Ji Xiu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He hadn’t expected Xie Rouniang to be such a person of deep feelings—after reading the manuscript, she ended up crying uncontrollably over the characters, and no amount of coaxing could calm her down.
He took the manuscript from her hands and said helplessly, “It’s all fake. It’s just a storybook. Don’t be sad.”
Xie Rouniang was quite upset, yet didn’t want to lose her temper with Ji Xiu to his face. She argued softly, “Even if it’s fake, what they went through is still so miserable.”
There was a hint of surprise in Ji Xiu’s voice. “But they’re characters in a storybook. Whether their experiences are tragic or not is all fake too, isn’t it?”
Xie Rouniang froze, lifted her eyes to look at him, and accused him with her gaze. “Husband… you really are so hard-hearted.”
Ji Xiu was stunned.
He had never imagined that one day, he would be labeled “hard-hearted.”
Xie Rouniang looked at him resentfully, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The corners of her eyes were still red, filled with gloom. “What is Lian’er supposed to do next?”
Lian’er was the female lead’s name.
Ji Xiu replied without thinking, “When the scholar comes back, her illness will get better.”
Xie Rouniang’s eyes lit up instantly. She grabbed Ji Xiu’s sleeve. “When will the scholar come back? After he comes back, will he marry Lian’er? After his accident, his parents seemed regretful. They’ll definitely agree to him being with Lian’er, right? Then Lian’er can finally live happily ever after with the scholar—”
She was like a modern reader meeting the author in person, frantically begging the author for spoilers.
Ji Xiu coughed lightly, a chill running up his spine, and said as casually as possible, “They’ll get married.”
As for how he planned to torment the male and female leads again after the marriage, he didn’t say.
Otherwise, he was afraid he wouldn’t even be allowed into bed that night.
He really didn’t want to sleep in the study.
Xie Rouniang didn’t know the truth. Hearing only that the male and female leads would marry, she was immediately overjoyed. Her face glowed with gentle happiness as she pushed Ji Xiu back toward the desk. “That’s wonderful! Husband, hurry and keep writing. Write about the scholar coming back and marrying Lian’er. I want to read it.”
Seeing Ji Xiu spacing out, she quickly asked, “Are you hungry or thirsty? I’ll pour you some water. Just tell me what you want to eat.”
She had always been gentle and attentive, but now she seemed even more solicitous, to the point that Ji Xiu was a little overwhelmed.
Ji Xiu cleared his throat. “I’m not hungry. Go check on the two children. I can’t have anyone around me—I won’t be able to calm down and won’t be able to write.”
Hearing this, Xie Rouniang was afraid of disturbing him. She closed the door behind her and left.
Ji Xiu looked out the window, feeling faintly regretful about having let Xie Rouniang read the manuscript. But since things had already come to this, there was nothing he could do. He could only hurry to transition past the tragic parts and write the sweet interactions that came later, lest Xie Rouniang see the angst again and, in a moment of emotional agitation, turn on him.
As for changing the outline—absolutely impossible.
Once an author has finished planning a story and begins writing, there is already a three-dimensional, constantly playing little world in their mind.
That little world has its own direction and story. It cannot withstand even a bit of forceful external distortion. Otherwise, it collapses, its direction becomes unclear, deviates from the author’s expectations—in other words, the story “crashes.”
A crashed story is terrifying. The author can no longer see where the little world is headed and may even grow weary of it, unable to continue writing.
Therefore, even if Xie Rouniang was upset enough to scold him, he could only apologize. Changing the outline was impossible—unless he didn’t want to write this storybook anymore.
But that wouldn’t do. He still needed this story to make a name for himself in one fell swoop and, in the future, subtly change the way people in the world thought.
Ji Xiu pressed his lips together, his brush flying as he lowered his head and began to write.
He needed to finish all the manuscripts first, then let Xie Rouniang read everything at once.
……
Ji Xiu stayed busy hiding the manuscripts so Xie Rouniang wouldn’t discover them, and also fending her off by claiming that he lacked inspiration lately and couldn’t write, asking her to patiently wait a few days.
