After Entering The Abusive Novel, I Became The Empress - Chapter 34

The hall was silent. Qin Yuqing, usually quick with words, found herself unable to speak.

She had never expected Concubine Chen to be connected with the Baili family, who controlled the waterways. But if that were the case, how did Concubine Chen end up dying inside the palace, and why did no one seem to care?

The Emperor looked down at Qin Yuqing’s exam paper with deep regret in his eyes. His remorse didn’t seem the least bit fake—in fact, there was even a hint of pain in it.

Since ancient times, emperors have been the ones least free to act as they wish.

Qin Yuqing sighed inwardly. When she first transmigrated, she thought the Emperor was either incompetent or a tyrant. But the more she interacted with him, the more she realized that beneath his exterior lay a helplessness hidden in the deepest recesses of his heart.

The Emperor was a wise ruler, a virtuous ruler, a good emperor who truly cared for the common people.

Then, Concubine Chen’s death was likely anything but simple.

She had a hunch: if she could uncover the truth behind Concubine Chen’s death, many matters would naturally become clear. At the same time, her own strange bond with the book’s original female lead would finally have an explanation.

But there was no place to begin the investigation. Perhaps even the Emperor himself no longer knew what Concubine Chen had experienced all those years.

The Emperor gazed off into the distance with a look of nostalgia. His eyes seemed to peer through the hall doors toward somewhere unknown.

“Back then, when I went north on inspection, I was ambushed by bandits. I was lucky that Yuer saved me…” The Emperor began recounting, to himself more than to anyone, his past with Concubine Chen.

Their meeting—if written down alone—would have been melodramatic enough to fill an entire sensational novel.

Concubine Chen was the spirited, free-spirited niece of the Baili family. She followed her mother’s surname, Chen. Gifted and brilliant from childhood, she was once hailed as a prodigy.

The Emperor, then a young monarch, was handsome and ambitious. Though inexperienced, he seized the throne through ruthless strength and suppressed the court with an iron hand.

Their encounter happened amid a staged assassination.

Concubine Chen believed she was simply standing up for justice, acting out of chivalry.

But to the Emperor—already ensnared by suspicion at the height of power—her sudden closeness looked like a carefully planned murder attempt.

Grievously wounded, he had no choice but to conceal his identity, to hide his true face, to feign civility and interact with her while secretly investigating her background—so he could eliminate her roots completely.

But as the two spent their days together, even though the setup was a little cliché, once the Emperor confirmed that she had truly saved him by accident and harbored no malice, he could not stop himself from falling for her.

A young Emperor, smitten with a free-spirited wind-like woman—this was no surprise. But because he was so young, he did not yet understand love. He used the most despicable of methods, deceiving her into the imperial palace.

Yet seeing her live each day in melancholy, like a wild hawk shackled and caged, he began to waver. He gradually came to understand that to love someone is to respect her will—not to imprison her in a place she did not belong.

So the young Emperor chose to let her go. That was the final lesson this twist of fate had taught him.

“I was a coward,” the Emperor said bitterly. “Back then, I didn’t dare to see her one last time. If I had gone… everything would have been different. At the very least, our A’Ruan would have lived a healthy, happy life.”

Qin Yuqing looked at the Emperor’s self-reproach. He was truly repentant, regretting his actions, apologizing to both the book’s original heroine and Concubine Chen.

Since it was by the Emperor’s own order, there was no reason Concubine Chen should have died in the palace when the book’s female lead was only five. Something must have happened on the very day the Emperor released her.

The matter was vast and complex. In the end, it forced Concubine Chen to remain quietly in the palace, eventually dying there in obscurity. Meanwhile, the Emperor had been deceived by an elaborate illusion that she had left. For eighteen long years, he knew nothing.

At that moment, father and daughter met each other’s eyes. In them, both saw suspicion. For once, they were on the same side, united in what they knew they would have to face.

“Xiao Liu,” the Emperor said, “I know you, like your Yu’er, are a person of great aspiration.” He handed Qin Yuqing a blank imperial decree. “Keep this. Your father will never force you to do what you do not wish.”

“Consider it… a small, inadequate compensation to Yu’er.”

At the time, the Emperor only meant to make a simple amends to Qin Yuqing. Neither of them realized that this blank decree, stamped only with the imperial seal, would one day become the sole means of saving Great Yin.

But that is a tale for later…

Back in her small courtyard, where only she and Chuntao resided, Qin Yuqing felt inexplicably heavy-hearted after hearing the Emperor’s words.

Her steps dragged as she walked toward a certain door. She pushed it open—it was unlocked—and entered a small courtyard with a willow tree, a stream running beside it, and a man-made rockery. On the other side was a simple earthen mound.

This was Concubine Chen’s true resting place—the grave that the book’s original female lead had dug with her own hands to bury her mother.

