Qi Ji should have died years ago in the private prison of Prince Xin on the eve of the palace coup.
Outside the city, there was already a tombstone erected by Wei Yun specifically for him, and indeed, his body lay in that grave.
But for some unknown reason, after Qi Ji’s death, his soul could not enter the netherworld, nor did he see the fabled Wangchuan River.
When he awoke, he was merely a ghostly spirit, wandering within the palace walls, unable to cross the vermilion palace gates.
Qi Ji remained in the palace, witnessing with his own eyes how his once close friend Wei Yun forced the dying Emperor Qi He to write an edict of abdication. He was present the day Emperor Qi He passed away.
Even Qi Ji had never anticipated that Wei Yun would turn out to be a member of the once illustrious Wei family.
It was only then that he finally understood what Wei Yun had been gambling his life for over the years in Yingdu, advancing step by step.
But what shocked Qi Ji the most was discovering that he had always underestimated Princess Heyu.
Though she was a woman, she had always harbored the immense ambition to contend with her two imperial brothers.
The Princess Heyu of the past had become today’s Empress Yongxing.
This was something Qi Ji had never anticipated.
When Qi Ji first learned that the brilliant works “Puyu” and “Jumang” were penned by Princess Heyu, who was kept deep within the palace and was about to be used as a pawn by Prince Xin to be married off to Yidan, he was utterly astonished.
He had never imagined that she would eventually surpass her two imperial brothers and become the only empress of the Great Zhou.
As a wandering spirit, Qi Ji lingered in the palace for several years. No one could see him, and no one could hear him speak.
He had no physical form, so even when he saw the exquisite dishes delivered to Zhao Shuwei from the imperial kitchen, he could not taste them.
But during these years, Qi Ji gradually came to understand many unknown aspects of the empress.
Qi Ji had seen her dismiss everyone to write diligently at her desk, and under her pen, grand tales of the martial world would unfold. She seemed to always enjoy writing about stories of chivalry and vendetta, far from the court.
But these manuscripts were always placed in a box and, from the moment she became the emperor, destined to gather dust on her desk.
Bored, Qi Ji would sometimes stand behind Zhao Shuwei while she wrote.
Following updates was a painful thing.
It was the same in any era.
Seeing that it took Zhao Shuwei a year to write only a dozen chapters, Qi Ji became anxious.
Finally, she picked up the pen to write again, but that night, she was dozing off while writing.
The few hundred words she managed to write were incoherent, and in his boredom, Qi Ji even noticed a few typos.
But that same night, Qi Ji discovered that he could actually touch many objects. He was ecstatic.
Still concerned about Zhao Shuwei’s hastily written few hundred words with typos, he used a cinnabar pen that night to circle the mistakes and wrote two sentences, hoping she would correct her writing attitude and update properly.
When Zhao Shuwei found out that the person daring to correct her mistakes was the long-deceased Qi Ji, even the mighty empress couldn’t help but feel a chill down her spine.
Such a supernatural event right before her eyes made her reveal a rare side of her feminine nature, which she seldom showed anymore.
At first, Zhao Shuwei couldn’t see him or hear him speak. So, whenever she spoke to the empty inner hall, she would see the brush on her desk start writing on its own.
Zhao Shuwei once ordered Qishuang to find samples of Qi Ji’s handwriting left before his death to compare, and the handwriting was identical.
If Zhao Shuwei still had any doubts about Qi Ji’s identity at that point, they vanished the day she returned from court, intending to take a nap before handling state affairs, only to see a smoky blue figure standing at her desk, fiddling with her box.
All her doubts were instantly dispelled.
Why was Qi Ji’s soul trapped in the palace, unable to reincarnate after his death? Neither he nor Zhao Shuwei could figure it out.
Little did they know, Zhao Shuwei, now the emperor, carried the celestial aura that nourished Qi Ji’s soul without realizing it.
And though he was dead, his name was not recorded in the underworld, a negligence on their part.
The jade bi that Zhao Shuwei offered daily in Qianlong Hall was not an ordinary jade bi. It originally belonged to the Marquis of Nanping’s household, one of the thousands of jade artifacts collected by Qi Ji.
