Slow Romance

Today was the Qixi Festival, and the campus forum thread “How Are You Spending Today?” shot straight to the top of the discussion rankings.

The comments underneath were pure chaos.

On a sudden whim, I left one too.

“In Xie Yi’s arms.”

Then Xie Yi-the famously abstinent, untouchable teacher-replied to me.

“You said you’d be in my arms. Where are you?”

Me: ! ? ?

While everyone else was fighting for the Emperor’s favor, I built an intelligence station in the cold palace.

Until the day he died, the Emperor never knew that the woman stirring up the hidden currents of his harem was someone whose name he could not even remember.

I died in Yongxiang Alley during my third winter there.

Not truly died-only the kind of death where your name is crossed out in vermilion ink on the registry.

They said Noble Lady Li, who had once worked in the imperial garden and was later favored by His Majesty for her beauty, had gone mad.

Because on the late Empress’s memorial day, I let my hair hang loose, went barefoot, and sang a rousing rendition of “Liangzhou Ci.”

In truth, I was not mad. I had simply calculated that the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial would pass through the imperial garden that day.

Madness was the best pass in the cold palace, and the best armor.

On the day I moved into the West Third Institute, only one lame old eunuch came to lead the way.

The weeds in the courtyard rose past my knees, and the moss on the well curb was as thick as a velvet blanket.

My roommate, Attendant Li, had been thrown in here three years ago after offending the Imperial Consort.

When she saw me arrive, she did not even lift her eyelids. She only kept rubbing a length of hemp rope in her hands, its edges worn fuzzy.

I set my only bundle down on the crumbling earthen kang.

Inside were two sets of worn palace clothes, a bald writing brush, and half a ream of yellow paper.

The paper pasted over the window lattice had a hole in it the size of a fist. The north wind poured in with a howl, carrying the faint sound of pipes and flutes from far away.

I stared at that hole, but in my heart, a sliver of light slipped through.

In a madwoman’s world, there were the fewest rules.

Here, perhaps, I could live.

I had no idea my boss was a famous fanfic author, one with excellent prose, thrilling plots, and a perfectly balanced diet of content.

And I was one of his top-paying readers.

His new story was a complete departure from his usual style: an utterly squeaky-clean original novel.

I happily topped up my account to buy the chapters, but the more I read, the more I realized the dense, romance-impaired heroine was a lot like me.

The only difference was that the male lead was a shy, innocent, introverted herbivore-type boss whose little inner commentary was ridiculously cute.

He was nothing like my real-life boss, who barely spoke, had a severe case of germophobia, and was an absolute menace.

Later…

The author posted in the comments: “≧◇≦ Thank you all for your support. I-I-I’ve decided to be brave and confess!!! >_<”

Magnanimously, I sent the author a huge gift. “Go for it! Be brave, author! Fear no hardship!”

The very next second, my cold-faced, frowning boss walked out of his office and stopped in front of me, his face bright red.

Me: “?”

Under the short video I posted, a girl tagged her boyfriend to come watch.

“Everyone move, my husband likes this kind of thing. Let him see it first!”

I tapped into her profile picture and froze.

She was the girl who had bullied me in high school.

I would know that face even if it were reduced to ashes.

I didn’t sleep all night. I went through every video she’d ever posted, then tapped on the boyfriend she’d tagged.

I sent him a private message.

“Are you there?”

Lin Wanrou was twenty-four this year, an old maiden who still had not married.

Madam Lin’s standards for a son-in-law had fallen from imperial kin to any promising young talent with ambition.

She refused to believe that, with the Grand General’s influence, she could not raise up one dragon among men as her son-in-law.

Lin Wanrou did not want to marry. She would rather stay at home for the rest of her life.

The night I married Pei Guanli, I cried so hard I soaked half my bridal veil.

Not because I didn’t want to marry him, but because everyone in the capital knew that Pei Guanli was more upright and proper than the ancestral tablets in a shrine.

He oversaw ceremonial protocols at the Ministry of Rites and revised the dynasty’s statutes and rites.

If a family used the wrong ritual vessels at a wedding, he could remember it for three years.

If someone wailed one time too many at a funeral, he could submit a memorial impeaching them straight to the emperor.

As the daughter of a merchant family from Jiangnan, this was exactly the sort of man I feared most.

Before my mother sent me into the bridal sedan, she clutched my hands and cried even harder than I did.

“Ah Ning, once you reach the Pei Family, speak less, smile less, and eat less.”

I asked, “Why eat less?”

Choking back sobs, my mother said, “Noble young ladies in the capital eat as delicately as if they’re painting flowers. You eat three bowls in one sitting. You’ll give yourself away too easily.”

I paused, suddenly feeling that before this marriage had even reached the bridal chamber, I had already lost on appetite alone.

I’m a fanfic writer with nearly a million followers on Big-Eyed Guy.

My OTP? A wildly popular young actress and a famous up-and-coming director.

Soon, self-media accounts across the entire internet would be required to register under their real names, and verified influencers with over a million followers would be the first batch to go public.

The moment I got wind of it, I deleted my account and ran.

Because I was that wildly popular young actress.

But netizens loved drama far too much to let it go. They started posting gossip threads across every major social media platform: Girl, who the hell are you?

Fu Shiyu, the crown prince of Beijing’s elite circles, was famously untouchable.

I worked as his chief interpreter for three years.

He still never managed to remember my full name.

Until the day I “ran into” him at the gallery he often visited, my fingertip brushing over his Adam’s apple.

“CEO Fu, your tie is crooked.”

He pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window and bit my earlobe.

“Who are you calling CEO Fu?

“Say that again. I dare you.”

My brother went on a trip with a few friends.

Mom told me to video-call him and check in.

The call connected, and the screen filled with a man’s bare upper body, his pecs on full display.

He rubbed his hair with a towel and said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world,

“Your brother’s taking a shower in the room next door. His charging cable broke, so his phone’s charging over here with me.”

I stared at the image on the screen, unable to snap out of it for a long moment.

Then that fair, handsome face suddenly leaned closer to the camera, a wicked smile curving his lips.

“Am I that good-looking? Want to see for yourself in person sometime?”

Ever since I was little, I had been slow and lacking in wit, while Elder Sister was extraordinarily gifted.

At a poetry gathering held at Marquis Manor, she was afraid I would embarrass myself, so in private, she composed a poem for me.

None of us expected that the true purpose of the gathering was to choose a wife for the Second Young Master of Marquis Manor. And the poem she wrote for me was the very one that caught the Second Young Master’s eye.

Later, I married into Marquis Manor.

After the wedding, Pei You discovered just how dull and ignorant I truly was.

Only then did he realize I was not the person who had written that poem that day.

Pei You resented me, blamed me, despised me.

He said his wife should not be someone like me, a woman with nothing but a pretty face and not a drop of learning inside her.

Whenever we were intimate, he would lean close to my ear and mock me, saying I had none of the dignified bearing of a proper main wife, only a body full of vixenish allure that was of some small use in bed.

I was terrified.

So when I returned to the day of that poetry gathering, I stopped Elder Sister before she could write a poem for me. My voice trembled as I said,

“Thank you, Elder Sister, but there is no need.”