Jiang Yan lowered her head, carefully reading the last line at the bottom.
Little kid.
What a curious way to address someone—Jiang Yan couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been called that.
Now, as she flipped through He Qingfu’s diary, it felt as if she were reading someone else’s life, and yet also recalling her own. Memories of her childhood gradually surfaced, though so much time spent in the tomb had left them hazy. She remembered only a few people and a handful of particularly vivid events.
Jiang Yan was silent for a long while. When she finally came to herself, she continued turning the pages.
The diary recorded He Qingfu’s thoughts in meticulous detail.
How does one raise a child?
She wrote in the diary, helplessly:
Although I raised several of my junior brothers and sisters, at most I only taught them how to draw talismans. This one, though, has me at my wits’ end. I have to worry about her eating, her sleeping—everything.
Sometimes I’m even afraid she’ll faint, because she’s always lying there without a word…
But I’ve realized something—she’s always draped over that stone stool as a form of protest. After all, I still haven’t made her the pretty little bed I promised.
Be patient, be patient. I’m still figuring out how to secretly carve out a bed. It’s a huge challenge for me—so hard I can’t sleep. This is honestly harder than communing with spirits.
From then on, He Qingfu’s plan to break free from Jiang Chixi was completely foiled, and she was forced to raise a child in the underground palace. Although the little bride was often listless and wore a look of constant impatience, sometimes sulking for no apparent reason, she was actually very easy to care for. She never demanded company, never asked for things, never made a fuss—she could lie in the underground palace all day on her own.
He Qingfu found her both difficult and easy to raise.
In the end, she concluded that the problem was herself. After all, she had nothing to give. Any new mother would call this a windfall.
But the little bride did have her moments of disobedience—for example, she was a picky eater.
This troubled He Qingfu greatly.
Jiang Chixi didn’t like anyone eating with her, so she always dined alone. After discussing it with Jiang Chixi, He Qingfu would sneak a few small dishes from her meals each day and bring them to the underground palace. But Jiang Chixi liked cilantro, and the little girl did not.
It wasn’t a huge problem—when she had time, He Qingfu would pick out the cilantro. But every time the little girl took a bite, she could taste it, and with a “ptooey,” she’d spit it out to the side.
Then she’d silently stare at He Qingfu.
Under the accusing gaze of the little girl, He Qingfu would instinctively promise, “Next time…”
The little girl’s face was cold: “That’s the thirty-second ‘next time.’”
He Qingfu: “…”
What could she do about Jiang Chixi’s love of cilantro? She couldn’t just change her tastes—if she did, the cooks would have to change, and the course of history would shift. So the little girl could only keep eating cilantro with Jiang Chixi.
But after enough silent protests, He Qingfu couldn’t take it anymore.
She began sneaking out at night to make food for the little girl.
Cooking was truly a struggle. Everything in the palace was strictly accounted for, so she could only sneak outside to find ingredients, stealing corn from careless farmers—just a few stalks, so no one would notice. Then she’d roast the corn in the wild, tuck it into her robes, and run back to the palace.
Jiang Chixi had trained in martial arts since childhood. Even after ascending the throne, she never neglected her skills. Few in the palace were her equal, and He Qingfu knew everyone’s routines by heart. So, after her first attempt, she returned safely.
He Qingfu had her reasons for taking such risks—she carried several memory-clearing talismans. If discovered, she could erase the relevant memories and set everything back on track.
In short, the corn—roasted at great risk—ended up in the little girl’s hands.
He Qingfu’s eyes shone with anticipation.
“How is it?”
The little girl ate with relish, taking a bite every few centimeters.
Why every few centimeters? Because He Qingfu had burned the corn—a third of it was blackened, looking rather alarming, as if it had been poisoned.
“It’s all right,” the little girl replied.
“Some parts are a bit bitter, but that must be the corn’s fault.”
She affirmed He Qingfu’s efforts: “Much better than cilantro. Can I have more tomorrow?”
With that, she began to stare at He Qingfu.
He Qingfu thought of the trouble she’d gone through and shook her head. “Not every day.”
Then she smiled. “Just how much do you hate cilantro?”
The little bride emphasized, “Very much.”
He Qingfu said helplessly, “But there’s not much I can do. All my dishes have cilantro.”
The girl pondered for a long time, then asked, “Do you like cilantro?”