In her memory, Concubine Chen’s body had not been properly cared for. Instead, it had been discarded in the courtyard like an insult, leaving the child to handle her own mother’s remains.

Qin Yuqing could not imagine how the young girl must have felt—understanding death, realizing her mother was gone, yet forced to bury her with her own hands, struggling to survive in the mire of the harem.

She dared not think too deeply about what the original heroine felt in the later, collapsed parts of the story—whether she had numbly accepted it all, or fought desperately until she realized resistance was futile, and then submitted to endless humiliation.

At that moment, Qin Yuqing was no longer a mere onlooker. She had become part of the story.

Her heart ached more and more. She could not tell whether it was her own emotions, the heroine’s grief bleeding into her, or a resonance stirred by fragmented memories.

But she knew one thing: she was mourning for the heroine, crying for both of them.

“Concubine Chen…” Qin Yuqing knelt before the mound, her hand caressing the tombstone’s weathered surface. “I should have moved away, since I’m nothing but a usurper here. But for some reason, I can’t bear to leave.”

“I’m like some despicable thief, drawing warmth that was never mine.”

A warm breeze brushed her hair, carrying away her sorrow, as though someone were gently embracing her and soothing her grief.

Qin Yuqing pulled out her tools and carefully began repairing the eroded characters on the tombstone. Time had nearly erased the name, and restoring it took all her focus.

So absorbed was she that she failed to notice someone standing behind her. That person only watched silently as she worked.

“At last, it’s done.” Qin Yuqing stood abruptly. But her body, still weak, betrayed her—her scalp tingled, bl00d rushed downward, her head went cold, her limbs trembled with a numbing shock. Darkness closed in around her vision, pierced by shrill ringing in her ears.

Suddenly, a hand caught her arm and steadied her falling body.

Instinctively, Qin Yuqing pulled out her hairpin to stab. But then she smelled the familiar fragrance of plum blossoms. Her grip slackened, and the hairpin clattered to the ground.

“It’s me. Don’t be afraid.” Lu Jingchuan’s voice sounded in her ear.

“Mm. I knew it was you.” Qin Yuqing relaxed against him. It was just anemia from bl00d and energy deficiency.

Lu Jingchuan lifted her into his arms, pushed open a door, and laid her gently onto a nearby lounge chair.

After a while, her vision cleared. His handsome face came into focus, and the ringing in her ears faded, though her scalp still tingled and her fingers twitched unconsciously. Cold sweat drenched her.

“Why are you here?” Qin Yuqing asked, puzzled. Today wasn’t the young prince’s martial arts training day. He couldn’t have just gotten lost and wandered into the palace, could he?

Lu Jingchuan crouched beside her, dabbing her forehead with a clean handkerchief. His expression remained cool as ever, though his gestures were careful and gentle.

“The results are out. You weren’t there, so I came to find you.”

Qin Yuqing nodded, naturally taking the handkerchief and gesturing toward a chair nearby for him to sit.

At that moment, Chuntao entered, poured tea, and stood guard at the door.

“How did it go?” Qin Yuqing asked after sipping her tea.

Lu Jingchuan handed her a booklet. “The results list.” He knew what she truly wanted to know, so he added, “Most scholars agree with the rankings. But your appearance on the list as the Sixth Princess, Qin Yuqing, has indeed shocked many.”

Qin Yuqing nodded. That was to be expected. She flipped open the booklet casually. Yao Yu’s result was above average—quite good for the son of a merchant.

In any era, a merchant’s path through the imperial exams was far harsher. Without help, fame was almost impossible, let alone reaching the golden list.

“Yao Yu and Lin Haiyan—what do you think of their character?” Qin Yuqing pointed to their names and asked. “I think both of them are good.”

Lu Jingchuan’s face darkened. He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Finally, he muttered stiffly, “I think… average.”

Qin Yuqing couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it was because she had once seen his emotions pour out after he got drunk, but now every little flicker on his usually cold face seemed magnified to her. She could clearly see—Lu Jingchuan was jealous.

Completely, obviously jealous. His whole demeanor screamed: Come coax me!

“Of course they can’t compare to you. No one can. You’re my best partner.” Qin Yuqing quickly soothed the sulking puppy. “But I want to build my own power. Lin Haiyan and Yao Yu are the most suitable candidates.”

Lu Jingchuan gave a slightly haughty nod, then, after a moment’s thought, said, “Their backgrounds are not simple.”

“Besides you, they’re the only ones I can place in the court.”

“Not only them.” Lu Jingchuan tapped other names on the list. “These men never took a master.”

Qin Yuqing understood immediately. Among those without teachers, most had simply failed to find one—but a small number had refused on principle. That minority would form the core of her future loyal circle.

The exams were only the first step. The true beginning would be when they entered the court.