T/N:
Imagine if the good student and the class troublemaker suddenly swapped bodies—chaos, comedy, and unexpected sparks guaranteed.
That’s the vibe of this novel, and I’m beyond excited to bring it to you!
Out of all the male leads I’ve ever translated, this one has completely stolen my heart.
An emperor who’s not just strong and handsome, but also witty, sassy, and refreshingly non-chauvinistic?
Yes. Absolutely. Sign me up.
Wisps of white smoke curled out from the bronze incense burner, thread after thread soaking into the hibiscus flowers embroidered on the canopy above. The setting sun’s light brushed past the last white camellia on the rockery, then filtered through the thin window gauze, leaving a few slanted and elongated shadows on the carpet.
Meng Fu lay on the bed and began to cough lightly. Half a month ago, on her way back from Baima Temple, she got caught in the rain. After returning home, she fell severely ill, and this dragging on had lasted over half a month without any sign of improvement.
The physician had come a few times, prescribed several sets of decoctions, and advised her not to overexert herself during this period. However, as the young madam of the Xuanping Marquis Manor, the manor had a pile of daily trivial matters waiting for her to manage. In the rear courtyard, the three concubine chambers bickered and fought for favor day in and day out, constant friction of all sizes—so even though she was ill now, she could not completely let go of everything.
Just as the physician left through the front foot, Xie Wenzhao entered with the back foot. He stood in the center of the room, separated from Meng Fu by a light-colored gauze curtain. The evening wind blew in through the window, and the tassels beneath the curtain swayed slightly.
Xie Wenzhao looked at Meng Fu, as if he had something to say.
Meng Fu lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. Xie Wenzhao’s appearance was extremely good—eyes like the stars, face like a jade crown. Back then, when the late emperor saw him during a royal hunt at Jun Mountain, he even praised him as a gentleman of upright conduct. At that time, noble ladies of renowned families in the capital who wanted to marry him could line up from one end of the street to the other.
This was Meng Fu’s husband, yet he did not like her. Or rather, he very much despised her.
In the spring of the sixteenth year of Wenkang, Princess Duanyang held her grand wedding, and a banquet was hosted at Jinghua Garden to entertain the guests. Meng Fu and her younger sister Meng Yu went along with their mother to attend. Midway through the banquet, an accident occurred. To protect Meng Fu’s reputation, Xie Wenzhao had no choice but to marry her.
Meng Fu’s father was a renowned Confucian scholar of the current era. When Xie Wenzhao was young, he had studied under him for several years. At that time, the late emperor was still alive, and Meng Fu’s father held the post of Pingzhangshi [Chancellor] of the Secretariat-Chancellery and concurrently served as the Crown Prince’s tutor. The Meng family and the Xuanping Marquis Manor were well-matched in status, so although the start of this marriage wasn’t ideal, overall, both families were still relatively satisfied.
Meng Fu had had little contact with Xie Wenzhao before this—she had only met him a few times. She had never really harbored any illusions about her marriage. No matter whom she married, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference to her. Yet only after the marriage did Meng Fu realize that the person most dissatisfied with this union was actually Xie Wenzhao. He had someone else in his heart—the person he liked was Meng Fu’s younger sister.
After learning all of this, Meng Fu didn’t say anything. She simply acted as if she knew nothing and continued to live peacefully as the young madam of the marquis manor.
She was used to everyone around her favoring her younger sister. So she didn’t care to add Xie Wenzhao to the list.
Since she was very young, she had always wanted to make everyone around her satisfied. So when her father required her to become a noble and well-bred lady, she did so; when her family hoped she could marry Xie Wenzhao, she married him; when Xie Wenzhao disliked her playing the zither, from the moment she entered the Xuanping Marquis Manor, she never played again.
Meng Fu knew this wasn’t good, but those responses seemed to be instinctive for her survival, already engraved into her bones, beyond her ability to change.
“Is your health any better?” After a long moment, Xie Wenzhao finally spoke.
Meng Fu replied faintly, “Still alright.”
Xie Wenzhao did not leave. He remained standing in place, appearing as though he had more to say.
