Chapter 1: The Madly Passionate Hostage Prince and the Pampered, Willful Princess (1)

“Good, lift your hips a little higher.”

“Softer... please, it hurts...”

“Bear with it, even if it hurts.”

Rain traced winding trails down the glass, distorting the streetlights outside into swirling golden vortices.

Shu Yao, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, focused intently, her hand steady as the tattoo gun hummed softly in her grip.

A man lay face-down on the bed, tears of pain in his eyes, his pants half-pulled down, exposing a round, fair stretch of skin.

Shu Yao was a professional tattoo artist. To make a living, she had been forced to indulge all sorts of perverse customer requests.

For instance, this particular gentleman wanted a tattoo of Peppa Pig on his backside.

The studio was thick with the mingled scents of alcohol and ink. When the tattoo gun finally fell silent, Shu Yao exhaled and removed her glasses.

After sending off her eccentric client, she turned to the sink to wash her hands.

“Where is she? Come out here, now!”

A young man with dyed yellow hair burst into the shop, an arm clamped possessively around a girl whose tear-streaked face bore a vivid palm print.

“So you’re the one who tattooed my girl?”

His glare was hostile, and Shu Yao recognized the girl. She was a customer from the previous day.

She nodded, “Yes. Do you want a tattoo as well?”

“Tattoo your damn self! You had the nerve to change the lettering on my girl’s tattoo without permission? You must have a death wish!”

Shu Yao blinked, momentarily confused. “Changed the lettering?”

Impatiently, the young man yanked up the girl’s shirt, baring her delicate waist, where several characters stood out—“Brother Yong, Great Strength.”

The work was flawless: smooth lines, elegant strokes, a perfect piece by any standard.

Shu Yao raised a finely-arched brow, her voice cool. “What, you’re not satisfied?”

“If you’re unhappy, I can change—”

She never finished her sentence. The man’s eyes grew wild as he whipped a small knife from his pocket and lunged at her.

“My name is Brother Wu! And you tattooed ‘Brother Yong’ on my girl? Die, you—!”

A cold pain seared through Shu Yao’s abdomen, and she slid slowly to the floor, consciousness slipping away. The last thing she saw was the contorted, furious face of the yellow-haired man.

Through gritted teeth, she could only curse him silently.

Damn idiot.

—

Shu Yao died, and then she lived again.

Perhaps fate had taken pity on her undeserved end, granting her a second chance, but it came with conditions.

From ancient legends to modern novels and e-books, one trope remained unchanged: the story’s leads were always shadowed by a venomous supporting woman.

These characters existed to stir up trouble and go mad, serving only to highlight the undying love of the protagonists. It was a thankless job, and finally, the villainesses had gone on strike, halting countless stories. Thus, Shu Yao, in a stroke of luck, was drafted by the system into this role.

When she next opened her eyes, she was no longer in her familiar tattoo studio.

It was midday, and the brazier glowed hot in the incense chamber, popping and crackling. A woman reclined on a soft divan, her beautiful features creased in a troubled frown, as if haunted by a nightmare.

A gauzy dress in shimmering hues outlined her slender waist; a cascade of black hair spilled carelessly behind her like a length of dark silk.

Shu Yao awoke to the sight of twelve carved rosewood screens, half-concealing the interior of the room.

Behind the screens, a maid in pink knelt, eyes lowered, body leaning forward in utter stillness.

Shu Yao could not make out her face through the gauze, so she beckoned softly.

“Come here.”

Her voice was cool and impassive.

At the news that the princess was awake, the maid immediately straightened, picked up a steaming cup of tea from the table, and walked in with a bow.

“Princess, your tea.”

As the maid approached, a line of identity information appeared beside her lovely face.

Wan Tao—personal maid, loyal and attentive.

The steam curled gently around Shu Yao’s face as she sipped the tea, the delicate fragrance unfurling across her palate.

Seeing her mistress so subdued, Wan Tao asked quietly, “Princess, are you feeling unwell?”

Shu Yao set down the cup. “I have a headache.”

“I will fetch the imperial physicians at once.”

The princess’s health was paramount; Wan Tao dared not delay and hurried to the medical bureau.

With her gone, Shu Yao finally had time to take in the plot of this world.

Welcome, host, to your first world. Your assigned identity: Princess Jianing.

Princess Jianing—the most willful and malicious princess of Chu. Bloodshed in two steps, death in three, a notorious viper.

You must follow the original storyline: ceaselessly sabotage the male lead (Shen Jingmu) and the female lead (Princess Zhaoyang), and in the end, when the iron cavalry of the Liao overruns Chang’an, Shen Jingmu will kill you with a single stroke.

You are cruel, selfish, treating lives as worthless. You have no respect for Zhaoyang, your half-sister; you repeatedly frame and attempt to murder her. They hate you with all their hearts!

According to the plot, Shen Jingmu was now merely a lowly hostage in the inner palace.

Chu was strong, and Liao had sent Shen Jingmu as a hostage—an apparent gesture of goodwill, but in truth, he was a spy. The princes and princesses took pleasure in humiliating him, none more so than Jianing: docked his pay and food, whipped him, branded him with red-hot coals, poured oil and salt into his wounds—her cruelties were countless.

Shen Jingmu endured in silence, vowing bitterly to repay his tormentors a hundredfold.

In the cold palace, only Princess Zhaoyang treated him kindly, often bringing him food and medicine. In time, she became his unattainable first love.

When Shen Jingmu finally entered Chang’an, the first thing he did was kill Princess Jianing, then had her body cooked, cut up, and fed to wild dogs.

Reading this, Shu Yao shivered. Thankfully, those grisly ends would come after her death—she would not have to endure them.

Zhaoyang became a fallen princess, while Shen Jingmu was her father’s executioner. Though neglected, Zhaoyang could not accept her fate. She ran; he chased. She wounded him in vengeance, and he bore it gladly, claiming it did not hurt.

After many trials, the two finally forgave the past and became a loving couple.

What a mess.

Stabbed to death by a street thug in her old life, destined to be stabbed by the male lead in this one—and even her corpse would be hacked to pieces and fed to dogs.

What was it about her that provoked such hatred?

Shu Yao pressed a hand to her forehead, despairing at her bleak prospects.

Half a stick of incense later, Wan Tao hurried in with three imperial physicians. The eldest led the way, the other two younger men following.

“Come in.”

Only with Shu Yao’s permission did they dare enter the palace.

Imperial Physician Zhang trembled as he knelt outside the white silk curtains, not daring to raise his head, fumbling in his medicine chest for a pulse pillow and ice-silk handkerchief.

Through the veil, he carefully placed his hand on Shu Yao’s slender wrist.

Her pulse was slightly rapid, and Physician Zhang’s brow furrowed as he stepped aside for his apprentices to examine her.

They took turns, and their diagnosis was unanimous: mild headache from overexertion.

They prescribed calming decoctions and incense, then, flustered, packed up their medicine chest and crawled out of the hall on their knees.

Just as they neared the doors, a languid, cold voice drifted from behind the curtains.

“Wait.”

With a dull thud, all three physicians dropped to their knees, huddled together.

“Spare us, Princess!”