it the ultimate, constantly-updated guide to my translation world!
➡️ Reiya's Translation Catalog

Let's Chat on Discord! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Oh, and before I forget, I recently made a Discord server! It's still a bit of a ghost town right now, but I wanted to create a cozy corner where readers and fans of my work can hang out.

Since my hobbies are split between translating and making character bots on C.ai, this server is the "home" where both of those worlds come together. It's a shared space for us all to interact, chat about the novels, share memes, or just talk about random stuff. It's also the perfect place to connect with other readers since my projects are spread across different platforms.

I'd love to see you there! You can join the server using the link below:
➡️ https://discord.gg/75sprU6DdD

My Handbooks - Your Reading Companions! (´･ᴗ･`)

To help everyone (and myself!) navigate the often complex worlds of these novels, I've put together a series of handbooks. They started as my private glossaries, but I've officially published them on Webnovel so they're easy to find and reference. Think of them as your personal cheat sheets for cultivation terms, historical titles, and webnovel slang. I keep them updated as I go!

A quick note on access: I've just finished migrating The Xianxia Handbook here to AO3! My plan is to eventually move all the handbooks over. For now, the others remain on my Webnovel account, but AO3 will be my main site for all new projects and completed works, including these resources.

✨ New & Improved on AO3! ✨

The Xianxia Handbook: A Guide to Cultivation and Beyond

This is your go-to guide for all things Cultivation. Entries cover key concepts like world hierarchy, the Heavenly Dao, the evolution of cultivation systems, the Dao, Laws, realms and stages, sect structure, and terms like 'Luck' and the often misunderstand 'Dual Cultivation'.

If you've read the Webnovel version—or found it a bit too dense—I highly recommend checking out this new AO3 version! I've not only made some changes and added information, but I've also reformatted it with bullet points and clearer headings to make it much easier to digest and use as a quick reference.

I personally feel this handbook now encompasses the core and most important elements of the Xianxia genre. Future updates will likely be minor, focusing mainly on adding more cultivation stages or formal titles, as the foundational knowledge is all there!

Still on Webnovel (For Now!):

• The Imperial Handbook: A Practical Guide to Ancient Chinese Society
  In short: for historical topics, harem system, courts, bureaucracy, nobility, titles, and common institutions. Expect concise explanations of offices and ranks, and how local government worked.

  A quick note: For now, the entries are heavily focused on the nobility and imperial family, reflecting the current themes of the novels I'm translating. I'll be steadily adding more about the lives of common folks and merchants once I pick up a project where they take the spotlight as the MCs!

• The Webnovel Handbook: A Guide to Slang, Tropes, and Inside Jokes
  In short: for community slang, memes, running jokes, and fan culture. Such as "Golden Thigh," "Eating Melon," “Rainbow Fart,” “Green Hat,” and other fun terms. Note: This one is just starting out, but I'll be steadily adding more fun terms and tropes!

If these resources help you, please consider adding my Handbook Series to your library! Your ratings, reviews, and shares mean the world. Your comments also help me refine examples and fill gaps, making these guides better for everyone!

Final Housekeeping

Originally, I started uploading my translation project on my Webnovel account, but I reached the maximum number allowed. That's why I'm now sharing my work here on AO3 as well!

The Big Picture: Two Versions, One Journey

Here's how I see and organize my projects now:

• AO3 is the "Polished Home": This is now the primary home for my translations. It hosts the rewritten and polished versions of my completed works, and it's where I will publish all new projects with my current, refined style from the start. Think of it as the "director's cut" and the main stage for my best work. (Of course, my style is always evolving, so even here it may grow more refined over time).

• Webnovel is for the "Living Archive": My Webnovel account (capped at 20 titles) houses my initial uploads. It's a snapshot of my translation journey—you can see the early experiments, the evolving style, and the gradual polish that eventually led to the refined AO3 versions.

My Current Roadmap (As of Dec, 2025)

1. Active Rewrites: I am currently rewriting The Cube Queen's Apocalypse Feast and When Everyone Cultivates, polishing them up to their latest posted chapters for AO3.

2. Notice for Readers: Whenever I begin rewriting a project for AO3, I will add a clear notice at the top of first chapter of the story. I will also publish a temporary "Update" chapter to notify anyone who has bookmarked the story. Once the rewrite is complete, I will delete that "in-progress" update chapter and publish a final "Rewrite Complete!" update. After about a week, I will delete that final update chapter as well to keep the story's chapter list tidy.

3. Next Phase: After these, I'll move through my other completed AO3 projects, giving each one this same "polish and republish" treatment.

4. Ongoing Updates: Once the AO3 back-catalog is updated, I'll rotate between posting new chapters for ongoing AO3 series and continuing my active Webnovel projects.

5. Future Cycle: Whenever an AO3 story catches up to the latest Webnovel chapter, I'll pick another completed Webnovel project, rewrite it, and publish the polished version here.

So, in the end, each story will exist in two places: a refined version on AO3 and its original, evolving form on Webnovel. If you’d like to know more about my projects or how to support my work, you can find all the details on my Carrd. Everything here will always stay free to read!

Disclaimer & A Note on the Original Work:
This is an unofficial, non-profit, fan-created translation. I do not own the rights to the original story. All credit and ownership belong to the author. This work is shared strictly for the purpose of introducing this wonderful story to a wider audience.

Supporting the Work:

• The Author: If you enjoy this story, the absolute best way to support its creator is to access it through its official channels. My hope is that my version acts as a gateway, and I encourage you to seek out the original.

• The Translator (Me): While this translation will never be put behind a paywall, translation is a significant labor of love. I gratefully accept voluntary donations as a form of support and encouragement.

  To be perfectly honest, alongside my passion, your direct support is a major motivation that helps me keep going—especially as I don't have a traditional "day job" right now. Your comments, kudos, and bookmarks mean the world, but tangible support has a direct impact on my ability to dedicate time to this work.

  If you are able and willing to support me financially, you can do so in two ways:

  • Ko-fi: For one-time donations of any amount.

  • Patreon: For monthly support (tiers from $2 to $35), which you can cancel anytime.

  Please note: There is no early access, exclusive content, or locked chapters. My Patreon have small, non-essential extras like HD covers, polished blurbs, and the original Chinese titles & author details that you can access without membership. So—it's a way to say thank you, not a paywall.

  You can find the direct links to my Ko-fi and Patreon on my Carrd, or in the dedicated channel on my Discord server.

  I sincerely appreciate every form of support, whether it's a kind word or a donation. Thank you for making this work possible.

Legal & Ethical Notice:
This translation is provided freely for personal enjoyment. It is presented as a transformative work (a creative, interpretive translation), created with respect for the original author's copyright.

• Buying/Selling is Strictly Prohibited: I do not authorize anyone to sell, distribute for profit, or commercially exploit this translation in any way. Any party doing so does so without my consent and assumes full legal responsibility.
• Sharing & Credit: Non-commercial sharing is permitted only with clear and proper credit to me as the translator (Psueds Rikhi on AO3 / Reiya_Alberich on Webnovel) and a link back to this original posting. Uncredited reposting, plagiarism, or any unauthorized use is not permitted. I bear no responsibility for the actions of third parties who misuse this work.

Regarding the Nature of This Translation:
This project is best understood as a "Transformative Work" under AO3's terms—specifically, a Creative Translation. It is not a word-for-word conversion but a subjective interpretation and adaptation for an English-language audience. As explained in my translation philosophy, I act as both a translator and a creative partner to the text.

Consequently, the text you are reading is a hybrid work. It is fundamentally the author's story, but it is also distinctly my version of it. It exists in the space between a direct translation and a full adaptation—faithful to the core plot and spirit, but intentionally shaped by my creative choices.

Thank you so much for reading, and I truly hope you enjoy this novel as much as I did when I first discovered it (｡•ㅅ•｡)♡

Chapter Text

This list uses Pinyin romanization for historical authenticity. These terms are used in historical novel translations to preserve cultural flavor.

Imperial/National Level

• 帝国 (Dìguó) = Empire
• 朝廷 (Cháotíng) = Imperial Court
• 天下 (Tiānxià) = "All Under Heaven" (the known world/realm)

Provincial Level

• 省 (Shěng) = Province
• 道 (Dào) = Circuit/Intendancy (Tang-Qing dynasties)

Prefectural Level

• 府 (Fǔ) = Prefecture
• 州 (Zhōu) = Prefecture/Province (depending on dynasty)
• 郡 (Jùn) = Commandery/Prefecture (pre-Tang)

County Level

• 县 (Xiàn) = County
• 邑 (Yì) = City/Settlement (classical term)

Sub-County Level

• 镇 (Zhèn) = Town
• 乡 (Xiāng) = Township/Rural district
• 里 (Lǐ) = Village/Neighborhood ward
• 村 (Cūn) = Village
• 城 (Chéng) = Walled city/Fortress city
• 寨 (Zhài) = Fortified village/Stockade

Military/Border Divisions

• 关 (Guān) = Pass/Border checkpoint
• 卫 (Wèi) = Guard station/Military garrison
• 所 (Suǒ) = Battalion/Military post

Aristocratic/Feudal Territories

• 侯 (Hóu) = Marquis territory/Marquisate
• 伯 (Bó) = Earl territory/Earldom
• 子 (Zǐ) = Viscount territory
• 男 (Nán) = Baron territory
• 王 (Wáng) = Prince/King territory (Kingdom/Principality)
• 公 (Gōng) = Duke territory (Duchy)

Capital Cities

• 京 (Jīng) = Capital
• 京城 (Jīngchéng) = Imperial Capital
• 都 (Dū) = Capital city
• 都城 (Dūchéng) = Capital city

USAGE EXAMPLES IN TRANSLATION

Modern Translation Style:

• 乌县 → Wu County
• 天津府 → Tianjin Prefecture
• 长安镇 → Chang'an Town

Historical Translation Style:

• 乌县 → Wuxian
• 天津府 → Tianjinfu
• 长安镇 → Chang'anzhen
• 洛阳侯 → Luoyanghou

Chapter Text

From Chang’an all the way east, the further the carriage went, the fewer travelers there were on the road. The roadside was lush with summer growth, wild grasses and bushes spilling over the ditches in thick green tangles, yet human presence grew scarce, the occasional distant farmhouse the only sign of life beyond the trees.

Lin Qian sat in the carriage, the wooden bench beneath her hard even through the thin cushion, her entourage of coachmen, attendants, guards, nannys, and maids numbering just over thirty. They had already been traveling for four or five days, the rhythm of hoofbeats and creaking wheels settling into a monotonous backdrop to her thoughts.

The road wound through uneven terrain, dipping into shallow valleys and climbing over gentle rises, and with all the stops and starts for rest and repairs, even irritation had long since worn away into a dull acceptance of the journey’s length. By the schedule, they would reach Xinghexian in another month, a distant point on a map that felt increasingly abstract.

In her previous life, Lin Qian had died in a plane crash during a business trip, a sudden rending of metal and a final, silent fall. When she woke up in this world, the original body’s owner had just been appointed by the Emperor as the County Magistrate of Xinghexian, the imperial edict still crisp in its tube.

She remembered being eighteen when her parents were killed in a car accident. There weren't any terrible relatives to deal with, but after her parents’ deaths, both sides of the family slowly stopped contacting her. Her parents came from poor farming families, the kind that scraped food from the fields, their hands permanently etched with soil and labor. There was never much money to spare. Still, no one ever borrowed money from her, nor did they ask her for anything. They would just send the occasional festival greeting and offer polite sympathy, the words growing more formal with each passing year.

Her parents’ accident was caused by a driver who had run a red light and sped through the intersection. He took full responsibility. The man’s family wasn't rich either, so he sold his house and paid her eight hundred thousand yuan in compensation, the money transferred in a series of bleak, clinical bank transfers. Her parents had left behind only about a hundred thousand yuan in savings, money they had been saving to help her buy a house in the city, a dream discussed in whispers over simple dinners.

Her father had smoked for years, damaged his liver, and been hospitalized. The family income was never high, and since his health was poor, they couldn't afford to raise a second child. Lin Qian was their only daughter. They had endured the village’s scorn for being “a family with no sons” just so they could send her to college, something rare for girls in their village. After their deaths, rumors spread that she had brought them bad luck, that she had “cursed” them to die. Because of that, she rarely returned home except during Qingming to pay respects, standing before their graves under a grey sky.

Maybe that gossip was why her relatives’ attitudes toward her turned so cold. Before her parents’ deaths, they had treated her warmly enough. Since she was the only daughter of the Lin family, her relatives used to call her “the little gold nugget,” meaning she was more precious than the boys of her generation, a title given with rough, affectionate hands.

She was born in a time when things weren't as open-minded as they are now, yet her parents had saved to buy her a home in the city. It showed how much they loved her. Maybe because she had grown up under that kind of unconditional support, she eventually managed to climb out of grief after they passed away, the process slow and painful as healing a broken bone.

Of course, that kind of loss never really fades. It lingered in quiet moments, in family gatherings and holidays marked by empty chairs, but she had learned to keep moving forward. With her inheritance and the accident compensation, she bought a small fifty-square-meter apartment in the city. After graduation, she worked at a training center, then switched to a friend’s trading company as a translator. Within a few years, her salary had multiplied several times over.

She wasn't rich, but she lived comfortably. She had a car, a home, money, and a stable career. There wasn't much she couldn't afford, and no financial pressure hanging over her. She had dated a few times, but each relationship ended because “they weren't right for each other.” She had thought life would just keep going on peacefully, until fate struck without warning, a departure gate leading to an ending.

The plane crash killed everyone onboard, including her.

A few crows flew overhead, their harsh calls slicing through the damp evening air. As dusk fell, painting the sky in streaks of purple and orange, her small convoy was the only one left on the road, their shadows long and distorted on the packed earth. In the distance, a post station’s flag fluttered in the wind, a faded splash of color against the gathering gloom.

Lin Qian sighed softly, the sound lost in the rumble of the wheels, grateful she had written her will early. After her parents’ accident, she had made one out, just in case. If they had died unexpectedly, she might one day too. At least, with a will, her estate would be properly handled. Part of it would go to her parents’ siblings, but most would be donated to help children in poor mountain regions, a decision that had felt like tying a loose thread.

The original owner of this body had the same name as her, Lin Qian, and when she crossed over, she hadn't inherited the woman’s memories. She only knew the woman’s father had once served as an official in the Ministry of Revenue, before being accused of corruption. The alleged embezzlement was nearly ten thousand taels of silver.

In this era, that was an astronomical sum. A thousand copper coins made one tael of silver, but since silver was scarce, its real value was even higher. To accuse a small official of stealing ten thousand taels was horrifying, a number so vast it sounded like a myth.

Her father’s yearly salary was only a few dozen taels at most, even counting stipends. Convicted of corruption, her family was executed and exiled, and all the women were sold into servitude.

The original Lin Qian escaped because her maid took her place. With her nanny’s help, she fled the capital and lived in hiding. The nanny wasn't a slave by birth, just a servant, and she raised Lin Qian as her own child. Later, Lin Qian disguised herself as a boy and studied under that identity, eventually becoming a tan hua, the third-highest scorer in the imperial exam.

When she stood before the Emperor and confessed the truth, the court was thrown into awkward silence, the air in the grand hall growing thick and still.

Deceiving the Emperor was punishable by death.

Yet she had earned her rank through real talent, and her family’s case had indeed been unjust. With recent disasters plaguing the realm, the Emperor couldn't appear merciless. He granted her pardon and allowed her to investigate, but by then, her family was long gone, bones buried in unmarked ground.

Feeling guilty, the Emperor wanted to compensate her, but what could he give to someone who had lost everything?

He had thought about bringing her into the palace as a concubine, but knowing she was the daughter of a man his court had wronged, he hesitated.

A scholar’s daughter who had lived as a man wouldn't accept being humiliated as a concubine. So, under the advice of trusted officials, the Emperor made her a County Magistrate, a seventh-rank local officer. It wasn't a position that required her to report to the capital. For most, that would have been exile. For her, it was freedom.

No woman in Zhao had ever served as a magistrate before. Not even minor clerks were female. But it kept her away from the capital’s power struggles and silenced those who might have objected. It was, in its own twisted way, a mercy. Her teacher had argued for her talent, convincing the Emperor to assign her a post instead of forcing her into marriage.

Unfortunately, fate was cruel. Just as she was on her way to assume office, she fell ill and died before reaching the county, her life snuffed out in a roadside inn. And that was how Lin Qian, the one from another world, came to be here. Now she was traveling with a few purchased servants and guards toward her new post. Technically, she would be the ruling authority of a county without a magistrate, practically a local king.

Still, she doubted Xinghexian was a prosperous place. The further they traveled from the capital, the poorer the villages looked.

Well, too late to complain. She would just have to make the best of it.

As she was thinking that, the carriage pulled up in front of the post station, the driver calling out to the horses as they came to a halt.

Lin Qian stepped down, her boots meeting the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard, and instructed her maid to settle the nanny before entering to register her stay. She was traveling along the official route, so her arrival had been anticipated. Though a woman, she had been personally appointed by the Emperor. None dared neglect her.

The station master greeted her politely, bowing with precise formality. Despite being only a seventh-rank official, she outranked him by far. Still, since she was a woman, he kept conversation brief, offering a few flattering words about her honorable journey before ordering servants to see her to her quarters, his eyes carefully averted from her face.

Lin Qian had only two personal maids with her. Her nanny insisted on sharing her room out of worry, sleeping on a small couch while Lin Qian took the bed. They had brought their own bedding and utensils, so the nanny quickly instructed the maids to make the room ready, airing out the thin mattress and unpacking the familiar porcelain cup and washbasin. Lin Qian didn't use anything others had touched. Her nanny, Madam Qiu, might have been called her “mother” in name, but she had never treated her as family. At best, she saw herself as a loyal servant, her care a duty performed with stern efficiency.

“Daren, what would you like for supper? I will send someone to fetch it.” Madam Qiu asked once everything was arranged, the room now carrying the faint scent of their own travel-worn linens.

Before passing the imperial exam, the nanny would call her “girl” in private, but ever since she became an official, even Madam Qiu called her “Daren,” the title a wall between them.

It was necessary for appearances. Traveling in men’s clothes made it easier to maintain authority, the dark, simple robes devoid of ornament, and truth be told, men’s attire was far more convenient for travel anyway. As for women’s clothing, those luxurious gowns and hairpieces were for noble ladies, princesses, and daughters of dukes, not a newly appointed magistrate barely scraping by on an official’s travel allowance.

Lin Qian didn't mind. In her past life she had been twenty-eight. Now she was twenty-one again, like she had been given seven years back, the youth in her face still strange in the bronze mirror. At this age, she figured, it didn't matter what she wore. What mattered was that she was alive, breathing this cool evening air, her future an uncertain road stretching out before her.

Chapter Text

They had just started preparing dinner when someone, a young maidservant checking the fading light at the window, reminded them it was nearly curfew. If they didn't buy food now, going out later would be a problem, the heavy gates of the station compound bolted shut against the night. Though they had brought dry rations along the way, salted meats and hard biscuits, after days of travel, everyone wanted something fresh for once, a taste that was not of dust and preservation.

This post station was quite remote, a solitary cluster of buildings surrounded by fields, yet there were still a few households nearby, their cooking fires sending thin trails of smoke into the twilight sky.

In Zhao, post stations didn't just handle government matters and dispatch official mail. They also took private business, so there was a steady flow of people coming and going, merchants and messengers adding to the hum of activity. Where there were travelers, there were teahouses and taverns, small establishments built to catch the trade from the road.

Lin Qian liked meat, so she decided to have her attendants buy two roasted chickens, the kind that turned on a spit over an open fire.

"Also get a jug of wine for the guards who have been traveling hard," she said, her voice clear in the quiet room. "If there is pork, buy two jin (roughly 1 kilogram) and borrow a stove so they can boil it themselves. Let them make some dipping sauce to go with the wine."

Since she hadn't officially taken office yet, Lin Qian didn't have yamen runners under her command. Her guards were mostly male servants bought by her family, along with a few hired protectors with swords at their hips. Whenever they stopped at a post station and could rest for a night, Lin Qian always made sure they ate something decent. After all, strong guards protected better. But chances like this didn't come often. After so many days on the road, this was only the second time they had had fresh meat, the memory of the last occasion already blurred by fatigue.

Madam Qiu, her nanny, acknowledged the order with a short nod and was about to step out when a servant from the post station arrived, his steps soft on the wooden floorboards, bringing food and wine on behalf of the station master, the dishes covered with woven bamboo lids.

Lin Qian had the servant thank him and sent Madam Qiu to give a small handful of copper coins as a token, the coins clinking softly in the old woman's palm.

The messenger bowed repeatedly in gratitude, his forehead nearly touching his knees, before leaving, the door swinging shut behind him.

When Lin Qian lifted the lid, the steam rising in a fragrant cloud, the dishes were exactly what she liked: a roasted chicken, its skin glistening, a bowl of fish soup milky white with broth, and two plates of vegetables glistening with oil. There was also a jug of warm yellow wine, thoughtfully served with a porcelain warmer to keep it hot. Unfortunately, she wasn't fond of alcohol, the smell too sharp. She had Madam Qiu send the wine to the guards instead. Still, she ordered more pork for them to share, not wanting the station master's gift to seem unappreciated.

At dinner, Lin Qian sat with Madam Qiu at the small table, while the two maids ate beside them on small stools, not daring to share the table, their bowls held close.

Lin Qian didn't really mind it. When Madam Qiu wasn't around, she sometimes ate with the maids, the conversation easier, but Madam Qiu was strict about etiquette. As long as she was present, the maids would never sit with their mistress, their posture rigid with deference.

The roasted chicken was surprisingly good. The skin was crispy but not burnt, cracking under her teeth, and the meat inside was tender and juicy when she tore off a leg, the steam carrying its simple, savory scent. Seasonings here were not nearly as varied as in her past life, but the chicken was still delicious. Freshness did most of the work, the flavor of the bird itself rich and clean.

After dinner, Madam Qiu went to sleep in the adjoining room, the wooden partition between them thin, while Lin Qian sat by the lamp, its flame flickering in a small pool of yellow light, flipping through a lunar almanac, the pages thin and crackling.

A newly appointed magistrate couldn't assume office at will. The date had to be auspicious, and the local City God Temple needed to be visited before taking the seal, a ritual of acknowledgment to the local spirits. Lin Qian was checking for the next suitable day. October was coming, and she noticed one day marked as a "Day of Virtue." It would be a lucky day for taking office, depending on what the current magistrate said. She would have to formally relieve him of his post. He was probably being promoted or transferred, since she hadn't heard of any demotion, the bureaucratic wheels turning invisibly far away.

Lin Qian had looked into Xinghexian before leaving. The name sounded like "prosperity and harmony," but reality was far less poetic. Though she hadn't arrived yet, she already knew its population count, the numbers stark on the official register.

In Zhao, most counties had over ten thousand households. Counting five people per household, that meant fifty thousand residents. Richer counties could easily reach over a hundred thousand. But Xinghexian? The land was vast, yet the population barely reached ten thousand, the figure lonely on the page.

That number stunned her. Her hometown village in her past life had more people than that!

Clearly, she hadn't drawn a good lot. The county was poor, mountainous, and isolated. The roads were probably half impassable, swallowed by mud in the rains. Still, she tried to console herself. At least it would be easy to defend and hard to attack, right? Economically worthless, maybe, but militarily sound, there was some comfort in that, a thin thread of silver lining.

As the sun went down, its last light bleeding from the courtyard, a young servant brought meat to the guards outside, the platter heavy in his hands.

There were two groups of men: those who were Lin family servants, their clothes plainer, and those who were hired mercenaries, their gear more varied. The meat and wine were divided equally between them, two jin of pork, one jug of wine split between both sides, the portions carefully measured.

Lin Qian’s recent illness had delayed them a few days, and new officials weren't allowed to be late to their posts. They couldn't afford another stop. They would depart again at dawn, the horses still tired. Even though she had given them wine, each man was allowed only a small cup, enough to warm the belly but not cloud the head.

The hired guards sat together in the courtyard on overturned buckets and stools, drinking and chatting, their voices low.

A short, stocky man with a thick beard lowered his voice, his words a rough murmur. "Never heard of a woman being an official before. Palace maids are one thing, but a female County Magistrate? What is next, a woman Emperor?"

The leader, a broad-shouldered man in his forties with a clean-shaven face, gave a steady look, his eyes reflecting the torchlight. "Doesn't matter if she is male or female. She is still the County Magistrate. As long as we serve her well, maybe she will grant us positions at the yamen later. Better than wandering the roads and eating cold rice."

A dull-looking man grumbled, rubbing his calloused hands together, "I heard we're going to some poor, godforsaken place. Even if we get a yamen post, what profit could there be?"

The tall man took a sip of wine, swallowing slowly. "You really don't get it. The common folk might be poor, but officials never are. Every county is the same. Once she takes office, there will be offerings, gifts from local gentry, tributes from the wealthy. Even a 'clean' magistrate walks away with silver snowing down like flakes. In a poor backwater, earning a few hundred taels a year is nothing hard. If she lets some of that trickle down, we will all get a taste."

A man who had been silent the whole time, sharpening a dagger on a stone, finally spoke, the steel whispering against the rock. "Quit dreaming. She has got her own household guards, all loyal to her. Even if she hands out favors, they will get the jobs before we do."

The leader nodded, his expression unchanging. "Just do your duty. Don't overthink it. These things depend on luck. Without luck, all effort is wasted."

After everyone ate and drank, the bones tossed to a waiting dog, they soon went to bed, the courtyard falling quiet save for the chirp of crickets.

Madam Qiu checked that Lin Qian was asleep, the younger woman’s breathing even in the dark, then blew out the lamp, the room plunging into deeper shadow.

But the moment darkness fell, the last glow from the courtyard extinguished, Lin Qian opened her eyes again, staring at the rough ceiling beams.

"Can you really bring my parents here to be with me?" she whispered, the words barely a breath.

"Yes, we can," came the crisp, youthful voice of Zheng Zheng, the Temporal Correction System, sounding as if it spoke from just beside her ear. "Just as you crossed over, we can arrange for your parents to inhabit bodies that have already died. They may not match their original forms as closely as yours, but the result will be similar."

"So, what do you need me to do?"

"It isn't what we need you to do," Zheng Zheng replied evenly, its tone devoid of inflection. "It is what we need you to accomplish."

Lin Qian had only discovered the system that morning, a sudden presence in her mind as clear as a spoken word. After a full day of questioning, turning its answers over and over, she still wasn't sure she believed it.

Zheng Zheng continued, "As I mentioned earlier, countless simulations show that your transmigration can alter the apocalyptic fate of Tianlan Star. It may erase some parts of our history, but overall, the outcome remains stable. We hope you can change the course of Zhao’s dynasty, preventing the catastrophic population collapse that follows its chaos."

"I can change your apocalypse?" she asked, her fingers tightening on the rough blanket.

"In the year one hundred million of Tianlan’s calendar, the planet became a dead world. My creators, your distant descendants, were forced to abandon their home and wander the stars. To prevent that end, they ran thousands of simulations and found several pivotal points in history. Your transmigration is one of them. To alter Tianlan’s fate, these points must act together. So yes, it's correct to say you can change our end."

Zheng Zheng paused, the silence in the dark room complete. Then it added, "In exchange, once you have changed history, we will bring your parents to you. But if you fail, if the chaos remains and history can't be corrected, you and your parents will both perish."

Lin Qian nodded slowly, the motion unseen, her thoughts racing behind her closed eyes. "Then what exactly do I need to do? How do I change the outcome?"

"You may act as you please."

"...What?" Her head tilted slightly on the pillow, the straw inside rustling.

What kind of answer was that?

"You can do whatever you wish. If you need assistance, we will provide it unconditionally."

"What if I fail? Can I restart the mission?"

"I'm sorry. Our current technology doesn't allow repeated transmigration." Zheng Zheng’s childlike voice was matter-of-fact, stating a simple limitation.

"That's a tall order," she muttered into the fabric. "I'm just an ordinary person. Why did you choose me of all people?"

"There is always a key variable in every world," Zheng Zheng said. "I can't explain it clearly, but you can think of yourself as the butterfly in the butterfly effect."

It paused briefly, as if consulting a vast, invisible database. "Changing a dynasty’s fate won't be easy. Alone, it may be impossible. But if you share your ideas with us, we will do everything in our power to help." Another pause. "At any cost."

Though Zheng Zheng wasn't human, when it said "at any cost," Lin Qian felt a strange, almost sacred determination humming beneath the words. Maybe that spirit came from his creators, the "parents" he spoke of, their desperation echoing across time.

Lin Qian thought it over, the weight of the task settling in her chest. She was just a small county magistrate. By exam rank, she should have been assigned to the capital, not buried in a backwater. Even if she was only a second-tier graduate, she should have been given three years in a county post before returning to the capital for promotion. But the Emperor had made her a county magistrate right away, which meant one thing, he had no intention of ever letting her rise further.

Zhao was vast, and she had been sent to a poor, barren county where even survival was uncertain. Recruiting soldiers was out of the question. She knew her limits. The system wanted her to turn the tide of history, but she couldn't even turn a tide in a bathtub.

Unless… she cheated.

"Can you at least help me summon a few scientists from Earth?"

"Their national fate is too strong. It can't be done," Zheng Zheng replied without hesitation.

"...What?"

"It's complicated," the system said patiently, as if explaining to a child. "You only need to understand that if they crossed over, Tianlan’s apocalypse wouldn't be prevented. Their presence would leave traces on this world, and that's forbidden."

"And my crossing didn't leave traces?"

"They're easy to erase," Zheng Zheng said simply.

"...Right." Lin Qian sighed into the pillow, the sound swallowed by the night. Ordinary people and geniuses really did live in different worlds. The thought was not new, but it had never felt quite so literal.

Chapter Text

Lin Qian had planned to follow the path of those transmigration novels she had read and hand the planet Tianlan Star over to the government, letting the vast bureaucratic machinery handle the impossible task, but it turned out that route was not possible after all, the door she imagined slamming shut with Zheng Zheng's first words.

"Then can I bring ordinary people from Earth over to help me?" she asked into the darkness, the idea forming as a practical solution.

"This requires recalculation," Zheng Zheng’s voice replied calmly in her mind, a disembodied presence that felt both intimate and alien. "We will need an exact number of people who can cross over, as well as a way to prevent the civilizations of both worlds from discovering each other. It will take some time before we can give you an answer, Host."

"Alright, go ahead and calculate it. Will it take long?"

"Not too long. We will have results within a month."

"When will this Empire fall?" she asked, shifting the subject to the ticking clock.

"If the timeline remains unchanged, that will be in five years. However, since you have already transmigrated, the fall of Zhao might change." The voice was neutral, stating a variable.

"Good." At least she still had time to plan things out, a small, grim relief. Five years was both an eternity and no time at all.

Once she replied, Zheng Zheng’s voice faded from her mind, the silence rushing back in. Lin Qian figured he must have gone off to crunch data again, that vast, unseen processing whirring somewhere beyond her comprehension.

She didn't dwell on it, the weight of the conversation already a stone in her stomach, and soon drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of the road finally pulling her under.

The next morning, the bell tower rang from a distant temple, its deep, resonant tones jolting Lin Qian awake in the grey pre-dawn light.

She couldn't fall back asleep, the sound still echoing in the quiet room, so she stayed in bed reading the Four Books and Five Classics by the light of a single candle, the small flame dancing as she turned the thin pages. It was best to memorize a few passages while her mind was still clear before breakfast, the words of ancient sages a necessary armor.

She was about to become a county magistrate. Without a Zhixian overseeing the county, she would be responsible for everything, including the local scholars and students who would test her authority. If she said something wrong in front of those scholars, being looked down upon would be the least of her worries, getting reported for lacking real knowledge would be far worse, a fatal crack in her legitimacy.

In her previous life, she had memorized bits of the classics back in school, stuffing all sorts of fragments into her brain for college exams, the rhythms of Confucian prose once familiar. But she had already been out in society for several years. She could still understand part of it now, but most had grown unfamiliar, the characters swimming on the page. Thankfully, the original body loved taking notes, each one carefully annotated in the margins. With those notes, Lin Qian could manage without too many mistakes, tracing the logic of another mind.

The original’s handwriting was firm yet elegant, full of character, the brushstrokes confident and clean. Just looking at it, Lin Qian could almost sense how resolute the woman had been, the pressure of the brush tip speaking of a disciplined, unyielding spirit.

She had taken calligraphy classes when she was young, but her foundation couldn't compare, her own hand clumsy and inconsistent. From now on, she would have to practice copying more often, filling pages with careful imitation. Fortunately, her nanny and maids were not well-read. As long as she imitated the style decently, they wouldn't notice the difference, the forgery passing unseen.

When dawn broke completely, the pale light filling the room, the two maids helped her dress and rise. Since the original had always been studious, Lin Qian’s morning reading was not out of place, a familiar ritual that raised no eyebrows.

After washing up with water brought in a copper basin and having a simple breakfast of congee and pickles, she sent someone to inform the relay station master of her thanks, a polite formality, then set out again with her retinue, the carriage wheels crunching on the gravel of the courtyard. If she had been a man, she could have befriended the relay master over a cup of wine, he had been courteous and capable, his eyes sharp with intelligence.

But she was a woman, and even with an official rank, she couldn't afford to be too close to men, the boundaries rigid and unforgiving.

That was the hardship of being a female official in these times. Though she held an office, there were countless rules a woman had to obey, an invisible cage within the authority she wielded. Getting too familiar with men could tarnish her reputation, a stain no achievement could wash clean.

The original body had old classmates from when she disguised herself as a man, but few remained in touch, the bonds severed by the revelation of her gender. Now, her only correspondences were with her old teacher and one or two friends who dared to write, and even those were rare, the letters brief and careful.

All of it came down to her being a woman. She couldn't call her old peers "brother" anymore, nor could she drink and laugh with them as before. Once, she would have joined friends at the tavern, debating poetry late into the night, but now such things were unthinkable. Rumors spread too easily, twisting innocent fellowship into scandal.

As the carriage moved on, the landscape changing, the towns grew sparser, and the people fewer, the signs of human habitation dwindling to occasional hamlets.

At least the official road was still well-kept, the stone foundation holding firm beneath the dirt.

Here and there, a few beggars or drifters wandered by, their clothes ragged. When commoners walking along the road saw her carriage and its escort, they quickly stepped aside, pressing themselves against the hedgerows. Occasionally, a local official, a low-ranking clerk checking the thoroughfare, would stop by to check road conditions, but after hearing her identity, they would bow respectfully and see her off, their curiosity masked by protocol.

Back in her previous life, Lin Qian had led new employees before, though she had never been a real boss, just a senior colleague showing the ropes. So this was truly her first time leading for real, the responsibility settling on her shoulders with tangible weight.

Back then, she had studied Li Bai and Du Fu in textbooks, watched dramas about ancient heroes on television, and thought a seventh-rank county magistrate was a small role, a minor functionary lost in the imperial machine. But as she traveled, she realized the position commanded genuine respect, a palpable deference from everyone she met.

In this era, once someone passed the exams and became an official, their gender hardly mattered to those below. Holding office made one a class above the rest. It sometimes amazed her, this world was ancient, yet its people accepted a female magistrate rather quickly, the novelty overcome by the reality of her rank. Ancient folk were supposedly conservative, but somehow, they were also open-minded in this one, pragmatic way.

It rained as they traveled, a cold, persistent drizzle that turned the world grey, the days growing colder, a sharpness in the air that spoke of approaching winter.

That day, they couldn't reach the next relay station, the journey slowed by the slick roads, so Lin Qian lodged overnight in a small village inn, a humble place with a weathered sign.

Ordinarily, officials were not supposed to stay in private homes, but her case was special, her retinue too large for the tiny inn's proper rooms. She paid for the lodging afterward, a sum negotiated by Madam Qiu, and that was that, the rules bent by circumstance.

The household consisted of a husband and wife, an elderly mother, two daughters, and a young son. They sold tea and wine to travelers from a front room, sometimes renting out the side chambers to earn a little extra. They owned farmland nearby, so this was only a side business, a way to squeeze more from the road that passed their door.

It was probably their first time seeing a female magistrate. Their son was not that interested, more concerned with his wooden toy, but the two daughters were, their eyes wide with awe. When they brought her washing water that morning in a chipped ceramic jug, they peeked shyly into the room to watch her, their faces half-hidden by the doorframe.

Lin Qian had an oval face, clear bright eyes, and well-balanced features. In full dress, with proper makeup and hairpieces, she would look every bit a symbol of peace and prosperity from a painting. Even in men’s attire, with her skin darkened by sun and travel and her brows neatened to a straighter line, she was the kind of handsome, scholarly young man young girls dreamed about. She was tall too, about one meter seventy-three or seventy-four in modern terms, which made her above average among southern men, her height adding to the imposing effect.

Years of practicing a male voice had changed her vocal cords as well. She could no longer recover her original, lighter tone. Her current voice carried a hint of youth, a smooth baritone that was neither entirely masculine nor feminine, a sound that suited her ambiguous presentation.

She rarely smiled. To keep her disguise intact, she often wore a calm, expressionless look, a mask of placid authority. It made sense, the original had endured much since childhood, the loss of family, the constant fear of discovery. There was no way she had stayed innocent and naive. She was not a prodigy either, just someone who worked hard, so her personality had to be firm and steady, the softness burned away by necessity.

So Lin Qian didn't smile much, and she spoke little to avoid slipping up, to maintain the careful performance. But when she caught sight of the two little girls’ curious faces reflected in the bronze mirror as Jiaoyue fixed her hair, she couldn't help but smile, a brief, genuine softening at their open wonder.

The older one was eleven, the younger eight, though both looked smaller than their age, probably from poor nutrition, their limbs thin, their faces pale.

"Xiuying, those two girls look quite pitiful. Let them in and give them some sweets," Lin Qian said to her maid, her voice low.

Xiuying nodded and beckoned them over from the doorway. "Come, don't be afraid."

The girls hesitated, exchanging uncertain looks, their feet shifting on the packed earth floor.

"Don't worry," Xiuying coaxed, her own voice gentler than usual, "she is giving you something to eat."

Their mother came by then, holding a wooden washbasin. Hearing the maid’s words, she said gently, "Go on in, and mind your manners. Don't disturb the honorable one."

At that, the girls walked in hand-in-hand, their steps small and careful.

Lin Qian didn't need much grooming. In men’s clothing, a simple topknot was enough, secured with a plain wooden pin. Jiaoyue finished her hair quickly, and Lin Qian sat by the table, relaxed, one hand resting on the worn wood.

"Bring out the candy and share it with them," she told Jiaoyue.

The two maids were not her longtime servants. The original had not kept close maids to avoid exposure, to maintain the solitary facade. Lin Qian only bought them later, and after some training from the nanny, they had adapted well, learning the rhythms of service without questioning their mistress's peculiarities.

Jiaoyue fetched the sweets from a small lacquered box while the girls’ mother asked Xiuying from the doorway, her voice hushed, "Miss, what would the Daren like for breakfast? We will prepare it."

"Same as last night," Xiuying replied, her tone polite but firm. "We will just borrow your stove. Our Daren doesn't eat from others. It isn't proper to take a commoner’s food."

They had cooked their own meal last night, of course, their own rice and vegetables brought from the carriage.

There was an old saying: A governor brings ruin to a household, a magistrate brings disaster to a family. That never changed, even for a woman. The fear of official power, and the extortion that could come with it, was deeply ingrained.

Power in a man’s hands or a woman’s, it made no difference to those on the receiving end. The uniform was what mattered.

The family lived far from Xinghexian’s town center, but still within its borders. Caution was always wise. Accepting food was a debt, an opening for future obligation or accusation.

Lin Qian didn't concern herself with their talk. She asked the two girls a few questions about the local area instead, her voice deliberately mild.

At first they were shy, answering in monosyllables, but soon warmed up, the older one gaining confidence.

She smiled as she placed the sweets on the table, the hard candies wrapped in rice paper. "Tell me, when is your busiest season here?"

"Summer!" the older one said quickly, her eyes lighting up. "That's when the wood gets shipped out, and the uncles all come and go. It's lively!"

The younger nodded eagerly, her gaze fixed on the candy. "Papa and Mama make money. They're happy."

"What else have you seen shipped out besides timber?"

"Grain!" the older replied again, while her sister stared, one finger creeping towards the table.

From their answers, Lin Qian learned that Xinghexian’s main resources were timber and some grain, the basics of a rural economy. It wasn't poor land, but the sparse population suggested difficult roads, or maybe politics at play, a history she didn't yet know.

Once she had learned enough, she gave each girl a small bag of candy and sent them off with a nod. By then, her servants were already preparing breakfast in the family's kitchen. The smell of cooking oil and steaming buns drifted in from the other room.

Lin Qian chatted a bit with her nanny, always polite and measured, discussing the day's travel route, the conversation surface-deep and safe.

Breakfast came soon, a plate of red bean buns, still warm, and a bowl of egg soup sprinkled with green onion. Sweet and savory didn't usually go well together, but since she had mentioned wanting bean paste buns yesterday, they had changed the menu. Out here in the countryside, with her own cook handling things, there was no point being picky. She ate methodically, the flavors simple and clean.

From outside came the faint sound of the mother scolding her daughters to share the sweets with their brother, followed by the child’s brief, frustrated crying, quickly shushed.

After finishing her meal, Lin Qian got ready to leave, her guards already bringing the carriage around. Before departing, she left the family a hundred copper coins on the table, a generous amount, since she and her entourage had taken up an entire courtyard for the night, using their fuel and their space.

The couple tried to refuse, bowing and protesting, but Lin Qian insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. With deep gratitude, their faces etched with relief, they saw her and her people off on their journey once more, standing in the muddy yard and watching until the last cart disappeared around the bend in the road.

===

In here Author use both of 县令 (Xiànlìng) and 知县 (Zhìxiàn). Both of them have same meaning, County Magistrate.

• 县令 (Xiànlìng) was the original, older title for a County Magistrate.

• 知县 (Zhìxiàn) became the common title for a County Magistrate in later dynasties (especially from the Song dynasty onwards).

Chapter Text

During the half-month journey, the scenery outside the carriage window blurring into a monotony of fields and distant hills, Lin Qian spent nearly all her free time reading, the books spread on a small lap desk. Thankfully, she had the System. Whenever she came across something she didn't understand, a tricky philosophical point or an obscure historical reference, Zheng Zheng could immediately pull up the answer, the information appearing in her mind as clearly as if she had always known it.

Her mind, thankfully, was not dulled by her old office job, the years of spreadsheets and emails. She had managed to memorize plenty of material, the classical texts slowly settling into a familiar rhythm, and that gave her a bit of confidence, a fragile sense of footing on this foreign ground.

The history of Zhao resembled that of the Ming Dynasty from her own world, though its culture leaned more toward the Song in its arts and scholarly pursuits, while its politics and diplomacy mirrored the Ming even more closely, the same centralized bureaucracy and frontier tensions. Some political figures were almost identical to the ones she knew from Earth, only with slightly altered names, a jarring echo across realities.

Lin Qian guessed that this was probably why the System had chosen her to travel here. If no one from this world could alter its fate, then perhaps the System sought someone from a similar civilization, a mind shaped by parallel histories. Across the vast universe, there were not many civilizations that could last for thousands of years without collapsing. Maybe her being chosen was nothing more than statistical coincidence, or perhaps, fate’s quiet arrangement, a thread pulled from one tapestry to mend another.

As she pondered the System’s words, the book open but unread on her knees, Zheng Zheng suddenly appeared in her mind, its presence announcing itself without fanfare.

"Host." Zheng Zheng always arrived at the right moment, never startling her, its timing impeccably polite.

"Has the data come in?" Lin Qian asked, her mental voice wary.

"Yes, Host," Zheng Zheng replied, the tone as crisp as ever. "We have received approval from the Temporal Management Bureau. However, after deliberation, they have agreed to allow no more than ten thousand humans to cross over. Furthermore, Host must not reveal the existence of Tianlan Star."

"Only ten thousand?" She frowned, the number feeling small and brittle in her mind. That sounded too few.

Zhao had at least forty or fifty million people, a sea of humanity. Ten thousand wouldn't even make up a decent army, a drop in that vast ocean.

"Yes, Host. That's the best we could negotiate." The statement was final, a boundary drawn by powers she couldn't see.

"Well, fine." Lin Qian sighed, the breath misting slightly in the cold air of the carriage. "We'll work with what we've got."

She put down her book, the leather cover cool under her fingers, pretending to rest with her eyes closed, though in truth, she was discussing with Zheng Zheng how to bring people from Earth over. The conversation unfolded silently, a rapid exchange of concepts and constraints. Eventually, they decided to use a full-immersion holographic game as the bridge, opening this world to Earth as a so-called "game." Together, they drew up a long list of rules tailored for Earthlings, parameters designed to mask the profound truth.

Lin Qian knew that with Earth’s current level of AI, anyone who crossed over could easily build a high-tech civilization here if their minds were unfettered. To make sure no one suspected this wasn't just a game, they had to weaken the experience, to insert filters between perception and reality. Even so, she felt the "game" was already absurdly realistic by Earth's standards, a masterpiece of deception.

To hide Tianlan Star’s existence, she and Zheng Zheng imposed several restrictions, layers of obfuscation:

Scientific experiments would have lower success rates, the players’ sensory perception would be reduced by fifty percent, muting tastes and smells and textures, and their movement range could be limited to specific regions, invisible walls penned by code. Time would also be synchronized, slightly faster in-game than on Earth, but not enough to raise suspicion, just a subtle discrepancy noted as server lag.

This way, the world wouldn't feel completely real, keeping Tianlan’s secrets safe behind a veil of plausible game mechanics.

Her crossing into this world was bound to change Tianlan’s fate, but if Earth discovered Tianlan’s existence, its own history might shift too. Though she now belonged to Tianlan by circumstance, Lin Qian was still human, still from Earth. She didn't want her homeworld’s history rewritten, its familiar path warped by her actions. Perhaps in the shared future between the two planets, Earth had already invented time machines. The thought was dizzying.

Zheng Zheng never confirmed that. All she knew was that when Tianlan was destroyed, a cold rock adrift, Earth still existed, a blue dot shining on.

Rather than invade other worlds, the advanced civilizations had agreed upon a rule, a cosmic treaty: to use sanctioned time-space crossings instead, careful, measured interventions.

Lin Qian found that reasonable. Just as a nation could preserve its sovereignty through its own "truth," so could an entire planet uphold its safety with universal law. If future Earth was never invaded, that must mean it had already developed enough technology to protect itself. She didn't need to know more. All that mattered was that her crossing, and that of the others, wouldn't harm her home’s future, that the bridge she built was a permitted one.

She trusted Zheng Zheng mostly because everything the System said, the interstellar laws, the cosmic agreements, sounded plausible enough, a logic she could grasp. And really, she was here to alter another world’s history, not her own. So there was no guilt, only the stark calculus of survival.

Even if she failed, or somehow hastened Tianlan’s destruction, that was the consequence of Tianlan’s descendants choosing her. It wouldn't be her fault. Besides, it wasn't like she had another choice. No one in their right mind would choose death when offered a thread of hope.

Especially when Zheng Zheng had promised that, if she succeeded, she would be able to reunite with her parents on this planet. It had been so long since she had last seen them, their faces blurred by time and trauma. She missed them deeply, an ache that never faded.

Zheng Zheng, with its immense computational power, had already coordinated the preparations on Tianlan’s side. Within half a day, a new holographic game company had appeared out of nowhere on Earth, its digital footprint perfect and complete.

Thanks to Tianlan’s future technology, no one could ever prove the company came from another world. Everything, from registration to staff records to R&D patents, had traceable, forged histories. The confidential data, of course, was locked down tight, firewalls within firewalls.

For now, Lin Qian limited the test run to ten players, the starting area being Xinghexian, her own future domain.

Ten was not much, but with fewer than ten thousand slots available, and with geniuses who could disrupt history banned, she couldn't just open it to everyone. She needed to control the variables.

Once the decision was made, she had Zheng Zheng release the official game teaser and pre-registration slots across Earth's networks, a silent digital launch.

The announcement went live, but at first, there was no reaction, the vast internet absorbing it without a ripple. Since it was a pre-registration event, players could join for free. Later, she would introduce monetization models. After all, no successful game ever stayed free; that would itself be suspicious.

Business owners didn't build companies for charity. If she didn't charge anything, people would start getting suspicious, digging where they shouldn't. Of course, the profits were not hers to spend. The income simply made the whole operation look legitimate, a self-sustaining fiction.

The company would hire virtual staff, pay simulated salaries, and fund digital benefits. Zheng Zheng said a portion of the funds would go to those with "God-Tier Wealth Systems," whatever those were. All systems related to time-space traversal were ultimately managed by the Heavenly Dao System, ensuring that only advanced civilizations, those capable of developing time machines, could join the network, a galactic club with strict entry requirements.

So Lin Qian’s and Earth’s crossings were both officially sanctioned. But every planet had limited resources, a carrying capacity for foreign souls. Supporting ten thousand newcomers was the upper limit of what Tianlan could handle without collapsing its own socio-temporal structure. Anything more, tens or hundreds of thousands, would destabilize the dynasty, which was strictly forbidden by the same cosmic laws.

After finalizing everything, the game client displayed its title on the conceptual interface she saw in her mind: "From County Magistrate to Female Emperor."

The promotional tagline boasted "the most realistic holographic experience ever created," inviting players to assist the female magistrate Lin Qian in completing missions and eventually ascending to the throne, a power fantasy wrapped in a historical skin.

Her original idea was to name it "I am a County Magistrate in Zhao," but it sounded too much like a male-oriented game, a dry administrative simulator. She wanted something that would also appeal to women, so she changed it, aiming for broader appeal.

A game titled "From County Magistrate to Female Emperor" would definitely catch female players’ attention, suggesting strategy and ascent rather than just bureaucracy.

Most political intrigue games were male-centric, and those marketed to women were usually romance-based, all courtly love and whispered confessions. Lin Qian believed plenty of women wanted a pure strategy game without love triangles, a chance to wield power for its own sake. Even if they joined just because of the title, that was enough, a hook to draw them in.

The name was mostly for marketing anyway. As long as people signed up, she would have succeeded in taking the first step. Even with the sensory dampeners, the game would still be far more immersive than anything Earth had ever seen, the underlying reality bleeding through the constraints.

Lin Qian was sure that once players entered, they would stay, not for romance or quests, but for the sheer authenticity, the uncanny depth of the world. After all, what they thought was a game was, in truth, their souls crossing into an actual ancient world, their consciousness inhabiting a fabricated vessel.

She had asked Zheng Zheng how that worked. Apparently, Tianlan’s people created a body identical to the player’s own for the soul to inhabit, a biological shell grown in vats. With advanced synthetic flesh and sensory replication at 95% accuracy, no one could tell the difference, the illusion seamless.

The helmets used for "immersion" also released a harmless stabilizing agent that maintained the player’s physical condition on Earth, a nutrient mist and neural regulator. It caused no harm whatsoever. Once the helmet was removed or the account logged out, their soul would instantly return, the connection severed like waking from a vivid dream.

Satisfied, Lin Qian leaned back in the carriage, the cushions worn but soft, waiting for the first wave of players to register, a silent countdown beginning in her mind. By afternoon, her carriage stopped at a post station on the outskirts of the county, the building older and more worn than the previous ones. Ahead, just a few li away, lay the county seat of Xinghexian, its low walls visible as a smudge on the horizon. According to protocol, she couldn't enter yet. She first had to send notice to the current magistrate and arrange a formal date for her arrival, a ritual of transfer.

Only then could the townsfolk prepare a proper welcome for their new County Magistrate.

===

时空管理" (shíkōng guǎnlǐ)

• 时空 (shíkōng): Literally means "time-space."

• 管理 (guǎnlǐ): Means "management," "administration," or "to govern."

Therefore, 时空管理 is the organization that governs or administers time and space. I translated as the Temporal Management Bureau, to make it more 'official' as "Time-Space Management Bureau" sounds more like a literal, technical description of its function. It's slightly clunkier and less commonly used as a proper name.

Chapter Text

Lin Qian stayed the night at the relay station, the air smelling of damp straw and wood smoke, and sent one of her servants ahead on a fast horse with a letter to inform the current magistrate of Xinghexian of her arrival, the formality setting the bureaucratic wheels in motion.

After stepping down from the carriage, her boots sinking slightly into the muddy ground, she saw to her servants’ arrangements, directing the unloading of trunks and the stabling of horses, then settled down to rest and eat a simple meal of steamed bread and salted vegetables in her assigned room.

Inside her room, the walls bare except for a single landscape scroll, she sat reading by the light of an oil lamp, occasionally glancing at the game’s pre-registration numbers displayed in a corner of her mind’s eye, a transparent overlay only she could see.

There were only ten available slots, and by late afternoon, the light fading to a grey gloom outside, only four people had signed up. Still, four was better than none. She believed that as long as the experience felt real enough, even a small spark could spread into a wildfire. One person after another would spread the word, and before long, she would have a whole army at her side, or so she hoped. Patience was a resource she had to spend freely now.

Earth, Dragon Country.

Yu Kai started his livestream that evening in his apartment, the glow of his monitor reflecting off his glasses.

Logging into his account "Shan Mo," he greeted his viewers with a cheerful "Hello, everyone!" before searching for a new game to try, his mouse cursor drifting across the digital storefront.

He was a streamer known for first-person shooters, now officially contracted with Po Station. With over four hundred thousand followers, his streams earned him a decent living. Among mid-tier streamers, he was doing pretty well, enough to pay the rent and order takeout without worry.

It was Friday, which meant it was time for his weekly "variety stream," where he would play something outside his usual genre, a break from the gunfire and explosions.

Last week, he had tried Werewolf. But since he spent half the time chatting with fans and didn't really understand the rules, he got exposed several times in a row. He either got killed by the werewolves or voted out early, and his viewership numbers were lower than usual, the chat filled with good-natured mockery.

So tonight, he decided to play something different, something less dependent on social deduction.

Yu Kai was not bad-looking either, which was why a lot of fans had initially followed him for his face, his clean-cut features fitting a certain aesthetic. But over time, they had fallen for his humor instead, his easygoing banter and willingness to laugh at himself. Even though he rarely turned on his camera now, people still paid to watch his streams, tuning in for the personality.

"Don't play Werewolf again."

"You are too trash at it."

"What are we playing today?"

He grinned at the scrolling comments. "Come on, I just didn't perform well last time. You think your big brother is a noob? Nah, trust me, I got this." His voice was light, playing along.

"Let us see what new games are out tonight."

He opened the game launcher and started scrolling through the "New Releases" section, the thumbnails flashing by.

Before long, a title caught his eye: From Magistrate to Female Emperor.

What drew him in was not the protagonist’s face or the name itself, but the words "Full Immersion Holographic Game" stamped beneath it in bold font.

"Maybe I'll play this one in a few days," he murmured to himself and clicked on the trailer, the video expanding to fill his screen.

The video opened with a wild goose soaring across a vast sky, its lonely cry echoing through his headphones and into the livestream, startling the chat into a momentary silence.

The camera swept over a prosperous capital city, pagodas and crowded market streets, before following Lin Qian’s journey through changing landscapes, from bustling streets to desolate fields, from smooth stone-paved roads to uneven dirt paths churned by cart wheels.

Beggars and refugees appeared by the roadside, some so starved they couldn't even stand, their figures rendered with unsettling detail.

Mountains, rivers, villages shrouded in mist, and temples with curved eaves flashed past, each scene beautifully rendered, the art style leaning toward realistic painting.

Finally, five golden traditional characters appeared: 《从县令到女皇》— From Magistrate to Female Emperor.

The background showed a map of mountains and rivers, ink-wash style. Beside it stood Lin Qian, dressed in her official robes of deep blue, her calm yet determined eyes gazing toward the horizon, a hint of wind stirring her sleeve.

Lin Qian was already strikingly beautiful, and with Zheng Zheng’s subtle editing, enhancing the lighting and clarity, she looked almost unreal, like an AI-rendered goddess from a high-budget film.

"Objective: assist the female lead in becoming an emperor?" Yu Kai read aloud from the description text.

"Huh? Wait, I don't get to be the emperor?"

He chuckled, a short, surprised sound. "Alright, let us pre-register anyway."

He clicked the button and glanced at the chat, noticing many of his viewers were already intrigued, the comments filling with "Looks amazing!" and "The graphics are insane!"

He was not the best gamer out there, not compared to other hardcore players who practiced twelve hours a day. His streams were popular mainly because of his quick wit, casual banter, and that face of his that women seemed to like. Naturally, most of his fans were female, and they were definitely interested in a holographic game with this aesthetic and premise.

Thanks to that tiny bit of exposure from Yu Kai’s stream, a ripple in the vast ocean of the internet, From Magistrate to Female Emperor was fully booked within hours, the last of the ten slots claimed.

Some of his fans tried to sign up afterward, but the pre-registration slots were already gone, a notice popping up: "Thank you for your interest. The initial test phase is now full."

The game had an official Weibo page, where Lin Qian, through Zheng Zheng, had quietly posted the announcement. She hadn't even bothered promoting it beyond that. Ten slots didn't need much advertisement. Once the sign-ups were done, she had Zheng Zheng handle the delivery of the holographic helmets, the logistics executed by the phantom company’s networks.

After dinner, a bowl of noodle soup, she read a while longer by the flickering lamp, the words of the county gazetteer blurring before her eyes, before turning in for the night, the wooden bedframe creaking under her weight.

The next day, as expected, Xinghexian’s current magistrate sent officials to greet her at the relay station, a delegation of three men in dark robes. They arranged for her to stay temporarily in a side courtyard of the yamen, then consulted an almanac and set an auspicious date for her formal inauguration three days hence.

Later that evening, as dusk settled, she joined several local gentry for dinner aboard a decorated river barge moored at the town’s wharf, lanterns casting wavering ripples on the black water.

Because she was a woman, the men were cautious in their manners, keeping a physical distance, their bows slightly deeper than necessary. Still, the atmosphere was stiff, the conversation circling safe topics like the weather and the harvest. Gender differences made conversation awkward, yet they couldn't afford to slight her either, their smiles fixed and careful.

Lin Qian was not just any appointee; she was a top-ranked scholar handpicked by the Emperor himself. Besides, the current magistrate was about to leave, and these men needed to curry favor with their incoming superior. Of course, every one of them had their own schemes. Most likely, they intended to make her a puppet magistrate, someone easy to control, a figurehead who would sign papers and leave the real power to them.

But after a few discreet inquiries among their own connections, they learned that her teacher was a high-ranking censorate official, a senior figure in the capital known for his integrity and long memory. That alone made them wary, their ambitions tempered by caution.

If she had been a powerless female official with no backing, they might have dismissed her outright. But with connections like that, none dared act rashly, the risk of offending someone in the capital too great.

When the wine started flowing, a few of them, emboldened by the alcohol, tried to act cultured, reciting lines of poetry, playing plucked songs on a guqin brought for the occasion, and suggesting complicated drinking games.

Lin Qian responded when she could, quoting a relevant classical line she had memorized, and when she couldn't, she simply pretended to be tipsy, letting her words slur slightly, a convenient retreat.

She knew her own limits. She was not truly one of those elegant "Top Scholars" who could compose verse on the spot.

Well, not a Tan Hua Lang, but a Tan Hua Niang, she thought wryly to herself. The difference was more than a suffix.

After several rounds of such banquets over the following days, the official appointment day finally arrived, the sky clear and blue.

Following the ritual offerings at the local City God Temple, the smoke of incense thick in the air, she entered Xinghexian as the new magistrate. The main street was lined with people welcoming her, their faces curious, some peering from behind half-closed shutters.

Lin Qian rode on horseback toward the yamen, the horse’s steps measured, where she gathered her subordinates in the main hall for a formal address and signed the appointment documents with a brush, the ink black and sharp. Then she headed to the treasury for the handover. Everything went smoothly at first, the outgoing magistrate smiling and nodding, until she noticed discrepancies in the numbers, nearly a hundred taels of silver unaccounted for in the ledger.

The outgoing magistrate’s smile froze, then he immediately dismissed several junior treasury officials in front of her, blaming their incompetence, and the matter was dropped, the missing sum swept under the rug.

Newly appointed and still finding her footing, she let it go for the moment, storing the knowledge away. There would be time for reckoning later.

Afterward, she inspected the prison records, the pages stained with old fingerprints, counted the inmates in their dim cells, and checked the locks and gates. She met with the county's Cheng, Zhubu, and Dianshi, the key subordinate officials, their faces carefully neutral, then finally concluded the day’s work as the shadows grew long in the courtyard.

She could have left everything to her subordinates, but that would have meant giving up control from the start. If she wanted to rule properly, she would have to oversee every matter herself, at least until she knew who could be trusted.

By the time she finished, the sun had set, painting the clouds in shades of orange and purple. After her first full day as magistrate, she still had to prepare for the farewell meeting with the outgoing official, another ritual of food and empty words.

Later, in her private study in the yamen’s rear quarters, she retrieved the Gazetteer of Qinghexian and several years’ worth of case files bound in blue cloth to study, the characters marching in dense columns. She was allowed to preside over cases herself, though she could also delegate them to the Dianshi. Fortunately, Qinghexian’s population was small, and serious crimes like murder were rare, noted with shock in the records.

Petty theft, however, was rampant. Repeat offenders were everywhere, yet few were ever caught. Even when arrested, they were only jailed briefly before being released to steal again, the cycle frustrating and clear.

There was much to learn about this place, its rhythms and its problems.

After a long day of inspections and paperwork, her hand aching from the brush, she finally went to bed in the magistrate’s residence and slept deeply, the silence of the unfamiliar house complete.

The next morning, she rose early with the dawn and reviewed several case reports left from the previous day, then instructed her clerk to draft two official notices, her words precise.

The first called for assistance from the populace in capturing thieves within the xian, offering a small reward. The second sought someone skilled in arithmetic, preferably with sharp mental calculation, to manage the treasury accounts. The previous storekeepers had already been dismissed and punished by the outgoing magistrate, leaving no one in that role she could trust.

She needed reliable new people, and she had to find them quickly.

Afterward, she wrote "Thieves Reported Here" in bold characters on several slips of paper and personally led two of her guards to post them at sites of frequent theft, the market square, the grain storehouse gate, a busy crossroads.

The townsfolk gathered to watch, whispering among themselves, keeping a respectful distance. Some were hopeful, their eyes lighting up at the notice. Others doubtful, their expressions skeptical, used to promises that came to nothing.

When she had first arrived, many had lined the streets to welcome her, but few truly knew her yet. That's why she went out often, to let them see her face, to prove she was different, that she was present. Clearly, the previous magistrate had been corrupt, or the accounts wouldn't have been so messy. If the local officials and gentry were greedy, it was no wonder Xinghexian remained poor, its potential squandered.

She wanted the people to understand that her arrival meant change. If men couldn't govern cleanly, then perhaps a woman could. Even if she was female, she believed she could still earn the people’s trust, so long as she ruled well, so long as she produced results they could see.

After finishing her rounds, the posted notices fluttering in the morning breeze, Lin Qian returned to her residence within the yamen compound and resumed reading local records at her desk while keeping an eye on the game’s launch data in her mind.

According to Zheng Zheng, the helmets should have arrived on Earth that very day, the delivery completed.

Which meant that soon, perhaps today, players would start appearing in Xinghexian, their souls arriving in their crafted bodies.

Her first recruits were on their way.

Earth, Dragon Country.

Qin Qing was a freshly graduated office worker, the kind who had been groomed for achievement since birth. After years of studying under her parents’ expectations, she had finally landed a stable job in a large company with a monthly salary over ten thousand yuan, a dream for many her age. But high pay came with high stress, long hours, and demanding managers. For her, work was exhausting, though she was grateful for the security it provided.

Her only escape was gaming, the few hours in the evening when she could forget spreadsheets and reports.

That Saturday, after sleeping in until noon, the curtains drawn against the daylight, she ordered takeout and grabbed her package from the delivery station downstairs, a plain cardboard box. It was the holographic helmet for From Magistrate to Female Emperor.

She had been hooked the moment she saw the promo video shared in a forum. It wasn't her first holographic game, but most of them never lived up to their hype, the immersion shallow, the worlds cardboard. This one, though, a power-struggle political sim with a female lead, had caught her attention immediately, speaking to a hunger for agency she rarely felt.

She had pre-registered the moment sign-ups opened, her click one of the first, thinking the release would take months, if it ever came at all. She hadn't expected the headset to arrive so soon, the efficiency surprising.

After wolfing down her noodles straight from the container, she rushed to her room, slipped on the sleek grey helmet, its interior padding cool against her skin, and logged in without hesitation, the world of her small apartment dissolving into a wash of light and sound.

===

1. County Cheng (县丞, Xiànchéng)

• Role: The County Vice-Magistrate or Assistant Magistrate.

• Explanation: This person is the Zhixian's primary deputy and right hand. He's typically responsible for managing the county's granaries, prisons, public works, and general paperwork. He is the second-highest ranking official in the county.

2. Zhubu (主簿, Zhǔbù)

• Role: The Registrar or Chief Clerk.

• Explanation: This official is in charge of the county's archives, documents, and tax records. He handles a vast amount of bureaucratic paperwork, managing census data, land deeds, and official correspondence. Think of him as the head of administration and record-keeping.

3. Dianshi (典史, Diǎnshǐ)

• Role: The Chief of Police or Jail Warden.

• Explanation: This is the official responsible for law enforcement, capturing criminals, and managing the county jail. In many counties, especially smaller ones where the positions were combined, the Dianshi also handled the duties of the Sheriff (尉, Wèi). He is essentially the head of the county's police and security forces.

Chapter Text

Qin Qing wasn't the only one logging in that night. Another player, a university athlete named Liu Yang, had also just come online in his dorm room, the sounds of his roommates playing a mobile game faint in the background.

After finishing dinner with his younger brother in the cramped family apartment, Liu Yang returned to his room, slipped on the helmet his brother had picked up for him from the delivery box earlier, and started the game, the device humming softly as it powered on.

The moment the screen lit up behind his closed eyelids, a stark, minimalist logo shimmered across the darkness, followed by several shining golden characters: 《穿越者联盟》 (The Transcenders’ Alliance).

"This company…" he started, then paused.

"…kind of cringe, huh?" he muttered with a snort, speaking to the empty room.

He had never heard of this game studio before, so he didn't have high expectations, assuming it was another indie developer with more ambition than budget.

Before the game could officially begin, it prompted him to verify his identity with a quick retinal scan through the helmet's sensors. Once his information was confirmed, he entered the character creation phase, a vast, starry space appearing around him.

There was an option to scan his real face, the interface explaining it would use the helmet's built-in cameras.

Curious, he tapped the "Original Appearance" button floating in midair. In an instant, a lifelike image of himself appeared on the screen before him, matching his height and build almost perfectly, his short hair and strong jaw rendered in detail. It wasn't a complete copy, though. The system had clearly scanned his facial data from the camera earlier, something he had consented to with a quick click of "Agree" on the terms of service.

Since he knew he would be seen by other players, Liu Yang, pure-hearted college boy or not, still cared about appearances. He lifted his nose bridge slightly with a finger gesture, stretched his height to 1.88 meters, and toned down his body hair a little, sliders responding to his mental commands.

The game itself had already smoothed his skin and erased a few faint lines from stress and lack of sleep, so he didn't need to fuss with that. A touch fairer skin later, the complexion slider moving, and boom, his cute-boy look had upgraded to full-blown heartthrob, the changes subtle but effective.

He had a hundred initial points to distribute among stats like speed, strength, and endurance, the numbers glowing blue. The game’s system warned that if players boosted their looks too much, it would deduct stat points from other areas. Basically, being too handsome made you weaker, a trade-off for vanity.

Since Liu Yang hadn't made major changes, he only lost ten points. He put the rest mostly into speed and strength, with a little left for endurance, the distribution favoring his athletic background. After admiring his reflection for a few seconds in the virtual mirror, he finally selected "Enter Game," grinning in satisfaction.

The world brightened before his eyes, a wash of light resolving into shape and color, and he found himself standing on packed earth outside a ruined temple, alongside a cold, quiet young woman who had appeared at the same moment.

Both of them blinked, adjusting to the sight of a new world, the detail of the crumbling brickwork, the scent of damp soil and old incense in the air.

"Whoa, this looks insanely real," he breathed, the words slipping out.

Lin Qian had deliberately set the players’ spawn point in an abandoned temple outside the city walls. Few people ever passed by, and even if they did, they would either kneel and pray or run off screaming about ghosts. At worst, it might spark a few eerie local legends, stories to explain the sudden appearance of strangers.

Their first quest appeared right away in the corner of their vision: enter Xinghexian. A small map unfolded on a translucent screen, showing their current location as a blinking dot and the city gate a short distance away.

Their plain linen clothes, rough to the touch, were arranged by Lin Qian herself, simple commoner garb, clean but coarse, patched at the elbows. Each of them had thirty wen of starting money, small copper coins strung on a cord, taken from Lin Qian’s own private stash. That amount could rent a cheap inn room for four or five days, with two plain buns a day to live on.

In other words, they had to find work fast, or they would starve, the game mechanics enforcing a basic survival pressure.

"Hey there, beauty." Liu Yang flashed her a grin and waved, his movements feeling fluid and natural in this body.

In real life, he was shy and didn't talk much, especially around girls. But this was a game. With a handsome new face and no real consequences, he found himself a bit bolder, the anonymity of the avatar freeing.

The girl, Qin Qing, barely reacted. She gave him a polite nod, her expression guarded, and opened the map of Xinghexian in her interface. Before joining, she had chosen to wear men’s clothing, since the game had warned that this world was modeled on a traditional, restrictive ancient era.

Women had far fewer freedoms here, the system message had been clear.

Still, she didn't disguise her face, just adjusted her stats, putting most of her points into strength, a practical choice.

While Liu Yang was carefree and talkative, Qin Qing was cautious. She had hesitated for a long while before deciding to play as herself, a woman. After all, the game’s goal was to help the female protagonist ascend the throne. Surely that meant women would eventually be freer. It would just be hard for now, the early game a struggle.

Their small cloth bundles, slung over their shoulders, contained identity papers with official-looking seals, so entering Xinghexian wouldn't be difficult, the documents provided to avoid immediate legal trouble.

Qin Qing thought for a moment, watching him, before finally replying, her voice measured. "Our quests should be the same. Let us go together. The system said each person can only have one account, and there might be danger on the road. It's safer to travel in pairs."

Liu Yang readily agreed, nodding. "Sure, makes sense."

In ancient times, a woman traveling alone would draw too much attention, questions and suspicion. With him by her side, people would probably assume they were married or related, a simple cover.

Qin Qing also knew that human traffickers were a real threat in this kind of world, a historical fact. Even if it was "just a game," it felt way too realistic for her to take chances. She wasn't about to die early because of carelessness, the stakes feeling oddly high.

A cool wind swept through the ruined temple courtyard, stirring the dry grass and rustling the leaves of a gnarled tree. The golden statue inside the broken hall had long since faded to a dull brown, yet the Buddha’s expression remained serene amid the decay, one hand raised in a mudra.

Before leaving, Liu Yang suddenly took off running, straight in the opposite direction of the city, his feet kicking up dust. He wanted to see how far the map went, to test the boundaries of this world.

Qin Qing just stood there, waiting patiently for him to return, her arms crossed. She had noticed a hunger bar on her interface, a small icon of a bowl. Apparently, starving too long could actually kill you, the game not pulling punches.

With only thirty wen to her name, she would have to conserve her strength until she could earn more, every movement costing calories.

Move less, starve slower. The logic was brutally simple.

Liu Yang ran about eight hundred meters, the landscape of fields and scattered trees blurring past, before hitting an invisible wall. Literally.

He slammed into it at full speed, a soft but solid barrier, and was thrown backward, rolling onto the ground with a yelp. His health bar in the corner of his vision dropped slightly, a sliver of red, but it wasn't serious. The pain was faint, a quick, sharp pressure maybe one-tenth of what it would feel like in real life. As a sports student, he was used to injuries anyway. After dusting himself off, he jogged back sheepishly, rubbing his shoulder.

"Let us go," he said, pretending nothing had happened, his cheeks slightly flushed.

Honestly, if Qin Qing hadn't been there, he probably would have licked the ground out of habit, tasting the virtual dirt. Every gamer knew the tradition, first time in a holographic world, always test the dirt, the water, the air.

Both used their real names in-game, though Liu Yang had registered as Liu Yangyang, adding a character to fit the naming convention.

From County Magistrate to Female Emperor only allowed names of one to four Chinese characters. English letters could be longer, but Chinese ones were capped, a restriction to maintain the setting's aesthetics.

Qin Qing gave a small nod once he had calmed down, and together they started walking along the dirt path toward Xinghexian, the city walls growing slowly larger in the distance.

They didn't notice that shortly after they left, the air in the temple courtyard shimmered again, and three more people materialized inside the ruined temple, two men and one woman, their forms solidifying from light.

One of them was Yu Kai, the streamer who had gone live earlier that night. He had actually started his stream during dinner, but when he tried to connect the game feed to his broadcasting software, he found out that From County Magistrate to Female Emperor charged an extra fee for live broadcasts.

A system prompt had informed him that half his income from the stream would be taken by the game company. It was a one-time fee per streaming session, though. They wouldn't charge him again for edited clips or replays, the terms specific.

Still, it was the first time he had ever seen a game do something like this. He wasn't a top-tier streamer, but he had been invited to play sponsored games before. Never one that charged him for streaming it.

He almost quit right then. It wasn't even his usual genre, he was a shooter guy. But his fans in the chat had begged him to try it. One of his biggest supporters, a regular donor, had even snagged a pre-registration slot and wanted him to join for interaction, to share the experience.

Yu Kai had always been soft toward his fans, especially the female ones. Despite his flirty banter online, he rarely swore and always treated women with respect in his interactions. It was part of why his streams did well. And honestly, even shooting games could get dull after a while. Every week, he would play something different just to unwind. So after some convincing from the chat, he decided to give it a shot.

But charging him for streaming? That was outrageous.

Before logging in, he had to sign a digital agreement stating that a cut of his live income would automatically go to the game’s developers. He had even consulted his lawyer and platform representative on quick text chats, who confirmed it was just a percentage deduction, not a fixed fee. After a moment of hesitation, he agreed, clicking the accept button with a sigh.

He didn't tell his fans about the fee, keeping his frustration private, but he swore to himself that if this game wasn't absolutely mind-blowing, he would badmouth it for life. He usually made around a thousand yuan a day on weekends, even after taxes and platform fees. It wasn't much, but it paid the bills. He wanted to save up for a better apartment in a good city, so every bit counted.

No surprise he was pissed about the extra deduction.

Still, when the game loaded, the virtual world assembling around him with breathtaking detail, his anger melted into awe, his critic's mindset dissolving.

The realism was unbelievable. The texture of the linen sleeve against his wrist, the grain of the wood on the temple door, the way the light fell through the broken roof in distinct beams.

He tweaked his face just a little in creation, added some muscle definition to his avatar's frame, and kept his original height, he was already tall enough at 1.82 meters.

Everyone in this world had long hair tied back, since there were no short-hair options in the character creator for this ancient setting.

Even so, he still looked great. Though he was known online for his cheeky attitude, his real-life features had a scholarly air to them, a refined quality that translated well into the period aesthetic. And the visual clarity, no glasses, no blur, every leaf on the distant tree distinct. It really did feel like stepping into another world, his earlier grievances momentarily forgotten in the face of this technical marvel.

Chapter Text

The moment Shan Mo logged in, the world resolving around him, two of his fans came online too, their avatars materializing in shimmering light beside him. Both were women, though one was playing a male character while the other chose a female one, their chosen forms solidifying from the digital ether.

The male character was named Jian Xiu, no one knew if that was her real name, and the girl’s avatar was Bing Ling, which clearly was not her real name either, a fanciful creation.

Yu Kai’s streaming handle was "Shan Mo." When gaming, he usually used the pinyin "SHANMO" for simplicity.

But this time, he decided to go with the Chinese characters instead, the two characters for "Mountain" and "Ink" floating above his head.

The instant Bing Ling saw him, her big eyes, rendered with startling clarity, lit up. The girl bounced toward him on the balls of her feet, her voice bright with excitement. "Shan Mo! I'm your fan!"

She kept her distance though, careful not to overstep, stopping a full arm’s length away. It was clear she was the rational type of fangirl, the kind who knew boundaries, who supported from a respectful remove.

Jian Xiu was equally thrilled but hid it better, maintaining a cool, composed posture. Her avatar was a devastatingly handsome man, with sharp features and an air of melancholy, the kind of beauty that could topple nations from poems. She had spent hours perfecting that face in the creator, and she was not about to break character now. If anything, she secretly shipped her own avatar with her favorite streamer in the privacy of her own thoughts, a harmless fantasy.

As for Yu Kai, he didn't mind that kind of thing. As he liked to say to his friends, "These girls don't have much to do anyway. If I don't even let them have a little fun shipping, that would just be cruel." He accepted the attention with easy grace.

The three chatted cheerfully, exchanging greetings and marveling at the environment, and were about to head toward the city when the air shimmered and another player logged in a few paces away. It was right after dinner on a weekend, the perfect time for players who had just gotten their game helmets to hop online. Seeing new players log in now was no surprise.

Yu Kai barely paid attention to the newcomer, a tall, handsome man who had clearly spent too long in the face editor, his features almost too symmetrical.

The new player hadn't even had time to marvel at the full holographic visuals, the detail of the crumbling temple bricks, before getting shocked by something else: A man surrounded by two gorgeous avatars, both laughing and chatting with him like they had known each other forever, an easy camaraderie.

"What the hell? How has this guy already got girls falling over him the moment he logs in? Life really isn't fair!" The thought flashed through Jun Moxiao's mind, his digital eyebrows rising.

The newcomer’s ID floated above his head in semi-transparent script: Jun Moxiao.

He hesitated for a bit, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unsure if he should go over and say hi.

Meanwhile, on the other side of reality, Yu Kai’s live stream chat was filled with laughter, the comments scrolling rapidly.

"LMAO this game looks way too real. You can even see their facial expressions clearly!"

"I want to play too! Anyone know when the next closed beta is?"

"That pretty boy is so damn good-looking. Honestly, Shan Mo kind of looks plain next to him."

"Haha agreed, her avatar is perfect."

"Jun Moxiao? More like Jun Moxiao the comedian, he looks funny already."

Finally, Jun Moxiao scratched the back of his head, the motion captured perfectly, stopped hesitating, and walked over, his steps tentative.

"Um… you guys going to the city? Mind if I come along?" His voice sounded shy but harmless, a little too high with nerves.

"Sure! The more, the merrier," Yu Kai said without hesitation, waving him over. It was always more fun to chat with new people anyway, and content for the stream.

Fortunately, Jun Moxiao turned out to be talkative once he warmed up, his initial shyness evaporating. "You guys seem to know each other already. Friends who joined together?"

"Yeah, we're friends," Yu Kai replied smoothly before the girls could even answer, maintaining the casual fiction.

"This game is insanely realistic. The map is only one xian so far, but they'll probably expand it later. Must have cost a fortune to build something like this. You're lucky to have joined the beta together, it's always better to play with company."

"Yeah, guess we're lucky," Bing Ling said with a grin, playing along.

...

The group of four followed a narrow mountain trail worn smooth by feet and cart wheels, and soon reached the imposing gate of Xinghexian, its wooden doors studded with iron.

Few people came and went at this hour, though the city itself buzzed faintly with life, a murmur of voices and commerce seeping over the walls.

A Chenghuang Temple stood near the gate, its roof tiles green with age, surrounded by a few vendors selling trinkets and simple goods from mats on the ground. Most of them were men, with only a handful of women, mostly middle-aged, their skin tanned and leathery from sun, built strong enough to haul water jars by themselves. The few young women were always accompanied by family, a father or brother close by.

The group of four stood out instantly, a splash of anomalous vitality.

Even the shortest among them, Bing Ling, was over one meter seventy. Her modern, long-legged proportions and bright, clean outfit drew every eye in sight, especially with three tall, handsome men clustered around her.

Though they were all dressed in the same plain linen clothes provided, their bearing alone made them look out of place, elegant, confident, their posture too straight, their gazes too direct, foreign.

Here in the city, even a little education made one’s temperament different from the common folk. The crowd’s murmurs followed them, heads turning as they walked past the gate and into the main street.

The players noticed the stares but assumed the locals were just NPCs, part of the background programming. They still thought this world was nothing more than a game, a sophisticated simulation. None of them realized how real it truly was, or that danger could come from any of those "NPCs," their motivations their own.

Jun Moxiao, ever the curious one, stopped near a beggar sitting against a wall by the roadside. He stared at the man for a moment, taking in the ragged clothes and hollow cheeks, then his gaze shifted to something unspeakable lying in the gutter beside him, a pile of filth.

A smirk crept across his lips, a gamer's impulse to test the limits of the simulation.

Yu Kai’s chat exploded, the comments coming in a flood.

"Wait… is he going to do what I think he is going to do?"

"He isn't going to eat it, right? Maybe just a taste?"

"LMAO this guy is insane, he will try anything once!"

"He shouldn't be called Jun Moxiao. He should be Jun Qingxiao, ‘Please, Laugh!’"

Yu Kai burst out laughing on stream, the sound genuine and loud, nearly choking as the comments scrolled faster than he could read.

The in-game camera, tied to his perspective, followed Jun Moxiao as he crouched closer, leaning in with scientific curiosity, his face a mask of intent study.

Just as he lowered his head, a loud, jarring alert blared across the sky, a system sound that cut through the ambient noise.

【Warning! Please refrain from inappropriate behavior in-game!】

A moment later, a censored image of Jun Moxiao, a blurry mosaic over his face and the offending object, was broadcast across the world channel, visible to every player.

The system message followed immediately after in stark white text:

【Player Jun Moxiao has committed inappropriate behavior and is penalized with a 50% stamina deduction. Please take this as a warning.】

Qin Qing and Liu Yang, who had already entered the city and were looking at a notice posted on a wall, both received the notification in their vision.

Liu Yang’s expression twitched. "Was he just about to…" He stopped himself before finishing, mindful of the woman beside him, his face a mixture of horror and amusement.

Qin Qing, her face blank, closed the intrusive interface with a mental command and looked toward the County Office’s official announcements instead, focusing on the task at hand.

Meanwhile, back in Yu Kai’s party, both Jian Xiu and Bing Ling were clutching each other’s arms, laughing until tears ran down their cheeks, their bodies shaking with the force of it.

Yu Kai could barely hold it together either, his stomach aching from laughter, having to lean against the city wall for support.

Compared to disgust, hilarity definitely won in that moment.

Jun Moxiao, realizing he had just been publicly shamed in front of the entire player base, stood up straight, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, his handsome avatar looking thoroughly chastised.

"They didn't say I couldn't beforehand…" he muttered to himself, a feeble defense.

Inside the County Office, in her private study, Lin Qian rubbed her temples, having witnessed the entire episode through the system's monitoring feed. A faint headache was forming behind her eyes.

"Let us hope the next batch of newcomers behaves better," she sighed to the empty room.

A moment later, a gate guard came to report, bowing at the doorway. Someone had responded to her latest recruitment notice posted that morning.

Through the surveillance feed Zheng Zheng provided, Lin Qian saw it was Qin Qing and Liu Yang, the two players who had entered Xinghexian earlier, their avatars waiting nervously at the yamen's outer gate.

As the female magistrate of Xinghexian, Lin Qian’s personal residence was staffed entirely by her own bought servants, but she couldn't very well have a government office filled with only men. That's why her recent notice had prioritized hiring women for clerical roles, to balance the staff and also to create positions players could fill.

Unfortunately, in this era, any family capable of raising literate daughters was wealthy enough to keep them at home. No one wanted their wives or daughters working among men at the yamen. So for now, only players from Earth, unbound by these social conventions, could fill those positions.

Lin Qian ordered her attendants to bring the applicants in for assessment. Even though she trusted the system’s recruitment mechanism, she still wanted to test their basic abilities herself, to see what they could offer.

The two were escorted in after a brief security check at the gate. Naturally, they had to be searched to ensure they weren't carrying weapons that could harm the magistrate. For propriety’s sake, Lin Qian had arranged for an older servant woman to search Qin Qing in a side room.

The two players had been too focused on traveling and finding the yamen earlier to pay full attention to their surroundings, but as they entered the county yamen proper, passing through courtyards and covered walkways, their awe returned.

Liu Yang’s head turned left and right nonstop, his eyes darting from one intricate carved beam to another, from the stone lions flanking a door to the official plaques on the walls.

Even Qin Qing, usually calm and collected, was quietly impressed, her steps slowing to take in the scale and authority of the place.

She had always assumed a county magistrate was a low-ranking official, but the yamen was far more majestic and expansive than she had imagined, a complex of buildings that spoke of real power. It was already autumn, and the afternoon chill had crept into the shaded corridors, so realistic that it made them shiver in their thin clothes. Their stamina bars, visible in their interfaces, had also dropped noticeably, they were getting hungry, a persistent gnawing sensation.

Inside the main administrative hall, Lin Qian listened to a servant’s quiet report, then instructed that the two be brought into her side study.

As they were led in by a clerk, the man sneaked a few glances at them, his expression doubtful.

They looked proper enough, clean and composed, but their wide-eyed curiosity, the way they stared at every detail, made them seem like bumpkins from the hills, utterly out of their depth.

"People like this? Working in the County Office? They can't even read a room, let alone an account book," he thought, before bowing and backing out of the room.

The two stepped into Lin Qian’s study, a room lined with books and scrolls. Their eyes lit up the moment they saw her seated behind a large desk, the magistrate in her official robes.

They didn't even bother hiding their curiosity, their gazes frank and assessing.

Lin Qian was speaking to the chief clerk about census records when the older man turned and noticed the pair staring so brazenly at their magistrate.

He frowned immediately, his bushy eyebrows drawing together.

"Impudent!" the clerk barked, his voice sharp in the quiet room. "You two commoners, why don't you kneel when meeting Daren?"

Chapter Text

Lin Qian remembered that anyone holding the title of xiucai generally dressed differently from ordinary people, their robes of a finer cut, their caps denoting scholarly status.

Even the city’s tongsheng, the students who had not yet passed the imperial exams, could often find jobs teaching literacy or other simple skills, their demeanor marked by a certain studiousness. If there weren't enough xiucai teaching in the city, a tongsheng could also step in as a substitute teacher, a step above manual labor.

So apart from the local gentry, the county’s clerks and administrators had likely seen, or at least heard of, scholars like xiucai and tongsheng. They knew the look, the mannerisms.

Whether someone was a literati could be told by observing their words and behavior, a subtle cultural code.

Modern people wouldn't be so formal, their posture relaxed, their gaze direct. But ancient scholars strictly followed etiquette, their movements measured, their eyes often respectfully lowered. Even ignoring temperament, the casual way the two of them stood, shoulders loose, was enough for the chief clerk to immediately sense they weren't scholars of the era, their bearing all wrong.

They had been quietly chatting amongst themselves when the chief clerk’s shout, sharp as a whip crack, startled them both.

"Does he mean we're supposed to kneel?" Liu Yang glanced at Qin Qing, his voice a low whisper.

Qin Qing didn't answer, her jaw tightening. If she had had a sword at her waist, she might have been tempted to give the clerk a little demonstration of modern attitude.

They couldn't help rolling their eyes internally. Sure, the game was realistic, but wasn't this a little too much? Forcing players to kneel to an NPC?

Just as they were debating whether to run, to log out and complain on the forums, Lin Qian, seated at her desk, finally spoke, her voice calm and clear.

"It's fine, Clerk Zhang. You may step out for now. I'll summon you again later."

Though puzzled, Zhang the chief clerk obeyed with a bow and left the room, his robes rustling, casting one last suspicious look at the two strangers.

Finally, the two of them could breathe again, the tension in the room easing.

They had even been ready to bolt, their fingers twitching toward the logout command. Kneeling in a game was one thing, ancient settings justified plenty of bowing for quests, but being forced to kneel under threat wasn't fun. Who could force modern people to kneel? The Qing Dynasty had fallen decades ago. The very idea chafed.

Fortunately, the game had a touch of humanity. Kneeling wasn't compulsory, the magistrate herself had intervened.

This little incident had the effect of boosting the two of their impressions of Lin Qian.

The female county magistrate was kind, reasonable.

Even though they knew it was a game, its realism, the weight of the historical setting, kept them from feeling bold enough to truly challenge her presence, to treat her like just another quest giver.

The intense scrutiny from before had only been because she had been speaking with someone else, her attention divided. Now, facing her directly, they felt the weight of her presence, the quiet authority in the room.

Her delicate features, her upright posture in the carved chair, and the dark blue official uniform with its embroidered insignia marking her rank made her seem untouchable, a figure of real power.

Lin Qian wasn't saintly or full of motherly love, nor was she an invincible goddess of victory, but she radiated a solemnity and authority that was palpable. She was a woman, there was no question about that, yet she carried herself in a way that commanded respect, her gaze steady and assessing.

So real that Qin Qing and Liu Yang found themselves silently admiring her, the design of the character, the performance of the AI.

A virtual character managing to inspire awe in real people, now that's something else, a testament to the game's depth.

Lin Qian didn't notice their thoughts. She simply tried to appear less "from Earth," to mask her own modern sensibilities, and asked with a small, polite smile, "Where do you two hail from? Can you read and write? And how are your arithmetic skills?"

She only hoped to have someone manage her warehouse. If they were capable, they could assist her, of course, for a proper wage. It was a simple employment test.

The warehouse work was mostly bookkeeping, recording inflows and outflows of grain and silver. The math wasn't difficult, addition, subtraction, multiplication, any ordinary person from Earth with a basic education could handle it.

As for the writing, she had already seen the system could handle translation. The game used traditional Dragon Kingdom script, which was identical to the characters used here. Civilizations on both planets were similar. The game could automatically switch between simplified and traditional characters for the player's interface, and copying characters from a sample was easy. One person could write while the other calculated, and that would be enough.

Lin Qian just needed to know if their writing and math skills were up to the task, if they could function in this context. Her goal was simple: place a few trustworthy people in her county office. And right now, it seemed these players were the only ones she could rely on, their motivations aligned with her needs through the game's framework.

While Lin Qian was testing their arithmetic with a few verbal problems, Jun Moxiao and his group finally left the bustling area around the Chenghuang Temple, having satisfied their initial curiosity.

Jian Xiu put the freshly tossed vegetables, a gift from an admiring vendor, into a basket she had bought, her expression slowly shifting from curiosity to stunned disbelief.

"Wasn't this supposed to be a poor county? Why are they throwing vegetables around like this?" Receiving another flirtatious glance from a young woman selling embroidery, Jian Xiu finally experienced the headache of being an outrageously handsome man in a game, the unintended consequences of her avatar's design.

Jun Moxiao bit his sleeve in a dramatic gesture, jealousy barely contained. He had worked hard to make his character look good, but even in this virtual world, he was getting overshadowed by another handsome player, the social dynamics frustratingly familiar.

Bing Ling frowned in confusion, watching the interactions. "Isn't this game a bit too realistic? How do the NPCs even tell who is attractive? Is there a beauty stat?"

Yu Kai shrugged, his stream capturing his thoughtful expression. "Maybe there's some golden ratio thing programmed in. The closer your avatar is to it, the prettier the game judges you to be, and the NPCs react accordingly."

"Makes sense." Bing Ling nodded and rubbed her stomach, a grimace forming. She looked at Yu Kai. "Boss, I'm kind of hungry. Where are we sleeping tonight? We can't go back to the broken temple, right?"

Bing Ling had eaten before gaming, and only a couple of hours had passed in-game. With time moving faster inside the game, it was probably only seven or eight in real life. She didn't have the habit of late-night snacks, so this hunger was entirely in-game, a persistent, hollow feeling.

Their game characters had to sleep too, or they would be exhausted, a debuff appearing on their status.

Jian Xiu chimed in, her male avatar looking practical, "Looks like there's a curfew. We can't sleep on the streets, or we'll get caught by the night watch. Plus, we need to eat. Better find somewhere cheap to stay."

"What is a curfew?" Jun Moxiao asked, genuinely unfamiliar with the term.

Bing Ling explained patiently, "It means regular citizens aren't allowed out on the streets at night. Strict rules from the court to prevent crime."

"And if we go out anyway?"

Shrugging, Bing Ling said, "You might get treated like a thief, beaten or arrested."

After asking a local fruit seller, they learned there were affordable rooms for rent on West Street, a quieter part of town.

Pooling their money, the string of copper coins clinking, the four decided to rent a small house together for a month. By the gender rules of the setting, Bing Ling couldn't share a room with the three guys. They rented a two-room house, with the plan that Bing Ling would take the smaller room, and later, they could also accommodate other female players without housing.

With lodging sorted, a handshake deal with a landlord, it was getting late, the sky deepening to indigo, so they decided to get food before curfew while exploring Xinghexian a little more.

The game’s stunning realism, the sheer immersive detail, caused Yu Kai’s livestream to explode with gifts, virtual rockets and cars scrolling across the screen, and viewership jumped by ten thousand concurrent viewers. Even after the game company's commissions, he was still making a profit. Thinking like this, he didn't resent the game so much anymore, the financial sting lessened.

With such exquisite production, even sounds like kids being scolded by their mother could be heard faintly from the house next door, layers of ambient sound.

Continuing development for a game this complex required money, so commissions made sense, he reasoned.

Right now, he was the only one streaming this game widely, making him the main source for anyone curious about it. Flow equals money, and starting today, Yu Kai decided his livestream focus would shift toward From County Magistrate to Female Emperor. He wouldn't abandon shooting games entirely, his core audience was there, but the time spent on them would be greatly reduced.

The rented house had two sparse rooms, with thin mattresses and coarse quilts borrowed from the landlord. Rent was fifty wen per month. The four pooled 120 wen for the first month, leaving seventy for food and other expenses.

In-game, they had learned a roasted chicken cost twenty to thirty wen at a stall, so they needed to spend carefully, planning to buy cheap noodles or wontons instead. They agreed Bing Ling and Jian Xiu would go buy food from a nearby noodle shop while Yu Kai and Jun Moxiao cleaned the house with brooms they found.

To bring food back, they also needed to buy bowls and a bamboo basket from a vendor, since there were no plastic bags in ancient times, another realistic touch.

The two girls held hands, acting like a close couple or sisters as they left, chatting and laughing along the way, their avatars moving with natural gait animations. Reaching a narrow alley shortcut, they heard people shouting and scolding each other, voices raised in anger.

"People still argue in-game?" Bing Ling whispered.

"Maybe it's a special random event. Let us check it out," Jian Xiu suggested, her curiosity piqued.

"What if we get caught up in it? Could we get hurt? Our stamina is low."

"It's just arguing. We're just watching from the alley entrance, what could happen?" Jian Xiu said, less cautious than Bing Ling. "Since we're here, might as well see if it's a quest trigger."

"Fine, but let us hurry and buy food. Shan Mo is waiting." Bing Ling was persuaded and followed Jian Xiu a few steps into the dim alley.

As they entered, a strong, cloying scent of cheap perfume hit them, mixed with the smell of garbage.

They sensed something was off, the atmosphere suddenly tense.

Before they could take two more steps, several women rushed out from a side door, their faces painted, their clothes garish, yelling that they would tear Jian Xiu apart.

A red-nailed finger jabbed accusingly at Jian Xiu’s handsome face. "You little slut!"

"Ah?" Jian Xiu was baffled, taking a step back. What was happening?

"You shameless fool! Selling yourself! You've ruined your ancestors’ honor!" another woman shrieked.

"I'll rip off your pants and see what you've got back there!" a third snarled, reaching out.

"Stealing men, you little bitch!"

Jian Xiu was completely confused, holding up her hands. "Are you sure you've got the wrong person?"

Bing Ling grabbed her arm and tried to explain, her voice rising, "Mistake! Mistake!"

At first, they thought it was just game events, a scripted encounter. But when slaps and punches landed, the stinging sensation registering at a reduced but perceptible level, and their health bars ticked down slightly, even Bing Ling had trouble distinguishing the line between game challenge and a mob attack. In a moment, the scent of perfume mixed with the sting of blows and the panicked beating of their own hearts, leaving them barely any time to react or formulate a defense.

===

In ancient China, the imperial examination system (科举, kējǔ) was a rigorous process designed to select the most talented individuals for government positions. This meritocratic system allowed individuals, regardless of their social background, to climb the ranks of the bureaucracy based on their knowledge and ability. The exam system had several stages, and each level granted a different title and opened new opportunities for the candidate.

0. 童生 (Tóngshēng): Aspiring Scholar

Status: Had NOT passed any official exam.

Who they were: Any male, regardless of age, who was studying for and attempting the first exam. A man could be 70 years old and still be called a tongsheng if he kept failing.

1. Yuan Shi (院试, yuàn shì)

The Yuan Shi was the entry-level exam, often held at the local or county level. Passing this exam allowed the candidate to become a Xiu Cai (秀才, xiùcái), also known as a Scholar. The Xiu Cai status was prestigious and allowed the individual certain privileges, such as exemption from labor service and punishment, as well as a stipend in some cases. Xiu Cai were expected to be well-versed in the Confucian classics and could serve as teachers or local intellectuals.

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For more information about this, you can go to my Imperial Handbook

Chapter Text

The crowd was in chaos, a tangle of limbs and shrieking voices, and there were quite a few people trampled underfoot in the narrow alley.

Bing Ling was fine, just caught in the crossfire, shoved against a wall, but Jian Xiu took a beating because of her male form, perceived as a rival or an interloper, and ended up barely clinging to life, her health bar a sliver of red by the time the constables arrived and the mob dispersed.

Before curfew, when Jian Xiu and Bing Ling dragged themselves back to their lodgings, battered and bruised, their clothes torn, and without a single scrap of food, Yu Kai and Jun Moxiao, who had just finished sweeping, were stunned.

"What happened?" Yu Kai hurried over to support the frail Jian Xiu, his hand under her elbow.

Jian Xiu groaned weakly, leaning heavily on him, "Quick, get me inside. I need to lie down… I'm about done for." Her voice was thin with pain.

At this moment, Jian Xiu regretted her choice a little. She had thought that being male in the ancient world might be an advantage, offering more freedom, but it turned out that relying solely on her looks could backfire so badly, attracting the wrong kind of violent attention.

After some effort, they finally got Jian Xiu onto the thin mattress in the smaller room, her avatar groaning as she settled.

Jun Moxiao, always a bit dramatic and sensitive, was already in tears, his handsome face crumpled. He gripped Jian Xiu’s hand and said, "Brother, if you have anything to say, say it all now." He spoke as if she were on her deathbed.

Jian Xiu lay on the bed, raised one eyelid, rolled her eyes, and ignored him. She wasn't dead yet, no need for theatrics. She was just in pain and annoyed.

Yu Kai was more practical. He took twenty wen from their shared funds, asked the landlady who had rented them the lodgings to cook some simple rice and vegetables for them, and then spent another ten wen at an herbalist's stall on a small ceramic jar of basic healing salve.

Everyone’s stamina in the game was nearly depleted, the bars in their interfaces flashing yellow. If this continued, their walking speed would slow, their health bars would gradually shrink from exhaustion, and if anyone fell ill, recovery would be much harder, requiring medicine they couldn't afford. So for now, they just needed to eat something to fill their stomachs and stop the stamina drain.

Luckily, Yu Kai had distributed all the money fairly earlier, and the rest of the group didn't complain about the expense, understanding it was necessary.

After eating the plain but filling meal brought by the landlady and regaining some stamina, the color returning to their status bars, they finally got Bing Ling to explain what had happened, the four of them sitting on the floor around the low table.

The salve brushed lightly against the corner of Jian Xiu’s swollen lips, and her thin lips sucked in a sharp breath.

"Ugh~"

Bing Ling frowned, her fingers pausing. "Was it that painful? You okay?"

Even in the game, the sensation existed, a tingling, smarting feeling, but it didn't feel unbearable to her. She hadn't thought it was that painful when chased and hit by that group of women earlier, more shocking than anything.

Jian Xiu replied, her voice muffled, "My pain sensitivity setting is naturally a bit higher. I forgot to adjust it down." She had left the slider at its default, which was apparently quite high.

Bing Ling nodded, finally understanding. Different players could have different tolerance settings.

Jun Moxiao went over the entire chain of events Bing Ling had explained, piecing it together.

"So you're saying that just now, the male and female courtesans in that alley got into a full-blown brawl over territory or clients. You only went there to watch, and because Jian Xiu looked too good, people thought she was one of the male for hire, a new competitor. And that's how she ended up beaten like this?"

"And afterward? Did anyone die?" Yu Kai wasn't too concerned about game-world deaths. In the end, who lived and who died were just numbers, NPCs respawning or quests resetting.

"Can players go into the brothels here?" Jun Moxiao was curious about this, his eyes lighting up with mischievous interest.

From County Magistrate to Female Emperor was restricted to players over eighteen, but gambling, sex, and drugs were prohibited by the game's terms. Jun Moxiao probably wouldn't get to see any racy scenes. Still, the brothel was an unexplored area, worth checking out for the cultural detail, he reasoned.

"No one actually died, but there was one who nearly got beaten to death," Bing Ling said, finishing applying the salve on Jian Xiu's visible bruises and sitting back on the edge of the bed. Their in-game characters were 'married' for the purpose of sharing this rented room, so they could share a bed without breaking the game's propriety rules.

Jian Xiu weakly explained, propping herself up on an elbow, "Then the officials arrived. The constables arrested the main instigators on both sides. We showed our identity papers to prove we weren't involved, just bystanders, so we weren't taken in."

"Tut," Jun Moxiao muttered from the wooden chair, shifting slightly, "Why didn't you ask for medical compensation? Even if it was a mistake, they would owe you something! You got hurt!"

Jian Xiu huffed, a pained sound, "All the people who could be responsible got arrested. We'll ask tomorrow at the yamen, maybe. Besides, it's impossible to tell who actually hit me, left punch, right punch, felt like everyone landed a blow. Don't know if they'll even pay. A bunch of women, look delicate, but their fighting strength is insane. At least we got off easy. The poor male courtesans trapped inside got beaten to a pulp, screaming their heads off."

"What is a male courtesan?" Jun Moxiao didn't understand the term.

Yu Kai also looked at Jian Xiu with confusion, unfamiliar with the historical concept.

Bing Ling explained patiently, "It's a man for hire. You know, for female clients. Or sometimes for men. It's a thing in some historical settings."

Yu Kai and Jun Moxiao exchanged a glance, both silently noting the odd, specific way Jian Xiu and Bing Ling knew these things, yet wisely decided not to ask further. It wasn't that they feared angering them, just that asking too much might lead to being recommended all sorts of strange novels or websites, an awkward conversation.

Seeing Jian Xiu starting to recover, her health bar slowly ticking upward with rest and the salve, Yu Kai began discussing their next steps, getting back to business.

"No matter what, the immediate priority is getting money. Also, we haven't seen the county magistrate yet, the main NPC for the storyline."

Everyone nodded, agreeing to visit the yamen tomorrow to look for work or quests, following the initial game prompt.

Time in the game passed almost as quickly as reality, the in-game clock showing late evening. Night fell fully, the windows dark. They added each other as friends in-game, forming a party, and one by one logged off, their avatars dissolving into light.

It was past eleven at night in the real world. Yu Kai hadn't rested well after yesterday’s long stream and didn't want to push any longer. Many of his fans were still students, so he usually ended by midnight to let them sleep. After chatting briefly with fans in the stream's closing minutes and confirming that tomorrow’s stream would continue From County Magistrate to Female Emperor, Yu Kai logged off, the game world vanishing from his headset.

Unbeknownst to him, his stream ID, Shan Mo, and the game itself spent several hours trending on social media that night. Yu Kai gained over a hundred thousand new followers across platforms, and clips of the stream, the stunning visuals, the hilarious Jun Moxiao incident, the chaotic brawl, were circulated by various marketing accounts, skyrocketing in popularity.

By morning, checking his phone, he still couldn't quite believe the numbers. Of course, that was a story for later.

Meanwhile, in Xinghexian, Lin Qian had completed the simple tests for Qin Qing and Liu Yang and finalized their appointments in the yamen. She summoned the yamen clerk to receive them, personally handed over the heavy iron keys to the main storeroom to Qin Qing, set their salaries at a fair rate for junior clerks, and had them escorted out to get settled.

Since the two had little money, having spent most of their thirty wen, she allowed them to take half a month’s pay in advance, a small advance to secure lodging and food.

The chief clerk, Zhang, had initially suspected why Lin Qian had spared them the kneeling earlier, but after observing her calm, businesslike actions, testing them, hiring them, advancing pay, he was quietly impressed, thinking perhaps they did have connections that allowed them to meet officials without the usual obeisance, a sign of privileged backing.

A county storeroom, holding tax grain and silver, wasn't something anyone could just manage. Only the county magistrate’s deep trust would permit someone else to handle the finances, a position of significant responsibility.

Realizing this, Zhang, the chief clerk, regretted his earlier sharpness and disrespect toward Qin Qing and the others. He would have to be more careful around them.

After seeing off the locals, Lin Qian called Zhang into her study.

Zhang bowed deeply, about to ask her something, perhaps about the new hires, but Lin Qian spoke first, preempting his questions.

"These two, though commoners, are talented. Their studies are somewhat unbalanced; they lack full mastery of both civil and military skills, but they excel in numbers and practical record-keeping. My teacher recommended them to me before I departed. As long as they complete their duties satisfactorily, they need not be treated too harshly. They mostly live in rural areas, accustomed to roughness. If they fail in the future, observe first, then replace if necessary." Her tone was matter-of-fact, layering a plausible backstory over the truth.

Zhang had initially assumed Qin Qing and the others had some influential backers in the capital.

Hearing Lin Qian's explanation, he finally relaxed. They might not have powerful connections, but they had the county magistrate’s personal trust through her teacher's recommendation. That was still a form of protection.

"Yes, this official remembers," Zhang said, bowing again.

"Good, you may go," Lin Qian waved a hand dismissively.

After Zhang left, closing the door softly, Lin Qian returned to her desk and studied the local gazetteer by the light of two lamps, the pages covered in her own annotations.

She had the lamp lit without noticing the passage of time, drawn by the dense texts like Qing Army Records and Official Punishment Records, which appeared complex and fascinating, a window into the machinery of this state.

A single county yamen managed tens of thousands of people in the city and surrounding villages, with sub-offices for tax, justice, and granaries, staffed by clerks, scribes, and assistants. Lin Qian had to handle not only these subordinates but also the prefectural and ministerial layers above, coordinating all tasks and reports.

On top of that, imperial inspectors could arrive unannounced for oversight. Beyond the administrative work, she had to manage relationships with the local gentry, powerful families, and military officers. She was truly busy, the weight of the office settling on her shoulders.

With the new appointment as magistrate, Lin Qian had to manage her immediate duties while also writing carefully worded letters to old contacts, her teacher, a few former classmates, to maintain those tenuous links to the capital.

Her earlier words to the chief clerk about her teacher's recommendation, while a fabrication for the players, reflected the high regard her teacher had indeed held for the original Lin Qian, which had been the case and was now a piece of political capital she could carefully spend.

Chapter Text

Lin Qian’s talent hadn't gone unnoticed. The Tanhua Lang, the third-highest scholar in the empire, had to be not only handsome but also profoundly learned, and someone so young, just twenty-one, how many older officials and gentry must have considered her the perfect daughter-in-law, a brilliant match for their families?

She was practically a prospective son-in-law plucked right under her own teacher’s nose. With only one beloved daughter, how could he not value someone chosen for her, a young man of such promise?

Unfortunately, Lin Qian later revealed she was female, so the teacher’s marital hopes couldn't be fully realized, the dream of a scholarly son-in-law dissolving into awkward reality.

At first, he had been angry, feeling deceived, but after hearing of her brave deeds in court, confessing her identity to rectify her family's name, he still admired Lin Qian’s character and ultimately chose to step in and protect her, using his influence to mitigate the scandal.

After that, while their interactions weren't particularly close, the teacher treated her well, and they exchanged letters regularly. Even though Lin Qian was female, she was still considered one of his students, a connection that carried weight.

So, besides the few former classmates who still kept in touch out of loyalty or curiosity, Lin Qian also had to write careful, respectful letters to her teacher and his daughter. All of this took time, the brushstrokes deliberate. Even with the help of Zheng Zheng, a fellow modern-world traveler in spirit, who could provide perfect historical phrasing, Lin Qian couldn't completely relax into the role. If she did, her hard-won authority would have to be handed over to someone else, the facade crumbling.

Time passed without her noticing, the candles burning lower, and her stomach suddenly growled, reminding her it was late.

She had often done the same in her modern life, skipping meals to save time or money, or grabbing cold takeout at random hours. Once home, she would be too lazy to even retrieve it from the fridge until her stomach protested.

Just as she was about to call for a servant to bring something, there was a soft knock at the study door.

Then a familiar, weary voice from her nanny called out from the other side, "Daren, it's time for your meal."

Lin Qian quickly had her let in, setting down her brush.

The nanny, Madam Qiu, entered carrying a wooden tray, her steps slower than usual. She had rushed all the way from the capital to assume this post at Lin Qian's side, almost missing the inauguration day, and she hadn't been the only one who fell ill on the arduous journey.

A few days ago, Lin Qian had noticed Madam Qiu wasn't feeling well, her color poor, but the older woman had insisted on pushing through for her sake, not wanting to be a burden.

It wasn't until Lin Qian officially took office and settled into the yamen that Madam Qiu finally admitted her true condition, her strength giving out. A doctor was summoned, and thankfully, it wasn't serious, just exhaustion from the long travel and a bit of weakness from poor food on the road.

But she was older, her hair now more grey than black, and even minor fatigue was hard on her, taking longer to recover.

Lin Qian had clearly told her to rest in the servants' quarters, yet Madam Qiu’s stubborn nature wouldn't allow it, her sense of duty overriding her discomfort.

Having no blood family in this place herself, Lin Qian had gradually come to regard Madam Qiu as half-family after spending this time together, relying on her steadfast presence.

Seeing her carrying the food tray personally, the bowls steaming, made Lin Qian feel a bit guilty, a pang of responsibility.

"These are small matters. Leave them to the maidservants. Mother, why trouble yourself with this when you should be resting?"

The original owner still called Madam Qiu "Mother" in private, though Madam Qiu had always regarded herself merely as a respectable servant. She never dared overstep, always mindful of Lin Qian’s status as a magistrate’s daughter and now a magistrate herself.

Although Lin Qian had been raised by her from childhood, she still felt it was because of Lin Qian’s noble blood, her innate quality, that she was exceptional, not due to any upbringing.

"If you would just eat properly and on time, what is it to me?" Madam Qiu said as she laid out the simple dishes on the side table: a bowl of rice, a plate of stir-fried greens with garlic, and a small dish of pickled vegetables.

"Have you eaten, Mother?"

"I have. You go ahead. Now that you hold office, though you must be upright and diligent, you can't be as relentless as when you were studying for the exams. If you get so absorbed in books and papers that you forget to eat, how is that right?" Her tone was chiding, but her eyes were soft with concern.

Lin Qian nodded and offered a small smile. "I'll remember from now on."

So the original owner had the same habits, getting caught up in work or study to the point of neglect. It was a convenient trait to share.

Madam Qiu sighed, her wrinkled face uncertain if Lin Qian would truly change. "Don't stay up so late tonight. Rest early. Don't ruin your eyes reading by this poor light."

Lin Qian smiled and nodded without speaking, picking up her chopsticks to eat a piece of stir-fried cabbage. It was plain but well-seasoned.

Madam Qiu, watching her, noticed something in her demeanor, a preoccupied air. "Is there something you need to attend to tonight? Beyond the reading?"

Lin Qian hesitated, her chopsticks pausing, but seeing the genuine concern in the old woman’s eyes, she couldn't hide it.

"I've been checking the reports on local conditions in the county. Some petty thieves are rampant, with thefts happening almost daily. I thought I would patrol the places they frequent at night, to see for myself and perhaps deter them."

"Why not leave it to the constables? You don't need to do it yourself," Madam Qiu said, frowning with worry, her hands clasping together. "It's not safe, and it's beneath your station."

"I want to accomplish something real here and reassure the people that their magistrate is active. Besides, as a woman, they already don't trust me fully, so I have to work harder, to be more visible. I can't let the people down. That's also my father’s principle as an official." Lin Qian didn't actually know the original owner’s father’s principles, but invoking him as a revered, tragic figure made her argument more persuasive, linking her actions to family honor.

Madam Qiu’s eyes softened, glistening slightly in the lamplight. "I just don't want you to overwork yourself. The Lin family’s grievances have been cleared by the Emperor’s own word. You don't have to be so tense, to prove yourself so fiercely."

"I know, Mother, I know," Lin Qian said, reaching out to hold Madam Qiu’s warm, work-roughened hand. It felt solid and real.

It reminded her of her own mother in her previous life, also rough from labor, though one of her mother's hands had been softer, the one that used to stroke her hair. The memory was sharp.

She admitted Madam Qiu was right, she had been tense, coiled tight with the pressure of her mission. But everything, the entire gamble, depended on whether her own parents could come back to her. Wasn't that worth being tense for? Wasn't any effort justified?

She missed them terribly, a hollow space beneath her ribs.

Her empathy for the original owner wasn't really about the Lin family’s political grievances, but about this shared, profound longing for lost parents.

The original owner had surely thought of her executed parents every day, enduring hardships and disguise until the family’s name was cleared before passing away. Perhaps her final illness wasn't from the land or water, but from the heart, from a grief that finally caught up. But that was all past now.

After a quick meal, eating efficiently, Lin Qian had a maid clear the dishes.

Madam Qiu, however, insisted on serving a final small bowl of hot broth from a covered pot. "It's cold tonight, drink this before you go out. It will warm you."

Though already full, Lin Qian drank the simple broth out of courtesy and affection, the liquid warming her throat.

After a brief rest, she called for the two constables on the evening shift, climbed into a small, plain sedan chair waiting in the courtyard, and began patrolling the city randomly. Her plan was that until thefts were under control, she would patrol eight to ten times a month. The county was too large to check everywhere at once, so she would go to two or three random locations each night. That way, thieves wouldn't be able to predict her movements.

Wherever the magistrate passed, local patrols and neighborhood watches would inevitably work harder, fearing her scrutiny. It was a good way to mobilize her subordinates indirectly, leaving no chance for prolonged slacking.

Without a county supervisor above her, Lin Qian managed all local military, economic, and civil affairs herself, so even the few dozen guards and constables were under her direct authority. Of course, in a poor, remote county like this, no imperial troops were stationed, and she had only a handful of men with any training. A band of mountain bandits of any real scale could easily devastate Xinghexian, a fact that kept her awake some nights.

The sedan chair was tiny, and Lin Qian was tall, so she had to curl up inside uncomfortably, peeking through the bamboo curtains at the dark, sleeping streets. Bored on the slow patrol, the rhythmic bump of the carriers' steps, she leaned back against the hard wood and thought about why thieves were so common in Xinghexian.

It had to be economics, no money, no arable land, no steady jobs. Aside from naturally bad people, those truly starving, with no hope, had little choice but to steal to survive.

Also, there were many wandering migrants, people displaced by disasters or poverty in other regions.

Xinghexian was remote, its borders fuzzy in the mountains, a place easy to hide in.

Criminals looking for a safe spot, away from the law of more populous counties, would find this county perfect, with few people and slow information flow.

So her first priority, she realized, wasn't negotiating with the local gentry for taxes or influence, but establishing basic law and order. Without safety, there could be no prosperity.

The hardworking villagers, those who tilled the rocky soil, shouldn't have to deal with thieves stealing their seed grain or their only chicken every year. It wasn't just theft; abductions were also common, the reports chilling. The county’s missing children cases were higher than the imperial average. If this continued, no one would dare to be simply good. In a few years, men would all turn to theft or banditry, women to prostitution or flight. The social fabric would unravel completely. She had to stop the slide here, at its beginning.

Chapter Text

Lin Qian had gone over the local gazetteer and knew that although Xinghexian had always been poor in the earlier years, it had still produced a few prominent local gentry who became officials, their names recorded in the county annals.

After retiring from their posts, these gentry would return home to repair bridges and build roads, doing some good deeds for their hometown, and gradually leaving a mark of philanthropy. But sixty or seventy years later, those once-prosperous gentry families were still thriving, their estates growing, while the common people, according to tax records, had grown even poorer, their numbers dwindling.

Seeing this, she couldn't help but sigh, rubbing her temples. Indeed, those who got rich first could only lift the earlier poor connected to them, but the later poor, there was no catching up. Wealth accumulated upward, leaving the bottom ever more barren.

She was just thinking about how to deal with the local thieves, to break the cycle, when sudden shouts came from outside the sedan: "Who is there?" "Where are you running?"

Lin Qian’s status was high, so the four guards around her immediately drew their blades at the possibility of danger, forming a tight protective circle around her sedan, their faces tense in the torchlight.

Some carried torches, others held lanterns on poles. Lin Qian, sitting in the sedan chair, lifted the bamboo curtain slightly and could clearly see what was happening outside: two of her constables were chasing a shadowy figure down a side alley. She couldn't help but think, if it was just a petty thief, that would be fine, but if there was a "sniper" from afar aiming at her, an assassin with a crossbow, she would be a glaring target in this lit circle.

The county’s guards and soldiers were inexperienced; their formation was instinctual, not trained. She would have to find someone to drill them later, perhaps one of the players with a military background.

With that thought, she lowered the curtain inside the sedan, reducing her visibility.

