Transmigrated as the Imperial Princess's Scumbag Alpha Ex-Wife - Chapter 32

Bed partner.

Bed partner.

For a moment, Zhu Yu’s soul detached from her body and soared into space, struggling to navigate past the traditional connotations of “bedding set.” After confirming she couldn’t possibly be a pillowcase or duvet cover, she reluctantly accepted that the term referred to a tacit, intimate yet detached relationship between adults.

Bai Shuzhou’s pronunciation was soft, though her tone rose at the end, forming a question. Yet it carried an inexplicable certainty.

Zhu Yu had always trusted her own judgment more. And “bed partner” sounded far safer than “lover,” maintaining the perfect balance of closeness and distance.

Zhu Yu’s eyes widened as she met the indifferent gaze of the eighteen-year-old Bai Shuzhou. In her previous life and this one combined, she had never imagined such a term would ever be applied to her—especially not by Bai Shuzhou herself.

Wait, she suddenly realized. While human behavior might change with environment and experience, the underlying core logic likely remained immutable.

After losing her memory, Bai Shuzhou effortlessly pierced through the veil Zhu Yu had never dared to examine closely, using a single, precise word.

So this money wasn’t a token of love, but… a reward?

Why couldn’t it have been used to buy a new bedding set instead?!

The girl looked utterly wronged, as if staring at a heartless betrayer, stubbornly demanding an explanation.

Bai Shuzhou frowned slightly, paused for a moment, then turned her head away, avoiding Zhu Yu’s gaze. Her voice was as soft as a feather falling: “Good night.”

It was a polite but firm dismissal.

Zhu Yu sank deeper into the plush pillow, gradually sliding further and further down until only her smooth forehead and gently narrowed eyes remained visible.

The fluffy white down comforter softened the sharp edges of her aura. She remained poised between sliding and not sliding, like a snowflake on the verge of melting, revealing a hint of tenderness that belied her icy demeanor.

The glacial surface remained intact, her scattered white hair partially obscuring her flickering pale blue eyes. Behind the stray strands, the tips of her ears glowed faintly pink.

“Yes,” Zhu Yu said suddenly, clearing her throat. “That’s right. And the goodnight kisses we share? Those were your rule too.”

Bai Shuzhou’s ice-blue eyes snapped open, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her gaze.

Bai Shuzhou had never been one for physical intimacy. Now, with her sudden amnesia, she had no way to verify Zhu Yu’s claims.

Leaning close to Bai Shuzhou’s ear, Zhu Yu cupped her hand over her mouth, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial whisper, her tone deliberately husky and magnetic, mimicking the detached, businesslike tone of a powerful woman: “This is for your healing. You know better than anyone that our kisses… are good for you.”

In that moment, Zhu Yu instinctively grasped the mindset of a person in power: self-interest was the most persuasive language.

With a straight face, she swiftly pecked Bai Shuzhou’s soft cheek.

It was less a kiss and more a fleeting touch carrying a faint trace of spiritual energy—like a delicate electric current, tingling and numbing as it coursed across Bai Shuzhou’s stunned face.

The first time they activated their Abilities, they were kissing. Zhu Yu found that channeling her Ability through this method was surprisingly more flexible than concentrating her mental energy in her palm.

The warm, healing touch felt like a gentle ray of sunlight briefly caressing her skin before withdrawing.

After delivering her line, Zhu Yu tucked one hand into her pocket, bowed with casual elegance, and turned to leave.

“Good night, Your Highness the Princess,” she murmured, her magnetic voice low and husky.

Bai Shuzhou watched from the sickbed as the girl’s slender figure, radiating a hint of roguish charm, strode away with brisk, decisive steps, showing no trace of lingering.

Zhu Yu took a deep breath.

Success! Time to run! Her hand, clenched white-knuckled in her pocket, betrayed her anxiety. As soon as she reached a blind spot, she quickened her pace, practically willing herself to fly away.

