Chapter 18: Companionship and the Tyrant's Daily Life
The Empress never directly touched her, yet she always managed to precisely eliminate any vibrant color or convenience around her, subtly reminding her who the true ruler of the harem was, and how fleeting the Emperor's favor could be, even bringing undeserved disaster to those around him.
This feeling of powerlessness and invisible constraint, where she is implicated in the suffering of others because of herself, sometimes makes her feel more suffocated than direct harassment.
Now, Zhou Ling has actually personally ordered her to be sent to the Empress for "tutoring"? This clearly gives the Empress an excellent and legitimate excuse to manipulate and torment her even more recklessly!
This time, who knows who will suffer because of her?
However, the anticipated storm did not materialize.
Just like in her first life, she was sent to Yilan Palace, where the pavilions and towers were exquisite and the interior furnishings were luxurious, with a level of living standards that even surpassed those of high-ranking concubines.
The Empress did come every day, but she never scolded or punished anyone. Instead, her expression was complicated, with a hint of barely concealed apprehension. Each time, she would simply ask about his well-being as a matter of routine, say a few meaningless words about palace rules, and then leave in a hurry as if she had completed her task.
Later, Fangru learned the details of the night she entered the palace from the young palace maid Lingzi.
Lingzi imitated him perfectly, lowering her voice as she said:
"You didn't see it, young lady. His Majesty went to the Empress's palace that night without even having anyone announce his arrival. He just went straight in. I heard that the Empress was removing her makeup in front of the mirror at the time, and she was so startled that she dropped her hairpin!"
"His Majesty, as if returning to his own study, sat down and even had tea from the Empress's palace. He sipped it slowly, then, as if remembering something, looked up at the Empress and said..." Lingzi cleared her throat, trying to imitate that indifferent yet intimidating tone, "'Shen Shi's temperament is quite wild. I find it amusing, and I'm personally taming her, but it's not enough yet.'"
"His Majesty also said: 'I have a problem. I can do whatever I want with my own things, but if someone else is careless and touches them, or... makes them lose their vitality,' His Majesty tapped his teacup at the time, the sound was not loud, but it frightened everyone in the room into holding their breath, 'I will be very, very unhappy.'"
"In the end, His Majesty even praised the Empress, saying, 'Your Majesty is virtuous and kind, and knows the bigger picture best. No one understands the rules of the palace better than you. You must have grasped the nuances of 'careful guidance' perfectly, right?' After saying that, His Majesty left without even finishing his tea. He left the Empress alone, her face turning pale and then green, then pale again. I heard she didn't sleep well all night!"
Upon learning of this, Fangru's pent-up frustration from being confined in the palace found a strange outlet.
It turns out that this seemingly high and mighty empress, who always used rules to intimidate people, was actually so trembling in front of Zhou Ling, just like a paper tiger.
A subtle yet slightly wicked sense of pleasure quietly began to grow.
Since that tyrant insists on labeling her as "favored," wouldn't she be letting down his "favor" if she didn't take the opportunity to assert her power?
So when the Empress once again adopted a dignified and composed demeanor to carry out her "routine" instruction, Fangru abandoned her previous silence and forbearance, her eyes sparkling with a nonchalant yet highly provocative light.
The Empress, her face stern, began her usual opening remarks: "A woman should be chaste and quiet, never looking back when walking, and never showing her teeth when smiling, only then can she display the demeanor of a great woman..."
Fangru leaned lazily against the soft satin-covered chaise longue, foregoing even rising to greet the Empress. Her slender fingers casually picked up the warm, white jade ruyi scepter Zhou Ling had bestowed upon her the day before, and idly toyed with it, interrupting the Empress's words:
“Your Majesty’s teachings are correct. However…” she drawled, her eyes sweeping over him with a half-smile, “When His Majesty rested here yesterday, he praised me for being more lively and interesting, saying he disliked those lifeless, puppet-like beauties. Alas, what should I do? His Majesty’s words are law, and I dare not disobey them; but Your Majesty’s wise words are also of utmost importance. I am truly caught in a dilemma. Please, Your Majesty, give me your guidance?”
As she spoke, she let out a very affected sigh, as if she were genuinely troubled by the matter, her expression and demeanor exuding an air of "being fearless and confident."