Not long after, the sounds of struggle and a yelp echoed, and a thief was indeed caught, dragged back into the circle of light.

Night clothes probably cost money, so the thief wore ordinary coarse fabric, dark but not black, looking every bit the part, shifty-eyed and wiry, clearly a local rogue.

"These days, thieves don't even bother hiding their faces anymore. How strange," Lin Qian muttered to herself, lifting the front curtain just enough to glance at him. Then she instructed the soldiers escorting him, her voice carrying authority, "Take him to the county yamen. Let the night-duty jailer lock him up tonight. Once the investigation is complete tomorrow, This Official will pass judgment."

The soldiers nodded, bowing, "Yes, Daren!" and hauled the cursing man away.

Lin Qian lowered the curtain again and ordered the carriers to continue her patrol, the small procession moving on through the sleeping streets.

By the time it was the last watch of the night, the sky still dark, she returned to the magistrate’s residence to wash up and sleep, her mind still turning over the problems of the county.

Meanwhile, in another part of Xinghexian, other domestic dramas were unfolding in the predawn darkness.

At the Wang household, a modest clay-tile house, the wife had been crying softly all day and into the night.

Wang Da grew increasingly impatient. He finally lit a stub of candle, its light flickering over their sparse room, and scolded, "Cry, cry, cry! Does your damn luck drain away with your tears? What is wrong with you? In my house, am I keeping food or clothing from you? You have given me two daughters and I have never scolded you for that. You couldn't produce a son, and now I am supposed to stay home while I want some fun? Am I not still in charge here?"

Li Shi sobbed on the bed, her voice thick with tears, "What have I done wrong? Where did I fail you? I have managed the household while you worked outside. I carried two daughters for you, and to bear you a son I took so many bitter remedies, leaving myself weak and sickly. And yet, behind my back, you go cheat! Our daughters go without meat for months, and you spend money on that shameless woman’s child! Wang Da, you have no conscience!" Her words tumbled out in a rush of long-held bitterness.

The commotion was loud enough to reach the neighboring elder couple, Wang Da’s parents, who came shuffling in to mediate, their faces lined with worry: "Oldest son, stop arguing. It is late. Daughter-in-law, go to bed early."

"Don't take it to heart, she is just like all men. Move on and live your life; what matters is keeping the family line going." The mother-in-law’s words were meant to soothe but only reinforced the pressure.

Li Shi refused to let it go, the injustice burning in her chest, and continued crying, the sound raw and hopeless.

Though the quarrel was not massive, not yet involving thrown objects, the prolonged, weary cries were maddening in the small hours.

Wang Da cursed, his face contorted in the candlelight, and slapped her across the face with a heavy, calloused palm.

The crack echoed in the room.

Li Shi felt dizzy, stars spinning before her eyes, the taste of blood in her mouth.

Somehow, in that dark, painful daze, she could only think of the new county magistrate, the woman, entering town some time ago with her procession.

She was weak, yet she wanted justice, a verdict. If her in-laws couldn't grant it, perhaps a higher authority could.

At the crack of dawn, as the sky lightened to grey, some early-rising constables reported the overnight arrest to the county yamen, but Lin Qian was still asleep, exhausted from her late patrol. She woke around the mid-morning hours, having no habit of sleeping in, and immediately got up, washing her face with cold water to clear her head.

She checked through Zheng Zheng which Players had logged in. Not a single one was online yet; the server was quiet.

Eating a simple spring roll and sipping hot ginger tea, she shook her head and complained to the system Zheng Zheng, "Young people these days are just too lazy. The sun is already high."

Zheng Zheng responded in her mind, its tone neutral: "Host, you are only twenty-one in this body. It seems my host isn't that old, right?"

Determined to start the day diligently, Lin Qian held court early after a brief meal. She knew if the commoners could manage disputes on their own, they typically wouldn't report issues to the yamen. Local gentry and elders in the same village usually mediated conflicts themselves, preserving face and avoiding official entanglement.

So most of her cases involved theft, occasional homicide, or economic disputes; family matters were rare in the court docket.

In small, poor towns, real premeditated murder was uncommon. Even when it happened, it was rarely mysterious, usually just a heated quarrel where one person killed another by accident, a tool wielded in anger.

Today was different: a woman, her face partly hidden by a scarf, reported her husband for adultery and domestic abuse, kneeling in the main hall.

He, Wang Da, stood defiantly, and in turn claimed she couldn't bear sons and accused her of jealousy and stirring mischief, of shaming the family.

Normally, family scandals like this wouldn't concern the county magistrate. They were handled within the family or the clan. Most of the time, village elders just mediated and life went on, the woman bearing the weight of the compromise.

Lin Qian guessed the woman came forward because she, the magistrate, was a woman herself, thinking Lin Qian could empathize. Even the most fair-minded male officials couldn't fully empathize with women’s domestic plights, and vice versa. So women often suffered silently, with little legal recourse, the law offering them scant protection.

In the courtroom, both had visible injuries. The man had some superficial claw marks on his neck at most; the woman’s face, now revealed, was bruised and swollen, one eye nearly shut, and her neck had faint, dark marks suggesting attempted strangling.

She had already given birth to two daughters, who were standing aside, clutching each other and crying uncontrollably, ignored by their father.

A village widow, the man’s mistress, was also there, brought by the constables, disheveled and weeping into her sleeves. Lin Qian learned the widow had a young son who wasn't present.

After clarifying the details through questioning, Lin Qian asked the woman, Li Shi, her voice deliberately calm, "Do you want to continue living together, or do you seek a divorce?"

"Your Honor!" Wang Da interrupted before she could answer. "I admit my fault, but she didn't need to divorce me or drag it to this point. Every family has difficulties. I only made a mistake any man might, but it isn't that serious. She shouldn't have dragged this to the yamen!" The man argued boldly, as if the court were his own home.

"I will divorce her myself if needed, but I won't separate! She is still my wife!"

Lin Qian sighed inwardly, her expression stern. "You claim she has no sons, but daughters are still heirs under the law. Your grounds for divorce are invalid on that count."

"She is jealous! A jealous wife is one of the seven grounds!"

"You and Widow Xu’s relationship is inappropriate, yet she is not a registered prostitute. How can that count as jealousy? But your random affairs? That is potentially adultery, which is your offense, not hers. This Official hasn't judged yet, but you sure have a lot to say!" Her voice rose slightly, cutting through his bluster.

"Bring the court paddle!" Lin Qian banged the judge’s wooden block, the sound sharp in the hall.

A constable stepped forward, a long, flat paddle in hand, awaiting her orders.

"First, slap him ten times to teach him the rules of this court! To speak out of turn before This Official!"

The constable, though not as strong as the heavy-duty executioners, was imposing enough. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing an arm twice as thick as Lin Qian’s, causing Wang Da to freeze in fear, his eyes wide as the constable stepped forward and the first slap came down.

Smack!

"Ah!" Wang Da yelped, stumbling.

The small crowd of onlookers outside the hall murmured quietly, the sound punctuated by the loud, wet smacks and the man’s escalating screams.

The man was just a commoner; the constables dared not hold back under Lin Qian’s watch, knowing she demanded strict discipline.

Ten slaps later, delivered with methodical force, his face was swollen and red, his earlier defiance replaced by pain and fear.

Lin Qian then turned to the woman, Li Shi. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, yet there was a faint, hard look of satisfaction in them as she watched her husband punished.

Yes, she had run a household, birthed two daughters, worked in the fields, and received betrayal and violence in return. Even if she once loved the man, that love had likely faded, beaten out of her.

After punishing the man for contempt of court, Lin Qian asked the woman, her tone softening slightly, "Have you arranged where you will live after the divorce? How will you support yourself?"

The woman wiped her tears with her sleeve, bowed deeply, and replied, her voice steadier now, "Your Honor, I have already discussed with my father and brothers. I will return to my family in the next village, who run a small tofu business. I can help out, so living won't be hard."

A woman of childbearing age, even divorced, could remarry relatively easily in these circumstances, and even if not, widowers or poorer unmarried men were available. Her labor had value.

In poor, remote Xinghexian, women of any looks were usually either working as servants for the gentry or had fled for survival elsewhere. Women here weren't hard to marry; they were few compared to men, and they held the crucial power to bear children, a commodity in a depopulating county.

Lin Qian then heard the woman’s older brother speak up from the crowd, promising she could return home to work and would be welcomed.

She checked with the man, Wang Da, about agreeing to the divorce. Once Lin Qian had him slapped, he no longer dared resist and nodded in sullen agreement, holding his face.

Lin Qian decreed that Wang Da must also compensate a tael or two of silver for the woman’s medical expenses and lost livelihood, a sum that would be a burden.

Poor rural families could hardly spare ready money, so they gave an IOU first, to be paid in grain or labor later.

Li Shi was thus divorced, but the daughters, by custom, would keep the Wang surname and stay with their father’s family, as he insisted. Seeing the divorce finalized, the two little girls cried uncontrollably, clinging to their mother’s legs.

She was reluctant to leave her children, her heart breaking, but she couldn't support them alone, and even as a mother, she had no legal leverage over the Wang household to take them.

Naturally, the matter wasn't over yet. Lin Qian still had to address the specific wrongdoing of the widow, Xu Shi, and Wang Da’s conduct, to set a precedent and perhaps assign community punishment.

Chapter Text

The two claimed it was mutual consent, a matter of the heart, but in truth, it was all secret trysts, furtive meetings behind closed doors. Both were technically respectable in their original stations, the man had a wife, the woman was a widow, but even if they had tried to legitimize it by letting the widow into the house as a servant, it wouldn't have satisfied the moral standards of either family, nor the community’s expectations.

This messy tangle of affairs gave Lin Qian ample reason to charge them with adultery under the law, a charge with tangible consequences.

She looked at the widow, Xu Shi, who was weeping into her hands, and said, her voice clear and carrying in the hall, "You may be widowed and pitiful, but that's no excuse to seduce another man and ruin his family. This isn't just a matter of proper conduct for a woman anymore, you have no moral character at all, and you deserve to be punished! And Wang Da, you already have a wife, yet you cheat outside the home. That's despicable!"

After speaking, Lin Qian summoned the county deputy standing by the records desk and asked how past cases of adultery had been handled in Xinghexian, what the customary punishments were.

Typically, the penalties across different regions weren't too different, though minor variations existed based on local magistrates' interpretations. Lin Qian, though the acting county magistrate, still had to respect precedent, a nod to the old ways and continuity. If there were special circumstances, she could tailor the punishment to her judgment, but it had to make logical sense, and everyone involved had to accept it as fair, or at least unavoidable.

This was the difference between rule by rigid law and rule by man, by judgment. Sometimes personal feelings and the specifics of the case outweeds the letter of the law; it all depended on the official in charge and their discretion.

But really, what law isn't ultimately enforced by humans? Laws are respected only if they're worthy of respect, if their enforcement seems just.

The county deputy, always at her side these first days, had been assigned to help her quickly adapt to local procedures. During this time, the clerks and assistants practically hovered around her every day. After asking, she learned that in Xinghexian, men caught committing adultery were usually beaten forty times with a heavy cane and paraded publicly through the streets, though most magistrates, seeking to avoid permanent injury, reduced it to twenty strokes.

For women, punishments were often harsher, sometimes even public humiliation in the stocks or cangue, so naturally, both the adulterer and the widow trembled when they heard the potential penalty.

Never mind the shame of a public parade; forty strokes could leave a strong man crippled, unable to work for months or ever again.

Wang Da’s parents, watching from the sidelines, were terrified. The old man blurted out, "Your Honor, my son doesn't even have a son yet! If he is injured, what will we do? Our family line!"

The old woman shouted, pointing a bony finger at the widow, "It is that shameless widow who seduced my son! If you punish, punish her! She is a widow, she should live quietly and care for her own child instead of destroying another family!"

Lin Qian banged the wooden gavel sharply. "Silence!"

The sound cut through the murmuring hall like a crack of thunder.

She sat straight in the magistrate’s chair, her gaze cold as it swept over the petitioners, and asked, "You have committed a crime and confessed to it, yet still dare to argue here? Are you unwilling to accept this court’s authority?"

"Your Honor, please spare us! Please have mercy!" The man and the woman both began to kowtow, their foreheads touching the dusty floor, begging for leniency.

They were simple farmers who didn't understand the intricacies of law; all they knew was that the wife had been unreasonable in making a fuss. When the matter was taken to court, they assumed they would be safe, that it would blow over. Every village had adulterers. Every household had husbands who hit their wives occasionally. Why should a few slaps lead to a formal court case?

No one expected adultery to be considered such a serious crime, worthy of corporal punishment. Forty strokes? Who could survive that?

The spectators gathered at the hall's entrance reacted differently. Most men murmured and sympathized with Wang Da, they didn't see him as entirely at fault, more as a man led astray.

"Better to break ten temples than destroy one marriage," one older man muttered to his neighbor. "Why would Your Honor allow them to divorce so easily?"

"Couples have to tolerate each other, at least for the children’s sake. What if the kids lose their mother?"

"Li Shi is too impulsive, too sharp."

"The widow violated proper conduct, she is the root."

"Forty strokes would leave a strong man unable to do heavy work for months, wouldn't it? That hurts the family’s livelihood."

The men at the gate were cautious, so their words were relatively restrained. The women in the crowd, however, voiced harsher, more pointed opinions.

"How can he call himself the family pillar and then forget that when he sleeps with another woman?" a middle-aged woman said, her arms crossed.

"If they don't divorce, will he be beaten to death next time?" a plump aunt wiped her tears with a corner of her scarf. "Look at her neck, it's all red and bruised. Fighting is one thing, but why use deadly force?"

"Adulterer and widow, they deserve to be thrown in the pig cage!" another spat.

"The two kids are completely innocent. Poor things."

"Wang Da’s family isn't right. Blaming the widow for his own actions? One slap doesn't make it hers alone. Did she force his pants off?"

"Even in our village, this would've been settled by the clan leader with a heavy fine and a beating. That couple wouldn't get away with it."

Some scolded the widow specifically, though fewer did so outright. Women’s chastity was always emphasized, especially for a woman who slept with a married man; she bore a double stigma.

Lin Qian sat silently for a while, watching the pair kneel and sob, letting the tension in the room build. Once she had seen enough, once the spectators had settled, she spoke again, her voice calm but firm. "Since this is the case, and considering your family responsibilities and the fact no one was killed, I will assign a different punishment, one that addresses the harm but considers practicalities."

The shouts and murmurs quieted a bit, all ears turning to her.

She continued, "You committed adultery. The one most directly harmed is Wang Da’s wife, Li Shi. Since you have had an affair, Wang Da, you have already divorced Li Shi by this court’s decree. The widow’s husband is no longer in the picture. You two may as well marry each other formally, to regularize this irregular situation. If the daughters aren't wanted by Wang Da’s family, they will stay with Li Shi. Wang Da, you will also compensate Li Shi each year for their upbringing until they marry, and that's it."

The widow, Xu Shi, had no immediate objection; marriage to Wang Da was a step up from her precarious widowhood, offering some security. But Wang Da hesitated, his swollen face twisting in conflict.

His concern wasn't that she was a widow, but that she had a young son from her previous marriage. The widow’s own income was meager; her late husband’s fields weren't fertile. How would they all survive? Would Wang Da be expected to support her son too, a child not his own?

He still didn't have a son of his own, a deep-seated anxiety. And now there was Li Shi to compensate annually. His whole family of seven or eight might only save forty or fifty taels of silver in a good year, if they scrimped heavily. How much could they really give without hurting themselves?

So he hesitated, shifting on his knees.

Lin Qian caught his hesitation. "What, you would rather be beaten forty times and paraded through the streets?"

"Your servant… your servant…" Wang Da stammered, unable to articulate his financial fears.

She looked at Li Shi kneeling nearby, her head bowed. "Do you want to raise your children yourself? Do you have the means?"

"Your servant… I can't manage it alone. If I could, I would gladly take them!" Li Shi wiped her tears, her respect for Lin Qian obvious in her tone. She saw the magistrate as her savior.

Lin Qian understood. It wasn't unwillingness, it was inability, a lack of resources.

"Then it's settled. Li Shi will raise the two daughters. Wang Da will provide three taels of silver annually, or three thousand wen, until the daughters marry. If they remain unmarried at sixteen, Wang Da’s family will support them until that age. Their future marriages won't be controlled by Wang Da’s family; Li Shi and her family will have a say.

Wang Da, any objections?"

In Xinghexian, housing was cheap. One tael per year could cover rent for a small room for Li Shi and her daughters, two taels for basic food and clothing. Extra work sewing or helping in her family’s tofu shop could earn a few more taels over time. The daughters couldn't attend private schools anyway, so three taels would suffice for a bare subsistence.

Wang Da thought for a while, his mind calculating furiously, unwilling to answer immediately. His annual earnings from farming and odd jobs were over ten taels, but after living expenses, filial piety to his parents, social obligations, and his own fondness for alcohol, he might save only two taels in a decent year. Ignoring the daughters could save three or four taels over the years.

He still wanted to have sons eventually, to have them study and marry well, so every silver coin counted. He wasn't worried about the daughters’ long-term welfare, they'd marry off eventually, but he hated the thought of spending money on them now, money that felt like it was being taken from his future sons.

Lin Qian, having dealt with this domestic complaint all morning, her patience wearing thin, grew stern. "Bring the cane forward! Forty strokes each for this adulterer and this widow, to be carried out immediately!"

The widow, Xu Shi, nearly fainted, tugging desperately at Wang Da’s sleeve. "Wang Da! Have mercy! We will die here! Agree! Just agree!"

"I will comply! I will comply! Please, Your Honor, I agree to your judgment!" Wang Da kowtowed frantically, the fear of physical pain overriding his financial worries. Forty strokes? He truly believed he wouldn't survive.

His parents watched, their hearts conflicted. They didn't want him marrying a notorious widow and paying Li Shi annually, but Wang Da was their only son. Better to settle matters quickly with money than risk him being injured and incurring even greater medical costs later.

Lin Qian then had the court scribe draw up a formal agreement outlining the terms. Wang Da, Li Shi, and the widow all pressed their thumbprints to the paper, the red ink stark.

Before officially closing the case, she delivered a final warning, her eyes resting on Wang Da and his parents. "Don't think to withhold the money or harass Li Shi’s family. If I learn of any ill intent, any failure to pay, or any attempt to reclaim the children against their will, I won't be so lenient next time. The forty strokes will be waiting, with interest."

Wang Da’s family, cowed by her authority and the visible presence of the constables, dared not voice any disobedience, only nodding and bowing.

The case concluded, the spectators began to disperse, talking animatedly. And in that judgment, quietly, a seed was planted in the minds of Xinghexian’s women: there are just authorities in this world, officials willing to listen and fight for their rights, even against the weight of custom. It was a small thing, but in the soil of a poor county, even a small seed could eventually take root.

Chapter Text

After resolving the matter between Wang Da, Li Shi, and Widow Xu, Lin Qian handled another civil dispute over a disputed chicken before wrapping up the morning court session, her throat dry from speaking.

She returned to her residence within the yamen for lunch, eating stir-fried lotus root, a bowl of mutton noodle soup, and some flatbreads brought by a servant.

"Tasty," Lin Qian said as she nibbled the chewy flatbread and sipped the hot, savory soup sprinkled with chopped scallions, feeling the warmth spread through her body, driving out the morning's chill.

Her nanny, Madam Qiu, who had served the meal herself, smiled, touching her own half-white hair, and offered her another piece of crispy lotus root. "The weather is getting colder. Eating this now will both reduce internal dryness and strengthen the body," she said, her voice gentle with care.

After lunch, Lin Qian took a short rest in her study, leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed for half an hour.

When her midday nap was over, she didn't rush to get up but first checked, through her mental interface with Zheng Zheng, if any new Players had logged in. Two new accounts had appeared that morning, but both were quickly deleted, their digital existence snuffed out.

She reviewed the brief video logs provided by the system. One was a handsome male character who had been captured by human traffickers almost immediately after spawning. He had fought desperately but refused to submit, struggling so violently he ended up killing himself, his avatar's neck snapping in the struggle.

The other had jumped off a cliff out of curiosity, testing how much health he would lose from the fall, but miscalculated the height and died instantly, the health bar vanishing.

Shaking her head, Lin Qian rubbed her forehead and said to Zheng Zheng, "From now on, we need to give warnings before Players go and get themselves killed. Accounts are too valuable, if they keep wrecking themselves like this, how many helpers am I even going to have left? Ten thousand slots will vanish in no time."

"Yes, Host. I will implement a cautionary notification system for life-threatening actions," Zheng Zheng replied promptly in her mind.

As she spoke, her monitoring feed showed her "livestream room" interface, a conceptual dashboard tracking Player streaming activity, beginning to fill with active Players, mostly those who had logged in yesterday and were returning.

No truly new Players appeared, the two casualties having scared off or discouraged immediate replacement.

Almost every Player currently online had enabled streaming, having agreed to the in-game revenue-sharing rules during account creation.

The game limited the number of accounts, but it wasn't designed to make a direct profit from sales, which didn't fully make sense from a business perspective and could attract scrutiny.

So Lin Qian, through Zheng Zheng, had made livestream revenue the main source of earnings for the phantom company. Any Player streaming the game for the first time would share a third of their streaming revenue with the game company. A good, novel game will always attract paying viewers. Even if not globally, Dragon Country alone had over a billion people, and the gaming market was massive. Even if every account streamed, each Player could still earn a decent supplementary income from views and gifts.

This kind of open, player-driven revenue model would likely make Dragon Country’s Players and viewers rage while watching, complaining about the company's cut, but if viewers complained, they would direct it at the game company, not at Lin Qian personally. She didn't mind; it was a useful layer of abstraction.

The revenue-sharing system also made economic sense to outside observers, avoiding attention from the authorities who might wonder why a huge game company would only open so few accounts and not pursue profit aggressively. This gave the operation a plausible commercial logic.

Later, Lin Qian checked trending topics from Dragon Country online through Zheng Zheng's brief summaries and saw the initial buzz about the game had already died down somewhat, replaced by other news. It was a normal cycle.

After browsing the digital ether for a while, she got up, straightened her robes, and went to handle internal affairs at the yamen, the daily administrative grind.

That afternoon, she had to convene court again for a case that happened yesterday, the large fight between male and female sex workers in the county alley that had ensnared Jian Xiu. She asked around and learned it was essentially a dispute over clients and territory.

Back then, men and women in the same alley ran competing establishments. Clients were mostly men, and people’s time and money were limited. If they visited the women’s brothel, the male houses got no business, and vice versa. Tensions had been simmering.

The county magistrate's assistant explained that recently, the county’s patrons, many of them traveling merchants or laborers, preferred "shortcuts" and instant gratification over genuine relationships, which affected both sides of the trade.

Looking at the county records, Lin Qian discovered that male sex work in Xinghexian had a surprisingly long history. Decades ago, during a period of famine, boys as young as fourteen or fifteen were lured into the trade, not openly forced, but tempted by the promise of quick profit. Occasionally, a lucky, handsome boy could earn a hundred taels, return home, open a small shop, or marry. For poor families on the brink, the temptation was enormous. Moreover, since females were fewer than males in the region, young men, if not closely watched by families, could easily be coerced by elders or brokers into doing things they shouldn't.

By modern standards, many of these historical cases would count as pedophilia and trafficking. Such individuals were despised even back then by respectable society. Anyone caught openly recruiting underage boys would be handed over to the authorities. But the "turtle masters" or managers at places like Nan Feng Yuan often only bought older boys to train, they were considered low-class and disreputable but still operated in a legal grey area, protected by bribery and the sheer difficulty of enforcement.

Were they evil? Of course.

Could Lin Qian punish them under current law? Not really, beyond a few lashes for disturbing the peace. The law offered no clear leverage against consensual adult prostitution, and the line between coercion and consent was blurry.

For now, her goal was to gradually eliminate the sex trade in the county, to dry up the demand and offer alternatives. To her, all those men and women in the trade were potential labor. If employed properly in other sectors, they could contribute to Xinghexian’s economy. But alternative employment opportunities had to exist first, otherwise, they would simply starve, a worse outcome.

As a county magistrate, she could not just let them die of hunger; that would be a failure of governance.

This particular fight had broad consequences, involving angry customers, innocent bystanders like Jian Xiu, and two rival establishments, totaling over 200 direct participants. Including the victims and those whose property was damaged, nearly 300 people were involved.

The county’s total population was only tens of thousands, so Lin Qian could not possibly interrogate everyone personally. She ordered her staff to first gather those needing compensation for injuries or damages, then summon the heads, the "masters," of the two establishments for questioning.

The constables tracked down the involved parties, which eventually led them to Jian Xiu and her group, who were identified as witnesses and victims.

Bing Ling had stayed up gaming very late and had to work a morning shift at her real job, so she couldn't come online at this hour.

Jian Xiu, her in-game injuries healed somewhat by rest and the salve, went with Yu Kai to the yamen when summoned, leaving Jun Moxiao to watch their rented house.

The game From County Magistrate to Female Emperor had just trended online briefly. Yu Kai and others saw the streaming opportunity clearly, but Jian Xiu’s family was already well-off, so she didn't bother streaming, playing purely for enjoyment.

Jun Moxiao only learned Yu Kai was streaming after watching the livestream clips circulate, including his own embarrassing "feces investigation" antics, which had ironically boosted Jun Moxiao’s own minor popularity as a meme.

After realizing he had trended, Jun Moxiao registered a livestream account on a popular platform that morning. Many viewers came because of yesterday’s clips, and they even gave him a new nickname, Jun Moxiang, a play on words suggesting "not fragrant." He was curious about seeing Magistrate Lin Qian in person, but he didn't want to simply replicate Yu Kai’s content by going to the yamen, so he decided to stay home and explore locally.

Earlier, through the game's nascent forums, he had heard about the male account that had nearly been assaulted because of extreme beauty. The Player had chosen to "protect his innocence" by forcing a character deletion, ultimately crying about it online.

Bing Ling was playing a female account, and he couldn't risk leaving her avatar alone offline in a rental; the game had warnings about leaving avatars unattended in unsafe places.

Even staying home, Jun Moxiao could still roam nearby to buy food and explore.

He locked the doors and windows of their rented house and strolled to the nearest street corner.

There, a public bulletin board made of weathered wood posted various official notices: calls for labor on roadwork, grain tax deadlines, and other government jobs.

Jun Moxiao glanced over and saw the roadwork could earn money, but the work was described as strenuous, requiring moving stones, so he wasn't interested.

After walking a bit further, he stopped a fruit vendor pushing a cart and selling small, greenish oranges. He tried one sample slice the vendor offered and frowned at the sour, bitter taste.

The vendor urged him to buy a whole basket, praising their health benefits.

"No thanks, not buying," Jun Moxiao said, waving a hand.

The vendor, seeing no sale, left without pressing further, pushing his cart down the dusty street.

Jun Moxiao opened his livestream interface, walking and occasionally checking viewer comments that scrolled in a corner of his vision.

"Moxiang, what does it taste like?"

"Moxiang, what flavor is that orange? Sour?"

"Moxiang, is it familiar? Like life?"

Jun Moxiao chuckled. These viewers were better at banter than he was.

"My name is Jun Moxiao, not Jun Moxiang, thanks," he explained patiently.

But the viewers didn't care, still calling him Moxiang in the comments.

"It is bitter," he said, answering the question. "Very bitter."

"Oranges from Huainan are naturally bitter if not ripe."

"Looks like Xinghexian is in the south, the Jiangnan region."

"The map in-game already shows it's the Jiangnan region."

"Why is it so poor then, if it's Jiangnan?"

"Probably due to terrible transportation. No roads."

"Mountains everywhere. Northern folks won't get used to it."

"Where is the commenter from? I see mountains in the north too."

"Harbin."

"Greetings from Erbin!"

Jun Moxiao ignored most of the chatter and closed the comment overlay, continuing his walk.

Streets in the modern world had a mix of men and women, but here women on the street were rare, he estimated about a ten-to-one ratio, which felt strange and historically accurate. Especially young unmarried ladies, who were either hidden in curtained carriages or, if walking, had their faces veiled.

He wandered, occasionally asking shopkeepers about available work.

He found two possibilities: unloading cargo near the city gate, which was strenuous and paid 50 wen a day with a heavy quota; and an apprenticeship at an herbal shop, which required living on-site, learning to identify and prepare medicines.

The first was physically taxing and boring. The second required committing to the shop, with no salary, only room and board with occasional meat, and a reportedly tough master. He wasn't interested in either.

In the end, he just bought two plain steamed buns from a stall for a few wen and returned to his rental, the excitement of exploration giving way to the practical challenge of surviving and progressing in this all-too-convincing world.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, over at Yu Kai and Jian Xiu’s side.

Jian Xiu was quite pretty in her male avatar, and even the two constables escorting the captives could not help but steal a few glances, their eyes lingering on her finely crafted features.

The shorter one, Wang Han, whispered to the taller one as they walked ahead, "He is clearly this good-looking, yet anyone could tell he is a man at a glance. What a waste." His tone was a mix of admiration and regret.

The taller one, Liu Ban, teased him, a sly grin on his face, "You better not be thinking anything like that. If your wife finds out, your descendants won't last. Better consider if you can handle that."

Wang Han was famously henpecked. His wife was a butcher’s daughter, used to dismembering a hundred-pound pig in a quarter hour, keeping bone separate from meat with terrifying efficiency. Wang Han’s family had been single-line heirs for three generations, but once his wife gave him a son, he had followed her orders without question, his spine seemingly softened by cleaver-wielding prowess.

That's why Liu Ban dared to tease him like that, knowing his friend’s domestic reality.

Wang Han laughed, a nervous sound. "What could I be thinking?" He glanced back at Jian Xiu over his shoulder and added, "Still, a man looking like that, anyone would mistake him for a minor official from a good family. If he got a beating from some jealous husband, it wouldn't even be unfair."

Xinghexian was a small county, with not much happening day to day. Finding something this visually interesting to talk about, the two constables naturally focused on Jian Xiu for a while, their conversation a low murmur.

Soon, they arrived at the county office. Wang Han and Liu Ban dropped their joking faces, assumed professional stoicism, brought the captives into the main court, and bowed to Lin Qian who sat behind the bench.

Yu Kai, as a companion and witness, stayed outside the hall since no one had summoned him specifically.

The moment the two saw Lin Qian seated in court, a translucent pop-up appeared in front of Yu Kai’s vision, hovering in the air.

Used to gaming interfaces, he almost clicked it away instinctively, thinking it was an in-game advertisement.

It turned out to be a special quest notification.

【Side Quest 1: Convince County Magistrate Lin Qian to close all brothels within Xinghexian.】

【Side Quest 2: Assist in creating employment opportunities so all men and women displaced from the trade can find lawful work.】

It wasn't mandatory, and the rewards weren't clearly listed yet. But as a seasoned game streamer, Yu Kai knew better than to miss this kind of obviously plot-advancing quest. He clicked "Accept" without hesitation. Right after, he noticed Jian Xiu glance at him from inside the hall. It hit him that the quest probably wasn't meant to be done alone and allowed for teamwork, possibly even shared.

The trigger seemed to be only for players who followed the constables to Lin Qian and witnessed this specific scene. Yu Kai nodded subtly at Jian Xiu, and saw her gesture toward the air in front of her, likely accepting the quest as well.

Meanwhile, inside the court, Lin Qian asked Jian Xiu and the others about their injuries and the medical costs. Those who had visited doctors had their fees verified by the clerk. Besides consultation fees, there were also costs for ointments and internal medicines.

Jian Xiu had not seen a doctor for her injuries yesterday, treating them with the basic salve instead, but the constables had already recorded the visible bruises and cuts when they came to arrest people. She was entitled to some compensation from the guilty parties, though in this ancient setting, there would be no "pain and suffering" or mental distress payment, just compensation for actual medical costs.

That would help their group’s finances since they had nearly spent all their starting money, so even a little back was useful. After totaling the medical expenses, Lin Qian moved on to calculate penalties for the disorderly conduct and group fighting itself.

The madams of the brothels protested loudly, claiming the male houses weren't following proper moral codes and were shamelessly operating. But in truth, both sides were in the same unsavory line of work. In the ancient world, male prostitution was seen as more shameful, more deviant than female, so the men carried a heavier social stigma.

Ordinarily, as long as there was no personal grudge or public nuisance, people wouldn't bother suing. But once things escalated to a public brawl, disputes became tricky to ignore.

Lin Qian knew from the county records that this particular street had always had two competing sides, one dealing in female services, one in male. They had survived for decades thanks to support from certain local gentry and some official backing through bribes.

Previously, female services had done better, but now with fewer traveling clients and younger males with shorter "prime" ages, the male business had surged, cutting into profits. The competition was bound to erupt in conflict sooner or later.

She didn't approve of the industry, with its potential for human trafficking, exploitation, and disease. Seeing the players present, she immediately had Zheng Zheng issue the quest to them, using them as a catalyst for change. Since she couldn't yet politically justify closing the female houses outright without cause, she started with the male ones, using the brawl as legal pretext.

"Men, if you can't earn your living properly and keep chasing after such disgraceful things, that isn't the right path. You should close your shop and find an honest trade." Lin Qian said, her voice firm, and tossed a written county order onto the ground before the kneeling proprietors. She told the constables, "Come forward."

Seeing her hold the magistrate’s seal ready, they straightened, attentive.

Lin Qian decreed, "All males working in the male houses, twenty lashes each as punishment for disturbing public order. Close the houses and forbid them from reopening. Everyone present must sign or thumbprint this order, and any violations later will double the punishment to forty lashes."

She dropped the order, and the constables obeyed, bringing people out in batches to the courtyard since there weren't enough punishment benches, beating them with bamboo rods until the streets echoed with screams all afternoon, a public deterrent.

She didn't want to show favoritism, knowing the female brothel madams had provoked the fight as well.

"You are running a business, it shouldn't come to public violence. Innocents were hurt too. I won't punish you with lashes today, but Madam, you will pay fifty taels as an extra fine to the county treasury for inciting disorder."

The county finances were perpetually short, and Lin Qian planned to use the money for public works repairs. Laborers might work for tax credit, but tools and provisions still cost. The madam tried to plead and weep, assuming Lin Qian’s earlier kindness to Li Shi indicated a soft heart that might spare her.

Lin Qian, already disliking the profession, tolerated its existence only to prevent the women from falling into worse straits or their earnings from being extorted by worse criminals. Seeing the madam’s performative crying, she snapped, "Keep crying and you will get a beating too. This court has shown leniency."

The madam finally fell silent, her face pale. The constables collected the fine on the spot, the matter concluded, and Lin Qian said, "Court dismissed." Her judicial work for the day was done.

Just as she was about to leave the bench, Jian Xiu approached from among the dispersing crowd. "Daren. Your servant has something to report."

Of course, Jian Xiu couldn't get close, the county guards stopped her before she reached the steps to Lin Qian’s dais.

Because of her striking looks, no one was overly rough. A constable held her arm and warned, "How dare you behave so boldly before the County Magistrate. Hand over your petition if you have one."

But Lin Qian overheard everything. She stopped, looking toward Jian Xiu with a measured gaze.

Seeing Lin Qian glance back, Jian Xiu hurried, raising her voice, "It's about Xinghexian’s economy, Daren. May Your Servant report?"

Lin Qian said to the guards, "Let him through."

The guards obeyed immediately, releasing Jian Xiu’s arm. She had already been searched upon entry, so she carried no weapons. They flanked her closely to prevent any sudden movement toward the magistrate.

"You have something to tell me?" Lin Qian asked, descending the steps slightly, noting that despite some fading bruises, Jian Xiu’s avatar’s beauty still shone through, an ethereal quality.

"Yes, Daren," Jian Xiu’s eyes sparkled with the excitement of engaging with a key NPC.

As Lin Qian observed her, Jian Xiu was also taking her in. Being somewhat of a beauty fan herself, she appreciated Lin Qian’s delicate yet spirited face, the sharp intelligence in her eyes rendered perfectly.

Lin Qian nodded. "Take him to the side reception room."

Jian Xiu asked, remembering her friend, "Your servant also has a friend outside, may he come?"

"Bring him too." Lin Qian left first, her robes swishing softly.

Escorted on both sides, Jian Xiu found Yu Kai waiting outside the main gate. After claiming him to the guards and a quick pat-down search, they were brought together to meet Lin Qian in a quieter side chamber.

"Shan Mo, how do we explain it to her?" Jian Xiu whispered to Yu Kai as they walked. She wasn't a gaming or history expert, and as his fan, she naturally asked for advice.

"No clear historical playbook here," Yu Kai murmured back. "Don't know if game mechanics match reality perfectly. We can try suggesting industries, soap-making or glasswork. Basic chemistry. If done well, selling outside the county could boost the economy."

"Ancient economics seem different, but I just wanted to tell her about stimulating domestic demand, improving infrastructure," Jian Xiu said, parroting terms she remembered.

"No worries. Public welfare and job creation are basically the same concepts across time. Just keep the county lady engaged in conversation for now, show we have ideas."

"Got it," Jian Xiu nodded.

They whispered just loud enough for their escorts to hear the murmur of conversation without revealing specific details, maintaining an air of serious discussion.

In the reception room, a simply furnished space with a table and chairs, Lin Qian had changed into her usual daily male attire, simple green long sleeves over darker pants, and was sipping tea. She already looked elegant and poised, making one curious how striking she would appear in formal female clothes and makeup.

When they arrived, Lin Qian spared them the kneeling ritual, gestured for them to sit on the opposite chairs, and ordered a servant to serve them tea as well.

Once seated, she asked Jian Xiu and Yu Kai directly, "Earlier you mentioned wanting to discuss the county’s economic matters? This Official is listening."

===

If you confused why I use both masculine and feminine pronouns for Jian Xiu, it because she is female, but her avatar/ character is male.

Chapter Text

"It's not just me, it's both of us," Jian Xiu explained, gesturing toward Yu Kai.

She really had no other choice. Of course, she wanted someone who knew what they were doing, someone with the streaming audience's collective brainpower, to share the responsibility and the potential blame if things went sideways.

Lin Qian finally allowed a small, thoughtful smile and looked over at Yu Kai, asking warmly, "What is it about?"

Yu Kai froze for a moment. Lin Qian’s micro-expressions were so vivid, her reactions so quick and nuanced, she felt almost human, not like a scripted NPC at all. Could a virtual game really be this realistic? The uncanny valley seemed to have been crossed entirely.

He shook his head slightly, dispelling the thought, and refocused. On the way here, he had already made a rough plan. Clearing his throat, he asked Lin Qian, "Has Your Honor ever heard of Liuli?"

He remembered that in the ancient world, both clear and colored glass were called Liuli. It was a good starting point for an industrial proposal.

"Liuli?" Lin Qian raised an eyebrow, doing her best to play the role of a curious but knowledgeable local official. "Liuli is rare in common households, but I have seen it before, ornaments, small cups. Precious items."

She knew that in Zhao’s kingdom, glass was indeed expensive, a luxury import. A single Liuli cup, unless of exceptional quality, would cost tens or even hundreds of silver taels. Modern people knew it was not expensive to make with the right knowledge, but the ancients did not, guarding the techniques closely.

"Yes, we have the knowledge, the craftsmanship to make Liuli," Yu Kai said, leaning forward slightly. "We hope to produce it on a large scale here in Xinghexian and will need quite a few workers for the workshops."

Lin Qian continued, keeping up the NPC act, her expression one of cautious interest. "Liuli is precious, and This Official never knew it could be mass-produced. May This Official inquire if you two have any Liuli samples on hand? To see the quality?"

The question left both of them momentarily speechless.

Samples?

They didn't even know how to make it yet, they were planning to look up methods online after logging out. If they could not actually produce it in the game world due to material or technical constraints, they would be stuck, their proposal exposed as hollow.

Ancient glass was too expensive to buy as a sample, and they could not afford it. Where would they get samples?

"Well…" Yu Kai recovered, "if we have the raw materials, we can make them ourselves. We don't carry finished samples, as the process requires a specialized furnace."

"Are the materials costly? Difficult to obtain?" Lin Qian asked, feigning practical concern.

Yu Kai waved a hand. "Not expensive. Common sand, certain plant ashes, limestone. Pretty easy to get locally, I would think."

Jian Xiu nodded in support. She knew the three golden rules for any fictional time traveler: soap, glass, and salt. None of these were conceptually difficult. If conditions allowed, making penicillin or other basic medicines would also be simple in theory.

The game world, however, as per the system's rules, limited Players. Attempting medical or high-tech items had very low success rates, artificially suppressed. Even if they managed to set up assembly-line production, success would not be guaranteed, a built-in check against technological disruption.

Lin Qian nodded thoughtfully, steepling her fingers. "In that case, if you two want to do business in Xinghexian, This Official can make things convenient for you. Permits, workspace, labor, whatever you need within reason, I can provide or expedite. But first, you must show me the samples, proof of concept." Her tone was polite but firm. "This Official must be responsible with the county’s resources and the people’s trust."

Of course, she needed proof that they could actually make the glass before offering substantive favors. It was a reasonable precaution.

After all, to these earthborn newcomers, this was just a game. The in-game currency was not real to them, and the virtual goods could not be sold for real money. Their motivation was quests and entertainment.

For Lin Qian, every favor she gave, every permit or allocation of land, was a real resource drawn from Xinghexian’s limited pool. She couldn't hand it out lightly based on promises.

"Understood," Yu Kai said, accepting the condition. "We will produce a sample. But we might need quite a few hands for the initial setup and production. Could we possibly use those performers and courtesans from earlier as labor? They will need new work."

"Why them, specifically?" Lin Qian said, pretending to find it politically difficult. "There are plenty of idle but respectable people in the county seeking work. Using those from the pleasure trade could stir controversy."

Jian Xiu finally spoke up, her avatar's handsome face earnest. "Your Honor, as a woman yourself, do you not pity these courtesans for earning a living with their bodies? This could be a chance for them to start anew."

Lin Qian smiled, a gentle but weary expression. "I may be the county magistrate, but I'm no saint. Even if I pity them, it doesn't mean they will accept charity or hard labor. I would like to give them jobs to support themselves honorably, but I can't force them to take them, nor force the people to accept them. Social attitudes are slow to change."

"This matter is not simple. Let us wait until the industry is established and proven, then we can see about integrating those who wish to leave that life," she added ambiguously, leaving the door open.

Not agreeing outright, not rejecting outright. She already had a plan in mind, but employment opportunities had to come first, to create the pull factor.

At least, Jian Xiu and Yu Kai had a promise from the county magistrate. As long as they could produce the Liuli, Lin Qian would make the administrative path clear for them. It was a classic quest setup.

On the way home from the yamen, they chatted and agreed. Lin Qian was right. You couldn't do everything at once, especially social reform.

The first step to freeing the courtesans was to ensure there was a viable, respectable place for them to go once they could no longer, or chose not to, sell their bodies.

At their rented house, Jun Moxiao had already prepared a simple meal of steamed buns and pickled vegetables. Money was tight, so it was a humble offering. At least offline, their real bodies' energy was not consumed, even if the in-game meal didn't fully restore stamina.

By dinnertime in the game, Bing Ling logged in. After eating, the four of them held a meeting to discuss how to actually make glass.

The basic theory was straightforward: sand, silica, soda ash from plant ashes, and limestone for stability. Those materials should be easy enough to find.

But they would also need a high-temperature furnace capable of reaching over 1,000 degrees Celsius, which would take time and skill to build. During that construction time, food and lodging had to be managed. They agreed that even though Bing Ling and Jun Moxiao had not directly taken the quest from Lin Qian, they could invest labor and their remaining funds into the factory project in the game. If the experiment succeeded and they made sellable glass, everyone would share the profits and run the operation together.

The division of labor was set: Jian Xiu, with her higher charisma stat, would be responsible for procuring the raw materials for making glass. Bing Ling would handle household chores and manage their dwindling finances. Jun Moxiao, with his strength stat, would take on manual labor jobs to earn money for their basic living expenses. And Yu Kai, with his practical streamer mindset and access to potential off-game research, would handle the furnace design, experiments, and the actual glass production process.

Everyone agreed. They got to work immediately after the meeting, buying what ingredients they could afford, mentally researching methods they would look up later, and starting to collect materials like sand from the riverbank.

Meanwhile, Xinghexian was soon to launch a large-scale search for thieves. Lin Qian’s nightly patrols were short-handed, so she had posted a notice offering extra pay for strong, sturdy volunteers to join the patrols. Meals were included, and the monthly wage was eight hundred wen. Catching a thief would earn a bonus of one or two taels.

If someone was found breaking curfew or wandering at night without a good reason, even if not stealing, they would get twenty lashes and two days in jail.

The conditions, particularly the steady wage and food, suited Jun Moxiao perfectly. He took the job that very night, reporting to the designated muster point.

That evening, before Jun Moxiao headed out for his patrol shift, the four of them started a private in-game group chat, naming it "The Rich Four" as an aspirational joke.

Jun Moxiao, originally a homebody and part-time online worker, planned to focus entirely on streaming the game after starting to earn a steady hundred yuan daily in viewer gifts. He even quit his other part-time gig, feeling the potential was here.

The others logged off to rest when it was bedtime in the game world.

Jun Moxiao, however, began his patrol with two veteran county soldiers. Aside from the still-bustling courtesan houses and a few floating restaurants on the river, the streets were quiet and dark. They relied on handheld lanterns and the faint moonlight for guidance.

He opened his stream chat interface. The game had a "shield mode" where NPCs would not notice him talking to the void, so he could interact with viewers safely.

The weekend crowd was lively, the chat moving fast.

"This moon looks so real, but it feels fake, you know?"

"Breathing in the cold air feels so tangible, this game’s environmental design is insane."

"I want to see Lin Qian again. Can the streamer swing by the county magistrate’s residence?"

"If you went to the county office now, you would die instantly, that place is lethal after hours."

"Hahaha, this game is crazy realistic, a night raid might find the magistrate gone on patrol herself."

Jun Moxiao responded quietly, "Don't get me in trouble, guys. Last time I got a system warning and lost half my stamina. It sucked."

"Streamer, log off and let me try this game, I'm begging you."

"You got so lucky finding this game, man. How did you even get a beta key?"

"So few open accounts, when is the next test server opening?"

"The freedom in this game is insane. You can actually just talk to the county magistrate about starting a business."

"Don't expect many test accounts, I heard this game focuses on streaming profits more than mass sales."

"With so much freedom, we could probably destroy a dynasty from the inside. Heard of the fourth calamity? Players."

Comments flying, Jun Moxiao suddenly heard one of the soldiers shout. He quickly exited shield mode and saw a dark shadow scaling a wall two houses down.

"Shit. A thief." he yelled, momentarily frozen by the sudden action.

"Catch him, idiot." one of the older soldiers shouted, shoving him forward.

Finally realizing his role, he joined the chase. The thief, clearly experienced, moved like an eel through the narrow alleys, but the three of them, using teamwork, eventually cornered him in a dead end.

Jun Moxiao’s strength stat helped. Though winded, he managed to grab the thief's leg and hold him still. Another patroller praised him and brought a rope. Together, they bound the thief’s hands.

The reward, they agreed, would be shared equally. The rest of the night passed quietly after that small burst of excitement.

The next morning, after logging out, Jun Moxiao felt surprisingly fresh despite having stayed up all night in-game. The high-end VR gear was designed to minimize strain, and the experience felt completely different from staring at a phone screen, more like a vivid dream.

In the small, cramped bathroom of his real apartment, he saw his father emerge from the other room, sighing with a worn leather belt in hand, a familiar sign of a bad mood. Jun Moxiao didn't speak, just tightened his fists briefly and went to wash his face, the cold water a shock.

Jun Moxiao had grown up in a single-parent household. His parents divorced when he was eight. His mother took his younger sister; his father got him. His father had always been short-tempered and physically abusive. Once, in a drunken rage, his father had nearly killed a neighbor in a fight over noise, and had to settle privately with the victim's family, paying off what little savings they had to avoid criminal charges.

With little supervision or encouragement, Jun Moxiao drifted, going to a vocational school at sixteen. He couldn't find stable work afterward, partly because of his large, somewhat intimidating build, so he lived off sporadic online jobs. The rent of six hundred a month was his responsibility, but his father always complained it was not enough. Jun Moxiao knew his life was rough, a dead-end in many ways, but he kept struggling, consciously staying on the right side of the law, avoiding his father's violent path.

Now, with his From County Magistrate to Female Emperor Player account, the sudden influx of viewers, and the feeling of agency within the game, he finally felt a flicker of something, like luck might be turning his way. It was a small, fragile hope, but it felt like things were starting to change, that he might have found a path, even if it was a virtual one for now.

Chapter Text

As expected, after the first day when the streamer Shan Mo, that's Yu Kai, went viral with his holographic game livestream, the popularity of From County Magistrate to Female Emperor didn't drop in the following days. If anything, it simmered, building a dedicated following.

Even though the game developers, or rather, the system Zheng Zheng acting on Lin Qian’s behalf, hadn't reopened any account slots, there was no shortage of gamers and curious onlookers keeping a close eye on it. Right now, the official From County Magistrate to Female Emperor Weibo page in Dragon Country was flooded with comments and requests. The account had only posted two updates, the initial announcement and a follow-up about the closed beta being full, yet both had over a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments pleading for more slots.

When Lin Qian woke up in the morning in her magistrate’s residence and checked the digital metrics through Zheng Zheng, seeing this sustained level of attention, she started wondering whether she should strategically release a few more accounts, perhaps another ten, to maintain momentum and gather more helpers. But she had to be careful not to overwhelm Tianlan's capacity.

Earth, Dragon Country.

Lu Manman dashed out of her boss’s office, her heart pounding, quickly ripped off her company ID badge from her lanyard, and behind her rang the boss’s furious, sputtering screams.

"Lu Manman! You are fired! Consider this a termination for insubordination!"

"I've already had enough of this job anyway!" Lu Manman shouted back over her shoulder, not bothering to stop and argue about severance or N+1 compensation, and sprinted out of the glass-walled office, past rows of stunned coworkers.

She ran down the fire escape stairs, not waiting for the elevator, jumped onto her little electric scooter parked in the alley, and cranked it to full speed, weaving through midday traffic and racing home to her small rented apartment in no time. Once home, she kicked off her shoes, rushed straight toward the stack of unopened packages that had piled up by the door over the last two days while she had been too busy and exhausted to open them. Piece by piece she tore them open, a replacement phone case, a book, socks, and by the fifth package, she finally found the sleek, grey game headset box.

She hugged it to her chest, tears of joy and relief streaming down her face.

"I finally don't have to do overtime anymore! Waaaaah! I'm so dead tired!" Her voice was a mixture of a sob and a laugh.

Was there any justice in this world? The company only gave one day off per week, officially, and her boss routinely made her sacrifice even that for "urgent" overtime, unpaid beyond a paltry meal allowance.

Two years of grinding in that miserable company, fresh out of university, and now she finally had the courage to quit. And a significant part of that courage came from this game, From County Magistrate to Female Emperor.

It was a game she had reserved a few days ago on a whim, originally planning to play only when she had free time, maybe even waiting for her annual leave. But shortly after reserving it, Lu Manman got a call on Saturday morning telling her she had to come in to handle a client report.

After two straight days of sacrificed weekends, slow-to-get-updates Lu Manman finally caught up online and learned about the game’s explosive popularity through clips and forums. Seeing that early players were streaming every day, earning a few hundred yuan at least from viewer gifts, she did the math and realized that her dawn of freedom might have finally arrived. It was a gamble, but she was out of patience.

In truth, she wasn't acting entirely on impulse. The year was almost over anyway, and Lu Manman had already planned to quit after collecting her meager year-end bonus. Leaving the company today just meant she was a few months ahead of schedule, sacrificing that bonus for her sanity.

Two years of hard work, barely five thousand yuan a month after tax, and over a thousand of that eaten up by rent for a tiny room, she just couldn't take it anymore. Even if she couldn't make it as a full-time game streamer, she would at least take a proper two-month break at her rented place, sleep, and recover before looking for another job. The only reason she hadn't quit earlier was that this was her first job out of school, and most of it was just menial, repetitive tasks with little to learn. The fear of the unknown had kept her paralyzed.

Time passed, and she gradually didn't dare to mention quitting, trapped by inertia. If the boss hadn't been such an insensitive tyrant and forced endless last-minute overtime, her conservative nature probably wouldn't have made her resign at all.

But she had had enough! The final straw was being told to come in on a Sunday for the third week in a row.

Lu Manman wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and let out a long, shaky breath. After ordering the cheapest takeout noodles on her phone, she finally, with trembling fingers, opened the headset box, put on the sleek device, and lay back on her narrow bed. She logged into the game’s initialization sequence, bound her account, spent an hour carefully customizing her character to look pleasant but not remarkably beautiful, and put all her initial stat points into Strength before logging off to run downstairs and grab her takeout.

While slurping the salty noodles straight from the container, she registered a livestream account on a popular platform, filling out the forms with her game ID "Lu Manman" as her streamer handle.

Before starting her own stream, she spent time checking out other people’s livestreams of the game.

Most were amateurs, clearly figuring it out as they went. Only one, Shan Mo, seemed like a professional streamer. The rest barely asked for gifts outright, just performed actions viewers requested in chat, earning tips that way. Because the holographic MMO was so immersive and realistic, even simply chatting with random NPCs or exploring could trigger surprisingly natural and entertaining reactions, so viewers were willing to pay small amounts to direct the action or see specific things.

Most viewers weren't rich, tips were just a few yuan here and there, virtual roses or applause icons. But with large enough concurrent audiences, a streamer’s daily income could still add up to a respectable sum, especially in Dragon Country’s vast market.

Feeling a little more prepared, Lu Manman studied others’ streams for half an hour, noting what seemed to engage viewers, before launching her own livestream software and logging into the game. She had quit in the morning, originally scheduled for a nine-to-five, but her boss always demanded they arrive by 8:30 for "morning motivation." And every time she was about to leave at 5 PM, the boss found some last-minute "critical" task. Leaving at six or seven had become the depressing norm.

Yesterday she didn't eat dinner until nine, then washed up and scrolled mindlessly on her phone for a while, finally falling asleep around midnight. Because of work anxiety, it took her about an hour just to fall asleep, and to meet the boss’s demanded start time, she had to wake by seven at the latest.

Eight hours of sleep? Forget it. Even seven hours was a stretch. She was perpetually exhausted.

She had been particularly overworked these past two days, so after her first stream, she planned to sleep early, setting a three-hour alarm to stream just long enough to establish herself before logging off. Two years of late nights and stress, plus her age bringing pressure from family to marry and constant financial stress, had exhausted her spirit. So after quitting, she would take proper care of herself. Nothing mattered more than her own health and life, she had decided.

The moment she logged into the game world, her livestream started gaining viewers steadily, the number climbing from a few dozen to a few hundred within minutes as the platform's algorithm noticed the new stream tagged with the trending game.

The game itself was incredible. She had tried demo holographic games at the supermarket before, 100 coins for two five-minute tries, and that already felt magical. This one, though, was next-level, a generational leap.

Thick, wild grass climbed the broken stone steps of the ruined temple spawn point, and a crisp autumn wind brushed her cheeks, carrying a chill.

A light drizzle began, adding the clean smell of wet earth and crushed grass to the air.

Lu Manman instinctively reached out a hand, feeling the individual droplets. A few steps forward, her cloth pouch at her waist jingled, the realistic sound of copper coins clinking together.

She opened it and, just like the other players she had watched, found she had only thirty copper coins to start. After counting them, she secured the pouch strings and tucked it deep into her wide cloth belt. She had seen from streams that Xinghexian had lots of thieves, so better safe than sorry. A lesson learned from others' misfortune.

Following the translucent mini-map in her vision, she held her forged identity papers and headed toward the distant county gate.

She had chosen a female character, deliberately set to an average, strong build, and raised her height from her real 1.6 meters to a more imposing 1.7 meters. On the way to the gate, following a tip from a stream, she smeared a bit of dirt and ash on her face and neck to appear less noteworthy.

She had seen a clip of a guy new to the game getting kidnapped by a "Turtle Boss" (a procurer) almost immediately. He had struggled so hard he basically forced his own character's death, and the whole shocking ordeal had drawn lots of livestream traffic and discussion.

Even with the worst footage pixelated, Lu Manman could feel how terrifying and miserable the experience must have been for the player. So she had put a small portion of her stat points into Speed, but most went into Strength, giving herself at least some physical self-defense capability. Just in case, she pocketed two palm-sized, sharp-edged stones along the path, could maybe knock someone out if needed, or at least create a distraction.

The county walls were not far from the temple, and by the time she reached the main gate, the drizzle had stopped, and she felt perhaps she had been overly cautious.

She tossed the stones into a bush, adjusted her plain clothes, held her small bundle of belongings, and approached the gate where two guards stood.

After a routine check of her papers, which the guard scrutinized and compared to a ledger, she was allowed in without much trouble.

Possibly because she was a lone young woman, the guards asked a few extra questions about her purpose.

She told them a rehearsed story, her family had passed away, a friend of her late father had gone ahead to Xinghexian, and she just needed to find these relatives. She kept her voice steady and her eyes downcast.

They had offered to escort her to the yamen to register, but she politely refused, not wanting to draw official attention or trouble them, citing that she knew the approximate address. They let her go with a warning to be careful.

Inside the city, she realized she hadn't yet met any of the other players she knew from streams, so she didn't rush to find partners. Independence first.

Looking at her meager thirty copper coins, she realized it might cover a few days of cheap food or a week of bunkhouse lodging, but not both sustainably. She needed to earn money, and fast.

Manual labor jobs posted on boards weren't designed for her gender in this setting. The game’s backstory leaned heavily toward a restrictive feudal society, so even if she had the strength, the odds were slim they would accept a woman for hauling or construction.

She asked a friendly-looking elderly noodle seller for directions and headed straight to the largest tavern in the county, "The Returning Goose." Luckily, she had developed a serious cooking hobby over the years to save money and eat healthier, secretly hoping to buy a small house someday and open a tiny eatery. Takeout was only for occasional treats when she was too drained to cook.

She had studied recipes, techniques, and food history long enough that cooking had become a genuine passion and a refuge. Her biggest dream was to buy a small apartment and run a small fast-food or pastry shop downstairs. She didn't know when that would happen, but having this game account, this chance to simulate and even monetize that dream in a virtual world, made her feel one step closer. Dreams mattered. Without them, she realized, even a huge opportunity would leave her clueless and passive.

After a morning of negotiation and demonstration in the tavern's kitchen, persuading the skeptical owner to let her use his wok and ingredients to prepare two dishes, she earned an advance of fifty silver coins for two recipes. Selling recipes wasn't as instantly profitable as the time-travel novels claimed, those tales of selling a single recipe for one hundred silver were just fantasy scams.

Two solid, reproducible recipes sold, fifty silver coins earned. It was a start.

Her recipes were relatively complex for the local palate, introducing combinations of seasonings and techniques, and the tavern owner tried to lowball her, but she stood firm on the advance, knowing the value. The recipes actually sold, proving the game’s economic freedom and NPC reactivity were real.

With fifty silver, a small fortune by starting player standards, she went straight to a property broker. She rented a small, slightly run-down street-side shop with a back room for a year, spending twenty-four silver. Then she hired two unrelated helpers from the broker’s listings, one steady older man and one sharp-eyed middle-aged woman, to handle shopping, cleaning, and security.

Yes, she planned to run her own food shop in this virtual past. It was a crazy idea, but it felt right.

As for what she would sell? Not haute cuisine, but hearty, flavorful stews that could be made in large batches in a single pot, leveraging local cheap cuts of meat and vegetables. It was scalable. Unbeknownst to her, completely absorbed in her plans, her livestream chat had already exploded with activity and hundreds of new followers while she had been busy for three hours in-game.

Chapter Text

"Xiao Si, over there Moxiang works his butt off patrolling every night just to make a hundred or so copper coins, catching a thief barely earns him three hundred. Meanwhile, Manman here made fifty taels of silver in three hours!"

"Hahaha, over there Shan Mo is still figuring out how to build a furnace for glass."

"Look at the two who joined the yamen, doing accounting in the game, making less in a month than she made in half a day."

"Manman is so smart, follow and light her up! We love watching videos of girls starting businesses!"

"It's got to be you, Manman."

"Hahaha, this is exactly what strong women should be watching!"

It was almost poetic, really. Poor Lu Manman, unlucky all her life, really lived up to the meaning of her name: a long, winding road, always searching and striving.

Her original family situation wasn't great, distant parents, financial struggles, which shaped her slow-to-mature, overly cautious personality. No one taught her most things about navigating the world; she had no background or connections, and once she hit society, she ran into wall after wall, leaving her timid and hesitant.

Changing jobs? Too scary. Quitting? Also too scary. Facing a boss who constantly squeezed her for unpaid overtime? She didn't dare complain openly.

Today, shouting at her boss and storming out might have been the bravest thing she had ever done in her life. Mostly because her team had just finished a major project, and she had finally received the pay she was owed. Without that financial cushion, she wouldn't have dared to leave either.

And today, for some reason, things changed. Usually unlucky, the moment she logged into the game, she started making money. Asking around for a reputable restaurant in the game, she quickly found a broker who immediately got her the right shop and even set up reliable staff.

All in just three hours!

At first, she had worried about being held back or cheated by the restaurant owner for her recipes, or if she got into legal trouble, she would have to log off and ask other players for help. After all, she knew there were "fellow villagers" from Earth working in the yamen. Turns out, all that worry was for nothing. The restaurant owner was greedy and lowballed her recipe prices, but didn't break any laws or cause her real trouble, the transaction clean.

Watching the chat scroll by with encouragement and tips, Lu Manman laughed from the heart, a genuine smile on her face. Looks like this game was lucky for her. The moment she logged in, fortune smiled. Her three-hour alarm went off, she switched her stream to stealth mode, waving to the camera, and said goodbye to the viewers. Logging out, she still felt unreal, floating. She had made over a thousand yuan in one live stream, three hours, a thousand yuan.

A thousand yuan, more than several days’ salary at her old job…

Staring at the withdrawable balance on her streaming platform, she eventually fell asleep, though not entirely peacefully. She worried that today’s luck might just be a dream, a temporary escape. After all, waking up had often meant facing her boss’s torment and the messy office politics again.

Meanwhile, after Lu Manman logged off, other streamers gradually joined in for the evening slots.

Lin Qian didn't demand strict office hours from the two new players doing accounting in the yamen, Qin Qing and Liu Yang. As long as they finished the daily books on time, it was fine. The yamen had daily income and expenses from taxes, fees, fines, and operational costs. Over a year, there were countless small levies, personal taxes, fines… a significant amount of money moved through the books. But Qin Qing and the others had the advantage of modern mental arithmetic and systematic thinking. Enter the numbers, leave the complex calculations to their trained minds (or, in secret, rough mental spreadsheets). They only needed to log in for a focused half-hour each day to get their work done. After reporting the totals to Lin Qian, the rest of their in-game time was basically free.

That day, after finishing their in-game work in the late afternoon, Qin Qing and Liu Yang decided to hit a well-known restaurant, Jin Zhao Lou, for a treat. They were more "experience" players, less driven by in-game wealth. One was a college student with some free time, the other was planning to quit his job for streaming. They would log in in the afternoons when free. Usually, if one was busy in real life, the other helped cover the minimal work.

Lin Qian kept them on retainer for this reason: reliable, low-maintenance staff, so she would never be short-handed in a key function. One person alone could already handle the yamen’s basic accounting.

They also rented a small, tidy two-story townhouse near the yamen, pretending to be a married couple for propriety. The landlord knew they both worked at the county yamen and offered a low rent: just fifty copper coins a month. The deal wasn't just for the cheap rent but for the connection to yamen insiders. Plus, the landlord’s wife and daughter-in-law liked Qin Qing a lot, often commenting on how a female county magistrate was something new, and now even women could work at the yamen, times were changing.

After changing out of their official-style robes into more casual clothes to get rid of the office smell, Qin Qing went downstairs with Liu Yang. The two strolled toward Jin Zhao Restaurant. Ever since they realized the game’s food tasted remarkably close to real life, rich, nuanced flavors, they had been hooked. Tasty and doesn't make you fat in reality, how awesome was that!

Inside, the waiter, recognizing their neat clothes and lack of patches, smiled and led them to a small private room on the second floor.

Next door, some local gentry were having a meeting, their voices carrying through the thin wooden partition.

Qin Qing briefly thought about asking to change tables, but the restaurant was packed and they didn't have much social capital here, so they stayed. No matter, they were just here to taste the food, didn't care much about the surroundings. They left the window open for air. Dishes were served, and a little noise from next door didn't bother them much at first.

Both were streaming their dinner, planning to quietly eat and maybe show off the in-game cuisine. Unexpectedly, the meal came with live, unscripted game drama.

At first, the next room just chatted about the weather and exchanged compliments, but after a few rounds of wine and a soft tune from a moon qin played by a hired musician, the discussion turned substantive. Liu Yang reached for a glistening piece of Dongpo pork with the communal chopsticks, about to perform the streamer bit of "letting the fans eat first" by holding it up to the camera, when he overheard the conversation clearly.

"That female county magistrate just arrived. These nightly thief-catchings have reduced theft recently, but the nights are still noisy with all the shouting and running, people can't sleep properly."

"Even in Master Qian’s deep courtyard garden, you can hear the noise from outside?"

"Drums and gongs when catching thieves, hard not to hear. It echoes."

"Shows she is getting things done. Just started and already cracking down on theft, that's political achievement."

"Hmph, what is the point of achievements here? A palace scholar, third in the imperial exams, ended up as a county magistrate in this backwater, the emperor may not even remember her name in a year."

"Hey, Boss Li, watch your words. She is a woman, but different. She came from the emperor’s own examination ranks, a Tanhua. That carries weight."

"I heard she once had a powerful teacher in the Censorate."

"That was before she revealed her gender. Now she is effectively exiled to Xinghexian, can she still have such connections? Those ties fray with distance and disgrace."

"Regardless, a woman being an official isn't easy. No protector in the capital? The emperor balances merits and faults, lets her live as a commoner would be a mercy, no harm done. In the big picture, her deception would be treason for anyone else, yet she can still hold a county post. That shows skill and likely some remaining connections."

Boss Qian, presumably the host, listened to the chatter, silent for a while, sipping his wine, finally muttered: "Lin Qian…" The name was said thoughtfully.

Another voice, smoother: "She is the magistrate, we pay our respects. As long as our interests aren't harmed, who rules doesn't matter. Male or female, everyone enjoys a toast when offered, nobody is biased." There was a round of chuckles.

Then someone whispered, the voice lower, closer to the partition. Liu Yang pressed his ear subtly against the wood to hear: "Still, those land matters from last year… she seems a thorough one. What is already swallowed, she might try to make us spit out again."

"No one reported it, how would she know? Even if she did hear whispers, can she overturn us? The deeds are in our names, legally bought, not stolen. The emperor sent her here to keep her quiet, not to stir up trouble. She will adapt. If she overdoes it, we make sure she never returns to the capital, or even leaves Xinghexian."

"We don't lack butchers in this county, just people who know how to kill cleanly."

Liu Yang and Qin Qing got goosebumps listening through the wall, the delicious food suddenly losing its appeal.

Meanwhile, their combined livestream chats exploded.

"So blatant? Don't they fear being overheard?"

"Local gentry, what can you do? They own the county. Unless the county magistrate herself hears, no one dares report them. Snitches get stitches."

"Tsk tsk, local tyrants, real black society vibes!"

"If our players didn't overhear, how would the plot continue? Classic narrative device."

"Xinghexian has some shady things going on beneath the surface."

"What does that land comment mean? Can someone explain?"

"These social leeches probably grabbed farmers’ land through shady means, forced sales during a drought or something."

"But didn't they say they bought it? Legally?"

"There is a saying: forced buy, forced sell. FYI, legal doesn't always mean moral or fair."

"Stop eating! Go tell the county magistrate now!"

"Even if she knows, it won't be easy to handle. These guys sound entrenched."

"I thought this was a chill management sim, didn't expect dark political struggles too?"

"Dongpo pork, DuangDuang texture, looks so good! One piece costs twenty yuan at my local restaurant, can't afford it. Just looking is fine~"

After forcing themselves to finish their meal, their appetites gone, Qin Qing and Liu Yang had the waiter pack the leftovers. The autumn nights were cool, leftovers would be fine at room temperature for a while. Being yamen staff, they didn't want anyone noticing their abrupt departure or their interest, so they hurried the packing.

After paying, they dashed home, keeping their heads down.

Since Lin Qian was off duty by now and they weren't sure if the magistrate would be holding night court or patrolling tonight, they didn't plan to report immediately. They just agreed on tomorrow’s log-in time to discuss it, then logged off. Even though they knew night streaming often earned more due to higher viewer counts, night in Xinghexian wasn't their scene, curfew was strict, and at night they would just be sitting by candlelight in their house. Better to get real rest and tackle this with a clear head tomorrow.

Chapter Text

As soon as Qin Qing and the others logged off, the night shift of players, Jun Moxiao and Jian Xiu’s group, went online in the evening.

Jian Xiu was the only daughter in her affluent Jiangsu-Zhejiang-Shanghai family. Her mother ran the family internet cafe chain, and her father managed the family supermarket business. Back in the day, Jian Xiu’s parents had a good eye for investments and had bought plenty of properties around the Zhejiang region. Her university internship certificate was even issued by the family supermarket, and after graduation, she had managed a branch there for a while.

Her mother had professional staff to run the internet cafes, and the family held significant shares in the supermarket chain. Her parents just preferred to stay hands-on in management. Jian Xiu didn't care about competing with her cousins for corporate leadership positions, so after graduation she simply inherited a few of the family’s rental properties and collected rent for fun, a comfortable life.

Even just collecting rent helped her parents a little with cash flow. And even if she spent all day lounging at home gaming, they would praise her for "being good at enjoying life" rather than wasting money.

With zero financial pressure in life, Jian Xiu didn't even consider streaming for income. But her in-game male avatar was stunningly beautiful, so she naturally gained a lot of attention from viewers. She was also a fan of Yu Kai, the streamer known as Shan Mo. He always tried to feature Jian Xiu’s avatar on screen whenever possible, knowing it drew viewers.

Being an early player in a trending game, Jian Xiu already had some minor fame in the community.

These past few days, with From County Magistrate to Female Emperor blowing up, some random advertisers and sponsors somehow got Jian Xiu’s contact through forums and eagerly sent her sponsorship offers without hesitation. It was true what they said, some people are just born lucky. Jian Xiu practically had money in her destiny. Even Yu Kai, working hard on his stream, couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy.

"It's done, it's done!" Yu Kai wiped sweat off his face with his sleeve, stood up from a crouch by the makeshift brick kiln they had built in the rented courtyard, and shouted toward the house.

His shout pulled Jian Xiu and Bing Ling out of the room where they had been sorting materials.

"Wow, you're amazing, bro!" Bing Ling was genuinely excited at the sight of the small, crude glass shards cooling in the brick kiln and didn't hold back her praise.

Jian Xiu, munching on roasted sunflower seeds she had bought from a vendor, smiled. "With this proof of concept, we can finally complete the magistrate’s task and get that labor force."

The three of them were in high spirits when Jun Moxiao walked through the courtyard gate, back from his patrol shift. "Someone said on the forums this morning that a new streamer went to a restaurant and sold two recipes, made fifty taels of silver in one go."

"Forget it, brother." Jian Xiu had seen the news too, but she had a much more relaxed attitude than Jun Moxiao, who seemed bothered by others' success. "People can't earn money they don't know exists. We don't cook professionally, how would we know a single dish recipe could earn so much in this setting?"

"Yeah, they've got skill. We've got glass now! No more money problems once this gets going!" Bing Ling chimed in supportively beside Yu Kai.

Jun Moxiao didn't have many friends in real life and was sensitive to perceived slights. A few discouraging comments online about his early mishaps had left him feeling dumb and unlucky, but now some comforting words from the group helped him cheer up a bit.

Seeing him no longer sulking, Jian Xiu turned to Yu Kai. "Tomorrow morning, we go to the yamen. We can ask the county magistrate for that labor force from the closed brothels. I wonder what reward we'll get after finishing the quest."

Bing Ling said enviously, "You'll see Lin Qian again? She's so pretty in the streams, I really want to meet the county magistrate up close."

"Later, when there's a chance, I'll introduce you," Jian Xiu replied casually.

Yu Kai dusted off his sleeves, went to the well in the corner of the yard, and scooped water to wash his soot-stained hands and face, saying, "I wish the night curfew was lifted. Stuck at home every night, feels like I can't do anything productive. I could be experimenting more."

Jun Moxiao walked into the center of the yard, stretching. "There are too many thieves now. Lifting the curfew probably won't work. You go out at night, and you're just asking to get robbed. And if it happens, good luck finding anyone to help until morning."

Bing Ling said, "We could suggest it to the game company through feedback."

Jun Moxiao frowned. "Curfew is a nationwide law in this setting. Local magistrates can't just cancel it, right? That would be above her authority. Lifting it would require changing game-wide mechanics, a lot of extra work for the devs."

Bing Ling crossed her arms, watching Yu Kai busy by the well. "I wonder when other game areas will open. I've already explored all of Xinghexian these past two days," she said, a little bored.

"Even if they do open more map, you can't wander everywhere freely at the start, still got to make money and build reputation in-game," Jun Moxiao replied, then smiled at Jian Xiu. "Your luck in the game doesn't seem that great, getting beaten up on day one."

Heh, Jian Xiu smirked, unfazed. "Once the glass is mass-produced and we're the sole suppliers, you'll see whether my luck is average or not."

"Do you know how much the 'Glass King' back in Dragon Country makes in a year?" she added.

Jun Moxiao paused for a long moment, thinking. "If that's the case… we'd all be rich in-game too!"

Laughing and joking, the group sorted the cooled glass shards by size and clarity, ready to deliver them to Lin Qian tomorrow as proof. Even though it was just rough shards, the material was there. With a proper furnace and more practice, they could melt them into cups or bowls easily.

They figured the county magistrate wouldn't doubt their ability to mass-produce glass anymore once she saw the raw product.

After ending their streams for the night, everyone logged off and went to their real homes.

Early the next morning, in the magistrate’s residence, Lin Qian, through Zheng Zheng, released fifty new game account slots to the public, first-come, first-served. She even procedurally generated a "Capital City" starting area server for extra freedom and scale, though switching back to Xinghexian would be tricky for new players, they would have to travel in-game, walking or taking transportation, which would take virtual weeks.

After arranging that, she checked the list of online players. She expected few since it was a weekday morning, but saw two already online, Lu Manman, who had logged in early to run her shop, and Jun Moxiao, who was apparently still on his patrol shift from last night, having pulled an all-nighter in-game.

Checking Lu Manman’s live stream status briefly through the monitor, seeing her shop was busy, Lin Qian set it aside and prepared to get up and start her own day.

Autumn mornings in Xinghexian were cold and dry. Lin Qian’s maid had brought face-washing water that had been warmed over a small charcoal heater. After washing and patting her face dry with a soft linen towel, her maid handed her a small ceramic jar of snowflake cream. She warmed a dab between her fingers before applying it. She didn't really like the floral smell but needed it to prevent her skin from chapping in the dry wind, especially since her body was still a bit weak and slightly malnourished from the journey. She had been prone to illness and knew she needed to supplement her diet with care.

Breakfast was brought in, a cup of hot goat’s milk, two tea eggs, and two steamed lamb buns. She loved the idea of beef curry buns, but beef was expensive and culturally sensitive in this era, often hard to get, so lamb was used instead as a common substitute.

Meanwhile, across town, Lu Manman’s snack shop officially opened for its first full day. Xinghexian, like many pre-modern places, didn't have a culture of three structured meals a day for commoners, usually a morning meal and a main afternoon meal. Any light eating or purchasing of prepared food in between was considered "snacks."

Lu Manman’s shop sold breakfast items now, and she planned to later add lunch items and afternoon treats like Lu-style braised duck and pastries. She didn't need much living space, planning to just stay in the back room of the shop and work with her two hired helpers during the day.

That morning, she had gotten up early in-game to prep the pastry dough and fillings, then made a temporary wooden sign since the shop didn't have a proper one yet. Borrowing ink and a brush from the literate neighbor, she wrote the characters neatly herself:

[Manman Snack Shop.]

The neighbor, an elderly retired scholar, nodded appreciatively. "A young girl who can write such balanced characters, rare these days."

People nearby who saw her writing changed the way they looked at her. A young, unmarried girl who could read and write and make pastries no one had seen before? She must have fallen on hard times from a decent family. How sad. Well, if there's a chance, might as well support her business.

The street had many established shops, and those who could sustain a business here usually had some money. Those with a little wealth and stability tended to be kinder, or at least more predictable, which is partly why Lu Manman had chosen to rent here. After the sign was set up by the door, her male assistant, Da Gou, cheerfully entered and joked with the female helper, Yang Ma, as they helped steam the first batches of buns. "Women are running shops all by themselves these days, huh?"

Yang Ma scoffed. "So what if we run shops? Nowadays there are even women county magistrates. The world is changing."

Da Gou sensed her annoyance and quickly added, "Just kidding, just kidding. You are right. With women as county magistrates, who knows, maybe we'll see a woman emperor next. Men and women are both needed. Same principle, right?"

Yang Ma nodded, satisfied with his correction.

No firecrackers were set off for the morning opening, it was too extravagant. Instead, Lu Manman borrowed a small gong from a vendor and struck it twice loudly to announce her grand opening, a promotion, buy two buns, get a cup of fresh soy milk free. Soybeans were cheap, and the leftover pulp could be used in cooking or fed to pigs, so it was a perfect loss-leader for complimentary drinks.

Thanks to the promotion and novelty, many curious customers came.

After a hectic but successful morning rush, Lu Manman hid in the back of the shop to count the first day’s earnings, a pile of copper and a few small silver pieces. She was quietly enjoying the feeling of virtual accomplishment when a friend request notification popped up in her game interface.

Opening it, she saw a new player ID she didn't recognize. A quick mental check through the game’s external forum link, a feature Zheng Zheng allowed, revealed that the game had released fifty more slots today.

Chapter Text

The game company, or rather, the automated system Zheng Zheng, had announced the new account slots around five or six in the morning, and yet, by noon, some of the lucky players had already gotten their game helmets delivered and activated?

Lu Manman was seriously planning to go full-time as a game streamer. With so few slots open now, and given the game's explosive popularity, she had no idea how many would be available in the future or when. Obviously, the earlier you snagged a slot, the bigger your advantage in building an audience and in-game resources.

Lu Manman didn't mind interacting with other early players; it could mean alliances, shared information, or just community. So she didn't hesitate to hit "accept friend request."

The other player was online the whole time, so as soon as she accepted, a message popped up in her chat interface.

"Hello, hello, Miss Manman, can I trade some game currency with you?"

Lu Manman thought about it. The game didn't explicitly prohibit players from exchanging coins. Even if they were in different starting areas, they could send copper coins or silver through the in-game banking system (moneychangers that functioned as a network). Direct player-to-player copper coin exchanges didn't incur fees, but transfers through the official bank took a 0.1% service fee. She had guessed early on that this might be a deliberate design, a way the game allowed players to monetize their efforts.

And now, just on her second day online, someone was already trying to trade with her. The problem was, there wasn't a fixed market price yet. Lu Manman didn't know how much a single copper coin in the game was worth in the real world. Selling game currency wasn't illegal, and she happened to be short on cash in reality after quitting. With plenty of virtual coins from her successful first day, she was open to the idea.

"How many do you want?" Lu Manman asked, not wanting to get a bad deal but also not wanting to rip off a fellow player. She figured if the price was fair, she would exchange.

After all, her coins weren't just handed to her. She had spent real time and effort earning them, and the in-game clock ran almost in sync with reality, making that time valuable.

"One copper coin for one yuan, how is that?" the other player, whose ID was "Qi Yue," asked, then added, "Players start with thirty coins. For us newbies, earning money early is important. But for experienced players like you, thirty coins isn't hard to part with. I think this exchange rate is fair."

Probably worried she would refuse, he added, "If you think it's not right, we can negotiate."

Qi Yue had tried making money in the game the same way Lu Manman did, by selling recipes to restaurants.

The problem? Recipes needed a cook to actually make the dishes. The restaurant only bought recipes if the food tasted good, requiring a demonstration.

When Qi Yue offered to sell his "secret family recipes," they told him he had to cook them himself first. He usually ordered takeout and never touched a cooking utensil in real life. Of course, he couldn't make anything credible. The result was predictable, he got laughed at and kicked out immediately. Still, he was kind of relieved. At least he hadn't been forced into the kitchen or he would probably owe the restaurant for wasted ingredients. So he gave up on that money-making path.

Qi Yue was already a minor online celebrity on a streaming platform. Since he was decently good-looking, he usually sang and danced on his livestream to charm viewers, particularly those who might send gifts. But competition was fierce. For someone not extraordinarily attractive or talented, after the platform and his agent guild took their cut, little was left from the donations. With low and unstable income, he had even considered offline modeling or host work at nightclubs.

The main reason he had reserved a game slot was its sudden popularity. Some people were already flipping accounts online, and one early account had reportedly sold for twenty thousand yuan. It was like a lottery. He had tried reserving a slot to see if he was lucky. Even if he didn't play much later, he could sell the account and earn a few thousand, or more. Luck seemed to be on his side so far.

Currently, the game had money-focused players like Lu Manman, leisure players like Jian Xiu, and grinders like the night patrollers. Qi Yue had no grand plans for dominance. He was planning to livestream as a virtual tourist. With the new Capital City server open, he intended to take viewers on a sightseeing tour of the virtual ancient capital. Tourism meant no grinding or working, so he planned to buy in-game coins with real cash to fund his leisure. After a year of livestreaming trying to please everyone, he was ready to roleplay as a carefree rich kid in the game.

After waiting a while, processing the offer, Lu Manman finally responded. "Alright, deal. But you need to send the money first via a secure platform, then I will transfer the coins in-game."

"Of course!" Qi Yue replied immediately, relieved.

She sent a Taobao store link she used for small transactions, and after adding each other as friends on the shopping platform, Qi Yue transferred one thousand yuan.

Since he was new and testing the waters, he didn't want to invest too much yet.

After Lu Manman confirmed receipt, she sent him a thousand copper coins via the in-game transfer system. They split the 1% transfer fee (10 coins). Exchanging for silver would have cost an additional fee, so they stuck to copper.

Qi Yue was outside the walls of the Capital City in the game. He had boosted his avatar's appearance but not to extreme beauty. One prior player with too high an appearance stat had met a bad end, so he kept it moderate, handsome but not ethereal. He still needed to look good in case he had to charm potential rich patrons in-game. Though not formally trained in music, he had learned to play two simple songs on a digital ocarina, "Qing Hua Ci" and "Lan Ting Xu," just in case. If he looked ugly, he reasoned, rich viewers might be less inclined to support him.

Now, he was officially a virtual tourist streamer. After exchanging the coins, giving him a small financial cushion, he headed toward the majestic gates of the Capital City. Walking along the packed-earth road, he heard heavy, labored breathing behind him. Turning around, he saw a bald head glinting in the sunlight, attached to a player character rushing straight at him, looking frantic.

Qi Yue assumed it was just a bald villager or monk NPC from the outskirts, but on closer inspection, the floating ID and player-style clothing marked him as another player.

"Bro, you're pretty fashionable with the look," Qi Yue teased as the other player caught up, leaning over to catch his breath.

The words barely left his mouth before he was hit by the full impact of the other player’s stunning looks. The avatar was breathtakingly handsome, with perfect features that seemed carved from jade.

"Raising your appearance this high? Don't you value your life?" Qi Yue recalled the forum story of the player who had been kidnapped by human traffickers for looking too good.

He thought new players would be more cautious after that warning, but apparently not.

"You don't get it! It is all, ha! External! Ha! Things! Ha!" the player, Wang Wuyuan, gasped between breaths, still running in place as if chased.

Qi Yue noticed how exhausted his stamina bar looked, flashing yellow, and said, "Your stamina is low because your appearance stat is too high, right? It deducts points from your physical stats."

"I… didn't check the mechanics carefully," Wang Wuyuan admitted, finally stopping to pant. He had been drawn to this game for its famed freedom and wanted to try something unconventional.

"I'm planning to be a monk. Feels like money and martial arts don't matter in that path. My face is AI-generated from a painting I liked. I designed it and logged in. Didn't realize appearance affects stamina this much."

"Playing a monk? You have got style," Qi Yue replied with a smirk, realizing he had teased a bit too much. "I'm Qi Yue, livestreaming as a travel blogger in-game. Only Xinghexian and the Capital are open so far. I'm here for a while, nothing pressing to do, just sightseeing. Since you're becoming a monk, I can go with you and check out the Capital’s famous temples. Content for my stream."

"All good," Wang Wuyuan said, finally slowing his pace. He knew he couldn't travel far alone in this state.

Qi Yue had plenty of stamina, having put points into endurance. Wang Wuyuan was nearly spent. They stopped at a roadside pastry shop just outside the city to buy some food to restore stamina, Wang Wuyuan spending twenty copper coins.

There were cheaper food stalls, but Wang Wuyuan, with his lofty goal of becoming a monk, reasoned he didn't want to carry much worldly wealth anyway. Simple was fine.

Qi Yue, playing the rich tourist, went straight for a whole roast chicken from a vendor. He blew through a significant chunk of his newly bought coins and probably would need more soon.

Wang Wuyuan, surprised, asked between bites of a plain bun, "Starting funds are thirty copper coins, right? That chicken is more than thirty. Where did you get the money?"

"Oh, I traded with an early player. Miss Lu Manman was kind enough to sell me some copper coins for real money."

After finishing their meal, their stamina bars refilling, they headed toward Puji Temple, one of the Capital's major monasteries.

Wang Wuyuan was still constitutionally weak and tired quickly. Qi Yue, feeling charitable, helped him along the way. Wang Wuyuan's looks were so strikingly, spiritually beautiful that when they reached the temple and he expressed his desire to take vows, the old abbot hesitated, eyeing him with deep suspicion. Such a face, the abbot seemed to think, belonged to a troublemaker, someone who would bring drama to the serene monastic life. He politely but firmly refused, suggesting Wang Wuyuan seek a secular path.

Wang Wuyuan, not realizing his character's initial setup might literally prevent him from achieving his dream, was devastated. He sat down right on the temple steps and cried out loud, a comical and pathetic sight.

Qi Yue stared, dumbfounded, then burst out laughing, his stream capturing every moment. He had never seen that happen in a game before.

The livestream chat exploded.

"Watching this game stream is so entertaining! Better than TV!"

"Hahaha, laughing so hard I forgot my classwork is due tomorrow."

"Doesn't anyone ship these two? Don't stop me, I totally ship it!"

"He shaved his head (in character creation) to become a monk, so sincere! Why won't the abbot accept him? Is it because he is too pretty?"

"This game really is diverse, it even has a monk class path. Or at least, it tries to."

"Forget being a monk, go work at a brothel as a minor official. With that face, you would make bank. Hahaha."

The Capital City streams were full of laughs and unexpected moments, but back in Xinghexian, Lin Qian wasn't paying much attention to the new players' antics yet.

She looked at the two small cloth bags of crude glass shards brought by Jian Xiu and Yu Kai, carefully examining a piece. She held it up to the light from the window, and it caught the sun, casting a faint, greenish glow on her desk. She smiled in genuine satisfaction.

"Not bad. This is definitely glass, and of decent clarity for a first attempt."

"Since the goods have been seen and approved by Your Honor, about those prostitutes you mentioned, the labor force…" Jian Xiu cautiously prompted Lin Qian, her handsome avatar looking hopeful.

Lin Qian nodded, setting the glass shard down with a soft click. "Since you have requested the labor, and provided proof of a viable industry, This Official will issue the order. The remaining brothels in the county are to be shut down within three days. From now on, establishments in Xinghexian may only sell musical or dance performances, not bodily services. Anyone who disobeys will get twenty lashes each for the workers and the owner, plus a fine of one tael of silver to be paid as compensation to any accuser!"

Chapter Text

"Waaah, why us? We can't carry heavy loads or lift things, and now you want us to tend the furnace? That's basically sending us to die!" one of the younger women, still in her showy silks, wailed dramatically.

Jian Xiu could hardly deal with these prostitutes. They were entrenched in their roles, skeptical of change. Some people were just impossible to reason with, their worldview narrowed by their circumstances.

"Think about it carefully," Jian Xiu tried, her voice patient but firm. "Isn't any respectable job better than selling your body here? You have a chance to leave that name behind. Besides, we're hiring fairly. Men will handle the heavy labor and furnace work. The women can help with cooking for the workers and cleaning the factory space. It won't be backbreaking. Once the whole supply and sales chain is up, all you will need to do is sort finished glass by quality and help sell it. You will get a fixed monthly salary, food provided, and even rest days. Why wouldn't you want that?"

Most of them didn't trust officials or outsiders' promises, so the group of women just huddled together and cried, a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and performative grief. Only a few, who were either naturally upright or had a fierce pride beneath their painted faces, were actually relieved and happy to hear the brothels were closing. Some had originally sold themselves to pay family debts; the government was now offering ten taels of silver from the county treasury for their official freedom. For the more profitable courtesans, the madam had to be compensated up to fifty taels to balance her ledgers, the money also coming from fines and the county's limited funds.

Lin Qian had ordered the county clerk to open a special channel so that after redemption, all their registrations could be formally removed from the "low-class" or "entertainer" category in the household records, a significant social step.

The old madam, naturally, didn't like this at all. A deal this unprofitable, losing her entire workforce and investment, would make anyone furious.

"Why! Why can't the brothel stay open? The money you are giving isn't even enough to cover my losses! You are a county magistrate, so what! Aren't you afraid I will report you to the prefecture? To the provincial governor?!" She had run the Xinghexian brothels for over twenty years and had plenty of connections with local clerks and even some minor gentry. With her entire livelihood threatened, she shouted at the yamen officials overseeing the closure.

"Go ahead and report! Right now!" Jian Xiu snapped, stepping forward, refusing to humor her dramatics. "Send your complaint! See how far it goes!"

"Since the previous emperor’s reign, upright scholars couldn't stand prostitution. There were thousands of brothels across the land then, but the laws against coercing women were clear. Nothing in the current law is as strict as what you fear. If the magistrate closes a disorderly house and helps you find honest work, it's hardly a crime. Even if you report it to the Emperor himself, what can he really do? And do you even know who our county magistrate answers to? Her teacher is in the Censorate. Just so you know, even if your complaint reaches the capital, it will likely be stopped before it gets far. You won't win." Jian Xiu pointed skyward for emphasis, deliberately invoking the intimidating, distant power of the capital to scare the madam.

The madam, though furious, wasn't stupid. She knew the immense gap in power between a local brothel keeper and a magistrate with potential capital connections. She begrudgingly took the compensation money, counted it with a sour face, and left, muttering curses. She could still survive elsewhere, perhaps setting up in a neighboring county, though her vast "empire" in Xinghexian was finished. Losing all her local connections and built-up clientele was bitter, but there was no choice when facing official decree.

The other prostitutes who were loyal to the madam or saw no future in factory work saved the government some redemption money and left with her. Those who had willingly chosen and enjoyed the profession were free to continue elsewhere; the government had no right to stop them from moving. Lin Qian's order only applied within Xinghexian's borders.

Of those who stayed, not all intended to live honestly from then on. Some figured if the factory job went badly, they could always try to reopen a small brothel later, or find a protector, taking it one step at a time. If that didn't work, they could always marry.

There were plenty of bachelors and widowers in Xinghexian, so finding a husband wasn't hard. The problem was they weren't willing to give up a life of relative ease, fancy clothes, and attention to live in poverty with a poor farmer. If they could marry into a wealthy local family, even as a concubine or a maid with benefits, it wasn't considered shameful, just a practical step up or sideways.

Of course, Jian Xiu, with her modern mindset, raised in a wealthy, harmonious family, didn't consider such nuanced survival strategies. When thinking about life paths, she never believed that marriage alone could save someone from hardship or wasn't the only goal for women.

After the yamen officials finished sealing the brothel doors with official strips of paper, Jian Xiu and Yu Kai received their quest completion notifications.

【Congratulations, player! Task "A New Path" complete. Reward: 3 taels of silver. County Magistrate Lin Qian favor +10 (Note: Favor can't be gifted or traded).】

The closure of the largest brothel caused a significant stir in Xinghexian, and the local gentry naturally heard the news through their networks.

"Didn't expect such a commotion just after she arrived. First, the male house Nan Fengguan was shut down, now a raid on the main brothel."

"There's only one large brothel in the whole county. With this one closed, where will the laborers and traveling merchants go for… companionship?"

"Just marry one of the women, isn't that enough? That's the magistrate’s business, not ours. As long as it doesn't affect our lands or trade."

After all, the gentry didn't frequent the common brothels. They had their own entertainments, concubines, or relationships with higher-class courtesans in prefectural cities. Even the women they kept outside weren't necessarily "proper," but they could afford the beautiful wives and concubines they liked. Nothing here directly threatened their interests.

"For now, we watch. This new magistrate seems like a tough one, not easily swayed."

"Any chance of appealing to higher authorities?"

"Didn't you hear? She has connections in the Censorate through her old teacher."

"Best to hold back for now. I invited the magistrate for a drink the other day. Her attitude was proper, neither cold nor overly familiar. We're all respectable people; no need to break ties over this."

Qian Yuanwai, a wealthy local landowner, chuckled, swirling his wine cup. "True. Any official, under the weight of enough silver and repeated gestures, may eventually bend. If we keep giving seasonal gifts, even if she refuses once, she won't refuse a hundred times. Besides, she is a woman. She probably sympathizes with the other women in the brothels. A show of respect for her compassion, coupled with practical benefits for the county, she will likely accept it in time."

"If that doesn't work… Can't we outlast or outmaneuver a single magistrate, and a female one at that?"

Coincidentally, while Qian Yuanwai and others chatted in a private garden, Qin Qing and Liu Yang logged in for their afternoon session and went straight to report the secrets overheard at the winehouse to Lin Qian.

Lin Qian had already suspected some collusion between previous officials and local merchants or landowners, skimming taxes or manipulating land records.

She had taken time to observe Xinghexian’s lands personally. According to the village elders, the soil was decent in the valleys, though some upland farmland wasn't ideal. Even with difficult terrain and transportation, it wasn't insurmountable, and the county had timber, some clay, and traces of mineral resources. So why was the population so low and the county so poor?

Lin Qian didn't believe in coincidence. Corrupt officials and greedy local powers had likely kept this place poor, extracting wealth without reinvesting. Now that she was here, she intended for things to be different.

"Arrests and punishments require solid evidence and witness testimony. I can't yet trust many of the clerks and runners under me, so uncovering the whole truth may be difficult without outside help. Could you two assist? Discreetly investigate among the local populace, find willing witnesses, and verify these land and tax matters."

After saying this, Lin Qian assigned a formal investigation quest through Zheng Zheng, who sent the notification to Qin Qing and Liu Yang.

They hadn't expected the quest trigger for the overheard conversation to come from directly reporting to Lin Qian, but they accepted it immediately, the promise of rewards and plot advancement clear.

After sending them off, it was past Lin Qian’s usual office hours, but she stayed a bit longer to check the news feed from the capital provided by Zheng Zheng. She saw that most of the fifty new accounts issued that day had already logged in at least once.

Two streams had particularly high revenue metrics, so she watched their highlight recordings.

One streamer, Qi Yue, had accompanied Wang Wuyuan to shave his head and become a monk. Wang Wuyuan was too beautiful, and the abbot had refused him at first. But after Wang Wuyuan sat and cried pitifully all afternoon on the temple steps, drawing a crowd, the abbot finally relented. Letting such a distractingly handsome man create a daily spectacle at the monastery gate wasn't proper, and the monks couldn't just knock him out. The whole saga was absurdly entertaining.

The livestream had exploded with viewers, and Qi Yue earned a lot of tips from the comedy.

Another player had the stated goal of "becoming emperor," starting from the absolute bottom as a beggar with just a wooden bowl. After cleaning up at a public bathhouse, spending his last few coins, he only managed to beg enough for a single bun on his first day, his grand ambitions meeting harsh reality.

A third player, arriving in Xinghexian, after getting a loan of seed money from Lu Manman, planned to open a "foot-bathing" shop, a creative and somewhat humorous service idea. It was unique enough to earn decent viewer tips.

Other players wanted to start from scratch in various ways; most had joined the livestreaming army, but a few preferred a pure game experience without broadcasting, their activities harder to track.

After checking in on the new player ecosystem, Lin Qian returned to her residence and had a quiet dinner.

Afterward, she chatted with her nanny in the sitting room while a young maid served tea and a plate of delicate pastries.

Madam Qiu noticed the pastries weren't from the usual reputable shop, Guiyuan Zhai, and asked the maid, "These aren't from Guiyuan Zhai, are they?"

The maid looked at Lin Qian for permission, then replied, "The lady ordered them from that new shop, Manman’s Pastry Shop, on West Street."

Seeing Lin Qian had specifically wanted them, Madam Qiu smiled, taking one. "Never heard of that shop. Is it any good?"

Lin Qian explained, "It's run by an orphan girl who is trying to make an honest living. Her business is quite good, and she seems virtuous and hardworking. We bought some to try and to support her venture. Mother, taste it, and if you like it, we will buy more in the future."

Madam Qiu took a small bite. The pastry was soft, a steamed bun with a light dusting of crystallized sugar, not overly sweet. The red bean paste filling was smooth and lightly sweetened, not cloying.

Paired with the mild black tea, it was quite pleasant.

"Really good," Madam Qiu said, smiling with approval. "Simple but well-made."

"If you like it, we will buy more often," Lin Qian replied with a smile, taking a piece for herself. It was a small thing, supporting a player’s business, but it felt like a tangible connection to the new world she was trying to build.

Over the next few days, more players arrived and settled into the game.

The glass workshop, funded by the players and supplied with labor from the former brothel workers, those who chose to stay, officially opened. With Lin Qian’s tacit approval and the guards keeping an eye on order, transportation of materials and finished goods gradually improved.

Lin Qian hadn't yet had any major, open disputes with the local gentry, so she often attended their social dinners and poetry gatherings, maintaining a careful, observant presence. After autumn arrived in earnest, the magistrate’s mansion saw a steady stream of visitors and petitioners, not at all deserted.

Autumn’s first major administrative task was the grain harvest and tax collection. The county yamen had to send officials to each village to collect the grain tax, which would then be passed up to the prefectural bureau, and finally to the Ministry of Revenue in the capital.

As county magistrate, Lin Qian had to organize and oversee the entire collection process. Her authority here was significant; she could adjust the grain quotas for each village based on reported yields. Fertile, wealthy villages could be asked for a slightly higher percentage; poorer, less productive villages could be given a slight reduction. The total tax quota for the county needed to be met overall.

This year had seen heavy summer rains, so harvests were lower than usual. The court still demanded ten percent of the harvest as tax, meaning ten shi out of every hundred. There was also a separate poll tax per adult, and every family had yearly labor obligations for public works. The tax system was complex and strict, and after paying, commoners often had little left for themselves through the winter.

Lin Qian oversaw the submission of the collected grain, layer by layer, to the Ministry of Revenue. Within her limited power, she could ease the burden slightly for the poorest villages by shifting quotas, but she couldn't eliminate taxes entirely.

Chapter Text

Paying taxes was a decree from the court, and the local laborers assigned to transport the grain were responsible for delivering it to the designated granaries. Serving in this capacity was considered a coveted position among the commoners. The work, while tiring, was relatively straightforward and predictable, and it kept one close to home, avoiding the dangers of distant military service.

Lin Qian, after reviewing the land and population registers, devised a rotating schedule for tax collection and transport based on each village’s relative wealth and the quality of its lands, determining a fair quota that needed to be delivered by each.

As for supervision and auditing the process, that sensitive task was still entrusted to Qin Qing and Liu Yang. They had already begun to quietly uncover signs of malicious land acquisitions and tax fraud from previous years, and Lin Qian intended to use their findings to formulate a detailed, lawful plan to curb the excesses and illegal enclosures by the local gentry.

However, the situation was delicate. Some of these gentry families were connected by marriage or old favor to her own Lin family’s former network. If Lin Qian were to strike too harshly or openly, she might find herself politically isolated or even in physical danger. It put her in a difficult position, needing to enforce justice without triggering a backlash that could end her tenure, or worse.

In the past few nights, she had also personally overseen an increase in patrols. Not only at night, but during the day, she had assigned multiple rotating patrols of constables to keep the county’s main roads and markets safe, all part of her campaign to finally root out the persistent thieves. Her nanny watched her tirelessly rushing about each day, returning late with dust on her boots, unable to suppress her worry.

"Why are you so busy? You can't eat all the work in the world and hope to get fat from it. Even for building achievements, it should be done slowly, steadily," Madam Qiu said one evening, helping Lin Qian out of her official outer robe.

"In a few days, the Eight Fu inspectors from the provincial surveillance commission will come here for their autumn review. Xinghexian’s public security has long been notoriously poor. Now the roads are improved and employment has increased, but there are still too many petty thieves. And beggars are still too visible on the streets, it is a mess that reflects poorly on governance. If the inspectors see it like this, my record won't look good," Lin Qian explained, sinking into a chair with a tired sigh.

"Are they officials of the same rank as you?" Madam Qiu asked, puzzled by the hierarchy.

"They are censors and inspectors sent from the capital and the provincial administration. How could they be the same as a mere county magistrate? Even officials from the prefecture and the province must be properly received and appeased. If some injustice is exposed or my achievements are tarnished in their reports, I will be the one to take the blame," Lin Qian said, accepting a cup of warm tea.

"You just started your post. What could possibly go wrong in such a short time?"

"The court doesn't always listen to reason or consider context. Because I am a woman, many already think it's improper for me to hold office. If I get caught in a mistake, no matter how small, losing my post would be the least of my worries. It could mean the end of this experiment, and worse for the people here."

"Even your teacher in the Censorate can't help?"

Lin Qian smiled, a little helplessly. "My teacher is far away in the capital. His support is mostly moral and for show at a distance. If my performance falters here on the ground, can he really save me from imperial displeasure? The connection is just for intimidation, a shield. And besides, who truly is my highest protector?" She lowered her voice slightly. "I have taken the palace exam and been personally graded by the Emperor. I am, in name, a formal student of the Emperor himself. If I make a mistake, it's His Majesty’s judgment that is questioned. He would have his own reasons to protect me, or to punish me. Mother needn't believe otherwise."

With that, she rested briefly before plunging back into her paperwork by lamplight.

Autumn waned before she fully noticed, the leaves turning gold and brown, and by the time the grain harvest was nearly complete and the taxes mostly collected, a small group of timber merchants arrived in Xinghexian.

"Group" was a generous term, it was really just two small caravans coming from the neighboring county of Linxian.

Perhaps because of Xinghexian’s terrain, the surrounding mountains held many century-old and even millennia-old trees, mostly fir and pine, with some valuable camphor. These trees were excellent for construction and had become a noted export only recently with the influx of outside merchants. At this time, there was little environmental concern for soil preservation or deforestation. In fact, dense forests near settlements were often seen as a threat, they could hide wild beasts and bandits, and in the event of war, a forest fire could easily devastate the town. Sparse trees around the town were common and preferred.

The caravan noticed something odd even before reaching the city gates, the main road had been noticeably widened and leveled, the worst ruts filled in.

Inside the city, the change was even more striking.

The old Xinghexian, especially near the gates, had been notorious for the stench of urine and the crowds of listless beggars. People jostled each other in the muddy streets, and in summer, the air carried the damp, salty smell of the ground and the sour sweat of men.

Today, the main streets were relatively spotless. Beggars, particularly those missing limbs, were almost nowhere to be seen.

These merchants were seasoned travelers, having navigated trade routes and waterways from neighboring counties. Even in a relatively prosperous place like the prefectural capital, it was impossible to see so few beggars at a single glance.

Though it was late autumn, the midday sun made the day unseasonably warm.

The lead merchant, Chen An, removed his bamboo hat and fanned himself with it, marveling at the transformed Xinghexian as his ox-carts creaked through the gate.

"This is strange. When we left last time, it was high summer, and the place was as wretched as ever. Now, just half a year later, it's completely changed."

A younger man, his son Chen Ping, replied, "The county magistrate has changed too. Not long ago, she was famous throughout the land. A woman, they say, who cleared her family’s unjust name and impressed even the Emperor with her intelligence and courage, so she was appointed here as county magistrate."

"If fate allows, seeing such a person is an education in itself," an older attendant said, shaking his head in wonder.

"Xinghexian has always been backward. For her to achieve visible change so quickly is commendable."

"But where did all the beggars go?" Chen An mused aloud, his merchant’s eye missing no detail.

Passersby overheard and, noticing their attire and laden carts, realized these were merchants from Linxian and maybe Xingping County.

Trading timber alone was not hugely profitable, so such merchants typically also carried cloth, fans, grains, or sauces to sell along the way.

Xingping County’s waterways facilitated trade, so goods there were plentiful. The standard practice was to buy cheap here, sell dear elsewhere, and profits flowed with the rivers. The economy there was far more developed. Where the economy thrived, scholars and culture abounded. Compared to Xinghexian, talent and wealth there were plentiful.

Xinghexian’s shortcomings lay in its poor, isolated land. Though easy to defend, the area was remote, surrounded by natural barriers. Any ambush by bandits in the hills was difficult to counter. Even locals had to admire the recent changes, they felt tangible.

The roads had long been poor. Previous magistrates made no improvements, as if the county had been forgotten by the court and left to rot.

Now, a female magistrate arrived, and immediately there was activity, repairing roads, settling court cases decisively, closing brothels. She also prioritized finding employment for the idle. The work was not easy, but the policy was clear, anyone with a little strength could earn at least a day’s meal.

The glassware workshop had opened with the magistrate’s encouragement and some initial investment. Anyone willing to work could contribute and get paid.

Now, except for the truly lazy or infirm, everyone seemed to have some work, and life held a glimmer of hope.

Previously, citizens had doubted a woman could serve as magistrate. Now, anyone benefiting from her policies, cleaner streets, safer nights, a chance to work, viewed her with something akin to reverence, a "second parent" official.

Overhearing the merchants' discussion about the fate of beggars and the disabled, a shopkeeper sweeping his front step spoke up, "Those disabled or beggars were not driven away, master. Just ask at the bigger taverns at mealtime. You will see."

The merchants, being relatively well-off, were well-fed, so their clothing and upkeep were not an issue. They were just curious.

Chen An thanked the passerby and led his son and attendants to their usual lodgings, a decent inn.

After settling in and before dark, he sent out invitations via the innkeeper to a few local merchants and minor gentry he knew to dine at Xinghexian’s largest tavern, Jinzhou Lou. It was not a festival day, so booking a private room was not difficult.

Most gentry were busy with their own affairs or reluctant to openly socialize with traveling merchants, so only a couple accepted.

Chen An, having dressed neatly in a clean robe, led his son and two senior attendants to the tavern.

The streets seemed livelier than he remembered, lit by more lanterns. Fewer beggars and no overwhelming stench in the air made everyone’s faces seem brighter. At the tavern entrance, as they mentioned their reserved private room, a waiter passed by carrying a tray. On it was a cup, not ceramic, but clear glass, filled with a jade-colored wine.

Chen An froze, thinking he was dreaming, and pinched his son, Chen Ping, on the arm.

"Ouch! Dad!"

Hearing his son’s genuine exclamation, Chen An realized it was real and relaxed slightly, his heart racing with commercial excitement.

Curious, he asked his local companion who had just arrived, Merchant Zheng, "Brother Zheng, what is happening in Xinghexian? Glassware cups being used openly in a common tavern?"

Zheng Xue, a local dealer in textiles, laughed, clearly enjoying the outsider’s shock. "No harm, Brother Chen. This is a local specialty now. A merchant workshop produces it, a cup like that costs just one or two taels of silver here. Even small households buy a set for enjoyment or gift-giving."

Xinghexian was not as developed as Xingping, so Zheng Xue felt a proud, proprietary urge to show off his hometown’s new marvel.

"Merchants make this? I thought fine glassware was a natural product from the western regions or the south, blown by master artisans."

"With this technology here, there is serious money to be made," Chen An said, his mind already calculating margins. "Where can I see the source, maybe arrange a purchase? Don't forget your old brothers from out of town."

Flattered, Zheng Xue smiled and patted his slightly protruding belly. "Sure, sure, we will eat first today. Tomorrow I will take you to speak with the factory manager. It is a good trade, and the county doesn't forbid bulk export. In fact, the magistrate encourages it."

After a few years of trading acquaintance, Chen An trusted him and felt at ease.

As they went upstairs to their room, Chen An kept looking around the tavern’s main hall.

Zheng Xue asked, "What are you looking for so intently, Brother Chen?"

Entering the private room, its shutters open to the evening breeze, Chen An explained, "I noticed there are no beggars in the city. Someone told me to come to the tavern here to see why."

Zheng Xue laughed heartily, a booming sound. "Of course you won't see beggars or the disabled lounging here. Otherwise, the tavern would be in chaos, scaring customers. Those who can work are in the kitchen or helping with cleaning. That is also per the county magistrate’s recent orders."

"Orders from the magistrate?" Chen An asked, intrigued. "Forcing taverns to hire the disabled?"

Zheng Xue nodded, pouring tea. "Any shop or business hiring five or more assistants must employ at least one person with a recognized disability. Those with missing hands learn to use their feet for the stove or carrying, those with missing legs learn to cut vegetables or wash at a seated station. The deaf can clean, the blind can sort ingredients or tend fires with guidance. Minimum wages are mandated, and the yamen clerks make regular checks each month. No faking the disability or underpaying allowed."

Chapter Text

"Deaf and mute ones are easy enough, but what about the blind? How can they work?" Chen An’s son, Chen Ping, couldn't help but ask from the side, his youthful face showing genuine curiosity.

Zheng Xue smiled proudly, as if showing off a local innovation. "No problem at all! The county just opened a foot spa a few streets over, specializing in massages and foot baths. They hire plenty of deaf and mute people for cleaning and carrying water, and even blind folks can wash feet, their sense of touch is often sharper. They actually earn more there than those with missing limbs, since the tips can be good."

Even if giving massages and washing feet is considered a lowly trade by scholars, for the disabled to make an honest living with their remaining abilities, it's already admirable. The county magistrate has done good by giving these forgotten people some structured support, and Zheng Xue, as a local merchant benefiting from the safer, more orderly streets, naturally felt a sense of civic pride.

"Do their families, their parents, approve?" Chen Ping pressed.

"The magistrate has had her clerks check household registries thoroughly and has already dealt with a few human traffickers who were mutilating children to beg. These people you see… where would their parents even be? Most were abducted as children and had their hands or feet deliberately broken or cut, so they can't be traced. Those with other disabilities, who have no family, are in special shelters funded by the county and private donations. Someone cooks for them, they get two meals a day, all thanks to small monthly donations collected door-to-door. It's not luxurious, but at least they eat. The magistrate even insisted all donations go through official channels at the yamen. Each month, how much comes in and how much is spent on food and shelter must be publicly recorded on a board outside the county office."

Chen An nodded, deeply impressed, and exclaimed, "Ah, she really is a fair and righteous magistrate!" Then he corrected himself, remembering the traditional term of respect, "No, she is the people’s parent-official!"

Even Chen Ping couldn't hold back his admiration, "Compared to the utopian Peach Blossom Spring of tales, this magistrate’s practical deeds are far greater. Though she is a woman, she makes me, a man, feel ashamed of my own lack of contribution."

Zheng Xue nodded, pleased with their reaction. "That's only fitting for a student of the Emperor himself. Anyone who has been personally tested and graded in the palace exams is bound to be different from ordinary folks. You haven't been here for half a year, so there's a lot you haven't seen. Eat well today, and tomorrow I will show you and your young master around the city. Don't worry about delaying your timber business, will it?"

"That's fine. I have told my men to start unloading and sorting anyway. A day or two of sightseeing won't make a difference, just trouble you a bit," Chen An said, raising his wine cup to Zheng Xue in a toast of thanks.

"Why so formal between old friends?" Zheng Xue smiled, clinking his cup.

He was a middling merchant in Xinghexian, doing some timber business, though not wealthy, just enough to get by while following the lead of the local gentry. Recently, with the rise of the glass trade, he had branched into exporting finished glassware to other xian, earning extra travel funds. The glass business was more profitable and less physically demanding than timber, so he did less of the old trade.

This trip by Chen An was to restock before winter, preparing goods to sell in the spring. Meeting Chen An and his son, old acquaintances, was a pleasant bonus. If both could make money together, their partnership would last. And since Xinghexian’s new industries were obvious and not secret, there was no reason to hide them.

After a hearty dinner, everyone returned to their respective lodgings.

The next morning, Chen An and Chen Ping cleaned up, had a simple breakfast at the inn, and first went to the timber cutting site outside the city to check on their workers. Once organized, they visited Zheng Xue’s residence.

Zheng Xue lived in a modest but tidy single courtyard house. His parents had passed, leaving only his wife, a young son, and an elderly servant. He had recently bought a small plot of land behind the house to expand it. The couple slept in the main building, while the young master and the maid stayed in the side rooms. By mid-morning, Zheng Xue was up, attending to family matters. His wife greeted the guests politely and then carried their toddler son to the side room. Soon, the maid brought tea, and the men sat in the front hall.

After a brief chat, Zheng Xue told his wife they wouldn't return for lunch, and the three men headed out toward the glass factory on the east side of town.

Inside the factory compound, the air was warm from the furnaces but comfortable in the autumn chill. Workers operated on an eight-hour shift system with rest days, a novel concept. Those working directly with the furnaces and formulas had to be locals, with three generations of family registered in Xinghexian, and they had to sign strict secrecy agreements. Leaking the glass-making process meant huge fines and possible imprisonment. Transporters and raw material handlers only needed strength, both men and women were employed for these tasks.

The magistrate had even set rules for gender balance, a minimum ratio of three women for every seven men in the workforce. They had aimed for one-to-one, but so few women applied for the heavier jobs. Most female workers were older, yet there were still enough to be noticeable and impressive. The furnace areas were off-limits to visitors, but the packaging, loading, and shipping areas could be observed.

Zheng Xue, familiar with the process, led Chen An and Chen Ping past the guarded gate (after a quick word with the foreman) to the factory office. They were greeted by a strikingly handsome young man, Jian Xiu, in her male avatar. Still unmarried in-game, yet already running a business. Chen An glanced at Jian Xiu’s refined, almost ethereal features, then at his own twenty-five-year-old son’s ordinary, honest face, feeling a world of difference. Chen Ping didn't know what his father was thinking and just grinned foolishly at the impressive factory manager. Chen An kept his paternal irritation in check.

Jian Xiu presented samples with a businesslike air. "The factory is still new. We have five main products right now, glass cups and bowls, in two styles each. For outside merchants, the price is one tael per piece. Orders over a thousand pieces get a discount of five wen off each. There's also a trial product, a small vase, but it's pricier due to a high error rate in blowing. One and a half taels each, or three wen off per vase if buying in bulk."

The samples were translucent, green-tinged but clear, and exquisitely crafted with few bubbles. For a small timber merchant like Chen An, he could perhaps afford an initial order of fifty pieces, the stated minimum. Yet even with just fifty, the potential profit margin was huge. Selling them in Linxian or the prefectural city, he could earn at least five hundred taels, maybe tenfold more depending on the buyer. Deducting transportation, labor, and breakage costs, it was still pure gain.

He didn't want to risk everything on a new venture, though. Timber was his main, reliable trade. People always need wood for buildings, furniture, and coffins. Regardless of chaos or peace, he seldom lost money on wood. So he decided he could spend almost all his spare capital, keep a little for living expenses, and still afford fifty taels worth of glass.

After viewing the samples, signing simple agreements, and paying the deposit, everything was settled. The factory could have given him the goods immediately from stock, but Chen An preferred to return in a couple of days to personally inspect and pick up the shipment, swapping any defective pieces on the spot.

Merchants registered in Xinghexian, like Zheng Xue, got a three-wen discount compared to outsiders. So a one-tael glass bowl cost a local merchant ninety-seven wen, which was essentially the same as an outsider’s cost price, leaving room for profit when selling locally or to other merchants.

After the agreements were made, Chen An politely invited Jian Xiu for a meal to strengthen relations. Jian Xiu declined gracefully, citing pressing factory work. Chen An understood, a large factory with hundreds of workers and mysterious backers didn't need to bother courting small initial orders like theirs. They parted with mutual smiles and bows.

Zheng Xue led the Chen father and son back out into the bustling streets. "Since you're here, we must visit the new massage parlor. Very skilled therapists, polite and friendly. A good way to relax after travel."

Chen An was now low on immediate funds after the deposit. "Not sure about the prices there."

"Don't worry, I will treat," Zheng Xue said generously.

"How can I accept that after you have already shown us such hospitality?"

"Don't mention it. Yesterday you treated me to a fine dinner. Now I'm the host in my town, it's only proper to return the favor."

Chen An saw Zheng Xue’s relaxed, confident face and assumed he had already made good money acting as a middleman for the glass, so he didn't refuse further.

Yet their surprises didn't end. Walking through the commercial streets, they noticed something unusual, many shops were run or staffed by women. Besides the glassware shop and a cosmetics store, there was a shop selling "silver mirrors", small, palm-sized mirrors with frames, said to be backed with a silvered coating. Chen An inspected one and saw his reflection gleam far clearer and brighter than in any polished bronze mirror.