If she didn’t leave now, she’d be done for the moment Bai Shuzhou regained her composure. After all, he had personally taught her how to use this very Ability.

I knew it! Zhu Yu thought triumphantly. Even at eighteen, Bai Shuzhou couldn’t possibly remain so calm in such a bizarre situation. She was just putting on a brave face!

How could emotions be treated like a public affair, neatly categorized and compartmentalized? When feelings were so muddled, it was only natural for her to seek a little sweetness.

The logic was sound, yet her cheeks burned.

Zhu Yu pressed her lips together, nearly fleeing the scene.

As she rounded a corner, a sharp pain shot through her shoulder as she collided forcefully with someone.

Both stumbled back half a step, looking up simultaneously, their eyes wide with surprise.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness Zhu Yu!” the Blonde Researcher exclaimed.

Zhu Yu immediately waved her hand. “No, no! Thank you! Goodbye! Good night!”

The two socially awkward individuals exchanged hurried nods, then quickly parted ways as if they had never met, each avoiding causing the other the slightest inconvenience.

The Researcher gently pushed open the door to perform routine maintenance on the equipment by the entrance. The corridor light streamed in, momentarily making the room seem even darker.

In the shadows, a pair of sharp, jewel-like eyes glowed with unnatural clarity.

She saw the Princess, who should have been asleep, raise her slender, almost translucent fingers to her soft cheek. Her expression was unreadable as her fingertips unconsciously, very lightly, brushed against her skin.

Zhu Yu felt fully revitalized.

The soft touch on Bai Shuzhou’s cheek and the faint fragrance seemed to linger on her fingertips and at the tip of her nose. She tossed and turned all night, hugging her pillow, unable to sleep soundly.

Why did I kiss her cheek? she wondered, then realized her ambition was quietly expanding.

Even if their relationship was defined as such, it was still the closest, most stable connection recognized between adults!

It might seem like she was taking advantage of the situation, but… but it worked! When two people shared mutual affection, how could it be considered deception?

Since she couldn’t sleep anyway, she decided to spend the night researching information related to mental strength.

With the Light Brain, her efficiency skyrocketed, allowing her to simultaneously display three virtual screens.

Zhu Yu truly understood for the first time what people meant by “back in our day, we didn’t have such luxuries.” The Light Brain’s high price was justified by its superior user experience, completely outclassing the cheap terminals in the Chaos Zone.

However, specialized research on mental strength seemed scarce, and publicly available information was even more pitifully limited, as if deliberately purged. Ironically, the most active discussions about “Abilities” were found in bizarre urban legend forums.

This cutting-edge technology was likely monopolized, and it might take decades for it to be gradually declassified. The secondhand repair manuals Zhu Yu had bought from White Horse mentioned it briefly, but White Horse said those manuals had also been deliberately redacted. From compilation and publication to acquisition, the so-called “latest” technology had probably been iterated hundreds of times by now.

Completely stumped, Zhu Yu decided to bite the bullet and consult her friends at the Academy of Sciences.

The blonde researcher, Yu Yan, was a shy but enthusiastic fellow with a Ph.D. in Biological Sciences. He often forwarded articles from Science Daily to the “Loving One-Worlders” group chat, occasionally mixing in a few feel-good news stories about grassroots empowerment—a surprisingly fitting combination for the group’s name.

The others were much more reserved. Zhu Yu wondered if all scientists were like this—warm and chatty in person, but cold and terse online, as if every word were gold.

Afraid of making Yu Yan uncomfortable, Zhu Yu scrolled through the chat and replied to each message with a thumbs-up emoji. Though the digital distance felt vast, and she couldn’t understand the Science Daily articles, at least she could show her support.

That afternoon, while preparing dinner, she politely asked in the chilly group chat: “Anyone have any requests for what to eat?”

The group chat buzzed back to life as everyone enthusiastically urged Zhu Yu not to be too formal. “Keep it simple,” they suggested. “Braised beef noodles would be perfect—no need to separate the broth and noodles. The flavor really soaks in when they’re simmered together.”