After the Marquis and Qi Ji were murdered, the household fell into chaos. During the tumult of the palace coup, someone stole and sold many of Qi Ji’s possessions, and this jade bi ended up in Zhao Shuwei’s hands.
When Qi Ji awoke, he discovered that the red string tied to the jade bi was always connected to his left wrist, like a crimson glow.
No matter where he was in the palace, the red string always drew him back. Over the years, Qi Ji noticed that his form gradually became less transparent.
However, Qi Ji was still a bit unhappy.
He felt like the red string made him resemble the housekeeper’s pet dog, Laifu, from the Marquis’s residence.
Since Zhao Shuwei could see Qi Ji, besides attending court and handling accumulated state affairs, she finally seemed to have a bit of respite.
Qi Ji was skilled in calligraphy and painting, to a level that even Zhao Shuwei admired.
He also had extensive research in inscriptions and stones, providing many novel insights that Zhao Shuwei had never heard before. He even generously told her where he had hidden the ancient books beneath certain floor tiles in the Nanping Marquis’s residence.
What amused Zhao Shuwei the most was that whenever she dined, Qi Ji would always gaze at her longingly, swallowing his saliva. Because of him, Zhao Shuwei found herself eating an extra bowl of food at each meal.
“I wish I could eat too…”
Qi Ji would always sigh whenever he said this. He had always been a gentle and refined gentleman, but now, in front of delicious food or in Zhao Shuwei’s presence, he often displayed a childish innocence.
Perhaps that near-death experience had changed him in some way.
Zhao Shuwei suddenly realized that in many respects, Qi Ji had become something of a confidant to her. Besides her heavy national duties, Zhao Shuwei also enjoyed studying ancient texts, collecting stones and jade artifacts, playing chess, painting, brewing tea, and drinking wine. In all these interests, Qi Ji shared her passion.
He had no love for officialdom or power; he only craved gourmet food and the everyday pleasures of life.
This year, Wei Yun’s son, Wei Zhao, was already four years old, and Empress Zhao Shuwei was twenty-four, yet she remained single with no intention of bringing a consort into the palace. The ministers in court began to take turns advising the empress to marry soon and ensure the continuation of the royal lineage, which thoroughly annoyed Zhao Shuwei.
But Imperial Advisor Wei Yun seemed to have no intention of getting involved. No matter how the ministers performed their elaborate acts, Wei Yun always maintained a serene demeanor, with no indication of wanting to speak up.
Zhao Shuwei was at a loss. Finally, she relented. But when she returned to Qianlong Hall that day, she found that the portraits of various noble sons sent by the ministers had been marked with large matchmaker’s moles.
“…”
Zhao Shuwei flipped through the portraits one by one, her brow furrowing tightly.
“Qi Mingxu, what are you doing?”
She coldly eyed the young man standing by the window, looking out, and threw the stack of portraits at him.
But her imperial authority seemed to have no effect on him. Qi Ji continued to smile, “I know quite a few of these men. Do you want me to tell you how many girls they’ve visited in the pleasure houses?”
As a once notorious playboy of Yingdu, Qi Ji knew many of the noble sons.
Back when he was still alive, many of those depicted had already married and had children. Yet now, their portraits were among the potential consorts for the empress, implying they were willing to abandon their families to become the empress’s consort.
“It seems the heir was also a frequent visitor there,” Zhao Shuwei said with a faintly ambiguous tone.
Qi Ji, hearing her remark, immediately raised three fingers without thinking and explained, “I only went three times, and I was dragged there! I just listened to three performances…”
Whether Zhao Shuwei believed him or not, she merely curved her red lips and said nothing more.
Qi Ji watched her pick up a memorial to the throne and start reading. After a moment of silence, unable to hold back, he asked, “Have you decided to get married?”
“I no longer have any reason to delay,” Zhao Shuwei replied, her eyes on the memorial, as if pausing. “There’s no need to postpone it any further.”
Becoming an emperor meant sacrificing many cherished things in life.
Hearing this, Qi Ji seemed to want to say something, but when he saw the scarlet mark on his left wrist, he fixed his gaze on the jade bi nearby for a long time.
His throat moved, but in the end, he remained silent.
The eldest son of General Guangwu’s family seemed to be a favored candidate among the courtiers.
Recently, there had been many rumors in the palace. Occasionally, Qi Ji, through the lattice window, would hear the palace staff discussing.