He Qingfu replied, “It’s all right.”
The girl understood. “So you could take it or leave it, but because the cook puts it in, you have to eat it—the cook’s at fault. We’re all controlled by the cook.”
But as soon as she finished, the little girl looked confused.
He Qingfu asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
The little girl lifted her face. “But aren’t you the emperor? Just drag the cook out and have him executed—then he can’t force you to eat cilantro anymore.”
He Qingfu realized she’d said too much.
While speaking, she’d unconsciously separated herself from Jiang Chixi. But she was supposed to be playing Jiang Chixi. The little girl was naive, but she understood some things. If she learned more, she might notice something was off.
After all, she and Jiang Chixi differed greatly in temperament and preferences.
He Qingfu wanted to fix things, to raise her supposed fondness for cilantro and clear the cook’s name, but the little girl’s next words interrupted her thoughts.
“We’re all forced to do things we don’t like.”
The little girl said, “Maybe this is what it means to have no control over your own life. So even a ruler isn’t free. You’re not very happy, are you?”
He Qingfu was momentarily stunned.
The little girl lowered her head. “I can try eating cilantro tomorrow.”
He Qingfu felt overwhelmed by the child’s thoughtfulness. She was so small, so tiny, yet already able to put herself in someone else’s shoes, even willing to make herself uncomfortable for others. How could He Qingfu agree to that?
Not liking cilantro wasn’t a crime.
She quickly said, “You’ll have roasted corn again tomorrow.”
The little girl nodded solemnly.
It was late. As soon as she nodded, the little girl reverted to her original form, drifting over to the stone stool and dozing off. He Qingfu tiptoed out of the underground palace and returned to her bedchamber.
She took up her pen, intending to praise the little bride in her diary, but before she could write, she suddenly realized something.
He Qingfu: “……”
Recalling the scene, she wrote:
Did she nod a little too quickly?
It really seemed that way. Very fast, as if she were waiting for me…
After jotting down these lines, He Qingfu couldn’t suppress her curiosity and sneaked back to the underground palace.
She gently pushed open the door and immediately saw the little bride perched on the stone stool, her hem lifted. At that moment, the little bride was humming, all four corners of her robe lifted and swaying, clearly triumphant.
Little bride: “Roasted corn, roasted corn~”
He Qingfu couldn’t help but smile. But realizing what she was doing, she pinched her own arm hard, forcing herself not to laugh, and quietly closed the door.
She returned to her bedchamber and opened her notebook.
This must be fate.
He Qingfu wrote earnestly: Jiang Chixi created her, and I’m the one raising her. Something this adorable ought to be my responsibility.
*
As the emperor of Jiang, Jiang Chixi was often busy.
When affairs piled up, she would spend whole nights reviewing memorials, always attended by servants working in shifts. At such times, He Qingfu couldn’t come out—even if she did, it would be pointless. She could only go through the motions as Jiang Chixi, never visiting the underground palace.
After a month with the little bride, He Qingfu already missed her.
It was hard not to. The girl looked so much like herself. Because of her own presence in this world, the world had become so dangerous for the girl, yet she still existed, and was willing to live in the dim underground palace.
There were no windows in the underground palace, no flowers or plants, no companionship—only a stone bed He Qingfu had painstakingly crafted.
Through Jiang Chixi’s eyes, He Qingfu gazed at the memorials before her, feeling as if time crawled by. She recalled the memories she’d sensed before, remembering that tonight Jiang Chixi would once again stay up all night.
He Qingfu sighed softly.
She began to recall the little girl gnawing on corn these past few days. Her corn-roasting skills had become more refined—maybe she could try something else, like grilled fish? But finding the right fish would be a problem…
Her thoughts drifted further and further, until a flash of red appeared in her peripheral vision.
It was a fine thread, thinner than a fingernail—a red string that appeared and vanished in an instant. No one but He Qingfu noticed it.
She tensed immediately, seizing control of her body and glancing discreetly to the side.
A few seconds later, a red string poked out from her hem.
It swayed left and right, clearly trying to attract attention.
He Qingfu immediately pressed it under her hand, maintaining a calm demeanor as she continued reviewing memorials.
But the little red string was dissatisfied and kept trying to emerge. He Qingfu considered, then pulled it out and laid it on her hem, where a red phoenix was embroidered. There, the string blended in perfectly.
Now the little red string was satisfied and stopped moving.