Huh, do Imperials all have such similar tastes? Zhu Yu wondered.

She let out a silent sigh of relief, feeling that this warm, hearty meal would naturally bridge the distance between them. Otherwise, arriving empty-handed, she would have felt awkward asking questions.

Though her journey had been fraught with challenges, she had also encountered many kind-hearted people along the way.

This world is ultimately full of love!

On the other end of the screen, Yu Yan glanced at the latest message, expressionless, and clicked “Cheers to our friendship” before returning to organizing her data.

The dense lines of text on the large monitor reflected in her face, giving her an especially cold demeanor.

Researchers at the Academy of Sciences lived in on-site dormitories. While the Academy was renowned for valuing merit and technical prowess, the living quarters for nobles and commoners remained strictly segregated.

Well, to be precise, the nobles didn’t live in dormitories at all—they resided in villas.

Since the Feng Family had seized control of the Southern District and aggressively promoted technological innovation, researchers’ compensation had improved significantly. Popular rumors even claimed that “entering the Academy is half a step into the noble class.”

This place felt like the Empire’s most equitable utopia, a cradle for the dreams of ordinary people.

Before entering the Academy of Sciences, Yu Yan had been the undisputed top scholar in her star region. Even on the Imperial Star, she remained at the forefront, earning her ticket to this prestigious institution.

Her mother had tearfully urged her: “No matter how busy you are with research, remember to eat. And no matter how far you travel, never forget your hometown.”

Burning with the ambition to transform the universe, Yu Yan arrived only to spend two years doing menial tasks, never finding time to return home.

This was all too common here, as ordinary as people like her.

The boss, engrossed in deciphering the genetic code, arrogantly pointed at a string of data and declared, “Your presence here is predetermined by fate.”

Yu Yan mechanically echoed, “How fascinating.”

A Noble colleague chuckled, adding, “All thanks to our esteemed mentor’s guidance.”

Constantly assigned to dirty and exhausting work, Yu Yan was repeatedly passed over for recognition due to “insufficient innovative contributions” and “lack of seniority.” When she mustered the courage to ask why her name wasn’t listed as an author, the boss casually retorted, “Everyone works hard here. What makes you think you stand out?”

Her fate, it seemed, was destined to end here.

Her humble beginnings had already determined the limits of her life’s trajectory.

Until… that day.

Yu Yan’s fingers froze mid-typing, her memories coalescing. A flicker of excitement and fervor flashed in her eyes as she let out a silent chuckle.

Knock, knock.

The knock came just as Yu Yan finished calculating the final line of data, the timing matching her predictions perfectly.

She rubbed her stiff face, habitually locked her screen, and turned to open the door.

The girl at the door pushed a food cart. “Hi!” she chirped, beaming as she pressed a heavy food container into Yu Yan’s arms. “Eat it while it’s hot—it’ll get soggy soon!”

The weight was far heavier than Yu Yan had anticipated, nearly causing her to drop it. She fumbled to secure the container, momentarily suspecting it might be filled with gold.

This is… incredibly bold!

Glancing around cautiously, Yu Yan solemnly pulled Zhu Yu into the room.

As it turned out, Yu Yan had underestimated the situation. Zhu Yu had actually brought an entire container overflowing with braised beef noodles.

The beef was piled so high the lid barely closed, and beneath it lay smoked sausages and an extravagant array of side dishes.

Yu Yan choked up, completely unprepared for such a thoughtful gesture.

After all, they weren’t truly hungry; they were merely providing cover for someone else. Ordering individually would have seemed too deliberate.

Did Zhu Yu not understand this?

To avoid appearing too deliberate, Zhu Yu had stubbornly replicated the lavish meal she had prepared for Bai Shuzhou a dozen times over.

She rubbed her hands together, her eyes crinkling into crescents. “So, can you get me the Princess’s medical records?”