Just like that, without noticing, two days passed.
Two days later, Princess Dongzhu’s complaint and the Emperor’s “troubles” arrived right on schedule.
Over the past two months, Ji Xiu had gradually sorted out the basic rules of this world. He knew that even the Emperor could not kill innocents at will—unless he no longer cared about his reputation.
But once a person reached the highest position and became ruler of all under heaven, there was nothing he couldn’t obtain. The only thing left worth pursuing was reputation. Thus, the Emperor would never gamble his name—unless he had water in his brain.
For that reason, Ji Xiu didn’t take Princess Dongzhu’s threats seriously at all.
What could they do to him? At most, scold him, demote him, dock his salary—those same old tricks.
Ji Xiu didn’t care.
It was only after receiving the imperial decree that he sighed inwardly. For all that the old Emperor doted excessively on his daughter and often did foolish things for her sake, after so many years on the throne, he still had a few wits left.
He did not directly issue an edict rebuking Ji Xiu. Instead, he ordered the Ministry of Works to begin construction of Princess Dongzhu’s Princess Manor in advance. He named the jealous and talent-hating Left Vice Minister of Works to take charge—and additionally named Ji Xiu, a sixth-rank director, to assist.
The Left Vice Minister had thought that the honor of being personally appointed by the Emperor would belong to him alone. He hadn’t expected Ji Xiu to be named as well.
Instantly, he found Ji Xiu unpleasant to look at. During their subsequent cooperation, he frequently looked for opportunities to set Ji Xiu up.
In this way, although Ji Xiu was not demoted, the aggravation he suffered was worse than a demotion, truly giving him a headache.
When the Crown Prince heard the news, he wanted to secretly help Ji Xiu. After some thought, Ji Xiu refused outright.
The Crown Prince was deeply puzzled and wanted to find an opportunity to meet Ji Xiu and ask what he meant. But since Ji Xiu had taken on official duties and was busy working outside, there was no suitable chance to meet.
In the blink of an eye, half a month passed. News broke that the Left Vice Minister had embezzled a huge sum of silver from the Emperor’s private treasury—funds that had been specially allocated for building Princess Dongzhu’s manor.
The Crown Prince guessed something, his eyes flickering. Hearing that the Emperor was furious and raging in the imperial study, he went there under the pretext of consulting on state affairs to see what was happening.
To his surprise, the whistleblower was not Ji Xiu, but the Left Vice Minister’s supposedly loyal subordinate, Minister Qiu of the Ministry of Works.
Had he guessed wrong?
He glanced at Minister Qiu, who was standing to the side looking smug, and felt puzzled.
Behind the desk, the Emperor was in the middle of a towering rage. He glared at the Left Vice Minister kneeling on the floor, wishing he could have him dragged out and executed on the spot. He had no time to pay attention to the Crown Prince’s arrival and thus didn’t notice his strange expression.
What he hated most was internal betrayal. If it had been the state treasury, it would have belonged to the court and the realm, and he wouldn’t have felt quite so distressed.
But this time, the silver had come from his private treasury, taken out specifically to build Princess Dongzhu’s manor.
For the Left Vice Minister to touch that money was like plucking lice off a tiger’s head—courting death.
At this point, he no longer cared about the matter of having the Left Vice Minister harass Ji Xiu. With a ferocious expression and spittle flying, he cursed the Left Vice Minister until he was drenched in abuse, directly sentencing him to confiscation of property and exile.
The Left Vice Minister begged and confessed repeatedly, but was still dragged away by the guards. His face was as pale as a corpse, his expression frozen in agony, completely unable to understand why his subordinate had betrayed him.
After he was dragged away, the Emperor vented his anger and then felt that the confiscated property could later be transferred into his private treasury under some pretext—after all, the silver had originally been embezzled by the Left Vice Minister, and he was merely taking back his own money. The Ministry of Justice wouldn’t dare say much.
His mood immediately improved.
The stolen silver surely hadn’t yet been spent and could be recovered in full.
On top of that, there would be additional silver seized from the Left Vice Minister’s household to fill the private treasury. Free money, a risk-free profit—it was delightful just to think about it.
