What a headache.
The system was speechless. “If you’re really learning to cook for him, can’t you at least try something else? You’ve been stuck on flatbreads for weeks. You planning to live on those forever?”
Ming Ming huffed. “You don’t understand. My flatbreads are solid—filling and practical.”
“…” The system gave up.
The emperor patted his knee, gesturing for her. “Come here.”
Ming Ming pouted as she shuffled over, her face full of indignation—like a wife who’d spent the whole day working for their future, only to come home and be scolded for it.
The Emperor, on the other hand, was convinced his beloved consort was still secretly loyal to Jiang Ruotian. She’d risk her life sneaking out of the palace just to meet her co-conspirators. What could be so important? Why can’t she just stay here, where I can protect her?
Truly a woman who drives a man insane.
They both thought the same thing at once.
“You’re not leaving the palace again for a while,” the Emperor said firmly.
“Why not?” Ming Ming shot back. “You can’t just forbid me like that!”
The Emperor stared at her blankly. “Why do you think?”
Ming Ming fumed inwardly. I’m not a mind reader! How am I supposed to know what’s going on in your imperial head? I’m doing this for you—
The Emperor saw right through her and sighed. Still trying to play dumb, huh? He rose abruptly, scooped her up, and set her down on the bed.
“Remember when you were painting your nails?” he began slowly. “I discovered something rather… interesting.”
“At first, I thought the scratches on my back were from your nails. But long after, when I changed clothes, I noticed the red marks were still there.”
“They weren’t scratches. They were painted.”
Ming Ming froze. Oh, great, you’re bringing that up now? Of all things to hold onto!
“Since then, I’ve had an idea,” he continued. “The craftsmen finally finished preparing everything today.” He looked down at her, voice low and meaningful. “Would you like to try it, my dear?”
Ming Ming didn’t know what he meant, but she had a bad feeling about it. Do I even get to say no?
“Be good,” the Emperor said softly. “You’ll like it.”
Later that night, Ming Ming lay on the bed with her eyes squeezed shut. The Emperor had warned her not to move, or he’d “make sure she stayed put.” She didn’t dare test him, lying perfectly still as he drew the bed curtains.
He set a tray beside them, filled with small porcelain dishes of colorful paints. Picking up a fine brush, he paused.
“Oh,” he said lightly. “Forgot to wet the brush. It won’t take color properly like this.”
Ming Ming heard his calm tone and instantly knew he was up to something.
A few moments later, her suspicion was confirmed.
“There we go,” he murmured. “Thank you, my love, for helping moisten the brush.”
She shivered, biting back a gasp.
“Don’t move,” he said gently. “I’m starting.”
The brush glided across her skin—light, unpredictable, deliberate. Every stroke landed somewhere new, the sensation both ticklish and nerve-wracking.
Whenever she trembled, he would lean down and whisper against her lips, “Don’t be afraid.”
At last, the strokes reached her neck.
“All done,” he said, satisfaction in his voice.
Ming Ming sighed in relief and opened her eyes—just in time to see him open a wooden box.
“Ah, not yet,” he said, stopping her from moving.
He raised his hand, and something delicate and shimmering floated down from above.
Butterflies.
Not real ones—mechanical, finely crafted.
“The artisans worked hard on these,” the Emperor said, admiring them. “I couldn’t bear to let real insects touch you. These look alive, but they’re harmless—perfect for my queen.”
The tiny butterflies fluttered down, landing softly against her painted skin.
It tickled—delicately, maddeningly—but she didn’t dare move.
The Emperor chuckled. “Even dead things have taste. See how they’re landing right where I painted the flowers? Clever creatures.”
“Your Majesty…” Ming Ming looked at him pleadingly.
He brushed her tear-streaked cheek. “Didn’t I tell you not to look at me like that—especially now?”
She sniffled quietly.
He sighed. “You really should see yourself right now.”
Pulling her up, he turned her toward the edge of the bed. She startled when he yanked open the curtains—revealing a tall, polished mirror standing before them.
Not a dull bronze one, but a flawless glass mirror, clear as modern glass.
“You’ve always wanted a clear mirror,” he said softly. “So why won’t you open your eyes and look?”
Holding her arms behind her, he guided her to face herself. Ming Ming trembled as she saw the painted blossoms across her skin and the delicate butterflies resting there.
“Li He,” she muttered, “do you know why ancient people made the twelve zodiac animals?”
He smiled, curious. “Why?”
“So everyone would remember,” she said flatly, “that we’re all beasts inside.”
The Emperor laughed quietly. “Is that so? Then it suits me. I was born in the Year of the Dragon, after all—the true dragon of Heaven.”
Ming Ming: “…”
He met her gaze through the mirror. “Open your eyes,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
She did—and his reflection burned into her mind.
“Remember this,” he said. “You belong to me. Always.”
He drew her close, whispering against her ear, “Even if I betray the world, I will never betray you.”
When Ming Ming finally drifted to sleep, she was plagued by nightmares.
She dreamed that Jiang Ruotian defeated Li He. Out of pity, Jiang Ruotian and her sister decided to spare Ming Ming’s life—but Li He, barely alive, reappeared and dragged her away.
They lived a miserable life afterward. Li He wasted all her savings within months, pawned her jewelry, and left her destitute.
Ming Ming woke with a jolt, drenched in sweat, clutching her blanket.
Her first coherent thought was pure fury:
Damn that dog of an emperor—love me or not, I don’t care anymore!
Lucien On ABRWF Chapter 34.1