WBSGVS Chapter 190 V2

Qingli believed that keeping Nanny Dai around was the right call. Just as she had guessed, Nanny Dai’s status in the palace was higher than Xiling’s. Not only could she secure better food, but she even had some connections in the medical bureau.

As long as she didn’t ask for anything too rare, she could keep a steady supply of medicinal herbs coming, perfect for nourishing both Sima Yan and herself. After all, the so-called doctors sent to the Cold Palace were just apprentices. None of them could match Qingli’s knowledge of restorative medicine.

After this incident, Xiling was so frightened that all her courage disappeared. Every time she saw Qingli, she smiled so hard her face wrinkled. Even the slightest frown from Qingli would terrify her, afraid she’d upset her and be haunted again.

Nanny Dai was a lot more composed, but she too became far more obedient. She kept her thoughts to herself for the time being, and the Cold Palace remained peaceful.

Only Baizhu, with her thick skin and dull nerves, had no idea what was going on. Aside from the first night, every time Qingli stirred up trouble afterward, she drugged Baizhu so she slept like a log and never knew what had happened.

She was baffled by the sudden change in Daima and Xiling’s behavior, but didn’t dare to dig into it. She simply went on with her job, running around as a lowly maid.

With no one bothering her anymore, Qingli could finally study her metaphysical books out in the open.

One day, after some time had passed, she casually told Daima, “Go to the imperial kitchen a little earlier today.”

Daima didn’t understand why, but since it was such a small request, she didn’t resist and went a quarter of an hour earlier than usual.

When she returned, she was beaming and couldn’t wait to show off her find.

“Your Highness, I went early today and just happened to arrive as the kitchen finished preparing a batch of seafood rushed in from the southern region. That stuff’s considered top-tier here—even His Majesty doesn’t get to eat it every day. And lucky me, the cook on duty is from my hometown, so he slipped me a little.”

She opened the food box to reveal two oysters and a few palm-sized sea prawns.

That was probably the most she was allowed to take—but it was already more than good enough.

“Wow! What are these?” Sima Yan asked, full of curiosity. He’d never seen anything like them before in his life.

Qingli was also pleased, mainly because her prediction had been so accurate. She was about to explain when she remembered her character shouldn’t know either, so she looked to Daima instead.

Daima smiled and explained, “These are oysters, and these are sea prawns. They come from the ocean…”

Over time, Sima Yan had stopped being afraid of Daima. He immediately clung to her, asking, “What’s the ocean?”

“It’s…” Daima patiently explained.

Sima Yan listened with wide-eyed wonder, his heart filled with longing. Qingli chimed in, “If you don’t eat soon, I’m going to eat it all.”

“No, wait!” Sima Yan quickly pleaded.

Qingli laughed and shared one oyster with him, each taking a sea prawn. The rest she handed to Daima—after all, it was her connections that got them the treat, and it would be wrong not to let her have a taste.

Daima was overjoyed. “Thank you, Your Highness, for your generosity.”

As she picked up the bowl and turned to leave, she suddenly paused, turned back, and asked, “Princess, how did you know this stuff would be available today?”

If she’d been even a minute late, the food would’ve been sent off already—seafood had to be eaten fresh, after all.

Qingli blinked innocently. “I calculated it.”

Daima thought of all those odd books Qingli had been reading lately. A chill ran down her spine, and her smile froze awkwardly for a few seconds before she forced herself to praise her. “You’re amazing, Princess!”

Qingli simply smiled. Her calculations weren’t always perfect, yet, and her range was still limited, but she was just doing it out of curiosity. No rush—she’d keep learning.

But after this incident, Daima feared her even more.

Before, she had comforted herself thinking, even if there was a ghost, surely it would eventually reincarnate or fade away. It couldn’t just hang around forever—that would be chaos.

But now? Qingli herself could manipulate all this strange energy. It had to be Bai-shi teaching her from beyond. That meant Bai-shi had no plans of “leaving,” and Daima likely had no chance to fight back ever again.

She was truly troubled, but worrying didn’t help.

If she made even one wrong move, she feared waking up one day with her soul ripped from her body, made into some wandering ghost bride.

Better to live scared than die foolishly. She wanted to survive.

Her only consolation was that Bai-shi didn’t seem to want the kids to leave the Cold Palace. Without their mother to protect them, the deep palace would eat them alive. If they stayed, Daima wouldn’t be punished by Consort Shu.

Still, it was a shame—all those connections she’d built over the years, wasted.

Qingli, of course, had no intention of leaving.

She’d spent her last life running a business empire. That kind of work was anything but easy. In this life, she had no desire to play palace politics—she much preferred staying in the Cold Palace.

Meals were delivered three times a day. When she was tired, she slept. When she was bored, she studied metaphysics. When her muscles itched for action, she practiced martial arts. It was an incredibly comfortable life.

The only downside? The standard of luxury wasn’t very high.

But that was a small issue—one she could easily overlook.

Peace like this was rare and precious. She’d learned to be content.

Since then, Qingli would occasionally calculate little, trivial matters and have Daima or Xiling go take care of them. If her predictions came true, she’d be happy. If not, she’d bury herself in her books and study what went wrong.

Within two years, her accuracy improved significantly. She could foresee things further and with much more precision.

Then, in her fifteenth year, she calculated a string of bad luck heading her way.

Qingli rarely managed to predict things about herself, and when she did, the results were usually vague. But this time was different. Every calculation pointed to grave misfortune. It left her tossing and turning at night.

She was hidden away in the Cold Palace—what kind of disaster could reach her here?

She couldn’t make sense of it.

Then, late one night, the broken window—unrepaired because it was summer and easily forgotten—suddenly creaked open with a soft clack. A figure dressed in black slipped in.

Qingli was a light sleeper. The moment she heard the sound, she threw off her blanket and got out of bed.

In the blink of an eye, a flash of silver streaked toward her and stopped at her throat.

“Don’t make a sound,” the man in black warned coldly, pressing the sword closer.

Qingli quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear, signaling she wouldn’t make a noise.

The man relaxed slightly and pulled the sword back, his voice still cold. “Make a sound, and this sword won’t miss next time.”

He sheathed his sword with a practiced motion. Dressed in tight black clothing, his whole presence radiated lethal precision.

Qingli, however, wasn’t in the mood to admire him.

He dared to hold a sword to her throat?

She was going to kill him.

Just as she was about to strike while he let his guard down, a sharp, familiar pain pierced her head.

The strength drained from her body before she could even move.

She collapsed to the floor, unconscious.