Bronze mirrors needed constant polishing over time to maintain clarity. These "silver mirrors" didn't, though they were actually made of glass with a metallic backing, requiring complex craftsmanship. Each small mirror cost a steep ten taels. Chen An considered buying one for his wife as a rare gift but couldn't afford it after the glass investment.

Zheng Xue had intended to lend him money, seeing his interest, but Chen An waved it off firmly, "I will buy one next time, when I have returns from this glass venture." He still felt uneasy, fifty taels was nearly a quarter of his family’s quarterly expenses. Timber trading was his livelihood, but it was small-scale and hard-earned.

He was further surprised by the saleswomen themselves. "Where did all these relatively beautiful, presentable girls come from? And some of them… they look like they have had a rough past, a certain weariness. How can their families allow them to work in shops, seen by all?"

"Those girls," Zheng Xue explained in a lower voice, "many used to work in the… flesh trade. After the county magistrate’s reforms, women couldn't sell themselves freely on the streets or in brothels. To survive, some became salesgirls in these new shops instead. Surprisingly effective, customers, especially men, are more willing to buy from a pretty face."

"Really? Xinghexian’s new prosperity has even erased the brothels?" Chen An was astonished.

Chen An thought it over as they walked and found it plausible. While he personally, as a man, might feel the lack of such establishments was inconvenient, men with means always found ways, so it wasn't a critical problem. Yet in principle, and seeing the cleaner streets and more dignified populace, he had to admit it was better for society, and certainly better for the women, not to be openly bought and sold.

Chapter Text

"This too is quite a strange thing. But after all, they're women. For them to be showing their faces in public like that, running shops, how could it be considered proper conduct?" Chen An frowned. He was a traditional man, and he still found it inappropriate, even unsettling, for women to run businesses openly outside the home.

Zheng Xue, used to the new norm, pointed toward the intersection ahead. "Look there. Every two quarters of an hour, constables take turns patrolling on a strict schedule. There's also guards stationed at every major street gate. If any indecent acts occur, harassment, groping, lewd remarks, no matter who is involved, as long as there are multiple witnesses, they'll be arrested on the spot.

"The rich can sometimes pay a fine of twenty taels of silver to be spared the jail time and beating, but the poor, if the case is minor, will be jailed for three days and receive twenty strokes of the rod. Their names are then posted on public notice boards every month. After that, their reputation is ruined for half a lifetime. It's a powerful deterrent."

Chen Ping, the son, frowned skeptically. "What is that to those spoiled wastrels from wealthy families? The constables just take their bribes and look the other way. Who would dare testify against a powerful local bully?"

"That's the strange part," Zheng Xue said with a knowing half-smile. "The men serving directly under Magistrate Lin are all reportedly hard-faced and iron-hearted, chosen by her. Even if someone pays to avoid a beating, the public notice still goes up with their name and the offense. Once the whole town knows, what wife or mother would tolerate it? A man sneaks out to fool around or harass a shopgirl, he'll go home and get a few slaps from his furious wife for shaming the family. Social shame works where fear of law sometimes doesn't. So now they've all learned to behave, at least in public."

Chen An blinked, processing this. "And the women, the shopgirls themselves, agreed to this arrangement? They're not afraid?"

"I heard those who work in these shops must follow a strict code of conduct themselves, set by the shop owners and backed by the yamen," Zheng Xue replied. "Their rules are even stricter than what our merchant guilds abide by. No flirting with customers, no accepting personal gifts, always have a partner nearby. It's a trade, not a tease."

"So if the higher officials truly wish to govern properly, and have the will to enforce it, there's always a way." Chen An murmured, deep in thought. It was a novel concept: governance that actively shaped social behavior rather than just reacting to crime.

Zheng Xue nodded with a sigh. "The yamen even allocated some unused public land for these women to build simple dormitories to live in safely. It's managed by a newly formed 'Women’s Association', some literate widows and wives of minor officials run it. If a husband beats his wife, she can take her children there to stay temporarily, and the association will mediate between them, with yamen backing if needed."

"What if the wife is the one who beats the husband?" Chen Ping asked from the side, grinning.

Zheng Xue chuckled. "In theory, the man can go there too to complain and seek mediation."

Then his grin widened. "But what kind of man would do that? Admit his wife beat him? Hahaha! The shame would be worse than the bruises!"

As they talked and walked, they arrived at the Footbath Hall.

The Footbath Hall was an open-style building, two stories high, built in a long row without inner courtyards, maximizing street frontage. The front of the first floor was a reception hall, furnished with waiting benches where guests could order fruit or tea while they waited, each item priced individually.

Inside, the first floor served female patrons. Since there were fewer women coming for such services in this era, their section was smaller than the men’s upstairs.

The second floor catered to male clients. The rule was female technicians served women, and male technicians served men. If a male customer specifically requested a female technician, he had to pay a significant extra fee, and the service had to take place in the open-area section upstairs, where guards could easily observe and ensure the women’s safety.

They entered and booked a small private room. Each room accommodated three people, and groups received a ten-percent discount. Each footbath and massage session lasted half an hour, and each technician earned 120 wen per service. Technicians kept half their earnings, while the rest went to the Footbath Hall for maintenance, supplies, and wages for support staff, guards, and receptionists.

For most families, such indulgence was a bit extravagant, but the experience genuinely eased travel fatigue, and the emerging middle class, shopkeepers, clerks, teachers, often brought their families to enjoy it. Women could also come for services with their privacy well-protected in the downstairs section, so there was a steady, respectable stream of female patrons every month.

After settling in their room, Zheng Xue called for an attendant and ordered three small plates of pastries and some crisp fried cakes.

Soon, three male technicians entered. Most of them were blind, their eyes milky or closed. Once the guests had soaked their feet in wooden tubs of warm, herb-scented water, the blind men began the massage, their hands moving with practiced, confident pressure.

The warmth of the water and the skilled, strong touch drew sighs of pleasure from Chen Ping. By the time they finished, it was already past noon. Since they'd snacked earlier, real hunger was only now catching up.

Instead of going to a formal restaurant, Zheng Xue led them to Manman Pastry Shop, where they ordered spicy duck necks and duck wings to share, and bought a large bowl of pork and chive wontons from the shop next door to split.

It cost little, but the meal was hearty and satisfying.

The duck necks were particularly addictive, available in both spicy and mild flavors. It was said the special chilies were imported by southern merchants. The people of Xinghexian traditionally didn't eat much spicy food, so the extremely hot version was made in limited quantities each day, becoming a novelty.

Over the following days, while waiting for their glass order to be ready, Chen An and his son stayed in Xinghexian, occasionally visiting the Footbath Hall for relaxation. In just a few days, they'd grown so fond of the place, its order, its novelties, its sense of hopeful bustle, they almost didn't want to leave. If not for their family and established business waiting back in Xingping County, they might've seriously considered settling here for good.

A few days later, an inspector from the Eight Fus (the provincial surveillance commission) arrived in Xinghexian for the routine autumn inspection. Magistrate Lin Qian personally led her subordinates to receive and entertain him, ensuring there was no hint of neglect or impropriety. After touring the improved streets, the glass workshop, and the orderly markets, the inspector seemed genuinely delighted and impressed. The glass oil lamps, the clear mirrors, and the innovative Footbath Hall nearly dazzled him senseless, to the point he almost succumbed to the indulgence and overstayed his welcome.

Winter came swiftly. The sky turned heavy with mist, a damp cold settling in, as if snow might fall at any moment.

Without proper heating or refrigeration, Lu Manman’s pastry shop could no longer sell as much prepared duck meat as before, as it would spoil. So, adapting quickly, Lu Manman began making a hearty spicy pepper soup with tofu and offal, paired with flaky thousand-layer pancakes, and business soon boomed again against the chill.

That day, after finishing her morning preparations, Lu Manman sat on a stool in the main hall to stream live, a small plate of fried chicken wings beside her for a snack, along with a cup of osmanthus wine she had brewed back in autumn. It was still morning, and many customers had come in for a hot breakfast.

The cold had settled in deeply, probably around three or four degrees Celsius, though since she wasn't too sensitive to cold, she guessed it was near freezing. Students from the nearby county school often slipped in for a hot meal between lessons, and there was a private school close by as well, so business stayed steady.

At one table sat a teenage student, holding a book open while he ate. His frame was thin, clearly unused to manual labor. He was probably a treasured only son, as his mother accompanied him. She set a steaming bowl of spicy soup before him, then asked for a pancake and a fried bun for him.

The boy ate slowly while reading, frowning in concentration. His mother nibbled absently on a plain bun, waiting for him to finish so she could have whatever he left.

After a few bites, she put down her chopsticks and said in a low, urgent voice, "Study hard. The county exam is in the second or third month next year. We've already registered your name. You'd better earn some honor for your mother. Don't let your cousin outshine you. There are only two rounds of exams every three years. At least pass the xiucai exam this time, so we can find you a good wife. Otherwise, you'll have to marry some village girl.

"Your father is on good terms with Boss Wang, the tailor in town. If you can earn even a minor title, he'll go propose marriage for you. Their daughter is clean and gentle, raised like a little lady. I heard she can read too. You'd suit each other well! Wait too long, she'll be snatched by someone else, and you'll have nowhere to cry."

She sighed, a sound of worn-out hope. "It's hard for scholarly men in our village to find wives. You can't carry or lift, and if you fail the exams, how will you make a living? Do you understand?"

Annoyed, the boy slammed his book shut on the table and muttered, "You think I don't want to pass? There are men twenty years older than me still sitting for the county exam every year. If you'd just stop nagging, maybe I'd feel better about it."

He'd nearly finished his bun, but after that lecture, his appetite vanished.

"Eat a bit more," his mother said, pushing two more pieces of pancake toward him.

He reluctantly ate a few more small bites before putting down his chopsticks decisively.

"Have some more soup at least."

"I can't. I'm full. I'm heading to school. You should go home."

She nodded quickly, gathered his leftovers onto her own plate, and called out as he stood, "Oh, your uncle sent us some beef! Just half a jin, rare stuff! I'll stew it with radishes and leave it on the table. Eat it when you're back tonight. I'm going to the next village to help Aunt Li with her weaving, might not be back early. Watch out for that San Pang next door! He'll come sniffing around if he smells something good!"

The boy called back an absent-minded acknowledgment and left with his book and bag, disappearing into the grey street.

Lu Manman, sitting at the next table tallying her morning receipts, watched all this while occasionally glancing at her live stream chat, which was active with comments.

"Typical tiger mom vibes. Some things never change, even in ancient times."

"My mom is the same. There's always enough food, but she won't eat till I'm done. Keeps the best fruit till it rots."

"Man, even the NPCs in this game feel so alive. The writing is incredible."

"This game is so realistic it could be a government social experiment project."

"Talking about exams and marriage pressure while eating… no wonder the poor kid lost his appetite."

"Now I want spicy soup for lunch. Looks amazing."

"Streamer’s version is not even authentic Sichuan style, but who cares? It's tasty."

While the chat scrolled by, the first snow of the season began to fall outside.

A viewer pointed it out, and Lu Manman turned to look. White flakes drifted lazily from the dark, woolly sky, turning the world hazy and quiet.

"Yang-ma, light two more lamps," she instructed, thinking of the growing gloom.

Her shop was always busy, even outside rush hour, so keeping the oil lamps lit wasn't wasteful but necessary for the ambiance and to read the menu.

As Yang-ma went to fetch the lamp oil, the door pushed open, and a group of poorly dressed villagers entered. They weren't beggars, though. Their clothes were shabby but clean, their hair neatly combed, their faces set with a tense, determined air.

Worried they might be desperate or cause trouble, Yang-ma stood protectively beside Lu Manman and called out, "Da Gou! More customers, come help!"

Da Gou quickly put down the feed bag he had been holding for the mule in the back and came out, his strong frame a visible presence.

Seeing the crowd of a dozen or so men, even Lu Manman stood up, her stream still running.

Before she could speak, the door opened again, and Qin Qing and Liu Yang entered, their player IDs visible above their heads to Lu Manman.

Qin Qing glanced around the shop, then said to Lu Manman, "A few thousand-layer pancakes, some fried buns, and soy milk for all these men. We've got a crowd, Boss, please combine some tables."

"Sure thing," Lu Manman said, motioning for her staff to quickly push tables together.

She brought over the first platters of food herself, then quietly asked Qin Qing as she passed, "Sister, what's going on? Who are they? Refugees?" They didn't quite look like typical refugees; their eyes held anger, not despair.

"They're from a village west of here, Zhao Family Village," Qin Qing said quietly, laying her sheathed practice sword on the table. "Their communally owned wetland was seized by a local landlord years ago, documents forged. They've come to the county seat to seek justice. Took us a while to calm them down and promise a hearing."

Liu Yang leaned in, rubbing his cold hands. "We heard the inspector from the Eight Fus is still in town. We're taking them to the yamen now to formally file a case. Been walking since before dawn. Hurry with the food, we're starving."

Lu Manman nodded and went to pour the soy milk herself.

Chapter Text

Lu Manman had already resigned smoothly from her real world job. These days, her income from live streaming the game was impressively stable and growing. To save enough for a down payment on a small apartment next year, she streamed more than eight hours a day without fail, treating it as a serious business.

She didn't know why Dragon Country’s death rate had already surpassed its birth rate in the statistics, yet housing prices in her desired city were still heart stoppingly, soul crushingly high.

Even so, this new "job" was way easier than the 996 grind and emotional drain at her old company. Besides, she was now working entirely for herself, and the earnings, while variable, were far better on average than her previous salary. Since quitting, she woke up every morning feeling a sense of possibility, full of hope rather than dread.

After the group of Players and villagers finished their breakfast at her shop, Lu Manman gave Qin Qing and Liu Yang a thirty percent discount on the bill, since they were all Players and, in her view, were doing good deeds by helping the villagers.

The villagers who came along were stunned the moment they had entered Xinghexian’s main streets. They had been to the county city years ago when they still had their own farmland, but now the place looked completely different, cleaner, more orderly, bustling but not chaotic.

Liu Yang stood beside them, watching their dazed faces, and said in a reassuring tone, "All this change is thanks to our new county magistrate. Our Daren is a good official, that is why people here can live and work in peace. When you see Daren later, don't be afraid. Just tell the truth, state your case clearly, and Daren will make things right for you."

Hearing that, a few of the older villagers, their faces weathered by sun and hardship, secretly wiped their eyes with rough sleeves.

It took about half an hour to walk from Lu Manman’s pastry shop on West Street to Lin Qian’s yamen.

Snow was falling heavily now, thick flakes sticking to their clothes and hair. Most of those who came were men or strong, capable women from the village, those who could endure the cold and the walk. Through the accumulating snow they trudged, a somber procession, until they reached the front of Lin Qian’s yamen, then knelt together in the snow dusted courtyard. Dozens of people knelt there, each representing a household that had been wronged.

They had once been hardworking, self sufficient farmers, but after their communally held wetland was swallowed up by local landlords through forged documents and intimidation, many families who had lived together for generations had starved or died of treatable illness, their resilience broken. Only a few households still had everyone alive. They didn't even know if kneeling like this would help. Even if justice finally arrived, it was justice too late. It couldn't save the dead or heal the broken hearts of those who had been crushed.

But as long as people still lived, they wanted fairness, a reckoning. It was a matter of principle now.

These villagers were the third group to enter the county seeking redress. Even though they had come in waves over the past week, word had already reached the ears of the local gentry. A crowd was kneeling outside Lin Qian’s yamen, while a few representatives from the implicated gentry families lurked nearby, trying to pull strings with the gate guards or send messages inside.

Within half an hour, news of the disturbance reached the regional inspector, Zhu Zheng’an, who was still lodging in the official guesthouse.

His message to Lin Qian, delivered by a clerk, was clear and stern: "Investigate thoroughly, and adjudicate strictly! Don't allow local bullies to oppress the people!"

Lin Qian didn't dare take it lightly. After all, this was an official sent directly from the capital, whose report could make or break her career.

She couldn't let Qin Qing’s and Liu Yang’s investigative efforts go to waste. So, she feigned initial surprise and then dutiful concern, and invited the people into the yamen’s main hall to speak out of the cold.

The hall filled quickly. There were so many that some had to stand in the covered corridor outside, peering in.

Lin Qian handled the initial reception carefully, listening to their grievances. Soon after, the inspector himself arrived, unannounced.

The Eight fu Inspector’s name was Zhu Zheng’an, a man in his forties with a neat beard, thick brows, and narrow, keen eyes. Though lean, his posture was straight as a spear, and his presence was commanding, the aura of a capital official.

Inspectors didn't normally preside over cases, so Zhu Daren was invited to sit to the side as an observer when Lin Qian received him. If she misspoke or handled things poorly in his presence, one critical report from him could cost her position, no matter how new her appointment was. Naturally, Lin Qian treated him with utmost caution and courtesy.

She immediately summoned the local gentry involved in the case. Upon inspection of the presented land deeds, the fraud became obvious: plots of upper grade, fertile farmland had been recorded as purchased for the price of barren, bottom tier land. Some plots of fine rice paddy soil had been "sold" for as little as one or two taels of silver, anyone with eyes could see something was grievously wrong.

Lin Qian had expected greed, but not this blatant, stomach turning level of greed. She had underestimated how deep these landlords’ appetites ran and how brazen they had become under previous negligent magistrates. After examining the documents, she silently passed them to Zhu Daren.

His face darkened the moment he saw them, his brows drawing together like thunderclouds.

"Outrageous! Local tyrants seizing fertile farmland from peasants, then recording it as low grade wasteland? His Majesty has long forbidden such fraudulent enclosures. And you, as educated gentry, have no shame? You treat the imperial laws like dirt!"

Lin Qian waited silently, head slightly bowed, until he finished his furious tirade.

"If this matter turns grave," he said coldly, turning his gaze to her, "even you, Lin Daren, bear some blame for lax oversight. You've been here for months already, yet you still don't fully grasp the people’s suffering?"

Lin Qian quickly bowed deeper and replied humbly, "It's my negligence, my failure to investigate deeply enough upon arrival. Please grant me some time, Daren. This Official will investigate this matter thoroughly and report the full findings and judgment to you and, if necessary, to His Majesty, within two days."

Xinghexian was small, but Zhu Daren, sent by the Emperor himself with sweeping investigative powers, was someone even provincial officials had to respect. Naturally, he had no reason to shield the corrupt local gentry here. Their crime was an affront to the law he was sworn to uphold.

With the inspector’s explicit backing, Lin Qian personally led a team of clerks and guards to the disputed fields outside the city, braving the snow to inspect and measure them herself, confirming the farmland had indeed been misclassified and grotesquely underpriced.

That way, the gentry couldn't later argue in some higher court that it was all a "misunderstanding" or "different assessment of land quality."

Five prominent local families were involved: the Zhao, Wang, Chen, Song, and Bai clans. Lin Qian measured the seized land herself with standardized tools and gathered sworn testimonies from neighboring farmers who had witnessed the forced sales.

Once the evidence was ironclad and witnessed by the inspector’s own aide, she summoned the gentry heads back to the yamen and sentenced them accordingly.

They refused, of course, to go to prison, they had the wealth to fight it. So the judgment was amended: they had to return all stolen land to the original owners or their descendants and pay heavy fines of over a thousand taels each to the county treasury as punishment.

From then on, their relationship with Lin Qian soured completely. They couldn't insult her openly without consequence, but gossip and slander spread in secret through their networks of servants and dependents. After all, she was the county magistrate. If their sons wanted to take the imperial exams, they would have to pass through her for the local recommendation and qualifying tests. Otherwise, they would have to change their place of household registration and take the exams elsewhere, a costly and uncertain process.

The common people, largely uneducated and easily swayed by rumors from "their betters," soon began hearing whispers that the magistrate was "overly harsh," "disrespectful of local elders," or even "a woman who doesn't understand men’s affairs."

Lin Qian wasn't overly bothered. She had anticipated backlash. As a countermeasure, she opened free evening literacy classes at newly established night schools in several neighborhoods, staffed by two modern Players who volunteered to teach basic characters. They didn't focus on the dense Four Books or Five Classics, just basic literacy for daily life. Along the way, through simple stories, students learned about concepts like justice, fairness, and lawful authority. Over time, people began to understand what had truly happened and what justice meant.

Seizing this chance, Lin Qian also ordered a full, updated survey of the county’s land and population, a massive administrative task. She registered the landless refugees who had drifted into the county into the official household records and distributed the reclaimed land and some vacant public land to them. In return, they were now obliged to pay taxes, integrating them into the legitimate economy.

After these measures, the wiser villagers and townspeople, those who could see past the gossip, praised her as a "clear sky magistrate," one who brought sunlight after darkness.

When deep winter arrived, the county funded orphanage and poorhouse, supplemented by public donations Lin Qian had systematized, kept the destitute fed and minimally warm. Abandoned infants, mostly girls, were left at its gate almost daily, a sad but persistent reality.

Lin Qian didn't interfere personally in the day to day running. She simply ordered that all children be taken in, boys and girls raised in separate halls, taught basic reading and arithmetic, and trained in simple crafts for future work. If a kind family wanted to adopt them, that was a blessing. If not, at least they would have the skills to survive as adults. The program was run by the "Women’s Association" and a few dependable older widows.

Perhaps seeing Lin Qian, a woman, accomplish so much visible good changed some hearts subtly. This year, according to the orphanage matron’s reports, fewer baby girls were abandoned than in previous years, only about ten, which was still tragic but far fewer than before. As for the boys, only two had been left, both were mentally impaired and unable to speak, likely abandoned because their families couldn't care for them.

By the end of the lunar year, officials across the Zhao Empire began their long winter recess. Lin Qian had seven days off for the Winter Solstice festival and more than twenty for the Lunar New Year. The policy was meant to let officials return to their hometowns, since travel by horse or carriage was slow and the journey could take a month or more. Those stationed far from home often went years without seeing their families, unless they retired and returned to their roots.

Lin Qian, however, felt no attachment to her predecessor’s hometown, which held only painful memories. In truth, she didn't even feel a strong pull to her own original world’s "home." After all, a home without living loved ones wasn't a home. Her only true ties there lay beneath two graves, her parents’. But this year was different. After crossing into this world, she would be spending the New Year with Madam Qiu and the household servants in the magistrate’s residence. It would be quiet, but not lonely.

By now, on Tianlan Star, it was also deep winter, and over on Earth, Dragon Country was entering its coldest months. Students were about to start their winter break, meaning more potential viewers and players online.

Though the Lunar New Year hadn't arrived, every household in Xinghexian was already lively with preparations, cleaning, making festival foods, buying new clothes if they could afford it.

Lin Qian reflected that she didn't have many people she could personally rely on in this world. Most of the volunteers teaching literacy were Players, along with a few earnest local scholars she had recruited. The rest of her "support network" consisted of merchants, travel streamers, and the unlucky Players who had died in game and were waiting for respawn or new accounts. Eighty active Players weren't enough to drive the scale of change she envisioned. So, before Earth’s Spring Festival, hoping to catch the holiday traffic, Lin Qian, through Zheng Zheng, released fifty more Player slots and unlocked a new in game map, a coastal "salt city" focused on salt production and maritime trade.

The moment the news dropped on the game’s official channels, all slots were snatched up within minutes.

Soon, From County Magistrate to Female Emperor was trending again on Dragon Country’s social media, the hashtag filled with excitement and frustration.

College students on break became the main force battling for accounts in the digital queues.

"Damn it, I didn't get a slot! My internet is garbage!"

"Gone in a second. I'm laughing through the pain."

"I GOT ONE! This is the difference between Superman and losers!"

"Don't get cocky, bro. The game is hardcore."

"Lucky bastards make my face twitch with envy."

"Selling account here, good price negotiable! DM me!"

"No one is selling anymore. They go for 20k a pop now. Whole families camping the sign up page."

"Of course it's expensive. The devs earn money through Player stream revenue shares, not subscriptions. So accounts are limited artificially."

"Scalpers can't even get them. The verification is too tight. The account’s long term value is way more than black market price."

"Still, better odds than concert tickets for a top star."

"It's even gone viral overseas. Some foreign streamers are playing the game using translated guides."

"There is no foreign server, right?"

"Nope. Company is based domestic. Some foreign devs even offered 200k for a helmet and account, but no one is selling."

"Makes sense. The full dive tech is insane. Who would sell it? You can make 200k a year just streaming it decently."

"A year? Too modest. Top streamer Shan Mo is already pulling in over ten grand daily on good days."

"When is the next wave of accounts dropping?"

"Probably in two months, if the pattern holds."

"Or maybe for the New Year as a special gift! Fingers crossed!"

Chapter Text

After all her newly released game accounts got snapped up instantly, Lin Qian, still in the quiet of her bedchamber in the pre-dawn darkness, stared at the scrolling comments and metrics on her mental interface for a while, then lay in bed a bit longer, thinking, before finally pushing back the warm quilts and getting up to wash.

The morning air that seeped through the window cracks was crisp and clean, carrying the sharp scent of cold. White frost coated the stone steps under the veranda, glittering faintly in the pale light seeping into the courtyard. It must have been below freezing by now; her breath formed small clouds in the air.

"Daren, why are you standing out here? You will catch cold." As Lin Qian stepped out into the main room, Madam Qiu came over right away, having heard her movements, and spotted her standing by the door gazing out.

Before she even finished speaking, Jiao Yue hurried out from the side room holding a thick woolen cloak and gently draped it over Lin Qian’s shoulders.

Madam Qiu frowned, clearly displeased. "You girls are getting lazier by the day. Two attendants to serve one master, and still you make mistakes. If Daren falls ill, it's your fault. Next time you're this slow, I will slap your mouths!"

Jiao Yue bowed her head, not even daring to breathe too hard.

Lin Qian quickly stepped in to defend them. "It's my fault. I came out suddenly without telling them. Don't blame them."

Madam Qiu didn't respond directly to her words. She only took Lin Qian’s hand, felt the residual warmth in her palm, and, somewhat reassured, finally said nothing more, though her expression remained stern.

Behind her stood a young maid holding a few sprigs of freshly cut red plum blossoms, their petals vibrant against the winter gloom. Lin Qian’s gaze brightened. "Those plum blossoms are lovely. Where did they come from?"

Madam Qiu finally smiled a little, the wrinkles around her eyes softening. "I saw them blooming by the east wall this morning and thought they would look nice on your desk, so I had someone cut a few branches."

"You're always so thoughtful." Lin Qian smiled warmly, taking the older woman’s arm and leading her back inside, away from the chill.

Once indoors, where a brazier glowed in the center of the room, Jiao Yue hurried to remove Lin Qian’s cloak, while Xiu Ying brought over a smaller, movable bronze brazier and set it carefully by their feet.

After sipping some hot ginger tea, Madam Qiu asked, her tone shifting to domestic concern, "The year’s end is near. Have you written to your teacher and your old classmates to send your seasonal greetings?"

"I have. The letters went out with the last official courier. If the roads are clear, they should reach the capital before the New Year."

Madam Qiu nodded approvingly. "Keeping in touch is good. Those connections are your roots in the capital, don't let them wither."

Near the outskirts of the capital, Kyoto, a gallant horse galloped past a roadside tavern, its breath pluming in the cold air.

The rider dismounted stiffly, a broad-shouldered young man with his hair tied back in a simple knot and a weathered traveling pack on his back. His horse, lathered from the ride, carried a larger bundle of luggage.

"Shopkeeper, a cup of hot wine!" he called, his voice rough from the road, tying the reins to a post before stamping his feet and stepping into the tavern’s relative warmth.

The shopkeeper quickly sent his daughter-in-law to serve the guest.

"You don't look like a Kyoto native, traveler," the young woman said with a polite smile as she poured the cheap, warmed rice wine. "Coming all the way here at year’s end, do you have business with the capital?"

The young man, seeing no reason to hide his errand, cupped his hands respectfully toward the south, the direction of the imperial palace, and replied, "I'm from Xinghexian in the southern province. I have come to Kyoto under my lord’s orders to deliver some letters."

"I see. Then please, enjoy your drink and warm yourself." The woman smiled again and went back to her work behind the counter, not daring to chat further with a stranger on official business.

Snow drifted down outside, beginning to dust the road. Even with his sturdy frame, the rider still felt the deep cold seep into his bones after such a long journey. A cup of hot wine and a few bites of salted meat and hard bread were enough to drive the worst of the chill away.

He was one of Lin Qian’s trusted guards, sent specifically to deliver her personal letters to her former teacher and a few key contacts in the capital. The travel expenses were all covered by the magistrate’s private funds, so even his wine and meals here were accounted for. After resting a short while, his limbs thawed, he paid, stepped outside into the swirling snow, and mounted again. If luck held and the snow didn't block the passes, he could make it back to Xinghexian before the New Year celebrations began.

Before long, Kyoto’s towering grey city walls loomed ahead, guarded by rows of soldiers in fine, cold-looking armor. Inside the gates, the city’s patrol troops stood alert, their eyes scanning everyone. Asking around discreetly, he learned that the Emperor would soon visit Pujisi Temple for New Year prayers, so security was unusually tight.

Once his deliveries were made to the respective mansions, receiving formal receipts, the young man stayed the night at a cheap but clean inn near the south gate, then set out at dawn the next day to begin the long return journey to Xinghexian.

Not long after his departure, the Emperor, in a grand procession, led his entourage, the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace, several high-ranking concubines from the rear palaces, a few favored princesses, and a retinue of trusted ministers, out of the Vermilion Bird Gate and through the decorated streets on a grand pilgrimage to Pujisi Temple.

Among those still lingering in Kyoto, drawn by its scale and splendor, was a Player named Qi Yue. The capital’s vastness, its markets, its layered history revealed through exploration, were far too captivating for him to leave. When he got bored of sightseeing, he sometimes dropped by to chat with Wang Wuyuan, who had become a monk at the smaller Pudu Temple. Most of the time, though, Wang Wuyuan, deep in meditation or chores, ignored him, offering only the occasional monosyllable.

After spending some time together, through forced proximity and occasional shared silence, Qi Yue finally understood, in fragments, why Wang Wuyuan had chosen the path of a monk even inside a game. In real life, Wang Wuyuan had been a psychology graduate student, a top scorer who had given up a prestigious overseas scholarship to work as a therapist in a domestic hospital, wanting to help people.

Then a patient, twisted by paranoia and malice, accused him online of being gay and of making inappropriate advances during sessions. The scandal, juicy and cruel, spread like wildfire across the internet. He was doxxed, fired after a cursory investigation, and his elderly parents, who ran a small tourism business in their hometown, were harassed by trolls and "outraged" citizens until they had to close down.

Though he eventually won the defamation lawsuit and released a detailed video to clear his name, the damage was already done. The family’s reputation and finances never recovered. Now, with his father ill from the stress and the family’s savings running low, Wang Wuyuan had started streaming his in-game monastic life, the only thing that felt peaceful. But his streams were plain, almost austere, just him sweeping temple floors, ringing bells at the appointed hours, sitting in silent meditation, and chanting sutras in a calm, low voice.

Most of his viewers, Qi Yue realized, came for his stunning in-game appearance, a heartbreakingly beautiful avatar that seemed to hold all the sorrow he wouldn't speak. His small but dedicated fanbase sent donations that were, by grim coincidence, just enough to cover his father’s ongoing hospital bills.

Ironically, because of those streams, more people eventually learned the truth about his past. Supportive comments trickled in. It was hard to say if this turn of fate, this digital refuge becoming a lifeline, was a blessing or a deeper curse. Once wronged in the mortal world, he had sought peace through detachment, yet every step toward escape in this virtual world only seemed to draw him back into worldly entanglements, dependency on viewers, the need for income, the faint hope of connection.

Wang Wuyuan’s life was like a tangled skein of silk, no matter how he tried to smooth it, to follow a single thread to its end, he couldn't seem to cut himself free.

When the imperial procession finally reached Pujisi, the temple gates stood wide open. The aged abbot himself, in full ceremonial robes, waited at the entrance, flanked by rows of senior monks and, notably, a few particularly handsome and serene young novices positioned where they could be seen. They said monks had no concern for appearance, but when it came to receiving the Son of Heaven, even the temple took care to present a harmonious, pleasing sight.

The abbot led the Emperor into the main courtyard, the imperial attendants and guards following close behind in strict formation.

Once the yellow silk curtains of the imperial resting pavilion were drawn, no commoner or low-ranking official could see what went on inside.

When the court entered the main Buddha Hall for the ceremony, there wasn't room for everyone. Wang Wuyuan, who had been helping earlier with preparations, quietly stepped back outside into the secondary courtyard once his duties were done, seeking a moment of quiet.

In the crowd of onlookers held back beyond the outer gate, local gentry, curious citizens, and their servants, a young maiden from a respectable family glanced his way, her eyes lingering on his striking, peaceful profile. Her lips curled into a faint, intrigued smile. She nudged the shoulder of the girl beside her, her sister or cousin.

"Jiejie, look. That young monk… have you ever seen such a face?"

Wang Wuyuan, his eyes lowered, his mind perhaps on the rhythm of the distant chanting or the weight of his own silence, never noticed that he had already caught the attention of two curious young ladies from the world he was trying to leave behind. The snow continued to fall lightly, dusting his grey robe and shaved head with a hint of transient white.

Chapter Text

After a long while, the elaborate and drawn out imperial ceremony finally reached its conclusion. The Emperor and his vast entourage of guards, attendants, and courtiers withdrew in a rustling procession of silk and disciplined footsteps to their appointed quarters to rest.

With his ceremonial duties complete, Wang Wuyuan found he had nothing more to do, so he planned to return to his own quiet quarters to chant sutras and read. The air, which had been thick with incense and the murmur of prayer, now felt hollow and still.

With the Emperor present in the temple grounds, he couldn't move about freely as he usually did. His permitted range of activity was now extremely limited, confined to specific paths and courtyards. But just as he stepped out of the main courtyard onto the gravel path, a girl’s bright, clear laughter came from behind him, cutting through the quiet.

“Little monk.”

He turned. A young woman in a violet silk dress stood there, her bearing proud and radiant. She looked seventeen or eighteen, her black hair intricately pinned with a jade hairpiece that caught the light, thin gold bracelets glinting on her slender wrists. Her upper robe was finely embroidered with golden threads forming faint, elegant cloud patterns, and her silver satin boots shimmered softly under the filtered sunlight coming through the pine boughs. The noble daughters of the wealthiest clans in the capital couldn't compare to her effortless splendor, and the most arrogant young heirs of prestigious families couldn't match her natural charm.

“Your Highness.” Wang Wuyuan bowed his head, the motion precise, carefully hiding the flicker of impatience in his eyes behind lowered lids.

He couldn't tell which specific princess she was, only that she was undoubtedly one of that foolish Emperor’s most beloved daughters. To him, running into this kind of storyline NPC inside the game was not an opportunity, it was trouble. A deep, familiar sense of administrative headache settled in his temples.

If a side quest or storyline was triggered by this interaction, he wouldn't get any peace inside this game anymore. His simple routine of cultivation and streaming would shatter. And worse, someone of her imperial rank could have him, a mere monastic, executed on a whim with a single word. If that happened, not only would his character be permanently deleted, he wouldn't even have a place to complain about it. The game masters would just shrug.

Of course, while he considered this an absolute and profound headache, the audience watching in his livestream chat thought otherwise. The text scrolled rapidly up the side of his vision.

"Cool monk x haughty princess, OMG this combo hits my XP straight on! The aesthetics!"

"Wait, temples can spawn high level NPCs like this? That's insane! The spawn rates here are broken!"

"She is gorgeous and totally tsundere vibes. Why didn't I get into the beta?! (bites handkerchief in envy)"

"C’mon, Wuyuan bro, say something already! I'm dying here! Don't just stand there!"

"Why do I feel like he is… not happy about this? Look at his micro expression."

"That face though… bro’s avatar is so damn handsome, even game NPCs are falling for him. The character creation sliders were generous."

"Guys, I have got an interview tomorrow at The Transcenders’ Alliance company, I am so nervous!"

"If you get hired, can you get us insider access? Beta keys? Anything?"

"Nah, it's not this game. They are running a different one, like those WeChat mini games. This game is top secret, no way they would just let people in. The security is crazy."

"Ah, never mind then. Back to farming materials."

"Still, big company perks sound nice~"

"What is the pay like? For the internship?"

"Interns get seven thousand, weekends off, full insurance! Two raises a year, eight thousand after confirmation! Two company trips, one domestic, one abroad, optional! Oh, and the best part: no makeup workdays after holidays! You can even stack time off if holidays overlap! Rumor says remote work is possible too, though my home setup sucks so I probably couldn't anyway."

"Holy crap, are there really bosses that nice? That exists?"

"Unfair, why can't I get into a company like that?!"

"Good luck on your interview! Get that bag!"

While the livestream chat buzzed with its own brand of chaotic camaraderie, far from the temple grounds, the Chu family’s sprawling mansion within the walls of Kyoto remained calm and peaceful. Sunlight fell in long, lazy rectangles across the polished wood floors of the study.

The Emperor had gone to Pujisi for prayers, accompanied by the empresses, princes, princesses, and a number of trusted officials. The city felt slightly emptier, its usual political tension muted.

Chu Xiu, already past fifty, had not joined the imperial procession. His health no longer allowed such physical strain, and besides, the Emperor’s trust in him was not what it used to be. The subtle distance was a palpable thing, a chill in the normally warm decorum of the court. He was at an age where most men would gratefully retire to their gardens and grandchildren, yet he still held office to lend strength and experience to the Qingliu faction, a pillar not yet ready to crumble.

That day, with nothing pressing to attend to at court, he picked up a stacked pile of letters from old friends and former students to read through. The paper rustled softly under his fingers, a dry, familiar sound. As he went through them one by one, a letter bearing the familiar, modest seal of Xinghexian county caught his attention, its presence among the more prestigious correspondence both startling and poignant.

It was from Lin Qian.

She had once been his proudest disciple, a genuine prodigy who had earned the prestigious title of tanhua, third in the imperial examinations, at the remarkably young age of twenty one.

Surname Lin (林), given name Qian (茜). Her courtesy name, given by him upon entering adulthood and scholarly society, was Yu Rui (玉蕊).

Qian (茜), her given name, came from the name of a modest plant, the madder root, from which a rich, reddish dye was derived. It spoke to substance, to a foundational usefulness rather than mere ornament.

Yu Rui (玉蕊), her courtesy name, was a more poetic and elevated construct. Yu (玉) meant jade—synonymous with purity, integrity, and preciousness. Rui (蕊) meant the stamen or pistil of a flower, its very essence and heart. Together, Yu Rui referred to the purest, most unblemished essence of jade, or by poetic extension, to the delicate, precious heart of a blossom. It was a name that spoke of inner quality, of a flawless core waiting to be revealed.

He himself had chosen her courtesy name for her back then, a gift of expectation and recognition poured into two characters.

Once, Lin Qian’s future had seemed utterly boundless, a straight, paved road to high ministerial office.

Chu Xiu had even privately, seriously considered marrying his youngest daughter to her, making her his son in law and binding their families and futures together.

But fate had held other, crueler plans.

Lin Qian had confessed that she was in fact a woman, exposing her true identity to clear her family’s name of false accusations. That shocking revelation destroyed her entire career in an instant, the parchment of her promise burning to ash in the court’s collective memory. That she even survived to live quietly in a remote county post was only because Chu Xiu had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, calling in favors and leveraging his waning influence, to protect her. His feelings toward this disciple were profoundly complicated, a tangled knot of pride, betrayal, and lingering responsibility that snagged on his thoughts at quiet moments.

When Lin Qian first revealed her true identity to the Emperor, Chu Xiu had been furious. He had felt deeply, personally humiliated, believing that his lifelong reputation for discernment and judgment had been ruined by a deceitful girl. She had betrayed his trust and disgraced him as her teacher. A once celebrated disciple turned out to be a woman who had deceived the throne; his rivals in court must have laughed themselves sick behind their sleeves, savoring his shame.

But once his initial, hot anger cooled, a slow, persistent regret followed, seeping in like groundwater. No matter what, she had been his student. A bond between teacher and pupil, forged over years of guidance and shared scholarly pursuit, was not so easily forgotten or severed. Even a dog raised for years stirred affection. How could a student he had once guided and protected, whose talent he had nurtured and whose successes he had celebrated, be any different?

Later, his clear eyed daughter Chu Xuan had found him brooding in his study and persuaded him to let go of his bitter resentment. She had not argued with emotion, but with a disarming, logical clarity. “A woman who can rise to the rank of tanhua through her own skill and intellect, besting thousands of men, has real, formidable talent,” she had said, her voice calm but firm, her hands resting neatly in her lap. “She looked at certain death to clear her family’s name, which shows a loyalty and courage we claim to prize. Should we discard a rare, sharp blade simply because its scabbard is unexpected?” She had met his frustrated gaze without flinching. “The waste would be the greater disgrace.”

And Chu Xiu, after a long silence, had realized his daughter was right. The principle of it, the sheer impractical waste of talent, chafed against his earlier personal anger. Such a person did not deserve to be dismissed or despised simply because she was a woman. Chu Xuan’s words had reframed the scandal from a personal betrayal into a question of merit, and on that ground, his anger had no defensible position.

Now, seeing the delicate, familiar handwriting on the envelope, he sighed, the sound rough and tired in the quiet room.

Her once sharp, iron boned calligraphy strokes had noticeably softened, rounded at the edges. Even her script reflected her heart’s change; she must have suffered much, weathered many storms, in Xinghexian. The aggressive flourish was gone, replaced by a quieter, more deliberate certainty.

He wondered how she was truly faring now in that distant, poor place. Breaking the wax seal, he unfolded the letter and began to read. The further his eyes traveled down the page, the more his stern, lined features eased into a quiet, private satisfaction, the corners of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly.

Lin Qian had not written much, merely inquiring with polite formality about his and Madam Chu’s health, as well as that of their children. Then she briefly, almost tersely, reported her recent work in Xinghexian.

Repairing roads, abolishing prostitution and brothels, providing honest work for the women, and curbing the local tyrants’ forced land acquisitions.

Reading this concise list, Chu Xiu could hardly believe it. His eyebrows rose toward his hairline.

Could such substantial, disruptive reforms be achieved in just half a year? Had she exaggerated to please him or to make her report sound better?

Yet, aside from the vast, singular deception of hiding her gender, Lin Qian had always been scrupulously honest and meticulous in all things, her reports flawless. If she had truly accomplished all this, what extraordinary means had she used to revive a struggling, backwater county’s economy so swiftly? The question intrigued him, poking at his administrative curiosity.

Unfortunately, the letter contained too little detail, offering results without revealing the process, a tease rather than a report.

Setting aside the rest of his correspondence, Chu Xiu dipped his wolf hair brush into the dark inkstone and began drafting a reply, his own handwriting bold and authoritative on the fresh paper, the characters forming with deliberate speed.

Elsewhere in the vast Chu residence, in a sunlit receiving room that smelled of early plum blossoms from a vase in the corner, his daughter Chu Xuan had also received a letter from Lin Qian, along with a set of gifts. The items were laid out on a low table before her: a full set of glazed wares, carefully packed and now unwrapped. Six glass cups of clear brilliance, six matching plates, a pair of slender vases with elegant curves, and a small, palm sized silver mirror with a finely wrought handle depicting a trailing vine.

Even in Xinghexian, where they were produced, such a complete and fine set would cost at least twenty five taels of silver, more than Lin Qian’s entire monthly salary as a county magistrate. Clearly, she had not purchased them herself. The local glassworks had likely sent her several pieces as official tribute, and she had selected the finest of them to gift in return, a practical and thoughtful gesture that spoke of consideration.

Chu Xuan’s fingers hovered over the cool, smooth surface of a cup before picking up the letter. Lin Qian had not mentioned any of these gifts in her formal letter to her teacher, keeping it respectfully short so as not to seem presumptuous or as if she were boasting of local goods.

But to Chu Xuan, she had written more freely, her tone warmer, the ink strokes flowing with a casual ease that was absent from the missive to Chu Xiu. The letter revealed, with a hint of pride, that glazed glass had become the unexpected key to Xinghexian’s economic revival. Since it had been Chu Xuan who had ultimately persuaded her father to protect Lin Qian, she assumed the young lady might be open to a continued, perhaps even friendly, correspondence. So Lin Qian’s plan was simple and direct: send tangible gifts first as a gesture of goodwill, then test the waters with a personal letter.

As Chu Xuan read, her posture, usually perfectly composed, softened slightly. A faint, unguarded smile touched her lips, not the polite social kind but one that reached her eyes, warming them as she traced a line of text with her gaze. She read the letter once, then again, more slowly. When she set it down, her hand rested beside it on the table, her fingertips just brushing the edge of the paper. The afternoon light streaming through the window seemed to glow a little brighter on the glazed vessels, making them sparkle, and the usual quiet solemnity of the room felt lighter, infused with a gentle, contemplative warmth. The calculated but genuine outreach had found its mark.

If a reply came, Lin Qian would know Chu Xuan was willing to maintain contact, to bridge the gap between their stations. After all, having one more intelligent and kind friend in the world could never be a bad thing.

She carefully smoothed the letter flat on the table, her touch lingering on the paper. Her eyes drifted from the page to the corner of the room where her writing box sat, the next step already clear in her thoughts. There was no rush; the moment deserved consideration. She would craft her response with care, when the right words and a stretch of quiet time presented themselves.

Outside, the winter snow swirled like drifting willow catkins, blanketing the world in a hush. After seeing off the imperial inspector in a flurry of bows and formalities, Lin Qian found herself idle for several days, bored out of her mind within the confines of the magistrate’s compound.

Xinghexian was not her ancestral home, so her family tombs were not here. Still, as a filial official, she had set up a small, simple ancestral shrine in a corner of her courtyard and placed her forebears’ memorial tablets there, offering incense and fresh water during the New Year as was proper.

That day, purely to please Madam Qiu, her old nanny who enjoyed such things, she had invited a traveling opera troupe to perform a few scenes at home. The high, melodic singing and the clatter of instruments now filled the central courtyard. Lin Qian herself was not particularly fond of opera, finding the stories melodramatic and the tunes repetitive.

The assortment of snacks and sweets laid out on the table next to her were all too sugary or too greasy for her modern palate, except for those from Manman’s pastry shop, which were light and delicate. She poked at a fried dough twist. Ancient desserts were historically meant to be eaten with strong, bitter tea, the astringency balancing the oil and sweetness, but Lin Qian was not much of a tea drinker, so she found most of them cloying on their own.

Too restless to sit still through another aria, she subtly tuned her awareness to a few livestream feeds being broadcast by Players instead. The ghostly, silent panels of video and chat flickered at the edge of her perception. She had opened three playable city regions so far: Xinghexian, Kyoto, and Yancheng.

Of the three, Yancheng was basically a wasteland, long known as an exile zone for disgraced nobles and officials.

Though the climate there was poor, its grim reputation stretched back through several dynasties as the place where the empire sent those it wished to forget. Ironically, because of this, the local customs and literacy were actually decent, shaped by generations of educated, fallen exiles.

Still, it was profoundly isolated and economically undeveloped, a harder start for a Player than Xinghexian by far.

Fishing and subsistence farming could only go so far there. The region was humid year round, plagued by seasonal typhoons and devastating floods. A single major storm could wipe out the rice fields entirely, and swarms of snakes, rats, and insects thrived in that wet, hot climate. One careless moment, one missed precaution, and infection or death followed.

Even the tropical fruits, though delicious, came with malaria and other diseases lurking behind their sweetness. It was, truly, a land fit for punishment. Exiles sent there didn't die quickly, they were broken slowly, worked under the harsh conditions until they collapsed from illness or despair.

A slow, administrative death sentence.

Lin Qian, being somewhat merciful, had placed the new Players who chose Yancheng on the slightly more habitable coastal plains where survival was at least technically possible.

At first, they were thrilled. A new map meant more viewers, fresh content, and unexplored challenges. But that initial excitement didn't last long. Barely a dozen Players had entered Yancheng, and within days, most were dead, their streams going dark one by one. Only a stubborn handful still clung to life, their broadcasts showing a grim daily struggle against mud, mosquitoes, and despair.

===

XP: A term from fandom culture meaning “personal preference” or “kink.”

---

In Chinese tradition, a courtesy name is called 字 (zì).

A courtesy name was given to a person after reaching adulthood, traditionally at age twenty for men. Among scholars and educated circles, people would often use each other’s courtesy names instead of personal names as a sign of respect.

Here’s how it works.

A person had:

• Given name (名, míng): their personal name, used by elders or in intimate contexts.

• Courtesy name (字, zì): used by peers, students, and in formal or scholarly settings.

For scholars, the courtesy name often reflected:

• Moral aspirations

• Personality traits

• Scholarly ideals

• A refined or poetic meaning linked to the given name

For example:

• Confucius’ given name was Kong Qiu (孔丘).

• His courtesy name was Zhongni (仲尼).

Calling a scholar by their courtesy name showed respect. Using their given name directly could be rude unless you were family or a superior.

In novels, when a character begins to be addressed by their courtesy name, it usually signals that they’ve come of age or entered the educated elite.

Chapter Text

When it came to the myriad, often absurd ways new Players died in a new server, the list was almost endless, a grim catalogue of misadventure and misfortune.

Some got bitten by venomous snakes hidden in the tall grass, their characters collapsing with a swollen limb and a fading health bar.
Some drowned after falling into the churning, unpredictable sea while attempting to fish from rocky outcrops.
Some caught a simple cold that escalated into a raging fever in the damp climate, dying shivering in a straw pallet.
Some got hit by a sudden outbreak of plague sweeping through a settlement and never woke up.
Some, filled with adventurous bravado, insisted on exploring the shadowy, primeval forest inland, got hopelessly lost, froze to death in a sudden chill, or sank silently into a concealed swamp.
And then there were those who, lured by high profits, tried smuggling salt, got caught by the local toughs or petty officials, beaten half to death in a back alley, and died slowly of infection in a filthy, rat-infested prison cell.

If someone ever made a movie or a documentary out of this collective experience, it would undoubtedly be called “A Hundred Ways to Die in Yancheng.”

Fortunately, it was winter now, so there weren't any typhoons. The violent storms that defined the other seasons were absent. Those Players who had picked strong, hardy physical bodies could at least earn enough from manual labor, hauling timber, mending nets, clearing land, to buy a thick quilt and rent a rudimentary place. If not for that small mercy of the season, the initial death toll would've been way higher, a near total wipeout.

Early in the morning, a thick, woolly fog blanketed the coastal plains of Yancheng, swallowing sound and reducing the world to shades of grey. Still, a few determined households had already risen in the gloom to light their cooking stoves, pinpricks of orange fire glowing in the mist.

Amid the shifting smoke and mist stood a small, shabby house with a patched roof and walls of packed earth.

It was already winter, and even though it rarely snowed in Yancheng, the damp cold seeped into the bones. Everyone had to wear thick, padded cotton jackets stuffed with poor-quality wadding.

The morning dampness was especially heavy, coating everything in a fine, cold film. Feng Xuan tugged at the sleeves of her faded flower patterned cotton coat as she walked over to where Aunt Jiang was already crouched by the low clay fire pit, feeding twigs into the flames. Feng Xuan crouched down beside her and rubbed her hands together vigorously over the heat, trying to chase away the deep chill that had settled in her fingers.

“Auntie, when my younger brother wakes up later, could you feed him some of that medicine for me? I need to go out this morning.” Her breath made little clouds in the cold air.

Aunt Jiang’s round, weathered face broke into a warm, familiar smile, her eyes crinkling. “Aye, aye, don't worry yourself, girl, I will take care of it. You go on, do your business.”

Feng Xuan nodded, grateful, and warmed her hands a bit longer, feeling the blood slowly return, while Aunt Jiang got up with a soft grunt to start cooking breakfast in a blackened pot.

This was the small, two room house Feng Xuan and the other Player, Yan Jiujiu, had been renting since entering the game. They pretended to be siblings, a young man and his elder sister, and settled in this fishermen’s village by the seaside plains. Usually, their routine was straightforward, they would buy coarse, unrefined salt from the licensed salt merchants at the official price, take it home, use basic filtration and recrystallization techniques Feng Xuan remembered from a documentary to refine it into clean, fine salt, and then Yan Jiujiu would sell it at a significant markup on the clandestine black market.

Selling private salt was illegal, of course, a serious offense. But the profit margin was huge, tempting enough to outweigh the fear. Refined salt was a luxury item in this region. The Zhao Empire hadn't yet developed widespread, efficient refining techniques. Ordinary salt often tasted bitter and grey, contaminated with other minerals, so wealthy households and restaurants loved pure, white fine salt.

Usually, it was Yan Jiujiu, who presented as male in-game and was more comfortable with the rough bartering, who went out to sell, while Feng Xuan stayed home to manage the delicate refining process. But recently, Yan Jiujiu had caught a severe cold. The local doctor had confirmed it wasn't the dreaded plague, yet she still needed rest and warmth to recover. So, for the time being, Feng Xuan had to bundle up and handle the risky selling herself.

Aunt Jiang, their landlady, probably knew or strongly suspected they were smuggling salt, but she turned a blind eye, her gaze deliberately vague when they carried in suspicious sacks.

First, she feared they might have powerful, unseen backers and didn't want trouble descending on her humble home. Second, it wasn't easy to find reliable, paying tenants in this poor area, and she desperately needed the steady rent money to feed her own family.

Breakfast at Aunt Jiang’s house was simple, a bowl of thin millet porridge and a small dish of pungent, salty shrimp paste. After eating quickly, the warm porridge sitting heavily in her stomach, Feng Xuan grabbed the small, covered basket containing several neatly wrapped packets of salt and headed out into the lingering fog.

By then, her livestream chat window, a constant companion in her vision, was already buzzing with the comments of early viewers.

"That Aunt Jiang is a kind soul. A real one."

"Yeah, she took great care of Yan Jiujiu too when she was streaming from her sickbed."

"Too bad this whole family is dirt poor. It rains all year here, and fishing is hard, dangerous work. Farming doesn't work either with this soil and floods."

"As long as they can eat, that's already lucky here. Survival is the game."

"If only there was a way to reclaim land from the sea here like the Dutch."

"Wait, are there any officials here at all? This place feels like a complete administrative wasteland."

"Didn't someone in chat say before that there used to be an imperial envoy stationed here, but he died of some illness after only two years?"

"The game lore text calls this place 'a land of miasma and exile.' Pretty accurate."

"Isn't this supposed to be ancient Guangdong? Guangdong is super developed IRL, what happened?"

"I'm from Guangdong, and honestly, a thousand years ago, before modern infrastructure, life was absolute hell here. Malaria, heat, humidity, typhoons."

"Forget a thousand years ago, even now in spring it's rough! Try surviving a few rounds of 'return humidity' where everything molds!"

"Drink more herbal tea, dude. Getting sick is just karma for skipping it."

It was early for a stream, but since it was winter break for many students, plenty of bored, sleep deprived young people were online. Besides, there weren't many other streamers broadcasting in this pre dawn hour from the harsh Yancheng server. With less competition, these early morning survival streams sometimes earned even more traffic and donations from dedicated viewers.

After a quick, sideways glance at the scrolling barrage of comments, Feng Xuan navigated the muddy paths to the unofficial black market, a quiet, tense area near the old docks.

Before leaving the house, she had swapped her bright, noticeable cotton jacket for a plain, ragged brown robe and wrapped the lower half of her face with a coarse woolen scarf to hide her features. Discretion was paramount.

Refined salt fetched a great price. And where there was high profit, there was inevitable greed. In a lawless place like the black market, who could say if the person you were dealing with was a genuine buyer or a robber, or an informant looking for a bounty? The air there always smelled of damp rot, fish, and nervous sweat.

That was why she and Yan Jiujiu always sold in cautious, small batches, never enough to attract major attention. Even with this careful approach, over months they had managed to save around fifty taels of silver each, a small fortune here. Both were ambitious, aiming to carve out a small, secure foothold in this territory, perhaps even buy a title or influence later. But first, they needed capital, a lot of it. Without silver, nothing could be done, no plans set in motion.

Their long term hope, shared in hushed conversations, was that once Lin Qian’s Xinghexian raised its rebel army, they planned to side with it right away, offering their funds and local knowledge.

They could've tried trading real world currency with other Players for in-game coin, a common practice, but neither of them had much spare real world cash, so grinding for in-game currency through this risky trade was the safer, if slower, option for them.

In real life, Feng Xuan was a divorced single mother. Her husband had cheated, so when they split, she kept their child, one small apartment, and an old car. Her ex paid two thousand yuan in monthly child support, while she gave him half of their meager savings, about a hundred thousand yuan.

Back then, she had run a small, struggling clothing boutique. Then the pandemic hit, and her shop folded completely. She was left with only twenty thousand yuan in hand and didn't dare start another business in the uncertain economy.

She tried finding a regular job, but in their small county, decent nine to five work was scarce. The better paying jobs were all in the nearby prefectural city, which was a forty minute drive away on the highway. By the time she calculated the commute costs and time away from her child, it didn't seem worth it. She figured she might as well take a low paying clerk job at a local supermarket nearby.

Her young child could stay with the grandparents during the day, but at night she still had to care for the child herself, preparing meals, helping with homework, leaving her perpetually exhausted.

Still, as the saying went, Heaven never shuts all doors.

When From County Magistrate to Female Emperor went viral online, she decided to give it a shot, watching the streams daily to see if any new beta accounts opened up. After weeks of persistent clicking and waiting during announced drop times, she finally grabbed one, her hands shaking with excitement.

To stand out as a new streamer in a crowded field, she deliberately chose the rarely explored, notoriously difficult Yancheng region. It was a brutal survival zone, but the raw challenge and unique setting brought in great traffic and a dedicated, if morbidly curious, audience.

Soon after entering the game and stumbling through the first days, she met Yan Jiujiu. In real life, Yan Jiujiu was a fresh graduate who had quit her oppressive office job after a few months and started doing online video content about extreme frugality, surviving on three hundred yuan a month.

With their prized game accounts, she too began streaming her harsh in-game life.

The two women hit it off quickly in their shared struggle, trusting each other enough to pool resources and cooperate deeply. To the outside game world and their NPC neighbors, they acted as devoted siblings, a cover story that provided some social protection.

The buyer at the black market, a man with a scar over one eyebrow, recognized Feng Xuan’s small frame and the familiar, tightly woven basket, so he didn't question her. After a quick, muttered exchange of the pre arranged secret code, he took the basket, handed over a small, heavy cloth bag of copper coins and broken silver, and melted back into the fog without another word.

Feng Xuan, her heart beating a little faster until the transaction was complete, then carried her now empty basket to the legitimate morning market, its stalls just being set up. She bought a pound of pork, a cut that was mostly white fat with a thin ribbon of lean meat, and headed home. The raw meat was wrapped in a large leaf.

Modern folks generally preferred lean meat, but here, the fatty, oily cuts were more valuable and calorie dense. This purchase was specifically meant for Aunt Jiang as thanks. Over the past few days, Aunt Jiang had helped tirelessly care for Yan Jiujiu, cooking the bitter medicine over the fire and feeding it to her, never asking for a single extra coin in return. Her own household had several small, thin children, and they rarely got to taste meat all year round, surviving on fish, porridge, and vegetables.

Feng Xuan and Yan Jiujiu already had enough savings between them to buy a simple house of their own and planned to expand their trade network soon, so they wouldn't stay at Aunt Jiang’s rented room much longer. Since both were mothers in real life, Feng Xuan thought it would be a nice gesture, a moment of shared humanity, if Aunt Jiang’s kids could at least eat something rich and fortifying for once before they left.

Meanwhile, in Xinghexian, near the Chenghuang Temple.

Zhao Er hurried along the slushy street, balancing several bulky bundles of luggage on a shoulder pole while calling back over his shoulder to his wife, who led their young son and smaller daughter by the hand. “Careful on the steps there! It snowed this morning, the ground is slippery!”

His wife, Madam Feng, smiled at his concern and slowed her pace, guiding the wide eyed children carefully over the uneven, slick stones.

They passed the quiet, incense scented space of the temple and made their way toward the small rented home Zhao Er had prepared for them.

Zhao Er was originally from Xingpingxian nearby. He had been a farmer all his life, but after his parents fell ill one after the other and passed away, his elder brother became idle and irresponsible, leaving Zhao Er to shoulder the burden of supporting both his brother’s family and his own.

When their parents died, they were too poor to afford proper medicine, much less coffins. In the end, filled with grief and shame, the brothers sold their last bit of inherited farmland to bury them with some dignity. Later, an uncle who did a small timber business in Xinghexian took pity on hardworking Zhao Er and invited him over to help as a laborer. It wasn't easy work, hauling and cutting heavy logs, but over time, he got used to it, his muscles hardening.

Since Xingpingxian was traditionally more prosperous than backwater Xinghexian, Zhao Er hadn't brought his wife and kids right away, only sending money home each month. But things had changed dramatically in the last year. Xinghexian had grown wealthier, his wages had risen with the building boom, and with the New Year approaching, he finally decided to bring his family over for good, to live together.

That morning, as soon as the city gates creaked open at dawn, he was already waiting outside, stamping his feet against the cold. By noon, after a long, anxious wait, he finally welcomed them in, hugging his wife and marveling at the children.

The children had grown so much taller, and since he had left when his daughter was still a toddler, she almost didn't recognize him, hiding behind her mother’s skirts. His son, who was just a baby when he left, didn't remember him at all, staring at this stranger who claimed to be his father.

That realization stung Zhao Er deeply, a quiet ache in his chest as he hefted their belongings.

As the family of four walked down the main street, the warm, inviting aroma of roasting chestnuts and frying dough wafted through the crisp air, and Madam Feng’s eyes darted curiously toward the bustling shops and well stocked stalls. What caught her off guard most, though, were not the goods, but the people.

In most cities and towns she had ever seen, men filled the streets conducting business, and women were rare, especially young ones, usually seen only briefly or veiled. But here, nearly three or four of every ten passersby were clearly women. Some wore traditional women’s jackets and skirts, others wore practical men’s trousers and tunics for work, and even among the shop assistants calling out prices, many were young women with clear, confident voices.

The sight filled her with astonishment. It didn't feel like just another xian in the same empire, it felt like another world entirely, both strange and exhilarating.

“Has it always been this lively here?” Madam Feng asked, still gazing around in open wonder, her grip on the children’s hands loosening slightly.

Zhao Er chuckled, a proud note in his voice. “It's only been like this since this year. I told you in my letters, our new magistrate is a woman, Lin Xianling. Ever since she came, Xinghexian has been booming. More merchants, more workshops, more jobs for everyone, and she even forced those greedy landlords to return stolen farmland to the peasants. Made them pay compensation in silver too, can you believe it?”

“That is unheard of,” Madam Feng said in frank disbelief, her voice hushed. “A county magistrate, and a woman, openly arguing with and defeating the local gentry?”

People of official status usually avoided such open conflict, preferring backroom deals. A county magistrate, and a woman at that, daring to defy entrenched local powers and win, it was practically a miracle, a story from a play.

Zhao Er nodded eagerly, his bundles swaying. “Exactly! Lin Xianling is like a… a heavenly immortal, a goddess of mercy sent down to save us common folks!” He fumbled slightly over the lofty description, his plain speech straining for the right words.

Madam Feng couldn't help laughing softly at his earnest, stumbling praise, the sound light and happy in the cold air.

Zhao Er scratched his head, embarrassed but smiling, clutching the shoulder pole and their luggage tighter as they walked on toward their new home, the children now skipping slightly ahead, drawn by the sights and sounds of a thriving street.

Chapter Text

While they talked, the family reached the bustling front of Manman Pastry Shop. A long, orderly line of customers stretched from the doorway out into the street, shuffling forward slowly, and it looked like it would take at least half a quarter of an hour just to get inside the warm, fragrant interior.

“The pastries here must be especially delicious, right?” Madam Feng asked curiously, gazing at the bustling shop with its steamed window panes and the cheerful bell that jingled each time the door opened.

Zhao Er nodded, shifting the weight on his shoulder pole. “It is run by an orphan girl, they say. Her pastries are especially good, light and flaky, not too sweet though, which some folks like.” He personally was used to heavy labor and liked his food rich, greasy, and sweet, but he had heard the praise from his better paid foreman.

“Let us go home first,” he said, practical. “Once we are settled and unpacked, I will bring you all here to eat something proper.” He remembered this shop sold a range, both expensive delicacies shaped like flowers and cheap, filling buns.

But now that his wife and children had finally arrived in Xinghexian, a moment he had dreamed of during long nights, he didn't mind spending a bit more for a treat. Occasional indulgence, he reasoned, wouldn't hurt.

Nowadays, thanks to the new magistrate’s rules, Xinghexian had an official minimum wage system for registered laborers. After a full month of work, he could earn enough copper and silver to support the whole family without them starving, a solid feeling.

If his wife could find some light work too, even if it earned only a few copper coins a day, they might actually start saving a bit each year, a previously impossible thought.

They would even have enough, in time, for their son’s future betrothal gift and their daughter’s dowry, securing their place in the world.

“Lao Er, do you think I could find some work here in Xinghexian?” Madam Feng asked tentatively as they walked. “Something like sewing or washing clothes, or cooking for a family? The county is more prosperous now, I am sure there are wealthy households around needing help.”

“That would be good,” Zhao Er said, considering, “but since I am not home most days at the timber yard, you will have to find something you can do from the house or nearby. When I come back in the evenings, I can watch the kids. You know,” he added, an idea forming, “you should go check out the literacy class when you have time. Learn a few characters. If you can read even a little, maybe a scholar’s family or a shopkeeper of status would be more willing to hire you for better work.”

“Learn… characters?” Madam Feng blinked, utterly confused, as if he had suggested she learn to fly. “What characters?”

As they spoke, they turned down a narrower lane and reached the small, walled house they had rented.

It was a modest, neglected courtyard, half ruined, with only one room truly livable. The main hall had fallen into disrepair, its roof sagging, and whenever it rained, water leaked through the broken tiles like the sky itself had torn open. Still, the rent was cheap, a crucial factor, so Zhao Er had taken it, planning to patch up the worst of the roof with some salvaged tiles later. But with the year end work rush and extra shifts for holiday pay, he hadn't found the time yet.

“Mother, I don't want to live here,” their son muttered, tugging at her sleeve and looking at the crumbling wall with clear disappointment.

Zhao Er chuckled, a sound both fond and weary. He went inside the single room, set down their luggage with a thump, then came back out and lifted the boy into his arms, rubbing his hair fondly. “Just make do for a few days. Once Father gets a day off, he will fix the place up, and it will look nice and dry again, you will see.”

Madam Feng’s eyes swept around the dusty courtyard, assessing. She was already thinking where to start cleaning first, which walls to sweep, which corner to set up the cooking stove.

While looking around at the work ahead, she said, “You haven't finished what you said about learning to read.”

“Oh, right,” Zhao Er said, setting his son down. “There is a public literacy class in the county, run by the magistrate’s office. From basic strokes to advanced, they teach people over a thousand common characters. It runs for half an hour every afternoon, right after the main workday ends. Five new characters each day. Each city gate district has a small schoolhouse nearby, so everyone can get there and back before the curfew bell.”

Madam Feng’s eyes, which had been focused on the practical, lit up with a kind of hesitant wonder. “It doesn't cost any money? There is really something that good in the world?”

Zhao Er shook his head firmly. “No money needed. Not a single coin. Sometimes they even give out hot water or a bit of broth to encourage people, you just need to bring your own bowl.”

“But I am a woman…” she asked softly, almost to herself, tugging nervously at her worn sleeve. “Would it be proper for me to go? Would they allow it?”

Reading and writing were things only rich families’ daughters, kept in inner chambers, could do, were they not? How could someone like her, a laborer’s wife, deserve that gift?

Before she could talk herself out of the budding hope, Zhao Er said, “Why wouldn't it be proper? Men and women are taught in separate rooms or at different times, and the county even encourages women to learn! The County Magistrate herself is a woman, a highly educated one, and she praises women who study. Says it makes for better mothers and wiser households.”

Hearing that she truly could, without sin or shame, learn to read, Madam Feng pressed her lips together to suppress the sudden, overwhelming smile and smiled faintly instead. She was excited, a flutter in her chest. She had always, secretly, wanted to learn.

Her husband and her elder brother could both read basic accounts. When she was little, she would secretly trace characters in the dirt with a stick while her brother practiced his homework at the table, until her mother dragged her away to do chores, scolding her for disturbing his important studies.

Her brother had only studied seriously for three years before their family used a connection to get him a position as an accountant in a town grain shop. But people with learning, she had learned, didn't always have good hearts.

After she married Zhao Er, his family fell on hard times, and life grew bitterly difficult. In all these years of struggle, only her own mother had come to visit twice, walking a long way to bring her a precious half dozen eggs.

Her brother’s children, meanwhile, wore fine silk clothes for the New Year. He had never thought to help her, his own sister, not once, with even a bag of rice.

And yet, when she got married, half of Zhao Er’s modest betrothal gift had stayed behind with her family, as was custom. She knew it had all been spent on her brother’s advancement and his family’s comfort.

For a long time, she had resented him, resented the fate that gave her such a hard life while others prospered through her sacrifice. But now, standing in this poor but promising courtyard, things were finally looking up. The bitterness of those years didn't seem so sharp, so unbearable anymore.

At least she could learn. At least she could live under one roof with her husband and children, safe and together. One thousand characters, that was a vast ocean of knowledge. She could study for a very, very long time. That meant her happiness, this new fragile hope, could last just as long.

The family tidied up together, arranging their few possessions simply without a deep clean yet. They didn't light a fire for a proper lunch, eating instead the cold food Zhao Er had bought the day before in anticipation, a feast by their standards, braised duck with glossy skin, a plate of dried tofu stewed with shiitake mushrooms and pickled buns, and a few precious lotus flower pastries. Salty, sweet, perfectly rich, it was the kind of meal that made you keep eating even after you were full, savoring each flavor.

After eating, they rested for a bit on the packed earth floor, the children dozing, before Madam Feng decided she must go out.

Although Zhao Er had already bought most of the New Year goods, the children had special, unspoken cravings, and Zhao Er, being a man alone, didn't really understand what they liked, so he had picked the wrong things, too practical or too adult.

The holidays were just two days away, and many shops would soon close for the festivities, so she wanted to buy a few more small things while she still could.

When she suggested going out to the market, Zhao Er readily agreed, eager to show his family more of the town.

He hadn't seen his wife for a long year. Pulling her gently into his arms in the privacy of their room, he said, “There is a new foot bath hall in the county. I have passed it but never gone inside. I have got some money on me from last week’s pay, take it all. It has been ages since we were all together, why don't we go relax there? Get the road dust out of your bones.”

“I am not going,” she said quickly, pulling back slightly. “If you want to go, take the kids. I will just walk around outside the shops.” She was immediately worried about the cost. Paying good money just to wash one’s feet? It sounded ridiculous, a luxury for idle rich.

Still, she didn't stop him outright, knowing how hard he worked all day with heavy timber. It was the New Year, after all, and he deserved a bit of enjoyment, a small reward.

“If you are not going, I don't want to go either,” he said, his simple loyalty clear.

Hearing that, her resistance softened. “Fine, let us at least take a look from the outside.”

They could always check the price list posted first. If it wasn't reasonable, she simply wouldn't go in. It wasn't like anyone could force her through the door.

So the family cleaned up a little, brushing the travel dust from their clothes, and headed toward the reputed foot bath hall. Along the way, the children, their spirits lifted by food and family, wanted the bright red candied hawthorns on a stick from a street vendor, so Zhao Er bought one for each of them, the sugar glistening. Madam Feng didn't say anything, just watched quietly, a softness in her eyes.

Near the foot bath hall was a commercial street that had been newly divided and paved by the magistrate’s orders. Zhao Er thought they might as well look around the shops first. Once they got a massage, walking afterward would just be tiring, he reasoned.

Madam Feng was curious too, her gaze glancing from one neat shop front to the next as they walked. But when they entered the mouth of the street, she froze. Her earlier observation from the main road intensified here, most of the shops were openly run by women. A dozen shops or so in a row, and not a single male shopkeeper or assistant was in sight behind the counters.

At first, she was surprised, then, on closer look at the women’s graceful movements and fine, if simple, clothing, she frowned. The women were all beautiful in various ways, and as they passed by the open doors, a faint, consistent scent of powder and flowers lingered in the cold air.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked sharply, her tone turning cold and tight. She thought he was mocking her, showing her these painted women to highlight her own travel worn plainness.

Zhao Er was confused, following her gaze. “To buy things, of course! They sell rouge and powder here, and some good cloth too. It is New Year, we should get some new cotton and fabric to make clothes for you and the children.”

“Does this look like a proper cloth shop to you?” she said, openly angry now, her cheeks flushing.

He glanced into the nearest shop, saw the bolts of colorful silk and the elegant woman measuring it, and finally realized what she meant, the assumption she had made.

Hurriedly, he said with an embarrassed laugh, “Ah, a misunderstanding, a big misunderstanding! You are right, these women, they were not doing this kind of shopwork before. But ever since Lin Xianling came to power, she banned all brothels and forbade anyone from selling their bodies. These women have proper, honest jobs now. This is their vocational street.”

He pointed toward the end of the street where two watchful, uniformed figures stood. “See there? Those are the patrols the County Magistrate herself sent to protect them and keep order. Lin Xianling even visits here sometimes to check on business. Women can shop here safely now, and men are not allowed to loiter or lay a hand on anyone. The rules are strict. Don't misunderstand them, or the magistrate’s work.”

“This…” Madam Feng still found it hard to believe such a transformation, but she knew her husband wouldn't lie to her about something so serious. She looked again, seeing the women’s focused expressions as they worked, the lack of leering customers.

Just then, loud, agitated voices broke out from a shop a few doors ahead. An old woman with a shrill voice was arguing with a young shop girl in the doorway.

“I told you to wash the clothes properly! Once or twice not perfectly clean, fine, I am forgiving! But every single time? And you still want full pay? I am already being generous giving you anything at all!” The old woman stood on the steps, hands on her hips, her voice sharp as a knife.

“I did wash them! You are just never satisfied!” the young laundress, her sleeves rolled up, shouted back, her face flushed with anger. “I wash for three other shops on this street too, and no one has ever complained! Their clothes are spotless!”

“It is the New Year, I don't want to argue and ruin the mood,” the shop girl said coldly, arms crossed. “Take your reduced money and leave.” She clearly didn't want a scene disrupting business, but she wasn't about to be cheated either.

“If you give me this insulting money, I will quit tomorrow! But you pay me what you truly owe first!” The young woman refused to back down, her pride clearly stung.

She reached into the large wooden bucket by the shop door, pulled out a damp, blue sleeve, and shook it out, spreading it for all the growing crowd to see.

“I didn't want to embarrass you publicly, but you are asking for it! Everyone, look! Is this what properly washed clothes are supposed to look like? Is this clean?”

Standing nearby with her family, Madam Feng saw the sleeve clearly. It wasn't clean. Stiff, greyish stains were visible at the cuff, and the fabric had a dingy look. Anyone who had ever done laundry could tell at a glance the old woman had been lazy, had not used enough soap or scrubbing.

Other women came out from nearby shops, most of them knowing the young shop girl. They stood by her, their voices rising in united support. They scolded the old woman for her poor work and dishonesty, and even said she ought to return the money she had already taken for previous, likely shoddy work.

Losing face under the public criticism, the old woman snapped back, her spite showing, “Whore from a brothel! You think I want to wash your filthy clothes? You strut around here in gold and silver now, bullying your elders! No respect for your betters, you will get beaten to death someday for your insolence!”

At that ugly, intentional slur, the young woman’s eyes reddened with raw fury, the hurt visible beneath the anger.

“So what if I came from a brothel? You knew that when you took the job washing for this street! Why take my money every week if you couldn't stand the source? Our County Magistrate was the one who gave us this chance to change! We live and work together here, and we have all gone straight. We don't sell our bodies anymore, and our legal status isn't lower than yours now! You watch your mouth, old woman, or I will report you to the patrol and make sure you regret it!”

The other women from the shops, her sisters in reform, bristled at the insult too, closing ranks around her.

“We earn our living with our own hands now! Our money is clean! Not like you, lazy and deceitful! Any house that hires you is cursed with bad luck!”

“Truly, some people live too long and grow too rotten in their hearts!” one of them spat out, the collective frustration of a lifetime of such scorn behind her words.

Chapter Text

A crowd had quickly gathered in front of the shop, drawn by the raised voices. Many of the girls working in the shops on this street could read and write now, having attended the literacy classes, so when they argued, their words were precise and cut sharper than knives, leaving the old woman sputtering.

The old woman on the other side, red faced and realizing she couldn't win verbally against their collective, educated scorn, raised a bony hand as if to strike the young laundress.

Seeing that a physical fight was about to break out, the onlookers, including some men who had stopped to watch, hurried forward to intervene and stop them, stepping between the two women.

Madam Feng, acting on instinct, pushed to the front and blocked the old woman’s arm, saying firmly, “Alright, alright, you're at fault here too. You've already taken the money for work not done, so just leave it at that. Why make such a public scene here? Do you really want this to end up in the magistrate’s court, with fines or worse?”

Zhao Er held his two children close to his legs, worried his wife might get hurt while trying to help. He picked up his wide eyed daughter and kept his fidgeting son by his side, ready to shield them or pull his wife back if things got out of hand. Fortunately, several other bystanders, both men and women, joined in to separate the two arguing parties before the situation could turn truly ugly.

As the shouting grew louder, attracting more attention, a few patrol yamen officers in their distinctive dark blue uniforms arrived, their stern faces demanding order. They asked what was going on, their hands resting on the clubs at their belts.

The old woman, suddenly realizing the real trouble she was in and seeing the official insignia, stammered a few incoherent words and claimed it was nothing, just a minor disagreement, before turning and scurrying off into the crowd like a startled rat, her earlier bravado gone.

Once the excitement was over, the crowd, having gotten their spectacle, quickly dispersed, returning to their shopping.

Madam Feng stepped forward toward the shop girl and asked gently, “Miss, with that woman gone, do you happen to need more help with the washing? I'm new in town and looking for honest work.”

Cai Wei, the young shopkeeper, recognized her as the woman who had just stepped in to stop the fight and felt a bit of natural warmth toward her for the intervention.

“There are clothes for about ten people who work on this street to wash, no more than that. Coming once every three days will do. Five hundred cash a month, paid on time. If you want the job, it's yours. But,” she added, her gaze turning serious, “you heard what happened earlier, we're not from what society calls clean backgrounds. If you ever try to use that against us, or gossip, don't blame me for cutting your pay or letting you go. Even if you go complain to the County Magistrate herself, we won't be afraid, because we're within our rights here.”

Madam Feng could tell the girl had her guard up, her tone defensive, likely because of the fresh sting of the old woman’s insult.

These women had all come from brothels, a fact everyone knew. Naturally, they hated hearing others throw that past in their faces. But they had cleaned up their lives now, by the magistrate’s own decree, and Madam Feng wasn't a narrow minded woman. So long as they weren't carrying some vile disease, washing clothes was washing clothes, it made no practical difference whose clothes they were.

“Of course, I understand completely,” Madam Feng said, her tone earnest. “You have my word, I'm just here for the work.”

Cai Wei, seeing that Madam Feng’s attitude was reasonable and her eyes sincere, softened her expression a little and asked, “When can you start work?”

“Today is fine, if you have the clothes ready.” Madam Feng straightened her simple jacket and stood upright, ready to begin immediately, her hands clasped before her.

Zhao Er, listening nearby, felt his shoulders hunch and a knot tighten in his chest. It was the New Year holiday, a rare time for family reunion after a long separation, and here was his wife, just arrived, already out seeking work to contribute. He didn't mind her working for these women, he had heard through the timber yard gossip that the girls running these shops generally treated their hired helpers well. They earned a share of commission from what they sold, so the shop profits were decent. They would hire others to do chores like cleaning or laundry, pay fairly, and never overwork anyone, knowing the value of dignity.

No man with any heart wanted his wife to suffer or labor if it could be helped. If he had the means to feed the family comfortably by himself, he would rather she stayed home, rested, and cared for the children. Two young kids were already a handful for him to imagine managing alone, let alone for her doing it day in and day out. But with two growing mouths to feed and little savings to fall back on, they had no real choice. The guilt sat heavily on him.

Cai Wei, sharp eyed, noticed his somber mood and the way he looked at his wife. She said gently, but practically, “Then come start after the New Year festivities are done. Give me your address, and I'll send a small deposit in a few days to confirm your spot. If you change your mind later, just let me know early. Finding someone reliable on short notice is troublesome for us.”

Hearing she would get money in advance, a sign of good faith, Madam Feng’s face lit up with unfeigned joy. “Got it, Miss. Thank you.”

She carefully gave her address in the poor lane, and just like that, she had secured herself a steady job in Xinghexian, a thread of security.

Washing for ten people and drying the clothes over three days was not hard work at all for someone used to labor. Only the walk back and forth with the heavy, wet bundles might be a bit tiring. After arranging everything, the couple continued their stroll along the commercial street, stopping now and then to look at the displayed goods. The delicate glass cups in one window, costing a tael or two of silver each, were far beyond their reach, but it didn't hurt to take a look and marvel at their clarity.

As they walked, Zhao Er said, trying to sound knowledgeable, “I heard from the foreman that once the magistrate’s glassworks get to mass producing things, they'll be much cheaper, maybe in a year or two.”

Madam Feng snorted softly. “Even if they drop to a tenth of that price, I wouldn't buy one. What is the use? We've got a bronze mirror at home that does the same job, and clay cups hold water just fine.”

Hearing that, Zhao Er only felt more guilty, his chest tight. His wife had been with him through lean years, and aside from the few thin pieces of jewelry she had brought into the marriage from her own family, she had never bought anything new or frivolous for herself. Her wants were always pared down to the essential.

They talked and laughed softly as they walked, the children now skipping ahead, until they reached the edge of the bathhouse district, where the foot bath hall was located.

Just as they arrived near the entrance, a young man handing out papers approached and pressed a flyer into Zhao Er’s hand.

“What is this?” He could read a little, but not well enough to make out every character smoothly. He guessed at half of them based on their shape and the few he recognized.

“It's for the county athletic meet,” said the man handing out flyers briskly. “The county is holding it in early spring. Register now at the yamen before the deadline in a few days. Spread the word.”

“What kind of meet?” Zhao Er didn't quite understand, looking at the crude but clear drawings of figures running and lifting weights on the paper.

The man waved him off slightly impatiently, busy looking for the next person. “It's all written there. Three copper coins to register. The County Magistrate herself is organizing it. Winners get silver prizes, good silver.”

So it turned out that Lin Qian, finding herself with unusual idle time lately between administrative cycles, had taken on a new project, hosting a small athletic competition in town come spring. The aim was civic spirit and another small revenue stream.

The idea had actually come from Player Qin Qing during one of their meetings, a concept from her world called ‘community sports day,’ and Lin Qian had agreed without much hesitation, seeing the potential for morale and modest profit.

They had set aside a roughly eight hundred meter long field near the old hunting grounds outside the west gate, planning to lay out simple props and build basic seating once the weather warmed. Prizes were deliberately simple and attractive, first place, three taels of silver, second place, two taels, third place, one tael. Anyone free or bonded could sign up. Specific rules would be decided and judged by appointed referees from the yamen clerks and a few respected elders.

Events included weightlifting with stone blocks, shot put with rounded rocks, short distance running, cuju football, and fancy archery at straw targets, things common folk could join without special training. The event wouldn't be free to watch, spectators had to pay ten copper coins per ticket, limited to a thousand seats. Of those, one hundred were premium seats under shaded pavilions, costing fifty coins each and including a cup of hot tea. Pre sales would last only two days, and participants had to register in person at the county yamen’s Rites Office, just like scholars did for imperial exams, making it feel official.

Men, women, and even the disabled could join, though for now, only running events were open to those with mobility disabilities, and anyone missing an arm or hand couldn't participate in weight events for obvious reasons. The magistrate had noted that if the games began with people crawling across the ground, it would be unclear whether it was meant to inspire pity or mockery, a line she didn't want to cross.

All the proceeds would go toward building and maintaining the simple venue and funding the prizes. Any surplus would enter the county treasury for other public works. If the event went well, it could become an annual tradition, improving year by year. If not, no big loss, the costs were modest anyway, mostly labor and materials on hand.

Before hosting, announcements were posted across Xinghexian in high traffic areas, one in the bathhouse district, one at Manman Pastry Shop, and another at the City God Temple gate.

Those interested, spurred by the chance of silver and fame, quickly went to sign up at the yamen, forming small lines.

Strong men and fast runners, hearing that the entry fee was less than the price of a single meat bun, eagerly registered. Many were dockworkers from the wharf, all wiry and powerful from daily hauling. Thanks to the county’s new wage and work hour regulations, they had even started putting on a little weight lately, a novel feeling. But the poor were still poor. Once they filled their bellies, they worried about clothes, once they were warm, they worried about marriage. Winning a prize at the meet might not only earn them silver but also bring local fame, maybe even catch the eye of a wealthy household looking for strong guards or laborers. These so called “lowborn” people had quiet ambitions too.

Out of Xinghexian’s ten thousand residents, about three thousand were able bodied young men. Of those, over three hundred had already signed up. Some registered for multiple events, running, shot put, and weightlifting alike, hoping to increase their odds.

A few women had joined as well, though only about thirty of them, mostly sturdy women in their thirties or forties, and most chose shot put. They likely thought they had the solid strength for it from years of grinding grain and carrying water. Curiously, almost none picked weightlifting, perhaps seeing it as too distinctly masculine.

Lin Qian encouraged all participation, organizing ten people per group for preliminaries and rewarding the top three in each round. The deadline for registration was one month after the New Year, with the games themselves scheduled for the third month when the willows budded. By then, businesses would have reopened after the holiday, the weather would warm, and people would go out for spring outings, a perfect time for such a public event.

The number of registrants so far, given the informal advertising, looked quite promising to the clerks.

That morning, in the magistrate’s compound, Lin Qian had woken up late, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of steamed buns and porridge, and now sat idly in her warm study to practice calligraphy, the brush moving slowly. In her past life, she had been busy with corporate work. In this one, she was busy with county official duties. Long, uninterrupted vacations like this, with a gentle snow falling outside, were rare and almost disorienting.

Outside, it had begun to snow again in earnest, though she hadn't noticed from inside the heated chamber, absorbed in her writing. After finishing a page of elegant characters, she reached for a walnut cake from a side plate and finally saw the thick flakes drifting silently past the latticed window screen.

She called for a servant to open a small upper window for air and sat by the couch near it, watching the snow blanket the courtyard. She thought she might as well use this quiet time to check on the status screens of the Players she had stationed across Xinghexian’s countryside, a managerial habit.

But before she could mentally open the interface, a servant came to the study door to report that the team of people sent to the countryside for the winter relief and land allocation work had returned unexpectedly early. They were the ones Qin Qing and Liu Yang had recommended, fellow Players from Earth who had volunteered for the gritty fieldwork.

After the local gentry of Xinghexian, under pressure, had returned the unlawfully seized villagers’ lands, Lin Qian had once again conducted a detailed population and land survey. The results weren't terrible, though not great either. A bit over ten thousand people in the county total, around two thousand registered households. Surprisingly, the survey revealed nearly a hundred of those were effectively landless refugees or displaced persons without any proper household registration, living on the margins. After confirming the numbers, she had allocated them a piece of communal wasteland to reclaim and farm, a policy ensuring they would have a livelihood while she would collect modest taxes from them later, bringing them into the system.

But implementation on the ground was always harder than planning from the yamen.

Some refugees were forced into their lot by circumstance, others had chosen a rootless life. Farming depended entirely on the weather and hard labor, and to some, paying taxes to a distant court felt uncertain and unrewarding. A few had even expressed they would rather sell their newly granted field for a lump sum of silver, use it to marry a wife or buy a donkey, then lease the land right back to tenant farmers. The tenants would work themselves to exhaustion, while the original owner, now turned small rentier, would still earn his due every year without sweating.

Lin Qian could never quite understand that short sighted logic, though her clerks said it was common.

In these simple folks’ eyes, the local gentry sometimes seemed generous and fair, offering loans in hard times, yet those same gentry could exploit them worse than the imperial tax collectors ever would when the power imbalance was great. So to ensure the relief effort worked properly and the land was actually farmed, she had to send reliable, observant people to oversee it, managing not just crops but encouraging side livelihoods like pig raising, chicken keeping, and vegetable gardening. Basically, it was the ancient version of targeted poverty alleviation.

Many Players were eager for those positions, especially those who wanted to livestream their ‘rural governance’ progress and earn viewer rewards. Among all the Players, only Liu Yang and Qin Qing had direct, regular access to the County Magistrate. After some observation and private interviews, the two of them had recommended a shortlist of seemingly competent, trustworthy candidates for Lin Qian to send out.

Since there were too many Players for her to monitor personally with constant updates, Lin Qian had checked in on them briefly during a group send off before they left for the countryside. They had seemed reliable enough at the time, earnest and full of modern ideas, so she had let them be, giving them basic instructions and authority. She hadn't followed up with detailed inspections since, planning to wait until after the New Year to review their work reports and results. But apparently, they had returned early to the county seat on their own initiative.

Chapter Text

Lin Qian had a servant fetch the group of people who had gone out to the countryside for the relief work, telling them to report directly to her study to account for their early return.

"Wah wah wah wah, Daren." A figure wrapped in a thick, quilted cotton padded coat stepped in from the cold outside, snow still dusting their rounded shoulders like powdered sugar, looking utterly wronged and tearful, their voice hiccuping with sobs.

The newcomer was a girl about one meter seventy five in height, her black hair tied up carelessly in a simple knot. Among this crowd of handsome and pretty players, she wasn't much to look at, maybe a bit below average in conventional features, but she was neat and clean enough. She wore a dark blue, somewhat shapeless padded coat that made her look like a bundled little dumpling, and the single topknot, lacking any hairpin, gave her a slightly Taoist or scholarly look.

Winter had bitten her cheeks and nose, leaving them bright, chapped red, and despite the bitter cold she hadn't bothered with any protective face cream, which made her look both festive like a New Year’s decoration and a little silly, a picture of rustic distress.

When Lin Qian saw her sobbing so openly like that, she didn't quite know how to react or comfort her, her usual administrative composure faltering momentarily.

"Song, Song Can, you're still working out in the village during the New Year holiday?" she asked, trying to steer toward practical matters.

Song Can sniffled wetly, all tears and visible misery, but her livestream audience watching through her perspective had the exact opposite reaction, the chat scrolling with amusement.

"Hahaha, first time I've seen Lin Daren look so genuinely flustered. Priceless expression."

"It's obvious she never babysat kids before, total meltdown in the face of tears. lolol"

"Song Can, let Sister comfort you~ come here!"

"Don't cry, babe, you'll scare our future emperor off."

"Can Can literally ran all the way here from the countryside to Daren’s place just to cry, Daren’s face is priceless lol."

"This stream is hilarious. It's so rare to see Daren off duty today, and she's wearing civilian clothes too!"

Indeed, Lin Qian wasn't wearing her official magistrate’s robes today, taking a true day of rest.

She had gone back to feminine clothing for comfort, but it was still modest and plain, a deep purple garment of good wool that suited her refined, upright bearing. She had always looked sharp and composed even as a kid, probably because she wasn't fidgety and had gotten used to standing and sitting straight from young. Back in her home countryside people had often said she looked worldly, like she didn't come from a village.

In the Zhao Empire there weren't strict sumptuary laws about who could wear purple or yellow, but purple dye, derived from certain mollusks or plants, was rare and expensive, so few ordinary people bought it. People there also tended to avoid sun exposure when wearing it, because sun darkened skin could look rough and dull against the purple. Lin Qian’s outfit had been quietly ordered by Madam Qiu. Before they were financially stable, the family had only been able to make her a set of male scholar’s clothes. This year, with the family’s wrongful accusations officially cleared and Lin Qian finally drawing a regular official stipend, Madam Qiu had gone to the best cloth shop in the county and ordered both a new male set and this female set so she could change as she wished.

Seeing Daren looking so genteel and pretty in the soft light of the study, Song Can got suddenly embarrassed that she had been crying so ugly in front of her, and hurried to pull a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her tears. After a frantic patting moment she realized her handkerchief was missing, probably thrown somewhere during her agitated journey, and she froze, tear streaks still glistening.

Lin Qian gave a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, stood up from her chair by the warmed brick bed, and walked over to hand her own clean, white linen handkerchief over.

"Let's sort out whatever's wrong later, why the sudden sniffling?" she said, her voice calm.

Because they were both women, there was no particular social awkwardness in the gesture. But when Lin Qian reached out with the handkerchief, her movements graceful, Song Can strangely flushed for a moment, the red on her cheeks deepening. If the wind hadn't already reddened her face so thoroughly, Lin Qian might have noticed the sudden extra heat rising there.

Lin Qian herself didn't react, her expression one of mild, patient inquiry, but Song Can’s livestream audience was already losing it, comments flooding in.

"Hahahaha, crisis solved by an NPC’s handkerchief. Classic."

"But wait, Lin Qian is the game’s main heroine, she's not really an NPC in the traditional sense."

"As expected of the woman who is going to be emperor one day. That commanding yet gentle aura."

"Daren is so gentle~ my heart is melting."

"Women who know how to cry are the luckiest. They get handkerchiefs from future rulers."

"Yuri forever! I'm here for this dynamic!"

"Is this a special hidden scene? Daren's got affection points, is this the start of a romance route?"

"No way, why didn't I get a beta ticket for this route!!"

Song Can, oblivious to the chat frenzy, blew her nose unceremoniously into the fine handkerchief and looked up at Lin Qian with reddened, rabbit like eyes, "Daren, I told them, I urged them to farm the land properly, but they're just slacking, sitting around gambling with sticks. They even say openly they want to sell the fields you gave them as soon as the deed is final. They don't listen to reason at all."

Song Can was a recent college graduate, and the real world job market was rough, so she was applying for positions while also tending her game account for income. Before she had the game account she had seriously considered the civil service exam, not just for a guaranteed post but because she genuinely, idealistically wanted to serve the people, to make a tangible difference.

Her grandfather had fought in the War to Resist the US and Aid Korea, both her parents were long time Party members, her father worked in geological survey and her mother was a high school teacher. Growing up in that household she had formed very proper, socialist core values and a real desire to help people, but her academic grades and exam stamina hadn't quite kept up with her ideals.

She had pulled countless late nights studying, took the gaokao twice and had barely reached the second tier line, then got assigned a university major she didn't particularly like. Her parents had always done well academically, and even they couldn't quite understand how a family of three generations of intellectuals had produced such an earnest but academically middling oddball.

After graduation she felt somewhat lost, and when the family offered to pull some strings for a stable office job she turned them down, not wanting to rely on connections. Once she finally secured a game account through sheer persistence, she felt she had finally found a way to feel like she was serving the people, and she could even make some legitimate money from it. Times change, and her parents eventually accepted her unconventional choice to be an online streamer as long as the money came from honest sources. The Song family could have supported her financially forever if needed, so as long as she kept busy and out of trouble, there wasn't much anyone could say.

But now she faced the first major, demoralizing problem of her "career" within the game.

She had thought going to help poor farmers would be heartwarming, a way to share hardship and do palpable good. She hadn't expected that even among hardworking farmers there would be lazy, opportunistic ones too. The county magistrate had allocated land to them, a precious chance, and they had taken it only to try to sell it off immediately for quick silver and become landless vagrants again, squandering the opportunity.

Lin Qian listened to her frustrated report and didn't take it as a huge, insurmountable problem. She said simply, a practical edge to her tone, "You must know, there are no truly incorrigible people in this world. This Official regards the populace as her subjects, and unless someone is born dull witted and hopeless, they can be taught, their habits shaped. If the people of a county can't live in peace and industry, then the fault lies with the officials who govern them, not solely with the people’s nature.

They won't work? Very well. Come spring, when the ground thaws, This Official will send a few more hands from the yamen your way. Men with measuring rods and authority. Under the persuasive rod you'll always get a couple of the stubborn to see sense. If they flatly refuse to plant grain, then have them do corvée labor on county roads or irrigation ditches to earn their food. One day, when they see their neighbors eating from their own harvest, they'll learn some sense. Hunger and observation are often the best teachers."

"Ah?" Song Can hesitated, blinking, "Daren, do you mean beat them? Is that allowed? Wouldn't that be… abusive?"

Lin Qian replied matter of factly, "Some things can't be solved by brute force, and some things, if done with proper legal justification and measured discipline, a few lashes of the light rod won't hurt them permanently but may stir their spirits. Don't fret over the method, focus on the result of settled, productive people. Now go rest and warm up for now. We'll deal with it concretely after the New Year. It's deathly cold in winter, don't catch your death running about." With that, she ordered her maid Jiaoyue, who was waiting by the door, to fetch one of her personal, unused copper soup ladles from the kitchen and handed it to Song Can. "Take this. Have the kitchen make you some hot ginger soup before you go back. It'll ward off the cold."

Song Can took Lin Qian’s ladle, the metal cool in her hand, and when she was ushered out by the maid she still looked slightly dazed, the crying fit over, replaced by bewildered contemplation.

At that exact moment a semi transparent game system prompt popped up in her vision, 【Congratulations Player Song Can, you have gained +10 favor points with County Magistrate Lin Qian】.

The chat, seeing the notification through her stream overlay, exploded again.

"It just increased favor? That was fast!"

"What's that favor good for actually? Has anyone maxed it?"

"Is it for romancing the main heroine? Can you actually become an imperial consort or official spouse?"

"They should call it 'loyalty points' or 'route points' instead. What kind of historical sim game gives so much freedom, and the hidden ending is to be the heroine’s husband or wife? I'm here for it."

"Does favor determine how high your future official rank can go in her court?"

"People not playing in Xinghexian region are missing out big time. I heard only like five people have the magistrate’s favor right now."

"I saw the VOD recap, it's Qin Qing and Liu Yang, Jian Xiu and Shan Mo, and now Song Can."

"When did Qin and Liu get favor? I missed that stream."

"Last time they helped solve that vagrant shelter problem, they got +10 each, heard the stream was offline mode then for privacy."

"Earlier, Lu Manman also got +2 because she cooked so well and is an orphan, Daren liked her initiative."

"Lu Manman seems low key talented. This game is weirdly easy for her. She just bakes and gets points."

"She was a 996 office worker before, seems like she was saving all her luck for later, now she gets to enjoy a simple life in game."

"I just keep being unlucky in my server, hope my luck changes soon."

"Don't trust that luck stuff, seriously! Just grind!"

By the end of the year in Xinghexian, with the New Year festivities imminent, most shops had already shut up shop, their owners enjoying the holiday with family. Only Lu Manman’s snack shop, due to her Player status and desire for incremental income, still sold pastries during limited hours.

With most households already stocked up for the New Year feasts and the persistent cold making folks stay indoors by their hearths, business wasn't booming, so Lu Manman had already given her two in game hired NPC employees a holiday a few days earlier. They were simple background characters, so game fatigue wasn't really an issue, but having been an overworked employee herself in real life, she didn't want to squeeze them too hard, even digitally.

The morning’s customers were sparse, just a few last minute shoppers.

She had heard through the town gossip that there was an Ao Mountain lantern viewing festival in a neighboring town, maybe some local folk festival, and she thought of closing early to go browse the lights for her stream content. Her streams were usually fixed in the pastry shop interior, and the audience appreciated the occasional change of scenery. She stood behind the counter, stretched her arms, and heard muffled, overlapping voices carrying from a distant alley that connected to her street.

Because the main street was now relatively empty, voices carried further even from a couple of alleys away.

Lu Manman looked out her shop door and saw a bunch of players, identifiable by their slightly anachronistic mannerisms, winding out of the alley, followed by Madam Li’s young daughter from the tofu shop across the way.

Rumor had it Madam Li had recently formally separated from her useless husband and come back to her natal home with her child. She and her sister in law had been having constant trouble under one roof, so Madam Li had moved out with her daughter into a rented room but kept working at the family tofu shop for wages, though life had gotten much tighter financially.

Lu Manman stepped out onto her front step, squinting against the grey light, and saw the women were from the newly formed Women’s Association, a magistrate sponsored group. Among them, notably, was one male player with a cross dressing female game account, his avatar visibly incongruous.

Madam Li, wiping her hands on her apron, smiled wearily and saw them off at her doorway, "Thank you all, coming by to check on us during the New Year and all. It's too much. Want a bowl of hot wontons before you go? The pastry shop ahead actually makes good savory wontons too."

"No trouble, we're not taking a single needle or thread from the common folk," came the official sounding reply from the association leader, a serious faced woman. "The county has allotted specific funds for our work and we have our own pay. We can't accept gifts."

Madam Li looked embarrassed, her smile strained, "It's too much trouble for you, you brought the child support money during the New Year, how can we let you leave without even having a cup of tea? It doesn't feel right."

"This is what we're meant to do, it's our duty," the leader said firmly. "Big Sister Li, if you have trouble later collecting the monthly payment, you come to us directly. If that Wang fellow still won't give the money, we'll drag him to the yamen ourselves and make sure he gets the board until he complies."

Madam Li nodded gratefully, her eyes a little shiny, "Thanks to all the Women’s Association sisters, truly. I don't know what we would've done."

She insisted on treating them several times, her voice pleading, but when they truly, politely refused, sticking to their rules, she finally let it go, watching them walk down the street in a neat group, their purposefulness a stark contrast to the holiday languor around them.

Chapter Text

The members of Xinghexian’s Women’s Association greeted Lu Manman warmly when they saw her standing outside her shop.

“Are you still streaming during the New Year holiday?” asked Su Weiyang, one of the more active members, her breath making small clouds in the cold air.

“I will keep streaming,” she said with a quiet smile, hugging her arms against the chill. “Going home for the real New Year won’t affect it much, though I probably won’t stream on the actual first day of the year, out of respect.” She gestured back into the shop. “Here, have some leftover pastries from this morning.” She handed over a small, neatly tied box.

But the winter chill had everyone too lazy to move their hands from their sleeves, so no one actually reached for them immediately.

“So, got any special plans for your stream? You can’t exactly open your shop in game during the New Year itself, right?” another member asked curiously.

Lu Manman laughed, a light, easy sound. “I will just stream whatever I am doing, wherever I go. No special plans. Maybe I will visit the lantern market or just walk around town. Let it be natural.”

A few talent management companies and MCN agencies had actually approached her through private messages, wanting her to sign an exclusive contract with them and grow the account into something bigger with professional backing, but she had turned them all down politely. She had quit her draining office job to start streaming precisely because she wanted an easier, more self directed life. If she focused only on the money and viewer data again, she would end up just as anxious and trapped as before, trading one cage for another.

Now, her income from streaming and the in game pastry shop wasn’t bad at all, stable and growing slowly. After the New Year, she would have a decent amount saved, both in game and in real currency. Money mattered, sure, but she had decided she would rather earn a little less than exhaust herself chasing metrics. What she wanted most was for her streams to stay genuine, a reflection of her own pace and interests. Once too many outsiders with business agendas got involved, no matter how “professional” the team claimed to be, things just stopped feeling real, the pressure would creep back in.

When Su Weiyang heard she didn’t have any fixed plans, she invited her warmly. “We’re organizing a small charity event on New Year’s Day itself. The Women’s Association will host a gathering for widows and women who are preparing to sue for divorce due to domestic abuse, offer them a warm meal and some solidarity. If you would like, come join us. Your presence might be comforting, and you could stream it, show the positive work being done.”

Lu Manman thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “We’ll see. If I decide to come, I will tell you two days in advance and bring some snacks for everyone.”

“Alright. That would be lovely,” Su Weiyang said with a smile.

They chatted for a while longer about trivial things, the cold slowly seeping through their shoes, before Lu Manman’s phone, a sleek modern device incongruous in the ancient street, buzzed softly in her pocket with a message notification. It was from her parents in real life, asking if she would come home for the Lunar New Year. It had already been two full years since she last returned home. She had basically stopped going back since she started her first demanding job after university.

The first year, work had been too brutally busy and her boss too demanding about holiday coverage. Later, even when she had learned to save up her precious vacation days, she ended up arguing with her parents over life choices the moment she stepped through the door. That time, she had gone home with gifts, only to storm back out to the train station and return to her rented room in the city after another circular, frustrating fight.

The last text message they had exchanged was during the previous National Day holiday. She had asked if they had enough money for the winter, they had said they did, curtly. That was the entirety of the exchange.

Now that she had both time and a comfortable financial cushion, she didn’t really feel that acute homesick tug anymore. Back then, her future had felt profoundly unstable, everything uncertain. She had been anxious every single day, unable to settle down mentally. But now, after months in this game world building something from scratch, something inside her had shifted, solidified. She carried a quiet, newfound confidence, the sense that anywhere she stood could be home if she chose to make it so.

So she typed back on the cold screen, her fingers moving swiftly, "Not sure yet, might have work arrangements. I will let you know."

After sending it, she exhaled softly, a long plume of breath visible in the winter air, the decision made.

Her parents weren’t bad people, not malicious, but they had never treated her and her younger brother equally. She had always known intellectually about society’s deep rooted favoritism toward sons, but knowing it and feeling its daily weight were very different things. As a child, she had tried desperately to keep up appearances in front of her classmates, pretending her parents didn’t favor her brother in everything from praise to portions of meat. But now, as an adult with her own life, she found that pretense meaningless and exhausting.

Favoritism was favoritism, and there was nothing she could do to change their ingrained mindset. Arguing only wasted her energy.

Still, she didn’t want to be one of those people who blamed all their life’s misery on their parents. That was its own trap. The only thing she could control was to live well on her own terms and, perhaps most importantly, learn to love herself more.

After exchanging contact details with the Women’s Association members, Lu Manman watched them walk down the street and saw Madam Li turn and walk slowly back to her own rented room. At her doorstep, Madam Li ran into Madam Feng, who was coming out with a pot of flour paste and a set of red paper couplets to put up on her door.

When the Feng family had moved into this poor lane, the Lis had arrived around the same time. The little houses here were cheap and basic, perfect for those with little capital trying to start over.

Madam Li offered a small, polite smile, and Madam Feng returned it with a friendly nod, holding her pot of paste carefully.

“Those people who came earlier, were they from the Women’s Association?” Madam Feng asked conversationally, setting the pot down on a low wall.

Madam Feng had heard her husband mention the organization before. It was established by the county magistrate herself, a protection and advocacy bureau for women, helping those beaten by their husbands or those left homeless but still able bodied. Some of the volunteer teachers there even taught practical skills like basic makeup for shop work, pastry making, and embroidery. Once trained, women were given job referrals or small loans. Most women in Xinghexian now thought very well of such a group, a novel and powerful concept.

“Yes,” Madam Li said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. But to her, that association also meant she belonged to the category of women in need of help, a label that carried both gratitude and a sting of shame.

Her husband’s past abuse and betrayal were in the past, legally settled, yet thinking about it still made her hands tremble slightly. It wasn’t just because she had fought back physically once, but because she had dared to officially report him for what many neighbors still called a “small family matter.” Had it not been for Lin Daren’s new policies and personal intervention, things might have ended very differently for her, with her being forced back into that house. Even with the verdict, could she truly trust that the world would be fair to a woman who left her husband?

If not for her sheer luck in being in Xinghexian and Lin Daren’s fierce sense of justice, she might never have found such support.

After returning to her maiden home with her two young daughters, the gossip had spread quickly through the lanes.

“Getting beaten a few times, and she actually went to the yamen to file for divorce? What kind of woman is that?”

“She’s a married woman dragging along two burdens, two girls. Who would want her now?”

But who ever said she wanted to remarry? Couldn’t she just raise her girls quietly and live her own life? The assumption was its own insult.

Her children might not have been the prized sons, but they were still her own flesh and blood, their laughter her greatest solace.

And yet, those wagging tongues kept calling her daughters “burdens,” “mouths to feed.” Did none of them have a mother’s heart? The words cut deeply.

Seeing that Madam Li didn’t want to dwell on the heavy topic, Madam Feng smoothly changed the subject, gesturing to the couplets. “Your couplets look very nice, good calligraphy. We bought a set too from the market, going to put them up soon once this paste thickens a bit.”

“They are lovely,” Madam Li said, her smile reaching her eyes this time, grateful for the shift. “Makes the whole place feel properly festive, doesn’t it?”

At the tail end of the year, fireworks shops were doing brisk business, their windows filled with colorful packets, and Lao Zheng from the main firecracker store was in excellent spirits, rubbing his hands together. He was personally overseeing the final checks and transport for the official fireworks display that would light up the city square on New Year’s Eve, a contract from the magistrate’s office that paid well and brought prestige.

Most other businesses had already closed for the year, their shutters down. Chen An and his son Chen Ping had given their construction workers time off since the heavy snow made outdoor building work difficult anyway. They wandered the nearly empty main streets, planning to spend New Year’s Eve with Zheng Xue’s family, having formed a close business friendship.

Xingpingxian was just the neighboring county next to Xinghexian, but traveling home by cart still took two full days on winter roads. In this cold and with business to discuss, no one wanted that trouble.

Thanks to the magistrate’s sweeping reforms, the visible beggars and the disabled all had basic shelter in the charitable homes now, so there were no longer long, pathetic lines for porridge on the street corners. The wealthy who wished to donate did so through the yamen’s official channels instead, mostly giving old grain from their stores rather than coin. The magistrate, pragmatic, preferred food contributions over money for direct relief.

“Dad, this place is really amazing,” Chen Ping said as they walked, his boots crunching on frozen slush. Though he had gotten used to Xinghexian’s general peace and order, the vibrant, safe festive atmosphere still amazed him compared to their home county.

Chen An looked around quietly, taking in the clean streets and the sense of calm. After a long moment, he said, “We’ll see how next year goes. Once we sell off the last of our timber stock and save up a proper sum of silver, maybe we’ll buy a small plot of land here and build a proper house. I will talk to your mother about it when we visit.”

Chen Ping grinned from ear to ear at the prospect. They strolled together in comfortable silence until they reached Zheng Xue’s home, a well kept compound. Children were playing near the alley entrance, laughing and shouting as they threw small firecrackers that popped like beans in a pan.

In the past, parents rarely let kids roam freely like this. Kidnappers had been rampant in Xinghexian, preying on the poor. But ever since the new county magistrate arrived and made examples, that had changed dramatically. After the autumn assizes, she had publicly executed several convicted kidnappers, any adult who so much as attempted to steal a child faced the death penalty, no exceptions for first offenses.

That severe, unwavering justice alone had terrified the rest of the criminal element. For two straight months now, not a single kidnapping case had been reported.

Families had a little more disposable money now too, and parents were more generous with New Year treats and small red envelopes. The kids pooled their lucky money to buy strings of firecrackers from Lao Zheng’s shop, filling the alleys with endless, cheerful pops and bangs and the smell of gunpowder.

When Chen An and his son entered the Zheng compound, Madam Zheng had already prepared clean rooms for them to stay in for the holiday. Chen An presented their gift respectfully, a length of fine, sky blue silk. Glass cups were becoming common in Xinghexian now, so good silk was still a respectable, valuable present.

The Zhengs, aware the Chens hadn’t yet sold off all their stock and were still building capital, knew the gift was generous for their current means.

Madam Zheng accepted it with a gracious smile, chatted briefly about the cold and the children, then left the men to talk business in the main sitting room, which was warmed by a large charcoal brazier.

Zheng Xue, puffing thoughtfully on a long handled snuff pipe and wearing a heavy jade ring on his thumb, looked every bit the prosperous local merchant lord.

“Word from the couriers is, there’s unrest brewing again down south,” he said, his tone low and serious. “The southern kingdom, Nanzhao, is probing our borders again, attacking villages.”

“Again?” Chen An frowned, setting his teacup down. “Didn’t they just start trouble three or four years ago? Weren’t they crushed then? They’ve got some nerve showing up again so soon.”

Zheng Xue sighed, his usually jovial face looking grave. “That’s what happens when you offend a sleeping giant. His Majesty punished them harshly after the last rebellion, demanded ten thousand taels of silver in reparations and cut off their iron supply entirely. A stranglehold.”

Chen Ping, trying to sound knowledgeable, nodded wisely. “Serves them right. A tiny vassal state barking at its master? They’ve forgotten their place. If they can’t act like proper, respectful vassals, what good are they to the empire?”

Zheng Xue chuckled darkly, sipping his hot tea. “They’ve got no iron or copper mines of their own. Without our supply, their forges and armorers stopped cold. So now they’re desperate, attacking small towns and trade caravans left and right to steal metal. Even Yancheng’s coastal villages have been hit. The court knows, and despite the New Year, troops are being mobilized and sent to reinforce the southern border. Refugees from the skirmishes are already pouring into our prefecture. What a mess.”

He sighed again, a weary sound. “For us merchants, chaos and war are the worst things that can happen. Roads close, bandits multiply, markets collapse.”

Chen An nodded heavily, the reality sinking in. “Who isn’t afraid of chaos? Commoners, traders, doctors, farmers, even landlords and the Emperor himself, all fear a world in turmoil. It’s the great undoer of fortunes and lives.”

As the noon bell tolled distantly, servants brought out the midday meal, which was far richer than the usual fare, a preview of the New Year feast to come. As everyone gathered around the laden table, the savory smells of stewed pork, fried fish, and steaming dumplings filling the warm room, a sense of profound, fragile calm settled over them. Whatever storms of war and displacement raged beyond the city walls to the south, for now, within the orderly, snow draped streets of Xinghexian, their little world was at peace, and for that, they were silently, deeply grateful.

Chapter Text

The New Year’s festival had finally arrived, and Xinghexian was filled with a palpable festive cheer. Inside the city walls, the streets bustled with a prosperous, leisurely energy, while outside the walls, the world lay under a deep, silent blanket of snow that reached up to a grown man’s knees.

Workers from the yamen’s public works department had already cleared the main thoroughfares, leaving them spotlessly clean and bright, the dark cobbles contrasting with the white banks piled neatly on either side.

Though the passage of time in the real world Dragon Kingdom differed from that inside the immersive game, and the nation itself had not yet begun its official Lunar New Year holiday, in the simulated world of Xinghexian it was already the end of the lunar year, the most important celebration.

Lu Manman had accepted the Women’s Association’s invitation for New Year’s Day. She logged into the game early that morning, changed her simple work clothes for a bright, festive red and green outfit with embroidered cuffs, and stepped out onto the lively, decorated streets.

The shredded red paper from last night’s countless firecracker strings still littered the ground like a crimson carpet, painting the street a vivid, joyful scarlet.

Everyone she passed wore broad, relaxed smiles. The air, cold and crisp, was nevertheless full of warmth and the sound of laughter, children’s shouts, and the distant sizzle of food frying.

The Women’s Association was located in a modest two courtyard compound not far from the main yamen. The outer court handled administrative work, receiving visitors and processing petitions, while the inner court served as temporary living quarters for staff, women in crisis, and their children. Men and women had strictly separate dormitories, but women and their young children shared family style rooms. Older men who worked as guards or groundskeepers each had their own small room.

There were not many residents at the moment, however. In times like these, domestic violence was sadly common and widely tolerated. Most women would not seek outside help unless they had been beaten to the absolute brink of despair or had their lives threatened. In their traditional eyes, coming to live in the Women’s Association meant they had failed as wives and daughters in law, failed to keep their families together. So unless driven by utter desperation, few ever came forward.

At the moment, only five or six women and three small children lived in the shelter’s inner quarters.

Su Weiyang led Lu Manman through the neat, snow swept compound, explaining things as they walked, their footsteps crunching softly.

“Just before the New Year, we still had two more women staying here with us. Both came with their young daughters. But when the holiday itself arrived, their husbands and in laws showed up at the gate with gifts and tearful apologies, begging forgiveness and promising change, so they went back home. The men even wrote formal pledges in front of witnesses, swearing they would rather die than raise a hand to them again.”

Lu Manman frowned slightly, a familiar skepticism in her eyes. “And you believe they will actually keep that promise?”

Su Weiyang shrugged, a pragmatic twist to her mouth. “Probably not. In reality, once the pattern of violence starts, it rarely stops for good. But hey,” she added, her tone lightening, “it’s just a game world at the end of the day. No need to take the social dynamics too seriously or personally. We are here to play and experience, not to suffer vicarious trauma.”

Lu Manman thought about it for a moment and then nodded. That made a certain sense. It was important to remember the boundary between the simulation and reality, even when the emotions felt real.

In the communal kitchen, several women were gathered around a large table, making dumplings together, their hands busy and flour dusting their sleeves.

It was not a local custom to eat dumplings for New Year’s in this southern region of Xinghexian, but since many of the Women’s Association staff and volunteers were Players from northern China, they had brought the beloved tradition with them. The atmosphere was warm and lively, a bubble of normalcy. People chatted and laughed while folding and pinching the wrappers, filling the air with the comforting, savory scent of pork, cabbage, and ginger.

By noon, everyone, residents and volunteers alike, gathered in the main hall to share a simple but hearty meal of boiled dumplings and pickled vegetables. Later that night, they would have a more grand New Year’s feast with dishes donated by local shops.

The women sat together around low tables like a large, informal family of sisters, laughing and talking easily. Lu Manman, sitting among them, felt surrounded by a genuine, unforced warmth and belonging. Even the viewers watching her livestream were touched by the cozy, humane scene, comments scrolling about the nice atmosphere.

Meanwhile, in their larger compounds, the local gentry and wealthy families of Xinghexian still had not forgotten their humiliation from Lin Qian’s earlier crackdowns and forced restitution. Though they secretly resented her, there was truly nothing effective they could do against her now.

