Qingxia wore a light blue silk robe with a snow-white brocade cloak draped over it, standing like a ghost under the palace lantern beside the bookshelf. She raised her head, staring fixedly at the bright red candle wax slowly melting above, then gradually solidifying bit by bit. The expression on her face was like thousand-year-old ice, without the slightest fluctuation. Outside the door, a purple-robed young maid would occasionally peek her head in, her face showing concern, as if worried that she might suddenly go mad and commit suicide.
Three days had passed. These three days could be said to be the most painful three days in Tang Xiaoshi’s twenty-six years of life.
That day she slept until she naturally woke up—this was one of the rare times in many years that she, as an agent, had ignored her biological clock and allowed herself to sleep deeply. Perhaps, in her subconscious, she was also very reluctant to wake up and face reality. The moment she opened her eyes, she suddenly had the illusion that it had all been a great dream. She truly hoped that opening her eyes would reveal the warm, safe dormitory of Division 9, or a luxurious, comfortable hotel. Even a Navy Marine submarine prison cell wouldn’t have filled her with the despair she felt now.
For the first time in her life, she doubted herself.
Once, when surrounded and pursued by enemy terrorists in African jungles, she had never felt such despair. But now, she felt a deep sense of powerlessness rising from the bottom of her heart.
After all, what had once stood before her were merely stretches of cold seas and barren deserts, unlike now, when what blocked her path was a vast chasm of time.
Although all of this was so absurd and inconceivable, she couldn’t find any flaws to refute it. Over these past few days, she had thoroughly investigated her surroundings, clearly seeing the palace halls and towers, small bridges over flowing water, flying eaves and intricate brackets, furnishings and household items. Her years of agent experience and knowledge told her deeply that to artificially age an entire palace’s architecture to this degree was definitely not the work of three to seven days. With her experience, even the slightest loophole would never escape her eyes, but every detail here, including every blade of grass and tree, completely matched the accumulated effects of daily life.
Indeed, when she picked up the bronze mirror on the table and saw this unfamiliar face, Tang Xiaoshi became completely despairing.
Everything pointed to one conclusion: never mind Einstein’s theory of relativity, don’t think about the mysterious space-time vortexes of the Bermuda Triangle, don’t consider the strange connections between matter and antimatter. She, Tang Xiaoshi, Agent 003 of Military Intelligence Division 9 under the National Security Bureau, had somehow survived the Navy Marines’ bombardment and crossed through space and time, arriving at an alien dimension separated by who knows how many thousands of years or light-years. Her soul had transcended, possessing another’s body to become a personal plaything of this Southern Chu Crown Prince!
Facing this absurd reality, Tang Xiaoshi truly didn’t know whether she should laugh three times to celebrate her miraculous survival.
Just as those who haven’t experienced warfare cannot understand war’s cruelty, those who haven’t truly had such experiences cannot understand Xiao Shi’s current feelings. Standing alone and isolated, with only her shadow for company, alone on this vast wheel of space and time, she felt none of the supposed novelty, none of the imagined excitement, and not even a trace of relief at surviving disaster.
For the first time in her life, in the pitch-black night, she couldn’t suppress her tears. Just like many years ago when she was abandoned by relatives and wandered alone on bustling streets, she buried herself under the covers, bit her lips, and let tears flow down her cheeks. Like a ritual, that night she bid farewell to her familiar life and homeland, acknowledging the cruel reality.
The second day, Lanting Palace was far less lively than Xiao Shi had imagined. Everyone in the great hall was carefully waiting for the storm that should follow this Lady Lan’s great disturbance that day. Unfortunately, after the storm came unusual calm. Countless people lurking in the shadows carefully speculated about what this peaceful surface really meant. But Xiao Shi, with a heart like dead ashes, paid no attention to other matters. She quietly ate and washed, cared for by others like a puppet, having lost all vitality.
Her world had turned upside down, and when she raised her head again, it was no longer the same sky as before.
Sudden hurried footsteps rang out. Xiao Shi’s hearing remained sharp, and her mind stirred. The pearl curtain moved slightly, and the finest orchid fragrance drifted in gently.
“My lady, Concubine Rou has arrived.” The maid Xiangju hurried in, taking Concubine Rou’s rain cloak and skillfully serving tea and water, appearing quite familiar with the routine. Obviously, Concubine Rou had definitely been a regular visitor to Lanting Palace.
Concubine Rou stood on the inner room’s carpet, her shoe tips still slightly damp. The rain outside had been pattering for half a day and showed no signs of stopping. One autumn rain brings one degree of coolness—after this rain, true winter might really arrive.
“Qingxia.” Concubine Rou suddenly spoke, but after saying just these two words, she seemed unable to continue, closing her mouth as if wanting to speak but stopping herself.
The atmosphere was extremely oppressive. Xiao Shi stood under the palace lantern with her head raised. Her pale face looked otherworldly beautiful in the candlelight. At this moment, she was like a caged bird whose wings had been clipped—possessing heart-stirring dreams but also endless, tide-like sorrow.