The Empress felt a lump in her throat, unable to spit it out. Her well-maintained face flushed crimson, then she forced it back down, turning pale. Her knuckles clenched white as she gripped her handkerchief, but she couldn't utter a single word of rebuttal. Was she supposed to publicly say that His Majesty's preferences were wrong?
Fangru, however, was not satisfied. Her gaze "inadvertently" fell on the embroidery frame held by the nanny behind the Empress, on which was stretched an extremely beautiful piece of brocade.
She suddenly exclaimed "Oh my!" as if she had discovered something new and interesting, her tone surprised yet tinged with naivety.
"Your Majesty, this fabric... looks so familiar. The luster and pattern, could it be the 'shimmering brocade' that Siam presented as tribute last year? His Majesty did bestow a few bolts upon me the other day, saying that the colors are too bright and flamboyant, and that there are probably few people in the palace who could pull it off. Only I can wear it reasonably well. He told me to take it and cut it up for fun, or to give it to the palace maids to make handkerchiefs."
She paused, then looked at the Empress with an extremely irritating yet concerned gaze: "Eh? Your Majesty, why is this still a whole bolt of fabric? Haven't you decided what to do with it yet? Is it because the embroiderers in the palace aren't skilled enough? Should I... send over the few bolts His Majesty bestowed upon Your Majesty to help you out in a pinch?"
These words are absolutely devastating!
The Empress had asked Zhou Ling for this piece of shimmering brocade several times, both openly and secretly, but he had rejected it each time on the grounds that it was "too ornate and unsuitable for the Empress's status"! Now, this vixen had casually said that it was "just cut for fun" or "give it to the palace maids to make handkerchiefs"!
The empress felt a sudden darkness before her eyes, her blood surging, and the carefully maintained dignified mask almost shattered completely. Her fingernails dug deeply into her palms, barely managing to maintain her composure.
Her chest heaved violently a few times, and finally she managed to squeeze out a few words through gritted teeth, her voice extremely dry: "No, no, sister, trouble, you. Sister... you are so favored by the Emperor, what a blessing!"
Seeing the Empress's frustrated expression—a mixture of hatred and a desire to tear her apart, yet forced to force a smile and even "praise" her—Fangru finally felt a sense of relief.
She could even respond with an even brighter, more radiant smile, a true epitome of a "femme fatale": "Thanks to His Majesty and the Empress."
The feeling of using the tyrant's power to turn the tables on him, and watching the usually high and mighty empress suffer a setback while being helpless... it is indeed quite interesting.
Although this "prestige" is like a mirage, its foundation entirely dependent on Zhou Ling's whims and not her own desire, it can still serve as a spicy spice in this cage-like life when used occasionally to annoy others.
But after the initial pleasure, the yearning for true freedom in my heart burned even brighter, like dry grass touched by sparks.
...
Zhou Ling came almost every day, and his "visits" became the most unpredictable sight in Yilan Palace.
Sometimes he would review memorials until late at night, when all was quiet except for the chirping of insects.
He would suddenly feel inspired, dismiss all the palace servants, and come alone under the cold moonlight.
The palace gates of Yilan Palace were never guarded against him.
He often doesn't let anyone announce his arrival, appearing silently like a predator in the dark.
He loved to lean against the doorframe of the inner hall, his dark-colored casual clothes almost blending into the shadows, except for his deep eyes, which shone brightly in the dim candlelight.
He leaned back lazily, leisurely enjoying the "scenery" inside the hall.
Fangru would either stare blankly at a solitary lamp, her long eyelashes casting a small, fragile shadow beneath her eyes; or she would deliberately feign sleep, lying on a soft couch, her body tense, her eyelashes trembling slightly from tension, her pretense of sleep full of flaws.
He didn't expose her, but waited patiently, his gaze sweeping over her seemingly calm profile inch by inch, until she felt like she was being pricked by needles, extremely uncomfortable.
Until she could no longer bear it, she would suddenly turn around or open her eyes abruptly, always managing to meet his unfathomable gaze, which he had been waiting for.
Their eyes met, and they remained silent.