At year’s end, when they looked around and saw the county visibly thriving under her governance, businesses busy, people employed, and tax revenues up without increased levies on them, they could not logically deny her administrative success. They might have grumbled in private over wine, but inwardly they had already, grudgingly, accepted her authority and the new status quo. Still, pride died hard. The thought of being outsmarted and bested by a young woman barely half their age made their stomachs churn with sour indignation. Yet no matter how much they gossiped among themselves, broader public opinion had turned decisively in Lin Qian’s favor. Her tangible deeds, road repairs, wage laws, land returns, had spread across the county by word of mouth, and most common people now supported her fiercely. The few influential voices who still opposed her had been effectively drowned out by this tide of popular praise.

When the Lantern Festival passed and the extended New Year celebrations finally ended, Lin Qian returned to the yamen from her short personal break. Her first official act was to summon her most trusted Player aides, Qin Qing and Liu Yang, to her office.

“Intelligence from couriers and merchants suggests both the northern frontier and the southern border are growing unstable,” she said without preamble, her voice low. “I have heard credible rumors of refugee bands gathering in the south near Yancheng, displaced by the Nanzhao raids. Grain prices in the prefecture will begin to rise soon as speculators hoard. Buy what you can from our usual suppliers now, using the discretionary treasury funds. It’s better to plan and stockpile early than to regret and face shortages later.”

They bowed understandingly and left immediately to make the arrangements, their expressions serious.

Then she called in Song Can, who had been waiting outside. Lin Qian assigned her two experienced runners from the yamen’s constabulary. “Take them and return to the countryside you were overseeing,” Lin Qian instructed. “Your primary task is to see to the spring plowing efforts. Ensure the allocated seeds are sown, not sold or eaten. Use whatever reasonable means are necessary to motivate the reluctant. I have given the constables their orders to support you.”

Song Can, who had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the rural aid work after her earlier distress, accepted the task with a determined nod and set out with her small team before noon.

After a half day’s journey by mule cart, they reached the assigned village just as the government seed distribution was concluding. From the local zongjia village head to the smallest household head, everyone was busy dividing the county’s seed rations, a line of people with sacks near the village granary.

Among the villagers stood an old man with the surname Shi, with sparse, greying hair and a stubbled chin. Beside him loomed his son, Shi Dalang, a man with a perpetually sullen expression. They had just collected their portion of seeds and were turning to head home. The Shi family was notorious in this village. Lazy and shameless, they had once tried to sell their allocated land the moment they received the deed. Shi Dalang was nearly thirty and still unmarried, which did not help their poor reputation in a society that valued family continuity.

The county had even granted each landless household without proper registration one tael of silver as a subsistence loan to help them restart farming. But the Shi family had squandered it all within weeks on cheap liquor and gambling. Now, they were openly planning to sell their land again at a discount to any buyer, hoping to use the cash to finally buy Shi Dalang a wife from a poorer family.

Seeing them shoulder their sacks of seed, Song Can could already guess their plan. They would probably boil the seeds and eat them, or try to sell them for a pittance in the next town, instead of planting them for the future.

When she confronted them about it, they brushed her off with dismissive gestures, sneering at her efforts. After all, she was a woman, and in their narrow, traditional view, that made her authority laughable and her easy to bully.

Whenever she had tried to persuade them with words on her previous visits, Shi Dalang would grin in a lewd, openly mocking way, making crude comments under his breath.

Fortunately, Song Can was tall and strong for a woman, and she was backed by the county magistrate’s explicit authority. The other idlers in the village, while sympathetic to the Shi’s laziness, did not dare cross her outright, though they often muttered behind her back. The Shi family alone gave her constant headaches, repeatedly threatening to sell their land and undermine the entire resettlement program.

When Song Can appeared in the village square that day, the Shi father and son assumed she was still the same mild mannered, idealistic woman they had bullied and ignored before. What they did not know was that after being strategically “enlightened” by Lin Qian’s advice and hardened by the blunt commentary from her online viewers, she had changed her approach.

She was no longer the timid girl who had been driven to frustrated tears. Now, she was Niohuru Song Can, a woman on a mission with official backing!

“Lao Shi, Shi Dalang,” she called out, her voice carrying clearly across the square, devoid of its previous pleading tone. “Get your fields plowed and your seeds sown properly this afternoon. The magistrate sent us here to help farmers, not to watch you laze away your chance. This is my final warning. Do not force me to make an example out of you and make you regret it.”

After speaking, she deliberately looked around at the other villagers who had paused to watch.

The village had dozens of households and hundreds of people. Everyone had been assigned land based on family size. The Shi family was not the only lazy one, but they were the worst and most vocal example. If she did not make a decisive example out of them now, others on the fence would be emboldened to follow their lead. So she had already decided, the Shi family would be her necessary lesson for the rest of the village.

She turned on her heel coldly and left for the temporary rest house where the yamen officers were staying, her back straight.

The two constables accompanying her, Wang Han and Liu Ban, said nothing, falling into step behind her. They respected her position, though that respect came mostly from her direct connection to Magistrate Lin. They had seen the Shi family’s insolence, but they had not intervened, waiting to see how she would handle it. After all, they were not yet fully sure what kind of person Song Can really was under pressure, or how far she was willing to go. Still, they treated her with formal courtesy, knowing she carried the magistrate’s explicit trust and orders.

In these rural areas, attitudes were slower to change. Men still tended instinctively to look down on women in authority, but in Xinghexian proper things were shifting rapidly. Women worked openly outside, earned their own wages in shops and workshops, and had the powerful Women’s Association supporting them. That alone had earned them growing, if sometimes reluctant, respect.

The county’s underlying social tensions were not severe, and resources, while not abundant, were enough for everyone at a basic level. As long as one was willing to work, no one went truly hungry. Perfect equality was not the goal, but a workable social harmony was possible.

After resting a bit and eating a simple midday meal with her team, Song Can led them out again to patrol the village and the surrounding fields.

By early afternoon, some diligent farmers were already out plowing their thawing fields with simple iron tipped plows pulled by themselves or family members. Few used oxen, which were rare and precious.

Those families who owned one treated it like a living treasure, unwilling to tire it out for only a small day’s work. An ox could plow, pull carts, grind grain, or even be rented out to neighbors for coin. Even when it died of old age, its owner could sell the hide and meat for money after registering the death with the yamen.

Such a valuable creature was worth more alive and healthy than spent in a day.

Streaming the scene quietly, Song Can watched the farmers toil under the weak winter sun, their backs bent, their skin darkened and leathery from lifelong labor. A complex mix of pride in their resilience and sorrow for their unending hardship welled up in her chest.

The viewers in her livestream felt the poignant atmosphere too.

“This game is incredible. The environmental storytelling feels so real, it actually calms me down just watching the farming.”

“Same here. I have even forgotten I’m supposed to be checking spreadsheets at work right now.”

“Makes me want to quit my job and go find a plot of land to farm, for real.”

“Host, host! You better beat the crap out of those Shi family bastards later! I am boiling mad watching them!”

“Yeah, that Dalang guy is disgusting. His face makes me want to punch the screen.”

“Make him drink his own bitter medicine! Sell his own future for a bowl of porridge!”

“Well, people are just people, everywhere. Some are good, some are not. You have got scum like the Shi family, and you have got these honest folks breaking their backs just for a living, never complaining.”

“Exactly. You can’t help feeling sorry for the hardworking ones. A whole year of sweat under the sun, and what do they even earn? Barely enough to feed the family and maybe buy a little cloth. It’s not fair.”

Chapter Text

In ancient times, crop yields were consistently, stubbornly low, a fact of life etched into the very soil. Some curious Players had tried their hand at crossbreeding grains in their own small, allocated fields, digging and experimenting with careful notes, but the scale was too small, a backyard garden project. None had succeeded so far with any noticeable improvement. Or maybe, in the game’s underlying settings, crossbreeding crops simply wasn't allowed at all, a technological gate kept locked. Because the yield per mu was so poor, farmers in those times had to work far harder, dawn to dusk, just to fill their bellies than people in modern days ever could imagine. A family usually didn't farm just one or two mu of land, they needed more to survive.

Since there were many scattered fields, Song Can had to ride her borrowed yamen horse for nearly fifteen bumpy minutes along a dirt path before she reached the Shi family’s allocated plot. What greeted her eyes was a pathetic patch of overgrown weeds and last year’s dried stalks. It wasn't just unplanted, the ground hadn't even been cleared, not a single furrow turned.

Sure, the land assigned to them wasn't the best quality, a bit rocky and on a slope, but it wasn't the worst either, it could grow millet. It seemed this family had already made up their minds to sell the land as soon as a buyer was found, to cash in.

Song Can felt a cold, righteous fury surge up from the soles of her feet to the very crown of her head, heating her cheeks.

“Wang Han, Liu Ban,” she said, her voice cold and low, cutting through the quiet of the field.

The two men stepped forward immediately from where they had been holding the horses.

“Bring the Shi father and son to the village head’s house, now.” After giving the order, she turned her horse and headed straight there herself, not waiting for a response.

The refugees in this settlement had their own kind of rough organization. The village head was from the local Wang clan, one of the largest families here. Most villagers were either surnamed Wang or Shi, but the majority trusted the Wangs more for their relative industriousness, so the headman was naturally a Wang.

In truth, every five or ten households had their own small, informal leader, so this Wang headman didn't actually have much direct authority over the stubborn Shi family. Still, Song Can had given her word as the magistrate’s representative, and the two constables obeyed without hesitation, turning their horses and setting off at a trot back toward the village huts.

At the Shi home, a one room hut of packed earth, the family was gathered around a clay pot, cooking the grain seedlings that had been distributed earlier that day over a feeble fire. Lao Shi’s wife was a meek, perpetually tired looking woman. She couldn't read or write but lived her life bound by the old, internalized “three obediences and four virtues.” In fact, women like her, uneducated and isolated, were often easier for men like her husband to control than those who had read a few books and glimpsed other possibilities.

The Shi father and son were both idle and lazy by nature. Whenever he was bored or frustrated, the old man would take it out and beat his wife, so she had long learned to obey without question, her spirit worn down.

Just like today, when Lao Shi decided on a whim to boil the precious seed grain for a meal, the woman didn't dare utter a single word of protest, just stirred the pot silently.

When Liu Ban and Wang Han arrived, pushing open the wicker door, they found the family crouched together on the hard packed earth floor, without even a decent stool to sit on. They weren't eating anything fancy, just the plain boiled grain, yet they still smiled as if satisfied with their cleverness. That smile, though, was the kind that made others’ blood boil with indignation. It wasn't the smile of humble contentment, it was the smug, knowing grin of people who believed they were taking advantage of a system, getting something for nothing.

The county magistrate had given them farmland they could theoretically sell, and now they were cooking the free seedlings distributed by the government for survival.

So long as it was free and filled their stomachs now, even if it was metaphorically the neighbor’s filth, they would find it delicious.

“Shi family father and son, come with us,” Wang Han said, frowning slightly, his distaste clear.

Though they were just low ranking constables, and hardly of high social status themselves, even men who had seen all walks of life in their work couldn't stand this particular kind of shameless, short sighted behavior.

Lao Shi quickly spoke up, putting on a show of confusion, “Sirs, we are just eating our own food. It's got nothing to do with Miss Song, right, we haven't broken any law…?”

A lifetime of freeloading and avoiding work hadn't dulled his wits, he was just clever in all the wrong ways, for all the wrong ends.

“Move,” Liu Ban said curtly, too disgusted to waste words on argument.

Lao Shi cursed Song Can’s name under his breath in a low mutter, then told his cowering wife, “Save the rest of the food for later. Don't touch it.”

He was still hungry, his stomach growling, but there was no time to finish eating now.

“All because of that meddling Song Can! Women in power always liked to fuss and argue over nothing!”

Grumbling to himself, he and his sullen son got up from the floor and shuffled out to follow the constables, their shoulders hunched.

Meanwhile, Song Can had already asked the village head to summon everyone in the village who wasn't in the fields. Each household was to send at least one person to watch. Yes, she intended to kill the chicken to warn the monkeys, to make a public example.

The Shi father and son arrived soon after, dragged along by the constables. The older man immediately sensed trouble when he saw the crowd of thirty or forty villagers gathered in the clearing before the headman’s house. Surely this wasn't a good sign for them.

There is an old saying, commoners don't fight officials. Song Can might be a woman, but she was the person pointed by the county magistrate, empowered by the yamen’s authority. That reality finally dawned on him.

So, Lao Shi changed tactics on the spot and began pleading, his voice turning wheedling.

“Miss, what is this about? I didn't mean to disobey. My family is starving, truly we are, Miss, have mercy…”

Song Can didn't bother to respond to his performance. Her gaze stayed fixed briefly on the scrolling live broadcast chat feed in the corner of her vision, drawing strength from the supportive comments. “Tie them up and give each twenty strokes of the rod.”

They were game NPCs, after all, no need to hold back for fear of real permanent injury.

Liu Ban and Wang Han obeyed, stepping forward to pin the two struggling men face down over a long wooden bench used for communal meetings. After a quick search of the headman’s shed, they came back with an awkward report. “Miss, there is no punishment paddle here.”

“Then use the door bolt,” she said without hesitation, pointing to the heavy timber bar on the headman’s front door.

The constables said nothing more and asked the headman for it.

The Wang family had just built a new house the previous autumn, and their door bolt was big and heavy, made of solid oak, even sturdier than the official paddles used at the yamen. Twenty solid strikes with that thing could realistically cripple a man, break bones.

“Spare me, Miss! Please, spare me!” Lao Shi screamed, his earlier arrogance completely gone, replaced by raw animal fear.

He didn't care if she was a man or woman anymore, anyone who could order a club like that wielded was someone to fear absolutely.

Neighbors who were on friendly, or at least tolerant, terms with him stepped forward from the crowd, pleading, “Miss, he is old and just confused for a moment. Please forgive him this once.”

“If you beat him like this, he might end up crippled, then his whole family is a burden on the village.”

“He won't dare again, Miss. Please, spare him. We will make sure they plant the fields.”

Song Can looked at the thick, intimidating door bolt in Liu Ban’s hands and hesitated. She couldn't actually beat them to death, that would be murder. After some thought, she decided to spare the old man ten strokes, but not the son. The son was the future, and his attitude needed correcting more.

“It is one thing for an old man to be set in his lazy ways. But you,” she pointed at Shi Dalang’s lowered head, “you are already old enough to run your own household. You still laze about every day and live off others, off the county’s charity. I won't forgive that!”

She pointed at Shi Dalang’s head as she spoke, her finger accusatory, then gave the order, her voice firm, “Do it! Twenty for the son, ten for the father.”

The air filled with the sharp, wet sound of heavy wood striking clothed flesh, followed by the agonized screams and grunts of the two men.

The villagers winced and looked away, just watching it made their own backsides ache in sympathy. Still, they couldn't help feeling privately grateful that they were not as lazy as the Shi family. A punishment like that would tear skin and bruise bone, leave a man walking stiff for weeks.

Before the beating, Song Can’s face had been tense, pale. She had never truly faced or dispensed this kind of harsh, physical cruelty of the world before. Her family had always protected her from the gritty realities. But this game had shown her a raw ugliness she had never known existed, and for the first time, she made her own decisive, brutal choice, one she believed was right for the greater good. She felt she had grown up in that moment. Still young and inexperienced, yes, but at least growing, hardening.

After that very public day, no one in the village dared slack off again openly. Even the Shi family, after being given another, final bag of grain and seed by a grudging village fund, began working their fields in earnest, if slowly and painfully, the father limping, the son moving stiffly.

Song Can researched basic agricultural methods online in her off hours. Since she couldn't alter genetics or crossbreed within the game rules, she focused on promoting scientific planting density and simple seedling cultivation techniques. That alone could boost productivity somewhat. Her theory was, if people saw with their own eyes that hard work brought real, tangible rewards, even the laziest like the Shi family would eventually put in the effort, motivated by envy and need.

As the spring planting season began in earnest, villagers tended their fields carefully, the rhythmic work of watering, fertilizing with night soil, loosening soil, killing pests. The work was monotonous and tiring, bending backs under the sun, but until the hectic harvest season came, they still had some scattered free time in the evenings.

That little bit of leisure, however, often led to other, smaller problems, pregnant wives quarreling with mothers in law, husbands fighting over water rights or a misplaced tool.

After all, there wasn't much entertainment in ancient times for common folk. Scholars in the county seat could at least read books or compose poems, but for common villagers with no education, gambling with dice or sticks was their only cheap thrill.

Winners might buy a sweet treat for their kids on market day, while losers went home angry and took it out on their families. Still, they were not fundamentally bad people, just stressed and bored. There were no formal gambling houses in the village, so things never got totally out of hand, debts were small.

Soon enough, word of the county sports meet reached even their remote settlement, giving everyone something new to talk about and look forward to.

Song Can encouraged everyone who was able to join. Exercise was good for the body, after all, and it was a harmless outlet.

Most men in the village signed up right away for the running or strength events. Even if they lost, it was worth the fun and the trip to town, and if they won, they would earn a few precious coins, nothing to lose either way.

While Xinghexian’s county games bustled with excited preparation, far to the north, the deep snows in the capital had finally melted, ushering in a tentative, muddy spring.

In the grounds of a quiet temple within the capital, Qi Yue sat on a low stone wall with a blade of grass in his mouth, watching Wang Wuyuan cry quietly beside him, his own face full of theatrical exasperation.

“I am telling you, why not just accept her already? Princess Yong’an has got looks and status, what is there not to like? You trying to turn your love life into some kind of poetic tragedy or what?”

He sighed, a long, drawn out sound. Even in this immersive game, he somehow couldn't manage to catch himself a rich sugar mommy, the dream of idle Players.

Meanwhile, Wang Wuyuan, with that unfairly handsome face of his character, had the whole game world, or at least the capital’s noble quarter, going crazy for him, especially the emperor’s beloved daughter, Princess Yong’an.

How could Qi Yue not be jealous? Yet the fool wasn't interested at all. He just wanted to stay a bald monk, chanting sutras in peace.

Wiping his tears with the coarse sleeve of his monastic robe, Wang Wuyuan finally muttered, his voice thick, “I am still playing the game my way.”

Qi Yue frowned, the blade of grass bobbing. “Your name is cleared, your in game sick grandma is healed. Why hide away in a temple now? Can't you just enjoy the game like a normal person, embrace the storyline?”

“I am enjoying it,” Wang Wuyuan said quietly, staring at the moss between the stones. “The temple, the routine, it makes me feel calm. It is a feeling I can't find in real life, with all the noise. I like being here, the simplicity.”

“And what about the princess?” Qi Yue gritted his teeth. “I like her too, damn it! Why is she obsessed with you and not me?”

Wang Wuyuan stayed silent, having no answer.

It was only a game, and Princess Yong’an was not a real person, just sophisticated code, yet he still felt a strange, persistent guilt, like he had actually hurt a living heart.

She had sent him countless letters filled with flowery affection, and twice she had even disguised herself as a young man to sneak into the temple grounds to see him, her eyes shining.

He couldn't escape her attention no matter how hard he tried to be dull and monastic.

Lately, though, he had heard through the temple gossip network that she had been formally betrothed to a marquis’s son from the north. Her marriage was set for later this year, so she was confined to the inner palace for preparation and couldn't sneak out to the temple anymore.

Seeing his friend lost in thought, staring at the budding peach tree, Qi Yue spat out the blade of grass, stood up, and said with forced calm, “I am heading out.”

Chapter Text

“Heading down the mountain?” Wang Wuyuan thought Qi Yue meant simply returning to the city for the day.

Qi Yue shook his head, his expression turning more purposeful. “I am a travel blogger, remember? At least that is my stream’s angle. I am planning to pick up a few supplies in the capital and set out on a proper journey in a day or two. See the world.”

The city’s main gates were sealed at night, but once you left the boundaries of Jingdu, the roads, scenery, post stations, and roadside inns were not restricted. Players could still travel freely from Jingdu all the way south to places like Xinghexian, if they had the time and endurance. Some adventurous Players had already tried that long route before, but one of them had gotten bitten by a venomous snake halfway up a mountain while exploring off the path and ended up losing his character account, his health bar draining to zero. He became just another lamenting member of the game’s unofficial “Cry Cry Army” on the forums.

Hearing Qi Yue’s words, Wang Wuyuan blinked in surprise, the lingering sadness in his eyes replaced by concern.

The two of them had entered the game at around the same time during a beta wave and played together for about a month now, their digital lives intertwined.

At first, Qi Yue had approached him just to leech off his stream traffic, often showing up unannounced at the quiet temple where Wang Wuyuan stayed. But now, through his own more extroverted efforts, Qi Yue’s channel popularity and subscriber count had already surpassed his own.

Later, when Wang Wuyuan had revealed snippets of his real life information in a private chat, admitting he was pretty clueless about the intricacies of online streaming and community building, Qi Yue, who had been in the streaming scene for years, had helped him out a lot with advice and behind the scenes tips.

They were not sworn brothers who had been through life and death together in the game, but they had become genuine, good friends, a digital camaraderie. In real life, they lived in different cities, but meeting up in person was not as logistically hard as it was for their characters to meet again in game once separated by distance. Still, hearing that Qi Yue planned to leave Jingdu for good made Wang Wuyuan feel a little reluctant to part. It would probably be a long while, game time, before their characters crossed paths again. From Jingdu to Xinghexian, even by fast carriage and with good roads, the trip took nearly a month of in game travel.

But they were both adults, used to online friendships coming and going. After a brief, silent pause, Wang Wuyuan reached out his hand, the coarse monastic sleeve falling back, and said simply, “Then I wish you a safe journey. May the road be kind.”

“Thanks!” Qi Yue grinned, his usual brashness softening, and shook the offered hand firmly, a solid grip.

Neither of them had much free time to linger on sentiment. Qi Yue still needed to buy travel supplies at the capital’s marketplace, so after chatting a bit more about practicalities, they went their separate ways at the temple gate, Wang Wuyuan watching his friend’s back disappear down the stone path.

Qi Yue descended the wooded mountain path and headed straight for the sprawling Jingdu marketplace, the commercial heart of the capital.

The market was massive, a labyrinth of stalls and shops, and since he needed to buy a horse, it took quite a while to walk through the crowded lanes to the livestock section.

Lately, he had been relying on his crafted in game reputation as some spoiled young master from a wealthy out of town family. Through that persona, he had met plenty of real rich brats and useless socialites among the capital’s NPC nobility. Tagging along with them to hunts and races, he had even learned how to ride properly, so he did not need to buy a horse just to practice, he could handle one.

Finally reaching the area dominated by horse traders and the smell of animals, a sharp eyed seller spotted Qi Yue’s fine silk outfit and quickly approached with a big, practiced smile, bowing.

Qi Yue brushed a speck of dust off his sleeve and adjusted the lay of his robe as he followed the man through the rows of tethered horses, saying casually, “The market is unusually crowded today.”

Normally, there were plenty of people coming and going, but not like this. It was packed shoulder to shoulder, and it would not be surprising if someone lost their purse to a pickpocket in such a crowd.

“Spring is here, young master,” the horse seller said cheerfully, gesturing around. “The scholars here for the spring imperial exam have arrived in the capital, and their servants and tutors are all out buying supplies, renting lodgings.”

“Oh right, the imperial exams!” Qi Yue muttered, a thought striking him. He was not sure if he would make it to Xinghexian before the county level exam started there. Judging by the travel time and the exam schedule, it would be tight.

“But there is still a month or two before the exams, isn’t there? Why would they come so early?” he asked, making conversation as he eyed the horses.

“Early birds get the worms, as they say,” the man laughed, showing stained teeth. “Jingdu is the capital, after all. Of course they will take the chance to look around, make connections with important families, visit potential patrons. Otherwise, what is the point of traveling this far from home?”

Qi Yue smiled politely. “You have got a point.”

Still, he thought to himself, maybe Xinghexian is even livelier these days in its own way.

Even with all the modern Player interference there, its trade volume and sheer variety of luxury goods still could not match the centuries old capital. Jingdu was Jingdu, after all, the center of the empire.

He tucked away his flashy sandalwood folding fan into his belt and began inspecting the horses seriously, checking teeth, legs, and temperament. In the end, after some back and forth, he picked a fine, chestnut colored steed of good lineage, worth ten taels of silver, a significant sum.

After paying on the spot with silver ingots from his money pouch, he mounted the horse to test its gait, then headed toward the grimier area of the market where people were bought and sold. Traveling alone on long roads could be troublesome, so he figured he might as well get someone to help carry things, pour tea, and handle the horse and any camp chores.

From the slave broker, a man with a calculating gaze, he picked a boy who was not too muscular but tall and wiry, with watchful eyes. Compared to the others in the line, who looked half starved or broken spirited, the kid looked relatively healthy and was still young, maybe fifteen, not yet at the age to think about marriage or have complicating attachments.

Qi Yue chuckled quietly at his own line of thought. He could not believe he was worrying about an NPC’s future family life like it was some real person’s concern. Really, this game was too immersive, too realistic. With every NPC looking and acting uniquely, with their own small behaviors, it was easy to start unconsciously wondering if this was a real, living world.

The boy’s perceived “quality” was good, his limbs intact, so even after some theatrical haggling, the broker still charged him five taels of silver.

In this game world, as in the history it mirrored, people were often cheaper than good horses.

Since Qi Yue had been earning plenty through his streams and buying in game currency from other players with real money, the price did not bother him, it was an expense for content.

After paying, he left with his new servant in tow, bought a simple covered carriage and travel supplies like dried meat and grain, and returned to his rented lodging near the market. He told the boy, whom he decided to call Fugui for luck, to pack up their few things. That night, one slept on the rented bed, the other on a mat on the floor, and that was the end of the long day.

The next morning, Qi Yue logged in early, the morning light pale through the paper window. If he was pretending to be a spoiled young master on a journey, then he had to look the part from head to toe.

Now that he had both horse and servant, the next thing he needed was a proper, travel worthy outfit. But since the southern roads were known for bandits, he did not dare dress too richly and attract trouble. He chose a long, practical green robe of sturdy cotton with a sheer, dark green outer layer instead of conspicuous silk, a wide brimmed bamboo hat to shield from sun and rain, and sturdy high leather boots, holding his folding fan as he admired his reflection in a small bronze mirror on the wall.

“Perfect,” he thought, grinning to himself with satisfaction. “The rich ladies and generous aunties in my stream are going to lose their minds over this aesthetic. Travel outfit check.”

Once dressed, he had a quick breakfast with his servant, a simple bowl of noodles with scallions from the inn’s kitchen, then got ready to leave Jingdu, the carriage packed.

He did not bother saying goodbye to his various drinking acquaintances in the city. If fate allowed, they would meet again somewhere on the road or in another city. Online friendships were fluid.

Since the new boy, Fugui, clearly could not drive a carriage yet, Qi Yue took some time that morning in a quiet alley to teach him the basics, the reins in his hands. He had learned horseback riding and carriage driving from NPC coaches before, so he knew that as long as someone was not hopelessly uncoordinated, they would get the hang of it in a day with guidance.

The boy was not skilled, his hands clumsy on the reins, but he could manage a steady, slow trot without crashing.

Qi Yue only wondered if the NPC even had a hidden riding skill stat. If the kid could not learn no matter what, he planned to kick him out halfway and let Fugui do whatever he wanted, just abandon the digital asset.

Once they got going, clattering through the city gates just after they opened, Qi Yue sat beside Fugui on the driver’s bench, giving occasional instructions while mostly watching live streams from other Players on his semi transparent interface screen, his expression shifting with amusement.

They left Jingdu’s towering walls behind and traveled south on the main post road toward Xinghexian.

Today, according to the streams, Xinghexian was especially bustling. The county’s inaugural athletic games were underway, a chaotic, joyful spectacle.

A bunch of participants in one stream were being penalized by referees for shoving or tripping others mid race. No one there was a professional athlete, so most forgot the sportsmanship rules the moment they started running, driven by pure competition. Still, the entry fee was just a few copper coins, and the locals watching from makeshift stands were having a great time together, cheering and laughing.

Some vendor Players had even paid for official stall space to sell snacks and drinks around the venue, most of them players capitalizing on the crowd.

“It is so lively over there,” Qi Yue said aloud, chuckling as he watched a particularly chaotic shot put stream from his carriage seat.

“Huh? Master, where is it lively?” Fugui asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes on the road. Since Qi Yue had not muted his voice output, the boy NPC could hear him talking to what seemed like air.

Qi Yue had been watching game videos for over an hour, laughing out loud from time to time at the antics.

They had already passed the capital’s suburbs, nearing the border of the next county. The landscape here was not exactly deserted, farmland visible, but seeing two people walking every few li hardly counted as lively by any standard.

Still, Qi Yue treated Fugui as just an advanced NPC, a tool. He was not in the mood to explain modern streaming to a medieval servant, so he just said lazily, waving his fan, “Keep your eyes on the road, Fugui. Don’t get distracted.”

Fugui frowned slightly, a crease appearing between his brows. He did not understand what “driving” meant in this context, was not this carriage driving itself with the horse? Drive what?

But he knew his place better than to question his strange new master aloud.

Just then, as they rounded a gentle bend in the road, a figure staggered suddenly into their path from the roadside ditch, as if pushed or stumbling.

“Ah!”

Fugui’s sharp, startled scream cut the air, startling Qi Yue out of his stream watching and everyone watching his own live stream, the chat exploding with question marks.

The next second, the carriage wheel bumped over something soft yet solid with a sickening thud, the vehicle tilted violently to one side, then steadied again as the horse whinnied in alarm.

"A car crash? In a horse carriage?"

"There is actually a random event like this? Road accident trigger?"

"Don’t drink and drive, people!"

"Who is drinking? You drunk? It is a horse!"

"Safety first, folks. One mistake, two streams of tears! Or in this case, one dead NPC."

"Question: can you run after killing an NPC? What is the penalty?"

"If it is an event trigger, the guy is probably not dead, just a quest giver."

"This is why you buy travel insurance! Oh wait, this is a game."

"Wait, look at the other stream, Lin Xianling just arrived at the sports ground! Her model is gorgeous."

"Her character model is insane. Definitely the devs’ favorite, the lighting on her hair."

Qi Yue, panicking, his heart hammering against his ribs, punched Fugui’s arm roughly. “Didn’t I tell you to watch the road?! What the hell were you doing?! Looking at birds?!”

Fugui did not dare resist, his face pale, letting him hit a few times without saying a word in his own defense, his head bowed.

Qi Yue jumped down from the carriage, his boots hitting the dirt road, and ran around to the back. Sure enough, a person was lying crumpled on the ground behind the left rear wheel.

But the sight was strange, unsettling. The person wore nothing but ragged, filthy clothes, more like sacks. The horse had not kicked him, it was ahead, and the wheel had only grazed his side, yet he did not move or make a sound, utterly still.

If this were a modern setting, Qi Yue would have immediately thought it was some scammer throwing himself under the vehicle for compensation.

“Master, what should we do?” Fugui asked quietly after getting down and standing a few feet away, wringing his hands.

Qi Yue glared at him, then picked up a long, dry stick from the roadside, and approached the fallen man cautiously, his stream viewers holding their virtual breath.

Even in a game, he did not dare touch a possibly dead body with his bare hands, so he prodded the man’s shoulder with the stick.

No reaction, not even a groan.

Qi Yue pursed his lips, anxiety twisting in his stomach. “Fugui, go check if he is dead. Check for breath.”

Expressionless, Fugui stepped forward, knelt in the dust, and carefully turned the man over onto his back, revealing a face that was both unexpectedly handsome and refined beneath the grime. The man looked around twenty six or twenty seven, his skin pale as if from illness or lack of sun, a faint, well shaped beard on his chin, his features completely at odds with his tattered, pauper’s clothes.

After leaning close to check his breath and placing a hesitant hand on his chest, Fugui looked up and said, “Still alive. Breathing faintly.”

Qi Yue exhaled a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving his shoulders. Even in a game, he did not want to deal with digital lawsuits or the moral weight of running away after hitting someone. A man with a murder or manslaughter stain on his record was not something the rich lady patrons in his stream liked!

“Get him into the carriage. Carefully. We will find the next inn or post station to rest first, see if he wakes up,” Qi Yue ordered.

Fugui obeyed, grunting with effort as he lifted the surprisingly light man and hauled him inside the carriage, laying him on the packed blankets.

That afternoon, Fugui continued driving, his hands visibly tighter on the reins, while Qi Yue sat silently beside him, staring ahead, refusing to watch any more distracting live streams. The mood was sober.

He had to admit, as a master and a streamer responsible for his NPC companion, he had been way too careless.

Chapter Text

Once they got back on the carriage and resumed their journey, Qi Yue found himself idle with nothing to watch, so he started chatting with Fugui to pass the time and perhaps glean some local knowledge.

“You think there are bandits operating around the very outskirts of Jingdu City? Maybe that guy got kidnapped by them and managed to escape somehow?” he mused aloud, looking at the passing woods.

Fugui, keeping his eyes on the road, shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure, Master. But if it really was bandits who robbed him, then those bandits were pretty decent ones, by bandit standards.”

Qi Yue blinked, turning to look at his servant’s profile. “How is that possible?” The concept seemed absurd.

Bandits and the word ‘decent’ in the same sentence? What kind of twisted, morally ambiguous game world was this?

Fugui looked briefly puzzled by Qi Yue’s strong reaction, as if stating a simple fact. “They didn’t kill him or dump his body in a ditch. Isn’t that already better treatment than most roadside robbers give?”

The moment he said that with such calm acceptance, Qi Yue knew this NPC had a dark and detailed story behind him. And it made perfect, grim sense. With how notoriously twisted and thorough the Transcenders’ Alliance game developers were known to be, no NPC was ever simple or blank. Each one came with their own elaborate, often tragic backstory, real enough in its details to be genuinely unsettling.

Since buying Fugui from the broker, Qi Yue had never thought to ask about his past life or even what his original name was, treating him as a utility. But now that they had time on this long, quiet road, he finally did, curiosity piqued.

Fugui, or Chen Shiba as he was born, was born on the eighteenth day of the sixth lunar month, so his given name used to be Shiba, meaning ‘eighteen’. His family name was Chen. Back in his childhood, the southern seas were overrun with pirates, and the land was plagued with unrest from poor harvests and corrupt officials. His family had some modest savings from a small shop and decided to move north to the capital region to escape the chaos. But fate had other, crueler plans. His father died of a feverish illness halfway through the journey, leaving his mother to continue the difficult trek with him and his younger sister, a girl of six.

Unfortunately, the distant relatives they sought refuge with in a northern town turned out to be vultures. They seized the family’s remaining property, the little money and heirlooms, and even tried to sell the mother and children off to cover ‘debts’. That was how Chen Shiba ended up being sold into servitude. He was strong and sturdy for his age, so he managed to survive the harsh slave trade network until Qi Yue bought him in the Jingdu City market. His mother and sister weren’t as lucky, they both died of a wasting illness in a slum along the way, one after the other. He had escaped from a city in turmoil during a riot, seen corpses littering the road after a battle, and watched his only family die before his eyes over weeks in a filthy room.

That was why, when he had checked the unconscious man earlier, he had been so calm, almost clinical. Death and suffering weren’t abstract to him.

After hearing his story, Qi Yue sighed heavily, a real weight in his chest, and patted the young man’s shoulder awkwardly. NPC or not, the man’s digital life was tragic enough in its narrative to make anyone’s heart ache with sympathy.

“So,” Qi Yue asked after a moment, “do you prefer the name Shiba, or Fugui?” He didn’t feel right just changing someone’s name on a whim without consent, even a digital someone.

After all, in his modern worldview, everyone, real or coded, deserved a basic level of equal respect regarding their identity.

Chen Shiba smiled faintly, a sad, thin curve of his lips. “Let’s stick with Fugui, Master. If you call me Shiba, I’ll just think of my mother and sister every time. A new name might as well mean a new beginning, like you said.”

Qi Yue nodded, accepting this. “Alright. But keep your family name, Chen. It’s the only thing they left you with. That stays.”

Chen Fugui didn’t argue, bowing his head slightly in assent.

They arrived at a small post station inn in the suburbs that evening as the light faded and rented two small, adjoining rooms. Qi Yue shared one with Fugui, he took the narrow wooden bed, Fugui slept on a thin reed mat on the floor. The unconscious man, still out, was placed alone in the other room. If he woke in the night and left on his own, all the better, one less complication.

Because of that whole accident and rescue earlier, Qi Yue’s travel schedule had been delayed by half a day.

The inn wasn’t exactly clean either, it had the smell of old sweat and damp wood. Bedding wasn’t washed daily, just aired out, and travelers sometimes left lice or fleas behind. Fastidious from his modern hygiene standards, Qi Yue refused to sleep directly on someone else’s possibly infested sheets, so he always carried his own rolled up bedding in the carriage.

Once they had unpacked the basics, he told Fugui to go down and buy dinner from the inn’s kitchen or a nearby food stall.

“Get a plate of stir fried pork with greens, and if there’s fresh fish, buy one steamed. I want vegetables too, two separate dishes should do. Oh, and any kind of broth soup will do. Three large bowls of rice.”

He pulled out a string of a hundred copper coins, neatly threaded, from his travel bundle.

“Keep this string. Use it for daily purchases so I don’t have to hand out coins each time. If you’re short, just tell me. Also,” he added, as an afterthought, “you’ll get a proper monthly wage from me, starting now. Two fen of silver, that’s two hundred coppers. When times get better or business is good, I’ll raise it.”

Fugui hadn’t touched or held money of his own in ages, since before his family’s downfall. Hearing that he would even get a regular monthly wage, not just food and shelter, made his eyes light up with stunned gratitude, and he almost knelt down right there on the dusty floorboards to kowtow.

“Thank you, Master! Your servant will never forget this kindness!”

Qi Yue quickly stopped him, grabbing his arm. “No need for that. We don’t do kneeling for every little thing here. Stand up.”

Once Fugui stood up again, visibly emotional, Qi Yue urged him to hurry off to get the food before things got too awkwardly sentimental.

Curfew in the settlement was near, and finding hot food this late wasn’t easy. Also, the unconscious man hadn’t eaten all day either. If he woke up weak and fainted again from low blood sugar, that would be a new hassle.

So Qi Yue ordered an extra portion of everything for him, to be safe.

Fugui came back soon with a laden tray. Qi Yue set aside one portion on a separate plate for the unconscious man, then sat down with Fugui at the small table in their room to eat.

Fugui hesitated at first, instinctively moving to squat on the floor near the door to eat, as servants did, but Qi Yue frowned and pointed firmly at the other stool. “Sit. At the table. We’re traveling, rules are simpler.”

Doctors weren’t easy to find in these suburbs, and Qi Yue had no idea why that man had fainted, whether from injury, illness, or starvation. Luckily, just as they were debating whether to try and find a local healer in the morning to check on him, the man in the next room finally stirred and woke up with a groan. Qi Yue couldn’t help suspecting for a moment he had been faking it, waiting for them to bring food before ‘conveniently’ waking up.

But after the man ate ravenously and then, with tears of shame, told his story between bites, Qi Yue realized he probably wasn’t a scammer after all, just incredibly unlucky.

The man’s name was Zhang Xian, a scholar from the south traveling to the capital to take the imperial exam, holding the juren degree.

The Zhang family were minor landowners in their local county, well off but not nobles. He had been traveling with two family servants, one got lost chasing off a thief who tried to pick his pocket at an inn, and the other vanished while out searching for the first. Both were born servants, loyal to the core, and their loss weighed on him.

Zhang Xian had then run into a group of bandits on a lonely stretch of road. They robbed him of both money and clothes, leaving him in his under robe. Because they learned from his belongings that he was a juren and distantly related to the prestigious Zhang family of the imperial cabinet, they didn’t dare kill him and risk serious reprisal, so they let him go, after a fashion.

‘Let go’ might have been too generous a term. He was a penniless, half dressed scholar dumped in the wilderness, wandering hungry and ragged for two days until he reached Jingdu’s outskirts, disoriented, only to stagger into the path of Qi Yue’s carriage. Or rather, he hit himself, since he clearly wasn’t watching where he was walking in his dazed state.

After a full meal of rice and meat, Zhang Xian finally regained some color and energy, but once he started thinking clearly about everything he had been through, the loss, the humiliation, he broke down crying at the table. A thirty year old man, a scholar, weeping like a pear blossom battered by rain, his shoulders shaking.

Qi Yue comforted him half heartedly, patting his back. It wasn’t like Zhang Xian was a rich widow or a beautiful noble lady whose tears might be profitable. “There, there.”

“Alright, alright, stop crying,” he muttered after a few minutes, then left him to rest in his own room while he and Fugui went to bed, exhausted.

The next morning, after a simple breakfast of porridge, Qi Yue brought Zhang Xian along with them, had a more substantial meal at an eatery, and then continued their journey toward the next county seat near Jingdu. Since Zhang Xian was a juren, passing the provincial exam at his age showed real scholarly talent and potential future influence. Qi Yue figured befriending him couldn’t hurt, it was a social investment. He bought him two sets of proper, modest scholar’s clothes at a cloth shop and even gave him ten taels of silver from his own funds to help him reach Jingdu safely and re establish himself.

What happened afterward, reporting the robbery to authorities, finding his family connections, wasn’t Qi Yue’s concern. His gesture was made.

Zhang Xian was deeply, effusively grateful, his eyes reddening again. “I really don’t know how to thank you enough. Such great kindness. Why don’t we swear brotherhood under Heaven, as men of different surnames? That way, I can repay this life saving favor properly in the future. What do you think, Brother Qi?”

Qi Yue hesitated internally. Ten taels of silver, that was like ten thousand yuan back home, a substantial sum. His total streaming profit so far wasn’t much higher than that. If the guy was offering a formal bond and promising to repay him later, all the better. At least if they were sworn brothers, Zhang Xian would have a harder time socially pretending he forgot the debt. So Qi Yue agreed, playing the part.

They didn’t have a proper hall or temple, so they just bowed solemnly to an old pine tree by the roadside and celebrated the new oath with a modest meal at a local tavern. After that ritual, Zhang Xian treated Qi Yue like his cherished younger brother, practically smothering him with concern and advice about the road ahead.

Qi Yue, used to his solo streaming antics, couldn’t stand the clingy, earnest attention for long. After spending another obligatory night at an inn together, he claimed he had urgent business elsewhere down a different road and set off briskly with Fugui at first light, leaving a wistful Zhang Xian behind.

Zhang Xian only knew his new sworn brother was headed generally south, for Xinghexian, though Qi Yue had already memorized Zhang Xian’s home address in the south. If the guy didn’t repay the debt later once he was back on his feet, once the southern map opened up more, Qi Yue would have other players help him track the man down and collect, digitally.

Meanwhile, in Qi Yue’s livestream chat, which he checked when alone, the comments scrolled by nonstop during the interaction:

"Qi Yue is loaded now, lending ten thousand like it’s pocket change. Big spender vibes."

"Didn’t Zhang Xian say he’s going to Jingdu? Other players in the capital can keep an eye on him there, see if he’s legit."

"If he’s a scammer, he’s not going anywhere near Jingdu after this, he’ll vanish."

"Qi Yue looks street smart but he’s kind of a fool with that soft heart."

"His brain is full of scheming to meet rich widows, but he goes and adopts a broke scholar brother instead. Plot twist."

"Hahaha, I’m dying! The rich widow dream is dead, long live the scholar brother!"

After leaving the county with Fugui and heading further south toward Xinghexian, Qi Yue couldn’t shake a nagging, logical feeling.

“Bandits operating that brazenly near Jingdu? Isn’t that a bit much, even for game bandits? Wouldn’t the capital garrison patrol those roads?”

Fugui, now more comfortable speaking, replied thoughtfully, “I’ve heard of water bandits, though. Pirates from the southern seas often raid the coastal trade routes. Zhao is full of rivers and canals, and for some reason, inland trade routes have been seeing more water based bandits lately, moving upriver.”

Having been sold and transported through many hands and regions, Fugui had picked up quite a few rumors and bits of news. The more chaos the realm suffered, the cheaper and more plentiful slaves like him became, until a whimsical buyer like Qi Yue came along.

“Still, bandits right under Jingdu’s nose, on a main road? That’s pushing the empire’s credibility,” Qi Yue muttered, tapping his fan against his palm as he puzzled over it.

As he puzzled, the narrative scene cut abruptly to the bustling, noisy streets of Jingdu City itself, to a different story.

At a small, cloth draped fortune telling stall set up near a busy intersection, the Player known as Gui Banxian suddenly sneezed violently, disturbing the incense she had burning.

“Achoo!”

She shook her head, her male avatar’s long hair swaying, and coughed twice into her sleeve.

Another NPC, a worried looking merchant’s wife, soon approached her table, asking nervously for a reading about her husband’s business trip.

Gui Banxian’s real player name was Gui Hua.

Like Wang Wuyuan, who was a male playing a female looking male avatar, Gui Hua’s situation was reversed, her avatar was a female looking male character, her features deliberately crafted to be graceful, delicate, and almost ethereal, confusing the NPC gender norms. She usually disguised herself as a wandering male diviner to, well, scam people, ahem, to tell fortunes for a fee.

Since she had started streaming her mystical grift, she didn’t go online for long hours, and when she did, she mostly chatted playful nonsense with her viewers or tricked gullible NPCs in game out of their coins with vague prophecies.

Just like today, after pocketing a hefty sum of copper from the merchant’s wife with promises of future wealth, she started her usual dramatic act for the stream viewers.

“Oh my! My dear guest, your fate… it’s once in a hundred years! This is… this is the destiny of…” She closed her eyes dramatically, fingers moving as if calculating invisible astrological charts.

She had been overusing ‘imperial destiny’ and ‘minister’s star’ lately, so she decided to switch it up for novelty. “The destiny of a king!” she declared with exaggerated, ringing grandeur.

Chapter Text

The fortune teller’s customer, a middle aged man dressed in fine but not extravagant silk, seemed to take her cryptic words seriously. Shaking his folding fan nervously, he leaned closer over the small table and asked in a hushed, intense tone, “Sir, what do you mean by that? A king’s destiny? For whom?”

“Ah, that... Heaven’s secrets must not be revealed, the celestial mechanism is profound,” Gui Banxian said, her expression deliberately mysterious and unreadable, stroking her fake beard.

The vaguer and more ominous she was, the more curious and anxious the man became, his imagination painting grand, terrifying possibilities.

A moment later, with a furtive glance around, a small, shiny piece of silver, about half a tael, clinked quietly onto Gui Banxian’s worn fortune telling table, a bribe for more details.

Meanwhile, in her livestream comment section, the activity was exploding with glee and cross talk.

“Hahaha, over in Qi Yue’s stream, he is still wondering why there are bandits around the capital! Little does he know!”

“This girl is incredible, a once in a decade scam every day, a once in a century con every three days! She is a legend.”

“She is a genius at turning potential enemies into paying customers. Psychological warfare master.”

“If she keeps fooling rich, powerful NPCs like this, she is really not afraid to die, huh. One wrong prediction and it is off with her head.”

“She has got at least three different hideouts around the city, her disguise and stall setup change daily. A true grift artist.”

“That is some deadly earned money, hahaha. High risk, high reward.”

“People are already unhappy with life, and now she is telling fortunes about ‘strange talents’ and ‘kingly destinies’ every day. No wonder there are ambitious bandits and plotters near the capital. She is stirring the pot!”

“Hahaha, heard there is an NPC named Zhang Xian nearby, a distant relative of the Prime Minister. He almost lost his life in a bandit raid. Coincidence? I think not!”

“Not opening more player slots was the right call by the devs. The Fourth Calamity, the Player, is truly terrifying! We are the chaos factor.”

“No way, we still need more slots! What else am I supposed to play? This is the only good game out there!”

“Did you guys see the sports meet stream from Xinghexian? It is so lively! Much better content than shady fortune telling.”

“Don’t spam other livestreams here! Keep this chat clean for the scam artistry!”

Back in Xinghexian, far from the capital’s intrigues, Lin Qian had been quite busy lately with administration and now the public event.

After the spring planting season ended across the county, the much anticipated county sports meet finally began on schedule.

She even took two full days off from her usual official duties to attend personally, to hand out awards to the winners and be seen by the people. Of course, most of them were not actual martial champions or professional athletes, but it was still a matter of civic honor and encouragement.

Right now, the final archery event was underway on the marked field, with the last three contestants deciding the top spots. Each person shot three arrows in order at straw targets fifty paces away, and the scores were averaged by clerks. The competition moved fast, one after another, and most of the watching crowd didn’t really understand the finer points of archery. They were just there for the excitement, buying roasted nuts and candied fruit from vendors and bringing their kids to see the spectacle.

People in this era loved grand, communal events like this. To them, it was all “seeing the world,” a rare break from toil. Honestly, that wasn’t wrong. When it was over, after some close calls, a short, lean man named Zhang San took first place, Li Si came a close second, and Wang Wu placed third.

Lin Qian went up the wooden stage to present the awards. She had written the commendation certificates by hand in her distinct calligraphy, and after reading out the names and achievements, she personally handed each winner their silver reward from a red lacquered tray. Most of the participants were commoners, laborers, and farmers. After all, the wealthy gentry didn’t care about a few taels of silver, nor did they like mingling with the poor in such muddy, public fields. If they won, fine, but losing to a commoner would be humiliating.

Still, a few adventurous young masters from merchant families had joined for fun, thinking it would be amusing. They didn’t care much about winning or losing, just the experience.

Just as Lin Qian was about to hand the champion, Zhang San, his certificate and the three taels of silver, a man suddenly shouted hoarsely from outside the crowd and charged straight, bull like, toward the stage where she stood.

“Bastard!”

“You disgraceful bastard!”

She frowned, her expression cooling, curious to see who dared to cause such a scene and shout insults on such a festive, public day.

When the red faced, panting man got closer, pushing through the murmuring crowd, she recognized him. It was a local landowner surnamed Qian from the western part of the county.

She remembered him well. Back when there had been that major scandal over forced land seizures and peasant protests, this Qian Yuanwai had been one of the ringleaders, a particularly greedy one. He had been punished heavily by her predecessor and then by herself, buying his way out of prison with a huge fine and donating a considerable additional sum to the yamen as public penance to avoid worse.

Of course, Lin Qian’s guards, standing alert nearby, weren’t there for decoration. A fat, out of shape man like him stood no chance against trained constables. Within moments, the head constable had tackled him heavily to the muddy ground just ten paces from the stage steps, pinning him there with a knee in his back.

Lin Qian calmly finished handing the champion his award, watching the man’s confused face, before stepping down from the stage and walking over, her officials parting for her.

Qian Yuanwai lay face down in the churned earth. All he could see was the deep blue hem of her magistrate’s robe and the plain black official boots in front of him. Above him came her cool, steady voice, laced with unmistakable authority. “This Official is unaware of any reason why, on a day of public celebration, Qian Yuanwai would shout ‘bastard’ at This Official. Perhaps you wish to enlighten us all as to your grievance?”

Sweat immediately beaded on his forehead and temples, mixing with the dirt.

He still remembered vividly, viscerally, how Lin Qian had made him and the other local gentry kneel in the yamen courtyard under the hot sun for hours, begging for mercy as they offered up their silver and signed restitution agreements.

“Daren, it’s a misunderstanding! This humble one wasn’t cursing you, but my own ungrateful daughter!” he gasped out, his voice muffled by the ground.

His family had once produced scholars, even a mid level official in the capital generations back, though Lin Qian wasn’t sure of the details. Now, no one in his household even qualified as a Xiucai, the lowest scholarly degree. He was called “Yuanwai” only because he owned a lot of land and had wealth, not because of any real official title or merit.

In this era, scholars and degree holders held real, tangible prestige and legal privilege. Even a lowly Xiucai didn’t need to kneel before a local magistrate during an audience.

But a rich man without a degree? He still had to kneel and kowtow like everyone else when summoned.

That was why every wealthy family longed to have a scholar among their ranks. It brought true honor and protection, not just money.

“All trades are lowly, only study stands high.” The saying held truth. Reading brought not necessarily money directly, but power and status. Of course, Lin Qian knew not every scholar studied purely for power. Many genuinely sought knowledge and to serve the people. The tragedy was that once they entered the officialdom, the system corrupted too many, turning them into the very kind of greedy, oppressive officials they had once despised.

“Your daughter?” she asked, raising a slender eyebrow, glancing around. “What has your daughter to do with today’s events?”

“Yes, Daren.”

A neutral, clear, and unexpectedly youthful voice came from behind her on the stage.

Turning, Lin Qian saw the newly crowned ‘champion,’ Zhang San, leap down lightly from the stage and kneel formally in the dirt before her, head bowed.

“This humble woman disguised herself as a man to join the contest, violating the posted rules. I beg Daren to punish me accordingly.”

Lin Qian blinked, genuinely surprised. The girl, now that she looked closely, had sharp, well defined brows and bright, intelligent eyes, her aura fierce and steady, not cowed.

Unlike Lin Qian’s own calm, scholarly grace, she radiated a raw, physical boldness. Her face and hands were smeared with dark charcoal powder, her height was unremarkable for a ‘man,’ and her fingers, though rough, were slender. No wonder no one in the heat of competition had noticed the deception.

“This...” Lin Qian hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “If you wanted to compete fairly, there was a separate women’s division announced. Why join the men’s? Was the women’s prize not sufficient?”

“Daren,” the girl said, her voice firm, “this humble woman has been confined at home since birth, taught only needlework. My father is strict, forbidding me from leaving the house for such ‘unseemly’ activities. Many ladies and maids in the county know my face, so if I had joined the women’s contest, word would have reached him immediately. He would have dragged me home and punished me severely. But I wanted so badly to compete, to test my own skill... so I disguised myself, practiced in secret.”

“I see.” Lin Qian nodded slowly, understanding the rebellion. She signaled with a hand for the guards to release Qian Yuanwai.

Once freed, his flustered servant hurried over to help the spluttering man up, brushing dirt from his rich robes. The man immediately knelt again on the muddy ground, this time properly. “My foolish, unfilial daughter has caused great trouble. I beg Daren to show mercy for her youth and ignorance.”

Lin Qian looked from the red faced, angry father to the kneeling, resolute daughter.

"How amusing," she thought dryly. "Even a rat that shits in its own grain pot can raise a rebellious cub who sees the wider world."

“Punishment is still required, for the integrity of the games,” she said evenly, her voice carrying to the watching crowd. “Your daughter won her matches fair and square by skill, so we will simply award the fourth place contestant in her stead for the prize. No material harm was done to others. However, pretending to be a man to enter the men’s division did violate the publicly stated rules and deceived the judges.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and addressed the girl directly. “This Official hereby removes your first place title and formally revokes your silver reward. As further punishment, and to teach respect for order, you will serve one month as an unpaid volunteer for the county’s Women’s Association, assisting in their daily work. Does that sound fair and appropriate?”

Qian Yuanwai was ready to grudgingly accept the loss of face and silver, until he processed that last part. His head jerked up.

The fine and disqualification were reasonable, expected.

But the Women’s Association? That was a step too far.

Since Lin Qian’s arrival and policies, the traditional balance between men and women in Xinghexian had shifted noticeably, disturbingly to men like him.

Qian Yuanwai, being an old fashioned, conservative man, hated seeing women running shops or managing public affairs. It was fine, even entertaining, if other people’s daughters did it. He enjoyed the novel view. But his own wife, concubines, or daughter? Absolutely not. It was “indecent,” “shameful.”

And that Women’s Association? To him, it was a den of chaos and rebellion, a blight upon proper society, encouraging wives to leave their husbands.

If this kept up, would women soon be riding on men’s heads, forgetting their natural place?

Just as he was about to sputter an objection, his daughter, Qian Miao, spoke up first, her voice clear and accepting. “Thank you, Daren, for your fairness. I accept the punishment willingly.”

“You... you foolish girl... Daren...” He choked, too late to stop her agreement.

Lin Qian turned to him with a faint, polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “What is this? Does Qian Yuanwai take issue with This Official’s judgment? Do you believe it is too lenient, perhaps?”

Her tone was light, almost conversational, but her gaze held a steely edge that said clearly, ‘If you don’t like it, I can always order the punishment boards instead, a more traditional correction.’

Faced with that unspoken threat from the county’s highest legal authority, he dared not utter another word of protest, swallowing his rage with a gulp, his face purpling.

Lin Qian wrapped up the public matter swiftly and resumed the award ceremony for the other events, restoring the festive mood.

Later, after the crowds dispersed, Qian Yuanwai, fuming silently, brought his silent daughter home in their carriage.

Madam Qian was relieved to see the girl safe and unharmed, but when she heard the full story of the disguise, the victory, and the very public punishment, she nearly fainted from the shock and shame.

Qian Miao was immediately punished by her father to kneel on the hard wooden floor before the family ancestral tablets in the main hall. Hours passed, the shadows lengthening, before Madam Qian finally came to her quietly with a bowl of cold rice and vegetables. By then, the girl’s initial flush of defiant anger had cooled to a stubborn, smoldering resentment.

Madam Qian helped wipe the stubborn black charcoal paint from her daughter’s face with a damp cloth, sighing heavily as she said, “Your father suffered terribly because of that woman, Lin Xianling. We lost good land, paid heavy fines, even begged your uncle in the capital to use his influence to have her disciplined or transferred. But she is untouchable, backed by someone higher. He is only just recovered his spirits from that loss, and now you cause another mess, shaming the family publicly.”

“It was Father’s own fault for being so greedy before,” Qian Miao muttered, not looking up. “We aren’t short on money or food, so why harm others, take their fields? Isn’t that wrong? Honestly, I admire Lin Xianling for standing up for the poor and for... for making a place where skill matters, not just being a man.”

Madam Qian froze, cloth in hand, then sighed even more deeply, a sound of weary despair. “You don’t understand how the world works, child. This world devours people. If you don’t eat others, others will eat you. ‘Big fish eat small fish, small fish eat shrimp.’ If you don’t want to be eaten, you must become the big fish. Our family hasn’t produced a real scholar or official in three generations. Do you really think we can rely on wealth alone forever? Your brothers aren’t talented enough to pass the exams and support the household’s future status. One Lin Qian in power here is enough to make us choke on our own rice!”

Chapter Text

When Qian Miao stayed silent, her head bowed, Madam Qian sighed again, a sound full of weary worldly wisdom. “That’s why they say commoners should never fight officials. It’s a losing battle from the start. Back when the previous magistrates were in office, every year without fail we had to send seasonal offerings upward, ‘gifts’ of respect, at least a few dozen taels of silver, sometimes over a hundred if we wanted special favors. You really think that little plot of farmland income of ours was enough to cover such expenses year after year?

But that Lin Qian, she refuses to bend or accept such ‘customs.’ And after the Imperial Inspector came and saw her results, she had no choice but to protect her own position and reputation by throwing our family, and others like us, under the cart, making public examples of us.”

She looked at her daughter’s young, sullen face, the stubborn set of her jaw, and continued, her voice lower, “Think about it carefully. If our family could produce even one proper scholar, never mind a Juren or a Jinshi, even a lowly Xiucai would have been enough to bring honor and protection to our name. Those who study respect others who do; it’s a brotherhood. If we had a Xiucai in the family, someone who could walk in and out of the yamen freely, wear the scholar’s robe, we wouldn’t have ended up in such a miserable, vulnerable state, forced to kneel in the mud.”

“But we have relatives serving as officials in Zhengzhou too, don’t we?” Qian Miao murmured, clinging to a thin hope.

“They’re distant kin, several branches removed, and we rarely keep in touch or exchange favors. Besides, you know the saying, ‘even a mighty dragon can’t suppress the local snake.’ They aren’t from around here, their influence doesn’t reach this county, so how could they possibly help us in a local dispute? It’s not worth the obligation to them.”

“I still don’t think Lin Xianling is that kind of person,” Qian Miao insisted softly. “She’s someone who gets things done, who builds roads and sets fair wages. She isn’t corrupt, not like the others you describe.”

Madam Qian gave her a pitying, almost maternal smile. “Silly girl, all crows under Heaven are just as black. There’s no such thing as a truly clean official, only ones who hide it better or have different appetites. This Lin Qian might just be aiming higher than the rest, playing a longer game. For a woman to have such political ambition, that’s rare indeed, and perhaps more dangerous.”

Seeing her daughter pout and get ready to argue again, to defend her newfound idol, Madam Qian could only smile helplessly and shake her head, knowing the futility.

“All right, all right, let us suppose, for argument’s sake, that your admired Lin Xianling really is a good, uncorrupted official. Do you think she’ll stay in Xinghexian forever? Magistrates rotate, get promoted, or are transferred. Once another magistrate replaces her in a few years, it might not be a good one next time. Then where will we be? Back to paying ‘gifts,’ but with less silver after our losses.”

That practical, grim point finally shut Qian Miao up. What her mother said made cold, hard sense, the logic of survival.

After all, in all her reading of histories and listening to gossip, there weren’t many magistrates in the world as seemingly capable, fair, and genuinely close to the common people as Lin Xianling appeared to be. By the end of the long, silent day, even though Qian Miao had been formally punished to kneel for half a day, Master Qian, her father, watching from the doorway, couldn’t ultimately bear to see his favorite daughter suffer too much and gruffly lifted her punishment, telling her to go eat.

The next morning, after a tense, quiet family breakfast, a servant hurried in to the main hall to report that people from the Women’s Association had arrived at the front gate to take Qian Miao in for her assigned service.

Master Qian looked at the small, polite group waiting in his courtyard and could only fume silently, his hands clenched behind his back, unable to refuse the magistrate’s order.

The Women’s Association was openly backed by Lin Qian’s authority. In Xinghexian now, the magistrate’s word carried great weight, and most of the common folk, having benefited from her policies, stood firmly by her side. No one with sense dared to openly cross her or her projects.

Qian Miao followed the two Association members out, accompanied by two young female attendants her worried parents had sent along to chaperone. When they reached the Women’s Association compound, however, the attendants were gently but firmly stopped at the door, told that volunteers entered alone.

She entered the courtyard alone, feeling a mix of nervous excitement and defiant pride. She had always admired this place from afar. Young, educated from private tutors, and naturally open minded, she liked what it stood for, the independence it offered. Perhaps Lin Daren had seen that spark in her, that was probably why she had been assigned here specifically. Though it was meant as a public punishment, to Qian Miao it felt more like a quiet, understanding reward. She had come first in the competition, had even beaten the men at their own game, but since Lin Qian couldn’t openly reward that transgression, she had arranged this as a way to make it up to her, to give her a taste of freedom.

Inside the clean, orderly courtyard, she was greeted by Su Weiyang, who had been informed of her arrival.

“There isn’t much heavy labor to do on most days,” Su Weiyang explained kindly as she led her through the quiet hallways. “The resident women and children handle the daily cleaning themselves. Meals are arranged by our contracted local cooks. We mostly handle external patrols in the commercial district, make sure everything stays safe for the women working there, and investigate whenever someone reports an issue of harassment or unfairness. Come, I’ll show you around first, get you familiar.”

As they walked, Su Weiyang introduced every corner of the place, the dormitories with their neat rows of beds, the bustling kitchen smelling of midday stew, the large meeting hall with benches, the small reception room for visitors, and finally, the airy back rooms used as classrooms where basic characters were written on slates.

Everywhere they went, Qian Miao saw women of various ages smiling as they worked or studied, real, unguarded smiles of focus or quiet conversation.

When she saw them in the classroom, some her age, some older, laboriously tracing characters or learning simple arithmetic for market trade, her eyes welled up with unexpected emotion. This was real change, real opportunity.

She had found her place, a world away from her father’s stifling hall.

After the public award ceremony, Lin Qian returned to the yamen and buried herself in paperwork and administration again. After half a year of concerted effort and study, she had managed to cram quite a bit of local law, tax codes, and agricultural manuals into her head, balancing modern knowledge with historical context.

The Spring Imperial Examinations in the capital were approaching, and Xinghexian would soon hold its own county level preliminary exams to select candidates. Lin Qian was to serve as one of the chief examiners, reading essays. Ever since the last visit from the Imperial Inspector, which had solidified her standing, many local gentry had tried to maintain cautious, respectful contact with her, though none dared to test her temper or ethics too far. No one could quite tell if she was truly incorruptible or just pretending to be for now. So when the exams came around, none of the wealthy households dared to attempt outright bribery or overt influence, fearing a trap.

Normally, corrupt officials would subtly hint to local merchants and rich families about what they wanted, creating a system. Since Lin Qian hadn’t said a word, hadn’t sent any signals, those who had been punished before wouldn’t dare act rashly and risk her wrath again.

After all, education wasn’t something every peasant child could afford, it required time away from labor and money for books and tutors.

In Xinghexian, there were barely a hundred families who could support a son in full time study. Among a few hundred examinees, maybe a dozen or two would pass the county test, much easier odds than the brutal prefectural or provincial exams. So no one felt any particular rush to curry favor this cycle; there would always be another exam in three years. They could watch and wait.

Spring had truly come, the willows greening, and the entire county was bustling again with travelers and renewed trade.

Meanwhile, far from the examination halls, Chen An and his son had finished their business in Xinghexian and were on the road back home, hauling the lumber and crates of glassware they had bought in their creaking carts. Outside the city walls, the empty, quiet roads and barren early spring landscape felt strange and lonely after so many lively, crowded days in bustling Xinghexian.

For their timber trade, though, Xingpingxian was still better situated for river transport down to larger markets, so they headed that way, following the familiar road. As soon as they reached the city gates of Xingpingxian, they saw the usual clusters of beggars by the gates and weary travelers hurrying along, the scene a stark contrast to the order they had left.

The father and son didn’t feel like locals returning home, but like outsiders visiting a strange, slightly grim place. They unloaded their goods at the busy dock, sold the bulk lumber to a big merchant at the usual price, then brought one carefully handled crate of glassware home to their compound, planning to sell it piece by piece later when prices might go up as news spread. They had always run a small, honest timber business, selling only to local merchants since they had no powerful connections or capital to trade afar, so the profits were modest but steady.

At home, reunited with Madam Xu, their wife and mother, after a long time away, the three sat in the main hall chatting about everything that had happened, the food, the sights, the new buildings. After a while, Chen An asked his son to bring the prized crate of glassware out from the storeroom for his wife to see.

The moment Madam Xu saw the sparkling, clear cups and delicate plates nestled in straw, she froze in shock, her hand going to her chest. “Such precious, fine glassware! Where did this come from? Don’t tell me you got caught up in something dangerous or are holding it for someone else as a favor?”

Afraid of breaking anything, she didn’t even dare to touch it, just stared.

Father and son exchanged amused, proud glances.

“Mother, don’t worry,” Chen Ping said quickly, grinning. “Father bought it fairly, for our own business.”

Madam Xu frowned deeply. “That must have cost hundreds of taels of silver. You didn’t empty our family savings for this, did you? Where did you even get that kind of money?” She couldn’t help suspecting her husband had been hiding a secret stash all these years, maybe keeping half their timber profits for himself without telling her.

Startled by her sharp glare, Chen An turned pale and stammered, waving his hands, “No, no, wife, it didn’t cost much! The whole crate was only a few dozen taels! Really!”

“Only a few dozen taels? For fine glass? At least lie more convincingly!” she snapped, hands on her hips.

“Mother, Father is telling the truth,” Chen Ping cut in nervously. “It’s a new business in Xinghexian. The people there are prosperous and content now, and a big part of it is thanks to these very glasswares. They make them there.”

Madam Xu blinked, baffled. “Did they find a glass mine or something? A treasure trove?”

“Not quite,” Chen Ping replied, eager to explain. “They’ve learned how to make glass themselves, a new technique. I don’t know the exact method, it’s a secret, but each bowl or cup sells for about one tael in the county. The news hasn’t spread far yet, so Father and I spent our combined savings to buy directly from the workshop, as an investment.”

Chen An, usually stern and authoritative before his son, dared not raise his voice before his wife and only nodded eagerly, like a boy. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly it. We bought low to sell higher later.”

Madam Xu still looked doubtful, her eyes narrowed, but she trusted her son’s earnest face enough to tentatively believe him. “If that’s true, then... fine. But you should have written first, you gave me a fright.”

Seeing she had calmed down, Chen An ventured cautiously, “There’s something else, wife, something bigger I want to discuss with you.”

His suddenly serious tone made her sit up straight on her stool. “What is it? Out with it.”

He and Chen Ping then carefully explained their half formed plan to move the entire family and settle permanently in Xinghexian, to start anew there.

Their ancestral roots weren’t even in Xingpingxian; they had moved there a generation ago for trade. Madam Xu’s family was from here, but she had drifted apart from her brothers after their parents passed away, with little contact.

So they didn’t really have any deep, unbreakable reason to stay, no grave sites or major clan ties.

“The new magistrate in Xinghexian is truly capable, unlike any other,” Chen An said, leaning forward. “When we left last year after selling timber, it was still a poor county full of thieves and despair, even the plants outside the city walls were dying. When we went back at year’s end to buy this glass, it was completely different, like another world.

Our timber business can be done anywhere there are forests and rivers, but there’s never much profit in it, as you know. This glass business might not last forever once others learn the secret, so we’d better make money while we can, and establish ourselves where the opportunity is.”

He spoke so passionately he forgot to drink his cooling tea.

“Xinghexian is growing fast, and its population is still small compared to here. If we buy land there now, build a house, we’ll be ahead of everyone else when the boom really comes.”

Madam Xu thought for a long time, her fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve, before answering slowly, “Yun’er hasn’t come back from her visit yet. Even if we decide this, we should wait till she returns and ask her thoughts.”

Yun’er was Chen Ping’s wife, Qian Yun, a native of Xingpingxian, her family here.

Unlike Madam Xu, Qian Yun had a good, close relationship with her own family, and she got along well with her mother in law too, often returning to visit her parents every few months for a week. That very day, Qian Yun had taken their young granddaughter back to her maiden home for a visit.

Though Chen An and Chen Ping privately didn’t think her opinion would fundamentally change the family decision, they agreed it was proper and respectful to inform her first and hear her mind. There was still glassware to sell here anyway, so there was no need to rush the move immediately.

That night, the family, minus Qian Yun, had a warm dinner together, and Chen Ping eagerly shared more tales from Xinghexian, how even women could enter public bathhouses safely, how there were mirrors made of silver backed glass so clear you could see every hair, and how the county had outlawed brothels entirely, turning the women to other work.

To Madam Xu, who had never left Xingpingxian, it all sounded like stories from another world, fantastical.

But the father and son, in their excitement, hadn’t even mentioned the most shocking part of all until they were all getting ready for bed, washing up in the courtyard.

“Oh, and Mother,” Chen Ping said casually, drying his face on a cloth, “the county magistrate there, the one who turned everything around, she’s a woman. A female official.”

Madam Xu, carrying a basin of water, almost dropped the heavy wooden cup she was holding. “Nonsense! Since when could women be officials?”

Chapter Text

Although many in the empire had heard of Lin Qian’s deeds, most of those who knew the full story were scholars or officials who discussed such matters in government bureaus and tea houses.

As for women like Madam Xu, who spent their days secluded at home and rarely stepped beyond the heavy wooden courtyard gates, they naturally hadn’t heard much about it. Even if a passing word had reached her ears once or twice from a visiting relative or a servant, she had only treated it as gossip, nothing worth believing. Her world was defined by the four walls of her home, far removed from the shifting tides of the imperial court.

“It's true, Mother! She is even a student of the Son of Heaven!”

Madam Xu felt her world turn upside down. She gripped the edge of her chair as if to steady herself against the shock. “A woman, a Jinshi?” Her voice rose in pitch, reflecting her sheer disbelief.

Chen Ping nodded earnestly, his expression solemn. “A Tanhua!”

Seeing her husband and son so serious, Madam Xu still couldn’t quite believe it. The idea of a woman succeeding in the grueling imperial examinations seemed like a fantasy. However, she listened quietly as they told her Lin Qian’s story, her eyes wide as the narrative unfolded in the quiet room.

When it ended, she couldn’t help murmuring, “Barely in her twenties, yet with such ability. Even men can’t compare.”

In her eyes, bringing peace and prosperity to the realm was men’s work, something conducted in distant halls of power. A woman’s duty was to manage the household and ensure the family’s needs were met. But after hearing Lin Qian’s story, even she couldn’t resist praising her.

Chen Ping sighed. “Indeed. To earn the Tanhua title at such an age, she is practically a reincarnation of the God of Literature himself.”

Madam Xu clasped her hands with a grin, her earlier skepticism replaced by a touch of pride. “You men sure love to brag, but looks like your kind can’t hold a candle to us skirt-wearers. Amitabha, Zhao Empire finally has a woman who can put you arrogant men in your place!”

“Do we even need anyone else to do that?” Chen Ping teased, his eyes twinkling as he looked at his wife.

Madam Xu shot him a look, and he immediately fell silent. Chen An offered a respectful bowing to his parents before heading off to rest, the fatigue of his travels finally showing in his posture.

The next morning, Qian Yun heard that both her father-in-law and husband had returned home, so she quickly brought the children back to the Chen household. The house was soon filled with the sound of children’s laughter. When her husband told her about Xinghexian, she grew as curious about Lin Qian, the female magistrate, as her mother-in-law had been.

The shipment of glazed wares had made far more money than anyone in the Chen family expected. With just fifty taels of cost, they’d earned more than six hundred taels of pure profit. The silver sat in the chest, gleaming under the morning light.

In the past, even working tirelessly for a whole year, Chen Ping and his father had only made about two hundred taels (about 7.5 kilograms). And that was when they managed to trade rare timber. If the quality was poor or the route difficult, they could even lose money. They were always at the mercy of the market and the mountain paths.

Now, this box of glazed goods had low cost, high profit, and no risk at all. It was like money falling straight from the heavens into their laps.

After seeing six hundred taels with her own eyes, Madam Xu stopped opposing the idea of moving, and Qian Yun agreed as well. The sight of such wealth was enough to convince anyone of Xinghexian’s potential.

Of course, prosperity made them generous. They didn't want to forget their kin, knowing that family was the foundation of their success.

Chen An, under the pretext of a business partnership, gathered his wife’s family and in-laws. They sat in the main hall as he spoke, his voice steady. He said there was a lucrative trade opportunity that needed investment. Though none of them knew exactly what business Chen An was in, they trusted his steady character and proven judgment. The Xu family put in twenty taels, and the Qian family fifty.

Once he had the money, Chen An packed up the family, loaded four carriages with their belongings, and set off for Xinghexian. They needed to move fast while glazed goods were still valuable. Once word spread and others caught on, profits would shrink.

The journey there was smoother than expected, the roads relatively clear of the usual hazards. As the family’s young and able member, Chen Ping went ahead early to settle things and ensure the transition was seamless.

The land and house had been chosen long ago; they’d only lacked funds.

Luckily, the property hadn’t been sold yet when Chen Ping arrived. He paid the owner, signed the deed, and had the servants clean and prepare the home, airing out the rooms. By the time everything was ready, Chen An and the rest of the family had arrived in Xinghexian.

Property prices there weren’t high compared to the capital or larger hubs. With just a hundred taels (approximately 3.7 kilograms), they bought a three-entry courtyard, and the seller even threw in a piece of land behind it for future expansion. If relatives later decided to move over, they’d have somewhere to stay.

The Chen family’s new house was close to the Zheng family’s, making them neighbors who could look out for each other. This was a key reason Chen An had chosen the place. In this world full of strange people, finding sensible, like-minded neighbors was no small blessing. The women of the Zheng family were educated and courteous, so the Chen women could enjoy some proper company. Moving here, in every sense, had been the right choice.

Expecting his family to arrive that morning, Chen Ping had already ordered someone to wait by the gate at dawn. He didn't want them waiting in the street after their long journey. So when Chen An and the others arrived, someone was ready to receive them.

After two days on the road, the family returned to their new home, had a meal, and rested briefly. The scent of fresh food filled the new kitchen. Before long, Madam Xu and Qian Yun decided to explore the city. From the carriage earlier, they’d seen for themselves that there were no beggars or cripples by the city gate, just as Chen An and Chen Ping had said. Curiosity stirred within them, and they could hardly wait to see more of this unusual place.

The father and son also wanted to show them around, so the whole family set out on foot.

Madam Xu and Qian Yun weren’t from noble families, but back in Xingpingxian, they’d rarely stepped outside. Even when they did, they always rode in sedan chairs, hidden behind silk curtains. At first, both women were nervous, afraid men might stare at them with unwelcome interest, but when they noticed other women walking about freely, their tension eased. Who could have imagined that under Lin Qian’s governance, Xinghexian (in less than a year) had become a place where women could walk the streets without fear?

“Even Xingpingxian can’t compare to this.” Madam Xu, who hadn’t quite believed her husband and son before, finally saw the truth for herself. The lively atmosphere of the market was undeniable.

She might have stayed home most days, but she still kept an ear on news from the timber trade, so she knew Xinghexian had always been poorer than Xingpingxian. Yet now, it was more prosperous and lively than many large xian. Years ago, people said the place was crawling with thieves and bandits. But now, constables patrolled every street with a disciplined air. No one even feared going out alone.

By the time they reached the main street, all her earlier worries had faded into the background.

They’d planned to visit the foot-bath hall, but the route passed through Furong Street, where women sold goods. That street used to have a terrible reputation, known for its dens of vice. Respectable ladies would spit and curse “vixen” before turning away in disgust.

But ever since Lin Xianling came, everything had changed. When the yamen first reported the income from Furong Street, Lin Qian noticed it lagged behind other business districts despite selling premium goods like rouge and silk.

After studying it, she realized the problem wasn't the products or the prices; it was the environment and the people. The lingering stigma kept decent customers away. So the next day, she personally went there with Madam Qiu to set a new example.

Naturally, a county magistrate’s visit drew attention. Many yamen officers accompanied her, creating quite a scene on the bustling street.

She visited several shops, buying rouge for Madam Qiu, herself, and the maids. She examined the powders and scents with a keen eye.

She already had glassware and mirrors from the factory, since Jian Xiu often sent her the latest samples for trial use. Her own residence was already equipped with the finest wares the county produced.

Meanwhile, Furong Street’s former courtesans, with help from the Women’s Association, had been reformed. Those who refused to behave were dismissed.

The street’s shops were funded by the yamen, and the women now worked regular jobs with fixed wages, no longer needing to resort to disgraceful means for profit. Still, the more they sold, the bigger their year-end bonuses. This gave them a direct stake in the street’s success.

The glass factory took a share, and the rest went to the yamen. With that steady stream of revenue, Lin Qian could fund public works and even prepare military grain reserves. To ensure the project’s success, she personally endorsed Furong Street, even inscribing plaques for several shops herself. The elegant calligraphy stood as a testament to her support.

Many men still secretly disapproved, clinging to old prejudices, but since she was a Tanhua and a student of the Son of Heaven, no one dared voice their complaints. Her authority was too great to challenge openly.

To women, however, Lin Qian was an icon.

She’d cleared her family’s name and surpassed countless men in the imperial exams. She represented a possibility they had never dared to imagine.

What young lady wouldn’t admire her?

If Lin Xianling wanted Furong Street to thrive, then those ladies would support her by shopping there. It became a matter of solidarity.

Gradually, the city’s attitude toward the street’s women changed. People discovered that many of them were literate, some even skilled in the arts of music and painting. Wherever culture went, respect followed.

Lin Qian had merely given them an opportunity. It was their own talent and grace that won people’s hearts and slowly washed away the old reputation.

“Madam’s skin is fair, this rouge would suit you perfectly.”

The salesgirl spoke gently, her sleeves neatly tied back with ribbons to keep them out of the way, revealing a hint of her arm. They no longer wore loose, gaudy clothes but simple, elegant ones that suggested professionalism. They didn't act frail or pitiful to attract sympathy. Instead, they looked healthy and confident, yet still soft and feminine. Some even dressed in men’s attire for convenience, and with their beauty, those shops often drew even more customers who were intrigued by their bold style.

===

Imperial Examination Ranks and Titles

1. Tongsheng 童生

Student candidate.

• Entry level examinee.

• No official degree.

• Still considered a commoner.

• Studying for the county exam to become a xiucai.

• Can be any age despite the name “child student.”

2. Xiucai 秀才

Also called Shengyuan 生员.
Licentiate.

• First official degree.

• Earned at the county or prefectural level.

• Enters the scholar class.

• Gains legal and social privileges.

• Cannot yet hold real office.

3. Juren 举人

Provincial graduate.

• Earned by passing the provincial examination.

• Major social leap.

• Eligible for lower to mid level official posts.

• Considered elite within local society.

Provincial first place title

• Jieyuan 解元

  • First place scorer of the provincial exam.

  • Honorary title on top of being a juren.

4. Gongshi 贡士

Metropolitan exam qualifier.

• Juren who passed the metropolitan examination.

• Qualified to enter the palace examination.

• Transitional status, not a lasting rank.

Metropolitan first place title

• Huiyuan 会元

  • First place scorer of the metropolitan exam.

  • Marks dominance among national elites.

5. Jinshi 进士

Presented Scholar.

• Highest regular degree.

• Earned through the palace examination.

• Personally ranked by the emperor.

• Almost guaranteed official appointment.

• Entry into the central bureaucracy.

Palace examination rankings

• Zhuangyuan 状元

  • First place jinshi.

  • Highest honor in the entire system.

• Bangyan 榜眼

  • Second place jinshi.

• Tanhua 探花

  • Third place jinshi.

Special Combined Honor

• San Yuan Ji Di 三元及第

  • Achieved Jieyuan, Huiyuan, and Zhuangyuan in one cycle.

  • Extremely rare.

  • Treated as heaven chosen genius in history and fiction.

Chapter Text

Madam Xu looked at the rouge in her hand, tempted by the fine texture, though she hesitated at the shade. It seemed a little too light against her skin. She was worried it might make her look like she was trying too hard to appear young, a concern that etched small lines of doubt across her forehead as she turned her head from side to side, caught in the reflection of the shop’s polished surfaces.

The shop assistant noticed her hesitation and smiled, her expression warm and reassuring. “This rouge is one of our bestsellers. From eighteen-year-olds to ladies in their forties, everyone loves this shade. Lin Xianling herself bought this one when she came by.”

The moment Madam Xu heard “Lin Xianling,” her hesitation vanished as if it had never been there. The endorsement of the magistrate was all the proof she needed.

“Then I’ll take this one. Wrap it up.”

The shop girl grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right away~” she chirped, her movements quick and practiced as she reached for the decorative wrapping paper.

This trick never failed her. It was a secret weapon that worked every time a customer wavered.

Not only the women of Xinghexian, but any woman who came here and knew Lin Qian’s story instantly became her admirer. And when they could buy the same rouge their idol used, how could they possibly stay calm? The connection to the legendary Tanhua was worth more than the silver itself.

Of course, the product was genuinely good. It suited all skin tones, providing a natural glow, and it was indeed the same rouge Lin Qian used. At least, they were selling honestly, without resorting to false claims.

Previously, the Chen family men had spent all their money buying colored glassware, focused entirely on the business potential of their trip. The gifts they brought back for their wives were just local snacks, hardly proper presents for the women who managed their homes.

So this time, when they came to Xinghexian as a family, Chen An decided to let his wife and daughter-in-law shop to their hearts’ content. They planned to buy glazed wares in bulk from the factory later, but for now, the two women spent about ten taels of silver on fabrics, rouge, and jewelry. They arranged for the shop to deliver everything to their new home and pay upon arrival, enjoying the convenience of the local service.

Once they left the market, they headed straight for Manman Pastry Shop. The line was long, with at least ten people ahead of them, the queue snaking out into the street.

Nearby, another vendor had set up a stall selling cold dishes, nuts, and fried snacks, the air thick with the smell of toasted spices.

Even the snacks here had flair, reflecting the city’s newfound creativity. Some peanuts were coated in caramel, glistening in the afternoon light, and one dish made of kidney beans caught Chen An’s attention as the steam rose in savory plumes from the vendor’s tray. He tried one bite and immediately couldn’t stop praising it.

It had a crab roe flavor, seasoned and stir-fried to perfection. The rich, savory aroma filled his mouth as he chewed the crispy bean. If only he had a sip of wine with it, that’d be perfection itself!

The family planned to dine later at Jin Zhao Restaurant anyway, so he restrained his appetite.

Still, seeing such long lines at both shops, it was hard not to be tempted by the local delicacies. In the end, Chen An told their servants to stay behind and buy a few cold dishes and two plates of pastries from Manman Pastry Shop. They could have those later tonight as a midnight snack once they’d settled back into the house. Any more would just go to waste in the humid evening air.

After giving instructions, the family went to the foot bath hall, their feet weary from the day’s walking.

Once seated in a private room that smelled of herbs and cedar, they heard the place had partnered with a newly opened milk tea shop. Guests could order milk tea to be delivered right to the door, and the attendants would bring it in on lacquered trays.

“Milk tea? What’s that?” the whole family asked, puzzled. They looked at each other with questioning glances.

They’d all drunk tea before (whether salty or sweet) but “milk tea” was a mystery.

Milk and tea? What kind of milk, goat or cow?

“It's made from cow’s milk, tea leaves, sugarcane, and glutinous rice,” the attendant explained, gesturing toward the menu. “Some even add fruit for a refreshing twist.”

“Cow’s milk with fruit?” That was a combination none of them had ever heard of, sounding more like a medicinal concoction than a treat.

The attendant smiled. “Please rest assured, everyone. This milk tea is incredibly popular. Unless someone’s stomach can’t handle milk, everyone says it’s delicious.”

Chen An was a merchant and knew better than to believe everything a shop worker said. He’d seen plenty of silver-tongued salesmen in his time.

Everyone says it’s good? When has that ever been possible?

Still, when he glanced around the hall through the open door, he noticed several men sitting in the open area with female attendants at their side. Many of them had glazed cups filled with a creamy, tan drink. No tea leaves were visible, so it must have been strained through fine silk. That should be the milk tea the attendant mentioned.

Since so many people were drinking it with apparent enjoyment, it couldn’t be bad.

“Then let’s have four cups,” Chen An decided, waving his hand.

“Of course, please select from the menu,” the server said, handing him a small booklet divided into sections for drinks, fruits, and pastries.

Since not everyone in the room could read the elegant characters, she turned to the drinks section and read each item aloud, her voice rhythmic and clear.

In the end, the family chose four cups of original-flavor pearl milk tea, curious about the "pearls" mentioned.

The drinks came quickly, beads of condensation forming on the outside of the cups. After the first sip, everyone found the taste quite intriguing, the sweetness of the sugar cane balancing the richness of the milk.

Milk wasn’t easy to come by in such quantities. Ever since Lin Qian had summoned the Players and modern industries started developing in Xinghexian, demand for milk had skyrocketed. Although more villages were raising cattle now, there still wasn’t enough grass to feed them all, making it a precious commodity.

That was why milk tea was expensive, though still affordable for the Chen family given their recent windfall.

After enjoying their foot baths, the sun was setting (casting long shadows across the cobblestones) when they finally headed to Jin Zhao Restaurant for dinner. They’d reserved a table well in advance, so despite the evening rush and the roar of conversation in the lobby, they were seated without issue. After dinner, their carriage arrived to take them back to their new courtyard.

On the way, Madam Xu sighed, looking out at the peaceful street lamps. “Who would’ve thought that while we’re eating in peace here, bandits are causing trouble in the south?”

She wasn’t well-informed about national affairs, but Xingpingxian was a prosperous place, full of wealthy merchants and scholars who gathered to talk. And scholars loved to gossip about the state of the empire. Bit by bit, the common folk began to learn what was happening across the realm through the stories told in tea houses. When they spoke of pirates or the southern kingdoms, those frail bookish men would rage as if they could tear the invaders apart with their bare hands, their faces turning red with indignation.

Chen An thought about it and sighed too, though the matter had nothing to do with ordinary people like him who simply wanted to trade.

“What happens to the world doesn't concern us,” he said calmly, leaning back against the carriage cushions. “As long as we live our lives in peace, that’s enough.”

Dragon Country, Lu Manman’s rented apartment

Lu Manman hadn't streamed for two days, enjoying a rare period of silence.

With the year’s end approaching and From County Magistrate to Female Emperor becoming a viral hit online, her friends soon learned she’d become a streamer.

Yes, she had friends. Although she was a loner by nature, she still had two close friends from college. Since they all worked in the same city, they met a few times a year to catch up.

Now that she was doing streaming full-time, she could finally take a couple of days off. The three of them spent the last two days visiting tourist spots around the city, and they even planned an out-of-province trip later in the month. She returned home cheerful but exhausted, her muscles aching from the walking, wanting nothing more than a good rest before resuming her stream the next day.

The game From County Magistrate to Female Emperor had a great perk. If she ran a successful in-game business, her shop’s NPCs could keep generating income even while she was offline. Since in-game currency could be exchanged for real money, Lu Manman could still earn income just by maintaining her Manman Pastry Shop, even without streaming. That was the real reason she could take a break without worry about her bills.

Her rented place was a small, old apartment on the fourth floor, with no elevator to ease the climb. Dragging her heavy suitcase up the concrete stairs, she finally reached her door. Only then did she see two familiar figures waiting in the dim hallway light.

Her parents.

The sight didn't bring joy. Instead, it made her expression turn cold, her hand tightening around the handle of her suitcase.

“Dad, Mom, what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice flat. She was already sensing it wasn't good news.

Her father (a quiet farmer with weathered skin) didn't speak. He only reached out to take her suitcase, his movements slow.

She blocked his hand, pulling the bag closer to her side. It was pointless to act caring now after so much distance.

Her mother, a strong-willed housewife hardened by years of domestic struggle, forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Your father and I missed you, so we came to see how you’re doing.”

Lu Manman didn't buy it for a second. The timing was too convenient.

But she didn't rush to expose the lie either. Whatever they came for, it wouldn't be pleasant, and she knew it would come out soon enough.

She hadn't been working long (two, maybe three years) but she still remembered the nights of instant noodles, overwork, and stress-induced hair loss that had marked her early career. She’d once called home crying, desperate for a kind word. Her father couldn't utter a word of comfort, standing silent on the other end. Her mother, impatient to return to her mahjong game, brushed her off with two perfunctory replies and hung up before Lu Manman could even finish her sentence.

She understood her parents had their own difficulties. Her mother was trapped in a cycle of housework, and her father wasn't good with words.

But did that mean she didn't resent them? No. The bitterness was still there, buried under the surface.

If they couldn't love her or offer emotional support when she needed it, why did they bring her into this world at all? They always said she owed them for raising her, but hadn't they also expected something in return? To have children for the sake of old age, wasn't that also a form of taking? If both sides were just taking from each other, why was only one side allowed to ignore the other’s feelings?

Wouldn't it have been better if they’d never had her in the first place? Then there'd be no resentment to begin with, no expectations to fail.

Resentment burned both ways. One side felt the flames, and the other became the fuel until nothing was left but ash and silence.

She unlocked the door. The evening sunlight poured into the small apartment, highlighting the dust motes in the air.

Her parents stood inside the small living space, yet she’d never felt lonelier.

“Have you eaten?” she asked out of politeness, setting her suitcase down by the wall.

Her mother smiled, her eyes darting around the room. “Not yet. I saw a market nearby. I’ll buy some vegetables, cook dinner, and we can eat together as a family.”

They’d only brought one big bag with them, just enough clothes for a day or two.

There was no way they’d come all this way out of love. They’d never spend that kind of travel money for nothing.

“No need. I’ll just order takeout,” she said, pulling out her phone and tapping the screen. “I know a few clean, good places nearby.”

Her mother hurriedly protested, her voice rising. “Don't! That's too expensive. In a big city, even a plate of stir-fried greens costs twenty yuan!”

Lu Manman’s voice stayed calm, her gaze fixed on her phone. “It's fine. This place doesn't have a stove or range hood, and using the induction cooker makes the whole apartment smell like oil. I don't like that.”

Her mother opened her mouth as if to argue, looking at the small kitchenette, but in the end, she fell silent.

Chapter Text

After that, Lu Manman asked her parents what they wanted to eat. She held her phone, the light from the food delivery app reflecting in her eyes as she scrolled through the options. They finally decided on spicy chicken, braised ribs, a steamed bass, and two plates of stir-fried vegetables, plus some fruit to finish the meal.

Her parents didn't like milk tea; the idea of the sweet, creamy drink clearly didn't appeal to their traditional tastes. Her dad would've liked a beer, but she deliberately didn't ask. She only ordered a cup of roasted grass jelly for herself, the order confirming with a soft beep.

When her father saw the long list of dishes on the digital receipt, he couldn't help commenting, “You ordered all that without even blinking. Looks like you've been making good money in the big city.” He looked around the small space, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed her lifestyle.

Since he'd already started probing, her mother couldn't hold back either. “I heard doing livestreams in the city makes good money. Why are you still living in this kind of rented place?” She gestured vaguely at the cramped walls and the aging wallpaper.

“I made a bit, but not as much as you think. I share profits with the company,” she said casually. In truth, she hadn't signed with any company at all (she just didn't want her parents to know how much she really earned). By keeping her finances a secret, she maintained the only boundary she had left.

“I'll book a hotel for you,” she said, glancing at the worn luggage they'd brought, sighing quietly in her heart. The bags looked out of place against her neatly kept floor.

“No need, no need! This place is big enough. Your dad and I can sleep on the floor. Do you still have extra blankets?” Her mother asked, already looking for a spot to settle.

“It's too cold for that. You should stay in a hotel.” She only had two spare blankets anyway. It was the middle of winter. How could they sleep like that? The draft from the window was enough to make the air chilly even with the heater on.

If she let her parents sleep on the floor while she took the bed, she'd feel guilty. But if she slept on the floor instead, that would be pointless suffering she didn't want, and her parents wouldn't agree either. It was a situation where no one would be comfortable.

Her mother waved it off with a dismissive hand. “It's fine, we brought our cotton coats. Good thing I packed them before we came.”

Seeing that her mother was determined to stay, Lu Manman didn't argue further. She just opened her phone and quickly booked a nearby hotel online, her thumb tapping the screen with purpose. If they insisted on sleeping here, then fine; she'd just stay at the hotel herself.

Her parents were the kind of people who'd rather endure hardship than accept help. Talking them out of it was useless, so she didn't bother wasting her breath. She had finally learned to take care of herself; she wasn't about to throw all that progress away just to please her parents.

After booking the hotel, she went to heat up water. The small kitchenette was right by the entrance of her rented place; there was barely enough space for one person to stand. Across from it was the bathroom, its door slightly ajar. Even in that tiny corner, she'd managed to raise a small pot of green vines on the windowsill. The leaves were thriving, full of life and a vibrant, deep green.

A place this small, with its own bathroom and kitchenette, was rare in North City. The rent was only a little over a thousand. If it weren't for the high floor and the lack of an elevator, she never would've gotten it so cheap.

The sound of the water heater filled the little room, a low rumble that vibrated through the countertop, but her parents still kept chatting with her.

Her mother's gaze drifted around the room until she spotted something sitting on the table, covered with a transparent dust cover: a gaming headset. The plastic reflected the dim overhead light.

“I heard from your brother that you've been doing something online lately. That thing's for gaming, right?” She pointed a finger at the device.

Lu Manman frowned slightly, her shoulders tensing.

“A headset can only be bound to one person. You can't rebind it. Lu Zhaozhao should know that too, shouldn't he?” She asked, her voice flat.

Her mother's face stiffened. “I was just asking. Don't act like we're trying to take away your livelihood.”

Lu Manman's expression stayed calm. “When I left home, you said Zhaozhao would be the one to take care of you in old age, and that I wouldn't inherit anything. I remember that clearly. Now that I'm making money, if you ever fall seriously ill, I'll help pay for treatment. But anything else about your retirement isn't my responsibility.”

Her parents had always favored their son, but they hadn't been cruel to her either. They'd just made her do more chores and said some belittling things now and then. Still, they'd paid for her college, and she didn't want to be heartless.

Things between them only started going downhill after she graduated and began working in the city.

She was six years older than her brother. When she graduated, he was still in his second year of high school. But even then, her parents were already talking about saving for his down payment. She'd never fought with him over houses or cars, yet every time she went home or called, her parents would always talk about him: his grades, his future, his plans. He was the center of their world, while she was an afterthought.

Later, when she got a job, her salary wasn't high, but her parents still demanded she send home a thousand a month because they'd borrowed money to buy her brother's apartment and were short on cash.

Then she got sick once, ended up in the hospital, and spent over four thousand. It was money she had to borrow from a friend because she had no savings left. Maybe the stress got to her, because when she went home afterward, she exploded and fought with her parents. The frustration of months of neglect finally boiled over.

They threw it right back at her, saying she didn't need to worry about their retirement anymore, but her brother's house and car wouldn't be hers either since those were “for him.” They'd even made her sign a written agreement out of anger. That paper was long forgotten, shoved in some corner, but it still stung to think about the coldness of that moment.

Her parents could be cruel, but never cruel enough to completely cut her off. That half-heartedness hurt the most, because it kept her caring even when she wanted to stop. If she ever had the money and they were truly sick, she wouldn't abandon them. They were still her parents. Who could turn their back completely on family?

But help her brother? Not a chance.

She just didn't like him. Even though he hadn't really done anything wrong to her, even though his attitude was mostly neutral, she still disliked him.

Why couldn't she? Wasn't jealousy reason enough? It was a feeling that had grown in the shadow of their favoritism.

Her father didn't take her words well. His voice rose, echoing in the small apartment. “What do you mean by that? What are you trying to say?!”

“Lao Lu,” her mother said helplessly, stopping him from pointing a finger at their daughter. Her hand rested on his arm to pull him back.

He huffed, frustrated. “She is talking like we came here to beg her for retirement money!”

Her mother nodded, frowning at Lu Manman. “Manman, don't talk to your father like that. You used to be so obedient. What happened to you after living in the city?”

Lu Manman didn't want to argue. She knew even if she told them how she really felt, she'd never get any understanding in return. Their perspectives were too far apart.

So she simply asked, “Why are you really here? Did Lu Zhaozhao ask you to come?”

Hearing their son's name calmed them down a little, their anger replaced by a different kind of focus.

Her father looked away toward the window and said, “Your brother is in college now. We're planning to buy him a car, something he can use once he starts working. We heard you're making good money in the city, so we figured you could chip in.”

Her mother rushed to soften his words. “What your father means is, none of us can drive. Only your brother just learned. We thought if we ever got sick, he could drive us to the hospital. It'd be more convenient.”

Lu Manman poured the hot water into a thermos, then filled two cups for them. The steam rose between them, blurring their faces.

“The village got three new houses from the land development project, right? You could sell one, and that'd be enough for a car, maybe even more.”

Her mother frowned, her lips thinning. “That's family property. It should be passed down, not sold.”

Her father grew impatient, his foot tapping against the floor. “Are you going to help or not? I, Lu Dachuan, may not have spoiled you, but didn't we raise you well? And now that you're successful, you can't even buy your parents a car?”

Lu Manman bit her lip and turned to him. “If the money is for Lu Zhaozhao, I won't give a single cent. You've got three houses. Sell one. Forget one car; two would be no problem.”

“Manman, you went to college for years. How can you be so foolish now? Your brother doing well doesn't hurt you,” her mother said, exasperated. She looked at her daughter as if she were a stranger.

“It doesn't help me either. Giving him whatever he wants isn't good for him. What good is buying him a car going to do? And I don't have that kind of money anyway. If I did, I'd buy my own place. Why would I buy him a car?”

As she spoke, old frustrations welled up again, a physical weight in her chest. Back then, she'd only asked once if one of the new houses in the village was meant for her too.

Her father had shouted at her, and her mother stayed silent, looking away. In their eyes, even thinking about getting a share was a sin against the family line.

Her mother looked at her like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “What does a girl like you need a house for? Once you get married, your husband will have one. There are plenty of rich men in the city. If you don't want to marry here, come back home. We'll find someone for you. There are businessmen and factory owners in our village too. Or one of those men who inherited a few houses; they would be perfect for you.”

Lu Manman set down her cup and sat on the floor, the coldness of the linoleum seeping through her jeans. “I don't want to get married. The decent men my age in the city are all either married or extinct. I'm not marrying some guy from the village.”

Her father scowled. “Why are you so shallow and money-minded? Do you really have to marry a city man?”

“Dad, when I came to the city to work, I only had a little over a thousand yuan. The rent alone required a three-month deposit. Do you have any idea how I survived those first few months?” Her voice trembled, her eyes turning red as the memories surfaced.

But her father just sighed impatiently, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “What has that got to do with getting married? You're bringing up the past for what? You're doing fine now. If it was so hard, you should've just found someone and gotten married earlier. Why insist on struggling?”

Maybe he knew she'd suffered in the city, but since she never complained, he pretended not to know. Now that she was finally saying it out loud, he only thought she was digging up old grudges. But in her eyes, if a wound never healed, how could it be called “old”?

Things that passed were in the past, but things that never got resolved were still here. As long as she never got justice, never got comfort or an apology, she had every right to be angry. She didn't want revenge. She just wanted the right to say she was hurt.

No one lives on positive energy alone. The good and the bad together made her who she was. She used to think loving herself meant killing off the parts she hated. She didn't realize that was just another way of hating herself.

Now, she wouldn't let herself stay quiet or keep pleasing others at her own expense. She wasn't going to keep suffering in silence anymore.

Chapter Text

“I just don't like the countryside! I hate it so much! Every time I go back home, none of you ever ask me how work's going, or whether life outside's been hard for me.” Lu Manman's voice was sharp, cutting through the stale air of the small apartment. Her hands were clenched at her sides as she faced her parents.

“All those aunts and relatives just crowd together and stare at my belly, like it's some kind of omen. They only care about whether I'm fit to give birth, or if I'm a good match for marriage!

If it were Lu Zhaozhao who couldn't make it in the city and came back home, you'd all pull strings and find him a job through your connections. But has anyone ever asked me if I could find a decent job back in the village?

Do you think I'm shallow? If I go back, I'll have to face a bunch of men just like Lu Zhaozhao! Why should I marry someone like that? When men can't compete, they can always go home. But when I can't compete, where do I go? I don't even have a place where I belong, so why should I go back?

When men fail outside, they can still rely on acquaintances in the village to get some minor official job and scrape by. In our village, men who can mix around with the local cadres are like Brahmins. Their power passes through generations, and so do their connections.

But if I go back, in your eyes, all I'll ever do is get married, have children, and teach them at home. The house won't have my name on it, the money won't be mine, and I'll still have to obey whatever plans you've made for me! Why should I go back?

I don't even own a house. I can't register as an independent household. When you're gone one day, I'll be on the same registration as my younger brother. If I marry, my household will belong to my husband's. If I divorce, I'll still have to ask Lu Zhaozhao's permission to transfer it back!

You keep asking why I won't get married, why I want to buy a house. I ask myself the same thing. Why shouldn't I buy one? If I could afford my own place, why would I even need to marry?”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchenette. Her mother stared at Lu Manman, utterly puzzled, her brow furrowed as she tried to understand a world she had never known. “What's so different between the village and the city? Don't both places care about relationships and favors?”

Lu Manman wiped away the tears at the corner of her eyes, forcing her voice to steady. She felt the salt sting her skin. “You're right, but there are so many people in the city who climbed up from the bottom just like me. Compared to the village, there are more people who can understand what I've been through.

Mom, maybe you think city people are cold, but I find living here incredibly comfortable. There are so many who mind their own business and don't pry into others' lives. No one's constantly staring at my womb or nagging me to get married and have kids. Living like this makes me feel free.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Lao Lu slammed his calloused hand onto the small table beside the bed, making the water cup tremble until the surface of the liquid rippled violently. “We push you to get married for your own good! What, you want to stay single forever? No marriage, no children, and die alone with no one to care for you? We push you to marry, and we're wrong for that?!”

Her mother, hearing Lao Lu shout, also thought her daughter had gone mad. “Don't say such nonsense! You're still young now, but if you keep this up, you'll curse yourself. You can play for a couple more years, but you can't just refuse to marry.”

“Child, you're still too young. You don't understand.” Her father spoke with self-righteous conviction, his face hardening as he looked at her. “Do you think your mother and I would ever harm you? Everyone's like this. If you want to marry and have children, you've got maybe ten years left at most. You keep being picky, keep dragging it out, and when you're older, even remarried men won't want you!”

“Then I won't get married!” Lu Manman said firmly, her eyes unwavering as she met his gaze.

This rebellion was her second act of courage, right after she'd cursed out her boss the other day. Defying authority was just like anything else; once you did it the first time, the second came easier. Lu Manman felt stronger now, almost invincible.

For the first time, she was in control of her own life and ready to bear whatever consequences came with her choices. As long as she'd thought it through, even if she regretted it later, it wouldn't matter much.

“Dad, Mom,” she said quietly, her voice low in the quiet apartment, “maybe you don't understand. Money might not buy love, but it sure can buy a lot of other things.”

If one day she grew old, her chest sagging, her face wrinkled, her body reeking of age, then no amount of money could make a young, handsome man fall in love with her.

Money could never buy love, only flesh.

Lu Manman understood that clearly. Those men who claimed that wealth could buy anything were lying to themselves. Sure, with money, you could have any woman you wanted; but could you ever have her heart? Not necessarily.

But she could pay for services. She could hire a caretaker, live in the best hospital, use the finest equipment, and entrust someone reliable to look after her in old age. As long as she had money, she could live better than most elderly people who had children.

Maybe she'd feel lonely then, but truthfully, all old people are lonely. The elderly are eventually abandoned by both society and youth. That's inevitable, and it has little to do with whether one has a spouse or children. So the greatest question in life wasn't how to avoid loneliness, but how to face it when it came.

Even without love, she could still refuse to settle, and spend her time and money becoming someone better.

But when her father heard that, he shook his head again and again, furious. “You're hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”

She knew Lao Lu couldn't control her with violence anymore like when she was a child, so now he used words to crush her instead.

But she didn't care anymore.

After ordering takeout and finishing a tense lunch with her parents, Lu Manman left the apartment, carrying only her helmet and laptop.

Thankfully, each game helmet could only be bound to one person. Once bound, the access could be lent out but never reassigned. If it was stolen or robbed, she could report it to the official system, lock the device's address, and freeze the account. That's why the few helmets sold on the market were always unregistered ones.

After checking into a hotel, Lu Manman showered, the steam filling the small bathroom. She immediately logged into the game and started streaming.

Her character appeared inside her rented room in the game. She stepped outside, checking on her pastry shop, then ran all the way toward Xinghexian's yamen.

Of course, she couldn't actually go inside the government office.

It was already night in reality, but still daytime in the game. It was afternoon now, court was already dismissed, and Lin Qian was probably resting in the inner chambers.

Lu Manman stood at the gate, her hands resting against the cool, weathered stone. She was reluctant to leave the vicinity.

After a while, she quietly wiped her eyes. Around fifteen minutes later, when someone seemed about to approach her from the yamen entrance, she hurried away.

Her viewers were baffled.

"Manman, what are you doing?"

"You've been missing for two days, and now you show up just to... stand there?"

"Something wrong? You seem off today."

"You can't meet Lin Qian right now, you know~"

"She's probably charging up her emotional energy. Even from the stream, Lin Qian gives off major 'patriarch' vibes; just standing next to her feels safe."

"Well, she's destined to become the Emperor after all."

Lu Manman didn't reply to any of the comments, just walked back to the shop, her boots clicking on the streets.

Coincidentally, Zhao Er's wife, Madam Feng, came out of a nearby alley, buying some spicy duck heads to take home. The sharp scent of chili and star anise followed her.

In Xinghexian, few people liked spicy food, but laborers adored it. Fatty, salty dishes no longer satisfied them, and Lu Manman's marinated duck snacks were a hit.

“Manager Lu, haven't seen you around lately. Busy with something?”

Lu Manman smiled, already back to her usual self. “I was a bit tired recently, so I stayed home to rest. Nothing urgent.”

Madam Feng said, “Your business is doing well. If you make more stock, you'll need more help. Ever thought about hiring?”

“You want to join?” Lu Manman asked.

Madam Feng looked tempted but sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I'd like to, but I've got two kids at home, no one to watch them.”

Lu Manman was quite familiar with this NPC, close enough to chat about everyday things as they stood in the street.

“If you've got time, could you ask around? I'm really looking to hire two more people.”

“Sure thing, leave it to me,” Madam Feng agreed readily.

After taking her duck snacks, Madam Feng hesitated, then added, “There's a woman across from me, Sister Li. Her eldest girl's around thirteen or fourteen, maybe fifteen this year. Her mother works at her family's place; her father divorced her but still sends a little money every month. Not much though. I heard she's been looking to take on laundry work recently.”

“So young and already working?” Lu Manman raised a brow. “Her mother allows that?”

“What choice does she have? Poverty's a cruel thing,” Madam Feng sighed.

“They're good people. When I need to go out, that girl even helps me look after the kids for free. She's neat and diligent, keeps the house spotless. If you want a helper, I can ask them for you.”

Lu Manman thought for a moment and nodded. “If she's honest and hardworking, that's all I need. Please ask her mother for me.”

“Alright,” Madam Feng said happily. She was genuinely glad to help both Lu Manman and the Lis.

After all, Lu Manman was a poor orphan girl who'd built up a thriving business on her own. Without a sharp mind and steady hands, who could've done that?

And the Lis had often helped Madam Feng too, watching her kids now and then without asking for a single coin. Helping them find work was only fair.

Neighbors helping neighbors; it was the way things ought to be.

After chatting for a while, Madam Feng left with her bag of duck snacks, humming softly as she went.

Chapter Text

Madam Feng recently found a job doing laundry over on Furong Street. Buying duck goods today was just on the way; her real purpose was to collect clothes from the girls who lived along that street. After more than two months in Xinghexian, she had grown familiar with its streets and alleys, navigating the stone paths with a new sense of confidence. Gone was the nervous woman who had once stared everywhere like a country bumpkin, her eyes wide at the city's scale.

She arrived at her destination, took the heavy bamboo basket she had left there earlier, and went from shop to shop collecting soiled clothes. Each shop usually had two or three attendants, and she only needed to visit four in total. The last was the one where a young woman named Caiwei worked.

Inside, one of the attendants was helping a customer find something among the silk rolls, leaving the shop mostly quiet. Caiwei was chatting happily with another girl near the counter. She was so absorbed in her gossip she didn't even notice Madam Feng come in.

“I heard there's a new place called a yoga studio,” Caiwei was saying, her voice animated. “Doesn't even teach men. Says it's for health and fitness. The trial class isn't expensive though; it is just ten wen (a small sum of copper coins, roughly the cost of a few steamed buns) for an hour. Later lessons cost more, but it's still affordable.”

The other girl, Changge, blinked in surprise, her hands pausing on a stack of fabric. “An hour? Wouldn't that tire you to death?”

“Not just the time,” Caiwei laughed, leaning against the wooden frame of the shop. “Even those yoga poses are ridiculous. It's been half a month, and they haven't gotten a single student. Now they've changed the signboard and call it a fitness hall; they only teach women.”

“What do they even do there?” Changge asked, leaning in closer.

“They say it's for strengthening the body,” Caiwei said, grabbing a handful of melon seeds from a small bowl and cracking one between her teeth.

“That doesn't sound bad.”

“Not bad? Real kung fu schools teach actual skill. That place only teaches women how to grow tendon muscles!”

Changge burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the quiet shop. “Tendon muscles all over the body? How's that supposed to look?”

The two girls laughed together, the light from the street catching the bright colors of their dresses.

Madam Feng stepped forward, her basket creaking slightly, and called out, “Ladies, I'm here for the laundry.”

Only then did Caiwei look up, wiping a stray tear of laughter from her eye. “Ah, Sister Feng, wait a moment; I will get the clothes for you.”

She hurried upstairs, her footsteps light on the wooden boards, and came back with a bundle of dirty clothes wrapped in a coarse cloth.

As Caiwei handed them over, Changge sent off a customer and turned back to the conversation. “Tomorrow Sister Meng is hosting a poetry gathering. You going?”

“Of course I'm going,” Caiwei replied while setting down the laundry basket.

Seeing there were no customers to attend to, Madam Feng lingered a little, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her apron. “All you girls can read. I've been wondering, if I want to teach my children to start learning, what books should I begin with?”

The girls on Furong Street might not have come from good families (many had been sold into service as children) but many of them could read. The madams who once bought them had taught them music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, skills meant to please men. But at least those lessons had opened their minds. The ones who stayed in Xinghexian instead of going back to the brothels were generally literate and capable.

“If you want to learn words, there are literacy classes in town,” Caiwei replied.

“It's not for me,” Madam Feng said quickly, her face warming. “It's for my children. They're both old enough to start studying. The county is encouraging girls to go to school now, so I thought maybe my daughter could learn too. But those literacy classes only teach characters, not stories or classics. And there aren't any private schools for girls here. Even if there were, we couldn't afford them anyway. I just hope to save a bit, maybe send my son to study for a few years later.”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she looked down at the floor. “My husband and I barely know a few words ourselves. That's why we can only do hard labor. I just don't want the children to end up the same way.”

Caiwei wasn't the type to put on airs. Seeing how earnest Madam Feng was, she nodded. “Wait here a bit, Sister Feng. I remember we still have some beginner books somewhere. I will go look.”

Before Madam Feng could even stop her, Caiwei darted upstairs again.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she came down with a few old books, their covers slightly frayed at the edges.

“When we started learning, we used The Thousand Character Classic, then Tang poetry. Those have lots of idioms. Once the children can recognize all the words, they can start the Four Books. You probably can't teach those yourself, but this one is marked with pronunciation. It's fine for early practice, though getting a proper teacher would still be best.”

She handed over a worn out copy, its pages yellowed with age.

Madam Feng's eyes lit up as she accepted it with both hands, holding it as if it were made of gold. “Thank you so much. I will return it in two months.”

“No need,” Caiwei said with a smile. “I don't use it anymore. Let the kids keep it. It's hard enough making ends meet.”

Seeing Caiwei meant it, Madam Feng thanked her profusely before leaving the shop with the bundle of laundry, the duck goods, and the book.

By the time Madam Feng got home, she was out of breath but in good spirits, her heart light.

Their house, though shabby, had been patched up with fresh mud and wood. At least the roof no longer leaked when it rained. The yard was wide, even if there weren't many rooms they could actually live in.

She had been meaning to raise a few chickens in the yard but had not found the chance to buy chicks yet. After putting things away, she wrapped two pieces of cake in a clean handkerchief and headed to the house across the lane.

She knocked twice on the wooden door, and the eldest daughter of the Li family, Wang Qiaoqiao, came to open it.

“Auntie Feng,” Wang Qiaoqiao greeted with a smile.

Madam Feng had always liked this polite girl. If her own son were older, she might have even tried to arrange a match between their families.

She glanced into the yard and saw her own two children playing with sticks in the dirt.

“Qiaoqiao, share this with your little sister,” Madam Feng said, handing over the cakes.

“Auntie Feng, that's really not necessary.”

“Go on, eat it. It's nothing fancy.”

The cakes were homemade, costing nothing but a bit of lard and flour. She knew that if she had bought them outside, the Lis would never have accepted the gift.

After some polite refusals, Wang Qiaoqiao finally took them.

Madam Feng stayed to chat for a moment. “When's your mother coming home?”

“She will be back by supper,” Wang Qiaoqiao said. “Did you need her for something? I can go find her at the master's house.”

“No rush,” Madam Feng said.

Wang Qiaoqiao tilted her head. “What's it about, Auntie Feng?”

Madam Feng smiled. “Nothing serious. The pastry shop at the end of the alley has been busy, and they're looking for two workers. They asked me to recommend someone. I thought of you since you already do needlework at home and said you wanted a job.”

“Of course I'd love to!” Wang Qiaoqiao's eyes sparkled with sudden hope. “Is it Sister Manman's shop?”

Seeing her excitement, Madam Feng nodded. “Yes, that's the one. Don't rush though. You should still talk to your mother first. The shopkeeper will want to see how you work before deciding. And you're old enough now, but your little sister still needs care. If you like, she can stay at my house when you work. If I'm not home, all three kids might end up with Lu Manman, so I will have to ask if that's all right.”

“I understand, Auntie Feng. I will tell Mother when she's back.”

After chatting a while longer, Madam Feng called her kids and went home. She set up the small table in the yard, spread sand on a wooden tray, and began teaching her children a few simple characters using a stick. While they practiced, she washed the collected clothes and hung them out to dry under the clear sky. When she checked their writing later, she smiled with satisfaction before preparing dinner.

By the time the food was ready, her husband Zhao Er had come home, his face streaked with dust from the day's labor.

They had just sat down to eat when Madam Li from across the way returned too.

When Madam Li heard that Lu Manman's shop was hiring and saw her daughter's eager face, she wanted to say no, but the words caught in her throat.

“You're fourteen now,” Madam Li said softly, her voice weary. “In another two years, we will be talking about marriage. Back at your father's house, your grandmother never liked you. I couldn't give you a good life there.”

“Mom, don't say that.” Wang Qiaoqiao came over and massaged her mother's shoulders. “That's all in the past. We're doing so much better now. That's enough.”

Madam Li sighed and patted her daughter's hand. Wang Qiaoqiao's hands were thinner and smoother than hers, but the palms were rough from work.

Hard work was good, but she didn't want her child to toil her whole life as she had, with nothing to show for it but a bent back.

“I just want you to enjoy your youth while you still can,” Madam Li said. “Don't worry about money. I can always take on more laundry work. Your Auntie Feng does it too; I can ask around.”

“Mom...” Wang Qiaoqiao's eyes reddened. “You care so much for me, but don't you think I care for you too? If I can help a little, it's worth it.”

Hearing that, Madam Li's eyes filled with tears. “My dear girl.”

She reached out with her rough hands to cup her daughter's face. Seeing both her mother and sister cry, little Wang Lianlian burst into tears as well. The three of them clung together, crying until their stomachs growled for food. Eventually, Wang Qiaoqiao wiped her eyes and served dinner. After the meal, Madam Li finally gave in and agreed to let her try working at the pastry shop.