Because of this, his attitude toward Minister Qiu, who had reported the crime, softened considerably. He sized him up and praised him for his loyalty.
Minister Qiu, having received praise and been promoted by the Emperor to temporarily act in the Left Vice Minister’s position, was overjoyed. He kowtowed repeatedly in thanks, his words smooth and clever, flattering without leaving any obvious traces, appearing extremely sincere.
Satisfaction surfaced in the Emperor’s eyes.
The older a person grew, the more conceited they became—especially an emperor who ruled over all under heaven.
He had heard plenty of flattery before, but never such refined, unconventional flattery. His imperial heart was greatly pleased, and his impression of Minister Qiu rose another notch.
Minister Qiu chuckled and redoubled his efforts at praising the Emperor.
For a time, ruler and subject were in perfect harmony, almost forming a fine tale.
The Crown Prince stood in the corner, staring at a father who had never looked so benevolent. He was stunned for a long while, then let out a self-mocking smile, as if he finally understood something.
Having grasped the cause and effect, he no longer wished to stay. He found an excuse and took his leave.
Minister Qiu’s eyes turned as he watched the Crown Prince’s retreating figure, then he smiled ingratiatingly at the Emperor. “His Highness the Crown Prince is diligent and loves the people. Truly worthy of being personally taught by Your Majesty. With Your Majesty and His Highness here, it is truly a blessing for all under heaven. Every time this humble minister thinks of it, tears well up in my eyes in heartfelt gratitude…”
The Crown Prince paused, then continued to withdraw. As he walked outside, he found himself wondering when he had ever formed a relationship with Minister Qiu.
Otherwise, why would he speak well of him?
And that wasn’t all. After that incident, the once-unknown Minister Qiu leaped in status to become a favored minister of the Emperor. Relying on his unparalleled flattery skills, he firmly secured the Left Vice Minister position within days, becoming a full third-rank official, accompanying the Emperor and enjoying deep trust.
Yet curiously, this newly appointed Vice Minister Qiu ignored the eldest prince’s overtures, brushed off the second prince’s inducements, and devoted himself solely to the Emperor—while occasionally showing goodwill toward the Crown Prince.
Whenever the eldest and second princes joined forces to frame the Crown Prince, Vice Minister Qiu would step in to mediate.
After several court sessions, the Crown Prince felt more relaxed than he ever had before.
Those schemes and malice that used to suffocate him were exposed by Vice Minister Qiu before he even needed to fight back, who would then speak up and ask the Emperor to judge.
The Emperor had always been strict with the Crown Prince out of fear that the young and strong heir might one day seize his power. Yet in his heart, he still cherished the Crown Prince.
Normally it was fine, but now that there were clear attempts to frame the Crown Prince, how could he let it go?
Thus, every time the eldest and second princes’ plots were exposed, the Emperor would harshly rebuke them.
Over time, both princes retreated, no longer daring to poison the Emperor’s ear against the Crown Prince.
The Crown Prince gained a peace he had never known.
He hadn’t forgotten how all of this had changed. He was deeply puzzled by Vice Minister Qiu’s goodwill.
One day, while accompanying the Emperor, Vice Minister Qiu suddenly rushed out of the imperial study after half an hour, hurrying in the direction of the palace exit.
The Crown Prince happened to be passing by. His eyes narrowed, and he followed.
Then he saw Vice Minister Qiu meeting Ji Xiu inside the still-unfinished Princess Manor.
The Crown Prince’s feelings were complicated.
So that was it. There was no such thing as unprovoked kindness—it turned out his trusted strategist had been helping behind the scenes.
“Your Highness?” Ji Xiu also noticed the Crown Prince. His brow furrowed slightly as he called out. “Why have you left the palace?”
The Crown Prince walked out from around the corner, looked at Ji Xiu, and suddenly cupped his hands and bent deeply, performing a half-bow.
“For your great kindness, sir, I shall never forget it as long as I live!”
Ji Xiu: “……”
Had the Crown Prince misunderstood something?