Only then did he speak slowly, a half-smile playing on his lips. His voice, slightly hoarse from staying up all night, only added to its magnetism: "Miss Chen is so alert... it seems my footsteps were too heavy, disturbing your peaceful sleep?" He paused, the teasing undertone deepening, "Or... you actually haven't slept at all, and you're... really looking forward to my arrival?"
Fangru was so choked by his words that she almost couldn't breathe. The displeasure of being disturbed and the resentment towards his elusive nature instantly surged to the peak.
She sat bolt upright, abandoning all pretense of sleep, and rolled her eyes at him irritably. Her voice, hoarse from just waking up, was obviously feigned, and it carried an undisguised grumbling:
“Your Majesty, isn’t your self-esteem a bit too high?” She pointed to the bright moon hanging high outside the window, then to her neatly arranged nightgown. “Look at the time of day, and look at how I’m dressed. Do I look like I’m waiting for someone? I’m just a light sleeper and was awakened by some uninvited footsteps that like to stand in the dark and scare people.”
She deliberately emphasized the words "footsteps," her disdain almost tangible: "Besides, Your Majesty, don't you think your habit of 'leaning against the door frame' is a bit... um, peculiar? Is this Yilan Palace missing a chair or a couch? Why do you have to strike such a... misleading pose?"
When she mentioned "causing misunderstandings," her cheeks flushed slightly, but she refused to back down and continued to glare at him defiantly.
Upon hearing this, Zhou Ling was not annoyed at all; instead, the smile in his eyes deepened.
He straightened up, finally emerging from the shadows, and slowly approached the bedside, looking down at her. The candlelight danced on his sharply defined face.
"Oh? A misunderstanding?" He leaned down, his arms bracing on either side of the soft couch, trapping her in a small space, his warm breath brushing against her cheek. "Fangru, what do you think I've come here for? It's not like I came here just to listen to your... sharp tongue, is it?"
Fangru felt her heart skip a beat as he suddenly approached, but she refused to admit defeat. She turned her face slightly away and muttered softly, making sure he could hear her: "Who knows? Maybe he's just bored and looking for trouble, or... he just can't stand seeing someone else sleeping better than you?"
Zhou Ling chuckled softly, his chest heaving, seemingly thoroughly amused by her bold and barbed response. He reached out, his fingertips gently tracing her cheek, flushed from her earlier "intense" remarks.
"Your mouth..." he said ambiguously, his fingertips burning hot, "is even sharper than during the day. Looks like you've had enough rest; since you have the energy to defy me, perhaps..."
The rest of her words vanished between his suddenly close lips and teeth, transforming into a kiss that carried a sense of punishment and plunder, completely silencing all of Fangru's unfinished complaints.
Fangru cursed inwardly: ...Bastard! He resorts to violence when he can't win an argument! Tyrant! Deceived ruler!
Sometimes, around lunchtime, sunlight filters through the carved window lattices, casting dappled patterns of light onto the delicate dishes.
Just as Fangru picked up her silver chopsticks, a deliberately loud announcement came from outside the hall: "His Majesty has arrived."
Her brow twitched almost imperceptibly, and she had no choice but to put down her chopsticks and get up.
Before he could finish speaking, Zhou Ling strode in.
He sat down in the main seat with utmost ease, as if he were simply returning to his own palace, and casually waved his hand: "Add another set of bowls and chopsticks. Remove these and replace them with what the imperial kitchen just made."
In a short while, the few light and palatable side dishes in front of her were removed and replaced by a table full of imperial delicacies that could be described as works of art. They were dazzling and fragrant, but also... full of rare ingredients and strong seasonings that she would avoid at all costs.
Zhou Ling didn't rush to pick up his chopsticks. Instead, he rested his chin on his hand and leisurely looked at her from the side. His deep gaze was like watching an interesting excerpt from a play, capturing with great interest every subtle resistance on her face and the expression of her having to pretend to be calm.
He especially loved watching her furrow her brows and unconsciously slow her chewing when faced with dishes she clearly disliked, as if they were not delicacies but poison.
After watching for a while, he suddenly chuckled, stretched out his well-defined hand, picked up the silver chopsticks, and precisely picked up a piece of bright red and oily spicy chicken, placing it into the translucent white jade bowl in front of her without allowing any refusal.