“Well, yes, but…” Yu Yan, slightly dizzy from the rich aroma of beef, instinctively agreed before realizing her mistake. She quickly backtracked, “These reports are quite complex—just rough notes. Would you be able to understand them?”

“I understand some of it. I can always look up the rest,” Zhu Yu replied, her gaze drifting to the stacks of draft paper on Yu Yan’s desk, covered in hurried, sprawling handwriting. A strange sense of familiarity washed over her.

Her mother had been a doctor, and her handwriting had been equally wild and flamboyant. In this era of advanced technology, Yu Yan’s insistence on writing by hand truly embodied the spirit of a researcher—a craftsman’s dedication that moved Zhu Yu deeply.

Line after line of densely packed text covered the overlapping sheets of paper.

These were all Yu Yan’s notes, transcribed from memory.

Xu Yi’s sensitive documents were restricted to viewing at specific times and locations, with strict prohibitions against private retention or uploading to the internet.

Yu Yan set down her chopsticks, paused in silence, the warm steam of the food lingering on her tongue.

Without betraying any emotion, she bypassed the alarmingly detailed raw data tables and extracted the most concise report from the edge, handing it to Zhu Yu.

Having obtained what she wanted, Zhu Yu’s mature, emotionally intelligent, and warm-hearted facade instantly vanished. After a perfunctory thank you, she swiftly departed, completely satisfied.

The moment the door closed, believing herself unobserved, she clenched her fist and gave a triumphant little bounce.

Through this “charity” act, she had successfully acquired a wealth of precious data, all hidden in the false bottom of her food cart. Her brazen display had paradoxically averted suspicion.

The largest and heaviest document, intended for Bai Shuzhou, was pressed at the very bottom.

As Zhu Yu made her deliveries, she encountered anxious Snow Leopard Knights, ravenous Snow Leopard Knights, and repetitive Snow Leopard Knights…

Before the beast’s patience snapped and it lunged, Zhu Yu finally delivered her last bento box, seemingly “willingly and proactively.”

When stranded in the wilderness, Bai Shuzhou had always favored this dish: a mouthful of noodles, half a spoonful of rich broth, and a few slices of tender, braised beef.

Though Zhu Yu’s cooking skills couldn’t compare to those of the imperial chefs, she felt a little embarrassed serving it alongside such extravagant delicacies.

Still, this was just something she’d “whipped up on the side,” so she kept her expectations low.

Sensing the enticing aroma, Bai Shuzhou’s nostrils flared slightly. Her brow furrowed faintly, her expression remained composed and restrained as her gaze swept casually over Zhu Yu.

Zhu Yu immediately raised her hands, signaling, “Don’t mind me! With such a lavish spread, just eat whatever you like!”

Yet Bai Shuzhou took an elegant bite, her peripheral vision still lingering on Zhu Yu as if she were a particularly delicious side dish—one that warranted some acknowledgment.

After all, in Bai Shuzhou’s mind, anyone who offered such earnest service must want something in return.

So she waited for Zhu Yu to speak.

Like a deity enshrined in a resplendent, yet empty temple, she sat, awaiting the fervent prayers of her devoted worshippers.

However, the “dish” and worshipper herself remained oblivious to this dynamic.

Zhu Yu scratched her head, racking her brains over the goddess’s casual glance. After a long moment, she slapped her forehead in sudden realization, understanding Bai Shuzhou’s hesitation.

I get it now—there’s no soup spoon! The Imperial Family’s spoons are too delicate and ornate, completely unsuitable for eating noodles.

It was her oversight, rushing over with only chopsticks. She turned to leave, intending to find a spoon.

Just as she reached the entrance hall, a soft, slightly embarrassed, yet undeniably adorable “slurp” echoed through the quiet air behind her.

The sound was faint, but Zhu Yu’s sharp ears twitched, catching it precisely.

The person inside seemed to notice her paused footsteps as well. In unspoken agreement, they immediately made a deliberate clatter, loudly placing the bowl and spoon down with a heavy thud.