Fortunately, Shangguan Liqian realized her “revenge” was a bit too obvious. She quickly picked up two pieces of meat with her chopsticks to mask her intentions.
In truth, she wasn’t just retaliating for Wushuang’s ill-timed teasing earlier; she genuinely wanted the girl to eat more vegetables. Even though the two had been living and eating together recently, Liqian still couldn’t understand why Wushuang was so obsessed with meat. She firmly believed that a balanced diet was better for one’s health.
Luckily, Wushuang had grown accustomed to playing the “good girl” in her presence and was usually quite obedient. Under Liqian’s watchful eye, she managed to finish a fair portion of greens.
Satisfied with her performance, Liqian picked up a silk handkerchief and gently wiped the corners of the Empress’s mouth. Having never been cared for so meticulously by the one she loved, Wushuang’s eyes curved into crescent moons as she beamed.
Liqian merely flicked her on the forehead without a word, intending to lead the sleep-deprived girl to the couch for a nap. However, as she moved to stand, Wushuang stopped her.
“Wait a moment, Sister. I had the servants brew some ginger soup.”
Wushuang still remembered the sound of Liqian’s coughing when she first woke up. Knowing her sister disliked medicine, she had ordered ginger soup instead.
Hearing the Empress’s command, a nearby palace maid quickly uncovered the tureen. The sharp, pungent scent of ginger wafted through the air, causing Liqian’s brow to furrow. She suddenly regretted her earlier claim of feeling unwell. She had only mentioned the ginger soup as a lesser evil to avoid bitter medicine, but the smell of this was hardly any better.
After a moment of hesitation, Liqian looked at Wushuang and said earnestly, “I feel much better now. I don’t really need—”
Sensing her sister’s body stiffen, Wushuang knew she was lying. Suppressing a secret smile, she cut the lie short before it could be fully formed.
“Sister, you aren’t trying to get out of drinking it, are you?”
Wushuang’s half-smiling, knowing gaze left Liqian with no room to retreat. She maintained a facade of composure and insisted, “I just finished eating. I’m too full to drink anything else.”
Wushuang followed her lead with easy grace. “Then we shall wait a while.”
Seeing such persistence, Liqian sighed inwardly in resignation. She reluctantly took the bowl from Wushuang’s hand and downed the ginger soup in one go.
Only after watching her finish did the tension in Wushuang’s brow finally relax. She was terrified that her reckless behavior last night had caused her sister to fall ill.
Liqian naturally understood what she was thinking. She wasn’t angry; she simply felt a pang of heartache seeing the dark circles under Wushuang’s eyes. Yet, recalling the girl’s wild behavior the night before, she also felt Wushuang was merely reaping what she had sown.
Ultimately, she couldn’t bear to see her so exhausted. Leading her toward the bed, she asked, “Can we rest now?”
Wushuang nodded and climbed onto the couch with Liqian. Despite her profound drowsiness, she refused to close her eyes, staring fixedly at the woman beside her.
Knowing the depths of the girl’s insecurity, Liqian gave her a helpless roll of her eyes. Resigning herself to fate, she reached into a nearby brocade box and pulled out a pair of Golden Shackles. She clicked them shut, locking their wrists together with the fine, long chain between them.
Wushuang cast a guilty glance at Liqian, cautiously tugging at the chain. When she noticed Liqian looking at her, she offered a fawning smile and quickly squeezed her eyes shut.
She was going to sleep now. Her sister had put the locks on herself—it was too late for regrets.
Watching Wushuang fall into a deep slumber the moment she relaxed, Liqian—who was no longer very tired—let out a faint, helpless smile. She picked up a book from the bedside and leaned back to read.
Hmm? This isn’t the book I was reading before.
Stunned, Liqian flipped through a few more pages, and her brows slowly knit together.
During her previous period of confinement, she had lacked freedom and longed for the vast world outside. Consequently, most of her reading material consisted of travelogues describing mountains and rivers or biographies of eccentric figures. Occasionally, when bored, she would read treatises on imperial strategy or practical miscellaneous texts—such as those on the art of disguise.
But why had this turned into a romantic novel about the dalliances of men and women?
Confused, Liqian’s gaze drifted toward the sleeping Wushuang. Did she put this here on purpose for me to read? She shook her head; that seemed unlikely. After all, if Wushuang were the one responsible, it probably wouldn’t be this kind of book. It would more likely be a collection of “Spring Palace” erotica featuring women and women…
As scandalous images flickered through her mind, Liqian’s face was instantly stained with a crimson flush. She cast a sharp, indignant glare at the soundly sleeping Wushuang.
The innocently sleeping Empress: “…”
Liqian sighed and returned her attention to the book. Just as she was about to flip the page, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from outside. She set the novel down just as the palace doors were pushed open.
“Your Majesty?” the visitor whispered. Receiving no response, they were about to withdraw.
After a moment’s hesitation, Liqian asked directly, “Her Majesty is asleep. Is there an urgent matter?”
The one who had entered was a young palace maid. She was momentarily dazed by the question but quickly realized the speaker must be the “Miss Shangguan” whom the Empress cherished so deeply.
She recalled the high-ranking officials of the Imperial Presence saying more than once: As long as Miss Shangguan does not commit regicide, her words are to be treated as Imperial Edicts.
Without further delay, the maid spoke clearly. “Miss, Prince An requests an audience.”
The moment she heard the title “Prince An,” Liqian’s brow furrowed tightly.
Prince An, Luo Wuyan? What is he doing in the palace at this hour?
Liqian didn’t suspect him of plotting against Wushuang just yet, but possessing the memories of her past life, she had no good feelings toward the one who had ultimately usurped Wushuang’s throne. Knowing that Wushuang didn’t particularly favor this titular younger brother, Liqian took it upon herself to have the maid escort him to a side hall. The rest could wait until Wushuang woke up.
Once the maid was dismissed, Liqian lay back down. Her eyes fell on the book again, but she didn’t turn the page for a long time.
She searched her mind, trying to remember: In the previous life, when did Wushuang first discover Prince An’s treasonous heart? And when did the Shangguan family begin colluding with him?
The more she thought, the deeper her frown became. She blamed herself for only thinking of escape in her past life. She had almost no recollection of such vital political events.
She tried desperately to recall the details of her previous existence, but since she had spent most of her time locked within Phoenix Hall, she only knew bits and pieces of the Shangguan family’s plans. Moreover, because she had been reborn two years before her actual imprisonment, many of those plans hadn’t even begun yet. She couldn’t very well expect Wushuang to punish the Shangguan family for crimes that hadn’t happened.
Liqian let out a long, heavy sigh. She combed through her cluttered memories, trying to find anything that could help Wushuang. In the end, she realized she knew nothing—she couldn’t even recall what natural disasters had struck the various regions of the Kingdom of Luo over the years.
