“Not sure?” The Emperor frowned.
“No… actually, here’s what happened…” Hua Chun forced a laugh, attempting to stand, only to find her legs had gone numb, sending needle-like pins and needles shooting through them — utterly agonizing.
“This concubine was playing around in the palace, and somehow, without realizing what happened, ended up here.”
Yuwen Jie pressed his lips together, reached out, hauled her up, and dropped her onto the nearby couch. “Do you think that excuse would convince Us?”
Hua Chun shrank backward. “What if you’re actually gullible enough?”
“Hm?”
“No, I mean, this concubine’s point is that you’re not gullible, so surely you know this concubine didn’t mean to.” Hua Chun grinned, her smile blooming like a sunflower, meant as a show of sincerity.
Looking her over, the Emperor said, “We’re going to Yongfu Hall tonight.”
“This concubine heard.”
“Anything you’d like to say to Us?” He raised an eyebrow, eyes full of meaning.
Hua Chun looked down, and after a long struggle managed to squeeze out four words: “Take care of yourself.”
Yuwen Jie: “…”
Never mind — what else could he expect her to say? Even now that she’d switched back to being a woman, that same unyielding, masculine temperament of hers hadn’t changed one bit. How could she possibly bring herself to be sweet and coquettish?
Shaking his head, the Emperor said, “Rest up, then head back on your own. We’re leaving now.”
“Oh.” Nodding, Hua Chun watched him walk away step by step, then, just before he crossed the threshold of the inner hall, spoke up after all: “This concubine has one more question.”
His steps paused, and the Emperor turned to look at her.
“Which does Your Majesty think dances better — Consort Huo or Consort Shu?”
The faint spark that had just lit in his eyes was instantly doused by that question, and Yuwen Jie’s expression soured. “We didn’t notice.”
What? Hua Chun tilted her head at him. “Then what exactly were you looking at, every time they danced?”
“The memorials.”
…That did seem to be exactly what he’d been doing, but that was bizarre — enjoying having women dance for him, yet never actually watching? How was she supposed to work out what he was really thinking that way? Did he like watching the dancing, or not?
“Farewell, Your Majesty.” Unable to figure it out, Hua Chun gave up and resigned herself to not knowing.
Yuwen Jie flicked his sleeve and left without a backward glance, sweeping a glance at Huo Zichong on his way out.
Huo Zichong startled and immediately dropped to his knees. “This subordinate knows his error.”
The Emperor said nothing and simply continued on, heading for Yongfu Hall.
Hua Chun sat stunned for a moment, then made her own way back to Yangxin Hall. On the way out, not paying attention, she crossed paths with a few lower-ranked consorts, exchanged bows with them, and thought nothing more of it.
That evening, word spread through every palace hall that Consort Huo’s charms were formidable indeed, having snatched the Emperor clean away from both Consort Shu and Consort Hua.
“I’ve seen her charms firsthand,” Hua Chun said, munching on an apple. “But whether the Emperor went for her because of those charms — that’s a separate question.”
Qing Niao frowned. “Quite a few people are mocking you behind your back — how favored you used to be, and now he sends you off to Zichen Hall and doesn’t even come here himself.”
“Let them laugh all they want,” Hua Chun shrugged. “It’s not like it costs me any flesh.”
“But…” Qing Niao frowned. “Without favor in the palace, every aspect of your treatment drops sharply.”
Take the midday and evening meals, for instance — nowhere near as refined as before, just the bare regulation portions befitting her rank, not a scrap of meat extra. And with winter approaching, the bedding, fabric, and charcoal in the palace were all going to become issues too.
“Women in the harem really have no dignity at all,” Hua Chun sighed. “Everything has to come from the men.”
Qing Niao fell silent — this was the way of the dynasty, and no one could break it.
“Why don’t we try being self-sufficient somehow?” Hua Chun looked up at her. “Even if I can’t think of anything on my own, don’t I have you? In transmigration novels, what do the female leads usually do to make their fortune?”
Thinking it over, Qing Niao said, “There’s designing hairstyles, clothes, and jewelry for people. There’s making cosmetics. There’s also making sanitary napkins.”
Hairstyles and jewelry and such — not very feasible; after all, this era had its own particular aesthetic standards. What she found ugly, they found beautiful, and what she found beautiful, they’d think was hideous. That path probably wouldn’t work. Cosmetics were out of the question too — not her field, no relevant knowledge, and she’d probably end up disfiguring someone and causing a disaster instead. As for sanitary napkins or underwear, the materials here weren’t sufficient to produce anything decent.
