For several days, Xiao Zhi had slept poorly. His dreams were tainted, invaded by a reckless troublemaker.
In the dream, the little thief knelt before the statue of the Jade Emperor and placed a strange bottle at his feet. Xiao Zhi had seen this object before in the little thief’s ice cellar—she called it “cola.”
“Almighty Jade Emperor, please tell this devout woman where the tomb of the tyrant Xiao Zhi is located, so I can burn it down for him.”
“How dare you, vile woman, curse me for dead?” Xiao Zhi grabbed the little thief by the collar. She struggled in his palm like a pathetic mouse.
He suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving. The images from the dream remained vivid.
He had likely… gone mad.
The emperor summoned Imperial Physician Zhou.
This physician had saved his life. Back when he was under house arrest, he had suddenly fallen gravely ill and nearly didn’t survive. Without Physician Zhou’s exceptional skills, the emperor standing strong today would not exist.
But Physician Zhou was old, his legs failing him, and he often took leave due to illness.
The physician held his breath and gently unwound the bandage wrapped around the emperor’s palm. The bandage was the color of skin, on it drawn a strange little figure, beside it a row of tiny script.
The physician instinctively leaned in for a closer look.
The emperor abruptly closed his fist.
The old physician, terrified, sank to his knees beside the dragon couch.
When Xiao Zhi had ascended to the immortal realm, that immortal thief had bandaged his wound for him, then looked up, her pupils shimmering with a sly smile. “Let me draw a divine talisman for you. I guarantee your wound will heal by tomorrow.”
He had been half-convinced at the time.
The little thief held a peculiar brush and painted a few strokes on his palm, a crimson feather swaying from its tip.
Xiao Zhi slowly withdrew his gaze from the brush in the physician’s hand.
The attending eunuch was not a familiar face. Xiao Zhi asked, “Where is Wang Delan?”
“Your Majesty, Eunuch Wang has not yet recovered and cannot attend to you in your presence.”
Upon hearing this, Physician Zhou broke into a cold sweat and said, “Eunuch Wang’s fever has not subsided…”
Xiao Zhi frowned. Could the most skilled physician in the realm truly be powerless?
He looked down and saw that his palm had been wrapped by Physician Zhou into a white bun-like shape—ridiculous to behold.
Then he looked at the little thief’s bandage—Xiao Zhi recalled she called it a “large bandage strip.” It worked far better than the physician’s gauze.
A eunuch approached with a tray, intending to discard the used bandage. But before he could, the emperor grabbed the bandage strip and pressed it directly onto the carved dragon atop the bedpost.
Smack.
The bandage strip stuck over the gold-lacquered dragon scales, jarringly out of place.
On it were written simplified characters: 臭皇帝猪头.
Xiao Zhi recognized only the first three characters—“Stinky Emperor.” The last two were unfamiliar to him.
They certainly weren’t compliments.
His gaze traced the two characters “猪头” repeatedly.
Could they mean “pig head”? Xiao Zhi recalled the gruesome scene of his grandmother slaughtering the New Year’s pig. Then he reconsidered: though that immortal thief was detestable, surely she wouldn’t compare him to a pig.
—
Fifth Prince Xiao Li spat viciously and roughly pushed aside his concubine’s hair.
“My prince? Ah—”
A flash of white light, and the concubine felt a chill on her scalp. The short dagger hidden beneath the prince’s pillow had just sliced off half her hair—along with a piece of her scalp.
Blood gushed out instantly.
Servants soundlessly stepped forward, skillfully lifted the concubine, and swiftly dragged her from the room.
The fifth prince got out of bed as if nothing had happened. “Both the emperor and the first imperial brother are injured?”
His spies in the palace had brought word: Xiao Zhi and Xiao Qian had fought violently in an old residence. Xiao Qian’s eye was injured, blood streaming down his face, while Xiao Zhi’s hand had been cut open by Xiao Qian, forcing him to urgently summon a physician that very night.
“Your Highness Prince Zhao, the intelligence is confirmed.”
“Good. Very good.” The fifth prince revealed his first smile since Xiao Zhi ascended the throne. “The sandpiper and the clam fight, and the fisherman catches them both.”
His attendant’s brow twitched, utterly speechless.
In literary talent, the fifth prince was no match for First Prince Xiao Qian. In martial skill, the fifth prince was several leagues behind the current emperor.
The plan must be advanced. Xiao Li narrowed his eyes.
The throne.
Was calling to him.
—
Seven days after the late emperor’s coffin entered the imperial mausoleum.
The celestial master chanted spells and performed rituals. A corner of the gloomy sky split open, pouring down a beam of golden light.
The sunlight favored only the new emperor, spilling over his entire body. Among the ministers, those who had opposed his rise looked especially grim.
Xiao Qian’s forehead was wrapped in thick bandages. The emperor hadn’t fared much better either—his hand, bound tightly by the imperial physician, looked just like a freshly steamed bun.