He hadn’t come to Meng Fu’s place for several days. All these years, he had always believed that what happened back in Jinghua Garden was a scheme by Meng Fu, that he had been forced to marry her in the end. Ever since their marriage, Xie Wenzhao had deliberately avoided Meng Fu. Today, it was because he needed something from her that he had no choice but to come. Clearly, they should be the closest of married couples, yet they were more distant than strangers brushing past each other on the street. Just spending a little more time here made him feel ill at ease.
Meng Fu said, “If Marquis has something to say to me today, feel free to say it directly.”
“Hanyan’s health is not good. The Tingshui Pavilion where she lives—you know it too—is cold and damp. Yesterday she sought out a master for consultation. The master said the feng shui there is not very good,” Xie Wenzhao paused, and said to Meng Fu, “So she wants to change to a different courtyard.”
The Hanyan that Xie Wenzhao mentioned was named Qu Hanyan. Originally a courtesan from a pleasure house, she was later brought into the manor by him as the third concubine. Qu Hanyan was skilled at playing the zither and was greatly favored by Xie Wenzhao in the manor.
Meng Fu gave a faint response. It was merely changing to another courtyard—not a major issue. She wouldn’t deliberately make things difficult for Qu Hanyan over something like this. She said, “There are still three courtyards vacant on the south side. The lighting is good there. Let her choose one.”
But Xie Wenzhao said, “The master has calculated that those three courtyards clash with her bazi [Eight Characters of Birth], they’re also unsuitable.”
Meng Fu sat a little straighter, faintly guessing what Xie Wenzhao was about to say. She asked, “Then what does Marquis mean?”
Xie Wenzhao said, “Jixue Courtyard is not bad.”
“She wants to live in my place?” Meng Fu asked.
Xie Wenzhao nodded. Meng Fu was just about to ask whether Qu Hanyan could get used to staying in a side courtyard, when she heard him say, “The other courtyards in the manor—you can choose any of them at will.”
Meng Fu fell silent.
Meng Fu, the legitimate wife, yet had to vacate her place for a concubine—what an absurd thing this was.
Seeing that Meng Fu didn’t speak, Xie Wenzhao continued, “I know you’ve always been magnanimous and sensible, and won’t mind such a small matter. There really is no other way with Hanyan. These past two days, she’s looked extremely haggard. Once you see her, you’ll surely feel distressed too. All the other courtyards have been checked by people, but there’s always something lacking. If you feel that the other courtyards in the manor don’t suit your liking, I can pay to have a new courtyard built for you.”
He had said so much, yet Meng Fu, lying on the bed, never opened her mouth. Xie Wenzhao suddenly felt uneasy. Meng Fu’s calmness, instead, made him seem like a fool. His expression gradually turned cold. He said to Meng Fu, “If you don’t want to move, then forget it. It’s just a courtyard.”
Meng Fu suddenly had a fierce headache. She ought to be a good wife who obeyed her husband in everything, a proper head madam whom everyone praised and admired. But then what? Even if she accomplished all of this—what could it change?
Meng Fu felt a bit lost.
In the end, she said to Xie Wenzhao, “Let me think about it.”
Xie Wenzhao’s expression softened slightly, seeming to carry a hint of guilt. He pressed his lips together and said stiffly, “It’s not urgent right now. Take your time to think. It’s not too late to move after your illness is better.”
Meng Fu responded with a sound. Xie Wenzhao figured the matter was settled, casually gave a few more instructions, and then left Jixue Courtyard.
Not long after he left, the maid Qingping entered from outside carrying a bowl of medicine. She stood by the bed and said, “Madam, it’s time to take your medicine.”
As soon as her voice fell, the sound of a zither began to ring out clearly from the direction of Tingshui Pavilion. That was where Qu Hanyan lived—naturally, it was she who was playing.
Qingping turned her head to glance outside, then said indignantly, “Playing, playing, always playing. Madam, you play far better than she does—why don’t you play anymore? Since you married in, this servant hasn’t heard you play once. Yet the marquis clearly loves to hear the zither.”
