TFRLTOP Chapter 66 Part 2

Wanqian pulled her inside and bought a few pastries. “We’ll take these back and see if they’re any better than the palace’s.”

Ming Ming had two great virtues when it came to food: she never turned down meat, and she never turned down sweets. As long as it was edible, it was delicious.

Except hawthorn. That was evil.

She bit into a flaky hibiscus pastry dusted with coconut shreds—sweet, light, and fragrant. She chewed happily, crumbs everywhere. “It’s good! You should totally hire their baker for the palace.”

Wanqian pinched the back of her neck. “All you ever think about is food!”

Ming Ming scoffed. “People live on food! Not everyone’s a vegetarian freak like you.”

Chapter 66 – The Tyrant’s Beloved (Part Fourteen)

◎ Li He, f**k your grandpa!!! ◎

By the time afternoon rolled around, Emperor Wanqian gave Gao Fu a look. The palace attendants immediately lined up and came in to help the two of them change clothes.

Ming Ming asked, “Where are we going? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?”

The Emperor smiled warmly at her. “The weather’s fine today. I’ll take you out of the palace for a stroll.”

Out of the palace?

Since arriving in this world, Ming Ming had practically never set foot outside the palace. At once, her interest was piqued. “Really? Okay, let’s go!”

The two of them disguised themselves, brought a few attendants and guards, and rode a carriage out of the palace. On the way, Ming Ming learned from the System that it wasn’t any special festival day, so she curiously asked, “Then what’s the occasion?”

The Emperor didn’t answer—he just looked at her with a quiet smile.

His gaze made her uneasy, and she quickly scooted away to the window, lifting the curtain to look outside.

But the Emperor’s eyes never left her.

As night began to fall, their group walked through the bustling streets under the fading glow of the setting sun.

“This world’s setting is pretty strange—no curfew even when it’s dark, and the streets are still so lively,” Ming Ming said to the System. “That big fire last night doesn’t seem to have affected anyone. Everyone’s just living their lives like normal.”

The System scoffed. “That fire was way out beyond the eighth ring. What does it have to do with the first ring under your royal palace?”

Ming Ming thought about it and muttered, “Fair point… still feels wrong though. Mercy, mercy…”

Before long, her attention was caught by all the dazzling stalls and shops lining the street. She quickly forgot all about the Emperor and skipped ahead, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Her outfit for the night had been personally chosen by the Emperor—an orchid-colored silk dress under a pale blue jacket, with a red cloak draped over her shoulders for warmth. Ming Ming had silently complained that his sense of fashion was painfully outdated—who put those colors together?!

She’d tried to argue, but her own taste wasn’t convincing enough, and she was ultimately overruled.

Even after getting dressed, she pouted the entire time.

The Emperor, amused and tempted, leaned right in front of the servants, tilted her chin up, and kissed her.

Ming Ming immediately quieted down, worried that if this went any further, the clothes she’d just put on would be coming off again, and they’d never make it out of the palace.

Her last bit of resistance had been to stand a good eight feet away and protest, “Your fashion sense isn’t that great either!”

Now, out in the streets, she walked from stall to stall, sometimes skipping, her movements lively and graceful. Under the soft glow of the lanterns, her mismatched outfit somehow looked harmonious. Every tilt of her head, every glance, every little sparkle in her eyes drew attention. The jeweled pins in her hair and the cloak at her shoulders swayed with her steps, pulling every gaze her way.

When she paused to inspect a trinket, holding it up to the light, the lantern’s glow wrapped around her like a gentle halo.

It was hard to look away.

She looked for all the world like a young maiden sneaking out at night for her first taste of freedom. Onlookers couldn’t help wondering whose daughter she was—and why no servants seemed to be accompanying her.

After a while, she spotted something she liked, glanced around for someone, and her face was still glowing with excitement.

The Emperor, dressed in a dark robe embroidered with subtle golden threads, looked every inch the man of power—majestic, cold, and untouchable.

His attendants and guards had melted into the crowd to protect them discreetly. He followed behind her at a distance—close enough that she’d see him if she turned around.

When he caught her searching gaze, he stepped forward, wrapped an arm around her waist, tossed a piece of silver at the stall owner without asking the price, and led her on to the next booth amid the man’s frantic thanks.