“Your Majesty, this is an auspicious omen from heaven, signifying that our Great Yan shall prosper for ten thousand generations.” The celestial master’s words smacked somewhat of flattery.
In the past, Xiao Zhi would have scoffed.
But today, he looked up at the celestial master instead. “Master, since you have already attained the Dao, you must have seen the immortal realm with your own eyes?”
“Indeed I have. The immortal realm is filled with auspicious clouds, celestial mountains piercing the skies, and cranes dancing among the clouds.”
Clouds, clouds, and more clouds.
That immortal thief was also surnamed Yun (Cloud).
Xiao Zhi forced himself to watch the celestial master wag his head and drone on with endless eloquence.
Then he asked another question: “What do the immortals in heaven look like?”
“Ethereal and transcendent.”
“And the immortal maidens?”
What was wrong with the emperor today? That was rather a lot of questions. The celestial master broke out in a sweat and continued spinning his tale: “Graceful and radiant, beautiful beyond compare.”
Xiao Zhi pictured a certain someone in his mind.
Ha. Nonsense.
Graceful?
She wriggled like a stalk of straw, ready to topple at the slightest breeze.
Beautiful?
Her features were scrunched together on her face, nose and eyes indistinguishable, with a look that screamed coward.
Ugly creature.
The late emperor had been obsessed with cultivating immortality. It seemed the new emperor had also taken a keen interest in it. “Master, I want you to set up an altar. I wish to ascend to the immortal realm and converse with an immortal.”
The celestial master struggled to breathe: Was it too late to pack his valuables and flee?
The emperor’s faction: His Majesty misses the late emperor deeply and wishes to see him again in heaven.
The anti-emperor faction: Great news—the emperor has gone mad.
The fifth prince: Victory or defeat hinges on tonight.
Xiao Qian: Where on earth had his little tiger gone? She needed to come back quickly and cure his madness!
—
The Bureau of Celestial Observation studied the night sky and determined that this very night was favorable for performing rituals.
The celestial master, who hadn’t slept in days, opened his stinging, bloodshot eyes and began the ceremony.
Xiao Zhi loosely curled his fingers. The wound on his palm was beginning to fester. He looked up and gazed at the stars.
Nothing happened.
The emperor stood there, a bit awkward. “…”
The celestial master received a hundred lashes.
The emperor lay down, exhausted. The bloodstained bandage strip was still stuck to the headboard.
He closed his eyes. Across the dark sky, a single fiery meteor streaked past.
—
Inside Yun Yi’s livestream.
She adjusted her small cross-body bag. “Daily medications—cold medicine, anti-inflammatories, antiseptics. Doraemon’s magic pocket! It holds a ton!”
The pile of medicines she’d bought a few days ago had become props, which she stuffed one by one into the bag.
With the enthusiastic support of her fans, the presale for her little bag had soared to two hundred units. Unfortunately, Yun Yi’s minimum order quantity was too small, and the factory didn’t take small clients seriously. They reluctantly promised a three-week lead time.
Yun Yi didn’t argue. Hmph. Small client today, big shot tomorrow.
She scrolled through the comments.
【Streamer, why don’t you show your face?】
Yun Yi replied: “The streamer is actually a pig head. I don’t want to pollute your screens.”
【But the streamer has such a nice voice.】
Her voice was nice? Weren’t her fans being a bit too indulgent? Yun Yi cleared her throat. “Give the voice killers a break, will you?”
Today, she was challenging herself to “study for 15 hours straight” on stream.
—
Several hours passed. Yun Yi rubbed her sore neck. The doorbell rang—the delivery rider had arrived with her food.
Yun Yi said to the stream: “I’m going to grab my delivery.”
The delivery rider was watching a short video: A thousand years of waiting—the comet from a millennium ago visits Earth once more!
The rider looked up at the sky. What comet? He thought to himself, Even if the world ends tomorrow, I still have to make today’s deliveries.
No one answered the door. He left the food at the entrance of the villa.
The comments in the livestream went from “Mukbang! Mukbang! We want a mukbang!” to “Where’d the streamer go? Eating alone without us?” and then to “The streamer must have an upset stomach.”
Suddenly, the phone screen flickered and went completely black. Every light inside and outside the villa went out. The entire area had lost power and network.
—
Like a blackout after heavy drinking, Yun Yi’s eyelids grew heavy.
A faint fragrance brushed past her nose—clearer and more pleasant than aged wine. She yawned unconsciously. The scent grew nearer, richer, deeper, almost enveloping her entirely.
She rubbed her nose and reached out her hand. Her fingers met a smooth, silky fabric—much like her silk pillowcase.
Yun Yi curled her leg and propped it up on the pillow.
This pillow was soft, bouncy, and comfortable. Whose pillow was this comfortable? Oh, hers!
Before bed, Xiao Zhi had taken the decoction prescribed by the Imperial Medical Institute.