That same evening, Wang Qiaoqiao went to see Lu Manman, who offered her a two week trial. During that time, the pay would be half. Once the job was settled, Lu Manman's livestream was just ending.

Lu Manman had gotten a call from her parents earlier, but she had muted it, the phone glowing silently on the hotel nightstand.

She was about to ignore the next one when her phone lit up again. This time, it was Lu Zhaozhao.

After a moment's hesitation, she answered, the screen light harsh in the darkened room.

The first thing she heard was his angry voice. “Jie, can't we just be a normal sibling? I'm your brother. Now that you're successful, can't you help me a little?”

Lu Manman sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “Lu Zhaozhao, the day you can act like a brother and I can act like a sister, then we'll talk about being normal siblings.”

Chapter Text

Spring had arrived. The air was warming, the trees were budding with fresh green life, and people all over Kyoto were out to enjoy the season. The fragrance of plum blossoms lingered in the soft breeze that swept through the capital's streets.

At Pujisi, the incense never stopped burning, its thick, sandalwood scent drifting over the temple walls.

Wang Wuyuan, with a face far too beautiful for his own good, often drew the attention of young ladies who came to worship. The abbot had once complained that because of him, the temple’s visitors weren't coming to pray sincerely anymore. Their eyes often strayed from the gilded statues to the young monk in the corner.

In time, nine out of ten “devout” young women who came to offer incense were really there to catch a glimpse of him. If he had merely been a good-looking monk, it might not have mattered. But Wang Wuyuan’s beauty was so striking, it didn't feel human. It was as if he were a masterpiece of ink and brush brought to life. Even in plain gray robes and with a cleanly shaven head, he looked like an immortal who had accidentally descended to the mortal world. He possessed an ethereal quality that made the dusty temple grounds seem like a celestial court.

It wasn't just the young women who stared. Even some of the monks found their hearts wavering when they saw him pass by in the quiet corridors.

Naturally, the abbot had no idea his guess was spot on.

Strictly speaking, Wang Wuyuan’s face wasn't even real, so it made sense people found him unreal. It was a digital construct, carefully rendered by the game's engine.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, the abbot often assigned him work that kept him out of sight, such as fetching water or chopping firewood in the secluded back hills. After all, anyone who had become abbot of Pujisi had to possess at least a little wisdom.

Although Master Huixing couldn't quite discern where Wang Wuyuan had come from, the abbot had already seen that this was not someone who would stay in the temple long. When he had first arrived, the abbot hadn't even given him a dharma name. He merely removed his worldly surname and kept calling him Wuyuan.

That day, after finishing his morning scriptures, he went to the mountains to gather firewood. He still streamed his daily life to his audience, though his viewer count had dropped off significantly. The only time his numbers had exploded was when the fallen Emperor Zhou Qianyan had appeared in his stream, creating a viral moment.

Now, only a few thousand people tuned in each day. The income wasn't much, but it was enough to get by. After all, he wasn't like other streamers who relied on high-energy content.

Take Lu Manman, for example. Her stream focused on farming and cooking. She met new people every day, sometimes went exploring, and always shared new stories from her life in Xinghexian. As one of the earliest Players to strike it rich, she was well-known among newcomers. Many mentioned her in other streams, so her popularity stayed high.

Then there were others like Shan Mo and Qi Yue, who had already been streamers before entering the game. They were clever, traveled widely, and explored the world whenever they got rich enough. Especially Shan Mo and Jian Xiu, who occasionally even interacted with Lin Qian, the elusive main heroine. After all, the most mysterious and beloved NPC in the entire game was none other than Lin Qian herself.

Even Players without streaming experience sometimes went to Yancheng to embark on jungle adventures. Anyone brave enough to venture into those jungles these days could be considered half an explorer, half a geographer.

All things considered, the only reason anyone still watched Wang Wuyuan’s stream was for his face and the temple’s serene setting. But both the scenery and his face were fake, so there wasn't much to hold people’s attention beyond the aesthetic. Still, maintaining a few thousand steady viewers daily was no small feat. Many new streamers could only dream of such numbers.

After weeks of physical labor, his body had grown stronger than when he had first crossed over, though he still wasn't particularly sturdy. His muscles often ached after a long day. He dropped a bundle of firewood into the basket on his back, breathing heavily as the weight settled.

Spotting a tree that looked to be over a hundred years old, he didn't bother about the dirt on his robes and simply sat down beneath its sprawling branches.

Early spring still carried a trace of chill in the shade, but his cheeks were flushed and sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Nice, nice."

"Our little delicate monk's panting again, so cute!"

"Yuan Bao's tired."

"Wuyuan, how much firewood are you planning to gather today?"

"Makes me want to become a monk too. It looks hard, but kind of peaceful."

He ignored the chat, pulled out a peach from his robe, wiped it with his sleeve, and started eating. The juice was sweet and cold, a welcome relief.

"Why is the streamer so cold? Doesn't say a word."

"That's his immersive monk-style stream. He's always like this."

"What immersive? He's just lazy."

"The face is fake, the game's fake, and yet people still watch."

"He's giving emotional value, duh."

"Yuanzi's always attracting weirdos, poor thing."

"+1, bet that one's just salty they couldn't get into the beta. Other streamers have more fans, so they came here to vent."

"If you don't like it, don't watch. Looked at your follow list, it's full of group streams and voice streamers. It's all the same; livestreams are about emotional vibes anyway."

As the chat started bickering, a new voice suddenly came through the stream, clear and sharp.

“Is that him, the one called Wang Wuyuan?”

“Your Highness, we should go. If the Princess finds out, it won't end well.”

“You're supposed to be her future husband, and you're this cowardly?”

The audience immediately turned their attention back to the video feed.

A boy around fifteen or sixteen walked into view, dressed in fine silk that shimmered with every movement. His skin was fair, his features refined, and he carried a natural air of arrogance. Even when his expression was neutral, he looked as if he were staring down something filthy. To put it politely, the expression was called “lofty disdain.”

But since he was still young and lacked maturity, that same expression just made him look spoiled. He stood about 1.7 meters tall and hadn't yet been crowned, still technically a child.

Behind him was a handsome young man, already of age, with a balanced build and refined looks. He was exactly the sort of man suited to be a princess’s husband. Since ancient times, imperial in-laws had been warned against meddling in court affairs. A fuma might be the Emperor’s son-in-law, but he still counted as part of the outer clan.

Once married to a princess, he didn't need political accomplishments. Handsome looks and a suitable background were enough to maintain his position.

"Did that guy just call him “Your Highness”?"

"So he's a prince!"

"Not bad looking either."

"Did Wuyuan offend someone again?"

"They mentioned a princess earlier, right? Could it be Princess Yong’an? The man behind him must be her future fuma."

"Speaking of fumas, if Lin Qian had stayed as the top-ranked scholar, could she have become one too?"

"I wonder if Lin Qian's ever met the princess."

"Ooh, a yuri route between the princess and the female scholar? I'm down for that!"

"Nah, I ship Lin Qian with her teacher's daughter."

"Chu family's daughter? But she's never appeared."

"Exactly, which means she's got to be a stunning beauty!"

"Knew there'd be more plot when the princess showed up. Been waiting in this stream for weeks, finally worth it."

While both the chat and in-game Players buzzed with excitement, Wang Wuyuan had been resting with his eyes closed. He was startled awake by their loud voices. Half-conscious, he saw the boy standing before him. The youth’s expensive clothes and demeanor marked him as someone of noble birth, likely a young lord or prince.

He hadn't caught their earlier conversation, and since princes under age weren't allowed to freely leave the palace, he hadn't realized he was facing an imperial.

Still, one look at that hostile expression told him this wasn't a friendly encounter. Being a psychology major, he could tell perfectly well he was being targeted. He just didn't know the specific reason.

He stood up, pressed his palms together, and said softly, “Amitabha, benefactor.”

Before he could finish the greeting, the boy suddenly drew a whip from his belt and lashed it straight at him. The leather hissed through the air.

The blow landed hard against his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and endured the sharp sting, but his frail body couldn't take the impact, and he fell to the ground.

Blood trickled down his arm where the whip had struck, staining the gray fabric. His HP bar dropped sharply, and his mood soured instantly. If he could redo this whole game setup, he would definitely change his character settings to be more durable.

Though he wasn't certain, he had a feeling the reason he had offended this “noble” was probably his own face. Sure, it was technically an AI-generated avatar, but the model had been drawn from his photo.

He was decent-looking in real life, but compared to his stylized in-game version, it was no contest. He had only chosen to alter it because he didn't want the game to scan his real face for privacy reasons. Now, looking back, he regretted it.

Ever since he had started this game, his luck with women had gone through the roof, constantly meeting young ladies in every storyline. Without realizing it, he had probably attracted a mountain of jealousy from the men of the capital.

Usually, hiding in the temple kept him safe, but apparently even chopping wood couldn't save him today. And with so many people against him, he wasn't sure if he would even make it back to the temple before bleeding out. He was already thinking about messaging another Player to fetch a doctor in advance.

“Pathetic,” the prince sneered, looking down at him with contempt.

Emperor Zhou Qianyan had been notorious for his late-life indulgence. The palace had been full of both men and women vying for favor. Even the eunuchs sometimes held more power than the Crown Prince.

Zhou Chenrui didn't like his elder brother, but he despised weak men even more. Seeing Wang Wuyuan’s delicate face and frail posture (collapsing from a single whip) only fueled his disgust.

He raised his hand for another strike.

The man beside him, the future fuma Shen Muzhe, quickly stepped in. “Your Highness...”

If the prince actually injured someone, it wouldn't matter for him as an imperial, but the princess would hold Shen Muzhe responsible. After all, Princess Yong’an had once fancied Wang Wuyuan and even defied the Emperor’s decree to protest her engagement. Thankfully, the Emperor had refused.

The Shen family was noble, but not above the imperial house. The Emperor couldn't allow his daughter to break a betrothal so easily for a monk.

The Emperor himself knew nothing of Wuyuan’s existence, but Shen Muzhe had already made discreet inquiries.

He envied the monk's existence, yet feared that harming him would earn the princess’s hatred.

Zhou Chenrui, however, wasn't one for subtlety. “Coward. If my imperial sister were to dominate you, you'd die in bed. Marriage should balance yin and yang, not upset it. Stop holding me back, or next time, don't expect my help.”

Reluctantly, Shen Muzhe lowered his hand.

Of course, Wang Wuyuan wasn't stupid.

When someone's trying to beat you up, you don't just stay there and take it.

Before the whip came down again, he had already thrown down his firewood and bolted straight down the mountain path, his heart hammering against his ribs.

===

"Fuma" (驸马/駙馬 - Fùmǎ) was the official title for the husband of an emperor's daughter or a princess in imperial China.

The title originally meant "Horse-Drawn Carriage Attendant." It hearkens back to an ancient post responsible for the emperor's chariots.

Historical Context: To prevent powerful families from gaining influence through marriage, the emperors of the Han Dynasty started bestowing this title (which was a high-ranking but military/ceremonial post without real political power) on their sons-in-law. This was a strategic move to give them a prestigious position and a comfortable life, while formally excluding them from the core circles of political power.

Chapter Text

“Stop right there, by This Prince’s command!”

Zhou Chenrui saw Wang Wuyuan trying to run and quickly ordered his servants to chase after him. The command echoed through the mountain clearing, startling birds from the ancient trees.

Wuyuan wanted to live, but his body was weak. He felt the burn in his lungs as he tried to scramble down the path, but he couldn't outrun anyone in his current state. In the end, the servants caught him, their rough hands grabbing his shoulders. They punched him a few times, the impact of fists against his ribs making him stagger. The pain made him hiss through clenched teeth, the metallic taste of blood rising in his mouth.

Even the livestream comments couldn't bear to watch the one sided beating.

“Tsk tsk tsk, that looks painful.”

“Pain pain fly fly~”

“Bro isn't going to die here, right?”

“That’s what you get for being too good looking.”

Zhou Chenrui walked over, a smirk tugging at his lips while the dust swirled around his expensive silk boots. “Run? Where do you think you're going?”

His servants pinned Wang Wuyuan by the arms so he couldn't move. Zhou Chenrui grabbed his chin, his grip tight and bruising, forcing the monk to meet his gaze.

Wang Wuyuan stayed silent. He knew he would lose half his life today no matter what; his eyes burned with unwillingness. He just wanted to be a monk in this stupid game, to enjoy some peace and quiet. And even that had to be ruined?

If he actually died today, he was absolutely cursing this dogshit game! Why the hell did they design so many damn obstacles for a simple monk?

The more Wang Wuyuan thought about it, the more he considered taking one of these NPCs down with him while he still could. He was here to experience being a monk, not become one. Who cared about those useless precepts anyway?

The game owed him big time! Seriously, this broken game was treating him like some Japanese martyr!

When Zhou Chenrui noticed the defiance in Wuyuan's eyes, he raised an eyebrow. He found the monk intriguing, but not in a good way. It was the kind of interest a predator took in a trapped bird.

“You’ve got some backbone, I’ll give you that. But a man with such delicate features... are you sure you're not a woman in disguise?”

Wang Wuyuan frowned and clenched his teeth, his jaw tight against the Prince's hand.

“Strip his pants. This Prince wants to see for himself whether he’s a man or a woman!” Zhou Chenrui laughed loudly after saying that, the sound harsh in the quiet woods.

In truth, there was no need to strip anything. The man’s Adam’s apple and bone structure already said enough. His face might have been beautiful, but no one could mistake him for a woman. A face that could appeal to both genders wasn't the same as one that blurred the lines entirely.

Now Wang Wuyuan panicked for real. Sure, it was just a game, and anything indecent would get censored in the livestream, but if they actually pulled his pants off, he would feel it!

The realism in this game was way too high! He wasn't like that shameless player Jun Moxiao who could do anything without blushing!

And after the stream? He would become a public joke, maybe even hit trending for the wrong reasons!

He struggled hard against the servants' iron grip, thinking that if he couldn't avoid humiliation, he would at least end the stream before his pants came off!

Just as things reached that point, a sharp female voice cut through the chaos from the mountain stairs.

“Stop at once, all of you! As members of the imperial family, do you feel no shame bullying a monk here, Zhou Chenrui?”

Her voice made everyone freeze.

They turned toward the stairs, where a bright, striking young woman stood. She was dressed in silk men’s robes that did little to hide her regal air.

“Imperial Sister?”

Princess Yong’an strode down swiftly, the fabric of her robes rustling against the stone. When she saw blood on Wang Wuyuan’s lips, a flash of pain crossed her eyes, soon replaced by cold fury.

“Shen Muzhe! Look at what you’ve done!” She didn't believe her imperial brother would suddenly take an interest in a monk.

It had to be Shen Muzhe’s idea; he was close to her brother and likely the one who brought him here!

Shen Muzhe felt unwilling, but he hid his irritation and bowed to the princess, his eyes downcast.

Zhou Chenrui, however, stepped forward with a smirk, seemingly unbothered by her anger. “Imperial Sister, shouldn't you be staying peacefully in the palace? What brings you here? Or is there someone in Puji Temple who particularly interests you?”

“This Princess leaves the palace by Father Emperor’s grace and permission. If you’ve got doubts, go ask Father Emperor yourself.”

Princess Yong’an’s lineage wasn't high. Her mother had been the illegitimate daughter of a fifth rank official, sent to the Emperor for her beauty.

When Yong’an was born, her mother was still favored. Later, during an imperial tour, her mother gave her life to save the Emperor from an assassin.

From then on, the Emperor’s affection for Yong’an became unmatched. Normally, princes and princesses couldn't leave the palace at will. But since Yong’an lost her mother young, the Emperor pitied her and allowed her occasional visits to her maternal relatives. Only Yong’an had such privilege. Even princes didn't enjoy that freedom, not to mention other princesses.

Zhou Chenrui, though not of the same mother, still feared her. If she complained to their father, the Emperor might not side with him. After all, there were many capable princes, but only one princess loved like that.

In the imperial family, genuine affection was rare. Even between father and son, there was little of it. But the concubine who had once taken a fatal blow for the Emperor? She was his eternal white moonlight. He truly believed she'd loved him. So for her only child, he spared no affection.

Zhou Chenrui was the Emperor’s youngest child, made Prince An at ten (now fourteen) and yet to assume his fief.

The Emperor adored his youngest son, wanting nothing but peace and happiness for him. Now, with his two most cherished children standing against each other, the old Emperor would surely have a headache if he saw this. But even then, his heart would side with Yong’an.

Zhou Chenrui fell silent, while Yong’an turned to Shen Muzhe and said coldly, “Father Emperor chose you as my husband only because you fit within the proper range. If you can't behave, even before our marriage, don't think I can't have you replaced.”

Shen Muzhe went pale, his breath hitching.

Now that he thought about it, he regretted everything. He'd already been promised to the princess. Why did he need to cause trouble?

He was just uneasy.

The princess treated him respectfully but never warmly. He'd only felt jealous: jealous that this nameless monk could win her attention. If she truly liked Wang Wuyuan, what would he do?

Shen Muzhe was greedy. He didn't just want her hand; he wanted her heart too. He'd loved her since childhood. She was exactly his type. If only that monk didn't exist...

He couldn't kill Wang Wuyuan himself, not when that would make the princess hate him forever. He needed someone else to do it. Prince An was perfect for that role.

Unfortunately, Princess Yong’an had shown up midway through their plan.

“Elder Sister,” Zhou Chenrui said, “Muzhe is your future husband. Why defend another man over him?”

“When a prince breaks the law, he's punished the same as a commoner. I'm upholding justice, not taking sides for any future husband.”

With that, Yong’an walked straight to Wang Wuyuan and asked softly, “Wuyuan, are you alright?”

She reached out to help him up, her fingers brushed with concern, but he stepped back, avoiding her touch.

“This humble monk is unharmed. Thank you for your concern, Your Highness.”

“There’s blood on your lips. How can that be ‘unharmed’?” Her eyes softened with worry as she looked at him.

Wang Wuyuan pressed his lips together, only wanting to leave this troublesome place.

Sure, Princess Yong’an was beautiful, but come on, he was a grown man; he didn't go for teenagers.

Seventeen, eighteen? That's high school age!

He could appreciate her looks, but he wasn't about to drool over a girl’s youth. He felt nothing for her body at all. He'd studied psychology; his mind was mature. Even if he ever fell for a younger woman, it would be because she had a mature soul, someone he could truly connect with.

Princess Yong’an clearly wasn't that. Not to mention, she wasn't even a real person: she was just an NPC in a simulation.

Of course, the livestream chat was already exploding with opinions.

“You had your chance, and you blew it!”

“For real, bro?”

“She’s adorable, how can you ignore her?”

“If this guy starts dating, I'm unfollowing.”

“I kind of ship the monk with the prince though.”

“Main character from a Qidian novel, monk’s fate from a tragedy. What a combo!”

“Qidian? Nah, this screams Jinjiang.”

“Agreed. But with how soft he looks, maybe something from Moetang.”

“No way. He's too pure for that. Definitely Jinjiang material.”

Wang Wuyuan stared at the scrolling comments, biting his lip in frustration. He was almost beaten to death, and these idiots were arguing about which publisher he fit under?

“If Your Highness has no further matters, Wuyuan will take his leave.” He stood, bowed slightly to the princess, and jogged back toward the temple. He was in such a hurry he even forgot his bamboo basket resting under the ancient tree.

To him, Yong’an and the rest were nothing but trouble. The farther away they were, the better.

“Wuyuan...” Yong’an whispered, watching his retreating figure with disappointment.

Shen Muzhe’s jealousy burned hot, while Zhou Chenrui chuckled, glancing between them with amusement.

“Seems like it’s the old tale of ‘the falling flower loves the flowing water, but the water has no heart.’ Imperial Sister’s feelings were wasted after all.”

Yong’an’s face darkened at his words. “You’ve played enough, Imperial Brother. Go back to the palace. I doubt Father Emperor would be pleased to hear about your good deeds today.”

===

落花有意，流水无情
luò huā yǒu yì, liú shuǐ wú qíng

Literally, it means “the falling flower has feelings, but the flowing water does not.”

What it expresses is one sided affection.

In traditional imagery, the falling flower represents someone who feels love, longing, or devotion. The flowing water represents the other person, who keeps moving on, indifferent, or unaware. The flower falls into the water with intent, but the water never stops to accept it.

---

Qidian 起点
Is the biggest mainstream web novel platform, especially known for male lead stories.

“main character from a Qidian novel,” usually mean:

• Male protagonist

• Power growth focused

• Heavy on cultivation, combat, or ambition

• Often tragic backstory but strong will

So pairing it with “monk’s fate from a tragedy” suggests a classic suffering male lead who endures a lot.

Jinjiang 晋江
This platform is famous for character driven stories.

“this screams Jinjiang,” usually mean:

• Strong emotional focus

• Relationships and inner feelings matter more than power scaling

• Often gentler, more introspective, or emotionally restrained

• Very popular for romance and danmei, but not limited to it

Calling someone “Jinjiang material” implies they feel like a protagonist built for emotional arcs rather than raw power fantasy.

Moetang 墨糖
This is smaller and more niche, often associated with softer or very delicate storytelling.

“maybe something from Moetang,” imply:

• Very gentle tone

• Pure or fragile characters

• Emotional vulnerability

• Sometimes almost fairy tale like softness

Saying “he’s too pure for that” is joking that even Moetang’s usual softness does not quite fit.

In short:

• Qidian equals hardcore male lead struggle and growth.
• Jinjiang equals emotional, character focused storytelling.
• Moetang equals extreme softness and purity.

Chapter Text

Emperor Zhou Qianyuan sat at the head of the hall, his face dark and heavy under the flickering light of the ornamental lamps. The air in the vast chamber was still, thick with the scent of aged incense and the silent weight of the officials who stood with their heads bowed.

“All of you are Our trusted ministers, so We will speak plainly. What We must discuss today is the matter of abolishing and establishing the Crown Prince.”

The Emperor paused, coughing a few times into a silk handkerchief, the sound thin and weary. He looked smaller on the high throne than he had in years past.

“We have grown old, and it’s time We find a son capable of managing the affairs of the realm. The Crown Prince is virtuous and benevolent, and by reason he shouldn’t be deposed. Yet in recent years, the nation has faced endless turmoil and disasters. Rumors are spreading among the people; rumors We can hardly bear to hear.”

Emperor Zhou Qianyuan was nearing sixty, while the Crown Prince was already past forty. Though the Emperor and Empress never shared much affection (their marriage having been a political arrangement of the previous era) the Crown Prince was their eldest legitimate son and had been appointed soon after birth.

The Emperor’s ancestors had once left the position of heir undecided before death, which led to chaos across the land and warlords fighting for power in every province. To avoid repeating that calamity, Zhou Qianyuan had named his heir early on, hoping to stabilize the court and secure the succession.

The Crown Prince was, in truth, a man of kind heart and virtue. But at over forty, not a single one of his consorts or concubines had ever conceived. Rumors spread through the common folk that such a sign meant the dynasty’s luck was running out. The Crown Prince’s inability to bear children, they said, was Heaven’s warning that the mandate was shifting.

The aging Emperor, for all his reason, was not free from superstition. The lack of a grandson from the primary line sat like a cold stone in his gut.

Adoption within the Imperial Clan was possible, of course. But the Emperor had many sons, and the Crown Prince was far from his favorite. As the years went by, the thought of replacing him grew stronger, fueled by the whispers of concubines and the quiet pressure of ambitious younger princes.

And once Zhou Qianyuan made up his mind, his long hesitation gave way to a cold certainty. When he summoned the court to discuss it today, it was no longer a question: it was a decision. Among the ministers gathered in the dim hall was Lin Qian’s former teacher, Chu Xiu.

The nation was in chaos, yet the Crown Prince had done no wrong. Chu Xiu didn’t agree with deposing him and spoke repeatedly in defense of the heir, his voice echoing against the high pillars as he urged the Emperor not to act rashly. But the Emperor’s mind was set. No matter how earnestly Chu Xiu pleaded, his efforts ended in vain. The decision to depose the Crown Prince was made, the decree already forming in the minds of the court scribes.

When the meeting ended and the officials began to take their leave, Emperor Zhou Qianyuan suddenly spoke again, as if remembering something small and distant.

“We have heard that the recent Tanhua, Lin Qian, has shown remarkable results in Xinghexian. That Lin Yurui; we had underestimated her before. Truly worthy of being your student, Chu Aiqing.”

Chu Xiu bowed deeply and replied, “It’s nothing more than a young woman’s small accomplishments, hardly worthy of Your Majesty’s praise.”

“You’re too modest. The Imperial Inspectors sent to her post have spoken very highly of her.”

Chu Xiu didn’t respond, maintaining his respectful posture while the other officials glanced his way with varying looks of envy and curiosity.

No matter how talented Lin Qian was, there were countless gifted officials in the realm, all serving at the Emperor’s command like pieces on a game board.

Chu Xiu knew well why Zhou Qianyuan had taken notice of her. It wasn’t just her achievements, but her identity. She was a woman who had survived the wrongful extermination of the Lin clan, who (after their innocence was restored) still served the court with loyalty rather than seeking vengeance.

Such conduct was pleasing to the Emperor. After all, no ruler wished to make more enemies, least of all one as suspicious as Zhou Qianyuan. Even the most mediocre of emperors inherited that one common trait: distrust.

Lin Qian’s “obedience” pleased the Son of Heaven greatly. In his heart, he probably wished every official he had wronged could be as docile as she was. But truthfully, she wasn’t of much concern to him. What weight did the magistrate of a small xian carry in the eyes of the Emperor?

The other ministers didn’t dwell on it either. Their thoughts were on who would take the Crown Prince’s place, their minds already calculating new alliances.

There were two likely candidates.

One was Li Guifei’s son, the Second Prince, Zhou Chenzhao, aged thirty-two. Gentle and modest, well learned, with many heirs and a clean reputation despite his virility, he was currently enfeoffed as the Prince of Li.

The other was the Third Prince, Zhou Chenhan, son of the Emperor’s favored Concubine Xian De. He was brilliant and quick witted, though a bit flamboyant by nature. At twenty-eight, he had already been granted the title Prince of Rui and had one son and one daughter. His younger brother, Prince An, Zhou Chenrui, was also awaiting assignment to his own fief.

Changing the heir was no trivial matter. The current Crown Prince was the only legitimate son, a fact that weighed heavily on those who valued tradition.

The Empress and loyal ministers would never approve. Even if the heir had no offspring, he could always adopt or select a successor once he ascended the throne. He had committed no grave sins, so why depose him?

Yet the Emperor’s resolve was unwavering.

Unable to change his mind, the dissenting officials could only propose candidates and wait for him to choose at leisure. When they exited the hall, the Crown Prince was already standing outside, his figure silhouetted against the gray morning light.

Guilt weighed heavily on the ministers’ hearts, and few dared to meet his eyes as they hurried past.

The Crown Prince must have already known what his imperial father intended. He had served as heir for over thirty years, handling state affairs since he was twenty. Diligent, generous, and merciful, he had been a model son and ruler in waiting. And now, to be cast aside after decades of loyal service; how could it not break a man’s heart?

As Chu Xiu stepped out of the vast, shadowed hall, a sudden spring breeze, sharp with the scent of damp earth and new leaves, brushed against his whitening beard. It was a cold touch, carrying none of the season’s warmth. The sky hung low and gray, a solid ceiling of cloud pressing down on the palace rooftops, heavy with the unfulfilled promise of rain.

Leaving the palace gates behind, he ignored the murmured greetings and sidelong glances of fellow officials. He walked straight home through the nearly empty streets, his formal boots scuffing lightly on the damp flagstones, his thoughts entirely clouded by the profound injustice of the morning’s proceedings. The image of the Crown Prince, standing silent and forsaken in the courtyard, would not leave him.

A flash of lightning, distant and silent, split the woolen sky. A few breaths later, the rolling boom of thunder followed, a deep growl that seemed to shake the very stone walls of the capital. As he reached his own front gate, the first heavy drops began to fall, splattering across the blue-gray stone tiles of his courtyard with loud, singular taps before building into a steady, hissing downpour.

Madam Zhao, having heard the thunder and watched for his return, entered the study to find her husband not at his desk, but standing at the window, staring out at the violent veils of rain. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, his brow furrowed in deep, weary worry that carved lines into his face.

Seeing his wife’s reflection approach in the glass, Chu Xiu relaxed his posture slightly, though the tension remained like armor across his shoulders.

“I have decided on Xuan’er’s marriage,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the drumming of rain on the tiles. He did not turn from the window. “I will set her engagement to my classmate’s son. The boy serves as a clerk in the Ministry of Personnel, a sixth rank official from a family of scholars. He is… a good match.”

Chu Xiu always preferred humility and safety when choosing in-laws. His only son lacked scholarly talent and ambition, and his daughter was his pride and joy. He would not allow her to suffer or become a pawn in higher political games. He was old now, and when he was gone, he needed to be certain his children would not be bullied or left destitute. If the son-in-law’s family position was too high or their ambitions too great, he feared he could not control how she would be treated after his death. A modest, stable future was the surest legacy he could give her.

When he had first taken Lin Qian as a student, it was partly because she came from a poor, ruined family with no powerful connections. But he had also studied her character with immense care, while Madam Zhao had made her own discreet, thorough inquiries about the young scholar’s private conduct and habits.

Over time, they had both grown to treat Lin Qian like one of their own: an adorable, kind, and pitiable child of immense promise. Had Lin Yurui been born male, Chu Xiu was certain he would have already arranged the marriage, binding that brilliant future directly to his own lineage. But now, with another year gone by and no candidate of remotely comparable quality appearing, he had to lower his expectations drastically to ensure his daughter’s lifelong security.

Madam Zhao nodded, her expression one of understanding and shared resignation. “I will make my own inquiries about the young man’s character. What is his name?”

“Jiang Ke. He is twenty-five. His father mentioned he was once betrothed, but the girl passed away early from illness. He is said to be a man of clean conduct, and my former students in the Ministry speak well of his diligence. Still, it is good to check. We cannot be careless, not with our daughter’s future.”

Madam Zhao agreed. “You are right. No matter what, his character must be spotless. Even if he were rich enough to fill barns and vaults, if he is not a decent man, we will not have him.”

That practical consideration made her think of Lin Qian again. The memory was a familiar, sharp ache. “If only that child had been born a man,” she said, the words slipping out softly, almost to herself as she gazed at the rain-blurred garden. “What a perfect son-in-law she would have made.” She pictured it for a fleeting moment: the brilliant, diligent scholar she had grown so fond of, the one who had treated their home with such respectful warmth and quiet humor, standing beside her daughter. The match would have been ideal in every conceivable way: talent, temperament, and the deep, mutual respect that had already existed between teacher and student. It was a phantom future that felt more real and right than any of the prudent, safe options now before them.

She did not dare elaborate further, though, fearing it might stir her husband’s lingering anger toward the whole painful affair with the Imperial Court. Instead, she moved to his side and gently began to massage his shoulders, feeling the hard, stubborn knots of stress in his muscles. “We are both getting old. Once Xuan’er’s marriage is settled, why do we not go back home to the ancestral estate? Staying in Kyoto makes me uneasy, especially with your position. You have been so troubled lately.”

Chu Xiu reached up and patted her hand where it rested on his shoulder, a faint, grateful smile finally easing the severe lines of his face for the first time that day. “Do not worry.” His own mind, however, had been thoroughly snagged by his wife’s earlier words. 'If only that child had been born a man.' The sentiment echoed his own private, long-buried regret. He had not just considered it; he had planned for it in meticulous detail.

He had watched Lin Qian’s conduct, her academic fervor, her innate integrity, and had seen not just a promising disciple but the cornerstone for his own family’s future stability and honor. The betrayal of her revelation had been so personally sharp partly because it had shattered that specific, cherished vision. Now, discussing the safe, modest, unknown clerk Jiang Ke, the ghost of that lost possibility hung in the damp, thunderous air between them, a silent and unmatchable benchmark against which all other candidates would inevitably fall short.

Elsewhere in the vast Chu residence, in her own quiet room that smelled of sandalwood and paper, Chu Xuan flinched as another, closer clap of thunder shook the house, rattling the lattice of her window. Her brush jerked in her steady hand, and a large, ruinous drop of ink splattered across the final, freshly written line of her letter: ‘Written in haste, words left unsaid.’

She stared at the spreading black blot for a moment, a slight frown of annoyance touching her brow. Then, with a calm, practical air, she sighed softly through her nose, set the spoiled page aside on a corner of the desk to be used for scrap later, and took out a fresh, clean sheet of paper. Dipping her brush again into the inkstone, she rewrote the ending with a steady, careful hand, replicating the elegant characters: ‘Written in haste, words left unsaid.’ She then carefully set the completed letter aside on a ceramic rest to dry, the black ink stark and elegant against the pale, creamy paper.

She waited, listening to the rain. Once the ink had fully set and the storm outside had softened to a steady, murmuring patter, she sprinkled a fine layer of sand over the page to absorb any residual dampness, then blew it clean. She folded the letter with precise, sharp creases, slipped it into its inner envelope, and handed it to her waiting maid. The maid quickly sealed it within a final, plain but high-quality blue paper envelope, upon which Chu Xuan had already written, in her neat and graceful small script, the direction: ‘To Lin Yurui, personal.’

The maid nodded at her quiet, explicit instructions, tucked the letter securely inside her dry inner sleeve to protect it from the damp air, and hurried off into the lamplit corridor to dispatch it without delay. The soft, rapid clicks of her cloth-soled shoes on the polished wood floor faded quickly into the pervasive sound of the rain, carrying the carefully penned response out into the stormy spring afternoon, a direct and purposeful thread across the distance to Xinghexian.

Outskirts of Kyoto, Pujisi Temple.

Wang Wuyuan slung his pack over his shoulder and stepped out of his quarters under the watchful eyes of the other monks. The morning air was crisp and smelled of pine needles.

He made his way to the abbot’s hall and knocked softly on the wooden door.

Inside, Master Huixing stood waiting, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves. He said, “You may leave now. Don’t return to Kyoto again, lest someone find you. Whether it’s the Princess or the Prince Consort, your ties to them are karmic entanglements that must be severed. This is the result of your past deeds. From here on, do good and you may yet dissolve your misfortune. I have nothing much to give you; take the five taels of silver (a substantial sum for a traveler) on the table as travel funds.”

Wang Wuyuan glanced at the table. A red packet lay there, heavy with coins and silver.

He felt a thickness in his throat, a lump that made it hard to swallow.

“Damn, even with my trash luck, I actually met someone this kind? I’m going to cry, seriously.”

Chapter Text

Even the audience in the Xian Huang livestream room (usually a bunch of heartless jokers) started getting emotional. The chat scrolled rapidly across the corner of the interface, a blur of white text against the backdrop of the temple hall.

"This master is actually a good guy."

"At first he refused to take you as a disciple, but in the end, it was still Master Huixing who gave in and accepted you."

"555, that's kind of touching."

"He even gave you travel money before you left. Truly, once a master, always a father!"

"But monks at Master Huixing’s level must earn a ton every year, right?"

"Earn? What is a monk doing earning money?"

"You guys don't know monks can make money?"

"Oh right, I remember monks in this dynasty are allowed to marry."

"Are you kidding? Master Huixing is like sixty already!"

"A monk serving the Imperial Family wouldn't marry anyway."

"Married or not, he must still be well-off. He just gave away five taels like it was nothing."

"Wait, he said that was incense money. Does that count as corruption?"

"Come on, he is using it for a good cause. What is there to say? Monks chant, Taoists perform rites, everyone is earning something. They have got to eat too."

"Temples have been full of oil and water since ancient times, alright?"

"Enough with the conspiracy theories; the sentiment is real, and so is their bond."

Wang Wuyuan didn't linger. He exchanged a few final words with Master Huixing, then bowed deeply and took his leave, his robes rustling as he rose. His face was too handsome for his own good. Even with plain clothes and a shaved head, he drew too much attention from anyone passing by; so he wrapped a coarse cloth around his head and pulled a bamboo hat low to hide his striking features from prying eyes.

With a heavy pack on his back, he jogged out of the temple gates, the straw of his sandals scuffing against the stone.

At the entrance of Pujisi, Wang Wuyuan stopped and turned back, reluctant to leave the only sanctuary he had known. The two fierce guardian statues flanked the gate, their painted eyes staring out into the world. Incense smoke curled upward from the bronze burners, and though the main hall was hidden by the morning mist, he could still picture the golden Buddha within, serene and solemn.

When the temple bell tolled, its deep, resonant echo rolled over the green hills.

He took his next step, this time without looking back at the life he was leaving behind.

To avoid any trouble with the local authorities or the curious public, he decided to leave the city that very day. Wang Wuyuan only had some travel money and a change of clothes tucked into his bundle. He would need to buy a horse and food from the busy market before the gates closed. Busy and rushed, he didn't even have a moment to rest his aching legs. He had once learned to ride under Qi Yue’s guidance for a single day; but he wasn't confident in his skills. Normally, he shouldn't travel alone on horseback (it was risky) but right now, he had no choice but to take the chance.

Unlike Qi Yue, who loved his comforts and fine things, Wang Wuyuan wasn't that type. He didn't even consider hiring a servant to assist him.

At the market, amidst the smell of manure and hay, he found a good-looking horse with a sturdy frame. But when he heard the price (eight taels of silver (roughly 300 grams)) his heart sank.

The horse dealer spread his calloused hands. “That's already cheap. This horse will sell no matter what. Go ask around; you won't find a better deal anywhere nearby.”

Wang Wuyuan thought to himself that the problem wasn't whether the dealer could sell the horse, but whether he could afford to buy it. He had a bit over five taels (approx 185 grams) and a few copper coins. It wasn't enough. He sighed, the sound lost in the marketplace din.

With no choice left, he messaged other players to trade for in-game currency.

The thing about Xian Huang was that its game currency had the same value as real-world money. He needed three more taels (roughly 110 grams) to afford the horse: that was about three thousand yuan in real life, plus the online transaction fee. He would also need money for his daily living expenses on the road.

Back at the temple, food and lodging were provided for all the residents. Sure, the meals were simple and meatless, but he had never been picky about his food. Now, though, he would have to budget for every bit of rice and oil, and even rent for a place to sleep.

Fortunately, rent in Xian Huang was ridiculously cheap; it was as if it were too cheap to be real. Sometimes you could rent a big room for just a few dozen wen (small copper coins) though you had to bring your own bedding unless you wanted to get bitten by fleas from the old blankets.

To save every coin, Wang Wuyuan bargained hard with the horse seller. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it. After half an hour of haggling under the hot sun, he only managed to lower the price to seven taels and nine qian.

"Hahaha, he is so different from that ascetic monk image."

"It's just a game anyway."

"Don't worry, Wuyuan, if you run out of money, you can always sell yourself. That pretty face of yours would fetch a good price!"

"Hahahaha, forget selling yourself; go marry a princess instead!"

"Wang Wuyuan: You can have that blessing. Me: I will take it!"

"Once there was a sincere love before you, but you didn't cherish it."

"Hahaha, you guys are killing me!"

Once he bought the horse, he didn't dare mount it in the crowded, narrow streets. He led the animal quietly by the reins toward the city gate.

But just as he arrived at the stone archway, a messenger galloped in on a lathered horse, shouting, “News from the southern front!”

The crowd turned their heads, murmuring with concern.

“The war never stops, huh?”

“Must be good news this time!”

“Not necessarily.”

A person in Daoist robes, graceful and calm, spoke from the side. Her voice was steady amidst the growing noise.

“Did the half-immortal Gui predict something again?” someone in the crowd asked.

Gui Hua smiled faintly, her eyes sharp. “Heaven’s secrets cannot be revealed.”

She turned back toward her small stall, deciding it was time to relocate her fortune-telling business anyway.

But before Gui Hua could settle down, a commotion broke out nearby.

She wasn't interested in joining the chaotic crowd. When the people finally dispersed, she caught a passerby and asked, “What happened just now?”

The man, recognizing her, said, “Seems a young noble’s favorite little official ran away. He shaved his head to become a monk. A bunch of people just tried to catch him before he escaped the city.”

Gui Hua wasn't surprised by the news. In these times, rich men keeping young officials or playing around with other men wasn't anything rare.

Since no one was coming for a fortune today, she opened another player’s livestream instead, not paying any attention to her own scrolling chat.

"Hahahaha, double chef’s delight! Screenshot this!"

"A little official? Wang Wuyuan can't escape his fate of selling himself."

"What is going on? Why are so many people joining at once?"

"Fans from another streamer."

"Wang Wuyuan was standing right next to Gui Hua’s stall earlier. When she came back, he got caught by some people."

"Caught by the Princess?"

"Could be the Prince Consort, maybe Prince An!"

"LMAO, he was right at the gate and still got caught."

"Poor guy, his brand-new horse is gone too."

"Hahaha, three thousand yuan down the drain!"

"Who is Wang Wuyuan?"

"A streamer in the capital, famous for his looks."

"This is hilarious. Wang Wuyuan is male with feminine looks; Gui Hua is female with masculine ones. You two should just swap!"

"She is literally watching someone else’s livestream while streaming herself."

"Who cares? She muted it anyway. That's just her style."

"Hahaha, fair enough."

Gui Hua was still watching the screen when suddenly, a shadow fell across her small table.

She looked up to see a tall man in his thirties or forties standing before her, dignified and commanding in his posture. Two bodyguards stood behind him, both neatly dressed and sharp-eyed.

She raised a brow at the visitors.

"Big spender alert."

"Once-in-a-century customer incoming."

"Showtime!"

"Here comes the scam, folks!"

"She actually knows a bit of fortune-telling though, not a total fraud."

"She only cons the rich; that's what I love about her."

"That guy looks loaded. Milk him for a few taels, then treat yourself to some apricot wine tonight!"

"It's just me or do those bodyguards look... weird?"

“If his room is spotless and he smells nice, he is either a crossdresser or gay!”

"These two look like eunuchs."

"Hey, not every clean man is a eunuch. But seriously, is this guy from the palace?"

"If he is, and he is this old with a beard... the only one that fits is the Crown Prince."

"Stop guessing!"

"The palace has its own astrologers. Why would the Crown Prince sneak out to get his fortune read? It's nearly curfew!"

Through Gui Hua’s point of view, the audience saw the man’s expression: he looked oddly sorrowful, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated worry.

While the chat speculated, the man pulled out a silver ingot, weighing around three taels (approx 110 grams); this was much more than her usual fee.

“I have heard your readings are accurate within the capital,” the man said, his voice low. “This is payment for today. If your prediction proves true, I will reward you further.”

Gui Hua smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the silver. “Whatever is on your mind, young master, will surely come to pass.”

The man raised a brow. “You haven't even heard what I wish to ask.”

“What you wish to ask may not be something you can say aloud,” she replied simply, meeting his gaze.

The man froze for a moment, then chuckled softly.

“Then I will take your auspicious words to heart.” Leaving the silver on her table, he turned and walked away, his bodyguards following close behind.

The nearby fortune-tellers glanced over, astonished by the exchange. A few words from her, and she'd earned three taels. But seeing how imposing the man looked, none of them dared to pry into the matter.

As always, Gui Banxian lived up to her reputation.

===

the game name, "从县令到女皇" is being simplified by Players as "县皇", and I use the pinyin of it.

Chapter Text

Inside the Eastern Palace, Zhou Chenli had just finished his private divination before mounting his horse and returning toward the heart of the palace complex. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the stone courtyards.

After offering a formal greeting to the Crown Princess, he went straight toward the palace where the Empress resided. The scent of sandalwood incense grew stronger as he approached the entrance.

As the Crown Prince, even though he was the heir apparent, Zhou Chenli wasn't allowed to enter the inner palace freely. Only with the explicit permission of the Empress could he come here. Once the palace attendants were dismissed and the heavy doors were closed, mother and son sat facing each other in the heavy silence of the hall.

After a long pause, during which the only sound was the faint crackle of a charcoal brazier, he finally broke the quiet. “Father Emperor doesn't like Your Son anymore; he wants to replace me.”

The Empress, born and raised under the strict, traditional teachings of the Three Obediences and Four Virtues, didn't have a good relationship with the Emperor, but it wasn't terrible either. Their bond was one of duty rather than warmth.

Empress Zhang couldn't bring herself to hate her husband. After all, the Emperor had never mistreated her in her official capacity as Empress. But Empress Zhang had her own natal family to protect, and she had her son to consider.

If her son, the Crown Prince, who'd held that prestigious position for over thirty years, were suddenly deposed, how could the Zhang family hold their heads up in the capital? How could they ever stand in the imperial court again without shame?

Even if she were willing to accept the change, the Zhang family would never agree.

The Zhang family had long been a powerful clan of scholars and officials. In the two or three centuries of Zhao's history, three of its Prime Ministers had come from their direct lineage: the Zhangs were the head of the civil officials, managing all state affairs for generations. Though the father of the Empress was now old and her brothers weren't particularly outstanding, each still held influential official posts within the Six Ministries.

And as people often said in the capital, even a dying camel is bigger than a horse.

Depose the Crown Prince? The Emperor would have to see whether the Zhang family agreed to such a move first.

The old Emperor was advanced in years, doing things more and more according to his own whims. But this time, Zhou Chenli felt the Emperor had gone too far.

“I don't know who's been whispering nonsense into your father emperor's ear,” Empress Zhang said coldly, her gaze fixed on the floor, “but he's lost his senses.”

Perhaps the Emperor wanted to remove the Crown Prince because he feared the Zhang family's deep influence over the bureaucracy. But neither mother nor son dared voice that specific thought aloud. Empress Zhang and Zhou Chenli both understood it, but it wasn't something they could admit to each other.

The Emperor feared the power of his in-laws. He worried that once the Crown Prince ascended the throne, the Zhangs would control the court, turning the Emperor into nothing but a puppet for their clan. But how could mother and son possibly say that out loud?

“I went outside the city today to have my fortune read,” Zhou Chenli continued. He remembered the smell of the dusty street and the calm eyes of the fortune teller. “The fortune teller is known for his accuracy. Before I even said my name or what I wanted to ask, he looked at me and said, ‘You're destined to succeed.’”

Hearing that, the Empress nodded slowly, one hand clenched tightly in the silk of her sleeve. “Good. Then Heaven's mandate lies with my son.”

Several calm days passed after that meeting.

Meanwhile, at the Shen family residence in the capital, Wang Wuyuan was starving and parched. He'd been confined and interrogated in a dark woodshed for several days now, allowed only two small meals a day, and even drinking water required someone to untie his hands first.

Every time Wang Wuyuan logged into the game, he was one step closer to death. His temper had been beaten out of him by the cold and the hunger long ago. If this went on, the psychology major in him was going to end up with a real psychological disorder. When Wang Wuyuan logged in that day, he finally managed to join a player group for the game Xian Huang.

Once Wang Wuyuan explained that he'd been locked in a woodshed for days, mistaken for a romantic rival of Shen Muzhe, and barely fed, most of the group laughed harder than they sympathized.

[Exquisite Mischievous Monkey]: Hahahaha bro, that is rough.

[Curved Moon]: Shen family is a big clan, man. You can't just barge in there. No way to save you.

[Lady Green Sleeves]: Anyone working in the Shen estate as a servant or maid? Help this guy out before he literally dies.

[Lotus in Deep Water]: The officials released a hundred new accounts this morning. Maybe ask the new players? I'll DM you their group number. Try your luck.

[BLACK]: I'd help if I could, bro, but I'm stuck in Yancheng.

[Transcenders’ Alliance Eat-shi]: Told you not to max out your appearance stats. Now look at you.

[Exquisite Mischievous Monkey]: Yeah, dude probably skipped the warning message when creating his character. I saw his stream.

After chatting for a bit, Wang Wuyuan realized no one could really help him in time, so he quietly left the group. If he stayed longer, his misery would probably end up trending on the public forums. Since the game reopened registration, he knew Xian Huang would blow up in popularity again soon. And during the New Year season, he really didn't want that kind of negative attention.

He messaged Lotus in Deep Water privately and was just about to reach out to the new players when he heard footsteps approaching outside the woodshed. Judging by the heavy sound, there were several people coming his way.

He shut his eyes quickly and pretended to have fainted.

It was early spring in the game. The days weren't too cold, but the nights still bit through the two ragged quilts covering him. His character was currently under a “common cold” debuff, and his HP bar was already halved. That was why Wang Wuyuan had been desperate to find help before he died of sickness in the shed.

Bound hand and foot, escape was impossible.

In real life, he'd been under a lot of stress, but this game had been his primary way to make a living. The income covered his insurance and living expenses, with a little left to save. This account meant everything to him. He couldn't afford to lose it.

While Wang Wuyuan was still trying to figure out how to escape, the iron lock on the woodshed door clicked open. He braced himself, thinking it was Shen Muzhe again, coming to rough him up or ask more questions.

But instead, he heard Shen Muzhe's voice saying, “Your Highness, this monk has been locked here for days. We've been rationing his food and water. He's too weak to run.”

Zhou Chenrui entered the shed. The prince's eyes were cold and detached, sweeping over the filthy space and the piles of dry wood. Although the expression of Zhou Chenrui barely changed, the disgust for the surroundings was palpable.

His embroidered boots stopped right beside the tattered quilt of Wang Wuyuan. The man instinctively opened his eyes.

Zhou Chenrui stood there, arrogant and immaculate in his fine robes, a faint smirk curving his lips. “I told you, you can't escape.”

"Holy shit, is he gay?!"

"I'm shipping this already."

"What is going on here?"

"Ever since that first pretty boy got bullied by the brothel keeper, I knew this game was wild."

"Poor Wuyuan, tragic both in and out of game."

"Man has got that schemer face. Looks like a future traitor."

"Wuyuan, surrender your ass, maybe you'll live."

"Nah, I'm out. I don't do BL. Going to go watch Gui Hua's stream instead."

"Haha, Gui Hua's side is wild too. Perfect tragic duo."

Curious, some viewers switched to Gui Hua’s stream. By now, Xian Huang streamers were used to this. The game was packed with random events, and every player experienced their own strange encounters. Funny or dramatic clips were common. They didn’t mind viewers hopping between streams. The loyal ones always came back.

Over in Gui Hua’s stream, a surge of new viewers had just poured in. But she had no time to care.

The carriage she was in had suddenly stopped. No one had invited her to get out, and she didn’t dare move. Moments ago, she’d just set up a fortune-telling stand in a new zhen when a group of armed men showed up and “invited” her into a carriage, claiming their master had summoned her.

Gui Hua had scammed so many people recently that she honestly didn’t know which “master” this was. But she caught sight of the swords at their waists and immediately shut her mouth.

Her chat exploded.

"Hahahahaha, walk dark roads long enough and you'll meet a ghost!"

"This woman cracks me up!"

"That face though, priceless!"

"Gui Banxian, you didn't see this one coming, did you?"

"Girl has made over a million taels from fortune-telling already. Even if she cashes out now, that is like ten grand IRL (roughly 10,000 yuan). She could chill for years in the countryside."

"Wait, maybe they won't kill her. If they wanted her dead, they'd have done it already."

"She went shopping at the market yesterday, planning to run off to Xinghexian. Guess not anymore."

"Did you see? Wang Wuyuan got captured, and now she's caught too."

"Maybe it's the Imperial Family?"

"Who knows, she's read fortunes for half the capital."

"The court hasn't even issued a wanted order yet. Whoever tracked her down must have real power."

"Bet she's been watched for a while."

Gui Hua sighed in the quiet of the carriage.

After a short wait, someone knocked on the door. The driver opened it and gestured for her to step down onto the gravel path.

With no other choice, Gui Hua obeyed.

Outside, she saw a man in his late thirties or early forties standing by the gate of a secluded mansion: a silk cloak was draped over his shoulders. He smiled faintly at her.

"I knew it! It's him!"

"Who's him? Explain!"

"Definitely a royal, he looks just like Zhou Chenrui."

"Nah, Zhou Chenrui looks like him. This guy is clearly older."

"No! The male lead can be fourteen or four hundred, but not forty!"

"Be rational, don't ship this blasphemy!"

"If he were ten years younger, maybe I'd ship it."

"‘The Runaway Princess Consort,’ pfft!"

"NO!"

"Haha, you guys are killing me. She's not that dumb, okay?"

"Wait, can players even romance NPCs?"

"Don't know, but some dangerous NPCs do fall for good-looking players. And that's usually bad news."

Gui Hua ignored the chat. Seeing no hostility in the expression of the man, she forced a calm smile as if she'd expected this summons all along. Stepping down gracefully, she nodded slightly; her composed demeanor making her seem confident and unfazed. Combined with her striking, androgynous features, the effect was oddly convincing to those watching.

Her in-game avatar looked about twenty-five or twenty-six, mature but not old. With a bit of facial hair, she could've easily passed for a man in his thirties.

Seeing this, Zhou Chenli actually lowered himself slightly and greeted her with a courteous bow.

“Sir,” he said with a faint smile, “this way, please.”

Chapter Text

"The strongest female lead of Xian Huang is born!"

"Hahahaha, relax, relax, standard operation."

"She is acting all experienced now, hahahaha."

"I'm dying. Gui Hua: I still need to keep one life to meet Lin Qian."

"This girl definitely isn't straight; I swear she was drooling over the video of Lin Qian earlier."

"Good thing she isn't; better that way. If she isn't straight, she doesn't have to pair up with those old dudes."

"That Crown Prince is kind of old though; otherwise I could ship it a bit."

"I thought the Crown Prince would be as good-looking as that Zhou Chenrui guy."

"He isn't ugly; just old. And old men rarely look good."

"Didn't you guys catch a glimpse of the Crown Prince in the stream of Wang Wuyuan? You have got the memory of a goldfish."

"Never watched that one."

"LMAO, weren't we all too busy staring at the beauty of the princess back then?"

"Who would pay attention to the face of that old dude?"

"I think he is fine, honestly; gives off rich sugar daddy vibes~"

"Gross, daddy vibes~"

"If you can't appreciate it, don't be snarky."

While the chat was going wild, Gui Hua had already followed the Crown Prince, Zhou Chenli, into the residence. The stone floors of the hallway were polished to a dull shine, reflecting the flickering lantern light that clung to the silk hangings.

When they reached the main hall, Zhou Chenli spoke first. “The day we met at the city gate, there wasn't time to talk. I have invited you here today to discuss an important matter.”

The eyes of Gui Hua swept the room, noting the heavy mahogany furniture and the lack of guards. Discussing an “important matter,” yet only the two of them were present.

Clearly, Zhou Chenli didn't fully trust Gui Hua yet. Inviting Gui Hua here must be a test to see if she truly had any skill worth using. If not, she'd probably be dead by tonight.

Zhou Chenli must have already investigated her background, but likely not thoroughly; maybe just enough to confirm her general story. Otherwise, he would have addressed her as “young lady” already.

Honestly, Gui Hua should be glad she didn't know anyone in the capital, and everyone assumed she was a man. And, as her viewers had joked, she had zero interest in the inner court of the Crown Prince. If Zhou Chenli ever found out she was a woman with talent, the easiest way to “recruit” her would be to take her as a concubine, wouldn't it?

She knew her place. With her modest skills and commoner identity, being Crown Princess was out of the question. She unconsciously pressed her lips together, wondering how to get through this conversation and find a chance to escape later.

The gender of her wasn't the most urgent problem right now.

What she really had to hide was the fact that she had no idea how to help Zhou Chenli at all!

If he had gone so far as to summon her into his private residence, that meant he was desperate to seize the throne. Otherwise, why all the secrecy?

Surely he wasn't a duanxiu, inviting her here for something indecent, right?

She thought back to their first meeting. She had seen the killing intent in the eyes of Zhou Chenli; that ambition burning beneath his calm demeanor. And there had been rumors among the common folk: talk that the Emperor planned to depose the Crown Prince and name another heir.

That alone told Gui Hua what this “important matter” was about.

A prince who had waited decades for the throne, once deposed, would lose everything. Even his descendants would likely suffer (if he had any, which he didn't).

The Emperor might exile Zhou Chenli to a fief for now, but once the old ruler passed, who could say what the new Emperor would do?

If the new Emperor saw him as a threat, having he killed would take only a moment. Every man understood one thing: power was the most intoxicating beauty in the world. It could make heroes bow and tyrants lose their minds. And once women learned the game of politics, they would go mad for it too.

Gui Hua spoke calmly, “Since Your Highness has invited me here, I naturally have a plan to discuss. It's just...”

Hearing that, the eyes of Zhou Chenli brightened. “Just what? You needn't hold back, sir; speak freely.”

Gui Hua gave a sheepish smile. “It's just that I ate too quickly this morning, and my stomach is acting up. Would it be possible for this commoner to relieve himself first?”

The smile of Zhou Chenli froze for a heartbeat, then returned to normal.

Zhou Chenli gestured to a servant. “Take our guest to the latrine.”

Gui Hua followed the servant out into the cool air of the courtyard.

"Oh no, I really feel something brewing."

"This latrine actually looks new; maybe it won't smell that bad."

"It's still a pit toilet; how good can it smell?"

"There's a roof, so it's not technically open air."

"Still, it's a pit. Can't be pleasant."

"Bathrooms don't smell good either, come on."

In truth, it wasn't as foul as she'd feared. The latrine had incense burning, and with the cool weather, there weren't many flies. The faint smell of sandalwood mingled with the damp earth.

But she had no mind to appreciate the cleanliness of ancient plumbing.

Once inside, she opened Bilibili on her phone and started searching for strategy guides.

It wasn't like she was broke. She was an art student with talent in both music and painting. Sometimes she earned pocket money performing violin gigs or taking commissions. Her family ran a hotel business. Her parents had given her an apartment when she turned eighteen, and a car after graduation. Money was the least of her worries.

Streaming was just for fun. She never cared if she got a game over. Xian Huang was fun, sure, but her life didn't revolve around a single game. Still, since she could keep playing, she might as well stay alive. After typing a few keywords, she found a strategy video for Xian Huang.

The video was by a content creator named “Fangzhou,” who specialized in historical strategy games. He had analyzed the entire capital map and detailed a plan to attack Kyoto from the outside.

Gui Hua had watched the videos of Fangzhou before. The guy was sharp, often discussing real-world geopolitics and getting his predictions eerily right. So when Zhou Chenli summoned her, her mind instantly flashed back to the video of Fangzhou.

But if she wanted to use his ideas in the game, she needed permission. She sent Fangzhou a message asking to buy usage rights for the content.

Unexpectedly, things went smoothly: Fangzhou was online right then. They'd followed each other ever since she started streaming. Fangzhou had been following her Xian Huang gameplay since day one.

As it turned out, Fangzhou was a die-hard Xian Huang fan who had never managed to get a player account. Even when the developers released a hundred accounts in the last beta, he hadn't snagged one despite camping the site all night. Fangzhou had been planning to upload a rage-filled analysis video about it, only to receive the message of Gui Hua just in time. Touched and amused, Fangzhou granted Gui Hua free rights to use part of the material.

Fangzhou even wailed in voice chat, “My hands are trash! You better play well and plug my channel. Let those bastards at the Transcenders’ Alliance see me! I can't take this anymore!”

Gui Hua chuckled helplessly as she listened to the voice messages while squatting over the pit, then finally stood up. With the license secured, her confidence returned. After stretching her numb legs, she walked out of the latrine.

The servant, who had been waiting for nearly a quarter-hour, was just about to knock when Gui Hua emerged, limping a little.

A young maid stepped forward with a copper basin for her to wash her hands. The water was cool against her skin. By the time she dried them, the numbness had faded. She followed the servant back to the main hall.

Zhou Chenli, who had been staring blankly at a teacup, looked up as Gui Hua entered and smiled again.

Meanwhile, over in Xinghexian, the county exam held once every three years had just begun with the first spring breeze.

Lin Qian, as the county magistrate and chief examiner, was busy for several days straight. The weight of the official robes felt familiar as she moved through the yamen.

The first session started in late February. Lin Qian arrived early at the examination hall to write the test questions, the scent of fresh ink filling the room.

Once the scholars were seated in their narrow cubicles, the exam commenced. The rhythmic scratching of brushes against rice paper was the only sound. After each session, she would select the best papers for the initial ranking.

Those who made the cut could skip the retest, while she would prepare new questions for the remaining candidates to determine the final pass list.

This repeated over several rounds, lasting days.

Sometimes, confident candidates would request extra questions from Lin Qian, hoping to impress. She would politely refuse and send them off, saying, “Focus on your exam. Words won't earn you merit.”

After all, she didn't have genuine scholarly talent. The fewer she said, the safer she was.

Most of those eager to chat were older examinees: men in their thirties still sitting for the Tongshi.

The Tongshi was technically the easiest of the exams. Anyone who had studied for a decade had a fair chance of passing unless they were hopeless.

Many of these older men weren't failures but late bloomers who had loved books since youth but lacked the means to study earlier. Now that they had some savings, they came back to chase old dreams. Most of them were people who had already earned a modest living (earned over a million taels (roughly 37,500 kilograms) or just a few taels (approximately 110 grams) in their trade). After all, whether in ancient times or modern, once you reached your twenties, life started demanding you work for a living.

In ancient times, men and women were already married by twenty, supporting families.

In modern times, twenty meant university: the start of independence.

At thirty, to still have the luxury to chase dreams, you would probably earned enough to afford it.

===

Here is the latest information about imperial examination, I already add about tong shi in here.

童生 (Tóngshēng): Aspiring Scholar

Status: Had NOT passed any official exam.

Who they were: Any male, regardless of age, who was studying for and attempting the first exam. A man could be 70 years old and still be called a tongsheng if he kept failing.

1. Entry Exam (童试, tóng shì)

This was not a single exam, but the collective name for a series of three preliminary tests a candidate had to pass just to qualify for the main, government-run exam.

• County Exam (县试 Xiànshì): Held by the county magistrate.
• Prefectural Exam (府试 Fǔshì): Held by the prefectural government.
• Academy Qualifying Exam (院试 Yuànshì): The final preliminary, which was the gateway.

A candidate who passed the first two (County and Prefectural) was still a 童生 (Tóngshēng). They had not yet earned an official title.

A. Academy Exam (院试, yuàn shì)

The Yuan Shi was the entry-level exam, often held at the local or county level. Passing this exam allowed the candidate to become a Xiu Cai (秀才, xiùcái), also known as a Scholar. The Xiu Cai status was prestigious and allowed the individual certain privileges, such as exemption from labor service and punishment, as well as a stipend in some cases. Xiu Cai were expected to be well-versed in the Confucian classics and could serve as teachers or local intellectuals.

---

In short: A Tongsheng had to pass a series of three preliminary tests:

*County Exam (县试, Xiàn shì)

*Prefectural Exam (府试, Fǔ shì)

*Academy Exam (院试, Yuàn shì)

In this view, the entire process—from signing up to the final test—is called the 童试 (Tongshi), or "Entry Exam Process."

While Yuan Shi is focuses on the official examination ladder and the decisive, government-run event.

From this official standpoint, the County and Prefectural exams were considered local screenings. The first truly significant, state-mandated exam was the 院试 (Yuanshi).

Passing the Yuanshi was the definitive act that conferred the title of 秀才 (Xiucai).

Chapter Text

Aside from the usual examinees, this year’s county examination in Xinghexian saw an unusual increase in female candidates disguised as men. Well, “increase” might be too strong a word (since there were only three of them) but compared to previous years when not a single woman dared to try, three was already shockingly many.

In the end, of course, they were all caught, reported, and sent home. The guards at the entrance had noticed the way they avoided eye contact and the slight stiffness in their movements.

All three came from local gentry families who could afford the silk robes and the education required to even attempt the deception.

Ever since Lin Qian had disguised herself as a man and passed the imperial exam, the Emperor had issued a decree forbidding any woman from attempting the same. No matter how high her score, even if she passed, her results would be annulled. The ink on the imperial proclamation was barely dry before it was posted in every government bureau.

Women pretending to be men to sit for the imperial examination were strictly prohibited.

Lin Qian was the sole exception; and she would remain the only one. If women were allowed to sit for the exams and become officials, then what was next? Would a woman one day sit on the throne? The scholars whispered these questions in dark corners, their voices tight with tradition.

A patriarchal world might tolerate women to an extent, but it would never give them equality. It was a structure built on the silence of the courtyard.

Lin Qian wasn't heartless enough to ignore the situation, but this time, those girls had already passed the county exam. Next came the fushi at the prefectural level, then the academy exam.

The prefect and the imperial education commissioner weren't as lenient as she was. They wouldn't just let the girls’ families take them home quietly; they would likely demand a public accounting that would ruin the families’ reputations. If one day she ever truly held power, Lin Qian would make sure women had a fair chance to take the exams. But not now.

For now, she was only a lowly county magistrate, holding a sliver of authority barely enough to protect herself, let alone challenge the system that kept the world in balance.

When the exams ended, Lin Qian finalized the rankings herself, her brush moving steadily over the rice paper.

Sometimes, when a candidate caught her interest, she would ask a few questions, expecting polite, thoughtful answers from the scholars who stood before her desk. Since she had never taken the imperial examination herself, she asked Zheng Zheng (the system spirit) to help review the papers. The shortlist was selected by Zheng Zheng, but the final ranking came down to her own preference. Whoever she thought wrote the best was placed at the top of the red list.

When the results were posted on the yamen wall, some rejoiced with loud shouts while others despaired in silence.

The fairness of the results was hardly questioned, though. The truly talented and virtuous were already well-known within the county, and the choices of Lin Qian reflected that. Those who were selected weren't fools. Now considered the students of Lin Qian, they naturally spoke well of her, praising her fairness and her skill with the classics.

Lin Qian didn't have time to care about their chatter. As soon as the exam was over, she threw herself back into the mountain of paperwork that awaited in the quiet yamen. Her workload had lightened somewhat in recent months. She had gradually promoted competent and loyal subordinates while quietly dismissing those she couldn't trust. Only then could she safely delegate tasks without worrying about betrayal from within her own office.

Before, she had had to handle nearly everything herself for fear of corruption and hidden agendas among the clerks. Now, petty thieves and kidnappers were almost nonexistent in Xinghexian. She had cracked down hard enough that evening patrols were only needed once or twice a month, just to reassure the people that the law was still watching.

Once the results were finalized, those chosen by the examiner (Lin Qian herself) naturally became her pupils.

Many came to pay their respects to their new mentor. Dozens of them, one after another, lined up at the gate. It was far too many to receive in person, so Lin Qian only met with the top-ranked students in the inner hall. As for those who placed lower, the gatekeeper simply passed along a few encouraging words on her behalf as they left their visiting cards.

Just as Lin Qian was finishing a busy stretch of work, several letters arrived from old friends in the capital, along with notes from her teacher Chu Xiu and from Chu Xuan. Her friends and teacher wrote to encourage her in her post. Chu Xuan, however, mentioned she was soon to be engaged (to an official from the Ministry of Personnel). The scent of fresh ink rose from the paper as Lin Qian read.

While Lin Qian pondered how to reply, her maid Jiaoyue served her tea and began grinding ink on the stone.

That was when news came from the prefecture. The Emperor in the capital had suddenly passed away, and the Crown Prince had ascended the throne. The entire realm celebrated the new reign, and a general amnesty was declared across the provinces.

Lin Qian was obliged to release prisoners guilty of lesser crimes from the county jail, watching as they walked out into the spring air.

But would the transfer of power end so simply?

She didn't believe so.

Rumors had circulated for months that the late Emperor intended to replace the Crown Prince with a different heir.

Was that true? Or were rival factions stirring the waters to create chaos?

If factions had indeed been involved, it meant at least one prince had been ambitious enough to vie for the throne.

Now that the old Emperor was dead, peace seemed even less likely to last. Add to that the unrest across the provinces, and Lin Qian knew chaos would soon spread again like fire through dry grass.

She opened the map of Zhao Empire and studied the terrain around Xinghexian, her finger tracing the mountain ridges.

The county was easy to defend but hard to attack, though its geography offered poor conditions for merchants who traveled the traditional routes. The recent influx of traders was purely due to the booming glass industry that glowed in the valley. There were abundant forests nearby, but mineral resources were scarce in the immediate area.

Still, this was the ancient era. Forests were vast, and though ancient trees weren't as plentiful as they had been centuries ago, they were still easy enough to find if one knew where to look.

Those merchants weren't bound to Xinghexian for lumber anyway.

When chaos inevitably returned, she would need to act. Studying the map now was simply preparation, to decide which region’s resources she might seize first to ensure her survival.

In the outskirts of Xinghexian, Qi Yue sat on a carriage, gnawing on a piece of naan flatbread while chewing a piece of roasted pipa meat he had bought along the road. It wasn't exactly nutritious, but the naan was fermented with old dough and baked to perfection; and the more he chewed, the better it tasted.

Between bites, Qi Yue grumbled, “After all that rushing, we still missed the county exam.”

Fugui was driving the carriage ahead and didn't answer. Their master had insisted they arrive in Xinghexian right during the exams, though they weren't from this county, nor visiting relatives, nor taking the exam themselves.

Fugui was used to the odd decisions of Qi Yue by now, so he just kept eating in silence as the wheels groaned.

As they trudged along the road, Fugui suddenly pulled the reins and stopped the carriage with a sharp jerk.

Qi Yue lifted the silk curtain. “What is it?”

Fugui didn't respond, only stared ahead with wide eyes at the path.

Qi Yue followed the gaze of Fugui and froze.

A crowd stretched across the road ahead, moving like a dark wave. Their eyes were hollow, their clothes tattered and covered in dust. They carried bundles of belongings and clutched children close to their chests.

The setting sun cast a dull red glow over their faces, making them look like a line of lost souls walking toward hell.

Before Qi Yue could speak, a few from the crowd approached the carriage, asking weakly for food with outstretched hands.

They must have been near the rural outskirts of the county, because none dared cause trouble for the travelers. Still, many others stood watching warily from the tall grass.

Among them was an old woman holding a little girl in her arms. Something in the weary eyes of the woman made the heart of Qi Yue twist.

He knew they were just NPCs, nothing but strings of data in a simulated world. And yet the realism was undeniable.

The livestream chat reacted the same way, the messages scrolling fast.

"God, that's heartbreaking."

"They look starving. Think they've eaten people before?"

"Nah, if they had, their eyes wouldn't look like that. They would be staring at Qi Yue like he is dinner."

"Where are these refugees from?"

"Never heard of any near Xinghexian."

"Didn't Lin Qian order new housing construction recently? Both in the villages and in town."

"Yeah, probably for new settlers. Lots of merchants are moving in."

"So these people might be new settlers too, right?"

"They won't make it to Xinghexian on foot by nightfall. Where will they stay?"

"There's a rest spot at Wangshi Village ahead."

"Wangshi Village?"

"Song Can is streaming from there, remember? Bing Ling and Jian Xiu dropped by too."

"What, near the glassworks?"

"Yeah, Shan Mo and Jun Moxiao are there too. The glass factory is doing great; business is steady. They take turns managing shifts and spend the rest of their time wandering around the county. They're even building a mansion now, obsessed with Feng Shui."

"Guess you can't just follow one streamer in this game."

Qi Yue tightened his jaw and didn't hand out food. He knew how this worked: give once, and you would have to give twice, thrice, until you had nothing left for yourself. Losing food was one thing, but he and Fugui were just two people on the road. If things went wrong, they could lose their carriage, maybe even their lives.

With a sharp breath, Qi Yue dropped the curtain. “Let's move. We need to reach the county before curfew.”

Fugui had been wary since spotting the crowd. The moment Qi Yue gave the order, Fugui cracked the whip and steered the horses around the refugees, speeding toward the county gates.

The road was narrow, and some of the walking people were forced to step aside into the ditch.

Angry shouts followed them as they fled, but Fugui ignored them completely.

Once the carriage passed, the crowd continued trudging forward, eyes blank, steps heavy on the dirt. A few passersby saw them from afar and hurriedly turned back the way they had come.

At Wangshi Village, Qi Yue munched on sunflower seeds, his expression blank as he watched Jian Xiu dressed flamboyantly in bright robes, chatting animatedly with several local women near the well. Laughter rippled through the group.

The louder they laughed, the more the mouth of Qi Yue twisted.

After a long moment, he muttered under his breath, “Damn flirt,” and spat out a seed shell onto the dusty ground.

"He is jealous."

"So bitter."

"Hahaha!"

"Qi Yue has never had luck with the ladies!"

"He was jealous of Wang Wuyuan in the capital, now it is Jian Xiu in Xinghexian."

"With that attitude, no rich lady is ever going to like you, Qi Yue. Be generous, man!"

Seeing the comments, Qi Yue couldn't help pouting at the screen, his fingers drumming against the carriage door.

Chapter Text

Jian Xiu chatted with the young girls for a while, her hands moving as she gestured toward the village wells, before she began walking over to Qi Yue.

“The cart is fixed,” she said, her voice steady as she reached the side of the wooden vehicle. “But the city gates are probably closed by now. You will have to enter tomorrow. For tonight, I have arranged a place for you to stay at a villager’s home.”

“I can’t stay here with you all? There are empty rooms.” Qi Yue looked toward the stone structures where the light was already dimming. He could see the dust motes dancing in the failing light within the vacant spaces.

“This place is for poverty relief workers. Unless there is a special reason, outsiders aren't allowed to stay.” Jian Xiu adjusted her sleeves, her gaze fixed on the relief station entrance.

Qi Yue frowned, the lines deepening across his forehead. “Then I will join your poverty relief team.”

“That requires registration at the yamen. Stop fussing; having a roof over your head is good enough.” She dismissed his suggestion with a sharp wave of her hand.

She waved over a man who was standing nearby in the dirt. “Shi Dalang, your house still has two empty rooms. Let them stay there for the night. I have already spoken to someone; you will get ten coins a day. If they want meals or wine, you can work out the price yourselves.”

Qi Yue raised a brow, his eyes following the direction of her gaze. He wondered to himself: Who exactly did she ‘speak to’?

Still, he knew he had already caused enough trouble for the players today, so he didn't argue. He felt the rough wood of the cart under his hand. Normally, he would have made a snarky comment about the arrangement.

Before leaving the area, he glanced at the outfit of Jian Xiu and couldn't help asking, “Where did you buy that bib thing?”

“What bib thing? This is a quling, an ancient-style collar!” Jian Xiu was speechless, her hand flying to touch the fabric at her neck. Did she think she would walk around wearing a drool bib? That would ruin the whole image she had cultivated.

Qi Yue scratched his head, his fingers tangling in his hair. How the hell was he supposed to tell the difference between a curved collar and a straight one? He had barely passed school as it was.

“Oh, I just thought it looked nice; I wanted to get one too.” He looked at the intricate embroidery on the fabric.

“It’s from the Wei-Jin period,” Jian Xiu explained, her tone turning instructional. “You can find it online. Buy the pattern and make it yourself; nobody sells it directly right now.”

Of course, there were antique garments available for purchase, but buying those was far more trouble than just sitting down and sewing one.

“Oh, right.” Qi Yue scratched his head again, the awkwardness of his ignorance settling over him. Feeling the heat in his cheeks, he left the station area with Fugui.

"Hahahaha, bib!" 

"I thought it was a bib too; it just looks good on Jian Xiu!"

"She must be so done with him. She put on that pretty, authentic outfit and he called it a bib!"

"Yuezi, stop embarrassing yourself; go home, man, go home."

Qi Yue was used to being roasted by the chat, so he didn't bother replying to the messages. He followed Shi Dalang toward the center of the village.

It was bad luck, really. He had almost reached the city of Xinghexian when the cart wheel broke halfway on the path. He had stopped at Wangshi Village outside Xinghexian to find someone who could fix the axle and perhaps find a place to stay. He hadn't expected to run into a few players who were here on poverty relief work, their red armbands bright against their clothes.

The cart was fixed now, but the sky was already dark, so he decided to stay the night in the village. At least his arrival brought Wangshi Village some important news: refugees were coming from the distance.

Compared to the liveliness inside the walls of Xinghexian, Wangshi Village was painfully dull. The silence was only broken by the occasional bark of a dog.

The home of Shi Dalang was simple, the walls made of packed earth and wood. Besides him, there was an old man and an old woman sitting by the hearth, but they had two spare rooms available for guests.

At ten coins per room, the place was rough enough that Qi Yue and Fugui didn't bother separating for the night. They shared a single room with a single flickering lamp.

Dinner was two bowls of noodles with minced meat, eight coins each. The steam rose in the small room, carrying the scent of soy sauce and pork.

The old woman’s cooking wasn't great, the noodles a bit too soft, but Qi Yue still ate it. Hunger was hunger, and the walk had been long.

After dinner, he was just about to sleep on the hard bed when a sudden beat of drums and gongs startled him awake. He sat up, the wooden frame creaking. He had Fugui light a lamp, the flame dancing against the walls, and stepped outside into the yard. Though the night was too dark to see clearly, he could roughly tell that the noise came from the same group of refugees he had seen earlier on the road.

Lin Xianling hadn't allowed the commoners into the city yet. Spring plowing had just begun in the surrounding fields, and she was expanding the farmland to the north.

Clearly, the magistrate planned to take these refugees in.

Qi Yue had already told Jian Xiu and the others that refugees might be coming soon, but they hadn't reacted at all when he spoke. Which meant they had already received the orders of Lin Qian. Refugees like that had to pass through multiple xian, so word would have spread among the officials. He was certain Lin Qian already knew about the situation long ago.

“Damn, that is not easy,” Qi Yue muttered, looking out at the dark horizon.

He motioned for Fugui to follow as they walked toward the relief station in the village center. There were hundreds of refugees now, their tattered clothes visible in the torchlight. Managing them, feeding them, assigning places for the night; it was a lot of work for a small village. If things went wrong and they rebelled out of desperation, the first to suffer would be Xinghexian of Lin Qian. So if she planned to take them in, she had to handle the distribution well.

By the time Qi Yue and Fugui arrived, Jian Xiu and Song Can were already distributing people to different homes. They were wearing red armbands that marked them as relief workers, their voices rising over the murmurs of the crowd. The porridge had been cooked in advance in large iron pots. The yamen covered the cost, paying the villagers ten coins per room to take in a few refugees each. Shelters had already been built inside and outside the city, though the construction wasn't finished yet.

Qi Yue overheard that once the shelters were complete, refugees would be allowed to stay for two months. During that time, they would get meat or eggs daily and free coarse porridge. After two months, the assistance would end.

Pregnant women or those with serious illness could stay longer in the village care. He could hear the sound of a child coughing in the distance.

In Xinghexian, wages were paid monthly. Two months were enough time for refugees to find work and settle in the city. The village could also assign farmland for those willing to farm the new soil.

Population meant growth, and Xinghexian needed it to expand. If people were given a way to live, few would rebel against the dynasty. Especially since Lin Qian had earned herself a strong reputation as a just magistrate among the common folk.

Even if anyone wanted to rebel, they would pick another place, not hers. If refugees caused trouble here, the townsfolk themselves wouldn't allow it. By taking them in, Lin Qian had earned their gratitude.

In the old days, gratitude was everything. Once someone saved your life, you would repay it with your own. Once she settled them, those refugees would probably see Lin Qian as a second mother.

The family of Shi Dalang housed a refugee mother and daughter for the night.

After eating porridge at the relief station, the two women were deeply thankful to be taken in. They knew it was the magistrate who paid for their lodging, but they still praised the kindness of the Shi family as they entered the small yard.

However, when Shi Dalang and his father looked at the mother and daughter, darker thoughts began to stir in their minds. Their eyes followed the movement of the women in the dim light.

Qi Yue and Fugui went over to help Jian Xiu and Bing Ling with the distribution, and with fewer than a hundred people in this specific group, it took less than half an hour to finish settling everyone into the village homes.

Qi Yue, who hadn't exercised in forever, felt his back ache and his hands go numb from carrying the heavy bundles. He returned to the Shi house, ready to wash up and crash on the bed, when he suddenly heard the sharp sound of a woman’s scream from inside the building.

Moments later, a young woman burst out of the door, her hair disheveled.

Seeing that Qi Yue was one of the men distributing porridge earlier at the station, she hid behind him, her hands trembling as she gripped his coat. “Please, young master, save me!”

Qi Yue blinked, stunned by the sudden weight against his back, before the woman darted fully behind him. He hadn't even seen her face in the darkness.

Then Shi Dalang came rushing out after her, his face flushed and his breath coming in short gasps.

"That is Shi Dalang! When Song Can came here for relief work, this guy was lazy as hell!"

"Thirty and still single; no wonder he is a creep."

"Being single doesn't make you a creep. Some people just use it as an excuse to hurt women."

"Wait, isn't thirty-year-old virginhood supposed to turn you into a wizard?"

"That is only if you are still a virgin at thirty!"

"So is he a wizard or not?"

"Can you people focus for one second...?"

"Late-night NPC event, let us go!"

"That guy is disgusting; can we kill him?"

"His dad is no better; take them both out."

"Honestly, bury the whole damn family."

Qi Yue raised a brow, finally getting what was going on in the yard. He saw the way Shi Dalang was looking at the woman.

“Ah, you are back,” Shi Dalang said, his tone turning to one of forced casualness once he saw Qi Yue and Fugui standing there.

He assumed they wouldn't meddle in a villager's business. Men always understood men, right? Maybe they would even help him cover it up.

But as those filthy thoughts flashed through his head, Qi Yue shouted, “Yidaimi yao kang ji lou! Feel the pain, bastard!”

Then he barked, “Fugui, grab him! If he fights back, break his damn legs! I will pay for the fine!”

Fugui sprang into action immediately.

In no time, Shi Dalang was on the ground, his face in the dirt as he began screaming for mercy.

Fugui had gotten stronger after traveling with Qi Yue on the long road. Though life on the road was rough, Qi Yue had always fed him well: mutton, pork, whatever he ate, Fugui ate too.

Back in reality, Qi Yue had to watch his diet, but in the game, he could eat whatever he wanted without consequence.

After a month of hearty meals, Fugui had filled out nicely. Once scrawny from being trafficked, he was now strong, fast, and full of energy.

Compared to Shi Dalang, Fugui was a beast.

One solid punch had Shi Dalang crying for his life, his hands clutching his jaw.

===

• Yidaimi (一代米) = "Eat my" (A very direct, phonetic match)

• yao kang (要康) = "fucking" (This is a phonetic attempt at the F-word. "Yao kang" sounds similar to "fuckin'")

• ji lou (鸡楼) = "you coward" (This is a phonetic attempt at "you coward," with "ji lou" sounding like "gee-loud" or "ya coward")

This is a classic example of "Chinglish" or "Phonetic Taunt"—where Chinese characters are used not for their meaning, but purely for their sound to mimic an English insult.

And so "Yidaimi yao kang ji lou!" is a very close phonetic approximation of the English sentence: "Eat my fucking blow, you coward!"

Chapter Text

Lao Shi had been restraining a middle-aged woman inside the house. The woman struggled fiercely, her fingernails catching the fabric of the man’s sleeves. After half a day of grappling in the cramped, dusty room, she finally broke free and ran out the door into the yard.

Meanwhile, the livestream of Qi Yue was absolutely on fire. The comments scrolled so fast they became a blur of white text.

"Fugui is a real hero!"

"Damn, he is strong!"

"Qi Yue hit the jackpot; this NPC is no joke!"

"Way better than watching those idol dramas!"

"The entertainment industry is doomed."

Fugui pinned down Shi Dalang while trying to grab Lao Shi; but the movements of Fugui were too restricted by the thrashing son. In the end, Qi Yue landed a few punches that sent the old man crashing to the floor.

Qi Yue wasn't as careful as Fugui. He didn't see Lao Shi as a living person, so the blows of Qi Yue were ruthless. The nose of the old man bled, staining the dirt floor, and two teeth flew out as Lao Shi groaned pitifully.

Within minutes, master and servant tied up the father and son using coarse hemp rope.

While binding the two men, Qi Yue grinned at the viewers. “So? Not bad, right? Guess my sword isn't the only thing that is sharp!”

Fugui glanced at Qi Yue. Here we go again: the bad habit of talking to himself was acting up.

"Nice, nice!"

"Ten out of ten!"

"Damn, he pulled it off again."

"Fine, I will admit it, he looks cool."

The female fans of Qi Yue were brutal in both words and wallet. Virtual gifts flooded the screen, appearing one after another.

At this point, the old woman of the Shi family had recovered her hearing. She rushed forward, her knees hitting the ground as she begged Qi Yue to let her husband and son go.

“When those women cried for help just now, their voices were loud enough to wake the dead. Didn't you hear them?” The tone of Qi Yue sharpened. “Why didn't you call for help?”

The old woman wept, her face wet with tears. “If I had, they would have beaten me too!”

Qi Yue paused, his hand tightening on the rope. That made sense. He sighed. “Then this is better. I have caught the culprits. If they are sentenced to death, you will be free from their abuse.”

The old woman wailed to the heavens. “If they die, how can a widow like me survive?”

“You have got land and fields, don't you?”

“The fields belong to the Shi family, not me! Without a husband or son, I will be thrown out! Please, kind sir, have mercy! Let them go! They will repent, I swear!” The woman took Qi Yue for some wealthy landlord or minor noble because of his fine clothes and the strength of his servant.

“I don't believe they will repent.” Qi Yue had no intention of releasing the men.

Of course not. Qi Yue was in the middle of a major story arc, and a generous lady in his livestream was showering him with gifts worth hundreds of coins a pop!

And how did he know she was a lady? He just knew. The “sugar-mom radar” of him was always spot on.

Qi Yue couldn't disappoint the viewer now. Still, he did feel a little sympathy for the old woman. “Don't worry,” Qi Yue said. “It is only attempted assault, not a capital crime. You will still have your husband and son. You will keep your land.”

Without waiting for the response of the old woman, he dragged the father and son off to where Jian Xiu and Bing Ling were stationed.

That night, Jian Xiu and Bing Ling were on duty at the relief station. The two players checked the county laws, woke up the yamen officers, and had the two men thrown into the firewood shed to await formal imprisonment and sentencing the next day.

The Shi father and son looked dazed but not particularly afraid, which annoyed Jian Xiu. Jian Xiu approached the men and said coldly, “The laws of Xinghexian have changed. Before, assaulting a woman was considered a minor offense. A few months in jail and you would walk free. Now, even attempted assault warrants castration. It is a serious crime.”

Indeed, the laws of Xinghexian had quietly shifted after the arrival of Lin Qian.

Technically, local officials weren't allowed to alter the law; but in these chaotic times, no one had the energy to question Lin Qian. And if someone did question her? She would simply rebel. Her law, her rules: no one changed them.

Society demanded purity and chastity from women, yet punished the violators with mere slaps on the wrist.

Why?

If women had to uphold virtue, then crimes that destroyed that virtue should be punished just as harshly.

After the words of Jian Xiu, both men turned pale.

“Daren, please spare us! I haven't married yet; I have no sons! Daren, please!” Shi Dalang dropped to his knees, trembling, reaching for the leg of Jian Xiu.

Jian Xiu kicked Shi Dalang away in disgust. “You brought this on yourself. Pray for mercy elsewhere.”

Watching the men beg helped the mood of Jian Xiu considerably.

Outside, the mother of the men wailed helplessly, searching for a miracle in the dark.

Jian Xiu, however, focused on settling the two victims, arranging temporary lodging for the mother and daughter under the care of Bing Ling.

Since Jian Xiu had a male avatar, it was more appropriate for Bing Ling to handle the women. Meanwhile, Qi Yue and Fugui finally got permission to stay at the Poverty Relief Bureau.

Special cases got special treatment.

In the dormitory, Bing Ling fetched water for the mother and daughter to wash up, then sat beside the refugees. It wasn't like Bing Ling could rest during the shift anyway, so she struck up a conversation.

“Where are you two from?”

“Jiangcheng.”

“That far?” The eyes of Bing Ling widened.

Although Jiangcheng was only in the neighboring province, the Zhao Empire had sixteen provinces in total, and the lands weren't small. Even on horseback, traveling between provinces could take weeks.

The woman nodded, noticing the shock of Bing Ling.

“The southern front collapsed. We lost several cities in a row. Uprisings have broken out everywhere. I fear the fighting will reach Xinghexian soon.”

“Wait, didn't they say we won?” Bing Ling frowned.

News from the court claimed victory not long ago.

The woman gave a bitter smile. “All lies. We have never won a single battle.”

Bing Ling froze. The grasp of her on politics wasn't great: how was she supposed to know who to believe?

“So you are saying the generals at the front are sending fake reports to the court?”

The woman nodded quietly.

Ordinary folk like the refugees couldn't analyze military affairs, but the home of the refugees had truly fallen. On the road, the woman had seen rebel troops and countless corpses.

The refugees hadn't met a single imperial soldier willing to help.

Thousands had started the journey, but most towns had closed the gates to refugees. Those who survived simply kept walking, until the group finally reached Xinghexian. This was the first place that took the refugees in, though the first day here hadn't exactly been peaceful.

Compared to the confusion of Bing Ling, the despair of the woman was far heavier.

“How did you make it this far safely? Did someone help you?” Bing Ling asked. In ancient times, female refugees almost never survived long.

The woman lowered her head. “We traveled with my uncles. My father was a scholar, but he died of illness years ago. Thankfully, my uncles looked after us. That is how we got here alive.”

Bing Ling nodded. “Tell your uncles where you are in the morning, so they don't worry.”

The woman agreed softly.

After a few more words, mother and daughter finally drifted to sleep. Bing Ling waited until the breathing of the refugees steadied before slipping outside.

Jian Xiu was lounging in the courtyard, munching on peanuts. Seeing Bing Ling, Jian Xiu patted the spot beside the bench.

Bing Ling plopped down, grinning. “New Year’s Eve, and we're stuck here. My family went back to the countryside. I have got a small gathering tomorrow. You?”

Jian Xiu kept the gaze of the avatar on the gate. “At home. My mom and aunt are in the living room pestering me to get married. I came out to breathe a bit.”

“You're not watching the Spring Festival Gala?”

“Who even watches that anymore?”

Bing Ling, still too young to face marriage pressure, didn't fully get it.

“Your family is loaded, and they still push marriage?”

“Yeah. They want me to find a good husband, someone dependable. They're afraid I will grow old alone. It is fine though. I have got plenty of older cousins still single, so they draw the fire first. Anyway, what were you chatting about inside?”

“Oh, right! I almost forgot! Those refugees said the south lost the war. The court has been covering it up!”

Jian Xiu wasn't surprised. “False reports aren't new. It just means the empire is collapsing faster than we thought. I have seen streams from the capital lately: the palace isn't peaceful either. We had better get ready for war.”

“Then we should report this to Lin Xianling!” Bing Ling exclaimed.

Jian Xiu chuckled. “No rush. Lin Qian already told us to stock grain and build shelters, didn't she? That means she knows refugees are coming. If she knows that, she definitely knows why.”

The tone of Jian Xiu turned grim. “What we need to do now is prepare for battle. The world is a mess. Xinghexian won't stay untouched for long.”

The eyes of Bing Ling widened. “Wait, are we going to die?”

“Hard to say. But don't worry. You're playing a female character. If war breaks out, you will probably get assigned to logistics. Us male avatars will die first.”

The eyes of Bing Ling filled with mock tears. She grabbed the arm of Jian Xiu dramatically. “Jian Xiu, don't you dare die on me, okay?”

Jian Xiu groaned. “Relax. I haven't even enlisted yet. If there is dying to do, it won't be me first.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, just as the first grey light of dawn broke through the low clouds, the farmers of Wangshi Village were already up and working in the dewy fields. The refugees who had been taken in finally got a good night’s sleep for once; it was a deep, dreamless slumber, the first peaceful rest they had known in many months.

Since Xinghexian was offering porridge, it meant the county planned to settle them properly. So everyone got up early, grouped together in the morning chill, and made their way to the local relief office run by Jian Xiu, Bing Ling, and the others to wait for instructions.

By then, the team of Jian Xiu had just reached the shift change hour and had already logged off to rest.

This morning, Song Can came with Wang Han and Liu Ban to handle the porridge distribution.

They received two meals of porridge a day; it was so thick a pair of wooden chopsticks could stand upright in the bowl: that was the rule of the shelter. Each meal came with one bowl of porridge and one egg; the standard portion for every person. The wild greens were extra; they were bought from the villagers by Song Can to make sure everyone got balanced nutrition.

If they were going to help the poor, Song Can thought, then people needed to eat well first before they could work.

“Listen up, everyone!” Song Can shouted, her voice carrying over the crowd. “Xinghexian will be opening a shelter here in Wangshi Village, as well as others across the county, to take in you refugees. The county needs plenty of laborers. If you can farm and wish to stay, come register with me, and wait here for your land allotment.”

“If you want to work in the city, register with Liu Ban. He will take you there at noon. Once you're in the city, you will be housed in a shelter. The city shelters are already complete, but the ones outside still need help with construction. The magistrate has ordered two months of porridge rations for you all. Do you understand?”

The refugees, who had wandered homeless for months, were overjoyed to finally find a county willing to take them in. None of them disagreed with the terms.

Most of them had fled together as big family clans. They weren’t wealthy, but they were close-knit; and most shared the same surname. The mother and daughter whom the group of Bing Ling had met yesterday were also from one such clan. Despite being just two women, they had been protected all the way to Xinghexian. It's clear the refugees had gone hungry for too long; but from the way they treated their women and children, one could tell they were still decent people at heart.

Song Can, having served as a cadre in Wangshi Village, had learned a fair bit about human nature. Even though Song Can could tell these people weren’t bad, she knew she couldn't afford to be soft.

“However, I will make this clear now,” Song Can said sharply, her eyes sweeping over the line. “Anyone who slacks off, cheats, or sells their allotted land will be punished under county law. Don't think you're going to get away with it. The fate of Lao Shi and Shi Dalang will be yours if you try!”

No one took offense at her words. In fact, they admired the firmness of Song Can. They believed everyone should know their place (men, women, and farmers alike). To have rules meant they could live in peace.

By morning, the refugees had been divided into groups. Some chose to stay in the village; others opted to go to the city. Village life meant reclaiming fields and relying on the weather for harvests; while city work offered monthly wages that could outstrip a farmer’s yearly income. Even so, most people still chose to stay and till the land. It's something rooted deep in their blood: the love of the soil, stronger than any promise of silver.

Dozens followed the group of Liu Ban toward the city of Xinghexian, including the mother and daughter saved by Qi Yue.

Zhang Xiaohua walked behind the crowd, holding tightly onto the arm of her mother, nervous and tense as they approached the towering walls.

From the outside, the city of Xinghexian looked no different from others she had seen. But since Lin Qian had taken office, the once-crumbling walls had been repaired in many places with fresh, grey stone.

When Zhang Xiaohua saw the city gates, she recalled the many times they had been turned away elsewhere. In her heart, city folk always seemed a class above refugees. Those inside the walls were citizens; those outside weren’t even as good as dogs in the gutter.

The father of Zhang Xiaohua had been a scholar, a xiucai; but that title was barely enough to maintain a humble farming household.

Before they became refugees, she had helped with small farm chores. Even after the death of her father, her clan elders took care of them; they rented out their land and split the yield fairly so the two could survive. Zhang Xiaohua and her mother had actually preferred staying in the countryside; especially after hearing from Jian Dutou that farmland would be distributed by headcount and even two women could register as a household.

But because of the Shi family incident, the mother of Zhang Xiaohua decided against staying in the village.

Though it's the Shi family who had caused trouble for them, both Lao Shi and Shi Dalang were now awaiting punishment in prison.

Still, Wangshi Village was dominated by the Shi clan, dozens of households strong. The Zhangs weren’t a major family there; and her mother feared harassment if they stayed in that neighborhood. She couldn't gamble on everyone being kind. It's better to leave for the city; where they might find steady work and not trouble their relatives further. Led by Wang Han and the others, they entered the city and completed the registration process at the gatehouse.

Once inside, the bustling streets left Zhang Xiaohua utterly awestruck. What kind of place was this?

She knew she'd remember it for the rest of her life.

The streets were clean and spacious, crowded with people moving about their business; but what truly stunned Zhang Xiaohua was the sight of so many women. There were young wives, women in their twenties, and even teenage girls walking openly together in the sunlight. Everyone’s faces glowed with health and confidence: something entirely different from the desperate cities Zhang Xiaohua had seen before. And most incredible of all: there was not a single beggar in sight!

“Mother...” Zhang Xiaohua gaped at the vibrant stalls, half convinced she is dreaming.

If not a dream, how could such a place exist?

They were received by Qin Qing and Liu Yang at the shelter.

Yesterday, they had met Bing Ling and Song Can and had assumed they were just village helpers. Now, seeing Qin Qing dressed in an official uniform, they began to realize something was off. Just what made Xinghexian so different from everywhere else?

Seeing the dazed expressions of the mother and daughter, Qin Qing smiled kindly. “Everyone feels this way at first. You will get used to it soon.”

At the shelter, Qin Qing had everyone line up by height; then she began explaining, “You have probably noticed by now that men and women both work in Xinghexian. We treat each other equally and live in harmony.

There are many shops open in the city now. You can visit them freely and ask about work. Many are short-handed (especially teahouses, food stalls, and small eateries). They need servers, people to clean and help out with the prep work.

Women can also seek jobs outside; so don't be afraid. I hope everyone here in the shelter can live peacefully together.”

Then Qin Qing added, “Each of you will receive two sets of coarse linen clothing. We don't have padded jackets yet; but if you wear both layers, you will stay warm enough.”

Her words sparked a flurry of murmurs among the crowd.

“Women can work too?”

“What’s milk tea?”

“This place is strange.”

“Are they really giving clothes to refugees?”

“Heavens, are they trying to scam us?”

“Do you even have money left to scam?”

“Well, there's always life to lose.”

They grumbled softly, but not from distrust; just disbelief. They had always called their magistrate “father-mother official”; but few ever truly treated the people like their children. Their old magistrate had fled when the city fell, vanishing with his entire household in the middle of the night.

Yet here, the new magistrate not only gave them food and shelter but even clean clothes to wear. What had they done to deserve such kindness from the court?

Then someone whispered, “I heard the county magistrate here is a woman.”

“A female magistrate? You telling stories now?”

“No, really, I heard it too! Someone in town mentioned it earlier.”

“Should we ask Qin-guniang?”

“It makes sense though. A woman’s soft-hearted; so she is kind to us.”

“Nonsense! How could a woman be a magistrate? Would His Majesty allow that? Anyone who appointed her would be executed!”

“Actually,” someone added, “I heard there is a female zhuangyuan in the capital before the war.”

“Now you are just mixing fiction with reality!”

Their chatter grew louder until Qin Qing finally said, smiling at them, “Yes, our magistrate is indeed a woman.”

The crowd gasped in unison.

“A female magistrate?”

“So the rumor is true!”

“But how did she become a magistrate instead of a court official?”

“Qin-guniang wouldn't lie to us.”

“No wonder there are so many women here. Even the yamen runners are women!”

“Can women take the imperial exams now? What kind of new rule is that?”

Qin Qing couldn't explain everything in detail; so she said simply, “Our magistrate was once the court’s Tan Hua; she was personally recognized by the late Emperor for her talent and virtue. She was appointed to govern this county by Imperial decree. You needn't doubt her status.”

Meanwhile, in the live stream of Qin Qing, a new wave of viewers had joined just to watch the scene unfold.

"Love seeing these NPCs react like they have never seen civilization before."

"The acting is too real."

"So what if the magistrate is a woman? Just wait till you see the Female Emperor!"

"Can we get more refugee scenes? This feels better than any webnovel!"

"Used to binge patriotic videos; now I binge “Xian Huang” streams. It's the same kind of rush!"

"Exactly. Used to love brainless power fantasies. Now I'm brainlessly obsessed with “Xian Huang”!"

Chapter Text

Qin Qing glanced at the comments section on the digital interface, then started assigning dormitories, separating men and women into different wings of the building. The air in the hallway smelled of fresh sawdust and old stone. Guards from the yamen would be stationed between the two dorm areas, both male and female. The guards stood with their hands on their belts, their uniforms crisp in the torchlight as they monitored the arrival of the refugees.

Thanks to the influence of Lin Qian, several older women had also joined the yamen to assist with duties that required female personnel: especially when it came to searching female criminals, something men couldn't conveniently handle without causing scandal. These women wore practical, dark robes and moved with a quiet efficiency that commanded respect. After all, the yamen hadn't been a place ordinary people could easily enter. Before Lin Qian took office, most of the yamen servants were hereditary positions. Without connections, new workers were often bullied, and it wasn't uncommon for them to be scapegoated for others’ mistakes in the shadowy corners of the bureau.

That changed once Lin Qian took over. She dismissed the useless, those who had gotten in through nepotism, and kept only the capable. With the addition of Players, the entire yamen environment had finally improved, feeling more orderly and professional. Once the dorm assignments were done, Qin Qing and Liu Yang brought copies of the laws of Xinghexian to both male and female dorms, reading them aloud to ensure everyone heard clearly. The paper rustled as Qin Qing turned the pages. Although petty thieves and kidnappers had nearly disappeared, incidents of women being harassed or assaulted in the streets still occurred in the darker alleys.

In ancient times, public opinion always leaned toward men. If a woman went out late, she was said to lack virtue; while men who committed crimes like rape received light punishment. Such a mindset made it impossible for the policies of Lin Qian to take root without force. If women couldn't even walk freely, how could the harmonious society she envisioned ever exist? And when the day came that she aimed for the throne, how immense would the resistance be from the traditionalists?

So as long as she had the power, she would do everything she could to protect the rights of women. After the new law targeting sexual assault took effect, men with wicked intentions grew far more cautious. Upon hearing the harsh penalties Lin Qian had decreed, even those who had once harbored small, dirty thoughts quickly gave them up out of fear. When the girls in the dorm were nearly done unpacking their meager bundles, Qin Qing softened her tone. “There is a food festival happening these days, near where the sports meet was held. You have got time before curfew, so go take a look. It won't last long once the weather gets hot.

If you don't know the way, just ask anyone around the market. The festival has free tastings, and you don't need much money to try a few dishes. Take a walk, relax a bit after your journey.” The first step to fitting into Xinghexian was, of course, mingling with its people.

Qin Qing never doubted that these new arrivals would eventually build new lives here. After all, everyone here had hands and feet. In Xinghexian, as long as you could work and weren't seriously ill, you could survive. The best part was that, since the xian was small, the authority of Lin Qian reached everywhere. The eight-hour maximum workday was properly enforced. With time and money to spare, people could actually enjoy life under the warm sun.

Even though her own working hours were stable now, Qin Qing couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for the people here. In real life, she didn't feel quite as alive as her avatar did. Maybe that was part of the charm of this game. Once her explanations were finished, she turned right out of the dorm, returned with Liu Yang to their rented house in the xian, and logged off.

As she lifted the headset, the sound of children shouting downstairs reached her ears: they were lighting firecrackers. Her family lived in an old apartment complex in the city, and the walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors' televisions. The city didn't strictly regulate fireworks, so this year was as noisy as ever. But Qin Qing had long gotten used to the sudden pops and bangs. “Ding ding ding.” The sound of a chat notification came from her computer, the blue light reflecting off her glasses.

She didn't have many friends. Around New Year, she had gotten plenty of mass greeting messages; but real friends? Not a single one. If she stretched the definition, maybe Liu Yang, her gaming partner, counted. She knew why, of course. She had never been good at reaching out first. Since school, she had always been the quiet top student. Good grades, but never first in class. She didn't share interests with the talkative troublemakers, so they had little to talk about during lunch. Even teachers barely noticed her in the back of the room. She had always been... average.

Average personality, average family background. Her grades were good, but not the best. Her job was decent, but not outstanding. Her looks were her only advantage, but she had no sense of style or fashion. She couldn't keep up with the trendy, beautiful crowd she saw on social media. Being introverted, she had almost no friends outside the virtual world. Even among anime fans, she never joined real-life meetups. She belonged to no circles at all.

Qin Qing knew that to most people, her life looked like a failure. Sometimes she even felt it herself as she looked at her reflection. But at other times, she thought it wasn't so bad. People were contradictory like that. She opened the new message: it was from Liu Yang.

[Go See the Sea]: There is a gathering for early players after New Year. Want to come?

[Sunny Sky]: ? Is that legit?

[Go See the Sea]: The player group, you didn't join?

[Go See the Sea]: If you're interested, I will send the invite.

A moment later, Liu Yang sent over the group number. Qin Qing hesitated for two seconds, her cursor hovering over the link, then joined. She didn't have anything better to do anyway. The group was lively, with messages scrolling by every second. There really was a notice about a small meet-up in Z City. Most online members had already confirmed attendance, chatting under their in-game usernames. After Qin Qing changed her name, everyone warmly welcomed her. She chatted for a bit and found her first impression of them pretty good. Then she messaged Liu Yang privately: I will go too.

Dragon Kingdom, Li Junmo’s Home.

Li Junmo placed a card on the table in front of his father, who was munching on peanuts. The shells were scattered across the wood. The old man was half-drunk, his face flushed red, and he glanced up lazily at his son.

“What is this? Paying respect to your old man for the New Year? Why didn't you give it earlier?” He chuckled, his tone unusually pleasant despite the reek of alcohol.

Li Junmo said evenly, “There is a thousand yuan on this card. It is your living allowance. I will deposit the same amount every month. I'm moving out and living elsewhere. If you try to contact or harass me, even by calling the police, you won't get another cent.”

“A thousand yuan?!” The expression of the man twisted in anger. Instead of asking where his son was going, he fixated on the number. “What the hell do you mean by that?” He snatched the card, didn't even look at it, then threw it back in the face of his son. “You're giving your father only a thousand yuan?!”

Li Junmo clenched his teeth. He wasn't afraid of a fight, but at this point, arguing was pointless. “The minimum legal support is just a few hundred. I'm giving you more than enough to live on. You're not even at retirement age; you can still work. If you find a job, you won't need this thousand at all.”

“What the hell are you saying, Li Junmo? Have you forgotten your own surname? I raised you all these years, and you think you can just walk out after tossing your old man a thousand yuan? I heard that stupid streaming thing of yours is making good money, yet you're giving your father this measly amount? What kind of son are you?!”

Li Junmo didn't respond. He went to his room, grabbed his worn twenty-four-inch (approximately 61 cm) suitcase, and started packing. He had earned a decent income from streaming, but his frugal habits had not changed. The fabric suitcase was from his school days, its wheels worn down to the plastic, but still usable. Inside were a few warm clothes, a laptop, and his Xian Huang game helmet: everything he owned.

“Where are you going? You're not leaving until you explain!” His father staggered after him, reeking of alcohol, blocking the door with his heavy frame. Grinding his teeth, Li Junmo pushed his father aside. The man fell to the floor with a loud “Ow!”

“For heaven’s sake, you're over fifty already! I don't expect you to be a good father, but can't you at least act like a decent human being?!” His eyes burned with unshed tears, but he forced the tears back. Dragging the suitcase, Li Junmo opened the apartment door. Determination flashed in his eyes as he stepped out onto the concrete landing. From this step on, his new life began.

“Li Junmo!” the hoarse roar of his father echoed behind him in the hallway, but the road ahead was bright and clear. He took a cab to Changsheng Residential Area. It was New Year’s, but the newly built complex looked oddly deserted under the streetlights. He took the elevator up to his floor: the eighteenth. He had paid ten thousand as the down payment for the sixty-square-meter (approximately 645 square feet) unit; it was small but his own. Any lower floor would have cost more. Even if he died in-game someday, he could still repay the rest of the loan through work.

In just a few months, after his viral “almost ate-shit” moment on stream and countless sleepless nights, he had gained sponsorships and managed to save enough to buy this place. At last, there would be no more wandering with his father. Maybe, if luck was on his side, he could even find a kind girl to share this home someday. He allowed himself that tiny hope as he looked at the bare walls. Inside, the apartment was simply decorated: barely ten thousand yuan’s worth of materials.

No stove, no sofa, no TV. Just a cheap wooden table from Pinduoduo and a small bed he had built himself. His large frame almost crushed the little bed as he sat down, but when he lay back, a soft sigh escaped his throat. Small or not, it was his. He didn't mind the emptiness.

Glancing at his phone, Li Junmo saw he had another hour before his next stream. The player group chat was still buzzing with activity. Someone mentioned the upcoming meet-up, and after thinking for a moment, he registered for it too. Then he sat up, planning to order some food. But as soon as he opened the delivery app, he caught sight of the fat around his waist. He wasn't obese, but he was definitely chubby.

Thinking of the player meeting next month, he hesitated, then pulled his hand away from the fried chicken menu. “Guess I will have some salad.” He muttered to himself, grabbed his keys from the table, and headed out the door. There wasn't a fridge yet, but that was fine. Walking around the neighborhood to buy food counted as exercise too.

Chapter Text

Xinghexian.

Lin Qian stared at the dish on the table, the steam rising in thin, translucent curls above the porcelain. The aroma was rich and savory; yet Lin Qian hesitated to move her chopsticks, her gaze fixed on the unidentified meat.

“What’s this?” Lin Qian asked, her voice quiet in the room.

Madam Qiu smiled at the puzzled look of Lin Qian. “Wild game, civet meat. It’s tender and delicious.”

“Wild?” Lin Qian swallowed, the muscles in her throat tightening. She felt even less inclined to taste the meat, imagining the rough conditions of the deep forest.

But gods, the dish smelled amazing, a deep and earthy fragrance that filled the small dining space.

Madam Qiu shook her head. “Where would I find wild ones so easily? Back in winter, when we could’ve bought some, you said you didn’t want to eat odd things, so I only made a few simple dishes. That was when they tasted best.”

“Then where did this come from?” Lin Qian asked.

“There’s a food festival in town these days. They’re competing to see who sells the most dishes. Some families raise civets just for this, and their stalls are selling like hotcakes. I thought it smelled good, so I bought some for you to try. You’ll love it, I promise.”

Since the atmosphere in Xinghexian had changed, Madam Qiu had taken to going out often, her footsteps light on the paved streets. The status of Madam Qiu was rather special (being the foster mother of Lin Qian made her someone others wanted to cozy up to). Many ladies in town flattered Madam Qiu whenever they met near the shops or the temple. Whenever anything new happened in Xinghexian, Madam Qiu would be invited by other noblewomen to gossip and exchange news; and most of those tidbits came from the inner courtyards of the xian, filled with endless gossip.

“If it’s farm-raised, I suppose I can try it,” Lin Qian said softly, her voice barely rising above the crackle of the hearth.

The eyes of Madam Qiu crinkled with laughter, her mood being bright and serene these days. “Everyone else likes wild meat, but you prefers farm-raised. It doesn’t taste as rich.”

“At least it’s cleaner than what’s out there in the untamed woods.”

Madam Qiu nodded, her chin resting briefly on her hand. “You got a point.”

Madam Qiu picked up a piece with her chopsticks and placed the civet meat in the bowl of Lin Qian.

Lin Qian took a bite, the texture soft and smooth against her tongue. The meat was rich but not greasy. It’s surprisingly good. After the meal, Lin Qian rested a while, then sat back down to watch the live streams of the Players on the glowing system interface.

Lately, watching the Players had become the favorite pastime of her. Most streamers still don’t know that she is actually one of their biggest fans, her attention fixed on their digital adventures.

In a way, it’s a mutual pursuit: the Players were performing for Lin Qian, and she watching them with equal fascination.

Meanwhile, in Yancheng, chaos had spread from the north. Ever since unrest broke out in Jiangcheng, this long-forgotten city had begun to fill with refugees, their tattered clothes heavy with the dust of the road. A couple of months ago, a group of northern refugees banded together, seized weapons from a local depot, and took over Yancheng. But these people were barely literate. Once the rebels had power, the leaders grew arrogant and shortsighted, thinking the rebels had already conquered a territory worth ruling. The rebels made no plans to stabilize their rule or expand further.

While the rebels weren’t complete tyrants, the group still caused plenty of trouble for the local citizens.

The so-called leader of the rebels spent his days taking wives and concubines, and the men of the leader followed the lead of the leader, plunging the city into filth and disorder. Then came the scandal: the leader kidnapped a beauty and killed an old man. That’s the spark that set Yancheng ablaze.

A local group of about a hundred citizens rose up, stormed the stronghold of the rebels, and seized the city armory. Soon after, posters appeared all over the city announcing a new faction: the Qianyi Army.

The soldiers had named the army after the red sashes tied around their bodies, to distinguish the faction from other rebel groups dressed in red across Zhao Empire. Brightly dyed cloth was rare in these times, especially red and yellow, which were vivid and easy to spot. Most rebel armies used these colors as their emblems.

At first, the people of Yancheng feared the Qianyi Army would be no different from the last. But to their surprise, the soldiers weren’t. Every morning, the Qianyi Army trained outside the city walls, the rhythmic sound of their drills echoing off the stone. The soldiers sold salt from the plains, paid wages regularly, and maintained order. Slowly, the people began to trust the army.

That morning, after drills ended, a caravan arrived at the city gates. Dozens of wagons rolled in, escorted by guards, loaded with sacks of grain, bolts of cloth, and winter coats.

At the gate stood the leader of the Qianyi Army, Yan Jiujiu, waiting to greet the visitors personally. Judging by how warmly Yan Jiujiu received the visitors, it’s clear the visitors were old friends.

Yancheng was a small city, never meant to house an army. Even now, with the ranks of the army swelling, most soldiers had joined simply to survive, not out of loyalty or discipline; it’s a reality Yan Jiujiu managed daily.

Yan Jiujiu hadn’t declared herself king; she only claimed to be the city’s temporary overseer. Technically, that made them no better than bandits in the court’s eyes.

Still, it’s something.

The city itself had few notable buildings left. Yan Jiujiu’s headquarters was the old government office once used by imperial officials, spared only because the last band of raiders hadn’t destroyed it.

Though Yan Jiujiu was the army’s public leader, the Qianyi Army was actually co-led by her and Feng Xuan. They were among the first Players to arrive in Yancheng, building their influence by smuggling and selling private salt until they’d secured wealth and power.

Recently, Lin Qian had opened a hundred new Player slots, and most who chose Yancheng had been drawn by its wild, unpredictable nature—perfect for streaming content. The place was dangerous, yes, but the chaos drew eyes. The more “extreme” the setting, the more views. So, naturally, many streamers chose Yancheng as their base. Pooling their efforts, they formed a formal group, later naming themselves the Qianyi Army.

With outside coordination from Player “Ark,” the Players quickly drove out the old tyrants of the city, taking control of Yancheng in one swift, decisive campaign (though not without losing some NPCs and a few newcomers along the way).

Shan Mo (real name Yu Kai) wore a rough hemp shirt as Shan Mo stepped forward to clasp the hand of Yan Jiujiu.

They grinned and bumped chests like old comrades, a gesture oddly out of place in the ancient setting of the city gate.

“Finally, you’re here!” Yan Jiujiu said with a laugh. “We were running out of rice. Another two weeks, and we’d be living off wind!”

Shan Mo sighed and waved a hand. “The road’s rough. We had to clear several checkpoints. Bandits everywhere. If the devs hadn’t fully unlocked Zhao’s map, we’d still be stuck. We lost a few brothers along the way too—couldn’t handle the local sickness.”

“They’ve unlocked the whole Zhao map?”

“You didn’t know? It’s been trending all week!”

Yan Jiujiu shook his head. “I’ve been too damn busy streaming to check anything. This game’s insane, they really unlocked the entire empire already?”

“Yeah, we thought they’d only open the coastal zones first, but when the new wave of Players arrived, they dropped the whole map.”

Yan Jiujiu waved his hand. “Come on, let’s talk inside.”

They rode together toward the residence.

Just then, Feng Xuan logged in, stepping out to greet Shan Mo and his team.

Yan Jiujiu’s face lit up. “Big Sis, you’re finally back!”

Feng Xuan looked a little sheepish. “My kid’s got cram school lately. Been busy. Sorry for leaving things on your shoulders.”

She’d always preferred working behind the scenes, so she served as the Qianyi Army’s second-in-command.

Seeing Shan Mo, she grinned brightly. “Hey, Shan Mo! I saw your house-building stream the other day. That courtyard looked amazing!”

Yan Jiujiu quickly tugged her sleeve. “Let’s go in before you fangirl too hard.”

Inside, the group began discussing why Shan Mo and Jun Moxiao had come all the way from Xinghexian.

Yan Jiujiu’s faction had control of Yancheng, but they lacked manpower and funding.

Selling refined salt only went so far. Feeding a hundred men was doable, but training thousands? It’s impossible without more resources.

When Shan Mo and the others in Xinghexian finished their new courtyard build, they had been searching for a fresh idea for their next series. The glassworks project had run its course with their viewers.

Yan Jiujiu reached out first, hoping for financial help (raising an army cost tens of thousands of taels; far more than the army could earn in-game). But when Shan Mo heard about the situation, he and Jun Moxiao immediately agreed to come help in person.

To make content and support the cause, they even hauled several carts of glassware from Xinghexian; they traded the glassware along the way for food, cloth, and other essentials. By the time they arrived, the Qianyi Army had already grown to twenty thousand strong; right at the edge of their capacity. Luckily, the arrival of Shan Mo and Jun Moxiao (with both supplies and funds) came just in time.

After a few rounds of drinks, the Players sat together to strategize.

The Southern Kingdom had taken Jiangcheng, and multiple factions were already fighting to reclaim the city.

The Players decided to wait and observe, biding their time while others tore each other apart. When the chaos reached its peak, the Players would strike north and seize Jiangcheng in one clean sweep. After all, compared to Yancheng, Jiangcheng was a land of wealth and opportunity.

Chapter Text

Rumors had begun to spread among the common folk: the rise of the new Emperor to power was anything but honorable.