“I remember the imperial chef saying that these are newly tribute chilies from Sichuan, and their flavor is the most exhilarating,” he said, his gaze fixed intently on her face, which had frozen in shock. His tone was both mischievous and unquestionable. “Try it.”
Fangru stared at the glaringly red chili peppers in the bowl, her stomach already beginning to protest.
She tried to struggle: "Thank you, Your Majesty... but my stomach and spleen have been a little weak lately, and the imperial physician advised me to eat a light diet..."
"Oh?" Zhou Ling raised an eyebrow, not only refusing to retract his order but also leaning closer, his lowered voice carrying a magnetic hum, directly cutting off her words, "Is the imperial physician's advice more important, or is my decree more important?"
He was so close that he could almost see his reflection in her eyes, and the suppressed flames within them.
The curve of his lips deepened, carrying an air of languid control, as he slowly uttered even more startling words:
"Or perhaps..." His gaze fell on her slightly pursed pink lips, which were trembling with nervousness, and he slowed his pace, "Fangru finds using chopsticks troublesome and would rather... let me feed you in a different way?"
The implication in those words was so blatant that Fangru's cheeks flushed instantly, half from anger and half from embarrassment.
This tyrant! He's utterly... utterly shameless!
With everyone in the hall bowing their heads and suppressing their laughter, and the palace servants pretending not to hear, she was in a difficult position.
Eating is torturing your stomach; not eating, who knows what even worse things this bastard might do.
She glared at him fiercely, her eyes almost radiating a venomous knife.
Zhou Ling, however, seemed pleased by the lively look in her eyes, a low, pleasant chuckle escaping his throat as he leisurely awaited her choice.
Finally, Fangru almost defiantly picked up the spicy chicken, quickly stuffed it into her mouth, chewed it haphazardly a couple of times, and swallowed it whole. The spicy taste instantly rushed to her head, making her eyes red and causing her to involuntarily take a deep breath.
"How is it?" Zhou Ling asked knowingly, even casually tapping the table with his fingertips.
Fangru's tongue was numb from the spiciness. She cursed him a thousand times in her heart, but she forced a fake smile on her face: "Your Majesty's reward... is naturally... is an extremely 'good' taste..." Her voice was choked with sobs from the spiciness.
Seeing her clearly disheveled state, with tears welling in her eyes, yet still trying to act obedient, Zhou Ling leaned back in his chair with satisfaction and laughed loudly, as if this were the most interesting game in the world.
Fangru cursed inwardly: "Excellent taste? You bastard! Zhou Ling, you just wait! I've memorized this spiciness; one day I'll mix it with chili powder and feed it to you! You bastard!"
He would even requisition the soft couch under the window of her Yilan Palace as his second study.
One sunny afternoon, he arrived uninvited, carrying a stack of memorials or several books. He naturally took over the soft couch where she loved to lean against and enjoy the view. He crossed his long legs, his black robes casually scattered, as if he were the master of the place.
Fangru had no choice but to move to the embroidery stool to the side, but she was absent-minded when she picked up the needle and thread, and the stitches were crooked.
For a moment, only the faint sounds of turning pages and tracing strokes of a red brush filled the hall.
However, this illusion of tranquility will soon be shattered by him.
He would suddenly look up from behind the memorial, his gaze precisely landing on her, and he would hurl a series of tricky questions at her:
"Fangru, what do you think is more important, changing the route of the Huainan canal or reinforcing the dikes and building dams?" He asked in a calm tone, as if asking about the weather, as if inquiring about national affairs from a woman in the inner palace was perfectly normal.
Fangru paused, her hand holding the embroidery needle trembling, alarm bells ringing in her mind.
No matter how she answered the question, it might touch upon the conflicts within the court. She lowered her eyes and said cautiously, "Your Majesty, please forgive me. Such matters of state are of great importance, and I am too foolish to offer any advice."
Upon hearing this, he merely glanced at her with a half-smile, his eyes seeming to say, "I knew you would answer like that," but he didn't press further. Instead, he picked up a copy of "Tales of Lingnan" and casually flipped to a page.
“This book says that the Li people in the Dong villages have a custom called ‘Fangliao,’ where men and women sing together. It’s quite interesting.” He tapped the pages with his fingertips, but his gaze fell on her face, with a look of inquiry and a hint of teasing. “Fangru is always very knowledgeable. Do you know the details? Could it be… that the Guanglu Temple’s collection of books contains such miscellaneous knowledge?”