Being emperor was no easy job.
Not only was there endless state affairs to attend to, but after the late emperor’s funeral, envoys from various foreign states had also begun arriving in the capital one after another.
Xiao Zhi had to split his energy between meeting with these condolence delegations while also periodically cracking down on the anti-emperor faction.
And that thoughtful young eunuch of his had fallen ill again, leaving him without a single competent servant by his side.
Frustration and irritability churned inside Xiao Zhi. To make matters worse, it felt as though a heavy boulder were pressing down on his chest and abdomen, making it impossible to breathe.
—”Xiao Qian and I don’t share the same mother. Why should I have to call him brother?”
—”Xiao Qian’s mother is already dead! Now that my father has elevated my mother to the position of principal wife, Xiao Qian should be calling me brother instead.”
In his dream, Xiao Zhi returned to the village of his childhood.
Xiao Li, with two streaks of snot hanging from his nose, had thrown his elder brother Xiao Qian into a freezing stream.
The wind was biting cold.
After finding out, Xiao Zhi had stuffed Xiao Li into a burlap sack—the same kind his grandmother used for slaughtering the New Year’s pig.
“You little bastard! I’ll make you pay!” Xiao Li had yelled.
Expressionless, Xiao Zhi threw the sack into a well.
When the household servants rushed over in panic, they fished the sack out of the well.
“Are you stupid?! Who asked you to stand up for me?!” Xiao Qian’s accusatory voice struck Xiao Zhi’s face like a stinging slap.
His elder brother was actually scolding him.
Xiao Li, the “victim,” was wrapped tightly in a blanket, but the corners of his lips curled into a smile.
A smile tinged with something sinister.
Something heavy pressed down on him, making it impossible to breathe. Xiao Zhi woke from the nightmare.
A furry head was pillowed on his neck, imperiously pressing against his pulsing jugular. A familiar, pale, scallion-white hand was placed over his left chest.
Xiao Zhi grabbed the person’s hand. Feeling the pressure, her eyelids fluttered twice before she fell back into a dead sleep.
He moved back a little to get a look.
It was her.
Seven days apart, and she’d grown bolder.
Climbing openly into the dragon couch to sleep.
Annoyed by his movements, Yun Yi murmured a sleepy phrase: “No mischief.”
As soon as she spoke, the tip of her nose found the most vulnerable spot on his neck, and her hot breath fell against his skin.
The moment their skin touched—
Whump.
The sack, the well, his malicious fifth brother, his father’s reproaches—all the terrible memories surging through his brain were dispelled by the shiver that ran across his skin.
Xiao Zhi’s skin tingled. Looking more closely, the head pressed against him was just like the orange cat from his childhood—that little creature, basking in the sun, curling up in the coziest corner it could find, burying its head deep.
“Mmm…” Whether from some pleasant dream, she let out a comfortable little hum, just like a cat.
Xiao Zhi’s lips moved faintly, but in the end, he said nothing.
When she woke up, he would make her pay.
—
Late October. Nighttime temperatures were dropping sharply.
Palace attendants added more charcoal to the underground heating system.
The bedchamber was warm, and a sweet fragrance drifted up from the heated floor, lulling everyone into a drowsy haze.
Whoosh! A sound of cutting wind tore through the silence. The night guard drew his longsword, its cold blade glinting as it reflected several dark figures.
“Protect the emperor!”
The sounds of fighting erupted outside the bedchamber.
Above the bedchamber, a masked assassin descended from the rafters, a gleaming blade parting the curtains and thrusting straight toward the dragon couch.
Thwump.
He stabbed through a pillow.
A dark figure sprang from the corner of the bed. A flash of the sword—smack—flesh split open, and blood sprayed.
“Mmm?” A rustling sound came from under the dragon couch. A pale, cold hand emerged.
What was she coming out for? Does she have a death wish? Xiao Zhi lifted his foot and kicked the hand back under the bed.
Yun Yi, whose fingers had just been stepped on by a large foot: “Hiss…?”
Darkness pressed in. She could hear fighting nearby. She lifted her head—and smacked it straight against the bed frame, instantly bringing tears to her eyes.
The bad news: It seemed she had transmigrated into a dream again.
Worse news: Last time she was at least “imprisoned.” This time, she was probably about to be “killed.”
Yun Yi, shoved under the bed by Xiao Zhi, clutched her small satchel tightly and crawled a few steps in the opposite direction.
There were three masked assassins this time. Their martial arts were superb, their techniques ruthless—they were aiming straight for the emperor’s life.
Two of them were engaged with the imperial guards outside the bedchamber. Even the emperor’s most capable guard captain couldn’t break free at the moment.
Beside the dragon couch was the assassin whom the emperor had already wounded.
The assassin retreated toward the head of the bed. A candle flame flickered, and just then, he caught the emperor’s gaze darting quickly toward the side of the bed frame.
Instinct told him: someone was hiding under the dragon couch.
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