Since taking the throne, Zhou Chenli had been drowning in official business, his desk constantly piled with yellow silk scrolls that smelled of damp ink and old paper. The moment he officially ascended, the grim truth about the disastrous defeats in the south could no longer be hidden from the court. The first act of the new Emperor in the hall was to unleash a stormy fury; he ordered a new general to lead the march to reclaim the lost territories and sentenced countless officials who had dared to conceal the truth to death.

Ever since Gui Hua had helped Zhou Chenli seize the throne, she had been heavily favored. At present, she was assigned to work in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau (an office filled with the scent of starlight charts and ancient compasses) though Zhou Chenli felt that was beneath her and planned to promote her soon.

Gui Hua, however, was anything but pleased. She was terrified and already plotting her escape, her palms often damp against her scholar's robes. After that thunderous outburst in court, she knew one thing for sure: the Emperor despised deception now more than anything else. And the fact that she was actually a woman was still a secret waiting to be exposed to the light. She wasn't Lin Qian, who had a male identity to fall back on. When she had arrived at the bureau, her record clearly stated she was female.

After court was dismissed, Zhou Chenli summoned her into the inner hall. His topic, naturally, was the same incident that had sent him into a rage earlier.

“Sir, We truly didn't expect they would dare hide such a thing! Three cities lost, yet they still had the audacity to come to the capital bearing false victories! We can't imagine who gave them such courage!”

Though he still addressed her as “Sir,” Gui Hua remained utterly respectful, keeping her head bowed toward the cold stone floor.

“Your Majesty, please calm yourself. What's done is done; we can only work to restore what's been lost. The newly appointed General Li comes from a line of loyal patriots. I believe he'll return triumphant. For now, Your Majesty’s greater concern should be the dissenting voices within the capital. With the wedding of Princess Yong’an approaching, Your Majesty should take care of your health and temper. It would be unwise to give those coveting the throne any opening.”

Princess Yong’an was to be married into the Shen family, one of the most influential clans in the capital. While they couldn't compare to the maternal family of the Emperor, the Zhangs, gaining the support of the Shens would certainly stabilize the position of Zhou Chenli on the throne.

This marriage had been arranged while the late Emperor was still alive, and Zhou Chenli had chosen to uphold it, even pushing it forward sooner as a gesture of goodwill to win the loyalty of the Shen family. But though he now wore the crown, factional struggles within the court remained fierce, the hallways echoing with the hushed footsteps of plotting eunuchs.

The capital was filled with those who still supported other princes, though few dared make their stance public in the streets.

In truth, the throne of Zhou Chenli was far from stable. A single coup could send him straight to his grave. Others might not know this, but Gui Hua did. The path of Zhou Chenli to the throne was steeped in blood and shadows. Naturally, guilt haunted his quiet hours.

That was why, the moment he took power, he began rooting out dissenters: removing all who opposed him and leaving no trace of threat behind his silk curtains.

“I understand,” Zhou Chenli muttered after a pause, his anger cooling slightly as he leaned back into his carved throne. “Sir, you must think Me a fool, being at this age and still...”

He trailed off, shaking his head with a bitter smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Gui Hua stayed silent.

She knew his mood had grown unstable lately. It's partly because age was catching up to him, and partly because he had hardly rested since his ascension. The previous Emperor had been forced to abdicate, and not long after, he had suddenly died in his confined quarters.

She hadn't personally taken part in the death itself. She had only advised him to seize control of the inner palace and pressure the old Emperor into stepping down. Once that was done, keeping him confined within the gray palace walls was enough.

After all, the faction of the Crown Prince was practically a government of its own. Forcing the abdication hadn't been difficult. All it took was a few well-placed bribes or a moment of negligence within the palace guard.

Perhaps the old Emperor had believed his son too soft-hearted, incapable of such a move. He had tried to depose the Crown Prince yet hadn't taken precautions against him, leaving the doors of power poorly guarded.

What did he expect? Did he think his son was Fu Su, bound to obey even if his father demanded his death?

Zhou Chenli might not have killed his father directly, but the death of the old man was undeniably tied to him. Given that, it wasn't surprising he was tense, exhausted, and emotionally unstable. Few could ever comprehend the crushing loneliness that came with power.

As the saying went, the higher one climbed, the colder the air became.

“I only loathe those traitors; those liars,” Zhou Chenli spat, his voice trembling with rage as his hand slammed against the wooden table. “Do they take Me for a fool? Only a dim-witted ruler would let his ministers make a mockery of him! I'm not Li Houzhu! They will never deceive Me again!”

Hearing that, Gui Hua instinctively shrank her neck. Though spring had come and the weather was turning warm, a chill ran down her spine, making the hair on her arms stand up.

Deceiving the Emperor... even if she survived, she would be skinned alive.

Zhou Chenli had been Crown Prince for many years and had powerful backing through the family of his mother. Connections weren't something he lacked. While capable aides were few, he could always find replacements among the scholars.

She wasn't irreplaceable.

But she also understood his concerns. Since taking the throne, he had been wary of both external opposition and internal interference from the Zhangs. That was why he preferred using her (a strategist with no background but absolute loyalty) rather than anyone the clan of his mother recommended.

After discussing the movements of his two younger brothers and the possible actions they might take, Gui Hua finally excused herself and left the hall, her boots clicking softly on the polished stone.

Once she stepped outside into the cool air, she exhaled deeply. Honestly, she had half-feared he would demand she stay the night in the palace.

As she walked toward the palace exit, an elderly man hurried past with a young man of about twenty in tow; they were heading straight for the hall she had just left. Gui Hua didn't recognize them, but judging by their urgency and the fact that morning court had already ended, they had to be either trusted confidants or envoys from powerful ministers.

She only gave them a curious glance before moving on. She had already decided to leave the capital today and hide in Xinghexian for a while. There were plenty of Players there who could help her if things went south. Besides, now that the territories of Zhao were fully unlocked, she could treat it as a little road trip on the way.

Though rumor had it the south was still unstable, maybe even dangerous for travelers.

She had recently watched the live streams of Qi Yue and Shan Mo. They seemed to enjoy playing landlords after buying a few servants, so she was tempted to do the same once she got out of the capital.

"Ah, the pure soul of a good socialist couldn't withstand the moral corruption of feudal landlords!"

She laughed at her own thought. It's a good thing this was only a game, or she might have actually started sympathizing with capitalists.

Just as the chuckle left her lips, her smile froze.

How the hell did the city gates end up closed?

She had only gone home to pack up her valuables and exchange some gold and silver for smaller coins; and in that short time, the gates were shut tight, the heavy iron bars sliding into place with a grinding thud. Her face paled as she stared at the slowly closing gates, leading her brown horse by the reins.

Could it be Zhou Chenli had found out her secret and ordered her arrest? Otherwise, why close the gates now?

When she had left the palace earlier, the temper of the Emperor had already cooled. This wasn't curfew time either, and she had even requested leave from the Imperial Astronomical Bureau.

So why were the gates closing without warning?

The more she thought about it, the colder her hands felt against the leather reins. She led her horse quietly toward the edge of the crowd, trying to blend in among the commoners.

People around her were murmuring.

“What is going on? Why are they closing the gates so early?”

“Could someone be attacking from outside?”

“If it were an attack, there would be a full military mobilization. This is way too quiet.”

“Damn, I have got laundry out at home, I better go check it.”

“I have got a trip to make today! How am I supposed to leave now?”

“My uncle is supposed to arrive soon. If he can't get in, how am I going to explain that to my father?”

“That's nothing. My wife just gave birth; I was supposed to head home today! I can't even see my kid or wife, I'm losing my mind!”

As all these complaints piled up, the live stream chat of Gui Hua exploded.

"And here we have someone panicking about travel while our girl is trying not to die."

"LOL, the divination skills of Qiang-jie really failed her this time. Didn't she work at the Imperial Astronomical Bureau?"

"Wait, do you think the Emperor is actually sending people to catch her?"

"She is cooked. RIP, Qiang-jie."

"Good, one less player hogging the spotlight. Maybe I will finally snag her slot."

"Wow, you people are heartless!"

Gui Hua rolled her eyes at the flood of comments, a physical twitch of irritation crossing her brow. These viewers never took her near-death experiences seriously.

Thankfully, some of the gossip nearby turned out to be useful.

“I just passed by the residence of Inspector Chu Daren. The place was swarming with soldiers. Something big must have happened.”

“The Chu family? Weren't they holding a wedding today?” someone asked.

“Yeah! It was lively just this morning. But right after the bride left, soldiers surrounded the whole estate!”

“Wait, you mean that is the family connected to that scholar who ranked as Tanhua Lang?”

At that, the ears of Gui Hua perked up. Tanhua Lang and the Chu family: that had to be the household of the teacher of Lin Qian.

She leaned in closer toward the speakers, eavesdropping intently. Even if her own fate hung in the balance, her gossiping soul refused to die before hearing the full story.

Someone confirmed, nodding. “Yes, yes, the same family!”

“Then that poor girl really has a cursed fate; another whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

The Chu family was powerful, after all. Most wouldn't dare talk about them openly. But the incident today (closed gates; soldiers surrounding the house of a high official) was too big to keep quiet.

“So the closure of the gate is connected to them?”

“Who knows? I only saw armed soldiers. I didn't dare stick around. It's gives you chills seeing that in broad daylight.”

“Strange. The Emperor just announced a general amnesty, didn't he? What could possibly have gone wrong so soon?”

“The official leading those troops sure didn't look like he was there to offer congratulations.”

===

强姐 (Qiáng-jie).

• 强 (Qiáng) = strong, tough, powerful.

• 姐 (jie) = familiar suffix meaning “big sister,” used casually or affectionately.

Chapter Text

“The Chu family?”

“It's over; it's the family of the mentor of Lin Qian!”

“You have got to be kidding me, I just started this game! I have never seen her teacher, but I was super curious about him. What happened to Chu Xiu?”

“Wait, upstairs, do you have an account?”

“So what? Having an account means I can't watch the stream?”

“Chu Xiu is a good guy!”

“Lin Qian is going to be heartbroken.”

“Well, he was her mentor after all.”

“What about Chu Xuan?”

“She is married off already, forget it.”

“Lin Qian, the family of your fiancée is in trouble! Come be the hero and save the beauty!”

“What is she going to do, jump across the city like Sun Wukong?”

Of course, Gui Hua was also curious about what exactly had happened to the Chu family. But compared to that distant drama, she was far more worried about keeping her own neck safe.

Her family was rich, sure, but the game account was worth two million right now. If her brother blew two million on a failed business, her parents would probably team up to beat him half to death. Losing that much wasn't a small matter for her either. She adjusted the collar of her robe, her fingers brushing against the fine silk.

She quietly slipped out of the crowd, careful not to draw attention. First, she went to check on her own residence, her eyes scanning the street corners for any unusual movement.

The house she lived in was newly rented, the wood still smelling faintly of fresh varnish.

Since she'd become an official, her status wasn't low anymore. Living among commoners wasn't really acceptable now, so she'd had to spend a hefty sum to rent a proper residence. Inside were a few attendants rewarded to her by Zhou Chenli.

Gui Hua knew a bit of history. She was afraid these attendants might one day report things about her directly to the Emperor, so she never dared to use them for anything sensitive. Even for something as simple as pouring tea or fetching water, she preferred to do it herself. It wasn't about whether she was capable of doing chores; it was about avoiding trouble. If the servants said the wrong thing to the Emperor, she could be in serious danger.

When she reached the gate, everything looked calm and quiet. The red lanterns hung still in the air.

Then the barrage started up again on her interface.

“Go inside; it isn't like you can see much from outside.”

“Don't worry, I saw you left some expensive silk behind. Go back and grab it!”

“Hahaha, some people are just dying to steal her account.”

Once she was certain the Emperor hadn't sent anyone for her yet, Gui Hua didn't dare go home immediately either.

Earlier, to avoid suspicion, she had already told her servants she would be visiting friends for a couple of days. Tomorrow was her rest day, so she didn't have much time left to run.

The city gates closing today might have been to prevent suspects from escaping. But officials and citizens alike needed to move about, and Jingducheng couldn't possibly keep the gates closed forever. If she wanted to flee, tomorrow would be the best time (as long as the gates opened).

So instead of returning home, she found a small inn within the city to stay for the night. As long as she kept quiet, no one there would know she was an official. Dressed in men's clothes, she looked like a wealthy traveler (at most). She adjusted the bamboo hat she carried, letting it shield her eyes.

After chatting a bit with the landlady and showing how casually she spent money, the staff quickly assumed she was someone well-off. As for why she had no servants, the landlady thought it odd but didn't dare ask. Better not offend a rich guest who paid in solid silver.

Once Gui Hua settled into the room and set down her luggage, the barrage started flooding in again.

“Aren't you going to save the Chu family?”

“That is the teacher of Lin Qian!”

“Go save them, hurry!”

“I'm not insane. I can barely save myself, let alone someone else,” she muttered, flatly refusing as she sat on the edge of the hard bed.

After settling down, she changed into something plain, a robe of coarse grey linen, and slipped back out.

Earlier, she had worn fine clothes to avoid suspicion; after all, she was an official now, she couldn't show up in coarse linen to “visit friends” without raising eyebrows.

Her house had imperial spies in it. A little caution was always wise.

At the door, the landlady called out, “Guest, come back early, curfew is soon!”

It was only because Gui Hua looked so refined and proper that the woman even bothered to remind her.

Gui Hua acknowledged her with a quick nod and headed out. She walked toward the Chu residence to watch the commotion and picked up some travel food along the way. In her rush earlier, she had only grabbed a few flatbreads. Normally, travelers brought pickled vegetables too, something that didn't spoil easily in the heat.

Even soldiers on campaign carried such things, since cooking fires weren't always allowed.

The food in Jingducheng came in all sorts of varieties. Gui Hua wandered and snacked on a meat bun as she went, completely ignoring the stream chat's frantic comments. She admitted it; she was doing this out of spite. They had mocked her for nearly getting a game over, so now she would take her sweet time. That is what they called mutual torment.

When she arrived at the Chu residence, she saw a squad of soldiers escorting everyone out. The entire household, even little servant children no older than five, were all tied up with rough hemp ropes. The coarse fibers bit into their wrists.

Chu Xiu himself wasn't among them. She couldn't tell whether he had escaped or already been taken away to the prison.

Aside from her, there was quite a crowd gathered to watch the fall of the great house.

Sure enough, since this was a Dragon Country-made game, even the NPCs acted like Dragon Country folk.

Wherever there was a scene, people gathered to watch, bold as ever.

“Whoa, that is quite the lineup. What happened?” Gui Hua whispered to a man beside her who was craning his neck.

Without looking at her, he said, “They say this family plotted rebellion. His Majesty found out early, so he sent people to seize the seal and throw them in prison.”

In ancient times, the Emperor had the Imperial Seal, and officials had their own official stamps; symbols of authority.

If the Emperor sent someone to seize the seal, it meant the career of Chu Xiu was over; and his life might be too.

“No way, that is absurd! Wasn't Lord Chu a loyal official?”

“Hard to say. In times like this, loyalty is a dangerous thing.”

“But Chu Xiu? Really? Doesn't matter who sits the throne, right? The new Emperor isn't bad, just... not very capable.”

“Probably colluded with some prince, huh?”

“Politics at the center of power are always a mess.”

“Ugh, Gui Hua is too slow! She missed the key plot!”

“Yeah! Keep this up and we will lose interest!”

“What about Chu Xuan?”

“Another one asking about her...”

“She is married!”

“Think she will get dragged down too?”

“That is execution by nine clans, right?”

“Not really. That is rare in history. The new Emperor is all about benevolence and filial virtue. Probably won't go that far.”

After getting a grasp of the situation, Gui Hua was about to leave when someone suddenly called out.

“Lord Gui!”

Gui Hua froze, her breath hitching. She had never dared tell the Emperor her full name, and in the palace, colleagues only knew her as Gui Xian. She had just moved to a new residence and barely knew her neighbors. Apart from colleagues, no one should know she was an official. Puzzled, she looked up; and saw the man on horseback.

Great. A colleague from the Ministry of Personnel.

She had only met him twice before. Yet somehow, the man had both excellent memory and eyesight; he had spotted her even though she was dressed like a commoner in the crowd.

“Haha, caught red-handed!”

“That is karma for messing with us!”

“How does Gui Hua always end up in danger and somehow not die?”

“Because she is good at talking her way out of anything. She should have been an actress!”

Now that she had been recognized, pretending not to see would only make her look guilty.

Gui Hua stepped forward, cupped her hands, and smiled. “Lord Li.”

Their exchange was loud enough for the nearby crowd to hear.

The man beside her turned from the spectacle to stare at her instead, his eyes widening.

With no choice, Gui Hua walked up to the horse of Lord Li. “What is going on? What happened to the family of Lord Chu?”

Knowing she was trusted by His Majesty, Lord Li had long wanted to build rapport, so he spoke freely.

“This morning, someone from the Ministry reported to His Majesty that Lord Chu met privately with several colleagues and disciples to discuss matters concerning Prince Li. Lord Chu never favored the faction of the Crown Prince, even back when the prince was still in the Eastern Palace.

His Majesty was already troubled by news of defeat in the south. Then this came up, so he ordered the arrest of Lord Chu for investigation. His career is done for. I was sent to seize his seal, and the rest has been handed to the Dali Temple.”

“Is the news true? You can't just arrest a whole family over hearsay. I heard today is supposed to be his daughter's wedding day. Wouldn't it be disastrous if this were a mistake?”

“His own son-in-law and in-laws reported him. Think that could be false?”

“His son-in-law?” The eyes of Gui Hua widened. That was a bombshell.

“Men's hearts are vicious.”

“Ugh, same energy as my ex. The closer they are, the deeper they stab.”

“Spill the story about your ex, sis.”

“Stay on topic!”

“Should have married Lin Qian instead.”

“If Lin Qian finds out, she is going to go dark mode.”

“The path to becoming Emperor always has blood.”

“Men... not a single one is good.”

“Hey, I'm a good guy! My dad too!”

“If she had come earlier, she might have seen the wedding.”

Hearing that a man as high-ranking as Chu Xiu could be taken down so easily, Gui Hua was speechless.

“Even if he did say something he shouldn't have, after serving so long, he at least deserves...” She trailed off. “At least some acknowledgment, right”

Lord Li sighed, the sound lost in the wind.

He wanted to tell her, “serving an Emperor is like walking beside a tiger.” When the ruler is in front of you, even age and loyalty won't save you from punishment if you say the wrong thing.

But with so many eyes around, Lord Li didn't dare speak too freely. After all, he wasn't one of the favorites of the Emperor. Gossiping could cost him his head.

Since Lord Li had to return and report, they exchanged a few polite words before parting ways.

Gui Hua went back to the inn, grabbed some greasy meat, ate too much, and ended up lying down with a full stomach. Unfortunately, time in reality didn't match the game's. It was still afternoon outside, and her stream hadn't hit the required hours yet, so she couldn't log off. She groaned, got up again, and went to the courtyard for a walk.

Tonight should have been a moonlit night, but heavy clouds smothered the sky. Not a single star could be seen. It's almost as if the heavens themselves were hinting that this night would be far from peaceful.

Chapter Text

The Jiang residence was silent. The usual festive clamor of a wedding feast was absent, leaving only the hollow echo of the wind through the eaves.

Inside the bridal chamber, the wedding room of Jiang Zitao and Chu Xuan was draped in festive red silk, yet the air felt cold and heavy against the skin. The thick scent of unburned incense lingered, and the twin candles on the table flickered with a low, dying light.

Chu Xuan still wore her heavy red wedding dress, but her makeup was gone. It had been ruined by the constant flow of tears when she saw her family home surrounded by the gleaming armor of imperial soldiers, and she had no choice but to wash it off with trembling hands.

Just earlier, the Jiang family had come with a full retinue to fetch the bride. Chu Xuan had stepped into the swaying bridal sedan, and before the procession even reached halfway to its destination, the court had sent people to confiscate the estate of her family. Because she had married out of her family and was already transitioning to her husband’s house, she wasn't counted among those arrested in the initial sweep.

But this marriage... it had already fallen apart before the first night.

During the wedding ceremony, she had knelt before her future in-laws on the cold tiles, begging them with frantic whispers to help uncover the truth of her father's innocence.

Yet the strange, sideways looks from the guests had made her heart tremble with a sudden, icy dread. When she tried to leave the hall, her fiancé stopped her by the arm. After pressing him for answers until her voice cracked, she finally learned the horrifying truth: the accusation against the Chu family had come from the Jiangs themselves.

She couldn't understand. Why would the Jiang family report her father to the Emperor?

Their families had been friends for generations, bound by ties of loyalty and mutual respect that went back decades. There was no visible reason for the Jiangs to turn against them in such a brutal fashion.

And if they had truly betrayed her family, why still go through with the complex ritual of the wedding?

Was it out of a lingering guilt? Or to keep up appearances for the sake of their long friendship in the eyes of the capital?

Chu Xuan refused to believe her father would ever betray the Emperor. He had always told her, while he adjusted his scholar’s cap, that a woman learning too much of politics was dangerous; so he only let her study letters and write poetry in the garden. But as the daughter of an official, she understood the public stance of her father well enough.

He was an upright censor, a man known throughout the court for fairness and honesty. Because of that, he had always been careful to avoid even the shadow of suspicion, keeping even his closest friendships proper and restrained. Yes, he had shared wine and strong, passionate words with close friends behind closed doors, but that was hardly treason against the crown.

Treason for what purpose? To be granted hollow titles, to become a marquis or a prime minister?

He was already a high-ranking official with a secure position.

Her elder brother was useless, neither capable of leadership nor politically minded enough to plot a coup.

Even if their family rebelled, who would inherit the fruits of such treason?

That foolish brother who gave their father constant headaches with his gambling? Or her, a daughter already married off to another household?

Perhaps even His Majesty knew the upright character of her father.

But the new Emperor needed to show both mercy and power to the shifting factions. With unrest rising in the south like a gathering storm, it made sense that he would need to kill a few officials to make a bloody example. Only... her father had become the sacrifice that displayed imperial ruthlessness to the world. And the family of her fiancé was the hand that wielded the iron knife.

Outside the bridal chamber, Jiang Zitao stood in his red groom’s robes, hesitating for half a day while he stared at the grain of the wooden door.

The ceremony had already gone through the formal bows to Heaven and Earth, and the bows to the elders. Only the final bow between husband and wife remained when Chu Xuan suddenly fell to her knees, begging his father before all the assembled guests to investigate the case of her family.

The wedding had ended there in a stunned silence. The rites remained incomplete; their union wasn't official in the eyes of the law.

Still, she had entered their home and crossed the threshold, so she was, in all but ceremony, his wife.

He could understand her deep resentment. After all, he had accompanied his father into the palace to deliver the report. His father had allowed the marriage to proceed out of a sense of old friendship, unwilling to appear heartless by abandoning the engagement at the final hour.

Besides, he truly liked Chu Xuan.

He admired her talent, her pale beauty, and her gentle grace. Among the noble daughters of the capital, her name was well known, though few knew which of the circulating poems were truly the work of her hand. To marry such a woman was, in every way, an honor for him. But he couldn't disobey the command of his father. If she hated him for it... then let her hate.

Taking a deep breath that hitched in his chest, Jiang Zitao finally stepped inside the room.

Chu Xuan sat among her weeping maids, her head lowered until her chin touched her chest. Outside the room stood the Jiang servants, uneasy and silent in the hall, uncertain how to treat this new bride whose family had just been ruined by their own master. Some whispered gossip under their breath with hands over their mouths; others kept quiet, unsure of what to think of the tragedy.

How had the two families come to this bitter end?

The bride had just been carried in, crying uncontrollably as she clutched her silk sleeves, while the groom lingered at the doorway too afraid to enter his own chamber.

The tears of Chu Xuan fell again, her pale face streaked with sorrow like a flower beaten by a summer rain. Such was the fate of women confined within the narrow walls of inner courtyards. If she had been a man, she could have gone out to fight for the honor of her family. But now, trapped in the Jiang household, she couldn't even run to the street. All she could do was cry.

For the first time in her life, she hated being born a woman.

Why couldn't women walk freely outside the gates? Why couldn't they hold high office? Why couldn't they wield the power to change their own fates?

No...

Her thoughts snagged, not on an abstract concept, but on a specific, brilliant memory that burned in her mind. Lin Qian.

The name arrived in her mind with the force of a revelation. It was clear and sharp against the thick fog of her grief. Lin Qian had done all of that. She had walked the halls of power as a man, had earned the rank of tanhua through sheer, dazzling intellect, and had faced down the late Emperor to clear the name of her family. The thought of her sent a complicated warmth through her chest—a feeling she had carefully folded and tucked away like a precious, forbidden letter in a lacquered box.

When her father had first hinted at a potential match, she had secretly been pleased. Lin Qian was everything the foppish sons of the capital were not. She was composed. Sharp. Her dark gaze held a depth and quiet intensity that made other suitors seem like chattering boys. Chu Xuan had found herself seeking out the published essays of Lin Qian. Her heart beat a little faster at the boldness of the arguments and the elegant, unyielding strength in every black brushstroke. She had told herself it was merely admiration for a superior mind, a scholar's respect for talent.

But now, in the crushing silence of this gilded prison, the veil tore away. She saw her own heart with devastating clarity. That admiration had been more than simple respect. It had been a pull, a fascination that felt dangerously close to affection. She had cherished the rare moments when Lin Qian's eyes would soften during a discussion of poetry—a fleeting glimpse of the person beneath the official robes.

And then the truth had shattered everything. Lin Qian was a woman. The shock had been profound. It was quickly overwhelmed by a wave of awe so immense it stole the breath from her lungs. The person she had felt for had accomplished the impossible.

Now, sitting in the ruins of her own life, that awe transformed into a piercing, empathetic agony. She realized with a pain that was both old and new that she had never truly understood. She had admired Lin Qian from a safe distance—like a beautiful, dangerous star in the night sky. She had never grasped the sheer, daily weight of the deception. Every step taken on the edge of a blade. Every word a potential betrayal. The isolation of a ghost living in a stolen skin. The constant fear that one misstep meant not just disgrace but the total annihilation of her entire reclaimed identity.

A fresh, hot tear traced a path down her cheek. But this one was not solely for her father or her own helplessness. It was for Lin Qian. It was the pain of finally comprehending what her hero had endured—a pain that now mirrored her own in a devastating harmony. The tragedy of her family was a sudden, brutal storm. The tragedy of Lin Qian had been a lifetime navigating a tempest. The image of Lin Qian, alone, carrying the ghosts of her slaughtered family while pretending to be someone she wasn't. It was a distress so acute it felt physical.

"So this was how hard it had been for her."

In this moment of shared, silent suffering, the admiration of Chu Xuan twisted into a raw, aching bond. She had lost her family and her future in a single day. Lin Qian had lost everything and then had to build a new life from the cold ashes. The echo of that long ago feeling—more than a crush, a profound connection she had never dared name—washed over her now not as a flutter but as a tidal wave. It left in its wake a devastating mix of heartbreak, reverence, and a futile, furious wish that she possessed even a fraction of that same courage.

“Xuan’er, I...” Jiang Zitao stepped closer, his voice soft in the dim room.

He knew she would never forgive him easily, but he had to try to ease the tension. After all, she was already his wife by law.

What choices did she even have now? If she sought a divorce, where could she possibly go?

The daughter of a criminal, even with her dowry intact, would find life unbearable in the capital.

He had once been the one reaching above his station to marry her, but now, it was he who pitied her fallen house.

In time, he believed, she would come to understand the necessity of his actions.

“Don't come closer!” Chu Xuan turned sharply, her eyes red and fierce like those of a cornered wolf cub.

Jiang Zitao froze in his tracks.

“Xuan’er, your father committed treason. That is the truth. You can't blame my family for speaking the facts to the Emperor.”

He took another step forward, trying to reason with her as he reached out a hand.

Chu Xuan suddenly yanked a jade hairpin from her hair, smashed it against the wooden table until it cracked, and held the broken, jagged shard to her own throat.

“Don't come any closer!”

Jiang Zitao paled. He didn't want his bride dying on their wedding night.

“Alright, alright, I won't move. Don't do anything foolish.” His voice softened, sounding placating.

He had thought he could talk things through, but seeing her like this, he dared not stay. If she died before his eyes, it would ruin them all.

With a sigh, he turned and left the room, leaving her behind to calm down in the shadows.

Outside the door, he told the servants, “Whatever the young madam needs, bring it to her. Don't slack off.”

After giving his orders, he went straight to the study of his father.

His father was there, as expected, sitting behind a large desk.

He was a man in his fifties, stern-faced, with a permanent furrow between his brows. Even his deep wrinkles looked serious. Though his robes were plain, they were always spotless and neat. To his wife and children, he was a strict patriarch. To his colleagues, he was a reserved man who occasionally offered insightful remarks during meetings.

“Father,” Jiang Zitao began, his voice dejected, “perhaps we shouldn't have done this. She hates me.”

The expression of his father darkened.

“Don't be softhearted. It was Chu Xiu who compared His Majesty to the other princes, not us. We only reported what we saw with our own eyes. It was the Emperor who chose to act, not our doing.”

“But we could have pretended we didn't see anything. You know Lord Chu wouldn't betray the throne...”

The voice of his father cut through the air coldly. “We don't know that. Watch your words.”

Jiang Zitao fell silent, looking at the floor.

His father sighed. “I studied alongside Chu Xiu for two years. We had friendship once. He is a good man, but he took too many students. When things were calm, that made him proud. Now, it only drags him down to the depths.

He once begged the late Emperor to spare a female scholar: because of that, their relationship soured. Now some of his disciples have sided with the wrong factions. His Majesty has been displeased for a while. This incident was only a matter of time.”

“Father means that even if we hadn't reported him...”

His father nodded. “He would still have fallen eventually.”

“But we...”

His father continued patiently, “My son, I have spent my whole life in the bureaucracy. I studied for decades, taking the exams again and again, and only became a Jinshi in my late thirties. I thought I would make a name for myself in the capital, yet here I am, old and unnoticed. At my age, without a vice-minister’s seat, there is no future left.”

Then he asked, “Do you wish to end up like me?”

Jiang Zitao clenched his fists. “I will work hard, Father. I will rise higher and farther than you!”

His father shook his head, sighing. “You're still too young. Talent and diligence aren't enough in this court. What men like us need is to be seen. I never got that chance... but you do. You have already caught the eye of His Majesty by standing on his side.”

At that, the frown of the old man eased, pride flickering briefly in his dark eyes. He could almost see his son continuing his legacy, rising to power, and becoming a great official.

But when he saw his son still hesitate, his heart cooled again. His brows drew tight once more.

“Chu Xiu spoke recklessly and broke the taboo of an official. He must face punishment. Even so, I agree that death is too heavy a price. Rest easy; I will plead for your father-in-law when court convenes. Treat your wife kindly. She will be emotional these days. Don't quarrel with her.”

“But she will never forgive me,” Jiang Zitao muttered, recalling the eyes of Chu Xuan filled with hate.

His father smiled faintly, as if everything was already settled.

“She is a woman. She will have to rely on you in the end. Let her sulk for a few days; it will pass. What storm could she possibly stir within these walls?”

===

I bet she will go to Lin Qian 👀 I mean she have her own territory, and she will never deny her (IMO).

Chapter Text

At the bridal chamber of the Jiang family, the air was thick with the scent of guttering candles. Chu Xuan had cried for so long that her voice was hoarse. Her tears had finally run dry, leaving behind only a hollow exhaustion and the heavy silence of despair.

Though she now lived under the Jiang family’s roof, she wasn’t entirely without freedom. Many of the servants who had followed her from the Chu household had come along: maids, matrons, and even a few young pages.

Her father had been an honest official, upright and clean-handed, but their family connections were weak. There were no elders to support the house, only two siblings (her and her older brother).

When her father was still in service, he had had a few retainers. Many of them had since passed the provincial and imperial examinations, becoming Juren and Jinshi. During holidays and visits, people had always come bearing gifts of gratitude.

Her mother was skilled at managing household affairs, so the family estates and shops were all profitable.

When Chu Xuan married, her father not only sent along the servants born in their household but even bought a few new ones for her. He had given her shares of the family estates and shops as part of her dowry.

She had people she could rely on. If things turned sour with the Jiangs, she wouldn’t be helpless overnight.

Still, since the marriage contract was signed and she was already staying in the Jiang residence, she was, by all social standards, considered one of them.

For now, her only plan was simple but desperate. It was to save her parents and then leave this cursed place, whether by divorce or annulment.

She couldn’t stay here. Not in the home of the family that had caused her parents’ imprisonment.

But how could she do that?

Run away with her servants? Go to the capital and file a petition before the Emperor?

The moment she stepped out the door, the next, she would be dragged back.

Her father had been taken by the court, so a trial and sentencing would take time. He had many students. Surely one of them would stand up for him. If she could just get word out, there would be people willing to speak on his behalf. But the problem was, she couldn’t even get a message through right now.

Asking Jiang Zitao for help was absolutely impossible. If her father was proven innocent, what would that make Jiang Zitao’s father?

If there was a conflict between the two sides, Jiang Zitao would never stand with her.

Chu Xuan sat down on a chair. The wood was cold against her. She was unable to think of a way out. Her teeth sank into her lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

“Miss,” said her maid Liuli softly as she approached with a steaming bowl. “Cabbage and pork dumplings. Please, eat a little.”

“I can’t.”

Chu Xuan had tasted all kinds of delicacies since she was young. Her parents had doted on her endlessly, offering her everything from shark fin to bear paw. Yet she had always preferred simple, light food: dumplings, clear soup, and things that soothed rather than overwhelmed.

Her mother used to laugh and say she was easy to feed, that even plain tea and coarse rice would please her.

But now, even this simple comfort tasted like ashes in her mouth.

“Miss, please eat,” Liuli urged, setting the bowl before her on the table. “Whatever you plan to do, you will need your strength. No one can fight on an empty stomach.”

Chu Xuan glanced up, confused, but Liuli’s eyes were steady. There was a spark of resolve in her gaze that made Chu Xuan’s heart tighten.

This girl had been with her since childhood. Their bond was closer than most sisters. If she was this serious, it meant she had a plan.

Chu Xuan knew how rare it was, in such chaos, to still have someone by her side who truly cared. And Liuli was right. Whatever came next, she couldn’t afford to collapse now.

She forced herself to pick up the porcelain spoon and shove the dumplings into her mouth. The food lodged in her throat, but she swallowed hard, refusing to throw it up.

Watching her eat, Liuli’s own tension seemed to ease a little.

While Chu Xuan ate, Liuli spoke quietly in the dim light. “Later, we will find a way to send away the guards outside. Then, Miss, you will change into Hupo-jie’s clothes and come with me.”

Chu Xuan froze mid-bite. The spoon trembled in her hand.

“The Jiang servants don’t know you well yet,” Liuli continued. “As long as you stay out of sight for a day or two, no one will notice. And Jiang Shaoye still treats you with some respect for now.”

Chu Xuan set down her spoon. “Even if I escape, what about you?”

Hupo, who had just entered the room from the shadows, answered firmly, “We are Chu family servants. Now that the Chu family is in trouble, my parents can’t escape their fate either. But if you get away, Miss, you will have a chance to clear the family’s name. The Master and Madam were good to us. Even if we can’t repay them, letting you escape would at least ease our guilt.”

She paused. Her eyes burned with a dark intensity. “If you stay here, you will waste away. Better to take a gamble than rot quietly. Even if we don’t win, at least we will make the Jiangs uneasy. If they’re miserable, then we will have our peace.”

Because Chu Xuan refused to see the Jiang family, the servants assigned to her quarters were limited to a few waiting outside in the corridor. They were forbidden from entering the inner room.

Liuli and Hupo, along with the others inside, were all Chu family servants. Some were born in service. Others had been with them for decades.

The Chu family had always treated their servants well, never using harsh punishment or casual cruelty. Even her foolish brother had never mistreated them. Their house had always been one where fairness ruled, and in return, their servants had stayed loyal.

Now that the Chu family was collapsing, it meant their servants’ homes were falling too. A shared fate. A shared ruin. None of them could bear to see it end like this.

Tears welled up again, blurring Chu Xuan’s vision. They fell, one by one, into her bowl as she stared at the half-eaten dumplings.

She didn’t speak. She just kept eating her dumplings in silence. She didn’t know what awaited her in the dark streets or whether her family could still be saved. But she had to try. She couldn’t let them down.

After dinner, Liuli stepped outside and told the older maid on duty, “Our Miss wants to bathe. Go fetch some hot water from the kitchen.”

The elder maid, experienced and shrewd, didn’t think much of it and left the area.

Then Liuli turned to a younger servant girl nearby. “Our Miss still has no appetite. Go to the kitchen and bring back some light pastries. Maybe steam an egg too.”

The girl hurried off.

They couldn’t send away every Jiang servant at once, but this much was enough to clear the immediate path.

When night fell and curfew hadn’t yet begun, the shadows deepened in the courtyard. Chu Xuan changed into Hupo’s clothes. She cut some of her long hair to disguise her silhouette.

Liuli led her out through the side doors, while Hupo stayed behind to buy them time.

The Jiang estate had three courtyards, and it wasn’t hard to slip through the gloom in the dark.

At the front gate, Liuli called over one of the Chu family’s male servants who was standing guard. “Our Miss is worried about her family. She is sending us to ask around. We will be back soon.”

The gatekeeper hesitated. His hand rested on the wooden latch. Today’s wedding banquet had turned into a disaster. Guests had left early. The Madam was sick with rage. If he let them out now and something happened, he would be in trouble.

“Send a page boy instead,” he said cautiously. “You two ladies shouldn’t go alone in this weather.”

Liuli frowned, her voice rising with artificial impatience. “Our Miss doesn’t trust outsiders. She wants us to see it with our own eyes and hear it with our own ears. Even if you send ten men, she won’t believe a word they say.”

The gatekeeper hesitated again. “It’s late. Why not wait until morning? Once the Madam wakes, we can ask her permission.”

Liuli snapped, “Your Madam’s still lying in her chambers. Who dares disturb her? Just let us out. We will be back soon. The Chu family is facing ruin, and you want us to wait till morning? Easy for you to say when it’s not your family suffering! Fool!”

Her words cut sharp and fast. The gatekeeper, flustered, didn’t dare argue back. But neither did he move to open the gate.

So Liuli grabbed Chu Xuan’s hand and ran past him toward the opening.

“Hey! Stop!” the gatekeeper shouted, but one of the Chu servants blocked his way. He physically obstructed him to give the two women a head start.

By the time he broke free and ran to report to the Madam, they were long gone. Chaos spread through the Jiang residence once word got out to the rest of the household.

Madam Jiang stormed into her eldest son’s courtyard. Her robes rustled as she insisted on seeing her new daughter-in-law.

When she burst into the room, she found only empty silence. The bridal chamber was deserted. The red candles were burning low.

She nearly fainted on the spot, clutching the doorframe. Panicked, she sent people to search everywhere and called for her husband and son.

When Jiang Father heard the news, he was dumbstruck. He stood frozen in his study.

The sun was already setting, and curfew was near. Still, he had no choice but to send everyone he could to search the streets.

Later, Madam Jiang returned to the room to inspect it herself. Two boxes of jewelry and silk were still there. Every deed, every servant contract, every property document was gone.

Even the silver had vanished from its hidden compartment.

Chu Xuan had taken it all for her escape.

Chapter Text

Chu Xuan ran after Liuli through the misty streets. The cold dampness clung to her clothes and skin. Both girls were breathless and terrified. Their lungs burned with every gasp, not even knowing how far they had gone into the labyrinth of the city.

They couldn't stop, not with the men of the Jiang family chasing close behind. The thud of heavy boots echoed against the stone walls, sounding dangerously near.

The moon rose quietly from the east, casting a pale, silver glow while remaining half-hidden among drifting clouds.

Neither of them had any sense of direction. They were pampered young ladies who rarely left home. Even when they visited friends, it was only within the noble circles of Kyoto. Outside that, the roads were all unfamiliar and frightening. They ran like headless flies, darting through narrow alleys at random, until the pursuers found their trail again.

“Miss, you go left. I will go right!”

“Liuli!” Chu Xuan grabbed her hand, panic flashing in her tear-filled eyes as she felt the other girl’s palm slipping away.

Liuli was already gasping, her strength nearly gone, but she still forced out between ragged breaths, “Miss, whatever happens, don't let them catch you.”

Before Chu Xuan could reply, Liuli tore her hand free and ran off into the darkness. Her figure was swallowed by the shadows.

Chu Xuan bit down so hard she nearly broke a tooth, but she refused to stop. She wouldn't surrender here. She still had strength left. As long as she could move, she would keep running. She knew exactly what would happen if she got dragged back. Every scrap of freedom she had left would be stripped away by the Jiangs, piece by piece.

There was no way back.

She could only run. She ran forward with everything she had.

But when she turned a corner into a narrow alley where the walls loomed high and dark, she froze. It's a dead end.

“Where did she go?”

“Looked like she ran this way!”

Her heart hammered in her chest like a trapped rabbit. Her breath was ragged. The sound of boots thudded closer behind her, vibrating through the damp ground. Panic struck. Her mind went blank. She stood frozen in place, not knowing what to do.

Then suddenly, just as the Jiang men were about to reach the alley, a pale, slender hand shot out from the darkness and yanked her into the shadows of a recessed doorway.

Startled, Chu Xuan almost screamed, but a soft hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shh,” a warm whisper brushed against her ear. The breath tickled her skin.

Her back pressed against a soft body, faintly scented with something clean and floral. “A woman?” she wondered silently.

“Where is the girl?”

“Looked like she ran into that alley!”

Chu Xuan held her breath, not daring to move a single muscle. She had no idea why this stranger had saved her. Right now, the only thing that mattered was not getting caught by the Jiangs.

So much had happened today that her mind was spinning. On any other day, she might have screamed or fought back. If the person behind her was a human trafficker, her fate wouldn't be any better than death. The Jiangs or the traffickers. Wolves or tigers. What kind of choice was that?

Outside, the moonlight slipped behind thick clouds, plunging the world into deeper gloom.

Men carrying lanterns peered through the cracks of courtyard gates. The yellow light flickered against the wood. Seeing nothing unusual, they moved on.

“Let's go. Check the other side. It's already curfew. If we get caught wandering around, we will get flogged.”

Since the new Emperor took the throne, the curfews in Kyoto had become stricter than ever. A runaway bride on her wedding night meant the risks were high. Technically, they could search for her, but the Jiang family hadn't reported the case. If patrols caught them roaming without permission, they would all be punished. The master would be fined. The servants out searching would be beaten too. On such a dark night, with the rain about to fall, carrying a lantern barely lit the way. One slip, and they would break a leg before they found anyone.

They were servants of an official household. Outside of their lord’s territory, they had no right to break into ordinary people’s homes. If they caused a scene, the Jiangs might not protect them afterward. What is the point of risking that?

They didn't find Chu Xuan that night. But when the search party split up, another group managed to catch Liuli.

When the Jiangs learned this, they beat her half to death trying to get the whereabouts of Chu Xuan. Then they threw her into the cold woodshed. Liuli truly didn't know where her mistress had gone. She could only pray that Chu Xuan found help and maybe, somehow, a way to save what was left of the Chu family. Even if she couldn't save them all, at least one life might still survive.

Everyone in Kyoto knew that Chu Xuan had been married into the Jiang family. Now that she had escaped, the servants who came as her dowry still technically belonged to her, though the Jiangs didn't hold their contracts. They couldn't sell them off easily, but they could still decide their fates. Killing them all would have drawn too much attention. So, the Jiangs sent them to the countryside estates, making them work under the worst conditions possible.

Liuli barely survived and was sent down too. Life there was harsh. It was worse than it had ever been in the Chu household, but being alive was already a blessing. After all, she had been branded as the one who “instigated the mistress to run,” the supposed mastermind behind the scandal. In Zhao, killing a servant without reason was illegal, but someone like Liuli. If she died, no one would ask questions.

But that is a story for another time.

As for Chu Xuan, the Jiangs ordered guards to watch the city gates by day, waiting to see if she would try to escape Kyoto. At the same time, they stationed men outside Dali Temple and at the homes of families close to the Chus.

Madam Jiang regretted everything. Back then, she had believed her husband. She thought that marrying their son into the Chu family, old family friends, would be a fine match. Before the Chus fell, she had genuinely cared for her future daughter-in-law. After their downfall, guilt mingled with selfish hope. She had prayed that Chu Xuan would “see reason,” forget the feud, and live peacefully as a Jiang.

Now that Chu Xuan had run away, Madam Jiang could only sigh day after day, calling the match between their families a cursed fate.

Before all this, she had been a pious but moderate woman, keeping to simple prayers. After this disaster, she had grown more and more detached from worldly matters. She devoted herself to Buddha and cut herself off from her husband and son.

Her son, already in his twenties, had no mind of his own. He only parroted whatever his father said.

Her husband, meanwhile, was consumed by ambition. He dreamed of power even greater than wealth, never content with his official salary or estates.

Madam Jiang was the only one who saw where their greed would lead, but trapped in the inner chambers, there was nothing she could do. One day, she knew, their entire household would pay the price.

That night, after escaping the men of the Jiang family, Chu Xuan followed Gui Hua into a small courtyard.

The rain had begun to fall softly, pitter-pattering against the roof and shrouding Kyoto in a thin mist.

Gui Hua, dressed in men’s clothes, sat by the candlelight. Her features were fine and gentle, her frame slim but tall. If Chu Xuan hadn't felt the softness of the embrace earlier, she might have thought the person before her was a young man.

Her figure was lean, her limbs long, and with her chest bound, she is easily able to pass for a man.

“Thank you for saving me,” Chu Xuan said, rising to bow deeply.

Gui Hua sat at the table. The candlelight flickered across her face and cast dancing shadows. Her room was in a side building. As long as they kept their voices low, the main household wouldn't hear them.

“Where are you from? What is your name? Why were those men chasing you?”

A beautiful woman being chased by thugs in the middle of the night was something Gui Hua couldn't just stand by and watch. It meant she had to act. Chu Xuan was wearing a plain servant’s dress, simple cloth with no insignia. She assumed she was some poor girl from an ordinary family, just prettier than most.

At this hour, even men avoided the streets, let alone women like her. Gui Hua quickly filled in the blanks on her own, assuming the girl had been kidnapped.

And she wasn't the only one thinking that. Her livestream chat was blowing up.

“She must have been kidnapped!”

“Even Kyoto has got traffickers!”

“There are beggars by the gates too. No way a city this big is clean.”

“Xinghexian could pull it off because the government of Lin Qian had strict order and strong economy. Kyoto? Full of old nobles. No one cares about commoners.”

“Exactly. A feudal world run by men. Women haven't any say, no freedom over their bodies. Even if a man wanted to change that, the rest would crush him. Lin Qian can manage a xian, but the whole empire? That is another mountain to climb.”

“Wait, why is this NPC so pretty? Is she plot-related?”

“How can you even see her clearly in this lighting, bro?”

“No, really, she is gorgeous.”

“My name is Chu Xuan. I live in Kyoto...” she began, lowering her gaze to the floor.

Her mind raced as she made up a backstory. She couldn't afford to trust anyone completely, not yet. Even if this stranger had saved her, who knew if she might hand her back to the Jiangs for a reward?

There were plenty of families surnamed Chu in Kyoto. Using her real name wouldn't stand out.

What she didn't expect, though, was that most players of Xian Huang knew exactly who Chu Xuan was.

Gui Hua blinked, stunned. “Wait, what did you just say your name was?”

The livestream exploded.

“Oh damn! It is her!”

“Knew it. Chu Xuan just had to appear.”

“Didn't they say she got married?”

“That is the fiancée of Lin Qian! She is so pretty, wow.”

“I am shipping it already. Gui Hua x Chu Xuan forever.”

“Nah, I still ship Lin Qian x Chu Xuan.”

“If Chu Xuan is here, Chu Xiu can't be far behind.”

“No way, man. Kyoto is crawling with soldiers. Even the Chu family is under arrest.”

“The Emperor is after them. If she gets caught, she is done.”

“So when is Lin Qian ascending the throne already?”

“Poor girl, running in the rain on her wedding night.”

“Quick, ask her what happened!”

“Bet her husband is ugly as sin. That is why she ran.”

Chapter Text

“Your name is Chu Xuan? The daughter of Inspector Censor Chu Xiu Daren?” Gui Hua was still in shock. Her eyes widened as her mind reeled, barely processing the scrolling white text in her streaming chat. She gripped the edge of the wooden table to steady herself.

Chu Xuan froze, her hands clenching the fabric of her coarse servant robes. Her memory had always been sharp. Once she greeted someone formally or exchanged even a few words, she rarely forgot a face or a name. This person was a stranger.

“You... know me?” Since her identity was already exposed, hiding it now would only make things more suspicious.

“Oh, I know you, but we have never met. I know Lin Qian,” Gui Hua said without hesitation, her voice steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“She is acting again.”

“She knows Lin Qian, but Lin Qian doesn't know her.”

“I can't; she is fooling another poor girl again.”

“I was just shipping them a minute ago, and now I can't even keep it up.”

“Even the Emperor got tricked by her. This girl is bound to get scammed too.”

“The Chu family is in trouble; Chu Xuan must be heartbroken.”

“Leaving her husband's house in the middle of the night, she must have suffered a lot.”

When Gui Hua mentioned that name, the breath of Chu Xuan caught. A jolt, sharp and electric, went through her. “Yurui?” The name left her lips in a whisper, softer and more intimate than she intended.

“Mm.” Gui Hua nodded firmly. “Lord Lin is someone I deeply admire.”

“Who's Yurui?”

“Tsk, kick this one out.”

“Lin Qian's courtesy name! Bro!”

“Girl, that's the courtesy name of Lin Qian!”

“New fan, huh? Wow, that's rare. Xian Huang is popular even overseas. The replays in our country have at least five million views at worst. Anyone who doesn't know Xian Huang probably doesn't own a smartphone.”

“Welcome, welcome!”

Chu Xuan trembled slightly, a wave of overwhelming emotion tightening her throat. No wonder. No wonder this young lady before her dressed as a man and lived here alone. Judging from the travel worn pack in the corner and her overall bearing, she clearly hadn't settled here long. A woman traveling across the land alone, disguised as a man. It took the kind of immense, defiant courage Chu Xuan could only dream of. But she knew Lin Yurui. She even admired her as a role model. Suddenly, the presence of the stranger made sense. Her daring made sense. It all made a heartbreaking, inspiring sense. In this cold, unfamiliar room, the mere mention of that name felt like a lifeline thrown across a vast, dark sea.

“Ah-choo!”

Lin Qian was eating her morning congee, the steam rising in thin curls, when a sudden, violent sneeze ripped out of her, making her shoulders jerk. The porcelain spoon in her hand clattered against the side of the bowl.

“Guess someone is thinking about me,” she muttered, blinking away the water in her eyes. She held a half-eaten jujube rice cake in one hand and took the proffered handkerchief from Jiaoyue with the other, dabbing at her nose.

“You stayed up reading half the night again. That's why you caught a chill. Who would be thinking about you? If we go by that logic, everyone in Xinghexian who praises you would have made you sneeze a hundred times already,” Jiaoyue teased, though her brow was furrowed with concern as she watched her master.

Lin Qian offered a weak smile. In truth, she hadn't been reading. She had been watching a livestream, her mind churning with the images from the capital. “This rice cake is nice, just a bit too sweet. Share the rest with Yingxiu later.”

“It's not the sugar, Daren. The kitchen already cut it down knowing you don't like sweets. It must be the red dates. They used plenty. I will tell the kitchen to use less next time,” Jiaoyue said, stepping closer to refill her tea.

Lin Qian nodded and mechanically finished her breakfast, leaving part of the cake for her maids as promised. Her appetite was suddenly gone.

After eating, she went to her study for the day's work.

She had scheduled a review of the quarterly ledgers with Liu Yang and Qin Qing today.

She had stayed up late watching the livestream of Gui Hua from Jingdu, so she had felt a deep fatigue earlier. The warm breakfast had helped settle her nerves.

That's right. She had been watching the broadcast from Jingdu.

The original Lin Qian had maintained a deep, filial bond with her teacher Chu Xiu and his wife. She viewed them as a second family. She regarded their household with the loyalty and affection of a devoted disciple. Her regard naturally extended to their children. For the elder brother of Chu Xuan, it was the respectful familiarity of a fellow scholar—a junior looking up to the son of her mentor. For Chu Xuan, however, it was something else entirely. It was a deeper, more attentive fondness that she never examined too closely. It was a quiet pull toward the gentle intelligence and spirit of the girl. It manifested as an instinct to protect and a particular, lasting curiosity about her well-being.

But she herself—the current occupant of this body—had never met any of them. To her rational, modern mind, the Chu family were simply good, honest people caught in a political storm. Her earlier correspondence and gift-giving had been mostly strategic. She was building useful connections in a precarious world.

Now that disaster had struck the Chu family, she was concerned on a human level. She was not deeply, personally distraught. She wanted to save Chu Xiu. The man was a rare principled official. But it was far beyond her current power. Still, if there was even a slim chance to save one member of the Chu family from the wreckage, she would take it. It was the decent thing to do.

The ledger review began. The quiet room was punctuated by the rustle of paper and the scratch of brushes against the ledgers. Each person had a cup of tea steaming gently beside them for the long session.

As Qin Qing explained a column of figures, the mind of Lin Qian wandered back to the stream. It drifted to the image of Chu Xuan's pale, determined face in the flickering lantern light. A strange, hollow ache bloomed in her chest—entirely unrelated to the numbers before her. Distracted, her hand trembled. The teacup slipped from her fingers.

The porcelain shattered on the hard floor with a sharp, startling crack. Tea and shards scattered across the polished wood.

She furrowed her brows. Annoyance and unease crossed her features. It was slightly exaggerated. It was just enough for the ever-present livestream feeds of Liu Yang and Qin Qing to capture it clearly.

Startled, they both looked up from their ledgers.

“Daren, what is wrong?” Qin Qing asked, her voice steady. “You have looked weary these past few days. Are you unwell?”

Lin Qian shook her head, forcing the faint, reassuring smile back onto her face. “It's nothing. Maybe it's the summer heat. I have been having trouble sleeping lately.” The excuse was convenient, but even to her own ears, it felt thin. The lingering tremor in her fingers felt like a lie her body was telling.

The moment the words left her mouth, as if the universe itself was acknowledging her performed distress, players currently logged into the Jingdu server received a new system notification.

【New Side Quest: Rescue Chu Xuan. Reward: Lin Qian Favorability +50】

As soon as the quest window popped up, streaming chats across the platform exploded with speculation and excitement. The tag #RescueChuXuan shot straight to the top of the in-game trending list.

“Whoa, that's a huge favorability boost!”

“Even helping her with political achievements never gave this much!”

“Of course not! Favorability's personal. Lin Qian likes the Chu family, so saving Chu Xuan means more. And she's the last surviving member of her family. Honestly, 50 points isn't even that high compared to the rank of Chu Xiu.”

“Buying Xian Huang accounts for 2.5 million! Serious offers only!”

“Only an idiot would sell. Unless you're one of those Salt City adventurers dying every five minutes, no one's giving up their account. Even mid-level players earn at least a million a year through streaming.”

“A million's conservative. With the audience and ad revenue of Dragon Kingdom, as long as Xian Huang doesn't self-destruct, five million a year is realistic.”

“Damn it, don't remind me I never got a slot!”

“Just checked, only Jingdu players can take this quest.”

“Lin Qian frowned, something's up. The stream of Qin Qing caught it.”

“Ahhh I'm switching to the stream of Lin Qian!”

“My baby!”

“My daughter!”

Inside Jingdu city, Yuan Yueban glanced at the blue quest window, then closed it without hesitation.

No way. He had just managed to snag an account after weeks of fighting for one. He wasn't about to risk it on a dangerous mission.

That morning, he sat in the small courtyard he had just bought in-game, connecting with the game company and networking with new and veteran players. His goal was to become the most well-informed man in this world. If there was danger somewhere, he would avoid it.

After chatting for a while, he grabbed a bowl of steaming wontons from a street vendor, then wandered into a local theater.

In real life, Yuan Yueban had studied film directing. His family was comfortable, though not wealthy. He had always dreamed of making TV dramas, maybe even movies someday. He had worked under a small-time director before, but that man was all about shady deals, not skill. After two wasted years, Yuan Yueban quit and turned to short dramas.

Two years later, he had saved up some money and wanted to produce a big-budget show again, but no one would invest. The stress had kept him up at night.

Then he stumbled upon Xian Huang.

After several nerve-wracking rounds of account lotteries, he finally got one. The production quality of the game was top-tier. Even people in his film circle were trying to buy accounts. A few insiders had paid millions early on. Now, outsiders thought accounts were worth two hundred thousand, but that was a massive underestimation.

In Xian Huang, everything had to be done manually. Many wealthy players had grown up pampered. They couldn't be bothered to lift a finger. Eventually, they got bored and stopped logging in. After all, to the rich, no matter how immersive a game was, it was still just a game. They already played grander ones in real life. Yachts, mansions, private clubs.

But Yuan Yueban saw something different.

The game allowed live streaming, and its NPCs had remarkably advanced intelligence. He had studied historical dramas before, and the sets and costumes of Xian Huang were incredibly accurate, even if its history deviated slightly from the real timeline of Dragon Kingdom.

That meant this game had immense investment behind it. It was made by people who truly loved history and storytelling. And now, Yuan Yueban had the privilege to join their world, to exchange ideas with people of vision.

A fully immersive virtual setting.

He could find actors within the game and film stories entirely in this world. After editing, it would become a movie. No one else had tried this yet. That meant he could be the pioneer.

Sure, the NPCs weren't all stunning, nor perfectly humanlike, but they could serve as extras or minor characters in his productions. All he needed was to sort out the copyright issues with the developers. Even splitting profits, his production cost would be next to nothing.

In reality, making a drama cost millions. Locations, actors, props, gear, crew, accommodation, food. Everything cost money. But here, a few copper coins could get him into an empty manor for a perfect scene. Once the copyright deal was sealed, his dream could finally take flight. And as of today, negotiations were already ninety-nine percent done. Only the final contract details remained.

Chapter Text

“Follow your script?” The troupe leader looked up. The corners of his mouth were twitching as he repeated the words.

“That’s right, the one I wrote.” Bai Yueban pulled a folded booklet from his sleeve. The paper was slightly worn at the edges from being handled, and he handed it over to the troupe leader.

The man accepted it with both hands, his fingers brushing the rough texture of the pages. His eyes twitched the moment he saw the crooked scrawl covering the pages. The ink was uneven in several places, and for a second, anger flashed in them. If not for the silk robe of Bai Yueban, which shimmered slightly in the afternoon light, he would have thought this young master was just toying with him.

Suppressing his irritation, the troupe leader began reading aloud, his voice steady despite his skepticism. “Episode One, Rebirth? Betrayed and killed by her husband and half-sister, Su Miaomiao wakes up to find herself sixteen again...”

He barely got two lines in before his patience ran dry, his thumb pressing hard against the margin of the booklet. Setting the script down on a nearby wooden table, Yang Banzhu returned it to Bai Yueban with a forced smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“This young master, please, don’t make sport of us. We're poor folk scraping a living in this lowly trade. Have mercy, don’t make a fool of us.”

“I’m not joking,” Bai Yueban said. Confusion flashed across his face when the script was shoved back into his hands. He looked down at the paper, his grip tightening.

“Brother, why don’t you know how to make money when you have got the chance? I will pay you a hundred taels! All I want is for your troupe to perform this play for me. A hundred taels for half a month, two hundred for a full month. How about that? Even the best troupes in the capital don’t earn much more than that.”

That number made Yang Banzhu freeze mid-turn, his boots scuffing against the dusty floor.

His lips stretched into a grin as he said, “This young master, it’s not that I don’t want to sing it, but this play... it’s got no rhythm! How are we supposed to perform something like this?”

He truly didn't understand the structure. The whole script was plain speech, with no moral lesson or poetic reflection to ground the characters. Who would even want to watch it?

And with no fixed staging described in the text, how was he supposed to arrange a performance on the boards?

Two hundred taels was tempting, sure, but it wasn't money one could earn without the skill to back it up.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Bai Yueban said, waving a hand dismissively. “I just want some fun. I will teach you how to perform. I only need to borrow your troupe. But one thing, I’m on a tight schedule. You will only get four hours of sleep each night. During this half month, or month if extended, everyone has to follow my orders. No slacking.”

At that, the hesitation of Yang Banzhu vanished. Two hundred taels a month was too good to refuse, regardless of the oddity of the request.

“No problem! I will sign and stamp if you want proof!”

“Perfect!” The grin of Bai Yueban widened, revealing a row of straight teeth.

Still, he wasn't one to take people at their word without verification.

They said the best troupes were full of beauties, especially those who played dan roles, but he wanted to see them himself to be sure they fit his vision.

“One more thing,” Bai Yueban added, his eyes scanning the quiet courtyard. “I want a pair of the best-looking performers you have got, around eighteen to twenty years old. If you don’t have them, forget it.”

Yang Banzhu didn't dare claim to have peerless beauties, but he had a few in his company who could pass for noble characters.

“Since you have come this far, please, come in and watch them practice.”

His troupe wasn't among the most famous in the capital, so business hadn't been good lately. The colorful banners outside were starting to fade. If they were one of the top troupes, a single month’s show would have been worth far more than this offer.

Inside the courtyard, where the scent of old wood and stage makeup lingered, he called the actors over for Bai Yueban to see.

There were a qingyi, a huadan, and two xiaosheng. The qingyi was elegant in her movements, the huadan charming with a tilt of her head, and the xiaoshengs were refined and handsome as they stood in their practice robes.

“Good, good, I will take this troupe,” Bai Yueban said, satisfied with the visual lineup. “Banzhu, have someone draft a contract. I will pay you a hundred taels upfront. If I keep these people longer, it will be the same rate, one hundred taels per half month. In winter and summer, I will add ten taels each month for heat and cold. How's that?”

Hearing he would be paid in silver, Yang Banzhu didn't hesitate for a second. He hurried to find a brush and paper to draft the contract.

Once the papers were signed and the ink had dried, Bai Yueban brought him back to his own residence.

In-game, the avatar of Bai Yueban was exactly the image of a rich, naive young master. He had pale skin and stood tall at about 1.8 meters. He was not particularly handsome but pleasant-looking enough to put people at ease. He hadn't changed much from his real appearance, except for making his skin fairer than it was in reality. Having been in the entertainment industry, he was surrounded by good-looking people all the time, so of course he wanted to make himself look better too.

But since filming in-game required stamina, he didn't waste his points on appearance and instead boosted his strength and agility. As for his name, Yueban came from his childhood nickname “Pangpang.” He hadn't ever actually been fat, just sturdily built. When they arrived home, he went to a player-run moneyhouse in the game to exchange a hundred taels of silver. Then he pulled a small chest out from under his bed.

Yang Banzhu, who followed along with curious glances, was surprised to see that this young master actually lived in such a small courtyard. Given how fine the silk of his clothes was, the man had expected a grand estate with multiple gates. He had half thought this was some scam, but since others had come along to collect the money, he stayed calm.

Only after seeing the genuine silver, the metal cool and heavy in the chest, did he finally breathe easy. So this Bai-yé really was the real deal, rich and clueless.

“Young Master Bai,” he asked curiously, looking at the modest walls. “You must be from a wealthy family. Why live in a place like this?”

Bai Yueban puffed up his chest proudly. “What do you know? ‘Though my room is humble, my virtue makes it fragrant.’”

Yang Banzhu thought the young man was a bit of a fool, but he didn't dare say it out loud. “Yes, yes, of course.”

People in his line of work had no right to mock a rich man, no matter how odd his choices might be.

“Then, Young Master Bai, when will we begin the performance? From tomorrow onward, I will start charging rent.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t cheat you. I have got a gathering tomorrow, so I can’t come. The day after, bring your troupe to find me. Also, about that Lanqing Garden in the capital, isn't its owner away? Think there is a way to bribe the gatekeepers and let us use it for a few days?”

The eyes of Yang Banzhu brightened at the mention of the garden. “That’s easy enough; it just takes a little silver to smooth it over with the staff.”

“Perfect.” Bai Yueban happily pulled out another tael from his pocket and tossed it. “Then I will trouble you with that. We will rehearse a scene there the day after tomorrow. Anything extra, keep it as your fee.”

Yang Banzhu beamed, pocketing the silver with a quick movement. “Consider it done, Young Master.”

He hesitated for a moment, then offered, “Would you honor me by joining me for a meal at the tavern?”

“No need,” Bai Yueban said simply, turning back toward his room.

The two parted ways at the gate.

Back at the troupe's quarters, Yang Banzhu checked the silver again before dinner, the metal gleaming in the candlelight. Real silver, indeed. He went to bed smiling from ear to ear.

“People paying in pure silver these days, that’s rare,” he muttered happily to himself. “If only I could meet a few more fools like him.”

Paid upfront and in full. No wealthy family in the capital was this generous with their payments.

As for Bai Yueban, he had just secured actors and a location for less than the cost of one hired star in the real world. Both sides went home satisfied with the day's business.

Inside Mingyue Restaurant in the capital, the air was filled with the smell of roasted duck and warm wine.

Gui Hua, dressed once again in men’s clothing that hid her figure, entered a private room with a smiling man whose eyes darted around the hallway.

Once the door shut with a soft click, the smile of the man faded.

Inside, Chu Xuan, also in male attire with her hair tucked away, was already waiting by the table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

The moment she saw the man, she shot to her feet in excitement. Her chair scraped against the floor.

Gui Hua merely took a seat at the side, keeping quiet and letting the two talk while she watched the steam rise from a teapot.

While listening, she casually accepted a mission that had popped up on her interface earlier that morning.

Right after she accepted it, her player chat pinged with a notification.

Player: “Xian Banxian, old players’ meet-up tomorrow, you coming?”

Gui Hua typed back two words with a flick of her finger. Not going.

She had a mission to finish. There was no time for social events in her schedule.

This quest to raise the affection score of Lin Qian. She was going all in on it.

“The Emperor fears Prince Li, and your father was implicated because of it,” the man said gravely, his voice barely a whisper. “We have already organized people to petition for his release, but whether it will work or not, who knows. Still, it’s not safe for you to stay in the capital.”

He wanted to tell her to return to the home of her husband, but thinking of what the Jiang family had done, the betrayal still fresh, disgust rose in his throat. Those people were poison. If she went back, the only remaining bloodline of her father wouldn't live long.

“I’m not leaving,” Chu Xuan said tearfully, her voice trembling. “If my parents suffer and I flee, what kind of daughter would I be?”

“You staying will only worry everyone more. If something happens to the Chu family, you're their last bloodline!”

She was stubborn as iron, her jaw set in a hard line. Though she had barely slept two hours last night, the dark circles under her eyes visible even in the dim light, her willpower was unshakable.

She refused to run. No matter what he said, it was useless to argue.

“I can’t stay here long either,” the man said in a low voice, glancing toward the door. “The Jiang family’s got people watching everyone close to your father. There might be someone following us right now. You must listen to me and leave the capital.”

When Chu Xuan tried to protest again, her mouth opening to speak, he suddenly reached out and covered her mouth and nose with a white handkerchief.

Neither she nor Gui Hua had time to react before she slumped unconscious in his arms, her body going limp.

It was obvious the cloth had been laced with some kind of drug that acted instantly.

“Hey, hey! What the hell are you doing?” Gui Hua exclaimed, standing up so quickly her tea splashed.

“Please, Daren,” the man said hurriedly, his eyes wide with desperation. “You're someone Chu-guniang trusts. I beg you, help me send her out of the capital. Find her a safe place. Don’t let her come back. It’s too dangerous here.”

Gui Hua frowned. Dangerous in the capital, sure, but it wasn't like the rest of the world was peaceful either.

Still, she had already decided to send Chu Xuan to Xinghexian, which was relatively stable and safe enough for a woman in hiding.

As one of the favored courtiers of the Emperor, Gui Hua was well-known in certain circles. The man must have recognized her, maybe from a brief encounter at a palace gate. With her striking looks, it wasn't surprising he remembered her face.

She understood what he meant. Drugging Chu Xuan was a last resort, not a betrayal of her trust.

“I understand. Don’t worry. Getting someone out of the city is easy enough, but the gates won’t be easy to pass with the guards on high alert.”

“You needn’t worry, Daren. Someone from the dyehouse will come soon; they're delivering dyed cloth under Imperial order. Hide her inside a hollow barrel and send her out that way. Please, I can’t risk going myself. They would notice for sure.”

He was one of the students of Chu Xiu, and a close one at that.

He didn't trust just anyone with her life, but since Gui Hua already knew the situation, he had no choice but to trust her completely.

If he believed in her, then he would believe all the way.

Chapter Text

Dragon Kingdom, Z City.

Inside the grandest VIP hall of the International Hotel, the air was warm with the scent of lilies and savory appetizers as people had already begun to fill the seats. The soft hum of the central air conditioning vibrated beneath the chatter.

There weren't many veteran players, barely sixty (counting the second wave); so for the sake of appearances, eight large tables had been arranged across the plushly carpeted hall. A few new players had tagged along too, joining thanks to friendly veterans who didn't mind them crashing the gathering. No one objected, so they were welcomed into the circle.

Even with eight tables, the room wasn't completely full.

Most attendees had already arrived, their voices creating a steady drone under the crystal chandeliers. The social butterflies clustered with fellow extroverts at the center tables, while the shy ones quietly grouped together near the mahogany-paneled walls. Somehow, everyone picked just the right seats without needing to say a word. Since many players’ avatars in Xian Huang didn't differ much from their real appearances, it wasn't hard to recognize familiar faces among the crowd. Some had even met offline before and greeted one another with a comfortable familiarity.

When Lu Manman walked in, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag, several people immediately waved and greeted her warmly. After all, she had once been willing to exchange in-game currency with others when the market was unstable. That move had helped steady the game’s economy, and her gentle, approachable nature made her even more likable to the other players.

For Lu Manman herself, though, it felt strange. She had never been this popular in real life. Back in school, her rural background and a family that favored sons over daughters had made her reserved and friendless. Later, in the workplace, a toxic boss had left her with PTSD; she would flinch whenever someone raised their voice. Over time, she had withdrawn even further into herself. But now, looking around the lively hall where laughter rippled, she realized maybe she had been fine all along. It was just that some of the people she had met before hadn't been.

“Manman, the pastries you made in-game are amazing! Ever thought about opening a real cake shop? I will definitely be your first customer!”

She smiled shyly, her gaze dropping to the white tablecloth. Maybe it was because they all shared this strange, immersive world, but whenever she met another Xian Huang player, she instantly felt a sense of kinship.

“I have thought about it,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the clink of silverware. “But I'm still busy right now, maybe later.”

“Hey, hey, Jian Xiu is here! Jian Xiu!”

“Whoa, I didn't expect her to look like that in real life.”

“Liu Yang has seen her before. He said she is gorgeous.”

“She is so cool in-game, a total badass, but in person she is this tall, cold beauty with straight black hair!”

“Jian Xiu!”

While everyone was whispering about her, a girl in her late teens or early twenties suddenly darted from the side and threw her arms around Jian Xiu.

“That's got to be Bing Ling.”

“Didn't think the players were all this young. Guess I'm the resident old auntie here,” sighed Zhang Fenglai as she sat at the table, her hand smoothing her skirt.

Would anyone still want to hang out with her? There would probably be no shared topics with such a big age gap.

“Zhang-jie, what are you saying? I love hanging out with you!” said Yan Xiaochun (player ID Yan Jiujiu) immediately, leaning in with a bright grin.

Zhang Fenglai couldn't help smiling at the girl's enthusiasm. The girl really knew how to talk. The two kept chatting idly as more players arrived and the waitstaff began to circulate with iced water.

“Yo, everyone is here!” It was Liu Yang, arriving with Yu Kai and a few others, his face flushed from the walk.

Yu Kai was now a huge livestream celebrity, so quite a few players rushed over to take pictures with him, their phone cameras flashing.

Liu Yang, as the meetup’s organizer, had been stuck in Z City traffic and only just made it. The others teased him for being late to his own event, and he laughed, promising to treat everyone to drinks later before going over to chat with the beautiful Qin Qing.

Once everyone had settled in, the banquet officially began with the serving of the first course.

Laughter and conversation filled the hall, punctuated by the clinking of glasses. Among the crowd, a tall, dark-skinned man moved from table to table, introducing himself and handing out business cards nonstop.

“Jun Moxiao, right? You have got great traffic online. Ever thought about acting in a drama? Here's my card, take a look.”

Jian Xiu, seated nearby, also received one, the card crisp and white against her dark sleeve.

“Jian Xiu! I'm your fan! My name's Bai Mingming, in-game ID Bai Yueban, but you can call me Bai Chubby. I can't believe your avatar is so beautiful and you are just as stunning in person! If you ever want to act, please contact me. I'm preparing to shoot a drama inside the game. You have got the perfect look for it.”

Jian Xiu wasn't much of a talker, especially with strangers. Those who knew her understood she was an introvert. Those who didn't simply thought she was cold.

Bai Mingming didn't mind either way. Whether she was cold or shy, he just kept smiling as he moved on to the next person, handing out more cards.

Jian Xiu looked at the card in her hand; she couldn't help admiring people like him because they really knew how to network.

“Who is Bai Mingming? Don't think I have seen him before,” she asked Bing Ling curiously.

Bing Ling speared a piece of fish and replied, “Seems like a new player. He asked Liu Yang to let him join the veteran meetup. Nobody objected, so here he is.”

“What's this about filming dramas in-game?”

“Oh, that's been going around online lately,” Bing Ling explained, chewing her food. “People say Xian Huang is too realistic, the NPCs are lifelike. If they filmed dramas or movies using the game’s world and models, it would save tons of production costs. Bai Mingming is apparently the first to try it. Look at his card: he has worked as an assistant director for TV and short dramas.”

Bing Ling had gotten his card too, but it was obvious Bai Mingming was much more interested in Jian Xiu.

“I'm telling you, he is totally into your face.”

After that incident where a player got killed in-game for being too beautiful and frail, most new players avoided making their avatars overly attractive.

“Speaking of looks, where is Wang Wuyuan from Jingdu? He is supposed to be really good-looking too, right? Wonder what he is like in real life,” Jian Xiu said, glancing around the room.

“Oh, he has been shown before,” Bing Ling said. “Just a decent-looking guy. Not nearly as perfect as his avatar.”

Li Junmo, sitting nearby, joined in. “I have seen his stream. He has been relocated somewhere else in Jingdu. He is still locked up, and barely has enough food or clothes. No way he could come to this meetup.”

Jian Xiu winced, her shoulders tightening. “That's rough.”

Still, she silently thanked her luck. Staying in Xinghexian under the jurisdiction of Lin Qian meant she was safe. Surrounded by allies, her chances of getting dragged off as a “male citizen” were slim.

Bing Ling nodded. “Exactly. That's why handsome male characters are rare in the player base. Guys like Bai Mingming probably see someone like you and think, jackpot.”

At that moment, Bai Mingming was already by the table of Qi Yue, handing him a card too. He had made up his mind. If he ever got the budget, the face of Jian Xiu would make a perfect male lead, and Qi Yue could play the second.

The only problem was the gender of Jian Xiu: male body, female soul. He wasn't sure audiences would accept that kind of protagonist. If only he could get Wang Wuyuan instead; he could stick a wig on him, and he would look great on camera. Plus, he was straight, which would make him more marketable to the general public.

Too bad Wang Wuyuan hadn't shown up, and rescuing him in-game was way too expensive. Even if he did come, the chances of convincing him were slim.

Bai Mingming hadn't planned to get close to everyone tonight anyway. He was just here to make an impression and let people know his name. After finishing his round of introductions, he went over to thank Liu Yang for the invite, then excused himself. He had achieved what he came for. No point lingering.

After leaving the International Hotel, he hailed a cab and headed for another one across the city. At Changchun Hotel, he told the receptionist his reservation and was led to the top-floor private room.

The moment he stepped in, the faint scent of tobacco smoke hit him.

Several middle-aged men in understated but clearly expensive suits sat on the leather sofas, each accompanied by an elegant lady. When they saw him enter, they all stood and greeted him warmly.

One of them, a director Bai Mingming had once assisted on a drama, introduced him to the others. “This is Bai Mingming; he worked as my assistant director before.”

“Director Bai.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Director Bai, we heard you're planning to film a drama inside that game?”

“We think it's a great idea.”

Bai Mingming immediately put on his most polished smile and went around shaking hands, his grip firm.

That's just how people were: no one cared about you when you were broke, but once you had something valuable, everyone suddenly wanted to be your friend.

The men in the room were producers and financiers (the ones with money to make his dream happen). They thought his idea was brilliant, and they had all come hoping to invest. It was perfect. He wanted more funding and more connections; and now that they were offering, there was no reason to turn them away.

Chapter Text

At dawn, roosters crowed across Xinghexian. Their sharp voices cut through the lingering morning mist. The bell tower struck the morning drum with a resonant thrum that vibrated in the air. The townsfolk began another day of busy work as the first pale light touched the tiled rooftops.

Chen An was brushing his teeth. The stiff willow bristles scrubbed against his gums as the faint taste of salt and herb paste filled his mouth. He heard a noisy commotion of raised voices and scuffling footsteps outside the courtyard. Stepping out into the cool air, he saw his wife and daughter-in-law in the yard, standing beside open chests while checking and sorting goods with quick, practiced movements.

He spat out the cloudy rinse water into the ceramic basin, took the coarse face towel from the maid, and wiped his face clean until his skin tingled. Rolling up his sleeves, he walked into the courtyard at a slow pace. He watched the servants move heavy crates and straw-wrapped bundles back and forth across the paving stones.

It had been a few months since he had moved to Xinghexian. In that time, he and his son had traded glassware several times in neighboring xians. They earned a few thousand taels of silver. Since he had officially registered as a resident of Xinghexian, he could buy goods cheaper than merchants from outside who crowded the factory gates. With that profit, he had purchased land and property. These days, the Chen family counted as small landlords in Xinghexian. Their status rose with every successful trade.

The old landowners of the area had also joined the glass trade now. They sent shipments to other places in the province. In recent months, the price of glass sold outside had clearly dropped. More and more people knew that Xinghexian produced glass that rivaled the finest imports.

Zhao Empire once had glassware, but it used to be expensive and rare. Now that mass production had begun in the valley, the price naturally went down.

However, there was only one place in the entire Zhao Empire that could produce glass on such a large scale. That was Xinghexian. So while merchants earned less profit per piece, the Xinghexian Glassworks hadn't lost a single coin in revenue.

For merchants who wanted to make more money, the only way was to sell farther away into the southern provinces. These were troubled times. Poor folk might risk their lives for a chance at fortune, yet those who had already made money, like Chen An, dared not wander about recklessly on the open roads. After all, it was no use earning silver if you could not live to spend it.

So when the profit from glass started dropping, Chen An discussed things with his wife, Madam Xu, and decided they would return to Xingpingxian for a visit. Some relatives had invested money in their trade before. Since the profits had multiplied, they planned to return the capital and share the earnings.

Visiting family also meant bringing gifts to show their new wealth.

Xinghexian was rich with specialties that outsiders envied. They could not exactly bring things like pearl milk tea on a three-day journey. There were plenty of treats (candied snacks, desserts, glass ornaments, rouge, and perfume) that were far more refined than anything found in Xingpingxian.

Over the past few days, Madam Xu and her daughter-in-law, Qian Yun, had gone out to buy all kinds of goods to bring along. They had spent a few dozen taels in total, filling two large chests which the servants were now loading onto the carriage with grunt of effort. When her husband came over, Madam Xu had just about finished packing the last silk-wrapped box.

“We'll have rice noodles for breakfast. After that and a cup of tea, we'll head out,” she said, her eyes scanning him as she gave him a quick look over. “Wear that sapphire-blue robe I bought you before.”

Chen An replied, “We're only traveling today, not seeing relatives yet. There's no need to trouble over that.”

Madam Xu frowned, her lips thinning. “It's not about trouble. We can afford it. You have been wearing the same robe for years. It is boring.”

“It's not torn. It just needs a re-dyeing and it will look new again.”

She sighed, her hand resting on a crate. “It's still old. Go change. Stop being so stubborn.”

Seeing she would not back down, he did not argue further and went to change his clothes.

After breakfast, they rinsed their mouths, drank their hot tea, and set off together toward Xingpingxian.

When the family arrived outside the gates of Xingpingxian three days later, the familiar city filled them with a strange sense of distance as the heavy wood groaned on its hinges. They had lived here for years. Yet stepping through those gates again felt completely different. The year had not been kind to the region. There were far more beggars in Xingpingxian than before. People sat slumped against the cold stone walls, their eyes dull and lifeless as they stared into the dirt. It was as if they were waiting for death to arrive.

Seeing this, Qian Yun quickly lowered the carriage curtain, her hand shaking slightly as the mood for sightseeing went long gone. The whole city felt like a shadow of hell itself. Compared to Xinghexian, the difference was night and day.

She dropped the curtain fully, not daring another glance at the misery outside. Would Xinghexian end up like this if the chaos in the south spread further north?

But then she remembered how Lin Qian had accepted wave after wave of refugees into the xian with open arms. That thought brought a faint sense of reassurance. If Xinghexian ever fell too, then their only choice would be to flee north to the capital.

“Who knows when these hard times will ever end,” Madam Xu sighed softly beside her, her voice heavy in the quiet carriage.

Qian Yun stayed silent.

They reached their old home three days later. They had traveled slowly, taking their time on the rutted roads. The house stood untouched. No thieves had broken in during their absence. It was dusty and cobwebbed, but nothing was damaged. After some cleaning by the staff, it was perfectly livable. There was no need for repairs. They had brought five or six servants, and four rooms were quickly made ready for use.

Counting both cost and profit, they had brought back over a hundred taels of silver.

Once they had settled down, hunger hit them all at once. They ate dinner early. Chen An sent the servants on foot to inform his in-laws and other relatives to visit the next day to settle the business accounts. He also planned to persuade them to move to Xinghexian. Still, with family and homes tied up here in Xingpingxian, he doubted they would easily agree.

That night, lying in his old bed, Chen An found he could not sleep. He did not dare toss around in the dark, afraid to wake his wife.

When he shifted quietly, the voice of Madam Xu came from beside him. “Can't sleep either?”

He blinked into the darkness. So she was awake too.

“Guess I'm just not used to it. It's strange, isn't it?”

Madam Xu sighed, pulling the cotton blanket tighter. “Once we visit everyone, we'll head back. There's nothing left here worth missing except family.”

For a man who had wandered half his life, it was strange to think he had finally put down roots in Xinghexian.

Chen An gave a quiet hum of agreement, his breath shallow. Sometime past midnight, after the third watch drum (zi (rat) hour (approximately 11 PM - 1 AM)), he finally drifted to sleep.

None of them slept well that night. In the morning, everyone looked puffy-eyed and weary. After breakfast, his brother-in-law and in-laws arrived with their sons, their boots clattering on the porch. The men gathered in the front hall while the women withdrew to the inner rooms.

With the approval of Madam Xu, Qian Yun planned to stay overnight at her parents' house to catch up.

In the hall, silver was laid out on the table. Bundles of ten taels of silver each filled a small table and stacked high. It was easily a hundred taels or more.

The Qian and Xu families had never been wealthy. They did not make half this much in a year of hard work. Back then, they had lent Chen An twenty or thirty taels, thinking it was just to help tide things over. They only hoped to get the principal and a little interest back one day. They hadn't expected he had actually made them money. Feeling slightly ashamed of their earlier doubts, they quietly took their shares without further words.

Besides the silver, Chen An had also prepared two boxes of gifts. One of silk and rouge for the women to bring home, and one full of Xinghexian glassware. Even buying that much glass would have cost dozens of taels, yet he was giving it away freely to his kin.

The eyes of the men lit up when they saw the glittering contents. Clearly, Chen An had done well for himself in Xinghexian. To send out whole boxes of glass as gifts spoke volumes.

Once the gifts were distributed, everyone fell silent, listening to him speak. He urged his relatives to consider moving to Xinghexian or at least investing in trade there. Since the glass industry’s costs had dropped, it was not right for them to join as shareholders now. They could still make money in other ways. The discussion lasted for about an hour. By noon, they stopped to eat.

Over lunch, the talk turned to everyday things, to the stark differences between Xinghexian and Xingpingxian. The relatives nodded along, though they clearly did not believe everything he said. After all, could a place really be so good? Bathhouses, pearl milk tea, sports festivals, food fairs. Who could make up things like that?

They half believed and half doubted, thinking Chen An was exaggerating to convince them to move. They might have dismissed it entirely if it were just him saying so. When their daughter and sister confirmed it later, the story became harder to ignore.

Even the women found it difficult to believe such tales. It stirred their curiosity.

Still, none of them decided to move just yet.

Until one day, the Xu family managed to connect with the wife of the Xingpingxian magistrate and sent her a set of glassware as a gift.

Soon after, Chen An and his relatives were summoned to meet the magistrate himself.

The magistrate of Xingpingxian was named Du. He was a thin, dark-skinned man of about fifty, with a neat mustache and long fingernails that he liked to stroke when he spoke.

He had already heard rumors about Xinghexian and its miraculous changes under the rule of Lin Xianling. He had never seen it himself.

Now, with Chen An before him, he finally had a chance to ask.

“I have heard that ever since Lin Xianlin took office, Xinghexian has seen great improvement,” Magistrate Du said slowly, his voice raspy as it drifted across the room. “Recently, even the port here in Xingpingxian has been receiving many shipments of glass from there. Tell me. Is it true that glass can be bought in such abundance now? You are a man from Xingpingxian yourself, Chen-xiong, and you have lived there for some time. You must know the situation best. Are these rumors true?”

===

 "兄" (xiōng) is used as a polite and respectful form of address for a male peer, similar to "Mr." or "Sir" in English, but more familiar and friendly. It is a way to show respect and foster goodwill, regardless of who is actually older.

Chapter Text

In Xinghexian, everything was bought and sold openly. Businesses traded in plain sight among the crowded stalls. There was not anything particularly secret about it.

However, because some merchants wanted to profit from the price difference of the liuli glass (the ancient term for colored glass), they kept their dealings quiet. Whenever someone asked where the liuli came from, few were willing to say.

Word spreads fast when there is profit to be made. Soon enough, the matter of the cheap liuli of Xinghexian was no longer much of a secret.

So when the magistrate of Xingpingxian personally summoned Chen An for questioning, the man could not keep it hidden anymore.

He confessed honestly, “It is true. Xinghexian has built a liuli workshop that produces and wholesales glassware.”

“Built a workshop, just for that?” Magistrate Du frowned, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair. He actually had no idea how liuli was made.

People still used ceramic bowls and vases for daily use. Liuli was beautiful but expensive and rarely seen in common households.

Now, hearing that Xinghexian could manufacture it, Magistrate Du was secretly astonished. Whoever held that craft would be earning silver by the bucket.

After the explanation of Chen An, Magistrate Du took a slow sip of tea. His mind was already turning.

The waterways of Xingpingxian were crucial to the region's trade. If Xinghexian relied on those routes, there was opportunity to cooperate or to control.

He smiled faintly, the expression thin and calculated. What he needed to find out was whether that female magistrate of Xinghexian preferred courtesy or coercion.

Seven days later, at Xinghexian.

Lin Qian sat in the audience hall of the yamen. The scent of wood and ink hung in the air. She listened to the envoy from Xingpingxian. When he finished, she glanced at Chen An. He looked like he would rather vanish into the stone floor.

He sat stiffly on the edge of his wooden chair, as if sitting on needles.

“Our Du Xianling said Xinghexian and Xingpingxian are neighbors,” the envoy began with an oily smile that made his eyes crinkle. “Many of your goods pass through our water routes. With all the bandits about, roads are not safe. River transport is faster and safer too. Magistrate Lin is a clever person. If we cooperate, both counties profit. Do not take it the wrong way. When people think too much, they tend to hit a wall.”

The threat was thinly veiled but clear enough.

They wanted to blockade the waterways to force Lin Qian to give up her advantage.

When she had first heard that Xingpingxian had sent visitors, Lin Qian had not thought much of it. After all, magistrates were colleagues. It was better to maintain good relations. If war ever broke out between counties, it helped to have allies. She had welcomed them politely after receiving their visiting card.

Yet the first words of the envoy had been to demand she help them build their own glass workshop in Xingpingxian, promising her a “small cut” in return.

A “cut”? If she agreed, who would still come to Xinghexian to buy liuli?

Lin Qian had seen shameless people before, but never at this level.

They called it “mutual benefit,” but where exactly would the benefit of Xinghexian lie? On its knees, perhaps?

It was utter nonsense.

Usually, counties did not scheme against each other like this. But the profit from glass was enormous. Magistrate Du clearly underestimated her county.

Maybe Xinghexian had always ranked below Xingpingxian, so he assumed he could look down on them. He did not realize Xinghexian had already far surpassed his own county in prosperity.

By law, he had no right to restrict the goods of Xinghexian from entering his territory. He could certainly drag his feet through every bureaucratic process. If it were fruits or vegetables being shipped, perishables would not survive such delays.

Lin Qian found the situation almost amusing. She had seen commoners pit themselves against officials and factional struggles in the capital, even conflicts between superiors and subordinates.

Two local magistrates, equal in rank, scheming against each other was new.

The two xians barely connected at all, aside from a shared river route where the water flowed sluggishly toward the sea.

Lin Qian had not expected Magistrate Du to act with such low character.

As the envoy spoke, her patience wore thin. She even started entertaining the idea of issuing a high-level quest to the Players. She could have them assassinate Magistrate Du and be done with it.

Of course, that was just a thought.

He might be a petty official, but killing him would not be easy.

Her forces were not strong enough yet. The system had given her only ten thousand Players, and dozens had already gotten themselves killed. She could not afford to waste more.

So when his envoy demanded so much, Lin Qian had no intention of agreeing.

“If the people of Xingpingxian wish to buy liuli from us at a fair price, that is simple enough,” she said evenly. “But moving our workshop there? I am afraid that is not something I can decide alone.”

The envoy chuckled, a dry sound in the hall. “You jest, Daren. The common folk cannot overrule their magistrate. Surely it is just a word from you.”

Lin Qian smiled faintly. She knew the talk was going nowhere.

“I am a xianling, not a tyrant,” she said, her voice calm and firm. “The workshop belongs to private merchants. The xian is already benefiting from taxes. Forcing them to relocate? What kind of person would do something so vile?”

She lifted her porcelain cup and smiled politely. “It is getting late. I will not trouble you to stay for dinner.”

The face of the envoy froze for a second, then he let out a sharp snort. “In that case, I will take my leave.”

He rose, saluted her stiffly, and strode out, his robes flaring as if to show how offended he was.

Chen An stood up awkwardly after him, his hands twisting his sleeves. “Daren... I did not mean...”

He was the one who had mentioned the glass workshop to Du Xianling in the first place.

He had invited him for tea through his relatives. Since those relatives lived in Xingpingxian, he could not refuse the invitation. He had thought playing along might spare them trouble. After all, a commoner could not oppose an official. He had not expected the magistrate's men to push the issue this far.

Now, all he hoped was that Lin Qian would not hold it against him. Otherwise, he would have to pack up and move back to Xingpingxian.

“I understand,” Lin Qian said calmly. “You do not need to explain. Go.”

She was not angry with him. The secret would have leaked sooner or later anyway. Once liuli proved profitable, others were bound to covet it. Chen An was not the one to blame.

Still, he could not shake the unease in his chest. Part guilt, part fear. He could not tell if Lin Qian was truly as composed as she looked or simply hiding her intentions behind that calm smile.

In the capital, within a quiet courtyard where the sun baked the dust.

The hair of Wang Wuyuan had started growing back. The short stubble was rough against his scalp. His beard already needed a trim. He had managed to cut most of it himself. His head (without a mirror or proper tools) was another story. He had been imprisoned here for a long time now. He still did not know why Zhou Chenrui had chosen to confine him.

Zhou Chenrui rarely visited these days. The Emperor had only recently ascended the throne. The new reign came with endless political matters and talk of sending princes to their fiefs.

Wang Wuyuan wondered if he would release him before he left.

Summer was approaching. The heat thickened the air. The servants had given him lighter clothes and better meals.

Not out of kindness, surely. It was probably just so he would not die before Zhou Chenrui left for his fief.

After all, the capital was still restless. The rebellion of Prince Li had left the city soaked in fear. Many heads had rolled.

Zhou Chenrui himself posed little threat to the new Emperor. He was still a prince and worse, the full brother of the late Crown Prince. If someone like Wang Wuyuan were to die mysteriously in his custody, who knew how the Emperor might react?

So, for now, he had to play it safe.

Wang Wuyuan did not mind. He had food, air, and quiet. He could read, stroll the courtyard, and occasionally stream a live broadcast from within the game.

The virtual world was startlingly realistic, down to the texture of the veins in the leaves. The more he studied it, the more he marveled at how lifelike Xian Huang truly was.

As he watched a tiny red ladybug with black spots crawl across a sun-drenched leaf, the heavy courtyard door creaked open on its iron hinges. It was not mealtime, so he did not need to look to know it was Zhou Chenrui.

“Your Highness must be truly free, visiting someone like me,” he said dryly without turning around.

He had no desire to see the man who had made his life miserable.

Zhou Chenrui did not take offense. He walked over and casually sat on the edge of the stone table beside him.

Wang Wuyuan was seated on a chair. Zhou Chenrui, unbothered by decorum, plopped himself down on the sun-warmed stone. After a second, he hissed softly at the heat and waved for a servant to fetch him a proper chair.

Wang Wuyuan gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing.

When the prince finally settled beside him, he leaned closer and said, “I will be leaving for my fief in a few days. I will take you with me. Funny thing, my Imperial Sister has been so concerned about you. She is busy with her wedding preparations, yet she still found time to ask after you.”

Wang Wuyuan frowned slightly, a shadow crossing his delicate features.

His mood darkened. The live chat in his stream lit up with chaos.

"Hehehe, got the screenshot!"

"Two handsome men together, bless my eyes!"

"I do not believe they are innocent now, and they will not stay innocent later!"

"Captive player, forbidden love, two leads... this is peak drama! I am living for it!"

"Why am I, a grown man, watching this?"

"Fun fact: grown men can enjoy BL too~"

"Wuyuan, you said you wanted to escape, right? Try seducing him, maybe you will get your freedom."

"Do not teach him bad things."

"He is not a kid anymore, he is a full-grown man."

"Still, I like the Imperial Princess better."

"She is marrying a man she does not love."

"Did she ever say she did not love him though? Maybe she just does not love him that much. He is handsome, isn't he?"

"But she loves Wang Wuyuan, does she not?"

"Who says a woman can only love one man?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the Princess just made the same mistake every woman in the world makes."

Chapter Text

Wang Wuyuan sat in the chair, turning his face slightly to watch a stray petal drift across the stone tiles. His tone was calm as he said, “There is one thing I have always been curious about.”

“Go on,” Zhou Chenrui replied with mild interest, his gaze fixed on him while he leaned back with practiced ease.

“There are countless people under Heaven. Why are His Highness and the Eldest Princess both so interested in a mere monk like me?”

Zhou Chenrui looked puzzled for a moment. Then he smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with a cold light. “Because your reactions are amusing. Besides, my Imperial Sister and I never got along. If something makes her unhappy, it is a fact that it makes me very pleased indeed.”

It is a simple answer. Yet the tone made it clear that Zhou Chenrui didn't really see Wang Wuyuan as a person at all. He was more like a mouse before a cat. Something to play with at leisure.

Wang Wuyuan gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests. He was trembling with rage. He was so furious he nearly wanted to throw himself out the window to escape the prince's presence.

The live-stream viewers, however, were thoroughly entertained.

"Calm down, calm down. Don't make yourself sick from anger."

"Think positively, Yuanbao! At least you've got food, warmth, and a bed now. You won't die inside the game anymore."

"Stop trying to comfort him. If he listens to you, he'll end up with Stockholm syndrome."

"Actually, think about it. If Wuyuan got released and went to file a report saying Prince An imprisoned him, Zhou Chenrui would get punished by the Emperor too. He's probably just keeping him around to stop trouble. After all, there's no longer that old Emperor who used to shield his precious youngest son."

"Makes sense. So even if Zhou Chenrui isn't into Wuyuan, he'll keep him close till they reach his fief anyway."

"You see that smirk? Doesn't look like someone who's not interested."

"Wait, isn't Prince An straight?"

"Fun fact: straight men can bend too!"

"I can't with you rotten girls."

"I'm paying to watch the gay drama. I'm proud!"

"Hahaha I can't stop laughing."

Outside the capital, Gui Hua had been driving the carriage all night. The rhythmic thud of hooves and the creak of the wooden wheels echoed on the dark road. The rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves and the creak of the wheels had become a monotonous backdrop to her fatigue. She finally noticed her in-game health bar dropping sharply into the yellow and pulled the carriage aside into a small, wooded clearing to rest. The morning air was cool and carried the scent of damp earth and crushed pine needles.

She lifted the heavy canvas curtain to let the weak, early light spill into the dim cabin.

Lying inside on a thin pallet was Chu Xuan, who was just about to wake up. The moment the thin sunlight touched her face, her dark lashes trembled slightly against her pale cheeks before her eyes fluttered open.

The gentleman who had told Gui Hua to take Chu Xuan away was a shadowy, high-level NPC. He had given her a vial of sleeping incense that lasted at most four hours. When Chu Xuan had woken up in the deep night, during the yin tiger hour, disoriented and frantic, starting to make a fuss about returning to the capital immediately, Gui Hua had used a second dose. Her stomach twisted with guilt as she wafted the cloying scent under the girl’s nose.

Now, after two doses in quick succession, Chu Xuan could barely lift her limbs. Her body felt leaden and uncooperative against the bedding. Her mind was thick with chemical fog.

When her bleary vision cleared and she saw Gui Hua’s face framed in the carriage opening, her breathing grew harsher. Her chest was rising and falling with a visible, impotent anger.

Chu Xuan opened her mouth. Gui Hua braced herself, expecting curses, accusations, or desperate pleas. But instead, Chu Xuan merely rolled her eyes. It was a gesture of utter contempt and exhaustion. She turned her face sharply toward the carriage wall, shutting her out in stiff silence.

Gui Hua chuckled softly, a dry, humorless sound. She pulled out some hardtack and dried meat from her pack and started eating without paying her passenger much mind. But the dried food was nothing like hot soup or fresh bread. The taste was flat, joyless, and stuck in her throat. The texture was like chewing on weathered wood.

Unable to stomach the blandness, she rummaged and grabbed a small clay jar of pickled vegetables from the carriage stores and ate them with the dry cake. The sharp, vinegary bite cut through the monotony of the meal. Only after forcing the meal down did she feel a trickle of energy returning, her health bar creeping slowly back from the red edge. When it was stabilized in the yellow, she looked back at Chu Xuan.

The girl lay there like a discarded doll, her eyes fixed on the wooden slats above, dull and lifeless as tarnished silver.

“Don't worry,” Gui Hua said, her tone surprisingly gentle, almost unfamiliar to her own ears. “Your father might not die. That gentleman said they would send letters to plead on his behalf. There are still people working in the capital.”

Chu Xuan didn't respond. She didn't even blink. But a moment later, a single tear escaped the corner of her eye, tracing a slow, gleaming path down her temple and into her hair. Then another followed.

Gui Hua sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet carriage. She felt an unexpected, prickling unease seeing those silent tears. It felt too real. It felt too raw for a game.

She held out a piece of the flatbread. “Want something to eat? You will need your strength.”

Chu Xuan didn't take it. Her voice, when it came, was thin and weak, sounding as though it had been scraped raw. “Where are you taking me?” Since it was clear she could not return to the capital, she at least wanted to know the shape of her cage. She wanted the name of her exile.

“Xinghexian,” Gui Hua said simply. Then she lay back on her own side of the carriage, closing her eyes to rest her aching head. The name hung in the air between them.

“Yurui’s place?” Chu Xuan’s head turned slightly. “Why are we going there? If she gets dragged into this because of me…” Her tone finally stirred with a flicker of emotion. It wasn't anger this time. It was a protective fear.

Gui Hua kept her eyes closed. “Then where else can we go? The world’s in chaos. It's better to stay with someone we know.” And whose Favorability points are worth farming, she thought but didn't say. Besides, based on the game’s lore and Lin Qian’s actions, the magistrate would rebel against the court sooner or later. It was just a matter of time. This was the safest long-term investment.

“And Yurui is your father’s student,” she added, a practical afterthought. “She must have some ties and information from the capital. We can ask about your family’s situation later, once we are there.”

Chu Xuan frowned deeply, the lines of worry etching themselves between her brows, and didn't speak again. She retreated back into her silent misery.

Gui Hua glanced sidelong at her delicate, tear-streaked face and her watery, almond-shaped eyes, feeling that odd discomfort again. It was a strange tightness in her chest. She didn't know why this particular NPC, out of hundreds, got under her skin. Turning her head fully away, she said quietly to the carriage wall, “Don't overthink it. Things will work out eventually.” The platitude sounded hollow even to her.

When Chu Xuan refused to eat again later, Gui Hua nagged her a bit, her voice taking on a sharper, more pragmatic edge. “I can't face Lin Qian if I deliver you to Xinghexian half-starved and fainting. What does that say about my capability?” Maybe it was the invocation of Lin Qian’s name, or perhaps a simple, defeated pragmatism, but Chu Xuan finally obeyed and ate a single small cake, chewing each bite with mechanical slowness.

After a short rest, Gui Hua took the reins again, turning the carriage onto the southern road toward Xinghexian. The horse snorted, blowing steam into the cool air.

This game had one major, relentless flaw. There was no teleportation. Everywhere had to be reached on foot or hoof, mile after tedious mile. The geography was a grind.

Chu Xuan had slept through most of the previous night’s travel. Since she could not ride well and was still weak, Gui Hua continued to drive, her shoulders growing stiff. Neither of them could afford to waste time. A cold urgency nipped at their heels.

Whenever Gui Hua remembered the frozen, thunderous rage on the Emperor’s pixelated face upon learning a woman had been disguised as a man in his very palace, she felt a phantom chill crawl up her neck. The quest marker for 【Evade Imperial Pursuit】 still glowed ominously in her log.

They rode for another full day. The landscape shifted from cultivated plains to wooded foothills before they stopped at a hunter’s hut nestled against the mountains. This remote route had been mapped by earlier players who had literally died for the data, so it was considered relatively safe. The hunter’s family consisted of a man, his wife, and two quiet children. They were honest and kind, used to the occasional strange traveler.

After a simple meal of roasted rabbit and wild herbs, Chu Xuan asked softly where she might wash up. The family lived near a mountain stream and fetched water daily from there. Visitors could pay a few coppers to have the hunters carry water for them, or go bathe in the stream themselves if they didn't mind the cold and the dark.

Chu Xuan had plenty of banknotes and gold jewelry sewn into her inner garments, but she didn't have small change. Gui Hua had some copper coins, but Chu Xuan didn't want to borrow from her. She just didn't like Gui Hua’s type.

Lin Yurui was a true gentleman, principled and composed, appearing charming whether as a man or woman. Gui Hua wasn't evil, but she was cunning. Her smiles never quite reached her eyes, and her words were a touch too glib. She was far too calculating for comfort.

After learning the direction, Chu Xuan stepped out alone into the deepening twilight. She followed a narrow, beaten path to a secluded bend in the stream, where the water pooled calmly between mossy stones. The air was cold, making her breath mist in the moonlight. She slipped off her shoes and threadbare socks, hissing slightly as her feet met the damp, cold ground. Though it was late spring, the night air at this elevation was still chilly, carrying the scent of wet stone and pine. She couldn't bring herself to bathe fully, so she untied her outer robe and dipped her linen handkerchief into the bitingly cool water, wringing it out to wipe her neck and arms.

The moon had been full two nights ago, and its light was still bright enough to see by, silvering the world in monochrome. The hunter’s wife had told her the area was mostly safe, though she shouldn't wander too deep into the mountains. Even without tigers, there were snakes and bugs.

Chu Xuan still felt a skittering unease being alone by the whispering water. Her mind was heavy and full of terrifying, fragmented images. Her father in chains. The red silk of her wedding chamber. The pitying face of Jiang Zitao. She hurried to finish, her movements brisk and nervous.

Just as she wrung the handkerchief dry, a soft, deliberate rustle came from the bushes behind her.

Startled, she spun around, clutching the damp cloth to her chest. “Who is there?”

She saw Gui Hua standing a few paces away, emerging from the shadows between two trees while rubbing her nose awkwardly.

“I thought you might be scared, so I came to keep you company. It has taken me forever to find this spot.” Gui Hua’s voice was casual, but her posture was slightly stiff.

Gui Hua had worried that the game might trigger some hidden event. A snake bite. A wolf encounter. A bandit spawn. After all, Chu Xuan was a delicate, plot-critical NPC. If she died again out here, the quest would fail catastrophically. So she had followed at a distance to check. But the tall ferns and thick grass had hidden Chu Xuan from sight, and Gui Hua didn't realize how close she was until she was almost upon her.

Now she saw Chu Xuan with her collar slightly open and her hair coming loose from its simple tie in dark wisps around her face. Her pale, slender feet rested on the dark, slick rocks. Her aura was one of pure, untouchable grief. Yet her appearance was disordered and vulnerable. She was like a fallen goddess who had accidentally descended to earth and found herself bruised and lost.

The streaming chat, which Gui Hua had mostly tuned out, exploded instantly.

"Chu Xuan looks stunning in the moonlight!"

"She is the definition of elegant purity, even like this."

"Gui Hua’s eyes are glued to her. She is stunned!"

"Cue the background music: Pigsy Carries the Bride!"

"Oh no, I'm falling for an NPC. This is bad."

"I declare Chu Xuan is my wife!"

"Damn it, my loyalty to Lin Qian is starting to waver."

"Why choose? Adults can love them both!"

"She is too pretty. Why did this cursed game give her such a tragic storyline!?"

"Classic Transcenders’ Alliance. No humanity as always."

It is evening, prime time in the Dragon Kingdom, and thousands of viewers were eating dinner while watching the stream. Their comments were flying.

After Chu Xuan finished, her expression shuttered once more, and Gui Hua went to wipe herself down a little farther upstream. Players aren't like NPCs. Their virtual bodies didn't really sweat or secrete anything, so a quick, perfunctory wipe was enough for the game’s hygiene mechanics.

When they got back to the hut, the two women shared the only spare room in a silence that felt heavier than before. The hunter’s bed was a wide platform of woven bamboo. It was surprisingly spacious. Lying side by side under a single, rough blanket, they didn't even touch. There was a careful chasm of space between them that felt charged with unspoken tension. There was not much to do at night. Gui Hua blew out the candle and lay back, staring at the dark ceiling.

Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting slanted silver bars across the room and bathing the profile of Chu Xuan in an ethereal glow. She was awake, her eyes open and fixed on the same darkness, but her mind wasn't still.

The memory of Gui Hua’s sudden appearance by the stream replayed behind her eyes. That moment of startled fear. The clutch of her damp handkerchief to her chest. The feeling of being exposed and watched. Gui Hua had looked at her with an expression that was not just concern, but something more observant and appreciative. It wasn't the respectful, distant gaze of a servant or the polite glance of an acquaintance. It felt different. It felt like being assessed.

A fresh wave of cold dislike seeped through Chu Xuan, hardening the fragile shell around her grief. This person was not Lin Yurui. Yurui’s presence, even in memory, was a comfort and a steady warmth. Gui Hua’s presence was a reminder of her powerlessness. It was a transaction disguised as rescue. The woman had seen her at her most vulnerable. Disheveled, half-dressed, and weeping in a carriage. And now she had intruded on her one moment of attempted privacy. The anger was a hot, sharp stone in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She couldn't afford it. Gui Hua was her lifeline, however coarse the rope. To be uncivil would be foolish. It was a luxury her ruined status couldn't permit.

So she lay perfectly still, cultivating the silence between them as a wall. She would be civil, because she must. She would accept the help, because she had no choice. But the kindness, if it was even that, wouldn't touch her. She would keep her thoughts, her memories, and her true self locked away where this calculating stranger’s gaze couldn't reach. The moonlight on her face felt cold. She missed the gentle, scholarly shade of a different presence entirely. It was a longing that ached more sharply in the wake of this fresh violation.

Gui Hua turned her head on the thin pillow to look at her for a long while, watching the steady, silent rise and fall of her shoulders. Then, with a soft, in-game command, she quietly logged out.

The viewers were instantly disappointed, their comments turning to wails.

"What? Why log out now?"

"We want to see more Chu Xuan! This is the good part!"

"You're throwing away fortune and viewers, woman!"

"Gui Hua, stay online! The atmosphere is perfect!"

Gui Hua ignored their virtual protests. “It's night in-game. There is nothing left to do but sleep. That's all for today’s stream. Good night, everyone.” Her voice was brisk, a content creator ending her shift.

With that, she ended the broadcast, the chat window dissolving into blackness and leaving her in the silent, dark room of her real-world apartment.

But what no one watching could have known was that, only moments later, Gui Hua put her headset back on and logged back in.

Her character reappeared in the same position on the bamboo bed, lying beside Chu Xuan. The game world was silent save for the distant call of a night bird and the rustle of the wind. Chu Xuan had finally fallen asleep, her breathing deep and even, her face relaxed in slumber and devoid of its waking sorrow.

Gui Hua watched the sleeping girl, the hard, strategic edge melting from her own digital expression and leaving something softer and more contemplative. A faint, unobserved smile touched her lips. At that moment, alone in the quiet dark with no audience, it didn't matter whether the person breathing softly beside her was made of code and crafted narrative or not. The line blurred.

Because in this story, maybe for a tragic character like Chu Xuan, Gui Hua was the fake one all along. She was the Player from another world.

Chapter Text

“Cut!”

Bai Yueban lowered the paper megaphone in his hand. His face was dark as the evening shadows began to creep across the garden.

He stood up from the wooden chair with a sharp scrape against the stone tiles. He walked over to the two leads, the hem of his robe dusty from the garden floor, and snapped, “What is going on with you two? Why aren't you following the script?”

He tilted his head toward the male lead, Mo Bao, who turned his face away toward the ruffled surface of the lake and stayed silent. Then he turned to look at the female lead, Xiu Yue. She bit her lip until the skin turned pale, got up from the damp ground, and shouted, “I'm not acting anymore!”

With that, she ran toward the red-painted pavilion by the lake, her silk skirts fluttering in the breeze.

Bai Yueban froze. Then he looked toward Yang Banzhu, who was standing there with a stiff, nervous smile while he adjusted the long sleeves of his robe.

The expression of Yang Banzhu turned awkward. “Director, this…”

“Director” was what everyone called Bai Yueban, mostly because he insisted on it with a stubborn tilt of his chin. No one really knew what he was actually “directing” in this quiet garden. But they went along with it anyway.

“What do you mean?” Bai Yueban stood with one hand on his hip and the other holding the paper megaphone. The edges of the megaphone were slightly frayed. “What is that supposed to mean, huh?! She was fine when we got here, and now she is refusing to act. What, she is barely a lead and already acting like a diva? What is the meaning of this?!”

He couldn't believe it. Sure, he couldn't reform the entertainment industry, but he couldn't even handle a few NPCs.

Yang Banzhu raised his hands in a fluster, the wooden beads on his wrist clacking together. “No, no, it's not that. It's just... kissing scenes take time to get used to.”

After all, even though they were performers, they weren't the same as prostitutes. It wasn't strange that the huadan didn't want to kiss in front of a crowd.

They're all the top performers of the troupe. Even as the troupe master, Yang Banzhu couldn't push too hard or risk a walkout.

The eighteen-year-old girl had been standing nearby, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand as Bai Yueban scolded everyone. Finally, she bit her lip, stepped forward, and faced him head-on. Her small stature was tense with indignation.

“I'm a performer, not a whore! If you want someone to kiss onstage for your amusement, find someone else. If you try to force me, I would rather slit my own throat!”

Her voice cracked at the end, and tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, splashing onto her embroidered collar.

“…Huh?” Now it was the turn of Bai Yueban to be dumbfounded.

It's just a kiss scene. How did this suddenly turn into a moral crisis?

He couldn't help feeling a bit lucky he hadn't gone live for this. If the viewers saw him make a young girl cry, even if she was an NPC, he would be flamed to death online.

He really hadn't thought it through. He had assumed this was just a game, not a moral battlefield. But these NPCs were way more conservative than he expected.

The fact that he was filming a drama inside Xian Huang was already something new. Whether this first project went viral or not would directly affect the value of his in-game account. It would also affect his own reputation in the future.

So while Bai Mingming didn't expect his first game-drama to become a classic, it at least had to blow up online, and the ratings couldn't tank. He had been in the short drama industry long enough to know what worked. That's why he had chosen a revenge reincarnation story with a strong female lead and plenty of romance.

They were filming at Lanqing Garden, an estate that used to belong to a country gentleman who had long since left the capital. The servants still kept the place clean, the smell of fresh floor wax lingering in the air. Guests were allowed to visit as long as they paid a small fee, roughly a few copper wen.

Normally, it's fine for them to come and film, but other groups also rented the garden occasionally.

To the NPCs, though, his filming looked like a lunatic’s performance art. To get multiple camera angles, wide, medium, close-up, front, back, and side, he would make them repeat the same scene over and over again.

Today, the garden was empty, and he only needed to shoot a drowning rescue scene. Yet the actress had broken character so many times they had been stuck on it since morning. If this pace continued and a few onlookers came by to watch, he would probably drop dead from stress before the drama wrapped.

Finally, just when the actors were starting to perform naturally again, the whole shoot came to a stop because of this one kiss scene.

And he couldn't force them. It wasn't right.

What a headache.

While he was scratching his head in frustration, a voice spoke up behind him.

“Why don't we just fake the angle? If she doesn't want to actually kiss, it's no big deal. As long as it looks real on camera, we're good.”

Bai Yueban turned and saw Mu Zi, the assistant he had hired in-game.

In Jingdu City, livestreaming was already oversaturated. From noble maids to beggars, everyone streamed something. But unlike Xinghexian or Yancheng, he didn't have much influence in Jingdu. There, everything is under strict control, so freedom was limited.

Sure, starting a livestream there could still make money. There are fewer than a hundred streamers in all of Jingdu, and with the massive audience of Dragon Kingdom, there would definitely be viewers.

But finding fresh content is hard.

Mu Zi was one of those players who had joined the game to experience it and maybe earn something. But since she had signed an NDA, she couldn't leak anything about this first production. Because she was good at coordination and makeup, Bai Yueban had her act as both stagehand and makeup artist. He paid her several tens of thousands a month, mostly because she could earn more streaming.

After thinking for a moment, Bai Yueban nodded. “Alright. You're a girl, so it'll sound better coming from you. I probably hurt her pride earlier. Go talk to her and bring her back. I'll go handle the male lead.”

Since the actress didn't want to kiss, he couldn't force them.

In this world, making a woman kiss someone against her will is practically the same as coercion. Bai Yueban didn't want that kind of reputation.

“Got it~” Mu Zi grinned, then walked off toward the lakeside pavilion, her footsteps light on the grass.

Xiu Yue was still there, crying while Yang Banzhu tried and failed to comfort her.

Mu Zi approached, handing her a clean silk handkerchief. “Stop crying. Your makeup is running, and you won't look pretty anymore.”

Yang Banzhu sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Girl, I can't persuade her.”

Mu Zi smiled. “Banzhu, you can head back to the main house. I'll take care of Xiu Yue from here.”

Yang Banzhu looked relieved and quickly left.

Once he was gone, Mu Zi turned to Xiu Yue. “Director said you don't need to actually kiss. We'll use a trick shot. Just turn your head so it looks like it happened.”

“Trick shot?” Xiu Yue blinked, her teary eyes wide with confusion as she wiped her nose.

Mu Zi tucked a stray strand of hair behind the ear of Xiu Yue. “Yeah. You don't really touch lips. You just angle your body so it looks like you do.”

Xiu Yue finally exhaled in relief, her shoulders relaxing.

Seeing she had calmed down, Mu Zi waved to a few young girls nearby. “Bring some water and help Xiu Yue wash up. I need to redo her makeup. Director is racing against the sunset, so we've got to finish the drowning scene before dark.”

Everyone quickly got busy again, the sound of splashing water filling the pavilion.

With the tension easing, Xiu Yue couldn't help growing curious about Mu Zi.

“Miss Mu, are you and Director Bai siblings?” Xiu Yue asked, though she realized that couldn't be right since their surnames didn't match.

Mu Zi sat down beside her on the wooden bench, smiling faintly. “No. I'm his subordinate.”

“Subordinate?” Xiu Yue frowned. “But Director Bai doesn't have a job.”

To her, Mu Zi didn't seem like a servant, but she couldn't make sense of their relationship either.

“Yeah,” Mu Zi said with a nod. “He hired me to do makeup and handle logistics. I get paid to do my job.”

The eyes of Xiu Yue widened. “Your family doesn't mind you working?”

And why would Bai Yueban hire a woman for such tasks when men could easily do them?

Mu Zi smiled, a touch helpless as she looked at her own hands. “Where I'm from, women can work freely. As long as you can earn money, no one objects.”

“Where are you from?” Xiu Yue asked, astonished. Such freedom for women is unheard of in the capital.

Mu Zi thought for a moment, watching a ripple on the lake, then said, “Hmm... Xinghexian.”

Then she added casually, “Our Xianling is a woman too.”