Fangru's cheeks flushed slightly. This question seemed elegant, but it was actually tricky! If she said she didn't know, her previous humility and "dullness" would seem like an excuse; if she said she knew... how could a young lady from a secluded family know so much about the marriage customs of a foreign tribe on the border?
She pursed her lips and remained silent, attempting to resist with silence.
He wouldn't let her go, putting down his book and pressing closer: "Hmm? Why aren't you saying anything? Didn't you just say you were dull-witted? It seems you were just being modest?" He stood up, walked to her, and his shadow enveloped her. "Or is it that... Fangru actually knows a great deal, but... is unwilling to explain it to me?"
He was very close, and the cool ambergris scent emanating from him, mixed with the aroma of ink and books, wafted over, carrying a strong sense of oppression.
Fangru, provoked by his repeated teasing, finally had her competitive spirit ignited. Forgetting her caution, she looked up and blurted out:
“Since Your Majesty knows it is a ‘strange tale,’ you should also know that it is mostly a record of curiosity and may not be entirely believed! It is true that the Li people choose their own spouses based on their love of songs, but their villages also have strict tribal rules. Are they really as bad as outsiders think? If Your Majesty is really interested, why not send a censor to investigate in person instead of questioning me here?”
She spoke slightly quickly, with a hint of sharpness from being pushed to her limit, and her eyes shone brightly from the argument.
Looking at her now that she was finally showing her teeth and arguing her case, Zhou Ling's eyes showed no anger. Instead, a bright light of admiration suddenly flashed in them, as if he had finally seen the brilliant core hidden beneath the layers of protection.
He chuckled softly, a laugh filled with immense pleasure and a sense of "just as I thought."
"What a wonderful 'not necessarily believe everything'! What a wonderful 'on-site investigation'!" He clapped his hands, then suddenly reached out and pulled her up from the embroidered stool, wrapping her in his arms.
Caught off guard, Fangru cried out in surprise, her hand instinctively pressing against his chest: "Your Majesty!"
“Fangru is insightful and quick-witted, and when she argues with me, she does so with great clarity and logic…” He wrapped his arms around her waist like an iron hoop, lowered his head and drew closer, his warm breath almost burning her earlobe, his tone becoming low and dangerous, “It seems that I have been too lenient with you in the past…”
"In that case, 'punishment'... is inevitable."
Before she could finish speaking, he sealed her words with a kiss, silencing all her unfinished arguments and protests, leaving only the ambiguous sounds of water and rapid breathing intertwined in the warm afternoon air.
Fangru thought to herself more than once: Damn it! He resorts to this when he can't win an argument! Tyrant! Incompetent ruler! Let me go if you dare, and keep arguing! ...Ugh!
The most alarming incident for Fangru was when she was practicing calligraphy by the window one afternoon, copying down a poem that expressed her feelings about the hardships of people's lives.
Zhou Ling silently walked up behind her, looked at her for a moment, and then suddenly reached out and grasped her hand holding the pen, his chest almost touching her back.
“Well written,” his voice was low and emotionless, “but too compassionate. Can the suffering of the world be alleviated by a few poems?” He took her hand and started a new line on the paper, writing a decisive “定” character with a sharp, knife-like stroke. “I prefer this one.”
Fangru stood frozen in his arms, able to feel the immense power and a certain obsessive conviction hidden beneath his calm tone.
She suddenly realized that to find this man's weakness, she might not only have to look at his violent side, but also have to penetrate the layers of ice and touch the deepest core.
She remains the butterfly struggling in his net, but every seemingly helpless dance they share, every tentative glance, is a silent contest.
She ground the ink for him, observing the slight furrow in his brow as he reviewed memorials; she dined with him, noting his preferences for different dishes; she even casually brought up some vague memories in moments when he seemed relaxed…
The game between hunter and prey unfolds quietly amidst the rising smoke from the incense burner, in every exchange of glances and the accidental touch of fingertips.
Fangru carefully collected all the fragments, waiting for the opportunity that might be a fatal blow or a chance to regain her freedom.
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