He Qingfu was satisfied too. Though still uneasy, she felt greatly comforted.
At midnight, a palace maid came to tend the lamps. Just then, a noise sounded outside the door. He Qingfu realized what was happening and immediately relinquished control to Jiang Chixi.
A few breaths later, a girl of twelve or thirteen pushed open the door, beaming as she ran in and nestled beside Jiang Chixi.
She placed a bowl of tonic she’d prepared on the table.
“Mother, I heard from the palace staff that you weren’t sleeping again, so I made this for you.”
“If you’re thirsty, drink it. If not, just throw it away!”
Though Jiang Chixi had a few male consorts, she had no intention of bearing children. In her twenties, she adopted a girl from a concubine’s household and raised her personally. Fortunately, the girl was bright and filial, living up to Jiang Chixi’s expectations. Not long ago, she was formally named Crown Princess.
Jiang Chixi picked up the bowl and slowly finished it with a spoon, then handed it back to the girl.
“Where’s your father consort?”
The girl shrugged. “In the study, working on recipes. He wanted to make soup too, but I beat him to it.”
Jiang Chixi smiled. “All right, off to bed with you.”
The girl was obedient. She bowed and left Jiang Chixi’s bedchamber. Jiang Chixi returned to her memorials. He Qingfu had planned to seize control again if the red string moved, but until dawn, it remained still.
Jiang Chixi changed clothes for court, and He Qingfu’s consciousness followed.
All day, He Qingfu didn’t see the red string again. Night fell, Jiang Chixi went to bed, and at last He Qingfu regained control and headed to the underground palace.
The little bride lay on the cold bed, her robe corners drooping, as if she’d wilted.
He Qingfu suddenly felt a pang of pity.
She realized the little girl needed care—she needed companionship. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have reached out for He Qingfu. After much thought, He Qingfu finally found a solution.
Tonight, a crane yao in Jiang would perish, body and soul.
Wounded by its natural enemy, the yao’s soul was nearly shattered. Now, mischievous children were pelting it with stones. Soon, it would drag its battered body into the deep woods, die, and vanish to dust.
Because the yao would have no ties to the human world after tonight, it lay outside the web of karma. If He Qingfu saved it and offered to extend its life—on the condition that it stayed in the underground palace forever and never left—it would be safe.
After much deliberation, He Qingfu spent half the night tracking down the yao.
By then, the crane yao could no longer move, one wing broken, blood at its lips.
He Qingfu took out a talisman and approached it. “I’ll save you, but I’ll also bind your soul with a talisman. You won’t be able to defy me in any way. Even the thought of disobedience will mean instant death.”
The crane yao lay weakly for a long time before mustering the strength to reply, “What do I have to do?”
He Qingfu answered, “Help me care for a little girl in the underground palace.”
“Play with her whenever she wants. After I die, you’ll have to hide in the remotest mountains for a thousand years, taking no part in the affairs of the world.”
Compared to utter annihilation, this was not an excessive demand.
The crane yao nodded lightly, accepting He Qingfu’s terms.
A few minutes later, He Qingfu had mended its shattered soul. The crane yao followed her back to the palace and transformed at the entrance to the underground palace.
He was an exceptionally handsome man in his early twenties, dressed in white with silver hair, looking every bit like an immortal untouched by the mortal world.
But He Qingfu saw him not as an immortal, but as a laborer to care for the little bride.
“Let me repeat: do not attempt to leave the underground palace. No contact with the outside world.”
The crane yao nodded again.
Satisfied that he understood, He Qingfu turned and pushed open the underground palace doors.
Inside, the little girl sat on the bed playing with her red strings, winding them around her fingers, untying them one by one, then tying them into tight knots.
He Qingfu cleared her throat.
The little girl immediately looked up.
He Qingfu hesitated for a few seconds, trying to introduce the crane yao’s role, but the little girl suddenly jumped off the bed, pointed at the crane yao, and asked earnestly,
“Is this my father consort?”
He Qingfu was taken aback.
In that instant, the events of the day replayed in her mind, and she suddenly understood why the red string hadn’t moved earlier. She had seen the Crown Princess chosen by Jiang Chixi, and realized the girl had so many things she herself lacked.
He Qingfu’s inner conflict resolved in a heartbeat. She glanced at the crane yao and nodded.
“Yes, your newly appointed father consort.”