Chapter 9: Bearing Misfortune for Her—An Unspoken Deep Affection

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Ye Qingyan felt a wave of confusion wash over her, her mind flashing instantly through the infamous ten tortures of the Qing dynasty.

This so-called "Loyalty Token" from the tyrant system—just the name alone suggested it was no good!

“Your Majesty! My loyalty to you is as clear as the sun and moon, as witnessed by heaven and earth! There’s no need for such a thing!” she quickly pledged in her heart, trying to bluff her way through.

The system snorted coldly, its voice carrying an unyielding authority: [My will is decided; traitor, accept your decree!]

In the next moment, a cold stream of information flooded Ye Qingyan’s mind. There was no pain, no restraint—only a lengthy, ornate, and excessively flattering essay.

The title read: “Emperor Shi’s Sacred Teachings, Chapter One: On My Magnificent Achievements.”

The system’s voice rang out again, solemn and grave: [This is the ‘Loyalty Token.’ Starting tomorrow at dawn, you must face east with reverence and recite the ‘Sacred Teachings’ once daily. Any neglect shall be met with heavenly punishment.]

Ye Qingyan blinked. “Uh... is that all?”

Her tension eased slowly, but then an indescribable wave of humiliation surged within her. To have to sing praises to this tyrant every morning like a madwoman? That was worse than death!

It was so cringeworthy she felt as if she could scratch out a Forbidden City with her toes inside her shoes!

The confrontation at the dining table had thoroughly turned Wang Feifei and Ye Qinglian, mother and daughter, into laughingstocks. Wang Feifei feigned illness for several days, refusing to come out, while Ye Qinglian’s gaze toward Ye Qingyan was murderous, as if she wanted to bore two holes through her.

Ye Qingyan relished the peace, spending her days battling wits with the system, reciting the unbearably humiliating “Sacred Teachings,” and striving to maintain her “mischievous devil” persona.

But Chen Huaian was like an unyielding stone—no matter how much she provoked him, he remained unruffled, never even casting an extra glance her way.

This frustrated Ye Qingyan while simultaneously wearing down Wang Feifei’s patience.

Repeated failures made her realize that ordinary palace intrigues were useless against these two: one slippery and elusive, the other unfathomably deep. So she resolved to resort to the simplest yet most ruthless method.

That afternoon, Wang Feifei’s trusted maid, under the cover of solitude, sneaked to the rock formations in the back garden. She fiddled with a half-hanging stone atop one of the rocks until it was loosened enough to fall with a mere touch, then left satisfied.

She thought she was stealthy, unaware that not far away in a pavilion, Chen Huaian sat reading, his gaze rising calmly from the scroll to watch her retreat, eyes deep and inscrutable.

“Sister! Sister! Come quick, I found a colorful cricket—it’s beautiful!”

Ye Qinglian, unusually cheerful, ran over and tugged on Ye Qingyan’s sleeve, eager to drag her to the back garden.

Ye Qingyan was suspicious. Since when had Ye Qinglian been so close to her? And a cricket? She herself felt like the cricket here.

But to keep up appearances, she feigned impatience and shrugged off Ye Qinglian’s hand. “What’s so special about a stupid cricket? Lead the way, but if you dare trick me, I’ll show you how I deal with it!”

A gleam of triumph flashed in Ye Qinglian’s eyes as she immediately led her to the tampered rock.

“Right up there! Sister, look—isn’t it colorful?” Ye Qinglian pointed eagerly to the top of the rock formation.

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The rock formation was quite tall. Ye Qingyan squinted and instinctively lifted her eyes upward, trying to spot the so-called "colorful cricket."

The moment her head tilted back, the light above her suddenly dimmed.

A massive boulder, detaching from the mountain, silently thundered down straight toward her head.

“Miss, watch out!”

A maid’s piercing scream shattered the air.

Ye Qingyan’s pupils contracted sharply. Her body froze as if nailed to the spot, her mind blank, helplessly watching the shadow of death swell larger and larger in her vision.

It was over.

That was the only thought in her mind.

In a flash, a figure clad in blue shot forth like lightning.

Ye Qingyan felt a sharp tightening at her waist, a tremendous force violently shoved her aside. She staggered backward several steps and fell into a solid embrace—not wide, but unyieldingly firm.

A cool, clean scent of soap pods filled her nostrils instantly.

A muffled grunt sounded overhead.

Then, with a thunderous crash, the boulder scraped past their bodies and slammed heavily onto the spot where Ye Qingyan had stood moments before. The earth cracked, stones scattered.

Still shaken, heart pounding wildly, Ye Qingyan struggled to lift her head from the embrace.

The face before her was pale as paper.

Chen Huaian’s temples were slick with cold sweat, lips tightly pressed. His eyes, usually calm and still, now flickered with lingering fear.

“You...” Ye Qingyan’s voice trembled.

Chen Huaian said nothing, only gripping her arm and scanning her from head to toe. Once assured she was safe, his tense body relaxed slightly.

It was in that moment Ye Qingyan noticed the long gash across the arm he’d used to shield her, blood seeping through the blue fabric, staining it deeply red.

At that instant, Ye Qingyan’s defenses cracked wide open, as if smashed by the boulder itself.

Why? Why would he save her? She had made things difficult for him countless times these days.

[Traitor! The rebel dares to feign injury to deceive!]

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In her mind, the tyrant system roared, its voice shrill and piercing.

[He’s winning hearts and minds! Corrupting your will! Strike while he’s weak, take his life! Now is the best moment!]

The system’s urging was like a maddening chant, clamoring wildly.

But this time, Ye Qingyan did not soothe the agitated tyrant within.

Her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the fierce wound on Chen Huaian’s arm, watching the fresh blood flow freely, feeling an unbearable sting.

She could even imagine the terrible fate she would have faced if not for him.

Nearby, Ye Qinglian sat pale and stunned on the ground, lips trembling, unable to utter a word.

Ye Qingyan ignored her and the raging system in her mind.

She reached out, grasped the hem of her exquisite silk skirt, and tore it with force.

The fine cloud brocade rent with a crisp, sharp sound.

Under Chen Huaian’s surprised gaze, Ye Qingyan fumbled anxiously, trying to wrap the torn cloth around his wound.

Her hands trembled, and so did her heart.

“Don’t... move,” she whispered, her voice quivering.

Chen Huaian’s body stiffened slightly.

He lowered his eyes, deeply studying the awkward, clumsy girl before him who insisted on tending to his injury.

Her lowered lashes concealed all her emotions, revealing only a delicate yet stubborn chin.

Her warm fingertips brushed his skin, sending a faint shiver through him.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and dust, mingled with her faint fragrance.

Suddenly, Chen Huaian spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

“Do you... still remember the little girl who gave me half a steamed bun when we were children?”