That startled Xiu Yue. She remembered hearing travelers mention something about a female magistrate there. She had been amazed back then, even a little regretful she had never seen her, but the story had slipped her mind.

Now hearing it again, she felt a spark of curiosity. She wanted to ask more, but someone called out from the shore, urging her to hurry and finish makeup for the next shot.

She didn't really understand what “shooting” meant, but since the “director” said so, she didn't argue.

As she stood to leave, Mu Zi caught her wrist.

Xiu Yue turned, puzzled by the sudden grip.

Mu Zi looked at her seriously. “Stop saying you would rather die. Your life is not that cheap. Like I said, there's always another way to solve things. You just don't know it yet.”

Xiu Yue was moved. No one had ever spoken to her like that before.

She almost cried again, but remembering her freshly done makeup, she blinked back the tears and nodded firmly.

Then she ran off toward the set, her pace eager.

Chapter Text

As long as there was no stripping or kissing involved, the male and female actors were pretty cooperative. Their movements were fluid as they navigated the garden set. Bai Yueban gave clear, precise direction, his arms waving as he mimed the actions. The actors were far more perceptive than those in the modern entertainment circle. Of course, Bai Yueban didn't believe that this perceptiveness was something they were born with. Most of it came from hardship. People who had suffered enough always developed a keener sense of empathy. They knew exactly what a person looked like in joy or in pain.

In the modern entertainment industry, or rather, in Dragon Kingdom’s current society, it was hard enough to find actors who had both gone to college and endured true hardship. Many came from modest families, but they had never actually starved or worried about clothing and shelter. They were still a privileged lot compared to the rest.

But ancient actors, those old-time xizi, had led miserable lives from childhood. After all, performing on stage was considered one of the lowest of trades. When a rich man took up singing opera, it was a hobby. When a poor man did it to make a living, it became a shameful thing. It was something to be looked down on because in essence, it meant serving others with your looks.

Besides, opera training was harsh. Backbends, splits, and endless drills were routine. So even if these performers held a despised occupation, their bearing was unmatched. Just watching them walk, Bai Yueban couldn't help wanting to applaud as they crossed the stone bridge with effortless poise. They really carried themselves like true leads in a drama. After filming the water scene, Bai Yueban called out to everyone before leaving. “There's a curfew tonight during the xu, dog, hour, 7 PM to 9 PM, so we can't do a group script reading. Tomorrow morning, during the chen, dragon, hour, 7 AM to 9 AM, meet me early, same as today. We will read through the script again.”

Luckily, most of these opera performers knew a few characters. Opera scripts were taught line by line, with explanations for tone, meaning, and rhythm. But their literacy ended there. When they didn't recognize a character, they would sometimes just read out the radical. So script reading was absolutely necessary. Since the day’s shooting had gone well, Bai Yueban was in good spirits and spoke with an easy tone. Before everyone dispersed, Bai Yueban even sought out the female lead, Xiu Yue, for a private chat. He apologized, saying he hadn't meant to offend earlier.

Xiu Yue found that incredible, her shoulders dropping as she exhaled. It was rare for anyone to care about her feelings. She had started performing at sixteen and had been on stage for nearly three years now. Plenty of wealthy men had tried to pursue her, of course. But she had often grown angry at the way they treated her. It was as if her feelings didn't matter. To them, everything could be solved with money. If she was upset, they just assumed they hadn't paid enough. In the end, they would mutter something like, “Women and petty men are hard to deal with,” and leave it at that.

"Maybe this Bai-yé was abnormal," she thought, because he actually cared about how an actress felt. This was the second time that day Xiu Yue had been treated with respect. The first was by Miss Mu Zi earlier. When filming wrapped, Bai Yueban walked back with Mu Zi toward her own courtyard to log off, the evening breeze cooling their faces. The two had met online through a group for new players, but they hadn't ever met face to face before today.

Mu Zi had once worked as a video editor at a web influencer company. Her eyes were often tired from the glowing screens, but the workload had been so heavy that she developed myocarditis. Afterward, she had stayed home to recover, taking freelance editing jobs. Her income didn't drop much, and without city rent or high living costs, she actually saved more than when she had been in the company.

Now she lived in her rural hometown. Her family only wished for her to stay healthy. They never nagged her about marriage or children, and her friends envied her for that. These days, she woke naturally each morning, no alarms. No matter when she got up, her parents always saved her a meal, ready to heat. She still worked, her health still shaky, but the pressure was minimal. Maybe that was why she always wore a faint, effortless smile. As they walked, several carriages passed by, their wheels rattling on the cobblestones and stacked high with red silk.

“Who is celebrating? That's a lot of red cloth,” Bai Yueban asked curiously.

Mu Zi glanced at the procession. “It's probably the Shen family in the capital. The Eldest Princess is getting married. They have been preparing for months, making a huge spectacle out of it.”

“How did you know that?” Bai Yueban blinked. They were both new players, after all.

Mu Zi said mildly, “You have been too focused on directing. You have missed all the gossip around you.”

Bai Yueban fell silent. "Well, she wasn't wrong."

The Capital, Imperial Palace

The wedding of the Eldest Princess should have filled the palace with joy, yet the air was heavy and quiet.

“Prince An is hiding someone?” Princess Yong’an lifted her eyes lazily from where she sat on the couch. Her fingers idly traced the embroidery of her robe.

A palace maid hurried forward, her head bowed. “The servants below heard so, Your Highness.”

Yong’an gave a cold laugh. “I'm set to be married tomorrow and can't leave the palace for now. Have someone keep watch over that place. I will deal with it in two days.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Outside her hall, everything looked as peaceful as usual. But at the Shen residence, lanterns blazed and joy filled the air. Princess Yong’an was the late Emperor’s beloved daughter. Because of her proud and willful nature, the Shen family had built an entire new garden for her and her future husband, the Prince Consort, to live in after the marriage. The Shen clan was of noble blood, descendants of ministers who had once served the throne. Though their family’s glory had faded over the years, a princess marrying into their house was still an honor.

In Zhao Empire, a princess never set up her own estate before marriage. Since the Prince Consort’s family was already wealthy and influential, there was no need to build a separate residence. She would simply marry into the Shen estate. A princess’s rank was high. In Zhao Empire, her status after marriage equaled that of her in-laws’ elders. This rule kept the household quiet in her presence. Even if her husband’s parents were older, she was still a member of the Imperial Family. She owed them no bow.

During the wedding rites, they would first bow to Heaven and Earth, then to the palace in the direction of the Emperor, and lastly to each other. When the couple bowed, the princess's head had to be higher than her husband’s. With that hierarchy in place, the Shen elders didn't dare put on airs. Hence, they'd set aside a large garden where the couple could live together without constant disturbance. As the princess’s in-laws, they certainly wouldn't expect her to come every chen, dragon, and xu, dog, hour to pay respects.

The next day, the city streets were deserted as everyone flocked to see the princess’s grand wedding procession. In the game Xian Huang, every player who could stream had gone live to broadcast the spectacle. The ceremony dragged on until the xu, dog, hour, 7 PM to 9 PM, before things quieted down. Since it was Princess Yong’an’s wedding, the guests refrained from excessive teasing. They only made the groom drink a few more cups before sending him to the bridal chamber.

“Your… Your Highness…” Shen Muzhe’s face was flushed, partly from shyness, partly from wine. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had sipped some floral tea earlier to mask the alcohol on his breath, afraid it might offend his bride. Slowly, he stepped into the room, ready to share the nuptial cup. Yong’an had already dismissed the attendants, her red wedding gown spread around her on the couch. She hated noise and had arranged to be left alone unless she called.

She lowered the fan covering her face, revealing a richly painted visage and a faint, mocking smile as she looked up at him. Shen Muzhe’s features were handsome, though not as breathtaking as Wang Wuyuan’s. Yong’an had no objection to marrying him. After all, he was a good match for her in status. Among all the noble sons of the capital, Shen Muzhe was the most outstanding. A man like Wang Wuyuan, she could love, but she could never marry. So at first, she hadn't disliked Shen Muzhe. But his possessiveness and jealousy soon grew unbearable.

Still, that didn't matter. Yong’an was an expert at taming dogs.

“Tonight, you won't sleep on the bed.” Her voice was soft, yet it froze Shen Muzhe's smile.

He looked up in disbelief. “We're husband and wife now. It's our wedding night. Where else should I sleep?”

Yong’an spread her hands casually, her silk sleeves rustling. “Wherever you like, but you won't sleep on this princess’s bed.”

His voice trembled slightly. “Is Your Highness still angry about Wang Wuyuan?”

Yong’an’s smile vanished. Her tone turned cold. “What do you think? You knew I was looking for him, yet you still had him arrested. You have defied me more than once. Do you think I would reward that with kindness?”

Her words made his face pale.

“Don't think I'm ignorant of what you have done behind my back,” she went on, voice sharp and steady. “When my father was alive, there were many princesses. You think I stayed favored all these years just because of my mother’s standing? The northern tribes demanded a true princess as bride, not a minister’s daughter. Two of my sisters were married off to the north. You think I got to choose my marriage simply because I'm reckless and brainless? I chose you, Shen Muzhe, and yet you still stooped to such petty schemes. You disgust me.”

Several oil lamps cast their light across the room. The light wasn't bright as day, but it was bright enough to reveal her beauty. It was too vivid and too sharp for the shadows to hide. In Zhao Empire, women were prized for gentleness and obedience. Yong’an was neither. Hers was a beauty too fierce, too commanding. Most men would have been terrified. But Shen Muzhe adored her. He adored her arrogance, her strength, even her cruelty.

“Your Highness is my wife,” he said stubbornly. “If you're angry on ordinary days, I will bear it. But tonight is our wedding night. Forgive me, I'm sleeping on the bed. You said you didn't need a Prince Consort, but it's too late now.”

His words were the boldest he had ever spoken.

“You can sleep on the bed,” Yong’an said softly, “but if you do, I will make sure your parents don't sleep at all tonight.”

The current Emperor, Zhou Chenli, wasn't the same man who had doted on her before, and his distance made the palace corridors feel colder. Yong’an’s value to the Shen family had dropped considerably. Even so, she was still a princess of the Imperial Blood. Having her in their home was an honor they could flaunt to every guest and kin.

If she made trouble now, if she decided to destroy herself and them along with her, the Shen clan would never recover. So yes, the princess might dare to throw a tantrum, but the Shen family didn't dare punish her. When it came down to it, both Princess Yong’an and Shen Muzhe were nothing more than chess pieces. She was for the Emperor. He was for the Shen family’s ambition.

Chapter Text

Of course, Yong’an knew she couldn't push things too far. If her husband’s family started to resent her, she would lose her way out completely. On the surface, she still kept up the proper courtesy. She never made her in-laws lose face. The scent of sandalwood from the palace still clung to her heavy silk robes as she moved with measured grace.

The words she had thrown at Shen Muze were only meant as a warning. On the first night of their marriage, she only planned to make him suffer. She wanted to watch the flicker of the candle flames reflected in his uncertain eyes. That was her punishment for him. Her consort couldn't be allowed to get too disobedient.

When Shen Muze saw how cold Yong’an was being, he felt utterly wronged. But he had no choice except to grab a quilt. The fabric was rough against his palms as he headed to the couch.

Watching him obediently settle there, Yong’an couldn't help a faint smile. She had always run hot since she was young and was never prone to illness. The servants had already started bringing in ice for her. It wasn't summer yet, so only a symbolic brass basin had been placed in the room. The melting blocks clicked softly in the quiet.

Lying in bed, Yong’an lifted the curtain and gazed at the moonlight spilling through the gauze window. Her thoughts turned wistful. She wondered what her mother had felt when she first entered the palace. Sometimes she couldn't help but think: did her mother ever truly love the Emperor? Love that fickle man? When her mother took that sword for him back then, was it because of love or simply because she wanted to end her own captivity? Those thoughts drifted through her mind until she slowly fell asleep.

The next morning, during the mao (rabbit) hour (5 AM – 7 AM), afraid the servants might notice something embarrassing, Shen Muze got up the moment the roosters crowed. He leaned against the couch, pretending to read while secretly sneaking in a nap. His chin occasionally dropped toward his chest. But no matter how good he was at acting, the bed sheets didn't lie. If Yong’an had wanted to keep things quiet, she had plenty of attendants who could have prevented anyone from the Shen family from handling the bedding. But she didn't bother hiding it at all.

Naturally, word reached Madam Shen. When the servant came to report, she only answered calmly. “I know.” After all, Her Highness the Princess was the daughter of the Emperor. A royal girl with a temper was nothing unusual. Her son was handsome too. Even if the princess hadn't accepted him at first, she couldn't possibly reject him forever. Besides, when the late Emperor granted the marriage, he had mentioned that Yong’an herself had no objection.

Madam Shen had lived long enough to understand that the more you meddled with the young, the more rebellious they became. She decided to act blind for now and wait a while before stepping in. At least the princess still sent someone that morning to ask after her and the master’s health. That alone proved she treated her in-laws differently from how she treated her consort. As long as the princess wasn't hostile toward the Shen family, Madam Shen couldn't care less whom she offended.

Meanwhile, Yong’an finished dressing. Her maids smoothed the vibrant embroidery of her gown. Shen Muze held an honorary post, a position with no real duties. Skipping work for a couple of days wasn't an issue. Since he had just married a princess, the Emperor had even granted him a few days off. Once Yong’an had finished breakfast, she sent for him.

Noticing how tired he looked, she trimmed a flower branch with sharp silver shears, snip by snip, while saying, “Take me to see Wang Wuyuan later.”

Shen Muze’s lips tightened. He was clearly unhappy. His wife was a princess. Back when the late Emperor had decreed the marriage, he had already prepared himself. In their household, he would never be the one holding the reins. He would be the one yielding to her, not the other way around. Still, he was her consort. Never mind the matter of jealousy. He couldn't possibly stomach the thought of watching his wife get close to another man, much less help arrange it himself. Grinding his teeth, he wanted to refuse. He also feared Yong’an might come up with an even crueler punishment if he resisted. If he was going to give in anyway, better to give in early and spare himself the pain.

While he hesitated, a maid from Madam Shen’s quarters arrived. “Madam says, if you're free later, please come by. Her pet thrush doesn't seem very lively. She would like you to take a look.”

Shen Muze didn't know a thing about birds. He was good at painting and music, not pet care. But hearing that his mother had specifically asked for him, he couldn't very well refuse. “I understand,” he said. “I will go in a bit.”

Seeing that he had other business, Yong’an didn't press him to take her out right away. After giving her a brief word, Shen Muze took a servant and went to his mother’s courtyard. When he arrived, he asked straight out, “Mother, I was newly married, yet you called me over first thing this morning. There must be something you wish to tell me.”

Madam Shen smiled, pleased by his perceptiveness. “You didn't share a bed with Her Highness last night, did you?” Her bluntness made him glance around nervously. Thankfully, all the maids had been dismissed. Only her old nurse remained. He stayed silent, which was answer enough.

Madam Shen sighed softly. “Did you upset her?” She, of course, had no idea about the matter between the princess and that monk Wang Wuyuan. If even she knew, how could the rest of the noble families of the capital not? Shen Muze had only learned about it recently himself. The princess had feelings for a monk.

Since he said nothing, Madam Shen went on gently, “Take your time. Her Highness has always been willful. The late Emperor couldn't control her. His Majesty has doted on her since childhood. What can a family like ours do except yield to her? Treat her well. Be patient with her. She will come around eventually.”

“Really?” Shen Muze looked up, hope flickering in his eyes.

“Of course,” Madam Shen said with certainty. “Your father and I used to quarrel all the time. Look at him now. He listens to me in everything. People are the same everywhere. If you coax her, indulge her, she will notice your efforts sooner or later. Feelings will follow. You're her chosen consort. No one forced her. She descended to the Shen household willingly. That alone means she feels something for you. Don't overthink it.

She has just come from the palace. It's natural she is uncomfortable here. The Shen residence can't compare to a prince’s manor, much less the palace itself. If she loses her temper from time to time, you, as her consort, should be the patient one. Only then will the household stay peaceful. Understand?”

Shen Muze had to admit she made sense. Being the hopeless romantic he was, he managed to talk himself into feeling better. After chatting a while longer, he worried that Yong’an might summon him again. He headed back to their garden.

After lunch, during the wu (horse) hour (11 AM – 1 PM), Yong’an once again told him to take her out. This time, Shen Muze didn't refuse. “May I ask what Your Highness wants with him?”

Her expression was unreadable. “He is suffering because of me. I can't let him stay imprisoned for nothing.”

The Emperor didn't trust Prince Rui and feared he might rebel. He wanted to keep Prince An’s power in check. Though Prince An had already been granted his title and would soon leave for his fief, the Emperor insisted on settling his marriage first. By status, his consort should have come from a high-ranking noble family. That would only strengthen the faction of Prince Rui. The Emperor had been delaying the marriage of Prince An, keeping him stuck in the capital.

That meant Wang Wuyuan, confined under the watch of Prince An, couldn't be in a worse situation. Yong’an saw the perfect chance to free him. Hearing her reason, Shen Muze thought of the cruel words she had said the night before. He felt a sudden sting of hurt but still gave in. He was bound to yield anyway, so why fight it?

That afternoon, during the wei (goat) hour (1 PM – 3 PM), Yong’an and Shen Muze left by the back gate in a small carriage, taking only a few attendants. They headed for the courtyard where Prince An kept Wang Wuyuan confined. At that moment, Wang Wuyuan had no idea what was coming. He was in the yard, swatting mosquitoes that buzzed incessantly around his ears.

The weather had been getting hotter lately, and the insects were multiplying fast. The courtyard of Prince An was full of trees and flowers, making it a paradise for bugs. Mosquitoes were bad enough, but there were also tiny biting insects that left itchy welts on his arms. The heat wasn't the problem. The trees provided good shade. But the constant bites drove him mad.

His life was so mundane now that even his livestream viewers had gone zen about it.

"How long is he staying here? Forever?"

"No idea. Whatever, I'm numb now."

"Did Zhou Chenrui forget him or something?"

"Forget this face? Please. No one could."

"Then why is he still locked up?"

"Don't know."

"Maybe Zhou Chenrui already left for his fief?"

"Doesn't look like it. I checked another stream. He is still in the capital."

"The Emperor has been on the throne this long. Why is he keeping a prince here anyway?"

"Human hostage, obviously."

"But the mother of Prince Rui is still in the capital as an Imperial Consort. What's the point of keeping both?"

While the comments went on, Wang Wuyuan kept smacking mosquitoes. The fans and the streamer did their own things in perfect disconnection. Then a sudden commotion of heavy footsteps and shouting broke out outside the courtyard.

"What is that noise?!"

"Something is happening!"

"Zhou Chenrui?"

"No way. If it were him, it wouldn't be this noisy."

"Then who is it?"

"Who else could it be? The one who can't stop thinking about that pretty face, obviously."

"She has just got married, and she is here to rescue her lover the next day? That is bold."

The chat exploded in excitement. When the gates finally opened and that familiar, beautiful face filled the camera, the barrage of comments went wild.

"Her Highness!"

"The Princess is here!"

"She is the Eldest Princess now~"

"I knew she couldn't forget Wang Wuyuan!"

"My ship is sailing again!"

"Zhou Chenrui, your wife is running off with another!"

"He was never his husband to begin with!"

"Wait, who is that behind her?"

"Huh?"

"???"

Inside the courtyard, Wang Wuyuan felt a flash of joy when he saw the gates open. After being trapped in the same yard for so long, even a change of scenery was exciting. But when he realized it was the Eldest Princess Yong’an, accompanied by her consort, that flicker of joy was instantly doused like a bucket of cold water. For him, whether it was Prince An or the Eldest Princess, it made no difference. They were both predators, just from different dens.

Chapter Text

Unlike Wang Wuyuan’s cold indifference, Yong’an’s eyes lit up the moment she saw him. The light in her gaze was a sudden, flickering flame that danced with a hunger she didn't bother to hide.

He still looked like a banished immortal, flawless and pure. He stood as if he were a figure carved from fine jade, existing in a realm far removed from the dirt of the courtyard. And that, precisely, was what she had fallen for.

That ethereal face, untouched by worldly dust, made her heart stir even now. The sight of his sharp jawline and the steady, quiet rhythm of his breathing was enough to make her pulse quicken. For Yong’an, Wang Wuyuan was her first love, the one she had once called her “white moonlight.”

But Yong’an was nothing if not practical. She knew very well that “white moonlight” might look beautiful, but you couldn't live on moonlight. It was a cold, distant thing that offered no shelter from the wind. Her only regret was that Wang Wuyuan had no noble status. Otherwise, he would have been her consort long ago.

History wasn't short of princesses who kept male pets, but all of them ended up with foul reputations. The chronicles were filled with warnings of such decadence. Yong’an knew that if she indulged in such a scandal, her name would be cursed for generations. Still, that was a matter for the afterlife. To her, happiness while alive mattered far more than fame after death. She would rather have the heat of the present than the cold respect of a gravestone.

“Wuyuan…” she called softly, her voice tender. The name hung in the air, weighted with a sweetness that felt almost heavy.

"Ah~ listen to how sweetly she says his name."

"The Princess is so damn gorgeous."

"I still think Chu Xuan’s prettier though."

"Not the same kind of pretty, come on. Chu Xuan’s like the moon, gentle and elegant. The Princess is like the blazing sun, one glance and you’re blinded."

"Then what about Lin Qian?"

"Like a goddess, obviously."

"Like a mother, more like."

"Like my wife, that’s what."

"That woman’s so shameless, no man would ever want her."

"Haha, someone’s mad."

"She just made the same mistake every woman in the world makes."

"Women are like that, can't blame her."

"Desire’s in our nature, isn't it?"

"Men, stop acting all high and mighty here."

"It's just a game, why so serious?"

"If you love men so much, go marry one!"

"Here we go again, arguing every damn day. Can we just watch the stream?"

"Wuyuan doesn't look happy."

"Hahaha, when was he ever happy since starting “Xian Huang”?"

"Didn't wear red underwear in his birth year, huh?"

"Maybe Mercury’s in retrograde."

But the tender princess suddenly reached out and wrapped her hands around Wang Wuyuan’s neck. Her fingers were surprisingly strong, her skin pale against his own.

His collar was ripped open, revealing a few red marks on his pale skin. The fabric hung limply, the threads frayed where they had been tugged. Yong’an frowned slightly.

“He touched you?” she asked, voice sharp. The tenderness had evaporated, replaced by a cold, cutting edge.

"Your Highness, no~ you’re misunderstanding~"

"Oh-ho!"

"Mosquito bites, can't you tell?"

"Sure looks like…"

"The start of a lifetime of forced love."

Wang Wuyuan didn't understand the chat’s teasing. He only frowned faintly, his brow knitting together in quiet frustration. He had just started wearing fine clothes again after ages, and now they were torn. The silk felt ruined beneath his touch. He had no idea what madness had seized this princess now.

Yong’an didn't wait for an answer. She turned to her attendants, her movement swift and decisive. “Take him away.”

Her consort, Shen Muzhe, instantly looked displeased. The corners of his mouth pulled down. “Your Highness, didn't you say you'd release him?”

“He belongs to Prince An, we can't just take him!” a servant in the courtyard quickly protested. The man stepped forward, his hands trembling as he spoke.

In truth, none of this had anything to do with the servants. Whether Wang Wuyuan was caught or killed, they only feared being implicated. The thought of the fallout was a cold weight in their chests.

Prince An’s temper was unpredictable, after all. He was a storm that could break without warning.

But Yong’an only said calmly, “He's injured. He needs rest.” Her voice was flat, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, her people seized him without another word. They moved with practiced efficiency, their grip firm on his arms.

A cloth was tied over his eyes, plunging his world into a sudden, thick darkness. Wang Wuyuan had no idea where they were taking him. He could only feel the rough texture of the fabric against his skin and the shifting of the ground beneath his feet.

The viewers in the live stream lost visual the moment he got on the carriage. The screen went dark, the sound of the wheels on the cobblestones the only remaining link to the scene.

Still, since Xian Huang had a map system, they could tell he was still in the capital, though no longer in the Shen residence. He had been moved to a remote corner of the city. The little icon on the map drifted toward a quiet, less populated district.

His new courtyard was filled with bamboo, the stalks swaying and clicking softly in the breeze. A few pines and cypresses were scattered about, their dark needles standing out against the pale walls. Flowers were rare, though orchids decorated the rooms. The scent of the orchids was subtle, a cool fragrance that drifted through the open windows.

Yong’an was nothing like Prince An. Prince An only wanted Wang Wuyuan alive. Yong’an wanted him comfortable. She gave him the best food, fine servants, and luxurious silks. The fabrics were smooth and heavy, the kind that shimmered with every movement. Even rare-colored fabrics filled his wardrobe.

He had come into this game to live a peaceful life. Normally, he wore plain white or green. Yet everything here was purple, pink, blue, every color imaginable. It was a riot of vibrant dyes, anything but modest.

A dozen servants ran the house: cleaners who kept the floors spotless, messengers who moved like shadows, food bearers, dressers, treasurers, and even two guards who stood watch at the entrance. Gardeners trimmed and watered outside, their shears snapping rhythmically. He didn't have to lift a finger.

Wang Wuyuan felt like he was living the kind of life most people couldn't earn in several lifetimes. The sheer opulence of it was staggering.

And this entire courtyard had been arranged by the princess in half a day, with servants she had brought straight from the palace. It was a testament to her efficiency and the reach of her influence.

"Having power really hits different."

"If I ever get a slot in this game, I'm making a face like his. I want to live like this too! Who says being a canary’s bad? Canaries have it good!"

"Only if a princess picks you up, not a brothel madam."

"You’re dreaming. You'd have to win a slot first. They only release a hundred accounts each time, and millions try for them. Good luck."

"Hahaha, the consort’s probably fuming right now."

"Shen Muzhe, just let it go, man."

"The Eldest Princess is our role model!"

"This game’s amazing. Powerful women living freely, that's how it should be. What's the point of being a princess if you can't do whatever you want?"

"She’s not exactly powerful though."

"She’s got connections, same thing. Her connection’s the Emperor himself! No one in Zhao’s got better backing."

"True that."

"If that's the case, then Prince Rui better not become Emperor. Yong’an’s good days would be over."

Once Wang Wuyuan “saw daylight” again, the blindfold finally removed, he was immediately made to bathe. The servants led him to a steaming tub, the water scented with fragrant oils.

Even though the screen blurred out everything, he was embarrassed to bathe on stream, so he shut it off. He couldn't shake the feeling of thousands of eyes watching him through the digital veil.

When he came back after washing, the viewers poured in like a flood. The chat window scrolled so fast it was nearly a blur.

"You took half an hour! What were you doing, exfoliating?"

"We’re all so close, why act shy now?"

"I'm your premium fan, there's nothing I can't see!"

"Hubby, come out all nice and clean for me tonight!"

"Haha, the one above’s using a male avatar!"

"Hahaha, he’s famous for charming both men and women anyway."

He was long used to their nonsense. He let the comments slide past him as he looked over the clothes laid out on the bed.

Faced with a choice between pink and purple, he gritted his teeth and picked the purple robe. The silk was cool as it slid over his shoulders, the color deep and royal.

Just as he finished dressing, food arrived. The servants carried in several trays, the aroma filling the room.

It was leagues better than what he had eaten when locked up by Zhou Chenrui. There were thinly sliced roast duck wraps, the skin glistening with oil. There was crystal-clear meatball soup and perfectly glazed Dongpo pork in just the right portion, the fat wobbling slightly. Crisp vegetables provided a fresh contrast. After the meal came fruit, then tea. The tea was fragrant and rare, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps.

"No one enjoys life like the ancient landlords. Even capitalists couldn't compare."

"Damn, lend me your account for two days!"

"Even through the screen, that looks delicious."

"I'm ordering takeout now, screw my diet!"

"Ugh, I'm still working overtime."

"Then stop watching and go home early!"

"There's barely anyone left at the office, it's too quiet to work."

"Don't say that! I'm watching the stream, don't make it sound like a horror story!"

"Who said horror?"

"It's the horror story of modern workers!"

"Overtime’s not horror, it's passion! Burn bright!"

"Someone’s lost it."

"Yeah, leave him. Even if cured, he'll still drool."

After Wang Wuyuan was settled, Princess Yong’an ordered him to rest and then left with Shen Muzhe. He watched them depart, the courtyard falling into a sudden, deep silence.

Though uneasy at first, after his bath and meal he gradually relaxed. The comfort of the room and the weight of the silk began to soothe his nerves.

That night, he was just about to show his viewers around his new quarters before logging off when a group of people suddenly burst in. The doors hit the walls with a sharp bang.

"Again?"

"Prince An’s moving fast this time."

"Didn't hear any commotion though. Probably not his men."

"Then why so aggressive?"

"Wow, the one leading them looks so pale, like a eunuch."

"He is a eunuch, isn't he?"

The middle-aged man in front had a sharp, high-pitched voice. The sound was like a blade scratching against glass. Entering the room, he said coldly, “Everyone, leave.”

The servants hesitated. They looked from the eunuch to Wang Wuyuan, their feet rooted to the spot.

Wang Wuyuan was someone the Princess Long valued. If anything happened, they'd be doomed. They knew the price of failure in this household.

Then the steward walked in and ordered, “You all, go.” His voice was firm, and he didn't look at Wang Wuyuan.

Only then did the servants leave one by one. Their footsteps faded down the hall until the room was deathly quiet.

Wang Wuyuan’s hand tightened on the chair, knuckles pale. He could feel the wood grain pressing into his skin.

"Shit, what's this eunuch doing?"

"He told everyone to leave? That's bad news."

"That old eunuch looks creepy as hell."

When the room emptied, the eunuch smiled eerily, teeth flashing white against his pale face. The expression didn't reach his eyes.

Maybe it wouldn't have looked so terrifying if the lights had been on. But dusk had fallen, the lanterns hadn't been lit yet, and the whole room was cloaked in dim purplish shadows. With powder on his face and that shrill voice, he looked like something out of a nightmare.

A spark flared as a match was struck, and one by one, the lanterns lit up. The flame jumped from wick to wick, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.

The room brightened, but the damage was done. That grin had already left Wang Wuyuan shaken. He didn't dare stay seated another second.

He jumped up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What do you want?”

“Don't be alarmed, young sir,” the eunuch said smoothly. His voice was oily, slick with a false politeness. “Her Highness only ordered us to examine your body. We won't harm you.”

“Examine my body?” He frowned. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. “For what?”

The eunuch’s smile widened. “There's no need to fear, young sir. Just take off your clothes. It won't take long.”

Chapter Text

"Moragu? Moragu?"

"Strip for inspection," the eunuch repeated, his voice a cold, thin whistle that seemed to chill the very air in the room.

"What kind of inspection?" Wang Wuyuan asked, his voice trembling as he backed away, his feet tangling in the hem of his purple robe.

"The kind where you strip!"

"What inspection?!"

"Strip!"

"......"

"What kind of weird Ma Dongmei game are you guys playing?!" 

Wang Wuyuan went pale with terror. His skin turned the color of dry parchment as he looked at the shadowed figures closing in on him. Having a eunuch inspect him was absolutely out of the question.

Unfortunately, his combat stat was too low, so low that even the eunuchs could overpower him. In the end, two young eunuchs held him down and tore his clothes off by force. Their hands were like iron clamps on his arms, the silk fabric shredding under their grip. Of course, the audience could only see a big blur of mosaic, a digital wall hiding the chaos from the cameras.

Then came a scream so miserable that it echoed through the night sky over all of Kyoto. It was a raw, jagged sound that pierced the silence of the surrounding streets. A moment later, those watching the live broadcast saw their screens go black.

The stream got reported and shut down. Even with all the censorship, it was clearly too dangerous to air. The comment section went dead silent as the "Disconnected" notice appeared. After that, the viewer count plummeted. Those who remained quietly filled the chat with rows of candle emojis, a digital wake for the fallen player.

From that day on, Xian Huang gained yet another player with an irreversible black mark on his record.

Kyoto, Shen Residence.

After listening to the servant’s report, Princess Yong’an’s mood brightened considerably. A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips, and the tension in her posture vanished.

“I see,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss the servant. The man bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the floor, before retreating into the shadows of the hallway.

That night, after washing up, Yong’an changed into a light robe of thin, breathable silk and sat fanning herself with a jade-bone fan. The ribs of the fan clicked softly with every flick of her wrist, stirring the humid night air.

Her husband, Shen Muze, had also bathed. He didn’t dare bring up any requests of his own, just sat on the couch pretending to read, glancing at his wife from time to time. His eyes would drift from the pages to her figure on the bed before quickly snapping back to the text.

Yong’an’s bed was massive. The space alone could fit three or four people, surrounded by several carved partitions depicting auspicious stories and motifs. The wood was dark and polished, catching the dim, flickering light. It was large enough to almost fill an entire room. She sat upon it, the curtains drawn back in heavy folds. A bronze incense burner sat on the floor beside the bed, a thin trail of sandalwood smoke rising from its lid. A bowl of water was placed beneath it to prevent fire.

The horn-shaped lamp cast a soft glow across her skin, wrapping her in a pearly sheen. The light was warm and amber, softening the sharp lines of the room.

From where Shen Muze sat, she looked almost unreal, her skin glowing faintly under the lamplight, her features hazy but captivating. Looking at her, he couldn't help but think, "No wonder they say she is born of gold and jade."

Only when viewed from a distance, in the soft light of night, did his wife’s presence lose that overpowering sharpness. Only then did he dare to gaze openly at her beauty.

Yong’an noticed his stare and lifted her eyes toward him.

He looked blurry from where she sat, his figure softened by the shadows, so she beckoned him over with a slow, deliberate curl of her fingers.

Shen Muze immediately put his book down and hurried to the bed, his footsteps muffled by the thick, ornate rugs.

Yong’an sighed softly and said, “Not long ago, Prince Li made trouble again, planning rebellion. His Majesty arrested many people. Prince Li raised an army in his fief, and all those arrested in the capital were sentenced to death, their entire clans executed. Now, among my Imperial Brother’s remaining siblings, not one can be trusted.”

Shen Muze bowed slightly and comforted her, “Your Highness, the affairs of the world are impossible to predict. Today one claims a throne, tomorrow another declares himself emperor. I only wish that you and I live in harmony as husband and wife.”

Yong’an frowned deliberately, her brow furrowing in a show of concern. “But I’ve had conflicts with Prince An. He’s not the kind who stays quiet. His full brother, Prince Rui, has already been enfeoffed outside the capital. I was still young then, so I didn’t know much about his temperament. If he truly stirs up trouble one day, I fear Prince An will be the first to target me.”

What she really meant was clear. Now that she lived in the Shen household, their fates were bound together. If she offended Prince An, that meant offending Prince Rui as well. And if Prince Rui bore a grudge, the entire Shen family would share her misfortune.

Even though her brother now sat on the throne, his seat wasn't yet stable. She needed to prove her worth, to please her brother and unsettle Prince Rui. If necessary, she would even force him into rebellion.

“If only Father-in-law could help say a few words on my behalf…” she said, laying a hand gently on Shen Muze’s shoulder. Her touch was light, her skin cool against his robe.

Her tone was soft, almost tender; it was a rare thing from her.

Shen Muze couldn't handle it. The moment she touched him, his mind went blank, and his spirit seemed to float away.

Xinghexian.

Lin Qian finally had something to give her a headache. She rubbed her temples, her desk piled high with reports and local petitions.

There were two main problems.

First, since she had refused to let the glass factory move to Xingpingxian, the local authorities there had started blocking shipments coming out of her county. The gates were shut, and the river passage was choked with sudden, pointless bureaucracy.

For big merchants, that was fine; they could afford to wait a month or two. Their warehouses were full enough to weather the temporary loss.

But for small traders whose whole families depended on daily income, every day’s delay meant empty stomachs at home. The silence of the market was a death knell for them.

Unlike modern times, in ancient days one man’s wages were supposed to feed an entire household.

Since arriving in this world, Lin Qian had seen plenty of families where the eldest son worked himself half to death to feed his parents, brothers, and their wives and children, while the younger ones loafed around waiting for help.

If goods couldn't move by water through Xingpingxian, there was no choice but to take the overland route.

But Xinghexian was surrounded by mountains, their jagged peaks blocking the horizon in every direction. Lately, there had been rumors of bandits lurking in the narrow passes. People could take longer detours, sure, but what if the bandits moved too? Then both cargo and people might be lost. Resources were scarce, after all. Stolen goods could be used, and captured people could be eaten. When folks sink low enough, morality doesn't mean much anymore. Once you have thrown away your conscience, there is no predicting what you will do to survive. So even though no one in Xinghexian had seen these bandits yet, just hearing about them was enough to make legs shake.

Still, families had to eat, and money had to be made.

Working within Xinghexian barely covered three mouths, and only with the strictest frugality. Most families doing trade had at least six or seven people to feed; parents, spouses, siblings, and kids. If they didn’t go out to sell, they would starve.

Lin Qian knew she couldn't leave the matter unresolved, so she had Qin Qing organize a county escort team to accompany the merchant convoys. Of course, the merchants weren't fools. Traveling alone wasn't safe, so they would band together; dozens of them, mostly strong men. If danger struck, they could at least ditch the goods and run.

But Xinghexian wasn't rich, and there weren't many merchants. Even pooling their groups, there were maybe forty or fifty people. That was about the size of a small bandit camp. If they ran into one of those big ones with hundreds or even thousands of men, some wouldn't make it back. They agreed among themselves that if anyone died on the road, the survivors would help take care of the dead man’s family. Many were sworn brothers, with deep bonds.

Now that the county was willing to send guards for their safety, the merchants were naturally overjoyed.

Including her people, each convoy now had around seventy players.

The county paid the escort team five taels of silver each per trip, to guard the merchants until they reached the next river transport city and returned safely. If someone died on duty, the county compensated the family fifty taels of silver. Each escort’s family held a signed contract bearing her own name, allowing them to claim the payment directly from her.

Thanks to the reputation she had built, people trusted her. Families with multiple sons were even willing to send one to serve as a guard.

Of course, not just anyone could join.

The rules required a height of at least one meter seventy and a weight over one hundred thirty jin. Most merchants who dared these routes were poor to begin with. They couldn't afford to hire professional bodyguards, so they took the risk themselves.

Lin Qian’s plan made their lives much easier. If fifty merchants teamed up, they could apply for county protection as a group.

Throughout Zhao, and in every neighboring state, merchants weren't well-regarded.

Scholars and commoners alike believed merchants lacked patriotism, that once they got rich, they would only chase profit overseas.

She didn't disagree. She had seen plenty of modern capitalists and celebrities change citizenship once they made it big. But if she wanted Xinghexian to thrive, she needed merchants. For commerce to flow, their safety had to come first. Otherwise, no one would stay to trade glass for dwindling profits. She had to build a county where the people trusted her governance, where merchants felt safe to do business.

In short, a county magistrate the people could truly rely on.

Her policy was unprecedented.

In ancient times, merchants bore their own risks. The government never provided guards; only imperial merchants got that privilege. If the goods weren't valuable enough, the county might even lose money sending men to protect them. Though the sons of merchants could sit for the imperial exams, their families were still looked down upon.

That Lin Xianling would send guards to protect them, thinking so far ahead, was beyond anything the merchants had ever imagined. They were deeply grateful, praising her wherever they went.

In the end, her policy drew countless traders to her jurisdiction, boosting Xinghexian’s prosperity far beyond what anyone expected.

But that, of course, was a story for another time.

===

Ma Dongmei game: A meme-style joke referencing a bizarre or absurd activity, often implying nonsense or chaotic humor.

Chapter Text

The second headache for Lin Qian came from the game Xian Huang, manifesting as a relentless stream of notifications that cluttered her terminal screen. Something had happened within the Dragon Kingdom that caused nationwide outrage, a digital firestorm that simmered in every household. Parents everywhere were calling for the game’s ban and flooding online platforms with complaints, their fingers tapping out frantic messages of condemnation.

The irony was that Xian Huang was an 18+ title. It was a game that had absolutely nothing to do with minors, yet it was being held responsible for their actions.

But recently, a serious case of school bullying had blown up online, the footage spreading like a contagion. One of the bullies turned out to be a Xian Huang player, and because he had been streaming his gameplay to an audience of thousands, he had gained some minor influencer fame.

That player had just turned eighteen. He had repeated a year in middle school and was now a second-year high school student.

Rumor had it he used his online popularity and decent looks to throw his weight around, becoming the school tyrant. For over a year, he had bullied a boy who shared his dorm room, while the other roommates acted as his accomplices, their silence making them just as guilty.

The victim, being rather soft-spoken and feminine in nature, was constantly mocked by the little influencer. The words were sharp, cutting through the quiet of the dorm until the space felt like a cage. Things got so bad that he was even forced to drink urine in the dorm, a humiliation filmed and shared. After enduring more than a year of torment, the boy attempted suicide. He was still in a coma at the hospital, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound in his sterile room.

Once the video of the bullying was leaked online, it caused an uproar that shook the nation. Xian Huang got dragged into the storm simply because it featured scenes involving combat and killing. It became the convenient scapegoat for a larger social sickness.

Ignorant parents banded together to blame the game, insisting it was Xian Huang that had “corrupted good kids,” their voices rising in a shrill chorus. What they didn’t realize was that Xian Huang was a game designed for adults, with account access strictly limited and carefully controlled by biometric data.

Two days after the scandal broke, foreign forces started meddling. Rival companies and overseas developers tried to use the chaos to take Xian Huang down completely, their representatives whispering in boardrooms about morality and public safety.

The online world in Dragon Kingdom turned into a battlefield of opinions. Some called for a ban, others defended the game fiercely, their arguments clashing in every comment section. In the end, those supporting Xian Huang were still the majority, their numbers forming a vast, unshakable wall of defense.

Within a single day, the game trended on dozens of hot searches.

Because of Xian Huang’s insane popularity, many celebrities used the opportunity to bury their own scandals, dropping their long-suppressed gossip and announcements all at once. The entertainment industry began treating Xian Huang as the perfect “heat sink.” Whenever its popularity spiked, it conveniently pushed their own names off the trending page.

This made the game even hotter, unintentionally.

Even central media outlets finally stepped in, posting official opinions on Weibo. However, their stance remained neutral for now. They merely asked the public to discuss whether Xian Huang was more beneficial or harmful and even opened a national poll for people to vote, the numbers ticking upward by the second.

Beneath the trending topic #CentralNews XianHuang#, thousands of comments flooded in:

“Do the reporters not know Xian Huang’s an 18+ game?”

“People following the hate train are just clueless.”

“Nooo! If Xian Huang gets banned, where am I supposed to watch all those fun streams?”

“That game’s my daily dose of happiness!”

“Feels like this is a setup by big corporations.”

“Xian Huang itself is big capital.”

“Come on, even if it is, it’s honest capital. The employee benefits there are amazing, no wonder it pissed someone off.”

“You will never find a better game at home or abroad. If it’s banned here and moves overseas, will you be happy then?”

“Exactly! Once it opens international servers, foreigners will be having fun while we can’t even log in. Is that what you want?”

“You call it a ‘moral’ company? The game accounts are insanely overpriced!”

“That’s because it generates revenue, genius. Every major game has account trading. You are just jealous.”

“Streamers are being mass-reported right now, most have stopped broadcasting.”

“These parents have lost it. They report everything except what actually matters.”

“No streams for two days, I can’t sleep without my nightly Xian Huang fix.”

“If they really ban it, I swear I will wreak havoc in real life!”

“Dude, chill. That’s not helping Xian Huang at all.”

“Yeah, calm down, man.”

While the entire nation speculated on what the authorities would do, something unexpected happened.

All Xian Huang players made a joint statement: they would suspend streaming for two days.

The only exception was that same bully, the student named Xu Zhan, who shamelessly kept streaming to milk his infamy. He sat before his camera, his expression smug and unbothered.

His family had reportedly “reached a settlement” with the victim’s family, paying them fifty thousand yuan in compensation. It was a meager sum for a life hanging in the balance.

The bullied boy came from a poor household, which was exactly why others labeled him “easy to push around.” It was a cruel, baseless label that stuck like mud.

Even though all students wore the same uniform, differences showed in their personalities, their shoes, skin tone, hair quality, the way they talked, the games they played, their computer specs, even their vacation destinations; all silent proofs of class division. The rich students walked with a heavy confidence, while the poor ones often kept their heads down.

People from vastly different social backgrounds could never truly blend. The rich feared the poor’s resentment, and that fear built invisible walls between them.

Those earning a million a year still couldn’t mingle with those earning ten million or more.

Even the top universities in Dragon Kingdom rewarded students from poor counties with cash gifts upon acceptance. Knowledge turned into money, and money brought more connections among the wealthy.

So really, the bully and his victim weren’t separated by much, just a bit of money. That small difference gave the bully a sense of superiority. Despite being cursed by the entire internet, he stayed arrogant and unrepentant, causing even greater outrage.

Meanwhile, the rest of the players quietly prepared for their next move.

Liu Yang, also known online as “The Social Maniac,” managed to add every major streamer to his contacts except for Xu Zhan. His fingers flew across his keyboard as he coordinated the mass of players.

Together, they drew up a plan: a two-day blackout to prepare for an in-game hunt.

It went perfectly. Everyone agreed.

The streamers wouldn’t go live, but they would still play in secret, coordinating their ambush for maximum impact. Even players from other cities joined the operation. They all knew this was a historic moment in Xian Huang. Years from now, they would brag about being part of it.

Most importantly, they didn’t want Xian Huang to be banned domestically. To protect their beloved game, they had to act.

Two quiet days later, Xu Zhan finally faced his judgment.

The players had already pinpointed his in-game location. Apparently, feeling guilty, he had started fleeing while streaming, constantly changing locations. His avatar moved frantically across the digital landscape. He was originally in Yancheng, the most crowded server in the game, but after the blackout began, he decided to escape east.

Since the player bank froze his funds, he couldn’t afford transport. At first, he managed to rent a carriage, but after a failed robbery attempt, he had to continue on foot. His character’s stamina bar flickered dangerously low as he trudged through the dirt.

The coachman he had tried to kill escaped back to Yancheng, where he ran into Jun Moxiao and the others. After interrogating the man, the players learned Xu Zhan’s whereabouts.

That same day, they mounted their horses and streamed live, led by Yan Jiujiu, Jun Moxiao, and Feng Xuan, galloping toward their target. The sound of drumming hooves filled the audio of the stream.

Xu Zhan found out mid-stream when his chat exploded with messages about the manhunt. He laughed it off and taunted the hunters, full of false bravado. He leaned back in his chair, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

That only fueled the others’ bloodlust.

Within hours, they tracked him down. He panicked, cut the stream, and tried to hide in a dense thicket of digital trees.

After surrounding him in-game, the players debated his fate and decided to execute him by five-horse dismemberment. The horses’ heavy breathing and the clatter of their armor filled the clearing.

But Xu Zhan was cunning. He logged off mid-pursuit, pretending to be dead.

Since players could only respawn at their last logout point or the local spawn hub, the others took turns camping both spots day and night. They sat in shifts, their weapons drawn and ready.

They even announced: anyone who bought Xu Zhan’s account would be treated as him and killed on sight.

They weren’t letting him log back in or profit from the account, ensuring he and his family gained nothing.

The grand alliance of players took over the trending charts once again. The youth of Dragon Kingdom loved stories of instant karma, and seeing justice delivered so swiftly made everyone cheer. After witnessing the unity and righteousness of Xian Huang’s community, the authorities eventually decided not to ban the game.

Instead, they raised the age restriction. Only those twenty and above could play.

At least the game survived.

To Xu Zhan and his family, that rule felt like a relief. They believed that by the time he turned twenty, everyone would have forgotten what he had done. But on his twentieth birthday, when he finally logged back into Xian Huang, another player found and killed him instantly. The blade flashed in the sunlight, ending his journey before it could begin again.

The player who deleted his account afterward got served a lawyer’s notice; however, the court ruled in favor of the “righteous avengers.” The judge’s gavel struck the wood with a final, echoing thud.

Justice had been served, both in the game and in reality.

Chapter Text

“Qing-jiejie, can you get a few more hands to come to the village? It’s been really busy outside the city lately, and we don’t have enough people.” Song Can switched to private mode, the digital interface shimmering as she accessed the secure channel, and called Qin Qing over voice chat from the shelter.

On the other end, Qin Qing said, “I will have Liu Yang ask in the group later to see if anyone’s free and can come help. What about Bing Ling? Haven’t seen her around lately.”

Song Can sighed, the sound a low, static-filled hiss through the microphone. “She won’t turn twenty until next month, so the age restriction on the game’s card caught her.”

“She is still that young?” Qin Qing sounded surprised.

“Doesn’t she look like a student?” Song Can asked in return.

Qin Qing smiled at that, her lips curving upward in the dim light of the yamen office. “Yeah, she really does.”

She had already completed her resignation, the official paperwork finally cleared, and was now a full-time streamer. Her parents couldn’t understand her choice at all. According to them, they had painstakingly raised an outstanding daughter, only for her to run off and become an internet celebrity.

In her father and mother’s eyes, being a streamer was still tied to that chaotic, lawless era of the early internet. Sure, there were still plenty of weirdos trying to ride trends and stir up anxiety for clicks, which didn’t exactly benefit society. But the internet had become far more regulated, and the quality content was growing year by year. Many people who had been wronged were using it to speak up and seek justice.

Qin Qing didn’t see the internet as strictly good or evil; it all depended on how people used it. She could shine at work, and she could spread positive energy online. Becoming a professional streamer was a choice she had made after careful thought. Her parents just couldn’t grasp it.

To them, their daughter could skip love, marriage, or even children, but she couldn’t go without a career. In some ways, her parents’ mindset was ahead of their time, but in others, they were completely out of step. For them, actors were just stage performers, idols were ornamental, and streamers were beggars. Streaming as a hobby was fine, but doing it as a profession? That was plain foolish.

She couldn’t change her parents’ views, so she would have to prove her choice right with time.

After talking with Song Can, she went straight to find Liu Yang.

Before, she hadn’t had much time for games, just completing basic tasks and wandering around the yamen. There were always small events in the neighborhood or at the office.

Even in ancient times, there were plenty of oddities: two married men caught in a scandal; domestic abuse cases brought to the Women’s Association; gambling and wife-selling cases reported to the yamen. So while other players might not have much live-stream material, Qin Qing always had plenty of fresh content without even leaving town.

The Xinghexian casino had ties to criminal forces but had been completely shut down by Lin Qian. Originally, she had ordered the owner to be captured alive and interrogated, then executed. But the owner escaped due to some influence.

In ancient times, once someone escaped the city, it was almost impossible to capture them again. There were no cameras, and physical appearances could be easily altered.

It wasn’t the weekend, so Liu Yang probably had class and hadn’t responded yet.

Qin Qing had finished her work at the yamen and, with some free time, decided to take a walk. She first changed at the place she rented with Liu Yang. Just after coming downstairs, she ran into Aunt Wang next door.

“Qin-meizi, come, come, come here!” The older woman waved her hand frantically, her silver bracelets clinking together.

Since Qin Qing and Liu Yang were publicly married and both worked at the yamen, most neighbors treated them with respect. Even though the yamen was relatively clean now and officials had little chance to enrich themselves, people were still cautious.

With Lin Qian around, no one dared to be corrupt. Even the minor corruption that did happen was subtle and hard to trace. Still, the commoners feared the officials. In modern times, calling a cop felt reassuring, but in ancient times, encountering a patrol official could be intimidating.

Even so, Lin Qian’s deeds in the county were widely praised. She was trusted because she kept her word and genuinely helped the people. The villagers loved and respected her, treating her like reborn parents.

Curious about what Aunt Wang wanted, Qin Qing asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Aha, Qin-meizi, you and Liu-laodi have been married for a while, but I don’t see any signs of a baby. My aunt specializes in these tricky matters. If you need help, I can ask her, or maybe have someone come take a look?”

Qin Qing realized Aunt Wang was worried about her having children.

“No need, we’re not in a hurry,” she quickly declined.

Having a baby? This wasn’t that kind of game.

Aunt Wang assumed Qin Qing was shy, maybe afraid a check would reveal problems, so she pressed on. “Don’t worry. You’re young, Liu-laodi’s health should be fine. Better to have someone check early than wait, isn’t it?”

“No, really, I don’t need it,” Qin Qing said firmly.

Aunt Wang rolled her eyes, her gaze flickering upward for a brief second, and then carefully asked, “Could it be that Laodi’s health…”

She wasn’t very tactful, but she had a kind heart. By this point, she realized that Qin Qing and Liu Yang weren’t ordinary villagers. That explained why the couple was so approachable yet untouchable; any troublemakers would quickly find themselves in trouble.

Satisfied, Aunt Wang stopped, saying, “If you ever need anything, just come to me. I mean well, so don’t take it personally.”

Qin Qing just gave a noncommittal “Hmm” and left.

She strolled to Manman Pastry to grab two pastries, a little personal HP boost. The sweet, buttery scent of baking dough hung heavy in the air outside the shop.

The shop looked very different from usual.

After making money, Lu Manman had taken over two neighboring shops, merging them into a large three-section store.

Pastries, breakfast, and snacks were each sold at a separate counter. Large glass windows separated the counters; a custom order from the glass factory. The panes were polished and clear, reflecting the bustling street outside. Only the player bank and her shop had this setup.

The kitchen and dining hall were separated by wood partitions, leaving a large serving area beneath the glass.

Customers took a number and went to the counter when called.

Most offerings were simple, but there were 100 high-end pastries daily, first-come, first-served, no reservations. They were slightly pricier and more aesthetically pleasing; a classic hunger-marketing strategy aimed at the wealthy, selling out in under half an hour.

It wasn’t crowded yet, though at meal times, the hall was chaotic with long lines. Most people couldn’t stand it and packed their orders to go.

At the counter, Qin Qing said to Wang Qiaoqiao, who was working, “Qiaoqiao, two lotus pastries, please.”

Everyone knew each other by now. Wang Qiaoqiao placed the pastries and said, “Qin Qing-jie, leaving work early today, huh?”

“Mm,” Qin Qing nodded, took the pastries wrapped in thin paper, and went upstairs.

The second floor had great views, windows on all sides, and was quieter. Service staff stood in the hallways, seating men and women separately.

Qin Qing had just taken a bite of the flaky, sweet crust when Liu Yang’s voice call came through.

He had seen her earlier message and said, “We still don’t have enough hands. The glass factory is sending supplies south, so many people were dispatched to deliver. Xingpingxian won’t let us transport goods, so we have to detour, which costs manpower. The county pays well, so all young, able-bodied people except soldiers were pulled away.”

Qin Qing knew manpower was tight everywhere and sighed, “Then I will think of something else back in the county.”

Liu Yang said, “Why are there waves of refugees lately? I don’t know what Yan Jiujiu and the others are doing in the south. Didn’t they say they would fight? Why haven’t they started?”

Qin Qing munched her pastry and replied, “I heard there are a lot of southern forces. They want to gather more troops and let the factions wear each other down. Weapons are short too, and they’re still making them. They’re studying blueprints too. No rush for now.”

“We’re not the ones being patient! Xinghexian sends out so much glass each month, so much money. If the south attacks, what then?”

“Well, it’s not that bad yet. The situation is not that severe. The court is sending troops south eventually.”

After a while discussing current affairs, Qin Qing switched the topic.

“I’m thinking of buying some land in Xinghexian to build a courtyard to live in.”

“Qin-jie, you’re not taking me with you?” Liu Yang sounded a little sad.

“Not that, it’s just that streaming sessions have been longer lately. Always walking around the rental place, chatting with people; it’s tiring. I want a change of scenery.”

“Then I will buy land too, next to yours, okay?”

Qin Qing laughed, “What is stopping you?”

“Did someone say something about you?”

“No, just a neighbor asking why we haven’t had kids yet,” Qin Qing replied, feeling a little speechless.

“Pfft!” Liu Yang burst out laughing. “Then we got to move fast. Hahaha.”

Liu Yang, still a college student, was already annoyed by his parents pressuring him to find a girlfriend. He knew women Qin Qing’s age hated being pushed about marriage and kids, so he didn’t ask further.

After a bit of joking, they hung up.

Chapter Text

The merchants of Xinghexian had gathered fifty men, and with the twenty guards provided by the county, they set off from the outskirts of the county, heading north. The morning air was still cool, and the dust rose in soft plumes beneath the heavy, iron-rimmed wheels of the wagons as the caravan began its slow crawl.

The southern regions had recently been plagued by bandits, along with interference from foreign powers, making it nearly impossible to do business down south. The roads there were blocked by chaos and violence.

Only Liulichang in Xinghexian still sent shipments south every month, while most commerce moved north. The caravan couldn’t afford to stop even for a moment. They had left the city at dawn, the sky a pale wash of grey, and had already traveled half a day by the time morning passed. The sun climbed high, baking the road until the heat shimmered over the horizon. When it was finally time for lunch, the group found a shady spot to rest and eat, the horses huffing as they were led to the side.

Eighteen-year-old He Xiang sat beneath a tree, the dry leaves rustling overhead, reaching for the water pouch at his waist. The pouch was new, the leather still stiff and smelling of the tannery, and the water tasted a bit off, though it was drinkable. It wouldn’t make him sick, so he frowned slightly and drank several mouthfuls. The tepid liquid slid down his throat, washing away the grit of the trail.

The caravan issued two large biscuits per day. He Xiang took one, its surface hard and dry, then added the pickled vegetables his mother had made, and ate heartily. The biscuits were cheap and tasteless, but his mother’s pickles made them bearable. The sharp, vinegary tang cut through the blandness of the dough. Just like the water, eating them wouldn’t kill him.

Uncle Zhang from the caravan came over and sat beside him, his joints popping as he lowered himself to the grass, smiling as he watched the boy chew down the biscuit and pickles. “How’s it going? Getting used to it after half a day on the road?”

He Xiang nodded, his jaw working through the tough bread. “It’s okay.”

“You’re so young. How did you end up on a journey like this? It’s dangerous, your mother really let you go out alone?”

He Xiang swallowed and answered calmly, his voice steady despite the fatigue. “My father is seriously ill, and my older brother, the pillar of the family, broke his leg. We need money for treatment. If I make a few trips, I can earn enough for their medical care. My family also arranged a marriage for me. If I return safely, the girl will join our household. If not, my family will give half the promised silver to her family so she can marry someone else, and keep the other half for my mother and family to live on. Either way, it’s not a loss.”

In truth, the girl’s family wanted to trap him into losing his silver, but few girls would suffer under a poor man like him. Agreeing to the marriage was already a favor, regardless of their intentions.

In this era, poor bachelors found it almost impossible to marry.

Uncle Zhang sighed softly, the sound lost in the rustle of the wind.

“Times aren’t easy. Wars everywhere, but our county is relatively safe. Every household has its burdens. When Lin Xianling arrived, she could improve things here, but ultimately, you have to rely on your own effort to survive.”

Luckily, despite Xinghexian being corrupt to the core, a few roots remained clean.

Otherwise, if Lin Xianling’s heart had been cruel, even she might have been punished here.

“Fortunately, Lin Xianling acted swiftly. My mother now receives aid from the Women’s Association and has some light work to earn a small living, enough to hold out until I return… or until she hears the news of my death.” He Xiang’s tone was matter-of-fact, grounded in the harsh reality of their lives.

He Xiang’s mother was a woman skilled only in farm labor. Years of childbirth had left her weak, and she couldn’t do heavy work.

His sister-in-law had to care for the ill and prepare two meals a day, leaving little energy for other work.

Earlier, to pay for his father’s treatment, they sold the family land. He was too young, and even working as a servant for local landlords wasn’t an option.

The Women’s Association taught his mother sewing, allowing her to earn a small living from home. Without this, he wouldn’t even have had a chance to risk his life on the road; the family would have kept him farming or scraping by at the lowest county wages.

Others in the caravan were in similar situations. The lowest wages in the county couldn’t solve their families’ problems, so they worked as escorts. The escort guilds were strict. People like them, lacking strength and skill, were generally rejected. After all, the guilds promised high payouts for dangerous trips. Dozens to hundreds of taels of silver were at stake.

Without some skill, they couldn’t serve as escorts.

Lin Qian’s intent was simply to send more people together for mutual protection. Small bandits wouldn’t dare attack a large group.

Xinghexian lacked manpower, so this was the best they could do.

Recognizing this shortage, after the recent “Xian Huang” controversy, Lin Qian released another hundred accounts.

This time, they were limited to Xinghexian and Yancheng as distribution points.

After the last near-ban of “Xian Huang,” players were desperate, thinking future releases would be delayed for months. But the officials surprised everyone by issuing them in just a few days.

The hashtag #“Xian Huang”AccountRelease# quickly trended, hitting high popularity in under an hour.

"Please, can they stop issuing accounts during my work hours?!!!"

"No warning for the release, this game is awful!"

"God, I didn’t get one, sob sob sob."

"Anyone who got an account, tell me, what god do I need to pray to for better hand speed?"

"Pray to the God of Wealth."

"Those who got accounts are too busy logging in to speak."

"I can’t believe, not yet twenty, and I have to wait another two years."

"My friend is nineteen, got one when it was eighteen+ only, now can’t log in, still envy him!"

"I feel like I have missed millions because of my age."

"Next time, it could be tens of millions."

"What?!"

"A film director got an account, planning to make a movie."

"Moragu?"

"Heavens, entertainment industry enters Xian Huang."

"Impossible for all directors to get an account anyway."

"Accounts are scarce, resale prices are crazy, most places sold out."

"Heard some foreign players plan to change nationality just to play."

"Do you believe foreigners getting Dragon Kingdom citizenship, or that I’m Qin Shi Huang?"

"Getting citizenship is tough but doable. Upstairs, definitely not Qin Shi Huang."

"People selling accounts probably regret it daily."

"Not necessarily, money lets you live freely anywhere."

"True, accounts can be grabbed again."

"You make it sound easy, try getting one for me."

"Don’t underestimate the poor youth, I will get an account eventually!"

In Yancheng, laborers gathered at the city gates, their voices a low drone against the heat.

Brick carriers, wall fillers, dozens at each site. Silver was allocated from the city to hire them for wall repairs.

Yancheng hadn’t been tightly controlled by the court; its walls were built long ago by appointed officials. Now, years later, many sections leaked or collapsed.

Such walls wouldn’t withstand an attack.

Lao Liu wiped sweat from his face with a grimy sleeve and lifted a brick to patch a hole. The rough clay scraped against his palms.

A foreman called for lunch, his voice booming over the clatter of tools, and he went with his son Liu Xiaowu to the rest area to wash up.

After Qianyi Army took over the city, locals had to serve. Though this labor was technically a civic duty, food rations were given. Lao Liu and his son received four shi of rice monthly, enough to feed the family. But working on the walls in summer was unbearably hot and exhausting. Even for corvée, carelessness wasn’t allowed, making it all the more grueling. The sun beat down on their backs, and the dust from the mortar filled their lungs.

The officials supervising them weren’t even claiming kingship yet, but the labor was enforced anyway, which Lao Liu found amusing.

“Father, eat a biscuit.” Liu Xiaowu handed him a biscuit and pickles.

The pickles were fatty and salty, with a little minced meat, the oil staining the paper wrapping.

Repairing walls demanded strength; without fat and salt, they would have no energy, especially in the summer heat.

The women in the household weren’t foolish; they ensured enough food for the men.

Liu Xiaowu munched while chatting. “Father, the north is at war, and we’re fixing the walls here. Do you think the fighting will reach us?”

“Why bother with faraway troubles? Focus on ourselves. Eat well and stay warm, that’s what matters. Soldiers die in wars; it’s none of our concern.”

He scratched his head and wiped grease on the biscuit, ignoring the mess. “Father, what if they break into the city and steal things?”

“Eating like that.” Lao Liu was irritated by his son. “What’s there to steal? Grain is hidden in the mountains, they won’t find it. The mountains are full of miasma; anyone who comes will never return. If the Qianyi Army fails, we’ll hide in the mountains.”

“But our supplies won’t last long. We only have two months of salted food. Once it’s gone, we’ll have to go out again. You can’t survive in the mountains. The damp alone will make us sick.”

“Then we wait for death! If you can’t live, you die!” Lao Liu smacked his son’s head and went back to his own meal, done speaking.

He had lived a long life without encountering much warfare.

Border conflicts were far away, mostly in Jiangcheng, unrelated to Yancheng.

With his age and lack of experience, he could only think to hide, and if hiding failed, pray. Fate would decide.

His son’s questions only annoyed him. He wasn’t a great man, but not a bad one either, always hoping for the best.

Even the worst people could only do so much damage, mostly stealing from civilians.

It had little to do with his family, and they had no daughters.

Eventually, cruel leaders would be replaced. He, a commoner, had no power, only farming and waiting for peace under a wise ruler.

He remained a half-farmer, half-fisherman of Yancheng.

Though Liu Xiaowu feared war, he feared his father more, and dared not ask further.

Chapter Text

After Lin Qian opened another hundred player accounts, probably fearing they would die in battle, over sixty of them chose to settle in Xinghexian. The town was alive with the influx, the streets echoing with the distinct accents of newcomers who wandered the stalls with wide, curious eyes.

Instead of grinding for money in-game, they converted funds through the game bank, started streaming directly, and then used their streaming income to buy more game currency. With that, they either bought a house in the game or ran a small business to support themselves. Digital interfaces flickered in the corners of their vision as they balanced their accounts.

The job market was tight now. Even college graduates had a hard time finding work, so Lin Qian’s approach actually helped hundreds of streamers survive and technically boosted employment. It was a strange, modern solution in a world of ancient stone and silk.

Among this hundred, only one player died immediately after being bitten by a venomous snake in Yancheng and joined the Cry Cry Army. The player’s avatar had barely stepped into the tall grass when the serpent struck, its fangs sinking into his ankle before he vanished in a flash of white light. The rest made it into the city without incident.

In Xinghexian, a commercial hub had already formed around Manman Pastry Shop. The air there was thick with the scent of caramelized sugar and fresh dough.

This area mainly sold pastries and drinks. Nearby, Furong Street specialized in fabrics, jewelry, and cosmetics, where colorful silks hung in the sun. Next to that, the Foot Spa Street catered to leisure and entertainment, the sound of rhythmic splashing and relaxed chatter drifting from the doorways. In the corner of Zhiyuan Bar next to Manman Pastry Shop, fitness coach Xiao Zi lifted her glass. The amber liquid sloshed against the side as she called to the bartender, “Another cup of Nu’erhong!”

Bartender Xiao Xia frowned, her hand steady as she held a jar of osmanthus wine. She placed it down carefully and said, “That’s enough. You’ve had a lot already. Drinking too much can really hurt your health.”

“I don’t care!” Xiao Zi whined. Her voice was muffled as she slumped against the wooden counter.

The game made her feel slightly nearsighted, and her vision was a little blurry, but her mind was clear. Drinking here didn’t feel like real alcohol at all; there was no burn, only the flavor of fermented grain.

She clenched her teeth, staring at the vertical warning in her sight, 【Drinking harms the body! Please drink responsibly! Minors should not drink!】 She groaned, “Why does everyone else’s shop make money, and mine is still losing? I might as well give free trial classes, why won’t anyone come!”

She buried her head in her hands, frustrated. Xiao Zi’s shoulders shook with a long, heavy sigh.

Xiao Zi had logged in earlier than most. In the real world, she was a fitness coach. Fitness wasn’t popular in her hometown, she had few students, and her income was low with no room for growth. After snagging a game account, she started streaming in Xinghexian. With her initial funds, she bought a shop with a backyard. She hired people to renovate, set up punching bags that hung from sturdy beams, and make mats out of woven straw.

At first, teaching boxing or yoga didn’t work. The local women only stared at her with confusion.

Now she taught fitness. Simple equipment like barbells was ready, yet no one signed up for lessons. The heavy iron weights sat gathering dust in the corner of her gym. She had promoted the classes even in nearby villages, but no women came. Some men wanted to train their muscles and asked to join. She even considered taking on female apprentices and rejected men because co-ed classes were inconvenient.

“Women from Zhao prefer slender figures. They’re not used to bulky muscles yet. It’s not like the modern world.” The bartender poured the drink Xiao Zi ordered and placed it in front of her. The liquid rippled in the cup.

“Anyway, you can make money streaming, right? No loss. You could try teaching dance or aerobics; someone would show up.”

Xiao Zi sighed. Her breath smelled faintly of wine. “I’m a sports student, not an arts student. How could I teach dance? Aerobics isn’t hard, but results aren’t instant. People won’t pay for it. Even if I earn from streaming, I can’t run a business at a loss, right?”

The bar was quiet; the bartender sat down on a high stool. “Then what? Stop doing it? Learn from those travel vloggers? Zhao is huge enough for a lifetime of opportunity.”

“Not yet, it’s dangerous outside. Thieves and bandits; I could die. I quit my real job; I have to keep my livelihood first.”

“You always make excuses and have no courage. That’s how you never get rich.”

Xiao Zi pursed her lips and glared at her.

Just then, shop owner Zhang Zhiyuan ran down from upstairs, his boots thudding on the wooden steps. “Hey, hey, hey! Something is happening at the pastry shop!”

Half the customers left at once. Gossip always draws people in like a moth to a flame.

Xiao Zi, tipsy, also stood up. Her world tilted slightly as she balanced herself.

“Don’t go, you’re drunk. If someone pushes you, your health bar could drop to zero,” the bartender warned.

Xiao Zi shook her head. “Don’t underestimate me. My stats are maxed in strength and stamina. Besides, Miss Manman is so cute and her pastries are amazing. If anything happens, I won’t be able to eat them anymore!”

After settling the bill, she left Zhiyuan Bar. Across the street, Manman Pastry Shop was indeed surrounded by a crowd. The people were packed tight, their voices a low, buzzing hum.

Using her strength, Xiao Zi squeezed through the people. She used her elbows to find gaps in the wall of bodies.

“Ah, don’t push!”

“Annoying!”

“What are you pushing for!”

Shoving and shoving sounds erupted through the crowd as she forced her way to the front.

Inside, some customers were still eating, sitting in place and watching the scene unfold over their plates.

Yang Ma and Da Gou protected a young girl behind them. In front was a man in his forties with an elderly companion, speaking loudly. It looked like a fight might break out, but it was more bark than bite. The air in the shop was thick with tension.

The shouting was just to argue for their point.

Xiao Zi stayed at the door, hands on her hips, enjoying the gossip.

Looking closely, she recognized Wang Qiaoqiao, who had started at Manman Pastry Shop a few months ago. Now around fifteen, her family had improved financially and she wasn’t as skinny as before. Her cheeks had filled out, taking on a healthy glow.

The few extra pounds were hard-earned.

The man across from Da Gou said, “I’m her father. Don’t I have more right to talk to her? Why are you treating me like a wolf? She must’ve learned bad habits from her mother!”

Xiao Zi knew Wang Qiaoqiao’s story from watching Lu Manman’s streams.

Qiaoqiao’s mother, Li Shi, formerly Li Juan, had suffered domestic abuse. Her husband had an affair, she sued, and Lin Xianling ruled the divorce fairly.

Because of this fair judgment, in this ancient setting, it made sense that women in the county admired Lin Qian. That became the first reason women loved her so much. Divorces and domestic abuse cases were now under the Women’s Association. Only unresolved family conflicts came to Lin Qian.

Some spectators knew Wang’s father was unreasonable, some didn’t. Most sided with the child. Their murmurs filled the small shop.

Yang Ma said, “I’m not stopping you from seeing your daughter, but she’s working for our master now. We aren’t back yet. Don’t interfere. Talk later when shifts change, or I can’t explain it.”

In Lu Manman’s shop, this was common. Workers occasionally saved pastries for family or chatted for a few minutes, which was tacitly allowed.

Yang Ma used work as an excuse to stall until Li Shi returned.

Wang Da pointed a finger, looking arrogant; it was like he was a warlord collecting tribute. He sneered at the people blocking his way.

“I tell you, she’s my daughter. I’m deciding for her now. She won’t work for you anymore. Is that clear?”

“Why are you deciding for me? My mother divorced you. I live with her now, not you!” Wang Qiaoqiao stood her ground. Her voice trembled, but she didn't step back.

“Nonsense! How can you deny me as your father?”

The girl, inexperienced, was intimidated and teary. “Lin Xianling judged it. I won’t belong to you anymore!”

Spectators unfamiliar with Qiaoqiao’s story perked up at the mention of Lin Xianling.

“Is that our Lin Xianling?”

“Who else could it be?”

“What’s going on? Isn’t this a family matter?”

Someone explained the previous events between the Wang family and Li Shi in a low, hurried whisper.

A man sighed, “Times have changed. Women can’t be beaten. How many divorces has the county had this year?”

“My wife now shakes tea at a shop, a full employee, earning more than my minimum wage. My mother doesn’t dare order her around. Household chores fall on my mother, and she just helps a little.”

A woman said, “It should be this way. We can’t do all the work ourselves.”

“But he’s still the father, paying child support. Meeting him shouldn’t be scary. People might think they’re enemies and make a fuss.”

“Not necessarily. Bad men are often abandoned by wives and daughters.”

“He has a family but messes with a widow outside. Shameless! Better they left him.”

“Exactly. How much property does he have? Still imagining a virtuous wife at home and lovers outside?”

“You men are never satisfied.”

“You can’t blame all men,” someone said.

“Right, some couldn’t marry before, now they can. If you get a wife, you won’t treat her badly.”

“If my husband had an affair, I’d divorce him, take my son, and never let him see him. Then he’d know my wrath.”

“Interesting, some always imagine the worst.”

“Hmph. Women thinking this way is fine. It’s just that you men, you don’t learn the good things but the bad ones, and you’ll end up like, like Wang Da.”

Chapter Text

When Yang Ma heard that Wang Da intended to help his daughter quit, alarm bells went off in her mind. The thought was a sharp, ringing intrusion over the usual clatter of the shop. She worried Wang Da might be planning to sell his daughter. The girl was young and hardworking, a valuable asset to a man with no conscience.

She hurriedly said, “That won’t do. Even if you’re not working here anymore, we have rules. If the master needs you, you’ll have to work another half month before leaving. If the master doesn’t, then you can leave immediately. It all depends on the master’s will. You can’t just walk off whenever you feel like it. There has to be some order.”

Someone outside, watching the commotion through the wide glass windows, chimed in, “That’s right. My wife quit her bubble tea shop job the same way. There, they demand even more. If the boss can’t find someone, she would have to work an extra month before leaving.”

“Such a good job, and it’s barely minimum wage. Who would want to leave? How could they fail to find anyone? There are plenty at the shelter who still can’t get formal work.” The voices from the street were a low, judgmental hum, filtering in with the heat.

“Who gave you the right to decide whether I stay or not?!” Wang Qiaoqiao snapped, tears streaming down her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breath came in short, jagged gasps.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” Yang Ma said, quickly wiping her tears with the corner of her apron. The fabric was rough but the gesture was kind.

Wang Da grew impatient. His face twisted into a scowl as he looked around the polished interior of the pastry shop. “Call your master quickly. I will take her home myself. She can rest for a couple of days, can’t she?”

Yang Ma pursed her lips and waved another shop hand over. The young man moved quickly, dodging around a stack of flour sacks.

They approached, and Yang Ma whispered, “Go to Li’s tofu shop and find Li Juan, Qiaoqiao’s mother. Tell her the father’s come looking for the child. Check the shop first, then over at Manman’s. Call out a couple of times and see if she’s home.”

They nodded and hurried off, their footsteps thudding against the wooden floorboards as they dashed out the back.

It was supposed to be a simple task, but seeing Yang Ma talk with the hand for a while, Wang Da sensed something was off. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, heavy and suspicious.

He had come with Wang Laotou, Wang Qiaoqiao’s grandfather. The old man stood hunched, his hands tucked into his sleeves, watching the exchange with a calculating gaze.

Fearing that if they went to call Li’s family, they might not be able to take Qiaoqiao with them, Wang Da said, “We will take her first. I’m her father anyway, if something happens it’s not on you.”

With that, he tried to grab her. His hand shot out, reaching for her slender arm.

Only the big dog remained inside the shop, and though Yang Ma tried to stop him, she couldn’t. The dog let out a low, vibrating growl that echoed in the small space.

Onlookers started shouting, “What’s going on?”

“Look at that, they actually think they’re abducting the girl. Can’t believe he’s supposed to be her father.”

“What? Is he trying to sell his daughter?”

“It’s a sin, throwing herself into that family.”

Despite the criticism, the crowd saw it as a family matter and didn’t want to get involved. After all, who could stop a father from taking his daughter home? The invisible walls of tradition kept them rooted to the spot.

Wang Qiaoqiao’s wrists were red from being dragged, the skin chafed and angry. She was shouting, “I won’t go back with you! I won’t! You’re not my father!”

Just as the standoff escalated, a seven-foot-tall woman in male clothing stepped from the crowd. Her presence was sudden and imposing. She looked slim but, with one hand, casually flipped Wang Da over her shoulder. It was a fluid, effortless motion.

Before he could react, Wang Da landed upside down on the ground. The impact was a dull, heavy thud that sent a puff of dust into the air.

“Ow!”

The crowd gasped, cheered, and shouted in surprise. The Manman’s Pastry Shop instantly became the center of attention.

“Impressive!”

“What a light touch, he hit the ground immediately!”

“Who’s that girl?”

“What happened? I didn’t even see clearly, and he just fell.”

“I know her. She’s a local fitness instructor, obsessed with opening a gym just for female students.”

“Whoa, with that skill and agility, why only teach women and not men?”

“Exactly, women can’t defend the country. Men go to war, so why teach women?”

“What? Who says women can’t learn martial arts?”

“Man, I could never do that with these old bones. If she really taught, I would bring my daughter to her tomorrow!”

“Wow, such skill. Didn’t expect Xinghexian has a master like her.”

“Just a parlor trick. With her size, she would lose to someone bigger without clever technique.”

Wang Da tried to get up, his limbs flailing, but Xiao Zi stepped on him. Her boot was firm against his chest. “Behave yourself!”

Wang Laotou tried to intervene, his gnarled hand reaching out, but Xiao Zi’s cold glare stopped him. Her eyes were sharp and unforgiving.

“You, you! Do you even reason?” Wang Laotou pointed, realizing he couldn’t win. His finger shook with indignation.

“Hmph,” Xiao Zi snorted. “You know about reasoning now? Why weren’t you reasonable before? The girl doesn’t want to go. Why drag her?”

As the tension mounted, someone from the crowd shouted, “The patrol officers are here!”

“Clear the way! Move aside! What are you blocking the door for?”

Coincidentally, Wang Han and Liu Ban’er had returned from the village, enjoying light duty when assigned to patrol here. The afternoon sun caught the polished metal of their gear.

Locals often treated patrol officers with respect, offering them food from the street stalls. The officers would politely decline at first, then accept anyway, so these assignments were enjoyable, especially in cooler weather. The air was beginning to lose its midday bite.

“What’s happening?” Wang Han asked, striding in with authority.

The two men wore swords at their waists, the leather scabbards creaking with every step. Wang Laotou shrank back instinctively, his shoulders bunching toward his ears.

Seeing the officers, Yang Ma quickly poured two cups of red jujube tea. The steam rose in fragrant curls from the ceramic cups.

Wang Han and Liu Ban’er didn’t say much but assessed the situation. Their eyes moved over the pinned man, the defiant girl, and the tall woman standing guard.

Meanwhile, the shop hand ran over to Li’s tofu shop, calling, “Sister Li! Sister Li!”

Li Shi, still serving tofu to customers, heard the familiar voice. She was holding a wooden ladle, the white liquid dripping back into the vat.

Although hot tofu wasn’t popular in this weather, adding mint water made it refreshingly sweet; it was perfect after hard work. Cheaper than bubble tea, too. The scent of fresh beans and cooling mint filled the small shop.

Thinking she had just been busy, Li Shi didn’t immediately recognize the voice.

“Juan’er, someone’s calling you,” her mother said from outside, noticing the commotion. The older woman was leaning against the doorframe.

Li Juan set down the bowl, wiped her hands on a damp cloth, and stepped out. She recognized the shop hand from Manman’s Pastry Shop and smiled. “What’s up, Dazhu?”

Dazhu looked anxious. His face was slick with sweat. “Sister Li, go check it out. Your ex-husband is at the shop, demanding to take Qiaoqiao. He’s gone mad. You can’t stop him alone.”

Li Juan’s expression went pale. The color drained from her lips in an instant.

Her mother comforted her, “Don’t worry. Take your elder brother with you.”

“Mother, I knew it. As long as I live, he’ll keep haunting me forever!” Li Juan cried. Her voice was thin and broken.

Her mother wiped her tears and sent her daughter-in-law to call Li Juan’s brother, Li Dou.

Li Dou was in the backyard, using a donkey to grind tofu. The rhythmic sound of the millstones was a steady drone in the quiet afternoon. White curds fell into the bucket from the grooves of the mill, looking like thick, wet snow.

His sister-in-law rushed in. “Stop the mill! Your niece is being harassed.”

Li Dou had only one sister. He set down the whip. “Who’s bullying her? Let me see.”

Li Juan’s sister-in-law sighed. “Her own father, your former brother-in-law. He’s causing a scene at the pastry shop. Your sister panicked. Take her and see what’s happening. Don’t rush, and ask clearly before doing anything. Don’t throw punches; you can’t afford the damage.”

“And you’re not afraid I’ll get hit?” Li Dou remarked. He brushed the flour from his arms.

She patted him on the shoulder, urging him to go.

Li Juan had stayed with her family in a small courtyard, so her relationship with her sister-in-law had been strained. The narrow space had bred small resentments. After moving out, things had improved. The Li family knew that no matter the internal conflicts, they stayed united in public.

The siblings headed toward Manman’s Pastry Shop, their footsteps quick on the dusty road.

On the way, they ran into Zhao Er, Li Juan’s neighbor, who was holding a blueprint and talking to Qin Qing from the office. The paper rattled in the breeze.

They were in a rush, so they barely responded to Zhao Er’s greeting. He realized something was up.

Dazhu followed behind, eager to return to the master. Zhao Er briefly stopped him, and Dazhu explained in a few hurried words, then broke free to run.

Qin Qing, overhearing phrases like “assaulted Li Shi’s husband” and “taking the daughter to sell,” knew she had to intervene. Her duty as a streamer and a member of the yamen flared within her.

She had purchased the courtyard to renovate, hiring Zhao Er, a carpenter, who had just left his uncle’s work to take her project. They had been discussing the blueprint when this commotion happened. The ink on the drawing was still fresh.

“This is my responsibility. I will check it out. Zhao Er, continue ordering the materials for now.”

“Miss Qing, if it’s urgent, I’ll come along. Li Juan lives across from me, so I can help too.”

“Not urgent, but come along. We will go together.”

Meanwhile, Li Shi and her brother arrived at the pastry shop.

“You bastard!” Li Juan’s temples throbbed as she saw Wang Da in the hall. The veins stood out against her skin. She balled her hands into fists, ready to strike.

Seeing this, Xiao Zi pulled Wang Qiaoqiao aside to stand safely out of the way. She kept her body between the girl and the brewing storm.

Chapter Text

Wang Qiaoqiao was still crying, her small shoulders shaking with every sob, and when she saw her mother rush forward like a desperate wind, fear gripped her heart. It wasn't fear that her father might get hurt, but worry that her mother would be beaten by him. The earlier scene of her father grabbing her mother flashed in her mind again and again, the memory vivid and terrifying as a nightmare in the daylight.

Wang Da never expected Li Shi to charge at him like that. He froze, his eyes wide with shock, and her scratches left several marks on his face. These were angry red lines that stung and throbbed before he could even react. By the time he wanted to strike back, his fist clenching in fury, Wang Han and Liu Ban had already blocked him. They stood firm, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

At that moment, Qin Qing and Zhao Er had arrived. Dazhu, one of the shop assistants, had also come back, his face flushed from running since he couldn’t find his boss, Lu Manman.

Wang Han was already shouting at everyone, his voice booming through the sweet-scented air of the shop, “What do you think you’re doing! Do you want the shop to run? People are trying to do business here, and you’re yelling and fighting. How’s anyone supposed to work like this?”

Seeing Qin Qing approach, the two greeted her respectfully, their postures straightening instantly.

By rank, Qin Qing outranked them. Her abilities were more than enough; she could calculate a month’s accounts in a single day using her computer, so everyone respected her. The digital humming of her talent was something the locals didn't fully understand, but they certainly feared her efficiency.

Once Qin Qing understood the situation, her eyes narrowing as she listened, she realized what had happened.

Wang Da, after marrying Widow Xu, now had her pregnant. Originally, Wang Da and Li Shi already had two daughters. After their separation, he had to pay monthly support and also raise Widow Xu’s son. Naturally, he was displeased, the weight of the silver a constant irritation to him.

Now, with Xu Shi expecting again, Wang Da assumed it would be a son. A son meant he would have a male heir, so he thought only of his future child. But Xu Shi’s older child, the stepchild, was still part of the household. Even if he wanted the boy out, now wasn't the time to act.

So Wang Da and his family came up with a plan. The only solution they could think of was to marry off Wang Qiaoqiao early. Once she was married, they could send Wang Lianlian next and no longer pay support. Once the daughters left, their responsibilities would end.

However, the two daughters had grown up in the Wang household. The family also hoped to recover some money from them, viewing them as assets to be liquidated. Coincidentally, the county had recently organized guards to protect merchant caravans. The county offered five taels of silver per trip, with fifty taels for burial and condolence if the guard didn’t return.

Many poor families saw the marriage money as a chance to survive and sent their daughters.

The arrangement was simple. If the man returned alive, the bride’s family got one tael as a betrothal gift. If he didn't, the bride’s family got half the burial money, the bride remained loyal for three years, and afterward, she could remarry freely. It had become a trend in the county. Though some called it taking advantage of death, poor families kept doing it, driven by the hunger in their bellies.

Those men were often impoverished themselves, escorting merchants out of necessity, so having a woman willing to marry was already good luck.

The family Wang Qiaoqiao was promised to was particularly poor. Qin Qing had to press Wang Da, her gaze sharp and unrelenting, before he admitted the truth.

The prospective groom’s family had a sick father, a paralyzed older brother at home, a mother with minor ailments, and only light household work for the women. Only one young adult was available, doing dangerous county work no one else wanted. Most importantly, the family had no land. Even if the man survived, five or ten taels couldn't buy any property after household expenses.

It was clear that marrying Qiaoqiao into this family meant a hard life, a future filled with labor and little hope.

As a daughter-in-law, she might have to care for a paralyzed father-in-law. With the whole family struggling, raising children later would be even harder. This could've been discussed with Li Juan since the child belonged to both parties.

Though Lin Xianling had already fixed the child’s marriage in court, Li Juan’s objections were rooted in fairness.

After all, Wang Da was Qiaoqiao and Lianlian’s father. Though he wasn't kind and sometimes beat them, blood was thicker than water. If he simply wanted to avoid support payments and marry his daughters off to poor families, a decent match would've been acceptable. But Wang Da said nothing and intended to force his daughters into hardship. Li Juan couldn't accept that.

Once the situation was explained, Li Juan scolded Wang Da and Wang Laohan for fifteen minutes until her mouth was dry and her voice was a raspy whisper. Only after Yang Ma brought her tea did she stop.

When Qin Qing and others finished their scolding, she said, “In my opinion, the fault lies with the Wang family. Lin Xianling already had you sign the papers. The proof is there. You had no right to meddle in Wang Qiaoqiao’s marriage.”

Wang Da and Wang Laohan didn't dare reply in front of Qin Qing, their heads bowed as they stood in the middle of the shop.

“Here is what will happen: Wang Da will accompany Li Dajie to return the money and cancel the marriage. The merchant caravan is still out, so no one is being taken advantage of. Whether the man returns or not, a marriage without parental consent is completely invalid!”

Hearing this, Li Juan finally cried. The tension broke, and the tears fell freely now, soaking her collar.

She had vented her anger earlier but hadn't allowed herself to cry until now.

Wang Da opened his mouth, intending to argue—after all, this was his own daughter. How could he not have a say in her marriage?

But Qin Qing shot him a glare, a cold look that promised consequences, and he didn't dare utter a word.

She continued, “I will handle this. Wang Qiaoqiao will come with me to the Women’s Association to explain everything. I and the association will continue to oversee the matter. If I hear you try to marry her or Lianlian off without the mother consent, just report to Lin Xianling alone!”

The words “Lin Xianling” burned Wang Da’s mouth and stung his backside. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

After all, he had already been punished by Lin Xianling before, nearly beaten to death for defiance.

Lin Xianling was fair, but only to obedient citizens. Rebels faced every torture imaginable.

With the matter resolved, Wang Da and Wang Laohan left the Manman Pastry Shop under Wang Han and Liu Ban’s watch, their steps heavy and defeated. Li Juan wanted to kneel before Qin Qing with her daughter, her knees hitting the floor, but Qin Qing managed to stop them and reminded them again before leaving.

The crowd, finding no more spectacle, gradually dispersed, their whispers fading as they moved back onto the street.

Lu Manman had just bought a new house and had been busy with renovations, leaving little time for livestreams. She only knew about the shop incident when someone reminded her later that evening.

After finishing her errands, she logged on in the evening and went to the shop to speak with Wang Qiaoqiao about the situation, her presence a calming influence.

At the end of the day, she kept the staff an extra minute, the orange glow of the sunset spilling through the windows.

“I’ve heard about Qiaoqiao’s family situation today. You all did very well. We’re colleagues, so we help each other out. From now on, if any of you have troubles, the others will help. As a reward, this month I’m giving everyone a ten percent raise!”

The staff erupted into applause, the sound cheerful and bright in the quiet shop.

Dazhu didn't know what ten percent meant and asked Dagou to calculate, scratching his head in confusion.

Dagou didn't know either, only saying, “It’s more than last month, that’s enough.”

Dazhu shrugged and continued applauding.

Meanwhile, after Gui Hua and Chu Xuan had been on the run for two days, the Emperor finally learned that Gui Hua was a woman and that he had been deceived. The news was a cold spark in the dark halls of the palace.

Zhou Chenli wasn't concerned about the deception itself; he cared about control. He thought the officials had lied to him because they disrespected him as Emperor, falsely claiming victories despite real defeats. Rewards went out piece by piece while the kingdom lost large territories. They were mocking him!

That’s why Zhou Chenli had once told Gui Hua that he hated deception.

In truth, Gui Hua had been used by him, though her gender was different. Her being female was actually advantageous. A woman was easier to bind—marry her and have a child, and she would be loyal.

As Emperor, even giving her a concubine title was sufficient. So when he discovered Gui Hua’s gender and that she had escaped, Zhou Chenli raged but did not kill her. He merely ordered her captured alive, the command echoing through the throne room.

The wanted notice traveled south and fell into Lin Qian’s hands within half a month. The paper was crinkled, the ink dark and official. Along with it came news that her teacher, Chu Xiu, had been executed for involvement in rebellion.

The summer heat, combined with the busy schedule, left Lin Qian even more anxious. She lost her appetite that day, only eating a few bites of rice, and even developed a fever in the evening. Her skin felt hot to the touch, and her eyes were glassy.

Her godmother, Madam Zou, worried greatly, and the household grew restless.

The doctor diagnosed it as stress and heat imbalance from summer combined with consuming too much ice, weakening her spleen and stomach. The internal heat surfaced as fever. Simply put, she had eaten too much ice, felt unhappy, and her body reacted.

Summer was a season of vitality, yet it had taken its toll on her. After only two days of illness, Lin Qian recovered with the prescribed medicine—a bitter, dark brew—and a couple of long sleeps.

Once well, Madam Zou controlled her diet, and for the rest of the summer she only ate ice twice.

The ice for Xinghexian came directly from Xingpingxian. Lin Qian could easily acquire it, with the court providing a small seasonal allowance for ice in summer and firewood in winter for officials. The blocks of ice sat in the cellar, chilling the air and melting slowly into the dark ground.

===

So, a new character shows up in this chapter: Mama Zou or Madam Zou. She's referred to as a 'godmother.' We already have Madam Qiu, who's the 'Nanny.' The author used different Chinese words for them, so now I'm not sure if Mama Zou is supposed to be a new character altogether, or if she's just taking over Madam Qiu's role in the story.

Chapter Text

Summer had arrived in full force, and the surrounding mountains were alive with the relentless, sawing cries of cicadas. It was a sound that seemed to vibrate in the very heat of the air, thickening it until the atmosphere felt heavy and slow.

That afternoon, Lin Qian finished handling the day’s affairs at the yamen earlier than usual and returned home. With ice blocks laid out in her room, their cold sweat beading on the brass containers in the dim light, she reclined on a bamboo divan to enjoy the fragile, stolen coolness. The bamboo felt smooth and chilly against her skin. An old palm leaf fan, used since last autumn, had seen countless swats at mosquitoes and was now frayed and tattered at the edges. Its ribs showed through like bones, the dried fibers clicking softly as she moved it.

Jiaoyue, seeing the fan, walked over and laughed softly. She leaned against the doorframe, her expression light. “A single fan, and it's really served its purpose.”

Lin Qian had her eyes closed, but at the sound of her voice, she squinted one eye open. A sliver of the sun drenched courtyard was visible through her lashes, the light so bright it felt solid and blinding.

“I’m not some high official or greedy minister,” she said, her voice lazy with the heat. “There's no extra profit to be had, so of course I have to save every penny.”

Although Lin Qian held a portion of the profits from Liuli Workshop and Furong Street, she didn't dare spend recklessly. The silver felt heavy with responsibility. To her, it was a war chest, not a treasury.

Chaos was everywhere now, and she couldn't hope the crumbling central government would fund her local military needs. In Xinghexian’s current state, if enemy forces ever breached the city walls, looting and slaughter wouldn't be rare occurrences but certainties. The thought was a constant, cold pressure behind her sternum, a weight that never quite lifted.

So whether it was for training soldiers, forging better weapons, or maintaining supply carriages, money would always be required. This was a constant, gnawing anxiety that lived in the back of her mind like a second pulse.

Knowing this, she couldn't even bring herself to touch her stored silver for personal comforts. The worry often sat like a stone in her gut, making even the iced air feel insufficient against the internal heat of her stress.

“Sit here. Let us chat a bit,” Lin Qian said. She patted the tall stool next to the divan with her tattered fan, inviting Jiaoyue over.

There wasn't much else to do for entertainment in the heavy afternoon, and she genuinely wanted the company. She needed a voice to pull her from the spiral of logistics and dread that threatened to overwhelm her silence.

Jiaoyue didn't sit, instead asking, “Shall I get you something to eat? You were ill the other day, and Mama Zou felt so worried, saying you looked terribly weak. It's been hot these past two days, and you've been refusing to eat much. Since you have the leisure today, shall I have the kitchen make some of those pastries? The yam ones you mentioned last time, should I have them prepared for you?”

“Don't bother, it's almost mealtime anyway,” Lin Qian replied, waving the fan limply. She didn't feel particularly exhausted; it was mostly Mama Zou imagining her as frail. It was a motherly habit that Lin Qian couldn't quite discourage.

Given how important her teacher had been to the original owner, and since Lin Qian had recently been sick right after the news of his death, Mama Zou naturally worried. She thought Lin Qian must be physically and mentally drained from grief.

Seeing her like this, everyone assumed she was thinner and more worn. To them, she appeared as a silhouette of sorrow.

In reality, the summer heat made people sweat profusely, which naturally reduced dampness in the body and made them appear leaner. It was a simple, physiological seasonal change, nothing more.

As they spoke, an elderly servant suddenly appeared at the doorway. His steps were silent on the polished wood as he entered, delivering a folded visiting card on a small lacquer tray.

Seeing the servant holding the formal card, Lin Qian first thought it might be from one of her students or a local merchant with some tedious petition to present.

But it was Chu Xuan’s card.

Of course, it didn't blatantly say “Old Friend Chu Xuan.” The surface script was innocuous and plain. The true message was disguised, showing only carefully chosen fragments of content from their previous letters. It showed a shared phrase about winter plum blossoms surviving the frost. There was a particular, looping turn of calligraphy on the character for “heart" (心). This was a code meant for her eyes only. The recognition was instantaneous; it was like a key fitting a lock she had forgotten she owned.

Lin Qian had been keeping up with livestreams lately, though she had missed many while ill. She was most concerned about the deteriorating situation in Yancheng. A few days ago, the livestream feeds had already reported a formal declaration of war.

The court’s main forces were occupied with quelling the rebel Prince Li, while Jiangcheng had fallen to the Southern Kingdom. The invaders were now occasionally provoking Yancheng, testing its walls like wolves circling a wounded stag.

Recently, a strategist streamer named Fangzhou had secured an account and gone to Yancheng, offering many bold, anachronistic battle plans. The local players there were now hyped for a fight. Their chats were filled with military jargon and reckless bravado, as they treated it like the ultimate raid.

Lin Qian didn't know what the players thought exactly; perhaps it was some ingrained Dragon Kingdom cultural trait. Usually cautious and survival focused, they would suddenly get electrified at the mention of war. They were eager not to be left out of what they saw as a grand, historical record; it was a chance to “change the timeline.”

Only one player seemed indifferent, probably already satisfied with wealth in real life and ready to risk “dying” spectacularly in game for the views.

Most players heading to Yancheng were motivated by the thrill of adventure and content. This made them paradoxically braver than ordinary people in the face of pixelated death. They treated mortality as a temporary debuff.

Because the situation in Yancheng was so urgent and demanded strategic thought, Lin Qian had somewhat neglected following Chu Xuan’s recent movements in detail. She had assumed that Gui Hua’s notorious cunning would see them through.

After all, Chu Xuan had left the capital with Gui Hua. Considering Gui Hua’s survival skills, Lin Qian had assumed nothing major would happen to them on the road. Chu Xuan was not personally wanted by the authorities, and aside from the small circle of livestream viewers and the shadowy patron, no one knew they had left together.

Along the way, according to the snippets she had caught, Gui Hua had disguised them both. She had changed their hairstyles and kept a scrupulously low profile, allowing them to travel safely all the way to the borders of Xinghexian. It was a competent, clean extraction.

After seeing the coded visiting card, Lin Qian’s breath hitched. It was a sudden, sharp intake that made Jiaoyue look up in concern. The languid heat was gone, burned away by a surge of adrenaline. She quickly instructed the servant to bring the guests in immediately. Her voice was crisp and commanding.

Jiaoyue, curious, helped Lin Qian into a light linen robe over her sleeveless inner outfit and asked, “What is the matter? Who is it?”

“My teacher’s daughter,” Lin Qian explained briefly. Her voice dropped lower and softer than she intended, as if the name itself was a secret to be guarded.

Jiaoyue and Xiuying had long accompanied her and didn't need to be kept from secrets. There was no one else in the room to overhear.

At Lin Qian’s words, Jiaoyue’s easy smile faded into immediate, understanding seriousness. The name explained everything; the recent illness, the quiet grief, and the faraway look.

Since she expected only women visitors, Lin Qian had been wearing a comfortable, sleeveless inner outfit of plain cotton. She casually threw on the light robe, the fabric whispering against her skin. With the ice in the room, it wasn't hot, but the robe felt necessary. It was a thin layer of formality and protection between her private, unprepared self and the outside world about to crash in.

In the side hall of the Lin Residence, two cups of tea sat untouched on a low sandalwood table. Their steam rose in frail, ghostly curls that quickly vanished in the oppressive summer heat.

Gui Hua pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her temples and the back of her neck, glancing at the pale, utterly still form of Chu Xuan beside her. The girl was a statue of tension, her spine rigid against the wooden chair. “Are you sure she will understand what you wrote on that card?” she whispered. The thrill of the streaming event, the viewer count was already spiking, warred with practical nerves. If this failed, it would be a very public, very humiliating failure.

Chu Xuan’s jaw was clenched so tight it ached. Her hands, hidden in the folds of her travel worn skirt, were fists. Her nails bit into her palms. “You said you knew Yurui,” she said, her voice a thin, controlled wire of sound. “Is this really what it means to know someone?” The question was laced with weeks of bottled up frustration and a fresh, stinging betrayal. Gui Hua’s lie; a lie of omission, a lie of convenient association; had fueled their journey, but it had also left Chu Xuan feeling manipulated. Her hope had been leveraged by a stranger’s game. Now, at the moment of truth, that deception felt like a chasm opening at her feet.

Though Chu Xuan had been married out and her family was now destroyed, Lin Qian was her father’s formal student. Their names were linked in court records and scholarly networks. If anyone noticed her here, reporting it could place Lin Qian in immediate, mortal danger. Lin Qian’s greatest political backer had been her high ranking teacher. Now that support was gone, severed by the executioner’s blade. Any trouble would be irreversible under the current emperor, who had shown no loyalty to past ties or mentors, only a ruthless calculus of power.

Besides, Chu Xuan had fled her wedding home in the dead of night to come here. It was hardly a respectable act that would garner sympathy from other officials. So her visit had to be anonymous. It was a ghost’s errand, without fanfare or witnesses.

Originally, Gui Hua’s plan had been simple, almost laughably so. She knew of Lin Qian, so she would present the card as an old acquaintance and bring Chu Xuan along as a “sister.”

But things were not that simple. Gui Hua’s “knowing Lin Qian” meant she knew of Lin Qian from streams, but Lin Qian didn't know her. The entire foundation of their journey was a one sided fiction. Chu Xuan felt her stomach twist with a cold, sharp spear of fear, cutting through the frustration. "What if she turns us away? What if she sees me as nothing but trouble?" The thought was a chilling void. Luckily, Gui Hua was not malicious; if she had wanted to kidnap or harm her, she could have easily done so long ago by using the bait of Lin Yurui’s name. This was the only thread of trust left, and it was frayed nearly to breaking.

Gui Hua, catching the accusation in Chu Xuan’s tone, stood near the hall’s entrance. She offered a sheepish smile and a clasped hand salute toward her; it was a silent, performative plea for her not to take the deception personally. It was for the stream, for the story. Chu Xuan looked away, the gesture only deepening her sense of isolation. She was alone in her fear, while Gui Hua was busy narrating it.

Soon, a servant reappeared, bowing low, and escorted the pair through an inner moon gate. They moved away from the formal reception halls and toward the more intimate, private quarters of the residence. Lin Qian had quickly had them invited in, forgoing protocol for secrecy and speed. It was a significant gesture that could mean trust, urgency, or both.

In the corridor leading to the final doorway, Chu Xuan’s heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic, trapped bird. Gui Hua, livestreaming quietly on a low audio setting for her unseen audience, was a buzzing, anxious presence beside her, but Chu Xuan’s entire world had narrowed to this suspended moment. The air was thick with the scent of heated wood, damp earth from a nearby potted plant, and her own cold sweat. The cicadas' scream outside seemed to swell, forming a wall of sound pressing in.

Then the door opened, and Lin Qian entered.

She had changed into loosely feminine attire, a light blue robe over a simple white vest and dark skirt. Her unbound black hair was still styled in a practical, masculine fashion but without an official’s crown, held by a simple wooden pin. She was slimmer than Chu Xuan remembered from the capital days. Her face was a pale oval, her lips colorless from recent illness, which only served to sharpen her delicate, refined beauty. It made her dark, intelligent eyes seem larger, more luminous, and deeply weary. There was a new gravity in those eyes; the weight of office and private grief was etched in faint shadows beneath them.

To the livestream audience watching through Gui Hua’s interface, she was a legendary NPC made breathtakingly real. But to Chu Xuan, she was a sanctuary made flesh.

The chat, invisible to the room’s occupants, exploded.

"Ah! Lin Qian!"

"Wifey is here!"

"It’s my husband! Husband! Husband!"

"I just came for Chu Xuan, but now I see Lin Qian too, I'm crying real tears."

"So pretty, ethereal beauty."

"Beautiful and handsome, motherly and sisterly, what is she?!"

"Hahaha, the ultimate combo."

"Lin Qian looks a bit tired, but in a devastatingly beautiful way."

"Is she sick? Baby, take care of yourself."

"First time seeing this casual look, so gorgeous even without makeup."

"Skin’s flawless, you could almost see the peach fuzz if the camera was closer."

"Ancients slept early, that’s why their skin’s so good. Modern life is the real boss fight."

"Please, she’s just an important NPC in the game. Are you watching her like she’s an ancient person? I am too, don't judge me."

"Ahhh! I want an account. I’m Lin Qian’s loyal servant. Assign me a quest."

Gui Hua, visibly enthralled, felt her professional streamer mask slip. Her breath caught in her throat. For her, Lin Qian was the in game legendary heroine, a figure of lore and major questlines. Emperors were old news, but Lin Qian was rare, scarcely appearing even in other people’s livestreams. To all players, Lin Qian was a “traffic magnet,” a walking catalyst for epic story arcs.

Normally, even trusted Player officials like Liu Yang and Qin Qing rarely saw her in private, let alone other streamers. Her appearance now sent Gui Hua’s viewer count rocketing from a steady few thousand to over twenty thousand and climbing. The numbers were a blur of exponential growth, and the chat scrolled into an incomprehensible river of text and emojis. This was the jackpot.

While Gui Hua was internally reeling with elation at the viewer surge, Chu Xuan, standing beside her, was struck by a wave of emotion so potent it stole her breath. It tightened her chest with a sorrow so deep it threaded through the very core of her relief. She is here. She is real. She looks tired.

After the servant bowed and melted away, only the three of them remained in the quiet, cool room. The sound of the cicadas was muted here, a distant, persistent hum.

Lin Qian’s gaze first swept over Gui Hua with an assessing, polite curiosity. Then her gaze settled, finally, on Chu Xuan. Lin Qian's eyes softened, the official distance and the strategist’s calculation melting away into something warmer and more human. “Long time no see,” she said, her voice a gentle murmur that seemed to cradle the words in the quiet space between them. “It must have been a very hard journey, Meimei.”

That single, familiar term of endearment, “Meimei,” spoken with such unguarded, aching warmth, was the final blow. It shattered the last of Chu Xuan’s hard won composure. This was the dam she had built over weeks of fear, flight, frustration at Gui Hua’s glib deceptions, anger at her own helplessness, and bone deep grief for her father. A ragged, wrenching sob tore from her throat. It was a raw and unstoppable sound, the noise of something breaking.

She didn't perform a formal bow; her body moved on an impulse older than courtesy. She stumbled forward the few steps between them, her movements clumsy with the weight of collapsed resolve. Her hands came up not to greet, but to clutch desperately at the sleeves of Lin Qian’s light robe. Her fingers twisted in the linen as she buried her face against her shoulder. The tears were a flood; they were for her murdered father, her shattered family, her stolen future, the terrifying journey, the lies she had had to tolerate, and the overwhelming, terrifying relief of having finally reached this one safe harbor where pretense was no longer required.

It was an impulse born of utter exhaustion and a deep seated, unnameable trust that predated even her own understanding. This was the person her father had once chosen for her. This was the brilliant scholar she had admired from afar, the woman who had defied heaven itself to reclaim her truth. In this moment, Lin Qian was the only anchor in her shattered world. She was the only proof that not everything good and steadfast had been destroyed.

Lin Qian stiffened for a fraction of a second, surprised by the sudden, physical weight of the other woman’s grief against her. The rational part of her mind noted the social breach and the dampness seeping through her robe. But then, something else happened. A wave of profound, aching sorrow washed over her.

It was a sorrow that was not hers. It could not be hers; she had never met this girl. Yet it washed through her. It didn't feel like her own memory or empathy. It felt like a ghost in the machine of her body, a deep, resonant echo rising from the very bones and sinew she inhabited. It was the original Lin Qian’s grief for her lost mentor, for this girl who was almost her family, and for a world that destroyed good men. It was all crashing into the present. Lin Qian's eyes stung fiercely, tears welling up not from her modern mind’s concern, but from a borrowed, heartbreak.

Hesitantly, her movement slightly awkward as if guided by a foreign instinct, she raised her hand and placed it on Chu Xuan’s trembling back. She positioned it between the girl's shoulder blades. The gesture was a comfort, but it also felt like an answer to a call she had not heard until now. Her palm lay flat, feeling the tremors of each shuddering sob through the thin fabric.

“Yurui…” Chu Xuan choked out against the linen. The name was a prayer, a lament, and a key turning in a lock Lin Qian had not known was buried within her.

Gui Hua stood frozen a few paces away, a silent spectator. Her livestream comments were exploding with shippers' delight and heart emojis. But she felt none of their joy. A cold, hard knot tightened in her stomach, sharp and sour. She had been the one by Chu Xuan’s side for the entire long, perilous journey. She had coaxed hesitant bites of food, devised clever plans to evade patrols, and shared the silence of night watches. She had narrated their adventure to thousands, building a story where she was the heroic guide.

Yet, she had never been granted this. She had not received this raw, unguarded vulnerability. This was an absolute, total collapse into another person’s arms. This was a trust that had nothing to do with utility or shared danger. It was intimate, pre existing, and utterly exclusive. Gui Hua's hands, hanging at her sides, clenched into fists, and her nails dug into her palms. The jealousy was sudden, sharp, hot, and utterly, shamefully undeniable. She was the companion who had delivered the package. But Lin Qian was the destination.

"So OTP!"

"Lin Qian should have married Chu Xuan back then, sparing her this whole tragic trip."

"Look at Gui Hua’s face. She is jealous."

"You ship Gui Hua with Chu Xuan and Lin Qian with Chu Xuan. What about me? I ship Lin Qian with Gui Hua."

"This is too messed up, I love it."

"I also ship Lin Qian and Gui Hua, a reserved, scholarly county magistrate and a sly, street smart demi immortal."

"Exactly. That is the vibe."

"Disagree. Chu Xuan and Lin Qian have history."

"Yuri line confirmed, any BL line?"

"Turn left to Wang Wuyuan’s livestream for that."

"Sis, Wang Wuyuan’s been captured by the Princess, no BL line now."

===

Okay, so real talk: I originally found this novel because it was tagged "NoCP." But from what I've read so far, it seems like the original Lin Qian had some deep feelings for Chu Xuan, and the current Lin Qian has kinda inherited them.

We don't know exactly how deep those feelings run—if she just sees her as a little sister, or if it's something more. But it's pretty clear that Chu Xuan sees her as "more."

My guess is they're using the "NoCP" tag because their relationship just never gets officially confirmed by the end of the story. Especially with less than 30 chapters to go, a huge war brewing, and Lin Qian's whole story to become the new Emperor... romance probably isn't the main focus.

Also, with Gui Hua falling for Chu Xuan... yeah, I think I'll just add tags like "shoujo-ai subtext" or "F/F undertones" and remove the "No Romance" tag altogether. It's definitely not a romance-focused story, but to say there's "no CP" feels a bit misleading now

Chapter Text

Chu Xuan’s storm of grief eventually subsided into a hiccupping, exhausted silence, leaving her hollowed out and spent, her shoulders slumped as if the very architecture of her spirit had collapsed. Her breath came in shallow, jagged catches.

Lin Qian felt her own heart strangely raw and abraded, as if the other woman’s weeping had scoured a layer from within her as well, leaving a tender, empathetic ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. She gently guided a pliant Chu Xuan to sit on a cushioned chair, the fabric soft beneath her trembling frame, then went to the door and quietly called for Xiuying.

Leaning close in the hallway’s shadowed quiet, where the air felt thick and still, she instructed in a low, urgent voice, “Go ask the servants outside to buy a few cups of milk tea from the shop. Get a bit of everything, some hot, some cold, different flavors. Quickly.”

Xiuying understood at once that Lin Qian wanted to properly, kindly entertain her important, heartbroken guests. She nodded, her eyes darting toward the closed door. Then she added softly, her brow furrowed with concern, “Your illness just got better. It is fine if they have food that is hard to digest, but you should stick to light tea or hot water. No cold drinks for you.”

Lin Qian heard this familiar, fretful care and couldn't help but offer a small, tear-damp laugh, a fragile sound in the heavy air. She nodded in agreement and sent Xiuying off on her errand with a light press on her arm.

Once back inside and seated opposite her guests, she consciously steered the conversation toward practical, grounding details, asking Chu Xuan and Gui Hua about the specifics of their journey; which roads they had taken, how they had navigated checkpoints, and what they had done to ensure their safe arrival. It was a lifeline thrown to the present, a way to anchor Chu Xuan’s spinning mind in the concrete world of miles and milestones.

Gui Hua, falling easily into her practiced role as storyteller, leaned forward, her hands moving in small, animated gestures. She recounted their frantic escape from the wedding house, the covert rescue of Chu Xiu’s few remaining, terrified students from a safehouse, and the tense, moonlit nights on backcountry trails where every rustle in the brush sounded like an ambush.

She spoke of the constant, wearying disguise changes; Chu Xuan as a sickly younger brother, then a veiled merchant’s wife. As she narrated the climax of their arrival at Xinghexian’s border, a soft, chime-like ping echoed in her perception. A translucent system window materialized before her eyes, its text glowing with a satisfying, pale light:

【Congratulations, Player. Mission ‘Rescue Chu Xuan’ completed. Lin Qian’s Favorability +50】
【System Notice: Favorability points can be exchanged for rare items, specialty foods, silver, and character health restoration】

Gui Hua’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly over the floating text, her mind racing through the mathematical implications. She focused on the health detail and realized with a jolt that reaching 50 favor points with a key, lore-rich NPC like Lin Qian could restore ten full points of health from a nearly depleted bar. In a game where death was permanent for the character, this wasn't a reward; it was a treasure.

However, the fine print stipulated that only the character who had earned the 50 favor could use the restoration. After usage, the character’s overall favorability with the NPC remained the same, but the points reset to zero. They were also non-transferable. It was a one-time, personal insurance policy.

“Isn't this basically an extra life?”

“When health hits near zero, restoring even a little is huge. Let me see, the current black market price for this kind of favor-gated safety net must be around five million.”

“More like ten. Five million still won't buy a whole account.”

“Even with just a sliver of health, there's still a chance to survive. Streaming for a day earns a good sum. Ten million might not even buy a single account. ‘Xian Huang’ may have terrible content sometimes, but someone is always watching.”

“Those players in Kyoto who didn't join the Chu Xuan rescue? They must be kicking themselves now.”

Seeing this rapid analysis scroll by, Gui Hua felt a fierce, vindicated surge of excitement heat her blood. This was a tangible, game-changing reward, a trophy earned through sweat and risk. Her gamble had paid off spectacularly.

At the same moment, beside her, Lin Qian’s gaze grew distant, fixed on the grain of the wooden table as if seeing another scene etched there in the swirling patterns of the timber. “The teacher… has already…” she began, her voice a low, rough murmur that seemed to catch on the still air of the room. A single, traitorous tear escaped the corner of her eye. It betrayed her composed façade as it traced a slow, shiny path down her cheek, before she quickly, almost brusquely, brushed it away with the back of her hand. The action wasn't performative for an audience; it was her body’s stubborn rebellion, a physical leakage of a soul-deep loss that the current Lin Qian’s rational mind had tried to compartmentalize and dismiss as ‘historical background.’ The grief had a weight and a taste that felt personally, bewilderingly hers.

Chu Xuan watched that lone tear fall, and her own freshly broken heart seemed to fissure further in a shared, silent agony. This wasn't just her grief; it is their grief, a sorrow that connected them across the ruins of their respective families, a bond forged in the same fire of imperial cruelty. The connection she felt in that moment was profound; it is a shared, wordless understanding of loss that transcended formal relationships. She saw the immense, weary strength it took for Lin Qian to remain upright, to bear the dual weight of a struggling county and the ghosts of a beloved mentor, and her admiration swelled into something fiercer and more protective. It is a fierce, nascent desire to somehow shelter this woman who offered shelter to others.

Looking up from her glowing system screen, Gui Hua noticed the unshed tears still glimmering in Lin Qian’s eyes. She sat there, the thrill of her reward suddenly dampened. She felt like an intruder in a sacred, private space of mourning, and she was a little hesitant to meet Chu Xuan’s gaze directly.

Even though Gui Hua had been Chu Xuan’s sole companion for weeks, in real life she followed all the Xian Huang news feeds. Many players had streamed from Kyoto, and when Chu Xiu was publicly beheaded in the market square, the event had briefly topped the in-game trending list. Gui Hua had already known the brutal outcome; she had seen the crowd and the blurry, distant figure on the platform through a monitor.

To her, Chu Xiu was ultimately a game character, a narrative node in a vast simulation. Even if his death was sad within the story’s context, he was still part of the code; he is a plot point that advanced the ‘Chaos’ meta.

But Chu Xuan was different. For reasons she couldn't fully rationalize, even to herself, Gui Hua found she couldn't stop worrying about her, caring about the subtle shifts in her expression and the quiet despair in her eyes. The line between a compelling NPC and an object of genuine concern had blurred into nothingness.

She glanced at Chu Xuan now and saw how deathly pale she had gone, like cold marble. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, fixed on a horror only she could witness in the dark theatre of her mind.

“God, I can't take it. Why give an NPC such a tragic backstory?”

“Crying nonstop over here. My dinner is getting cold.”

“Chu Xuan must feel awful inside. That vacant look… it is too real.”

“It is just a game character, why so much realism? The emotional rendering is insane.”

“Lin Qian looks so heart-wrenching too. That single tear killed me. She is feeling it too.”

“Crying and laughing back and forth, this livestream is going to give me emotional whiplash.”

Chu Xuan and the others had fled Kyoto in a haze of panic and disbelief, their journey south a blurred montage of shadowed forest paths and stifled conversations in the corners of roadside inns. For over a month, they had been phantoms in their own land, flinching at every official seal on a passing document and every raised voice in a tavern that sounded like authority. The world, once so familiar and structured, had become a tapestry of potential threats. They had deliberately detoured far to the west, to Xingpingxian first. It is a circuitous, wearying route chosen solely to throw off any possible pursuit, to become ghosts in the bureaucracy’s ledger, before mustering their last reserves of energy for the final push to Xinghexian.