“Do you like jade jewelry?” the Emperor asked softly.

Ming Ming liked everything, but she tried to act modest. “It’s pretty, I guess.”

“I’ll have a jade ornament made for you when we get back. You’ll like it.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Her face lit up with a delighted smile.

Passersby, watching from afar, all came to the same realization—this must be some noble couple, a refined young lord out shopping with his newlywed wife.

Ming Ming bought a bunch of small trinkets. Though not as exquisite as palace goods, the novelty thrilled her. She even bought a rabbit-shaped lantern.

The Emperor smirked. “Looks just like you.”

“Like hell it does!” she scoffed. “You’re the one who looks like a rabbit.”

He squeezed her hand. “Next year’s the Year of the Rabbit. Why don’t you give me a little bunny of our own?”

She glared at him and shoved a pinwheel into his hand. “If you’re that bored, make this thing spin. I want to see it turning all night.”

There was no wind tonight—if he wanted that pinwheel spinning, he’d have to keep blowing on it himself.

“And no cheating,” she warned. “You’re not allowed to make someone else do it.”

The Emperor chuckled softly, then—true to his word—bent down and began to blow. The pinwheel spun fast, catching the lantern light. He looked up at her, eyes burning.

Ming Ming turned away, flustered. “I’m not having a kid,” she muttered.

He didn’t argue, just smiled faintly.

They wandered for a long time before she got hungry. When a vendor carrying candied hawthorn skewers walked by, her gaze followed him. She wondered idly if ancient hawthorns were sweeter or more sour than modern ones.

Thinking she wanted some, the Emperor stopped the man and bought a skewer.

When he handed it to her, she waved her hand. “I don’t like hawthorn.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted one.”

He said nothing more, just held onto it. A few moments later, curiosity got the better of her. “Is it sweet?” she asked hesitantly.

“Greedy little thing,” he teased, handing it to her. “Try it and find out.”

She hesitated—after all, her childhood trauma with unripe hawthorn had been real. But she took a careful bite. To her surprise, it wasn’t sour at all—the sugar coating made it sweet and crisp.

Eyes lighting up, she lifted the skewer and beamed. “It’s not sour! It’s really sweet!”

“Oh?” the Emperor murmured. He leaned down, took the same piece she’d bitten, and ate the rest. “You’re right. Sweet.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “You—! How can you just—”

He murmured against her ear, “We’ve done far more intimate things than this. Why so shy? Ordinary couples share like this all the time.”

She muttered under her breath, “Who’s your wife…”

Later, they bought more snacks. Ming Ming wanted to try everything, taking only small bites so she could sample more.

At one bustling shop, she squeezed forward. The Emperor quickly followed, guarding her from the crowd.

It turned out to be a pastry shop boasting “palace-made sweets,” claiming their pastries were identical to what the Emperor himself ate.

“Really?” she asked. When the shopkeeper swore it was true, she turned and whispered indignantly, “So you do eat better stuff than I do! You should learn to share—have the imperial kitchen make me these, too!”

They ate together every day, yet she’d somehow missed out on these? Unacceptable.

She tugged his sleeve, rocking slightly. “Can you?”

He chuckled, brushing her nose. “You actually believe that nonsense? You always get first pick of every dish in the palace. When have I ever had something you didn’t?”

She thought about it. True—given his health-obsessed habits, even if he did have something separate, it was probably some horrifying concoction of yams and spinach. She shuddered at the thought of those “fitness” recipes—like the ancient version of green juice disasters. Why would anyone eat that willingly?

He bought a few pastries anyway. “Try these and see how they compare to the palace ones.”

Ming Ming wasn’t picky—she loved both meat and sweets. As long as it tasted good, that was enough. (Except anything with hawthorn. That was a no.)

She bit into a flaky coconut-topped cake, crumbs spilling as she chewed. “This one’s good! Maybe you should hire their pastry chef for the palace!”

The Emperor pinched her neck lightly. “All you think about is food.”

“People live for food!” she shot back. “Not everyone’s like you, eating vegetables every day!”

He just smiled helplessly, watching her nibble happily.