During this period, Zhao Shuwei noticed that Qi Ji spoke very little. Sometimes he would sit by the window for an entire day, trying to catch the sunlight spilling through the lattice but always failing to feel its warmth. After all, he was just a wandering soul.
Somehow, they no longer shared everything with each other.
On the day she was to issue the decree, Zhao Shuwei sat in Qianlong Hall for half a day.
Hanlin Scholar Zheng knelt below, head bowed, not daring to glance at the empress on her high seat. He had held his brush for a long time, but the empress on the dragon throne remained silent.
Sweat began to form on his forehead, but he dared not speak.
Though Zhao Shuwei had made her decision, and once she decided, she would not hesitate, she found herself unable to speak at this moment.
Her mind was a bit chaotic.
She looked up to find Qi Ji, but he was nowhere to be seen. Even his usual spot by the window was empty.
Zhao Shuwei lowered her eyes, sitting there until the sunset’s afterglow filled the steps in front of the hall, even spilling inside and illuminating the floor.
Qi Ji still hadn’t returned.
She looked up and noticed that the red string on the jade bi, which was often connected to Qi Ji, had disappeared without her realizing it.
Her fingers clenched under her wide sleeves, and Zhao Shuwei suddenly stood up, bypassing the desk, ignoring Hanlin Scholar Zheng who had been waiting in the hall for who knows how long, and ran outside.
Qishuang had never seen the emperor so flustered. She hesitated for a moment, then quickly followed with a group of palace attendants.
The sky was filled with the colors of the sunset, the clouds seemingly pressing close to the vermilion palace walls. A gentle breeze scattered pink and white petals from the trees.
At this moment, the sky, the glazed tiles, the vermilion palace walls, and the young woman running through the long palace alley all seemed like a beautiful painting, falling into the eyes of an observer.
“Zhao Shuwei.”
Just as she was about to run past the long alley, heading elsewhere, Zhao Shuwei heard someone calling her name. Who in the world would dare to call her like this?
Only one person.
She stopped and instinctively looked at the large, lush tree leaning against the palace wall. The young man in the sky-blue robe seemed to be the same spirited and gentle youth she had seen many years ago.
The years had left no trace on him.
He sat on the thick branch of the tree, his hands catching the fragmented sunlight filtering through the leaves. His profile seemed meticulously drawn, and in the dappled light, Zhao Shuwei thought she could hear her own heartbeat.
The woman in the bright yellow dress embroidered with gold dragons had the most radiant and beautiful face in the world.
The young man in the tree, like the sunlight in his hands and the breeze in the mountains, exuded a gentle warmth.
Zhao Shuwei wanted to speak, but her lips moved without forming words. Because a group of people was always following her.
They couldn’t see him in the tree. In this world, only she could sense his presence and see his figure.
That night, the imperial edict that Hanlin Scholar Zheng had just finished drafting was shredded into pieces by Qi Ji with scissors.
“Qi Mingxu, how dare you destroy my edict!” Zhao Shuwei slammed the table, her eyes fierce.
Qi Ji dropped the scissors, unfazed, and even chuckled, “Your Majesty has great authority, but alas, I am but a wandering soul. Even if you wish to punish me, you cannot.”
Zhao Shuwei threw the brush in her hand, but it missed Qi Ji.
Late at night, most of the palace lights had been extinguished. Apart from the silvery moonlight streaming in through the half-open window, there was no other source of light in the hall.
Qi Ji, who usually stayed in the outer hall, was still sitting by the window. During the day, he watched the sunlight, and at night, he gazed at the moonlight. As a spirit, he had no need for sleep, making time feel endlessly long.
Every night, while Zhao Shuwei slept, he sat there, alone until dawn.
“Qi Mingxu.”
But now, he suddenly heard Zhao Shuwei’s voice coming from the inner hall.
Qi Ji turned his head towards the inner hall, separated by several layers of gauze curtains. “What is it?”
In the quiet of the night, their voices were especially clear.
“Why don’t you want me to marry He Shuzhi?” Zhao Shuwei’s voice came from the inner hall again. It seemed calm and casual, but he knew she was lying awake because of this question, desperate for an answer.