“Crown Princess Sister’s illness… it’s just a matter of these one or two days.” Concubine Rou finally sighed and said gravely. She slowly walked before Xiao Shi, grasping her slender wrist, slightly lowering her head in stunned silence. After a long while, a teardrop suddenly fell, landing on Xiao Shi’s pristine white wrist.
Concubine Rou suddenly raised her head, eyes wide open. She stared fixedly at Xiao Shi, her eyes containing fierce determination and pain like blazing fire. She spoke word by word: “Qingxia, today we are kneeling, but believe me, someday we will stand up!”
Outside the window was moonless and starless, pitch black. Concubine Rou’s thin figure gradually disappeared into the dark night. Xiao Shi only felt a burning pain from where Concubine Rou had just gripped her wrist. She pressed her lips tightly together and closed her eyes.
Your path is here, so you can still stand up, but where is my path?
On the evening of the 17th day of the 11th month in the 298th year of the Southern Chu calendar, Crown Princess Shangguan Rouxue of the Eastern Palace died of illness. The day after the Crown Princess’s death, the garrison stationed with the Shangguan clan exiled to the southern barbarian lands sent back an official document: former Grand Secretary of Donghua Pavilion, Shangguan Jing, had died on the road from exhaustion.
For a time, the entire nation mourned. While officials supervised Crown Princess Shangguan Rouxue’s grand funeral with all their might, the people quietly held funeral rites for Shangguan Jing. The Shangguan family had been loyal for generations, completely devoted, yet because they opposed Chu Li’s land enclosure policies, they suffered complete slaughter. Today, this former premier family of Southern Chu had been cruelly kicked aside like a stumbling block on the path to consolidating royal power.
Due to the Shangguan family’s removal, the power structure in the capital began a new round of division and reshuffling. Following closely was the vacant Crown Princess position left by Shangguan Rouxue’s death. In Southern Chu’s Eastern Palace, fierce competition began anew. Circumstances slowly stirred, and in the shadows of hot blood, things began to boil.
“My lady, the water has cooled.” Xiangju wore a light purple short jacket and entered the steam-filled bathhouse barefoot, her face flushed red from the steam, appearing very cute. She entered quietly, placing the silk sleeping robe she held on the stone platform beside the pool.
“This servant ordered the servants to add hot spring water. If my lady finds it too hot, please call for this servant.”
Qingxia leaned against the pool’s edge with her eyes slightly closed. Her pale cheeks had gained some color, and her snow-white skin was as smooth as brocade, possessing porcelain-like beauty under the soft lamplight. Her jet-black long hair half-floated lightly on the water’s surface, while the other half wound along her snow-white back like small black serpents, appearing uniquely alluring.
Sparse footsteps gradually faded away. Fine orchid incense was lit in the bathhouse, its fragrance subtly intoxicating and sleep-inducing. Qingxia remained motionless with closed eyes, seeming asleep, with only her thick eyelashes occasionally trembling lightly to show she was still awake.
After being despondent for nearly half a month, Qingxia had been in a daze all day, completely unaware of outside events. Fortunately, being in the imperial palace with people caring for her, she wouldn’t starve to death. After half a month like this, her originally frail body had been nourished to become much more voluptuous.
Time was indeed good medicine. After a period of quiet recovery, Qingxia finally calmed her emotions somewhat. At this moment, leaning against the white jade shore of the enormous hot spring pool, she felt past events flowing and replaying before her eyes. Many familiar and unfamiliar faces slid through her mind one by one. She knew she was no longer 21st century Agent 003, nor was she that little orphan girl who had nothing in the orphanage. The current her had identity, had a name, and even had a husband.
Life was truly full of miracles.
“Pfft”—a series of light footsteps suddenly came from the corridor, extremely soft, as if the person didn’t want to be discovered. But Qingxia’s hearing was extraordinarily sharp. When escaping in the Afghan jungles, even a mouse running within a hundred meters couldn’t escape her ears. At this moment in such a quiet bathhouse, she naturally wouldn’t miss anything. But not only were the person’s movements subtle, the guards outside hadn’t made a sound either. This left only two explanations: either the person was highly skilled and the outside guards had no time to warn, or the person was of high status and the guards followed orders without obstruction.
These two explanations soon had an answer. The person’s footsteps were heavy—a man. His breathing was long and steady—he had practiced martial arts for self-defense. The sound of his sleeve friction while walking was at a single frequency, indicating one hand swung while the other might be resting on a sword sheath at his waist. The sleeve friction was light and smooth, indicating expensive fabric—probably fine silk—suggesting the person’s status wasn’t low. Qingxia slightly wrinkled her nose at a pleasant fragrance—not the orchid scent from the bathhouse. The fragrance was lasting, quite heavy and ancient, likely a mixture of calming dragon ambergris and sandalwood incense, with the smell of dried ink as well—the person had just read books or written characters. His boot soles were soft, making no sound when landing, likely soft-soled deerskin boots.