Meng Fu did not respond to Qingping’s question. She reached out, took the bowl, and drank the decoction in one go.
After drinking the medicine, Meng Fu felt drowsy again. Her face still carried that sickly pallor. Just as she was about to lie down and rest, sounds of the concubines arguing came from outside.
Qingping said she would go out and take a look for her, but even after quite a while, the quarreling still hadn’t stopped.
Meng Fu tilted her head up and gazed expressionlessly at the hibiscus flowers on the canopy above. These past two years, she increasingly felt as if her whole being was bound inside a thick turtle shell—cold, hard walls in all directions, unable to move, unable to breathe. It was as if she was destined to remain imprisoned within it her entire life, until her hair turned white, her teeth fell out, until her breathing and heartbeat both ceased, until her coffin was buried deep in the earth—and even then, she wouldn’t be able to break free.
The noisy sounds in her ears gradually faded away. She suddenly recalled the Lantern Festival when she was thirteen. That year, she was separated from her family and walked southward along the Xun River in the suburbs. Many river lanterns floated on the surface of the water, like stars from the sky fallen into the river. There was a black-clothed youth sitting on a high dirt mound by the riverbank, wearing a cold expression, as if he didn’t want to speak to anyone.
That Lantern Festival night, at age thirteen, she almost died at the hands of a gang of ruffians. It was that youth who saved her.
That was the closest she ever came to escaping the cage.
The youth had torn open a crack in the iron wall that confined her. Shimmering stars spilled through that crack. She had hesitantly reached out her hand, but in the end, failed to grasp them.
If one day she could see that youth again, seeing her like this—he would surely be disappointed.
Meng Fu closed her eyes and gradually fell asleep.
Heavy twilight pressed down on the countless palace roofs of the imperial city. Inside Zichen Hall, lights burned brightly. The young emperor sat behind a long desk, quickly flipping through the memorials in front of him. As more and more documents were turned over, his expression grew increasingly dark, as if water could drip from his face at any moment.
Finally, unable to suppress his anger, he flung the memorial in his hand to the floor with a heavy thud, then suddenly stood up. With his hands behind his back, he began pacing circles around the desk.
The eunuch Gao Xi hurriedly ran over in quick, small steps: “Your Majesty, calm your anger, Your Majesty, calm your anger—the imperial physician said that you must not get angry recently, it’s bad for your health.”
Li Yue became even angrier upon hearing this. He pointed at the memorial on the ground and shouted furiously: “Is it that I want to be angry? Look at what they’re saying! Even the pigs in the pen sound better than them! Why didn’t they just slaughter them along with the pigs at New Year’s?!”
Gao Xi, being a eunuch, didn’t dare to interrupt at a time like this.
“Don’t want performance evaluations?” Li Yue curled his lips in a cold laugh. “Hah, all of them speak so righteously and nobly—does Zhen not know the little schemes they’re plotting in their hearts?” [“Zhen” (朕) is a first-person pronoun used exclusively by the emperor in imperial China when referring to himself.]
Hearing Li Yue’s laugh, a chill went down Gao Xi’s back. He urged, “Your Majesty, please calm your anger, calm your anger—you still have injuries on your body.”
The wounds on Li Yue’s body were left from battles fought in the northern frontier a few years ago. Later, a miracle physician was finally found who could treat them, but only on the condition that he must not get angry or worked up within three months. As a result, this injury had dragged on for three years without healing.
“Then so be it! I won’t treat it anymore!” Li Yue said angrily, “Every day looking at these idiots—Zhen will die of anger!”
How could it go untreated like this? This emperor, once his temper flared, was like a child. Gao Xi thought to himself: tomorrow I’ll have to inform the miracle physician again—another three months will need to start from the beginning. For now, it’s best to calm His Majesty down first. He said, “Perhaps after the morning court tomorrow, the ministers will come to their senses.”
Li Yue shot Gao Xi a sidelong glance, then gave a cold “heh.” Gao Xi hadn’t even gone to sleep yet and was already talking in his dreams.
Gao Xi, being looked at like that, instantly felt a chill run down his neck.