After mulling it over, she said dejectedly, “I’ve realized — I really can only handle political affairs. Women’s matters just aren’t for me.”
Qing Niao nodded. “You spent four years of university buried in the library and nowhere else — you don’t even know how to put on makeup. Naturally you can’t do those things. But since your major was politics and law, why not offer paid political consulting instead?”
Paid political consulting?
A lightbulb went off over her head, and Hua Chun sat up delighted. “That could actually work!”
Whenever she found the chance, she’d find the Emperor and negotiate terms with him — she didn’t need his favor, but revising memorials would be billed by the piece, and drafting proposals would cost extra too. That way, even if winter supplies ran short, she could just buy what she needed with her own money.
No sooner said than done — Hua Chun immediately went to draw up a price list.
As night fell, the Emperor slipped silently out of Yongfu Hall, and the moment he stepped into Yangxin Hall, he heard Qing Niao’s voice from inside: “My lady, isn’t this a bit too much?”
“What’s too much about it?” Hua Chun said, hands on her hips. “He’s the Emperor. He’s rich. He can’t afford this much?”
“But…” Qing Niao pointed hesitantly at what she’d written: “one tael of silver per memorial, twenty taels for a major proposal, ten taels for a minor one, special cases negotiable separately — this servant is worried His Majesty will be angry if he sees this.”
“What’s he got to be angry about?” Hua Chun pouted. “Everyone gets what they need. I can’t very well spend my whole life waiting on his wishy-washy heart, can I?”
Standing behind the Emperor, Eunuch Qin, overhearing this, sucked in a cold breath, his face draining of color, and quickly glanced toward his master.
Yuwen Jie had always most detested people speaking ill of him behind his back — hearing this, surely he’d burst through the door in a rage?
But contrary to what he’d imagined, the Emperor merely raised an eyebrow, withdrew the hand that had been about to push the door open, and simply leaned against the doorframe instead, listening to what came next.
Eunuch Qin grew tense, glancing repeatedly toward the door, wanting to warn Consort Hua inside but too afraid of provoking the Emperor’s anger, so he could only stomp his foot anxiously in place.
That small, quiet stomping obviously couldn’t reach Hua Chun. Staring at the price list, she felt an overwhelming wave of sorrow wash over her, and couldn’t help flinging her sleeve and hugging Qing Niao, singing: “Little cabbage, oh — yellow in the field, oh — two or three years old, oh — lost her mother, oh—”
Qing Niao gave a start and steadied her. “You’re not that pitiful — at least you have food and shelter, and still get to see His Majesty now and then. You’re already much better off than most.”
“Does this era have air conditioning?”
“…No.”
“Does it have television?”
“…Also no.”
“Then did I transmigrate here just to live like a widow!” Hua Chun couldn’t help railing at the heavens. “If the Emperor weren’t so good-looking with such decent presence, why would I hang myself on this one tree — might as well remarry sooner rather than later!”
Eunuch Qin’s face had gone ashen by now, not daring to lift his head, yet for some reason he thought he heard someone give a low, quiet laugh.
He glanced around behind him, scratched his head, and decided he must be hearing things.
Once she’d finished wailing, Yuwen Jie straightened up and finally pushed the door open.
The two women inside jumped. The moment Hua Chun saw him enter, her first instinct was to dive onto the bed and fake being asleep.
“Y-your Majesty.” Qing Niao laughed awkwardly and hurried to bow.
Yuwen Jie pretended to know nothing, asking, “Is Her Highness asleep?”
“Yes,” Qing Niao said. “It’s already so late.”
“Mm. Then you may go.”
“…Yes.” Casting a worried glance at the figure on the bed, Qing Niao carefully withdrew.
Hua Chun’s heart pounded like a drum. She desperately wanted to ask — wasn’t he supposed to be at Yongfu Hall? Why come here instead, and in the dead of night, no less?
Did he find this feeling of sneaking around thrilling or something?
But before she could think further, a warm breath and a shadow fell over her face.
What was happening? She could sense Yuwen Jie’s face wasn’t far from hers, but why was he just holding this distance? Examining her pores or something? Either lean down and kiss her already, or lie down beside her and sleep — could he not just be straightforward about it?
“Hua Chun.”
Ugh, he was even using her name? Hua Chun forced herself to stay still — his tone carried far too much teasing! Did he think that would be enough to expose her? Too naive!