Qi Ji hadn’t expected her to ask this, so he was silent for a while before saying, “He Shuzhi is not worthy of Your Majesty.”
“What do you mean by that? General Guangwu has remarkable military achievements, and his son He Shuzhi is famous for his literary and military talents, a young genius.” Zhao Shuwei didn’t lift the bed curtain, but her gaze remained fixed on the outside through the hazy veil.
“He Shuzhi is only twenty, and Your Majesty is already twenty-four. Do you prefer someone younger than you?”
Qi Ji hesitated for a long time before managing to squeeze out this sentence.
That single sentence made Zhao Shuwei angry. She sneered, “Only a four-year difference, yet you make it sound like I’m an old woman pining for a teenage boy.”
Zhao Shuwei decided she didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Her heart felt heavy, like a weight she couldn’t lift.
In the outer hall, Qi Ji waited a long time but didn’t hear Zhao Shuwei speak again. The smile in his eyes gradually faded.
As Zhao Shuwei was about to drift off to sleep, she faintly heard his clear voice:
“Zhao Shuwei, will you issue another decree tomorrow?”
She barely registered his words, her consciousness fading, and she mumbled a response, “Mm…”
Qi Ji was always gentle, with a hint of a smile in his eyes.
But now, hearing her affirmative answer, he slowly clenched his fingers inside his sleeves.
Perhaps it was the dazzling moonlight or the growing worry in his heart, but an impulsive urge made him suddenly turn and walk into the inner hall.
Zhao Shuwei had not yet fallen completely asleep. The moment the breeze brushed past the bed curtain, she instinctively half-opened her eyes.
In that instant, she felt a cool and soft touch on her lips.
A handsome face was close to hers.
She widened her eyes, all traces of sleep instantly vanished.
The impulsive action came quickly and left just as fast. Qi Ji’s fair face turned slightly red, and he quickly tried to pull away.
Zhao Shuwei, coming to her senses, inexplicably bit his lip. This time, it was Qi Ji’s turn to be stunned.
The sudden kiss, shared by two inexperienced in such matters, led to a clumsy exchange of lips, neither quite knowing what to do.
It wasn’t until Zhao Shuwei tasted blood that she snapped back to reality. Letting go of Qi Ji, she was speechless when she saw the small wound with a bead of blood on his lower lip.
Qi Ji was equally bewildered. Could a spirit’s lips bleed from a bite?
But before he could process it, Zhao Shuwei grabbed his wrist.
Caught off guard, he fell onto the dragon bed with her.
At some point, the moonlight outside, combined with the swaying tree shadows, cast a dappled silver light. The long bed curtains blurred the scene, and the floor was strewn with discarded clothes.
The next day, the palace attendants serving Empress Zhao Shuwei in Qianlong Hall watched in shock as a young man stretched lazily and walked out of the hall.
His lips bore a conspicuous bloodstain, and there were suspicious red marks on his exposed white neck.
The entire palace staff was stunned. They seemed to have stumbled upon something extraordinary.
That year, Empress Yongxing finally married. But the consort was not the widely rumored son of General Guangwu. Instead, it was a young man who had been kept hidden in the deep palace for an unknown amount of time, only now making his appearance.
It was said that this young man bore a striking resemblance to the late Qi Ji, the heir of Nanping, who had been killed by Prince Xin.
Some speculated that the empress had harbored feelings for Qi Ji even before ascending the throne, and that’s why she chose someone who looked like him.
The truth of these rumors remained uncertain.
– THE END –
Translator’s Note (Doldol):
Hey everyone! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for sticking with me on this journey. Translating this story has been such an adventure, and knowing that there are people out there reading and enjoying it makes all the late nights worth it.
I know my posting schedule has been… let’s say, “creative,” to put it nicely (😅). Life has a way of throwing curveballs, but your patience and support mean the world to me. Whether you’ve been here from the beginning or just stumbled across my work, I appreciate every comment and moment you’ve spent reading this book.
Now that all the chapters are finally up, I hope you enjoy the story in its entirety. Feel free to binge it, share it with a friend, or just let me know what you think. Hearing your thoughts keeps me motivated and helps me improve.
Thank you for being part of this little corner of the internet. Your support keeps this translator going, one chapter at a time.
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Happy reading! ❤️