In the relative, moving safety of their travels, Chu Xuan had built a fortress of numb practicality around her heart. She had rehearsed the worst-case scenarios in the silent, watchful hours of the night, steeling herself against the finality she knew, logically, was almost certain. She had to be strong; there is no other choice for a fugitive, for the last daughter of a destroyed house. It is a brittle, frozen strength; a thin sheet of ice she had spread over the bottomless, dark lake of her despair.

But hearing the confirmation spoken aloud now, in this quiet, safe room, by Lin Qian; the calm, devastating delivery of the clinical facts of her father's execution, her mother's fate, and her brother's end; was like a massive stone hurled onto that ice. The carefully constructed fortifications shattered instantly. The news wasn't a distant, terrible rumor discussed in hushed tones; it is a visceral reality given weight and finality by the quiet, grief-touched voice of the woman who had once been meant to be her own family. The ice gave way, and she was plunging into the cold, dark water she had held at bay for so long.

The air left her lungs in a silent, shuddering gasp. The color drained completely from her face, leaving it the shade of old ash, and she swayed slightly where she sat. Her hands flew to grip the carved edge of the table until her knuckles turned bone white, as if it were the only solid thing in a dissolving world. She had braced for the worst, but no amount of mental bracing could truly armor a living heart against its own breaking.

Seeing her like this, a sharp, almost physical ache speared through Lin Qian’s chest, bypassing all rational thought. The official report from the capital had been a dry, administrative fact; they are just words on paper that she had filed away with a sigh. But this, Chu Xuan’s silent, physical collapse, and the way her eyes glazed over with a pain too profound for fresh tears, was different. This was human wreckage sitting in her private quarters, and it demanded a human response.

If it were just a message, she thought, the grief could be ritualized. A few days of formal mourning observed, then back to the pressing, relentless work of survival and governance. But this was different. This was Chu Xuan in the flesh, a girl her original self had been duty-bound and fondly inclined to protect; a young woman whose clever laughter and shy insights had once graced the scholarly halls of the Chu family, now reduced to this pale, trembling specter clinging to her furniture.

This was the girl her teacher had spoken of with such open, paternal pride, the same girl who had once written subtly brilliant poems that eschewed frivolity and had, on visits, properly and shyly offered her tea with steady hands. Now, that entire world was ash, and this was all that is left. She shouldn't have to suffer like this. The thought was a quiet, furious coal burning in Lin Qian’s throat; it is a sense of profound injustice that was both personal and systemic.

Families destroyed, lives lost. The words felt cheap and woefully inadequate in the face of this quiet, living devastation. They are the sterile stuff of history books and cold imperial decrees. They didn't capture the quiet agony held in a young woman’s unseeing eyes, or the way an entire universe of love, memory, and future could be erased with the impersonal, swift stroke of a vermilion pen. They didn't account for the survivor left behind, hollowed out and adrift.

She couldn't, however, afford to be pulled under by the same drowning tide of grief. The needs of the county, the specter of war in Yancheng, and the thousand logistical threads of a place preparing for storm; they are relentless, demanding a leader’s clarity, not a mourner’s paralysis. The best, the only solace she had the concrete power to give was stability, a safe harbor, and purposeful action. Grief is a luxury that required security; she would provide the foundation first.

And so, with a soft exhale that felt like consciously shedding a heavy skin of shared sorrow to shoulder a mantle of responsibility, she turned her mind firmly to practicalities. Her voice, when she spoke again, was gentle but infused with a deliberate, grounding firmness; it is an anchor thrown into the stormy sea of Chu Xuan’s reality.

“Alright,” Lin Qian began, her gaze moving thoughtfully between Chu Xuan’s bowed head and Gui Hua’s watchful, calculating face. “You will stay here for now. Within these walls, you will be safe and sound. Miss Gui Hua is your benefactor,” she said, with a slight, acknowledging nod to the Player, “and by extension, she is under my protection as well. Until we can arrange something more permanent and suitable, a proper place for you both, you will be settled here.”

It is a conscious transition, a bridge built from the desolate country of grief back to the living world of action, shelter, and plan; the only tangible comfort she had the power to offer.

“Outwardly, you both will need new identities. New names, new backgrounds, a simple, unremarkable story.” Her eyes settled on Gui Hua, sharp and knowing, cutting through the woman’s streamer persona. “Especially you, Miss Gui Hua. Your… particular status is precarious. Being noticed or reported here would bring trouble not just for you, but for everyone under this roof.” The message was unambiguous. Lin Qian was fully aware Gui Hua was a fugitive wanted personally by the Emperor himself, and she was making a conscious, dangerous choice to shield her. The risk was acknowledged, and accepted.

Lin Qian herself couldn't be seen interacting openly with Chu Xuan. Even as a mere seventh-rank county magistrate, a minor official in a remote place, she could still be implicated by association with the fallen “Li faction.” Her career and life would be forfeit on a whisper.

But Gui Hua’s crime was direct and personal to the throne; she is an imperial fugitive the Emperor had ordered captured alive for the audacity of her deception.

Lin Qian knew this and was deliberately choosing to conceal her. That act alone, if discovered, could see her stripped of office, her name disgraced, or her body thrown into a damp prison cell. But she had always understood the jagged contours of the path she walked. Accepting power, even the modest power of a county magistrate, meant accepting its attendant risks and the moral weight of using it to protect those who had nowhere else to go. It was part of the calculus.

Gui Hua looked at Lin Qian, who could convey layers of risk, gratitude, and steely commitment with just a few measured words and a steady gaze. She felt a complex knot of emotions twist inside her; gratitude, wariness, and that persistent, bitter thread of envy.

Before meeting Lin Qian, she had admired the legendary female protagonist of the game lore; she is a cool figure in a wiki. After meeting her, she respected her palpable, quiet courage and her sharp, unnervingly perceptive mind that seemed to see past the ‘Player’ label.

And now, she felt the sting of a faint, bitter jealousy. This jealousy had one clear, painful source: Chu Xuan.

After surviving genuine hardships together, sharing meager food and whispered fears in the dark, and laughing in giddy relief at narrow escapes, Chu Xuan had never once sought physical comfort from her. She had accepted aid and tolerated company, but maintained a wall of elegant grief. Yet moments ago, Chu Xuan had so easily and so trustingly flung herself into Lin Qian’s arms, sobbing her heart out as if that were her natural, destined harbor. The intimacy of that moment had been a door slammed in Gui Hua’s face.

She found herself jealous of the shared history between Lin Qian and Chu Xuan, and of those moments only hinted at in the game’s background lore; the teacher’s matchmaking intentions, the exchanged letters full of scholarly respect and budding regard, and the quiet admiration across a crowded hall. She was jealous of the depth, the pre-existing claim, she couldn't compete with. Her weeks of shared danger are a compelling prologue, but Lin Qian’s connection was the foundational text.

Gui Hua didn't deny her own growing, inconvenient feelings for Chu Xuan. Modern cinema and psychology had already explored futures where humans fell for advanced AI. When simulated intelligence reached a certain threshold of realism, emotional reactivity, and consistent personality, falling for a virtual being wasn't so far-fetched; it is inevitable. Chu Xuan was intelligent enough, vivid enough, and real enough in her reactions. Every major NPC in Xian Huang possessed exceptional, unsettling depth. Even the village fools had convincing, tragic backstories. Loving an AI is only a matter of time and exposure; it just happened to be her, Gui Hua, who had crossed that line first, tangled in a rescue mission.

Debating whether her love was reasonable was itself a pointless exercise. She liked this virtual character and found her heart doing a foolish little stutter at her pixelated sorrow and her flashes of stubborn strength. For now, that was enough. It is real to her.

In this moment, Gui Hua only wondered, with a sinking feeling, if Chu Xuan could ever understand such feelings from a being like her, and if she could ever possibly reciprocate them. But judging by the silent, magnetic pull between Chu Xuan and Lin Qian, and by the way Chu Xuan’s eyes had followed Lin Qian’s every slight movement since she entered the room, the odds didn't seem high. Not high at all.

Gui Hua knew herself.

She was cunning, mercurial, and unpredictable; she is a fox. Lin Qian was calm, principled, and upright; she is a pine tree.

She was playful, cheeky, and a performer weaving narratives for an audience. Lin Qian was gentle, dignified, and substantial; her actions are their own testament.

It seemed she didn't hit any of the traits Chu Xuan, a classical scholar’s daughter raised on poetry and integrity, had historically been drawn to. How could her playful, opportunistic, modern affection ever hope to compete with this deep, historic bond, and with this silent, monumental promise of protection and belonging that Lin Qian embodied?

Even the CP fans in her livestream chat, her own supposed community, are overwhelmingly and raucously in favor of ‘LinChu’ or ‘QianXuan.’

When she let a sliver of her own heartache show in a sigh or a wistful look, the livestream comments offered no empathy, only more fuel for the rival ship.

“Lin Qian always calls Chu Xuan “Meimei”~ My heart melts! So wifely!”

“She is so gentle when she calls her that, a total wife vibe! I am deceased.”

“I want to marry her. Lin Qian, look at me!”

“These three beautiful faces together in one frame are so eye-catching. The drama is delicious. I am here for the angst!”

“Can't wait for the next plot. Will it be a love triangle? I am planting my flag for Lin Qian!”

After that, Lin Qian didn't press Chu Xuan with more conversation, understanding her mood was too raw and her spirit was clearly at its lowest ebb. Words now would be like stones dropped into a deep well; they would offer no solace, only echoing reminders of the depth of her loss.

When Xiuying and a servant returned with the milk tea, the room filled with a subtle, sweet and milky aroma that seemed anachronistically comforting. Lin Qian let Chu Xuan and Gui Hua choose first. Not knowing their tastes, she had ordered a wide assortment of popular flavors. The takeout milk tea wasn't served in the shop’s expensive, delicate glass cups but in sturdy, reusable bamboo containers. The cost of the container is included in the price; it is a practical, Xinghexian touch.

After Chu Xuan and Gui Hua had picked their drinks; Chu Xuan choosing a simple hot brown sugar tea almost absently, cradling the bamboo cup for its warmth, and Gui Hua opting for a cold, fruity blend with audible satisfaction; Lin Qian had the remaining cups distributed among Jiaoyue, Xiuying, and the other household maids. It is a small gesture of shared kindness that softened the formal air. As for herself, she took none, pouring a cup of plain, steaming hot water from a pot instead, keeping her promise to Xiuying.

As the late afternoon light began to soften, painting the walls in shades of gold, dinner time approached. Lin Qian instructed Jiaoyue to help the two guests settle into their arranged quarters. As they gathered themselves to go downstairs and fetch their meager luggage from the entryway, Lin Qian stopped Chu Xuan with a light, staying touch on her arm. She pressed a small, heavy pouch of silver; enough for several months of a commoner’s living; into Chu Xuan’s hand. “For your immediate needs,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The gesture is intimate, swift, and devoid of any condescension. It was a transaction of pure care.

Then, in a tone that was both utterly practical and imbued with deep, unspoken commitment, she added, “And from now on, you will have a monthly allowance of two taels of silver for your personal spending.”

It is a deliberate, significant gesture. Lin Qian was well aware that Chu Xuan had fled with her own resources and dowry; this wasn't about charity. The monthly allowance was something else entirely; it is a quiet promise and a thread of continuity and normalcy woven back into a life that had been violently severed from its past. It was a way of saying, “Your place here isn't temporary. You aren't a burdensome guest, but a member of this household. However the world outside may churn, you will have a foundation here, with me. You will have agency.” It was a silent vow of protection and belonging, and a tangible assurance to Chu Xuan that her future, even if she never entered into another marriage contract, was secure and valued within these walls.

Lin Qian’s residence, often echoing and quiet with its many unused rooms, suddenly felt different as the small party moved through it. The sound of their moving footsteps on the polished wood, the soft murmur of Jiaoyue’s explanations about the layout, and the rustle of fabric; it all breathed a tentative, new life into the austere, functional halls. For the sake of both companionship and security, she had arranged for Chu Xuan and Gui Hua to share a small, secluded courtyard with its own side gate within the compound. It is a world within a world.

Jiaoyue and another maid guided them away, their figures receding down the covered walkway framed by late-blooming vines, the magistrate’s house no longer felt like just a set of administrative quarters, but like something beginning, hesitantly, to resemble a home; a place where people lived, and grieved, and maybe, eventually, could heal.

As they walked toward their shared courtyard, the weight of the silver pouch in her hand felt substantial. A flicker of something Chu Xuan hadn't felt since before her wedding day; a fragile, unfamiliar sense of safety; stirred weakly in her chest, like a green shoot in burned soil. The walls here aren't a prison, but a shield. The person within them wasn't a jailer, but a sanctuary.

Gui Hua only allowed herself to feel the sharp sting of upset for a brief, private moment as she watched Lin Qian’s tangible, unspoken closeness with Chu Xuan, and the easy way Chu Xuan had accepted the touch and the silver.

After all, she reasoned, there is plenty of time. This is an open-world game with an indefinite timeline. As long as she didn't get her character killed in some foolish escapade, she could continue her pursuit, day by day. And even if she did die spectacularly for content, those precious 50 favor points with Lin Qian could revive her once. It is the ultimate strategic backup, a literal extra life to spend in this pursuit.

Besides, she chastised herself, Lin Qian herself hadn't expressed any romantic feelings for Chu Xuan. She was likely just being a morally upright, historically-inclined protector. She was likely just interpreting everything through her own newly lovesick, biased lens.

Regaining her characteristic strategic composure, Gui Hua pushed her own messy feelings aside and began actively scanning the rapidly scrolling livestream comments for ideas; for content; to cheer up the despondent Chu Xuan. It was what she did best.

Seeing several messages expressing concern about Lin Qian’s pallor and tired eyes, she seized on a practical, caring topic and asked Jiaoyue, who was walking ahead with a lantern against the deepening twilight, “I noticed Your Excellency looks a bit weary, and quite pale. Is her health not fully recovered from her illness?”

Jiaoyue, without turning, sighed a sigh that held the weariness of a longtime, devoted servant. “The news from Kyoto… it struck her to the core. She was feverish and restless for several days, talking in her sleep. The physician said her liver qi was stagnant from suppressed grief and overwork. She rises before dawn and works until the candles gutter, and doesn't listen to a word of our advice to rest. The young ladies arriving today… it has lightened her spirit, I think. It has been long since she had such company in this quiet place. Please,” she added, glancing back at them, her face earnest in the lantern light, “when you have the chance, remind her to take care of herself. She might listen to friends.”

The words settled on Chu Xuan like a solemn, received vow, adding a new layer to her resolve. She had found her anchor in the tempest. And now, she had a purpose within these sheltering walls: to be more than a burden, and to perhaps, in some small way, reciprocate the care she is receiving.

In the quiet of this unfamiliar courtyard, surrounded by the ghostly echoes of what could have been and the complicated, living reality of what was; a steadfast Lin Qian, a determined and puzzling Gui Hua, and the vast, aching cavity of her own loss; she knew her journey was far from over. Her feelings for Lin Qian, a tangled vine of past scholarly admiration, present and breath-stealing empathy, and a desperate, clinging hope for stability, had taken deep, irrevocable root in the fertile, painful ground of their shared sorrow.

And Gui Hua, watching the silent understanding that had passed between the magistrate and the refugee, and seeing Chu Xuan’s fingers tighten around the bamboo cup of tea as if it were a lifeline, knew with crystalline, painful clarity that her own journey to Chu Xuan’s heart had just become infinitely more complicated.

Chapter Text

“Don’t let our Daren’s calm face fool you, Miss,” Jiaoyue murmured. Her voice was low, barely a breath of sound meant for Chu Xuan’s ears alone as they walked the dimming, lamplit corridor toward their assigned quarters. The yellow glow of the wall-mounted oil lamps flickered as they passed, casting long, distorted shadows against the wooden partitions. The sound of their footsteps was soft on the wooden planks, a steady, rhythmic thud in the quiet evening. “You have no idea how much she is truly hurting inside.”

Chu Xuan froze mid-step. Her expression turned utterly blank as the words sank in, feeling colder than the evening air beginning to drift through the open eaves. The image of Lin Qian’s pale, perfectly composed face from moments before; the slight, encouraging smile, the gentle, firm voice, and the practical, grounding instructions; flashed before her eyes like a recurring dream. It was a facade. It was a meticulously maintained performance. “It must have been… so hard for her,” she whispered. The statement felt woefully and pathetically inadequate in the quiet hallway.

While she had been utterly consumed and drowning in the roaring, suffocating ocean of her own grief, Lin Qian had been silently and steadfastly shouldering the same crushing sorrow for her executed teacher. At the same time, she was managing the precarious fate of an entire county, all while meticulously hiding her own profound pain behind a mask of competent, unshakable calm. The thought sent a fresh, sharp lance of guilt and awe straight through Chu Xuan’s chest. It left her breathless. Her own collapse seemed selfish in comparison; a luxury Lin Qian couldn’t afford.

Gui Hua, listening from just a step behind, inwardly sighed. It was a sound of professional frustration. Here we go again. They had just carefully and verbally navigated away from the immediate, raw precipice of the Chu family tragedy, and now Jiaoyue, with a few well-meaning words, had steered the fragile emotional cart right back to the crumbling edge. The atmosphere in the corridor, which had been slowly and tentatively lightening with the talk of practicalities and the novelty of milk tea, grew thick and heavy once more. The weight of unspoken, shared grief pressed down on the quiet space between the oil lamps, making the air feel hard to pull into her lungs.

The livestream chat, attuned to every shift in tone, reflected the change instantly.

“Ah, this is so heavy. The mood whiplash is real.”

“No wonder she is the canonical female lead. Lin Qian’s mental fortitude is on another level entirely.”

“Her most respected teacher, executed by the very throne she technically serves. The cognitive dissonance must be insane.”

“This is definitely a key character motivation. This grief will fuel her rise later, 100%.”

“She will make Chu Xuan her Empress then, for sure! A throne built on shared sorrow!”

“My poor Xuan’er, my heart aches for her… she just keeps getting hit.”

Seeing the familiar, devastating shadow of despair fall over Chu Xuan’s delicate features again, Gui Hua quickly interjected. Her voice was deliberately bright as she pivoted toward the mundane. “What should we do about dinner tonight? We might end up disturbing everyone’s schedule for quite a while if we don’t know the household customs…” She infused the question with a hint of cheerful cluelessness; it was a plea for normalcy.

Jiaoyue, taking the clear, practical hint, offered a warm, grateful smile to Gui Hua. “The young ladies may dine entirely as they wish within your own courtyard. Our Daren’s schedule is… unpredictable, tied to the yamen’s demands. Meals in this house revolve entirely around her work and meetings. You would only find it uncomfortable and irregular trying to match her hours. Don’t trouble yourselves. We will have a simple, hot meal sent to you presently.”

“That’s most true, and most considerate,” Gui Hua agreed. She was relieved at the successful change of topic toward the comforting logistics of food and routine.

When they returned to their newly assigned, small courtyard; a square of packed earth with a single old plum tree and a covered walkway; servants were already bustling about in the deepening twilight. They are putting the final touches on the rooms. The soft yellow glow of newly lit oil lamps spilled from the papered windows, painting squares of light on the dark ground. The scent of clean, sun-dried linen and lightly polished sandalwood filled the air. It was a smell of order and care. Before long, the sound of steady, familiar footsteps announced the arrival of Old Madam Zou. Her eyes, still sharp but endlessly kind, swept the room in a quick, assessing glance before softening with immediate, brimming emotion when they landed on Chu Xuan.

She remembered this girl vividly from the better days, when a marriage alliance between the brilliant disciple Lin Qian and the cultured daughter of Teacher Chu had seemed not just possible, but ideal. It had been a cause for quiet celebration. She had always been fond of Chu Xuan’s gentle grace, her quiet, observant intelligence, and the proper, elegant way she carried herself. It’s such a profound, wrenching pity that fate had been so relentlessly cruel; first with Lin Qian’s world-shattering revelation that upended everything, and now with this tragedy.

Seeing Chu Xuan standing here in the humble room, a pale, lost survivor washed up from the utter, violent ruin of her family, Madam Zou’s heart swelled with a fierce, protective sympathy. This feeling completely overrode any nascent political caution. A thin, almost subconscious thread of worry, of course, nagged at the very back of her mind. Harboring the daughter of an official executed for treason was no small risk.

But the Chu family had been nothing but good and honorable to them, and Master Chu had been Lin Qian’s most revered teacher; her guiding star in the capital’s treacherous waters. Protecting his only remaining child, this lonely, grieving young woman, felt like the only morally right thing to do. It was a debt of honor. Besides, the girl herself was not a wanted criminal; she is just an unfortunate daughter caught in a storm. How much trouble could it really be?

This was a comforting and dangerously naive thought, born of a lifetime spent in domestic spheres, sheltered from the cold machinery of imperial politics. Had she understood the true, poisonous intricacies at play; the Emperor’s paranoid need for scapegoats, the lethal danger of any association with the purged “Li faction,” and the explosive fact that the lively Gui Hua was herself a fugitive from the Emperor’s personal wrath; her maternal worry would have been a torrential panic. She would probably be wringing her hands and urging Lin Qian to send Chu Xuan far away into deep, anonymous hiding at this very moment, guest-right be damned.

As for Gui Hua, Lin Qian had briefly explained she is a chivalrous wanderer; a brave and unconventional woman who disguised herself as a man to travel the world freely and seek her fortune. She is now alone and rootless after her parents’ passing. It is thanks to her remarkable courage and street-smart wit that Chu Xuan had arrived safely at their door. Hearing this carefully crafted and respectable-enough backstory, Madam Zou’s natural, bustling hospitality warmed considerably toward the lively, unorthodox young woman. A brave girl helping another brave girl; it’s a narrative she could embrace.

Her motherly instincts, desperate to assert normalcy and care in the face of crisis, took full command. She personally fussed over the room arrangements, plumping a pillow here with a firm pat and smoothing a coverlet there. Then, she turned her full, attentive gaze to a slightly overwhelmed Gui Hua. She bombarded her with a gentle but relentless stream of questions delivered with warm curiosity: her age, her family origins, her marital status; there is a significant pause there; and what kind of respectable, stable man she might envision for her future. It’s the timeless, universal script of a concerned elder auntie faced with an unmarried young woman of uncertain prospects.

That evening, after a quiet, simple dinner of steamed rice, vegetables, and stewed meat served in the seclusion of their courtyard, Chu Xuan’s spirits remained stubbornly low. They are anchored in the silent depths of her loss. Gui Hua tried valiantly to lift them and perform the role of cheerful companion. She filled the heavy silence with light chatter about the interesting, efficient layout of the residence, the surprising quality of the local pickles, and humorous and sanitized anecdotes from her travels.

But her efforts are met with only polite, distant smiles that did not reach Chu Xuan’s shadowed eyes. Each reply was monosyllabic, falling like stones into the conversational well. Recognizing a wall of grief when she saw one, Gui Hua wisely conceded the field. She allowed Chu Xuan the space and the heavy, unbroken silence she so clearly needed to simply breathe in and to exist without the pressure of performance.

They both retired for the night early, the summer night still young. Lying in the unfamiliar darkness of the shared room on separate beds, the profound silence was a stark, almost physical presence. It’s a contrast to the relentless, chaotic storm churning in Chu Xuan’s heart. The only sounds are the distant, persistent sawing of cicadas and the occasional pop of the cooling oil lamp wick. Jiaoyue’s words, “She is hurting inside,” echoed endlessly in the dark; it was a haunting, revelatory refrain.

They painted every memory of Lin Qian’s composed demeanor from the afternoon in a new, heartbreaking light. Each gentle instruction and each moment of practical, grounding care now seemed like a deliberate, heroic act of courage. It’s a smooth stone carefully placed over a deep, seething well of personal grief.

In this strange new home, a temporary sanctuary surrounded by the ghosts of what was and the fragile, uncertain hope of what might be, that shared, silent pain with Lin Qian felt like the most authentic connection. It was the pain of a daughter for a father, and of a disciple for a teacher; it’s the most solid connection in Chu Xuan’s shattered world. It’s a dark, somber thread, spun from loss and respect. In the stillness of the unfamiliar room, it bound them together across the quiet compound. It’s a lifeline made of mutual, unspoken understanding.

Meanwhile, Qin Qing had just finished handling Wang Qiaoqiao’s annulment case, the final paperwork signed and sealed with the red ink of the yamen.

That day, Su Weiyang, the chairwoman of the Women’s Association, assigned Qian Miao, the daughter of Merchant Qian Yuanwai, to visit Wang Qiaoqiao’s family for a follow-up. The sun was high, casting long shadows across the dusty streets as Qian Miao made her way toward their residence.

Li Juan and her husband Wang Da had already gone to the groom’s family to formally break the engagement. The air had been thick with tension during the meeting, but the decision was final.

That family’s matriarch was in poor health; she had only managed to sustain her household thanks to a job arranged through the Women’s Association. Her cough was a frequent, dry sound that echoed in their small, cramped rooms.

Her youngest son worked away from home, and she alone supported the entire family, only allowing herself to buy meat once a month. The luxury of fat and salt was a rare treat they saved for the most special occasions.

With the Women’s Association stepping in, the annulment went smoothly. The official intervention provided a shield that the groom's family could not argue against.

“Auntie, I am glad everything is settled. I will be heading back now,” Qian Miao said, setting down her brush after finishing her notes. The ink was still damp on the page as she rose from her seat, her movements graceful and practiced.

Li Juan grabbed her hand warmly, her skin rough and calloused from years of labor. “Good girl, stay and eat with us before you go!”

Wang Qiaoqiao came in from the courtyard, wiping her damp hands on her apron. “That is right, Jiejie, we bought fish today. I have already washed the vegetables; dinner will be ready soon. Please, stay and eat before you leave. We don't even know how to thank you and the Women’s Association. My parents were just saying the other day how grateful we are for your help.”

Qian Miao smiled, her expression gentle. “It is nothing, really. Just part of our duties. But I will have to pass on dinner; my mother won't start eating until I am home.”

Li Juan looked at Qian Miao, admiring her fair complexion and gentle features. She couldn't help but like this young lady from the bottom of her heart. The girl carried herself with a quiet dignity that was hard to ignore.

“Where do you live, child?”

“On Yulan Alley, with the Qian family.”

In Xinghexian and Xingpingxian, the Qian surname was common, but hearing Yulan Alley, Li Juan instantly realized she was the daughter of the local gentry. The houses there were grand, built with expensive brick and shaded by ancient trees.

She remembered the athletic games half a year ago, when there had been rumors about Merchant Qian’s daughter disguising herself as a man. It had been amusing gossip at the time, though she had long forgotten it. The memory of the laughter and the scandal flickered briefly in her mind.

She had thought Qian Miao was just a well-bred girl from an ordinary family, especially after hearing how her mother waited for her to return before dinner. She assumed it was just household discipline, not high birth.

Never expected she would turn out to be a rich family’s young miss.

“Your family... really lets you work outside?” Li Juan asked, surprised. Her brow furrowed as she processed the idea of such a wealthy girl walking the common streets.

It wasn't just the rich who looked down on the poor; the poor had their own biases too. They held onto their own ideas of how the different classes should behave.

Li Juan belonged to the latter group, believing the wealthy would never allow their daughters to show their faces in public. She imagined them hidden away behind high walls and silk curtains.

Qian Miao was used to this. Many reacted the same way once they learned who she was, their voices taking on a tone of disbelief.

She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “At first, they didn't agree. But I wasn't about to stay locked up forever. Father worried I would run off, so he gave in eventually. Mother’s word carries more weight, and she helped persuade him.”

Of course, Qian Miao didn't mention that she had gone on a hunger strike for three days to win that freedom. Her parents couldn't stand the sight of her growing weak and finally relented.

Li Juan wanted to insist she stay for dinner, but then thought of their simple meal: plain vegetables and rice. A girl like that was probably used to delicacies served on fine porcelain.

Even if Qian Miao didn't mind, their humble dishes and chipped bowls would look pitiful in her eyes. The contrast would be too sharp.

So when Qian Miao insisted on leaving, Li Juan didn't stop her, only walking her to the gate. When they reached the alley, where the afternoon sun hit the cobblestones, Qian Miao politely declined further escort.

Feeling bad for making the girl come all this way, Li Juan thanked her several more times before turning home.

Just then, she ran into Zhao Er from across the street. He was carrying a bundle of wood, his shoulders broad and steady.

Back when she had quarreled with Wang Da, Zhao Er had stepped in to defend her, and she had remembered the favor since. His intervention had been a rare moment of support.

“Brother Zhao, we bought some sanzi today. I will have Lianlian send some over later.”

Zhao Er, aware of the hardship Li Juan and her daughter went through, shook his head. “No need, keep it for the children.”

“They have already got some. We bought these specially for guests, and Qiaoqiao gets an employee discount, so it's cheaper than buying outside.”

Zhao Er meant to refuse again, but Li Juan added, “Send some to your wife and the two kids too.”

At that, Zhao Er didn't insist anymore. “Alright then. I heard Lianlian likes my wife’s mung bean pastries. Next time she makes them, we will bring some over for you to try.”

They weren't worth much, but it was the thought that counted. The exchange was a small anchor of community.

Li Juan grinned, her face lighting up. “That is wonderful, thank you!”

When she went back inside, Wang Qiaoqiao had just finished cooking, the steam from the pots filling the small kitchen with the scent of ginger and fish.

Li Juan sent her younger daughter to deliver the sanzi and reminded her, “Come straight home after. Dinner is ready. Don't go playing with your siblings again; wait till tomorrow.”

Wang Lianlian agreed and hurried out, the small package of snacks tucked under her arm.

After delivering the snacks, Aunt Feng stuffed a candied fruit into the girl’s mouth. The sweetness was sudden and bright.

Lianlian didn't leave right away and said, “Uncle Zhao, I heard you are fixing up Miss Qin’s quarters at the yamen.”

“Yeah,” Zhao Er replied while washing his hands for dinner, the water splashing into a wooden basin.

“Uncle Zhao, is working for Miss Qin at the yamen really that profitable? She has not been in Xinghexian that long, right?”

Aunt Feng looked curious too, her hands paused in her work. “Miss Qin and her husband seem to have rich relatives. They talk and act like people from a well-off family.”

Qin Qing and Liu Yang were both main overseers at the county’s shelter, so most townsfolk knew them. They were familiar faces in the neighborhood.

Zhao Er thought for a moment, wiping his hands on a dry cloth. “You are right. The milk tea shop owner, the bathhouse boss, even Manman from the pastry shop; they all know her.”

Aunt Feng nodded. “I saw her chatting happily with Manman once. Asked about it, and Manman said they are from the same hometown.”

Zhao Er frowned. “If they are that rich, why work in the yamen? A pair like that, they could live comfortably as a young master and lady.”

“No idea,” Aunt Feng said, setting the table.

She was about to invite Lianlian to eat when the girl said, “I should head back,” and darted off before she could respond, her small feet thumping against the ground.

Meanwhile, after leaving Li Juan’s house, Qian Miao planned to report back to the Women’s Association before heading home for dinner. The walk back took her through the busier parts of the county.

But on her way, she saw a shop that was usually quiet now surrounded by a lively crowd. The voices were a buzzing hum that drew her attention.

She got closer and saw the signboard: Xiaoyao Fitness Hall. The wood was freshly painted.

“What is going on here? I have passed this shop for months and never saw it this busy,” she asked a nearby woman.

The woman replied, “It's been popular for a while now. Heard there was a man causing trouble at a pastry shop the other day, and the boss of this fitness hall took him down herself. Medium build, young lady, dropped the man in one move. Lots of folks saw it.”

“Didn't the court announce recruitment recently? Xinghexian's expanding its forces too. My niece signed up the other day, and the instructor said something that made sense. When war breaks out and a city falls, women aren't guaranteed safety. Strengthening our bodies gives us a better chance to survive.”

Qian Miao nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That is reasonable.”

Another aunt chimed in, “Exactly. I figured the same. We are better off now, and my girl wanted to come, so I let her. It will help her stand her ground once she marries.”

“Today's the last day to sign up,” another woman added, gesturing toward the door. “The instructor said there are too many students already. Anyone who hears about it wants in. I have been waiting in line forever. Who knew it would be this popular?”

Hearing that, Qian Miao felt tempted. She looked at the strong, confident women gathered around the entrance.

After asking about class times, she learned the lessons were held in the evenings, after work, ten wen per class, sold in sets of ten.

Each session lasted half an hour, which wasn't bad at all. It fit well within her schedule.

The price was fair too, a small investment for the skills promised.

So, after a moment’s thought, Qian Miao paid the fee and signed up, her name added to the growing list on the instructor's desk.

Chapter Text

After Qian Miao signed out and returned home, the very next day happened to be her day off. The morning light filtered through the lattice windows in soft, quiet streaks. Since she didn't need to go to work at the Women’s Association, she woke up later than usual, enjoying the rare stillness of her room.

Her father, Qian Yuanwai, came from a line of landlords. Their ancestors are once scholars, but he himself held no official title to boast of. On days when he didn't have guests to entertain, he spent his time at home. He would sit for hours admiring old antiques, the porcelain cool to his touch, while sipping tea that sent thin curls of fragrant steam into the air.

But Qian Miao’s luck wasn't so good today. After breakfast, she went to her mother’s quarters for a chat, her footsteps light on the polished floors, and happened to run into her father as well. He was seated there, a heavy presence in the room.

The moment Qian Yuanwai saw her, his temper flared. His face reddened slightly as he set down his teacup with a sharp click.

“You're always running about outside without the slightest bit of a lady’s grace. With how you carry yourself, who'd ever want to marry you!”

In truth, he cared deeply for his daughter. His household wasn't blessed with many children. Though he had concubines, only one daughter was born to them, and all his other children are from his legitimate wife. This made Qian Miao a precious, if frustrating, part of his life.

He and his wife would always gotten along with mutual respect, and he usually listened when she spoke. Their relationship was a steady anchor in the house.

A few months ago, Qian Miao would disguised herself as a man and was caught by Lin Xianling, who sentenced her to work at the Women’s Association. When her punishment ended, she refused to come home. She even went on a three-day hunger strike, her face growing pale and stubborn, until her parents gave in.

Qian Yuanwai eventually relented after watching his wife cry her eyes out, the tears soaking her silk handkerchiefs, but agreeing didn't mean he approved. So whenever he saw his daughter, he still couldn't resist nagging her.

Qian Miao frowned and said, “The world’s changed, Father. Most girls are working now. It's the ones who don't who stand out. You're too old-fashioned; you never go out and see for yourself.”

Her father’s beard nearly stood on end, the grey hairs bristling. “That's something poor families do because they can't afford to live otherwise. How are we the same as them? You've got blessings you don't even know how to enjoy!”

Qian Miao wanted to argue, her jaw tightening, but her mother gave her a warning look. She bit back her words with visible frustration, her fingers twisting in her sleeves.

Qian Yuanwai, on the other hand, thought himself quite open-minded. After all, he'd already been merciful enough to let his daughter go work at the Women’s Association. So, in his eyes, it was only right for him to lecture her a little. Even though he knew she hated it, he kept going, especially when he was in a bad mood.

“Hmph, you'll see. That Lin Xianling’s gone too far. Mark my words, this won't end well. Just because the women of Xinghexian have jobs now doesn't mean they can all live off selling milk tea and colored glass. As if that could feed the whole Zhao Empire’s women! It's always best to stay moderate; standing out too much never brings good fortune. She is a woman of age and still unmarried. Even being a county magistrate can't change that. No man wants her. How pitiful.”

Ever since Lin Xianling arrived at Xinghexian, the local gentry would tried all sorts of ways to curry favor. Some even sent her handsome men as gifts, the youths dressed in fine silks and smelling of expensive oils.

But Lin Xianling was completely unresponsive. Some of the men are sent back with the excuse that her servants are already enough. Others really are kept on, but only as menial workers. Since most of her courtyard staff are women, those pretty young servants couldn't even enter her quarters. They ended up wasting their good looks hauling water or sweeping paths, and if they're lucky, they would be paired with a maid later.

Clearly, Lin Xianling couldn't be swayed by beauty.

And that alone was enough to frustrate the local elites of Xinghexian to no end. They felt their influence slipping away like sand through their fingers.

They watched as the poor grew richer. Even if those people still struggled and lived modestly, just having a little better life was already unbearable to some of the gentry.

The wealthy couldn't stand it. Seeing the commoners finally eating rice made them suspect it was stolen from their own bowls. Seeing them smile like actual human beings made the rich feel as if they'd been flayed alive.

Qian Yuanwai wasn't the worst of them, but he was still bitter. Xinghexian would so many new trades springing up, yet not one of them involved him.

Since Lin Xianling arrived, all he had seen was loss, never gain. So of course, he wasn't happy with her.

But what could he do?

Everyone in Xinghexian adored her. The people supported her with a fervor that was hard to ignore. How could he touch her now?

He couldn't bear the sight of her success, couldn't stop her either, and now even his own daughter seemed brainwashed by her. That made him furious.

Still, if he couldn't criticize Lin Xianling, he could at least vent on his daughter.

Feeling stifled, Qian Miao stuffed herself with sweets in her mother’s room after the scolding, the sugar doing little to calm her irritation. Once lunch was over, she went out again, needing the open air.

That afternoon, she headed to Xiao Zi’s gym to lift weights. Her form was precise, her movements sharp and clean as she worked the iron, earning Xiao Zi’s approving nod.

Qian Miao didn't know what Xiao Zi was thinking, but sweating from the workout made her feel light and refreshed. The tension in her muscles mirrored the clearing of her thoughts. Her father’s nagging was long forgotten.

Xiao Zi’s gym charged ten wen per class. During summer, they even provided a basin of hot water to wash up and offered ice blocks to cool the room, the frozen chunks melting slowly in their tubs. It was still a bit warm with so many people training inside, the air humming with effort, but the facilities are better than most other places.

Xiao Zi barely made any money from her in-game business. She only would one rule for the women who came: no baring too much skin. Short sleeves and shorts are fine inside the courtyard, where the walls provided privacy. She usually sat in the courtyard streaming their workouts live. The unusual content would gone viral online, and many people now exercised while watching her broadcast.

After training, Qian Miao was drenched in sweat, her hair damp at the temples. Thankfully, she'd brought a change of inner clothes. She went to the dressing room, filled a pot with hot water to wipe herself down, then changed into a clean outfit and said goodbye before heading home.

Half an hour of exercise left her tired and hungry. Even though she was used to running about, she wasn't used to this kind of intense workout. It wasn't yet dinner time, but the aroma from the street stalls; the smell of spices and hot oil; made her stomach growl.

Since Lin Xianling took office, street commerce would been reorganized. Vendors are allowed only in designated rental spots, keeping the roads clear for carriages and pedestrians. Sometimes, people even would to line up early to secure a stall.

Qian Miao bought some stir-fried river snails and half a melon from a street vendor.

In summer, the fields are full of snails. They're cheap, easy to cook, and though not the cleanest, they tasted great. The vendor tossed them in a hot wok with garlic and chili.

The meat was little, but the flavor made up for it. Beside the snail stall was another selling stir-fried noodles on an iron plate set over a coal stove. It was a new trend brought in by people from outside the region, and now those iron plates are expensive.

While waiting for her snails, Qian Miao saw several people rushing by with stretchers, each carrying bloodied and battered bodies toward the medical hall. The sight of red stains on the bandages was jarring against the summer dust.

“Make way, make way!”

Some pedestrians are shoved aside, nearly falling. But since it was an emergency, they only grumbled and didn't make a fuss, watching the stretchers pass with worried eyes.

Holding her bag of snails wrapped in lotus leaves and the half melon, Qian Miao turned curiously toward the commotion.

People nearby began talking, their voices a low buzz. No one knew much. They only heard that bandits would attacked outside the city and many are injured, though no one knew exactly what would happened.

Qian Miao ate as she walked, the snails spicy on her tongue, tossing the leftovers into a roadside bin when she was done.

The streets are clean now, thanks to the waste collection system. Garbage was taken outside the city for burning or composting. Anyone caught littering was fined ten wen. Patrols used to get a commission from those fines, which made it a profitable job. Now, littering would become rare.

After finishing her snack, she returned home.

In the past, when she went out with her mother, servants always followed. But Xinghexian would become safe under Lin Xianling’s rule. Cases of assault against women are almost nonexistent, and any domestic abuse was swiftly dealt with by the Women’s Association.

The Association didn't allow maids or servants during work hours, so Qian Miao always went home alone. Only when she worked late did her family send a carriage. Back home, she changed her clothes first.

Her maid wrinkled her nose at the scent. “Miss, you've been eating street food again.”

“I used my own wages. What's wrong with that?”

Though unmarried and still living at home, Qian Miao received a monthly allowance of one or two taels. She didn't have to pay for food or housing, and it was more than enough for cosmetics and even tips for servants. But she preferred the money she earned herself. It made her feel independent, free from anyone’s mercy.

The maid picked up her clothes and sniffed. “Last time you ate who-knows-what and spent the night clutching your stomach. Madam almost beat us for it. Just don't come blaming us if you fall sick again. What would you eat this time? You smell strange.”

Qian Miao grinned. “Heh, stir-fried snails. I also bought a sweet melon, but I ate it all. I'll bring you some next time.”

The maid sighed. “Forget the melon, Miss. Just stop giving your parents more reasons to scold you.”

“Don't worry, I know what I'm doing.”

After changing, she went to her mother’s quarters to pay her respects.

Her mother was chatting with her personal maid and one of the concubines. When she saw her daughter, she waved her over to join them.

They're talking about the commotion at the city gate that day.

The old maid said, “They say bandits attacked outside the walls. A few people are killed, and some barely made it back alive. Several are badly injured and didn't dare treat their wounds on the road. They only got help after returning to the city. No one knows if they'll make it through the night.”

Qian Miao said, “I saw them when I came back from work. A bunch of them rushed into the pharmacy, covered in blood. Everyone outside was talking, but no one knew what really happened.”

The women in the room all frowned, clutching their silk handkerchiefs anxiously as the shadows deepened in the courtyard.

Chapter Text

Madam Qian, who had a daughter that often ran about outside, looked at her girl with worry. The moment she heard about the trouble beyond the city walls, her hands tightened on her handkerchief, her knuckles turning pale.

“Your father’s right,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Things outside aren’t safe. You should stay home more.”

Qian Miao knew her mother was worried, so she tried to explain. She reached out to pat her mother’s hand, her own skin smooth against the older woman’s parchment-like palm. “I’m only walking around the city, not going beyond it. You don’t need to worry.”

Her aunt, sitting nearby on a carved rosewood chair, added softly, “Miss, if you ask me, it’s never safe for a young lady once she steps out the door.”

Qian Miao wasn’t as polite to her aunt as she was to her mother. She turned her head, her gaze sharp. “If that’s the case, why should women get married at all? You worry I’ll get hurt the moment I step outside, but when I marry into another household, won’t that be outside too? Won’t there still be danger?”

Madam Qian frowned, a network of fine lines appearing on her brow. “What nonsense is that? Once you’re married, your husband’s home will be your home. There’s no danger staying inside your own house.”

“That’s not always true,” Qian Miao said, her tone turning sharp. She leaned forward, the light from the oil lamp flickering in her eyes. “I have been working with the Women’s Association lately, and I have seen plenty of women beaten by their husbands. The ones who can endure it stay quiet, and the ones who can’t come to us for help. Every one of them is beaten so badly you can’t even recognize their faces. Tell me, is that what a husband and wife should be? They look more like enemies to me.”

Her aunt murmured gently, her voice like silk, “That’s different, child. Those women married peasants, coarse and ignorant men. You’ll marry into a proper family, a young scholar who can read and write. He won’t do such things.”

Hearing that, Madam Qian fell silent. She looked down at the embroidery in her lap, her needle poised but still.

Qian Miao let out a cold laugh. “I’m working in the Women’s Association, and like Father said, there’s no guarantee a man of equal status will look my way. I might have to marry down anyway.”

She didn’t say the rest; she knew that rich men could be just as violent. They simply had servants below them to take the blows meant for their wives and children.

After seeing so many women beaten, she had long stopped believing in men. She had grown up hearing gossip from noble households; there were too many tales to count. Some of those mistresses didn’t stay silent because they wanted to, but because back then there was no Women’s Association. Even if they wanted to run for help, they couldn’t get out.

Plenty of women had died behind those mansion gates, buried quietly and forgotten quickly. If anything, those who died trapped inside their courtyards were the ones most wronged.

Her mother understood all this, but she chose silence.

That evening, right after dinner, Lin Qian received word that a merchant caravan had returned to the city with wounded men. The messenger was breathless, his chest heaving. By the rules of the yamen, if a matter was urgent, it had to be reported immediately no matter what the magistrate was doing.

The moment Lin Qian heard, she changed into a light, sapphire-blue men’s outfit and hurried to the medical hall where the wounded were being treated. Her boots clicked rhythmically against the stone pavement as she walked through the cooling night air.

The place was a traditional medicine hall called Renxin, but it carried certain modern medicines as well: penicillin and erythromycin, for instance. However, those were extremely scarce. The system deliberately lowered the success rate for extracting them, so the amount available was minimal.

The physician in charge, Liu Renxin, had been a modern Western doctor in the real world. He was over fifty in real life but appeared as a young man in this world. Most of the system’s adjustments had gone into appearance, not physique, leaving him frail. He had been practicing tai chi every day for six months just to raise his stamina to an average level.

Liu Renxin knew how to suture wounds. Together with his apprentice, he spent nearly two hours cleaning and stitching up the injured. The air in the hall was thick with the smell of iron and medicinal herbs. Those with severe wounds were given antibiotics, though there wasn’t much left; at least half a year would be needed to refine the same amount again. After the work was done, he was exhausted. He sat down to rest while the apprentices brought over food. When Lin Qian arrived, master and disciple were still eating.

The old doctor’s eyes lit up slightly when he saw her.

He wasn’t some flustered young man dazzled by beauty. At his age, nearing retirement, he had seen it all. But once, when he was young, his favorite actress had been Liu Xiaoqing, who had famously played Wu Zetian. Seeing Lin Qian now, someone destined to become a Xian Huang, it felt almost like stepping back into his youth.

He had always admired strong and beautiful women. Lin Qian wasn’t as overtly commanding as the star he once loved; however, her presence was sharper, colder. Her beauty wasn’t delicate or showy, yet it was unforgettable. There was a balance in her face, almost androgynous in its poise. When she stood, light seemed to fall naturally behind her, as though the world itself acknowledged her authority. A girl like that, she was the dream of every parent.

Meanwhile, a few of the merchants who had been lightly wounded had gathered as well. After ensuring their families knew they were safe, they came to check on their comrades.

When Lin Qian entered, everyone without official rank immediately fell to their knees. The rustle of their clothes was loud in the quiet room. She quickly waved a hand. “Enough. No need for that.”

Then she asked the uninjured ones, “What happened? I heard you were attacked by bandits?”

The merchants quickly explained, their voices low and urgent.

They had traveled safely on the way out, but were ambushed on their return. The bandits’ lair was less than half a day’s journey from Xinghexian, and they knew the terrain well.

Xinghexian was a poor and mountainous place, close to Xingpingxian but still remote; it had little trade or wealth.

Lin Qian had known about local bandits when she first arrived, but she had had neither the manpower nor the money to deal with them.

Normally, merchant convoys could pass safely if they paid a small toll. This time, however, the bandits seemed to bear a grudge against the people of Xinghexian. They ambushed the convoy and killed indiscriminately even after the merchants surrendered their goods, forcing them to fight back alongside the hired guards.

The battle was nearly even in numbers. Three to five men died, but the rest survived, along with most of their cargo. Still, almost everyone returned with injuries.

In summer heat like this, without disinfectants or antibiotics, many would have lost their lives to infection. Thankfully, Liu Renxin and his disciple had saved most of them.

Once the merchants finished explaining, the lead trader fell to his knees. “Please, Lin Xianling, send troops to eliminate those bandits. We beg you for justice.”

At once, a dozen others followed suit, kneeling in unison. Their foreheads touched the cool floor.

Lin Qian frowned. Xinghexian couldn’t mobilize troops directly; that authority rested with the fu city. But with the southern front in turmoil and the court’s armies fighting the Prince Li, there was no way the Tianjinfu garrison could spare soldiers.

Recently, the court had issued new policies allowing local officials to train their own militias for self-defense. That gave Lin Qian an opening. As the county magistrate, she could now raise troops under her own command.

Thanks to careful planning, she had enough funds set aside. She used the profits from selling Liuli to support a local army. The population was small, but after posting recruitment notices, over a hundred men enlisted within days. With the existing guards, she soon had a few thousand under her. Training began immediately. Since she treated her soldiers well and enjoyed the people’s respect, morale was high. The dust of the drill grounds rose as the men practiced their formations.

Half a month later, she announced the campaign to suppress the bandits.

Reports estimated that each bandit camp around Xinghexian had fewer than a thousand men. They weren’t large in scale.

The problem was that some of the bandits were locals: villagers who turned to banditry when times were bad and slipped back into the crowd when the trouble passed. So Lin Qian summoned the merchants who had been attacked, planning for them to identify the culprits once captured. With one man caught and interrogated, the rest would follow.

During training, she kept strict discipline. Soldiers and civilians were not to interfere with one another. She levied no new taxes; all expenses came from her earlier profits.

The people, seeing her fairness, grew even more devoted to her. It wasn’t often they met an official who didn’t bleed them dry.

The day before the campaign, in the late afternoon, He Xiang bought some meat and vegetables in the market before heading home. The weight of the bag was a steady comfort in his hand.

He handed the ingredients to his sister-in-law to prepare dinner and greeted his brother, who was weaving bamboo outside. The dry stalks clicked together rhythmically. He Xiang then went to check on his mother inside.

She was sewing under the dim light of a single tallow candle. He Xiang gently took the handkerchief from her. “Mother, I’m home now. Don’t work at night, it’s bad for your eyes.”

His mother looked far older than her years. Life’s hardships had carved deep lines into her face, and at forty-something, she already looked sixty. Her back was bent; her hair was white.

When she saw him, she smiled faintly. “You’re back.”

From the kitchen came the rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables; his sister-in-law was preparing dinner.

Half a month ago, when He Xiang returned home, he had barely caught his father’s last breath. After the funeral, he joined the local militia under Lin Qian’s command, training for the bandit suppression. The pay and grain rations were small but steady.

Now, with one less sick family member, his mother and brother could take on light work, and they no longer went hungry. Meat was still a rare luxury.

His sister-in-law had wanted to find a job, but she was too frail, so she stayed home to learn embroidery with his mother, earning a little extra when she could.

The money He Xiang made escorting caravans before had all gone toward his father’s funeral and his brother’s medicine. His brother’s leg was crippled now, but at least the illness was gone.

Life was still poor, but without the weight of sickness, it finally held a glimmer of hope. The only thing that still troubled his mother was his marriage. His fiancée had come to break off their engagement while he was away.

He Xiang was still a bachelor.

Chapter Text

He Xiang told his mother that he would be leaving in a few days to help suppress the bandits. When Madam He heard it, she only sighed softly. It was a faint, weary sound that seemed to catch in the dry air of the room.

“It’s hard on you. The whole family’s living depends on you. It’s not easy,” she said. Her voice was thin, matching the frail look of her shoulders. Though she knew it was dangerous, there wasn’t much she could do.

Her youngest son was her flesh and blood, and so was her eldest. She loved the younger dearly, but she couldn’t just stand by and watch the elder’s family starve. The thought was a cold weight in her chest.

Her eldest was crippled, his leg a useless limb, and she herself didn’t have much skill to earn money. When she grew old, she wouldn’t be able to help his family anymore. Only her younger son was still strong enough to work, his back straight and his limbs capable.

“Don’t say that, Mother. Things are already much better now,” He Xiang said. He adjusted the coarse fabric of his sleeve. When their father fell ill, his older brother had supported the whole family. Now that his brother was disabled, it was only right for him to care for his brother and sister-in-law.

As for his mother, he would naturally support her too. That was simply his duty, as clear as the sunrise.

Back then, it should have been his brother’s responsibility to care for their parents, and his own burden would have been lighter. But now that his brother couldn’t work, he had to shoulder that duty himself. He didn't resent it; he simply accepted it.

Madam He didn’t want to talk about that any longer. She changed the subject and said, “Remember the Wang family we arranged a betrothal with? Who would have thought the man of that house would turn out to be so unreliable? Still, that girl’s mother is a sensible one. She came to withdraw the engagement herself, brought two chickens, and even paid five hundred wen. If we could have become in-laws with such a family, it would have been our good fortune. What a pity…”

He Xiang lowered his gaze, his eyes fixed on the uneven floorboards. “I wasn’t worthy of them.”

“We weren’t fair to them either,” Madam He said with a sigh. She smoothed the fabric of her skirt with trembling fingers. “We just listened to what her father said and assumed it was settled. We never imagined things are like that. Her parents are divorced, and the girl followed her mother. In most households, men make the decisions. Who could have guessed their family would be different?”

She paused, then added, “We weren’t entirely blameless. Tomorrow, buy two jin of meat and take it over. The others can’t go, but since we accepted their five hundred wen, I can’t rest easy without returning the favor somehow.”

“They’re the ones who withdrew the engagement. This…” He Xiang hesitated. Their family wasn’t well-off, and that compensation money had gone to pay for his father’s medicine, every wen accounted for.

“Don’t say that,” Madam He shook her head. “It was our fault too for rushing into the betrothal without finding out the details. They’ve already treated us generously enough.”

Then she looked at him with a tender gaze, her eyes clouding with emotion. “Good child, just do as I say. Go explain things properly. It’ll ease their minds too. Otherwise, they might still worry about the matter, thinking you’re holding a grudge. When this is over, I’ll look around and see if there’s another good girl willing to marry you.”

Seeing his mother’s insistence, He Xiang said quietly, “There’s no need to rush marriage, Mother. I’d rather save some money first. But I’ll visit that family and make things clear.”

The next morning, he returned to the training grounds, the dust rising around his boots. His mother and sister-in-law had already prepared everything for his departure. The soles of his shoes were reinforced with extra stitching, and several jars of pickled vegetables are all neatly packed. Since he wouldn’t have time to come home before the campaign against the bandits, they had made sure he had everything he might need, the smell of the vinegar and salt clinging to the bundles.

After the training ended, He Xiang went into Xinghexian. That afternoon, following his mother’s directions, he found the Wang household, a modest place tucked away in a quiet alley.

He knocked on the door, but no one answered. The sound echoed hollowly against the wood.

It turned out that Wang Qiaoqiao worked at a pastry shop, while her mother, Li Juan, worked at a tofu stall. Her younger sister, Wang Lianlian, sometimes helped at the tofu stall, sometimes played with the neighbor’s children next door. The street was alive with the calls of vendors and the laughter of kids.

That day, Wang Lianlian happened to be playing with two kids across the street when she heard the knocking. She turned to see who it was.

A young man in his late teens or early twenties stood at the door, holding a paper-wrapped bundle that looked like meat. The grease was already beginning to seep through the brown paper.

“Who are you?” Wang Lianlian asked curiously, tilting her head.

Seeing a little girl from next door, He Xiang didn’t intend to explain much. After all, he and Wang Qiaoqiao had once been engaged by mistake, and he didn’t want to stir up gossip about an unmarried girl. Propriety was a delicate thing.

Just then, the neighbor’s boy called out, “Lianlian-jie, he’s standing at your door! Don't you know him?”

He Xiang then realized she must be Wang Qiaoqiao’s younger sister.

“I’m looking for your mother and your sister. Are they not home?” he asked.

From inside the house, Madam Feng came out wearing an apron, the fabric dusted with flour. Seeing an unfamiliar young man, she asked politely, “Who are you, and what business do you have here?”

There had been kidnappers in Xinghexian before, so she was wary of strange men. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed him.

“I’m from the He family. My mother knows Wang Qiaoqiao’s mother, and she sent me to bring something,” He Xiang replied, holding up the meat.

Madam Feng glanced at Wang Lianlian. “Do you know him?”

Wang Lianlian shook her head. She was still young; perhaps he was an old acquaintance of her mother’s.

“Come wait in the courtyard,” Madam Feng said, opening the gate with a rhythmic creak. “They’re still working, but they should be back around mealtime.”

As a woman, she couldn’t sit alone with a man, so she let him wait outside. It was summer, and the sun was harsh, the heat radiating off the stone walls. Leaving him standing out there didn’t feel right, especially since he claimed to know Li Juan.

“No need, Auntie. I’ll wait outside,” He Xiang said, aware of propriety. Since there are no men at home, even as a junior, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to go in.

Madam Feng didn’t press further. She just told Wang Lianlian to bring him a cup of water. The water was cool and tasted of the deep well.

After he drank, less than a quarter-hour passed before Li Juan and Wang Qiaoqiao returned. Their footsteps are quick as they approached the gate.

Li Juan was cautious when she saw a stranger waiting. But when she learned he was from the He family and came bearing a gift, she invited him in, not wanting the neighbors to see. At first, she was cool toward him, fearing the Hes might keep clinging to the broken engagement. Once she heard he had only come to clear things up and assure them there would be no further trouble, her attitude softened, the tension leaving her face.

“How are your parents?” Li Juan asked, sitting down at the wooden table.

He Xiang lowered his eyes. “My father passed away half a month ago. My mother’s doing well. Thank you for your concern, Auntie.”

Wang Qiaoqiao brought tea to the table, the steam rising in delicate wisps. He Xiang noticed her presence but didn’t look up.

Li Juan sighed, a heavy sound. “You've my condolences.”

He Xiang nodded. Everyone knew how the He family had suffered. The old man’s passing, in truth, spared them further pain. In times like these, for a poor man over fifty to pass peacefully, it's something that could almost be called a blessing.

They talked for a while. As an elder, Li Juan offered some advice. “What are you doing now? Since your father’s gone and you have no more burdens at home, why not find work here in Xinghexian? Running around outside may pay better, but it’s dangerous. Your mother and brother still depend on you.”

“I’m with the local militia now,” He Xiang said. “We’re marching out tomorrow to fight the bandits.”

“Why would you decide to do that?” she asked.

He Xiang took a sip of tea. “The pay’s good. And… when that merchant convoy was attacked, I was there. I can’t forget what those bandits did. A kind uncle who looked after me on the road was killed by them.”

“You’re a good boy,” Li Juan said sincerely. She truly liked him.

If his family hadn’t been so poor, and if he didn’t have to take such risks for money, he would have been a fine match for her daughter. He Xiang was polite, steady, and his mother was reasonable too. Even after the broken engagement, they hadn’t caused trouble. The boy spoke clearly and behaved decently, qualities that are rare for a poor household.

After chatting a bit longer, He Xiang noticed Wang Qiaoqiao had started cooking, the scent of sizzling fat filling the air. Not wanting to overstay, he stood up to leave.

Li Juan, as an elder, didn’t insist on seeing him off. She just told Wang Qiaoqiao to walk him to the alley entrance.

Wang Qiaoqiao nodded, washed her hands in a basin of water, and followed him out.

He Xiang wanted to refuse, but then saw her coming, two long braids falling over her shoulders. She wasn’t one of those pampered, delicate girls. Her skin wasn’t pale, but her features are fine, and her bright eyes are full of quiet spirit. Though her face was a little tanned by the sun, her complexion was smooth and lively. Her once dull hair, after better nourishment, now shone dark and healthy. Even from a distance, she gave the impression of a kind, likeable girl.

He Xiang was still young, his heart not hardened yet. His life had been shadowed by illness and hardship, his bedridden father, his crippled brother, his worried mother and sister-in-law. He had almost forgotten what warmth looked like.

But seeing Wang Qiaoqiao’s family made him feel something different. He thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, he had fallen for her. Still, he knew he wasn’t good enough. So he buried that feeling deep. If one day he could make something of himself, he would come back and tell her. But not now. Now, he would only bring her trouble. And after just breaking off the engagement, to suddenly confess love again, it would only make people talk.

When they reached the end of the alley, He Xiang stopped. “You can turn back here,” he said.

Wang Qiaoqiao smiled and nodded, watching him leave before heading home.

By then, dinner was almost ready.

It was too hot to save leftovers, and salted meat didn’t taste good, so they had cooked the pork He Xiang brought. The fat glistened on the plate.

As they sat to eat, Li Juan sighed. “I should have asked him to stay a bit longer. The boy’s a good one, but he’s heading out to fight bandits, he won’t taste home-cooked food for a while.”

Wang Qiaoqiao set down the dishes. “They eat well during training. I heard the militia gets meat every day.”

Li Juan smiled faintly. “If He Xiang and his brother had split households earlier, his burden wouldn’t be so heavy. He’s a fine boy. If he would just find steady work in Xinghexian, he and his wife could live well, like the family next door.”

Wang Lianlian chimed in, “Uncle Zhao next door works for himself now. He earns way more than we do!”

Wang Qiaoqiao said nothing, focused on her rice.

Seeing her daughter’s silence, Li Juan didn’t press the matter.

Meanwhile, back in Xinghexian, the local militia had finished training. Lin Qian had volunteered to lead the troops in the campaign against the bandits.

Before departure, she addressed the soldiers, her voice carrying across the yard, offering firm words of encouragement.

Then, after sharing farewell wine with them, the liquid sharp and strong, Lin Qian and her troops marched out of the city that very day. The sun caught the glint of their weapons as they moved toward the mountains.

Chapter Text

The forest was dense, the mountain paths winding and narrow, choked with thick underbrush and the smell of damp rot. A man in coarse linen clothes ran frantically through the trees, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as the branches whipped against his face.

He stumbled, his foot catching on a protruding root. Before he could react, a blade flashed before his eyes, a silver streak in the dappled sunlight, and slashed across his arm.

“Ah!” he screamed, his voice raw as he collapsed into the dirt, clutching his shoulder while blood gushed through his fingers, staining the grey fabric of his tunic.

The man who wielded the knife strode up, his boots crunching on dry leaves. He slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing through the timber, and snarled, “You think you can run from me?”

More men arrived soon after, their faces flushed from the chase. “Daren said he wants two alive! Don’t kill them all!”

The one holding the blade stopped mid-swing when he heard the command, the edge of the knife hovering inches from the prisoner’s throat. He bound the bleeding man with rough hemp rope and dragged him before Lin Qian.

The bandit-suppression campaign had been underway for two days now, and it was finally showing results. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and iron.

The bandits in the nearby mountains had been scattered. Many disguised themselves as commoners, trying to blend into the local villages, but one after another, they’re ferreted out through careful traps and captured. Those who followed Lin Qian had grown deeply impressed by her. They hadn’t expected her to be this resolute, determined to wipe out every last thief near Xinghexian.

This was the second bandit stronghold they’d taken down.

The bandit gangs around Xinghexian weren’t large to begin with; each mountain had its own self-proclaimed “king.” They’re usually no more than a hundred men, sometimes just a few dozen. Some’re so cowardly they wouldn’t even attack large merchant caravans. Lin Qian didn’t let those go either.

Everyone who’d gone into battle with her had blood on their blades by now. They’re still riding that edge of killing intent, and all of them respected Lin Qian. Lin Xianling didn’t hesitate. Once she decided on something, she acted, clean and sharp.

It wasn’t that these men hated following a woman; it was that they despised leaders without backbone. When they saw Lin Qian’s decisiveness, all their doubts vanished. Now, everyone just waited to clear out the last few bandit dens, return to Xinghexian, and claim their rewards.

The captured man was thrown into the dirt before Lin Qian. Just as she was about to interrogate him, someone among her subordinates recognized the prisoner.

“Wait, isn’t that Qian Zhong?”

“It is! The gambling hall owner!”

Lin Qian’s expression didn’t change. She motioned for the subordinate to step forward and confirm the man’s identity, then questioned the captured bandit herself. Her voice was level, matching the stillness of the mountain air.

It turned out Qian Zhong was originally a resident of Xinghexian. He’d once run a gambling den in town until Lin Qian had it shut down. After that, he’d tried his luck elsewhere but lost everything. On the road back home, bandits robbed him of what little he’d left. With no hope of rebuilding his fortune, he joined them instead.

He had always hated Xinghexian for what he called his downfall, especially Lin Qian. In his mind, everything was her fault. So he let merchants from other regions pass, but whenever he met people from Xinghexian, he killed without mercy. The traders who’d died in the previous ambush are victims of his.

Now that they’d found the culprit, Lin Qian ordered him bound tightly. He wouldn’t die so easily.

After rounding up most of the nearby bandits, she prepared to send them back to Xinghexian. Many’d been killed in the fighting, but several hundred are still alive. Xinghexian didn’t have many people, and there was plenty of heavy labor to be done; killing them all would’ve been wasteful. By now, the area for several li around was clear of bandits. Perhaps a few still hid in caves, but Lin Qian’s report would state truthfully that most had been eliminated.

Once back in town, she’d have the worst of the bandits executed and their heads displayed. Only after that did she file her report.

The higher-ups in Tianjinfu gave her a formal commendation, but it was perfunctory. The prefect knew perfectly well who Lin Qian was and had no intention of promoting her.

The lesser bandits who’d been captured alive are sentenced to hard labor; cleaning latrines, mining, rebuilding walls. It’d be five or ten years before release, with heavy chains on their feet to keep them from running. In this era, there was no talk of “human rights.” If you committed crimes, you faced punishment.

Lin Qian thought simple execution wasn’t enough. She ordered several of the ringleaders’ heads to be hung on the city wall. It wasn’t because she was cruel. It was because fear was an effective deterrent. She wanted to remind those who harbored evil thoughts what awaited them if they dared to follow that path.

But fear cuts both ways. Her display terrified the innocent, yet also fueled hatred among surviving bandits.

Barely a month later, retaliation came.

It was a cool summer night. Lin Qian, used to sleeping with her windows open to catch the breeze, had just finished washing up. After watching a live stream for a while; a habit she still hadn’t shaken; she prepared for bed. It was already close to the hai (pig) hour (9 PM - 11 PM), around ten at night, when the sudden, jarring sound of gongs and drums rang through her courtyard.

Her two maids woke instantly. One tried to rush to Lin Qian’s side but was stabbed before she could take two steps. The other was struck unconscious with a single blow that sent her sprawling.

Lin Qian sensed danger the moment she heard the noise. She blew out the candle, the wick smoking in the dark, and reached under her pillow for the dagger she always kept there. After watching so many ancient period dramas, she knew exactly what was happening. She just didn’t know who wanted her dead; revenge, assassination, or something else.

From what she could tell, there’re two intruders moving through the shadows.

And two fists can’t beat four hands. Against two grown men, she stood no chance.

Her dagger cut one of them, the blade biting deep, but another slash tore across her arm. Then a heavy kick struck her in the stomach, throwing her to the floor.

Pain shot through her as she tried to rise, her abdomen cramping violently.

Just as the man lunged to stab her chest, his companion shouted, “Go! Someone’s coming!”

The second man clutched his belly where she’d stabbed him earlier and bolted toward the window.

Lin Qian caught the attacker’s blade with her bare hands. Pain exploded through her palms, sharp and searing as the steel sliced into her skin.

Her anger surged higher than the pain. She refused to die like this. Her adrenaline spiked, and she grabbed the nearest thing; a porcelain teapot; and smashed it with all her strength into the man’s head.

With a loud crash, he fell backward, the tea spilling across the floor.

Her body trembled with shock. In the dark, she couldn’t find her dagger, so she grabbed a sharp shard of porcelain from the floor and swung wildly. Luck favored her; she hit the man’s eye. He screamed in agony, the sound muffled by the shadows.

Lin Qian seized his hair, her fingers slick with blood, and plunged the shard into his neck again and again until he stopped moving.

By then, people are pouring into the courtyard with lanterns and torches.

They froze when they saw her; blood covering her face, the room in ruins. The chaos fell into silence.

Her palms are split open, the flesh turned inside out. She was too drained to even cry.

“Fetch a physician. Clean this place up,” she said, forcing herself to stand. A matron hurried over to support her and draped a robe across her shoulders.

“Daren’s injured!” the woman cried out when she saw the wounds.

One maid, Jiaoyue, had been stabbed and lay unconscious. Yingxiu was only knocked out.

The assassins had come straight for Lin Qian’s quarters. If someone hadn’t spotted one of them climbing the wall, she’d have been dead by now.

As she stepped out onto the veranda, rain began to fall, the drops cool against the humid air. She raised her uninjured hand to wipe her face, smearing blood and water down her neck.

The servants searched the house to make sure no one was hiding inside, their torches flickering.

Seeing the rain, the matron led Lin Qian to the shelter of the veranda.

It was dim there. The women looked over at her, sitting quietly beneath the eaves, her face pale under the moonlight. Lin Qian tore a strip of cloth and wrapped her arm tightly. She stared up at the moon, the pain so sharp she could think of nothing else.

Meanwhile, in the Dragon Kingdom, it was still daytime.

Doctor Liu Renxin had just logged into the game to work on an antibiotic experiment when a message popped up: Lin Qian was hurt. He rushed online to follow the event.

"Ho-host, I can help numb the pain, OKK? Do you want it?"

Just as Lin Qian felt she was about to pass out from blood loss, the system finally spoke up.

Through gritted teeth, she thought furiously, "Where the hell are you just now?!"

"Uh, I-I was... submitting a report. They only approved unrestricted killing of players, not civilians from this timeline yet..."

“You could’ve said something! I thought you’d glitched out!”

"Sorry, sorry! I didn’t want to distract you! If you died, I’d be in trouble too!"

She was in no mood to argue. “You said you can stop the pain?”

"Yes! Need it?" Zheng Zheng asked timidly.

“Of course I do!”

It didn’t dare anger her further. After all, even a minor system could get deleted for breaking Heavenly Dao protocols.

The pain dulled almost instantly, letting her breathe again.

When the physician arrived to tend her wounds, Lin Qian turned to the matron who’d gone to gather news. “How’s Madam Qiu and Xuan’er?”

“Madam Qiu tripped when she rushed out and is being treated by another physician. Word’s been sent, and she’s safe. Miss Xuan’er woke up and asked about you; we told her a thief broke in and’s been caught. Miss Gui Hua slept right through everything.”

Lin Qian nodded faintly, relief softening her eyes for the first time that night.

===

Xuan'er 👀

Chapter Text

Liu Renxin arrived with his apprentice, the young man following closely behind with a heavy medical bag that clinked with the sound of ceramic vials. The apprentice had already gone to check on Jiaoyue’s condition, his movements quick and purposeful in the flickering light of the courtyard.

After examining Lin Qian’s injury, he let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible over the crackle of the torches. “Your hand can still move. The tendons and bones are fine. But we will need to disinfect and stitch it right away. There is no anesthetic here, so you will have to bear some pain.” He looked down at the jagged cut, his brow furrowed in clinical focus.

Lin Qian was just about to respond when she saw Madam Zou being carried into the courtyard on a chair. The wood of the chair creaked under the weight, and the older woman’s sprained foot was wrapped up in tight bandages, but her face was full of worry.

“Doctor,” Madam Zou asked anxiously, her voice trembling as she leaned forward. “Will stitching affect my lady’s hand? She still needs to hold a brush and write!”

Liu Renxin looked at Lin Qian’s hand again, had her move it, and saw she could still make a fist. Her fingers curled slowly, the skin pulling tight over her knuckles. “It is hard to say for certain, but from what I can tell, there should not be much of a problem. Writing should be fine, and it is not even her dominant hand.”

“Will it leave a scar?” Madam Zou asked, her gaze fixed on the broken skin.

“It will,” Liu Renxin answered honestly. “A wound that deep cannot heal without one. But it is on the palm. You will not notice it unless you look closely.”

Madam Zou’s eyes filled with distress, the dampness glistening in the lantern light. She wanted to reach out and touch Lin Qian’s face but stopped herself, her fingers twitching at her sides, afraid of being in the way.

Lin Qian exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping as she looked weary. “Doctor, go ahead and start the stitching.”

Then she instructed the servants to bring more lamps to brighten the room, her voice steady despite the chaos.

Madam Zou still did not fully trust Liu Renxin. People said that although he looked barely twenty, his medical skills are worth thirty years of experience. Exaggeration, of course, but it meant his ability was widely acknowledged.

Madam Zou had gone to him before for minor illnesses, and his treatments always worked. After all, a man without skill could not run a clinic for long. Still, when it came to stitching her lady’s wound, Madam Zou could not stop worrying, her breath coming in short, anxious hitches.

Liu Renxin had been a doctor for many years. One glance at Madam Zou’s expression told him everything she was thinking. He ordered the servants to boil water, then ran a hand through his thick head of hair. People are strange creatures. At moments like this, he almost missed his half-bald self in the real world.

“Ah, youth never truly returns, does it?”

Lin Qian’s face had been wiped clean of blood, and after her wound was checked, she changed into fresh clothes of simple, pale silk.

Liu Renxin poured out strong white liquor and disinfected the wound. The sharp, stinging scent of the grain alcohol filled the small space, biting at the senses.

Thanks to the system’s support, her pain was much lighter than normal. The alcohol stung faintly, but it was bearable; it is a cool burn that only made her hand twitch slightly.

Liu Renxin watched her closely. That gash was deep, and yet she did not even flinch beyond a small tremor. He could not tell if she was enduring it out of sheer willpower or if her nerves are dulled. As a doctor, he had treated countless patients, and even the toughest men cried out when alcohol hit an open wound like that. But Lin Xianling barely moved, her gaze fixed on a point on the far wall.

Aside from gaming, he sometimes taught medical knowledge during live streams. So, seeing such a good “subject,” he decided to stream the treatment; waste not, want not.

Of course, the system automatically censored the gory parts. Every trace of red blood turned into pixelated mosaics that shimmered on the viewers’ screens.

Thankfully, Lin Qian had washed her face and changed clothes. Otherwise, she would look like a criminal suspect blurred out on the news.

“Lin Qian’s so pretty. I would kneel if she looked at me like that.”

“She is not even screaming with a wound like that? Emperor behavior.”

“It is all in the data. If the creator did not script her to cry, she will not. Chill.”

“Ugh, he is stitching now. I can't watch.”

“My poor Qian-baby! You are suffering so much!”

“Lin Qian’s darkening value: 80%.”

“Who the hell tried to assassinate her?”

“Someone who has got beef with her, obviously.”

“Who would hate Lin Qian? She is amazing!”

“She has stepped on quite a few toes, actually.”

“Yeah, remember when she shut down the brothels after entering the city? That hurt a lot of men’s ‘business.’ Once the local economy improved, people calmed down, but she really messed with some interests.”

“Do men really have nothing better to do than chase their ‘needs’?”

“Hey, do not lump all men together!”

“And do not forget the gentry. She forced them to give up land. They definitely hate her.”

“Then maybe people from the neighboring xian hate her too.”

“Doubt it. Killing a fellow official? That is suicide.”

“Could be bandits. Maybe it is someone she punished recently.”

“But the bandits are already wiped out!”

“You think none survived?”

“Fair point.”

Lin Qian had lost a lot of blood, so after the doctor left, she rested for two full days. The heat of the summer sun beat down outside, but the magistrate’s courtyard remained quiet and still.

Jiaoyue’s injuries could not be examined deeply, so they had disinfected and stitched her up first. No organ damage, most likely, but they would have to wait for her to wake before knowing for sure.

The news of Lin Qian’s injury only stayed quiet for two days before Chu Xuan and the rest of the anxious townsfolk caught wind of it; it is a secret too violent to be contained by polite walls.

Lin Qian hadn't tried overly hard to hide the facts from the public; such things are impossible in a county seat; but it was Chu Xuan’s own persistent, gnawing concern that unraveled the specific, terrifying truth. The bland, repeated assurances that the Magistrate was “indisposed” or “resting” curdled in her stomach after the third day. A cold, familiar dread settled deep within her. It was the kind that had lived in her bones since her father’s arrest, a hollow weight that made her chest feel tight. This time, the threat wasn't to a distant family, but to the very center of her fragile new world.

Pushing past a flustered servant with an uncharacteristic sharpness, she didn't wait for an official invitation or proper protocol. The habits of a well-bred daughter fell away, replaced by a more primal imperative. She made her way directly and purposefully to the inner quarters of Lin Qian’s residence, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.

She found Lin Qian not in her study or receiving room, but propped up in the relative privacy of her bedchamber. She was propped against a stack of pillows, her face pale as unbleached silk against the dark fabric, and the vibrant intelligence in her eyes had dimmed by pain and exhaustion. One hand; the one that wielded a brush with such elegant authority, the one that had rested so gently on Chu Xuan’s back; was heavily bandaged into a clumsy white bundle. It rested immobile on a silk cushion. The other lay atop the covers, looking too still.

The sight was a physical blow, knocking the air from Chu Xuan’s lungs. The always-composed, ever-capable Lin Qian, looked… breakable. She looked human in the worst way. Madam Zou was fussing nearby with a bowl of cooling soup, her eyes red-rimmed and her movements fraught with worry, but Chu Xuan’s gaze remained locked on Lin Qian, seeing past the patient to the profound vulnerability beneath.

She did not rush forward or cry out. Instead, she stood frozen in the doorway for a long, suspended moment, her own breath catching painfully. The carefully controlled composure she had been rebuilding for herself since her arrival; brick by painful brick; seemed to waver and crack, not from the pressure of her own grief this time, but from the shock of seeing her anchor wounded and her fortress breached.

“Yurui…” The name escaped her lips, it is a soft, pained exhale laden with everything unsaid.

Lin Qian looked up, her expression weary but her gaze clearing as it focused on Chu Xuan. She offered a small, deliberate smile, the kind meant to reassure, but it was thin; it is a veil over the pain. It did not quite reach her eyes, which held a shadow Chu Xuan had never seen in them before. “Meimei,” she said, her voice softer and a little rougher than usual. “There is no need for alarm. It looks far worse than it is. A nuisance, truly.”

Chu Xuan finally forced her feet to move, stepping into the room as if crossing a sacred threshold. She stopped a few paces from the bed, close enough to see the fine tremors of fatigue in Lin Qian’s good hand and the pallor that was not just from the lantern light. Her own hands came up, clasping tightly in front of her, the knuckles whitening; it is a physical effort to stop them from reaching out or trembling.

“Jiaoyue told me you are hurting inside,” she said, her voice low and thick with an emotion too complex to name. It was not an accusation. It is a statement of profound, resonant understanding; it is a key turning in a lock they both now shared.

She, of all people, knew what it was to erect a calm face while your world shattered behind it. But to see Lin Qian; her pillar, her ideal of steadfastness; doing the same, to see the brutal proof of violence written on her body, made that abstract understanding terrifyingly and intimately real. The ‘hurting inside’ was no longer a metaphorical grief; it was now also a physical wound, and the sight of it carved a new, deeper ache within Chu Xuan’s own chest.

“It was a necessary risk of the post,” Lin Qian replied, her tone attempting its usual pragmatic firmness, though it lacked its full force. Her eyes, however, softened as they traced the clear distress etched on Chu Xuan’s face. “It is handled. The matter is concluded.”

“Is it?” Chu Xuan’s gaze dropped, irrevocably drawn back to the stark white bandages. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Will you… will you still be able to write?”

“The doctor assures me it should be fine. It is not my dominant hand.” Lin Qian flexed the fingers of her good hand slightly, a demonstration of remaining capability. “It will heal. It will merely… tell a story.” The attempt at lightness fell flat, the word ‘story’ hanging heavily between them, synonymous with ‘attack,’ ‘danger,’ and ‘blood.’

Their fragile, quiet moment was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps and hushed voices. Lin Qian, hearing them, seemed to gather herself, the Magistrate’s mantle visibly settling back over her shoulders despite her pallor. Regaining a fraction of her formidable will, she insisted on interrogating the captured attackers herself. As she moved to rise, a slight unsteadiness betrayed her weakness.

Instinctively, without thought, Chu Xuan stepped forward. Her hand came up, hovering just beside Lin Qian’s elbow, not quite making contact; the propriety between unmarried women, between a refugee and a magistrate, was a tangible barrier; but her presence was a silent, unwavering offer of support. It is a steadiness offered back to the one who had steadied her.

“You should rest,” Chu Xuan murmured, but there was a new quality in her voice. It was no longer the plea of a grieving, helpless girl. It is the concerned, firm tone of someone who had found something; someone; precious to protect, a nascent strength rising from the ashes of her own helplessness.

Lin Qian paused, meeting her eyes. In that glance, Chu Xuan saw not dismissal, but a flicker of acknowledgment, a recognition of the shift between them. “Rest will not root out the problem,” Lin Qian said, her gaze turning inward and hardening into the flint that had cleared bandits from the hills. “Only action will.”

She moved past then, leaning briefly on a servant’s offered arm instead, the Magistrate once more, her shoulders squaring against the immense weight of her duty and danger. But the image of Lin Qian; pale, wounded, human; propped up in bed was now seared into the back of Chu Xuan’s eyelids. The world had already taken her family. It had tried to take Lin Qian, too. A cold, fierce resolve crystallized within her, sharp and clear amidst the lingering fog of her own sorrow.

She didn't know how, didn't know what power she could possibly wield, but the vague admiration and desperate reliance she felt are transforming. They are becoming something more active and more ferocious. A vow, silent and fierce, formed in her heart: Never again. This woman, who had absorbed her grief and offered a home, would not face such darkness alone.

Lin Qian was still weak, her body lightheaded from the blood loss, a persistent tremor in her limbs that only rest and Madam Zou’s relentless fortifying broths could mend. Yet, as Chu Xuan watched her recede down the corridor, she saw not just convalescence, but a battle line being drawn. And for the first time since her own life had burned to the ground, Chu Xuan felt not like a burden to be sheltered, but like a sentinel standing guard at the edge of that same line.

Lin Qian was still weak from blood loss, but considering her frail constitution, it is already a miracle she had not fallen ill. During those two days of rest, Madam Zou filled her diet with beef, lamb, pig’s trotters, and chicken soup. If not for fear of messing up her medicine’s effect, Madam Zou probably would have brewed ginseng tea for her too.

There is a prison under the yamen, and even with her hand bandaged, she went there herself. Her questioning followed procedure: one suspect at a time to prevent collusion. The damp stone walls of the prison felt cold, and the clink of keys echoed through the dark halls.

Three men had broken into her residence. Whether more had been waiting outside, no one knew, but by now they would have fled.

Of the three, one was the man she had stabbed to death, another was gravely injured, and the third had been caught trying to scale the wall. She did not need torture. Both survivors knew they would die soon anyway. The one caught alive sobbed and begged for mercy, his tears smearing the dirt on his face, while the wounded one just asked for a clean death.

It didn't take Lin Qian long to learn why they had come. They are once subordinates of Qian Zhong, the bandit she had executed during her campaign to eradicate the bandits. Years ago, he had helped them survive starvation, so they followed him into the mountains.

Lin Qian had executed Qian Zhong and the ringleaders but spared the lesser men, sending them to work off their crimes with heavy labor; cleaning drains, dredging rivers, emptying latrines. Since they worked in the city, they still had chances to meet. When they saw Qian Zhong’s severed head hanging at the gate, their anger reignited. They decided to avenge him. The uneducated are easy prey for manipulation. Landlords and corrupt officials loved exploiting their ignorance, turning them into tools with just a few words. And fools acting together always caused trouble.

That was how Lin Qian had been able to wipe out the bandits so swiftly; because they lacked anyone with a brain. Even now, the men did not regret robbing and killing. They hated Lin Qian for doing her job instead of blaming their own crimes. They had underestimated her, thinking a woman could not possibly fight back.

Lin Qian, though, figured it is more stupidity than sexism. Still, she tightened security around her residence afterward. After all, who would ever expect someone to dare break into a magistrate’s home?

Honestly, even if she walked right into a bandit’s den, most would not have dared to touch her. She was an official of the court, no matter how small the post.

Who would be dumb enough to challenge the Imperial Court itself? Apparently, these three.

They are not afraid of death when plotting their “great revenge,” but once caught, they are shaking like leaves.

Lin Qian had never liked judging the poor harshly. She had grown up in a rural village herself. Her mother had once scrubbed toilets in hotels so Lin Qian could save for a city home. Even then, her parents stayed kind. So how could poverty alone define a person’s morality?

But after nearly dying at the hands of three “commoners,” Lin Qian understood something new: people should not romanticize human nature, especially that of the uneducated.

Some jobs did not require literacy, true. Yet after the founding of Dragon Kingdom, the government still worked hard to eliminate illiteracy.

“Maybe it was not just for fairness in education,” she thought, her fingers tracing the rough edge of her desk.

“Maybe it was to make sure ignorance like this did not destroy them all again.”

Chapter Text

In these chaotic times within the Zhao Empire, where the scent of dust and distant smoke often choked the horizon, Lin Qian, as the magistrate of Xinghexian, could execute a few heinous criminals so long as she filed a proper report afterward. The ink on her official scrolls dried slowly in the heavy summer air as she detailed the proceedings.

Once she confirmed there weren't any masterminds behind the assassination attempt, she ordered the immediate execution of the two attackers. This time, though, she didn't have their heads hung on the city wall. The stone of the gate remained bare, the wind whistling through the empty battlements.

It wasn't because Lin Qian was afraid of retaliation or had grown timid. Her spine remained as straight as the cedar pillars of her hall.

She simply felt that since the attempt had been directed at her personally, it was her private matter. There wasn't any need to display their severed heads for all to see.

When she had hung the bandits’ heads on the wall before, it had been to warn others don't follow in their footsteps, and perhaps also to let the people vent their anger. The sight had served its purpose in the brutal logic of the frontier.

The common folk wasn't to blame. They worked hard, tended their fields until their backs ached, managed their homes, and yet had everything stolen by those bandits.

Even the merchants who struggled daily to feed their families, some had lost their lives. Her action had at least given them and their families an explanation. The closure was as tangible as the dirt beneath their feet.

Her own resentment, however, didn't need to be displayed so openly. Quiet justice was enough.

Yancheng, Zhao Empire

“Aaahhh!!!”

“Not so hard!”

Two sharp cries echoed through the courtyard, startling a flock of birds into the air, their wings flapping frantically against the blue sky.

Jun Moxiao lay face-down on the bed, his rear pixelated out of mercy by the system's shimmering light. A trembling old physician was carefully applying medicine to his wounds, the pungent scent of herbs filling the small room.

Yan Jiujiu, Feng Xuan, and Shan Mo sat nearby. Two of them looked sympathetic, but Feng Xuan’s expression clearly showed disdain. She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Watching the tears streaming down Jun Moxiao’s cheeks, Feng Xuan couldn't help saying, “When Lin Qian was stabbed last time, she caught the blade with her bare hands. She didn't even make a sound while getting disinfected. And look at you, wailing like a pig.”

Jun Moxiao bit down on the blanket, the coarse fabric muffling his voice as he sobbed and protested, “That’s different! She’s data, I’m human!”

“Your pain sensitivity’s lowered too, remember?” Shan Mo pointed out, his voice steady.

“It’s still not the same!”

Shan Mo sighed, realizing there wasn't any use arguing with him. “Alright, that’s enough. Both of you, quit it.”

The old doctor continued applying the medicine, his hands shaking slightly, utterly baffled by their conversation. Data? Humans? What on earth are they talking about?

"Hahahahaha I'm losing it in this livestream!"

"Xiang never disappoints. Comedy gold wherever he goes."

"Jun Moxiang, can you behave for once?"

"Hey, surviving this mess means good luck’s coming!"

Yan Jiujiu glanced at the scrolling comments on the translucent screen and couldn't help laughing too.

Jun Moxiao must have heard the sound, because he turned his head toward Yan Jiujiu. Instantly, Yan Jiujiu’s smile vanished, her face snapping back to stern as she adjusted his collar.

“No wonder my Jiejie scolds you. Look at yourself. You’re going to war, not a fashion parade, yet you just had to decorate your carriage with banners like some showy peacock. Of course they’d aim for you. You’re lucky that arrow didn't finish you off.”

“Exactly,” Feng Xuan added. “I’ve got it better than you. Even Fang Zhou couldn't be bothered to visit after what you pulled.”

“Really?” Jun Moxiao asked innocently, his eyes wide.

“No, no,” Shan Mo interjected quickly. “He’s just been working on the siege plans. We’ve already taken one city, but the northern forces'll retaliate soon. He’s been studying Kyoto’s defenses, and now he’s moving on to Yancheng and Jiangcheng, digging through all sorts of old maps.” The rustle of paper and the scratching of charcoal seemed to echo even in their absence.

Hearing that someone could actually enjoy studying so much, Feng Xuan shuddered.

Kyoto, Imperial Palace. Prince’s Residence

A palace maid poured tea for Zhou Chenrui, the liquid steaming in the porcelain cup. The moment he took a sip, it scalded his mouth, the heat sudden and sharp.

The maid dropped to her knees in fright, her forehead nearly touching the cold floor.

Zhou Chenrui slammed the cup down, the clatter echoing in the cavernous hall. “Useless thing! Can’t even pour tea properly?”

His temper had been foul for days. Though he hadn't killed anyone, every servant close to him had already been punished at least once. The girl pouring tea wasn't even assigned to him originally. She had only been temporarily reassigned from the lower courts.

After berating her, he realized his emotions are getting out of hand. He waved dismissively. “Go take ten lashes.”

The maid burst into tears but didn't dare argue. She bowed, her shoulders shaking, and hurried out.

“You all leave too,” he said to the remaining attendants who stood like statues along the walls.

Everyone bowed silently and withdrew, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Once the room emptied, Zhou Chenrui finally let out a long breath. He buried his face in his hands, his temples throbbing with a dull, persistent rhythm. He wasn't sick by nature, but lately, he couldn't sleep at night, and the exhaustion made his head pound during the day.

The Imperial physicians had said it was due to excessive worry and unrest of the spirit. They had prescribed calming tonics, but the medicine left him so groggy he had stopped taking it. The headaches returned soon after, sharp and unrelenting.

Uneasy spirit, heavy thoughts.

Wasn't that the truth?

His Imperial Brother refused to let him leave Kyoto, afraid he would stir trouble in the palace. He was practically under house arrest, watched by spies wherever he went. The eyes of the guards were always on him. Who could possibly live well under such circumstances?

Zhou Chenrui understood perfectly. His Imperial Brother feared Prince Rui’s rebellion, and he suspected him, Prince Rui’s own brother, of being an accomplice. As long as he remained locked in the palace, Prince Rui had one less ally and one more concern.

But emperors are heartless. He didn't fear imprisonment. He feared being silenced forever. They weren't born of the same mother. Killing him wouldn't weigh heavily on his Imperial Brother’s conscience.

Keeping him confined meant his brother was trying to force Prince Rui into rebellion. And once Prince Rui rebelled, how could Zhou Chenrui possibly survive within the palace walls?

He had never cared for the lives of low-born servants, yet now that his own life hung in the balance, fear took root. No matter how long he thought, he couldn't see a way out.

Only two paths lay before him. One led to death, the other to rebellion.

But could he choose either?

To die. He lacked courage. To rebel. He lacked means.

Should he betray his brother to save himself? Report that Prince Rui might rebel?

Would that even save him? Probably not.

And besides, Prince Rui was his full brother. Even if he had no conscience left, he couldn't stoop that low. After two full ke (15 min) of silence, the only sound left in the hall was Zhou Chenrui’s sighing.

A slender hand picked up a grape, the skin cool and waxy. Yong’an peeled off the skin, revealing the pale green fruit, and gently held it to Wang Wuyuan’s lips.

He frowned and turned his head away.

In the past, his attitude toward Yong’an had been polite enough. After all, when he had been cornered by Prince An and the Imperial Consort, Yong’an had stepped in to help him.

But ever since those eunuchs stripped him bare to examine his body, he felt nothing but disgust. They hadn't just checked for marks. They had pried him open to inspect his condition. They hadn't gone so far as to touch, but it was humiliating enough. He had felt like a slab of meat on a butcher’s block, helpless under the flickering lanterns.

Seeing Yong’an, the one who had set that in motion, he didn't draw a blade only because he still valued his life. That didn't mean he didn't hate her.

Wang Wuyuan couldn't understand why there wasn't a single normal person in the Imperial Family. Being confined by Zhou Chenrui wasn't enough. Now there's the Yong’an Princess too!

Seeing him ignore her, Yong’an’s expression cooled, her eyes narrowing.

“I’ve had enough of your cold looks. I’ve treated you well, given you anything you’ve asked for. Why can’t you see me?”

Wang Wuyuan stayed silent, though the livestream chat exploded with comments.

"Why can’t I have luck like this?!"

"Just look at her, man! You’re telling me you’d stay blank-faced?"

"Yong’an’s gorgeous, come on Wuyuan, give in already!"

"Wang Wuyuan: I want to be the Imperial Consort. Yong’an: Then forget it."

"Haha, she’s got that strong independent vibe. Love her, but no titles for you."

Yong’an leaned in, about to kiss him, her breath warm against his skin.

Wang Wuyuan turned his face away and shoved her back.

She was beautiful, yes, but their values couldn't be further apart.

"Good job, Wang Wuyuan! You’re Rui Wang’s forever."

"Don’t be stupid, Wuyuan!"

"Damn, another account banned."

A sharp smack! echoed through the room.

The chat went dead silent for two full seconds.

Wang Wuyuan gritted his teeth, glaring at her, his cheek stinging from the blow. Yong’an stood tall, showing no hint of apology. Yong'an's eyes said it all. Her patience was gone. After staring him down for a few heartbeats, she turned and left. Her servants followed quickly, their silk robes rustling, leaving only silence behind.

Outside the gates, her carriage was already waiting, the horses stamping their hooves. Yong’an climbed aboard and rode back to the Shen Residence.

As soon as she arrived, her attendants came forward to whisper the latest palace gossip. There's news from the Empress Dowager, the Empress, the Emperor, and Zhou Chenrui himself.

It wasn't real-time, but it was enough to keep her well-informed. After all, she had once been the late Emperor’s most favored princess. Her web of connections within the palace still ran deep. For months now, don't think a single detail of Prince An’s situation had escaped her notice.

She had even had a hand in orchestrating it.

She would make Zhou Chenrui understand. This was the price of crossing her.

Hearing the report, Yong’an smiled faintly, her lips curling in contempt.

At the corner of Shen Residence, a musician emerged, holding a small instrument. Seeing her, he bowed respectfully and waited for her to pass.

When she was gone, he turned to the camera and whispered, “Alright folks, that's the Yong’an Princess herself. Guess we’ve seen royalty up close today.”

Chapter Text

Naturally, the qin player was a Dragon Kingdom streamer, a poor composer who could not sell a single piece. He had spent years plucking at strings in cramped rooms, the notes fading into the silence of an empty career. But inside the game, as a free musician, he had gotten a bit of fame in Kyoto City. The virtual air seemed to carry his melodies further, the resonance of the qin echoing off the stone walls of the capital.

After studying a bit of ancient composition, he had managed to create a few catchy tunes. The lyrics were not great, so he usually had to find a scholar from Kyoto to write them for him. Even so, the popularity boost from the streams earned him several invitations as a guest to the Shen Residence. The estate's grand gates opened to him, the scent of expensive incense and blooming gardens filling his senses.

Ever since the Eldest Princess moved into the Shen Residence, the place had been bustling for two straight months. Carriages rattled along the drive, and the sound of constant activity vibrated through the halls.

The musician’s name was Yu Yin, and he used his real one in game. He sat with his instrument, his fingers hovering over the silk strings as he watched his translucent stream interface.

"I just checked Wang Wuyuan’s stream. Looks like he is fallen out of favor. Want to take his spot?"

"Yeah, such a waste, you’re way too handsome not to be someone is pretty boy."

"My Eldest Princess…"

"Nah, I want to see some tragic love. Yong’an x Wuyuan forever! Those angst plots are rare gold."

"Xian Huang’s game design is still too ahead of its time."

When Yu Yin saw the chat dragging the conversation toward him, he shrugged, his shoulders moving in a slow, casual arc. He said, “No thanks. I don't want to get stripped by eunuchs for a body check. I will pass.” He could still imagine the cold, clinical air of such an encounter.

"Pfft, hahaha, that’s topical as hell."

"Haha, poor Wang Wuyuan, what a mess."

"Hey bro, how about you pick a girl from Kyoto’s pleasure quarters? They look glamorous, but most of them are miserable."

"Yeah, and there are tons of beauties there."

"That Ying’er seems to like you."

"Li'er too. The girls' eyes don't lie."

"Why not redeem them both and keep them as maids?"

Yu Yin liked chatting with his viewers, though most of the time he kept the comments filtered to avoid the worst of the noise.

“Zhao’s been at war lately. It might even reach Kyoto soon. I’m thinking of visiting another country, maybe dodge the chaos a bit. The official site said the overseas map’s opening soon, right? Besides, even if I want to take someone away, that someone might not want to go.” He leaned back, his eyes tracking the rapid scroll of text.

"She likes you though!"

"That line made me want to slap you."

"This guy’s too damn good looking. Maxed out stamina and strength from the start."

"Still not as handsome as Wang Wuyuan."

"Wuyuan’s face is fake. If you compare for real, Yu Yin wins hands down."

"Wait, did the official site really announce the overseas map? I didn't see it."

"Just checked, says it will open during summer break, not yet."

"So that means new slots soon?"

"Probably. With the new maps, they will release more accounts."

"Yesss, my odds of getting one just went up!"

"Good thing they’re not opening global servers. If foreigners joined, I would lose my mind."

"I’ve been training my click speed, next time I will get in for sure!"

“Hope you all do.”

While chatting, Yu Yin walked back to his lodgings, the dry dust of the street kicking up around his boots. He grabbed his qin, the wood smooth and familiar, and headed for the pleasure houses of Kyoto City.

That was his first job there. His profession was not exactly noble, more of a lowly trade. His playing skills were average, but he could compose. Early on, the big taverns would not hire him because his qin skills were too poor. By now, he was used to working in such places. The air in the quarters was thick with the cloying scent of perfume and the distant sound of laughter.

Thanks to his good looks, a few girls came up to greet him as soon as he arrived. Their silk robes rustled as they moved, their voices soft and welcoming. It was not peak hour yet. Things only got lively during dinner, and guests who enjoyed themselves would sometimes stay the night.

Yu Yin usually just hung around and played music with the girls. To him, they are NPCs, just lines of code. He did not play to “immerse in the world” like other Players. He just did not want to spend money.

In real life, he had tried streaming since he could not sell his music. With his looks, he used to earn a few thousand yuan a month in tips. To him, a fan who donated over ten thousand yuan was already a “rich lady.” After all, it was pocket money for entertainment. Someone earning five thousand a month would not casually spend a thousand watching streams. If a woman tipped ten thousand, that meant she earned hundreds of thousands herself.

He had thought life was improving, but then one of those rich ladies demanded compensation because he refused to sleep with her. When he would not pay, she sent people to tank his reputation. Those who followed him knew how miserable things had been. Even when donations hit ten thousand a month, his share barely reached a few thousand. Yet other streamers still got jealous.

Soon, the “rich lady” and a bunch of jealous peers joined forces to smear him online. During that wave of cyberattacks, he stopped streaming, and that was when he managed to snag an account for Xian Huang.

That account changed everything. His popularity climbed again, and for once, he earned a decent sum. Among Players, he admired one guy most, Qi Yue. Some people just had all the luck. The patrons he met were kind, and his peers did not try to ruin him.

Yu Yin was not that lucky. He always seemed to run into unreasonable clients and stupid rivals. When he had quit streaming, life was rough. Rent, utilities, maintenance, it all piled up. He had been trying to make it in the big city, and it drained him. Even after getting the game account, he never converted in game gold to real cash. He earned his own and spent his own.

When his monthly income finally reached five figures, his life stayed simple. After all, he still had a dream, to make music.

Even after he got famous through Xian Huang, companies kept offering to sign him, promising albums if he would tie the contract to his in game identity.

Yu Yin thought about it for a long time. In the end, he chose to fund his dream himself. Anyone could betray him, but he would not betray himself.

Even while chatting with the girls, he always kept a bit of distance. After all he had been through, he was not used to getting close to people anymore.

That day, the private room hosted several officials from Kyoto. The room was dim, the light provided by flickering tallow candles. Yu Yin had learned to play both the guqin and guzheng for such events. Tonight, he chose the guqin.

When the curtain was drawn, he sat inside while the guests drank outside, attended by several courtesans. To be fair, these men, educated in the classics, still had a bit of decorum. They did not harass the women, instead discussing political affairs, their voices rising over the clink of porcelain cups.

“King Li’s forces are clearly on the decline now. Lord Li truly lives up to his military lineage, he is quite the strategist.” A young man’s voice carried through the thin fabric of the curtain.

“I only hope the war ends soon. The local troops are worn thin. The southern barbarians harass Yancheng’s borders, the northern front keeps pressing. The nation’s beset on all sides. I can hardly sleep at night,” said an elder. The elder's voice was weary, weighted with age.

“Don’t worry, Elder Qi. Once General Li stabilizes the situation, the southern savages will pay dearly.” The young officials raised their cups to him, the wine sloshing slightly.

Hearing their talk, Yu Yin almost missed a note, his fingers faltering for a micro second on the string.

"Seriously? The country’s at war, and they’re drinking here?"

"Maybe they’re drinking away their sorrows."

"Then why are there courtesans involved?"

"That’s the nobility for you. Ever heard the saying? ‘While the rich feast, the poor die frozen on the streets.’"

"You’re too young. Back when Dragon Kingdom just regained independence, the anti landlord films were even worse. Same decadence, different era."

"Wait, did he just say an entire city was massacred?"

"Yeah, he did."

In the days that followed, the southern war spread further. The heat of the conflict seemed to match the rising temperature of the season. Yancheng had practically turned every citizen into a soldier to hold back the southern army.

By autumn, King Li’s rebellion was finally crushed. He killed himself after defeat, a desperate end to a failed dream.

General Li was promoted to “Conqueror of the South” by the Emperor and dispatched to the front. Those soldiers, hardened by war and the grit of battle, swept south and quickly reclaimed several cities.

Over in Xinghexian, where Lin Qian governed, everyone was on edge. The county had lost its usual bustle, the streets quiet and the people's faces grim. Only after General Li’s victories did the people finally relax. If the southern army had pushed further north, Xinghexian would have been next.

Talk of General Li filled the county. People called him the Ever Victorious General. The storytellers could not stop recounting his triumphs, their fans snapping open and shut with every dramatic reveal.

But just as the southern front turned favorable, chaos erupted again in Kyoto City.

Prince An, Zhou Chenrui, who had never gone to his fief, rebelled with his mother’s clan. Both were executed, their entire family line wiped out in a swift, brutal stroke of imperial justice. That was already mercy from the Emperor.

Still, everyone knew the truth, the Emperor’s heart was uneasy. He had ruled for years, yet never allowed his brothers to take up their fiefs. Wasn't that the same as telling them, “If you don't rebel, I'll still punish you”?

After Prince An’s fall, Prince Rui in his distant domain stayed quiet at first. But when the Emperor summoned him to court, he too raised his banner and joined the rebellion. The call for arms echoed through the hills.

Prince Rui was not a fool. He was clever, loved by the people, and quickly gained support.

The country was already unstable. With wars in the south and uprisings across the land, even small factions had begun to rise. It was not entirely the Emperor’s fault, but commoners did not care about that. If their fields burned and their bellies went empty, someone would rebel.

Prince Rui’s call spread like wildfire, and the Emperor in Kyoto grew restless, his sleep interrupted by constant reports. He ordered General Li to return north and focus on suppressing the rebellion.

But General Li refused, saying the southern war still raged and he could not abandon it.

The Emperor did not permit it. After a month of standoff, General Li finally obeyed the repeated summons, pulling his troops north to fight Prince Rui. The sound of their marching feet was a low rumble on the horizon.

Chapter Text

Once General Li left, the entire southern region of Zhao Empire was thrown into panic. The news rippled through the towns like a cold wind, leaving a trail of shuttered windows and hushed voices.

The southern kingdom had launched an all-out invasion with two hundred thousand troops, yet only a little over a hundred thousand survived. Naturally, their hatred toward Zhao Empire’s generals and citizens ran deep. It was a bitter, festering thing that clung to them like the stench of the scorched earth they left behind.

Massacres in ancient wars always had their own twisted logic.

Zhao Empire was more than five times larger than the southern kingdom. Its population was far greater too. That meant Zhao Empire had more able-bodied men, more reserves, more laborers, food production, and mining resources. Since there wasn't any advanced technology, everything depended purely on manpower. The strength of a nation was measured in the number of hands that could pull a bow or till a field.

So when the southern kingdom slaughtered Zhao Empire’s civilians, their true aim was to cripple the south’s ability to resist. It was the same cruel idea invaders had always followed. If you want to destroy a nation, you must erase its people. Kill them all, brainwash the next generation, and no one will ever rise up again. The cycle of memory is broken by the edge of a blade.

Massacre, slaughter, wholesale killing. It wasn't anything new.

Throughout history, every invasion Zhao Empire or Dragon Kingdom ever faced came with the stench of blood and the ragged cries of the dying.

Once Zhao Empire’s southern region was emptied of life, even if the southern kingdom are forced to retreat one day, it would still be easy for them to march north again. After all, the elderly, weak, and sick left behind are of little use. Even if the court sent troops to defend the area, any problem with supplies would hand the southern army another chance to strike.

But that slaughter also filled the people of Zhao Empire with hatred. It was a dark, unyielding flame. So when General Li led his army south, he showed no mercy either, cutting down tens of thousands of enemy soldiers in return.

The southern kingdom’s grudge only deepened. Once General Li left, they intensified their attacks. By then, though, their strength had already been greatly weakened. The earlier massacres had made the local population hate them to the bone. As their army shifted elsewhere, the conquered cities began to revolt, the citizens rising up with farm tools and fury.

To suppress the uprisings, the southern kingdom had to redeploy troops again, killing even more innocent civilians in the process.

Without General Li, the Zhao Empire court’s armies lost their spirit. The banners hung limp, and the two sides dragged on in a bitter stalemate.

Meanwhile, Lin Qian was busy too. She had recruited and trained several thousand soldiers. But Xinghexian’s population had never been large. No matter how hard she pushed, she still hit a limit. To make up for it, Lin Qian gathered the townsfolk near the city gates. The air was thick with the smell of raw wood and the dry rattle of heavy crates as she taught them how to transport weapons, food, and supplies.

Her name alone carried weight, so the people followed her willingly. Whatever she said, they obeyed without question, their trust written in their focused expressions. By late autumn, Lin Qian unlocked the global map and released two thousand and ninety new player accounts. For now, players could only log in from Xinghexian or Yancheng.

That sudden generosity sent Xian Huang trending for two whole days. It even topped charts overseas, the digital notifications sparking across screens like wildfire.

#Xian Huang’s Generosity#

“Holy crap, she actually released over two thousand slots this time!”

“Bet the dev is a perfectionist. The number is finally round now. If my math is right, that's 2400 total accounts open.”

“Two thousand plus? Is they insane?”

“That's a ton of people, lol.jpg.”

“AAAAAH I GOT A SLOT!”

“Weird though, lots of people who got in aren't logging on. What's up?”

“Probably hoarding their spots. Yancheng and Xinghexian are practically at war now, so they're waiting to see if new zones open later.”

“Damn it! I was watching the site, went to the bathroom for two minutes, and it was all gone!”

“Relax, maybe next time they will release twenty thousand slots?”

“Not happening unless they change their monetization model.”

“This game’s going places faster than I ever imagined.”

“Right? I thought the last trending topic was a joke!”

“I still can't believe they killed off Prince An, Zhou Chenrui! I thought he would become the heroine’s main rival.”

“If we're talking realism, Zhou Chenrui really was doomed. No political skill, a brother the new emperor feared, and no strong alliances. Poor guy never stood a chance.”

“Thank heavens Gui Hua escaped when she did. If she had stayed with that cold-blooded emperor, who knows how she would have ended up?”

“Come on, women and men aren't the same. Worst case, she would have been forced into the harem. The arrest warrant said ‘alive,’ didn't it?”

“We're independent women. How could we ever bow to a man?”

Two thousand new accounts was no small number. Since Yancheng was still at war, most players fascinated with ancient warfare picked that region. Though “war” might have been too strong a word; it was more like fending off harassment from the southern kingdom.

Yancheng’s population wasn't large. Even if everyone fought, they could barely hold off the attackers, not truly drive them away.

The southern kingdom’s main army was still fighting the court’s northern forces.

War had never been just about bravery or numbers. In truth, it was all about logistics, supplies, and endurance. Once city walls are repaired and defenses set, attacking from outside became much harder. Thankfully, Xinghexian’s earlier export of colored glass brought in huge profits. Much of that money went to Yancheng’s grain stockpiles. Most of it was old grain, sure, but it could keep people alive.

For such a small city, they had enough stored to last a year or two without starving. The cool, dry air of the granaries was a promise of survival.

Since Feng Xuan and Yan Jiujiu took charge of Yancheng, their army hadn't exploited the people. In fact, they sometimes handed out surplus grain, confiscating stores from wealthy landlords to redistribute resources fairly.

The common folk might have been illiterate, but they wasn't blind. They could see the difference in how Feng Xuan’s army treated them. They had never seen troops that gave food back after collecting taxes. To them, this turned the world upside down. No army could fake compassion for that long. Over time, the people truly accepted the Qianyi Army. That's how Yancheng reached the state it was in now, with every citizen ready to fight. To them, anyone who fed them was family. The Qianyi Army didn't oppress them, gave them food, and treated them fairly. So they saw the Qianyi Army as their own kin. Volunteers flooded in, the dust rising as families sent their extra sons to join the ranks.

After Lin Qian’s new player releases, Yancheng’s army finally reached over ten thousand troops. And they wasn't some ragtag mob. Every new recruit underwent strict training; two full months of drills in combat and self-defense before they are ever allowed to see the front lines. The rhythmic thud of their boots on the training grounds was a steady, promising sound.

Even though the southern army vastly outnumbered them, they kept losing to Yancheng’s forces. They suffered over ten thousand casualties while Yancheng’s losses are less than a tenth of that.

In stark contrast stood the imperial court’s army. Ever since General Li’s departure, the southern garrisons had suffered defeat after defeat, losing every city they had previously retaken. By then, hatred on both sides had turned the war into pure vengeance. Wherever the southern army passed, cities burned. Few are spared from slaughter.

By her rough estimate, the southern kingdom had already killed nearly two hundred thousand people in Zhao Empire. That kind of massacre might not compare to modern atrocities, but for ancient times, it was devastating. Rebuilding would take Zhao Empire at least several years, perhaps a decade, to recover its population and strength.

Ten years of national vitality gone, just like that.

The thought alone made Lin Qian's skin crawl.

She despised invaders. Everyone did.

As autumn came to an end and the court’s armies continued to falter, grain supplies still arrived on time, even without her direct command. With Xinghexian’s growth, more refugees and workers had joined. The total population reached around thirty thousand; over twenty thousand locals and nearly ten thousand players.

Seven thousand of them are soldiers. It was an impressive ratio.

Wealth made it possible. Lin Qian didn't report her glass factory shares to the court. She wanted to avoid the upper officials’ greed.

With money came power. The army could be fed. Three full meals a day, meat twice, and monthly pay; who wouldn't join?

Especially the refugees.

They had lost their land and had planned to sell themselves or beg. Xinghexian had plenty of jobs, but competition grew fierce as the population rose. So many turned to the army instead. Fighting for Zhao Empire was, after all, every man’s dream.

Of course, many female players and even local women expressed interest in joining, but Lin Qian refused. It wasn't just the fear of women being mistreated on the battlefield. Most men are simply stronger, and she had set clear physical standards. Few women met them.

Besides, recruiting female soldiers would mean separate barracks, extra logistics, and supplies like hygiene materials; it was too much cost and trouble. Maintaining discipline between men and women would also be harder. Let us face it, men couldn't always control themselves.

To Lin Qian, it was better to have women handle production, clothing, and farming, ensuring the rear stayed stable.

Zhao Empire wasn't Dragon Kingdom. No man here would rant about “men bleeding on the frontlines while women chase luxury.”

Anyone who denied women’s worth probably had foreign influences whispering behind them. After all, it wasn't just women that outsiders tried to manipulate. Still, blame always fell more easily on women than men.

The frontlines are dangerous, yes, but every person; soldier, farmer, or artisan; was contributing to Zhao Empire’s survival.

Soldiers are heroes, but not the only heroes.

Men fought on the battlefield, but women held the country together. They are sustaining the army with their hands and labor.

No one should erase their value just because they couldn't wield a sword.

Lin Qian never allowed women to march to war, but she made sure every one of them had meaningful work to do.

Chapter Text

In Wangshi Village, Wang Mu stuffed a few dry leaves into his pipe, the brittle fibers crunching softly under his thumb, and sat at his doorstep to smoke. He watched the hazy grey wisps rise into the cooling evening air. His son was handing over their grain to the collectors, the dry rustle of the stalks and the heavy thud of sacks filling the quiet. The harvest this year wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either. For settled farmers like them, that already counted as a good year.

Peace and stability; that alone was the greatest blessing.

A few villagers were helping with the loading, their movements steady and rhythmic. Wang Mu looked over and asked the younger men, "Heard the fighting has started up again in the south? I saw another group of refugees sent into the city a couple of days ago. Think they have got enough to eat?"

One of them laughed. "Don't worry about that, Uncle. Even if there isn't enough grain in the city, they can still buy from outside. You can get grain from Xingpingxian."

Although Xinghexian merchants weren't allowed to go there for trade, Xingpingxian still let their people sell goods to Xinghexian folks. After all, selling meant profit, and profit benefited Xingpingxian.

"How can I not worry?" Wang Mu knocked the ash out of his pipe against the stone step and crossed one leg over the other. The old man leaned against the doorframe, the wood rough against his back. "If the southern army really comes up here, will this bit of grain be enough to feed us?"

"I heard Lin Xianling has already ordered people to stock up grain everywhere. Don't overthink it, Uncle. We will get going now."

Once the loading was done, the younger men followed the yamen workers off to the next household, their voices fading down the path.

Wang Mu sighed as he watched them leave, the dust settling behind them, and he felt a little frustrated. These youngsters had it too easy. Once they filled their bellies, they forgot how hard the early days had been. The memory of the road and the hunger was still a cold shadow in his mind.

The harvest was just over, and everyone in the village was dead tired. The fields needed rest before the next planting, the soil looking dark and exhausted under the fading light.

Xinghexian was in the south, so they could still grow a few hardy vegetables through autumn, the green shoots promising a little more for the winter stores.

Wang Mu sat there puffing quietly on his pipe, watching the scenery spread across the valley as the shadows lengthened. He loved this land deeply. Others might see nothing special in it, but to him, it was already home. He let his thoughts drift as a small lizard, its scales catching the last of the sun, crawled along the door's edge. A few children ran past on the road, shouting and laughing in the dirt, one of them with his pants half falling off.

From inside came the sound of his wife cooking, the clatter of a wooden spoon against a pot. His grandson cried again in the house, a sharp, demanding sound, and Wang Mu figured he had better go inside soon.

Just as he got up, before he could step through the door, Jian Xiu from the county came riding up with a few people. The horse's hooves thundered on the packed earth. "After supper, everyone needs to go to the shelter. Each household must send at least one person. There's a village meeting tonight, spread the word."

"Ah, got it!" Wang Mu answered quickly.

Jian Xiu didn't even glance back. She spurred her horse on to the next house, dust trailing behind her in a thick, golden cloud.

It was the usual practice from the county's relief office. Whenever something important came up, someone would deliver the message in person to make sure every household was informed. Back when there were still refugees around, they would even help with spreading word. But now, most had either gone into the city or moved on to build homes elsewhere. The shelter had already been emptied several times. Manpower was scarce, so those working under Jian Xiu usually split up, each person responsible for several households.

Once she left, Wang Mu went back inside, the dim interior smelling of woodsmoke. His wife and grandson were home, while his son and daughter-in-law were still out burning the leftover stalks in the fields.

White smoke curled up in the distance, a thin line against the darkening sky, but the wind was good, blowing it away from the village. When the smoke thinned, his son and daughter-in-law finally came back, their clothes smelling of ash. The sun was setting, and the family sat down together to eat while there was still light. They were having coarse grain porridge that evening. Since there was no fieldwork left, they didn't need the strength for heavier meals like white wheat or noodles.

Taxes in Xinghexian were collected strictly according to regulation. They were heavy, but at least there was no corruption on top of it, so life could go on. By year's end, every family had some surplus. On good days, they could even afford white steamed buns or hand-pulled noodles mixed with eggs. Rendered lard, a pinch of salt and sauce, noodles boiled just right with minced meat poured over the top, finished with chopped scallions.

The people of Xinghexian mainly ate rice, though not the pure polished kind. Most families mixed whatever grains they had into thick porridge. The men ate the thicker part at the bottom, the grain heavy and filling, while the women and children took the thinner portion.

During the busy season, they would steam two bowls of solid white rice for the main workers. Now that the harvest was done, no one was eating that well. They had wild vegetable porridge and pickled dishes for flavor, the sharp tang of the pickles cutting through the bland grain. When they went out to work, sometimes they would bring along dried salted fish. It was so salty that one fish could last the whole family a day. At least it added a hint of meat to the meal.

The Wang family ate meat twice a month. There were six of them, and with the amount of land they had, they didn't really need to be so frugal this year. But they had suffered too much when they first fled here. Having lived through days with nothing saved, they had gotten used to hoarding whatever they could. They planned to buy a few more mu of land in a couple of years.

These days, farmers loved land above all else.