Everyone Wants To Harm Me - Chapter 67

Did Yu Chongrui persuade the princess to come forward and stop the Emperor from making me his consort?

I hope so, and yet I hope not.

If it was Grandfather forcing me to marry Shao Dongting or Prince Xin, and I didn’t want to, then with Yu Chongrui’s power and influence, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to help me get out of it—and while he was at it, he could even have weakened my grandfather’s faction. But the Emperor—who dared go against the Emperor? It was unnecessary, and dangerously reckless.

I was not that important.

It was not easy for the Emperor to trust anyone. I didn’t want to implicate him, nor did I want to owe him anything.

I sat behind the bamboo curtain in the dark, watching the elders file in. Most of them had been ministers from the late emperor’s court. The oldest was over seventy, and even the youngest had been at least ten or twenty years older than the Emperor, with hair and beards grayed by time.

Of course, their hearts had harbored selfish thoughts.

Some had felt bitter—they had contributed to quelling the Yongwang Rebellion, yet afterward had been stripped of their military power, left with only hollow titles.

Some had believed the Emperor had changed, no longer the heroic young ruler who had once striven to save the nation. Now he was becoming increasingly disappointing—even his personal virtue had begun to falter.

Some had resented the Emperor for promoting rising stars like Yu Yan, whose subordinates had all been his own trusted followers, leaving the old officials out in the cold.

Some had simply grown old, no longer able to vie for power. They flattered whoever was in power, just seeking a comfortable and wealthy retirement.

One had even regretted rejecting Prince Yong’s offer back when he surrendered, and now felt his life had been ruined by that decision.

Another had missed the late emperor and Emperor Fengtian, believing the Emperor to be inferior. Doyou still remember the vow you made at the emperor’s spirit tablet—to protect the nation and one day pass the throne to Prince Xin?

I had hoped he would only think these things, and not dare speak them aloud.

A new dynasty must have had its own ministers. The Emperor had been purging the late emperor’s people for years. These men held no real power now, only empty titles and lingering reputations. Even so, the Emperor still suspected them of conspiring. But what could they have accomplished? Even if they resented him, even if their hearts were filled with dissatisfaction, did the Emperor not know exactly where that discontent had come from?

If the Emperor had truly been using me to smoke out hidden threats like another Prince Yong—to prevent trouble before it started and stabilize the realm—then I could have accepted that. But he clearly guarded against more than just another rebel prince.

I sat behind the curtain, secretly observing them, like a hound hiding in the shadows, watching over a flock of sheep. If one tried to stray beyond the fence, I would report to my master, strike it down, and roast it over a fire.

Perhaps in the Emperor’s eyes, we were all either sheep or dogs.

Someone at the banquet seemed to notice the curtain. He squinted and looked in my direction several times. I lowered my eyes in guilt, not daring to meet his gaze.

People’s hearts were filthy, selfish, and dark. But what I was doing then wasn’t any nobler. It might even have been more despicable.

After the banquet, the Emperor summoned me.

“Can you tell who is behind this?” he asked.

“I can only see the evil thoughts in people’s hearts,” I replied. “They are admonishing Your Majesty because they care about your reputation—but I can’t see who is truly behind it.”

“Can’t you see anything at all?” he pressed.

I thought for a moment. “Marquis Pingyuan holds a grudge.”

“He resents Your Majesty for favoring flatterers and appointing Yu Yan as prime minister, abandoning the laws of our ancestors. After the land tax reform, his family’s land income was reduced by more than half. His wife is stingy and forced him to eat porridge for days. Marquis Pingyuan couldn’t take it anymore. If it continues like this, he’ll either divorce her or join the other displaced nobles to impeach Yu Yan.”

The Emperor paused. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Your Majesty, in future banquets, please don’t let Duke Anguo and Master Gao sit at the same table. They’ve hated each other since their youth. Their mutual resentment was so overwhelming, I couldn’t see anyone else clearly.”

“Is there anyone involved in this joint memorial who might be selfless?”

“Yes. Huang Daxueshi has a good reputation—never took a concubine. But in truth, it’s because he’s terrified of his wife and lacks the courage. He’s jealous that Your Majesty married a young woman at nearly forty, so he joined the others in opposition. He’s a hypocrite seeking fame. And he also covets the pretty maid who serves beside him—it’s disgusting.”

The Emperor waved a hand. “Enough. Don’t report trivial matters like these anymore.”

He thought to himself: A bunch of decrepit old fools—of course they couldn’t achieve anything. They must’ve been manipulated. Are they opposing my making the He girl my consort to spite He Jun, or to oppose me? Or is there someone else coveting her?

I knew the Emperor wasn’t easily fooled. He would certainly become suspicious. If anyone had feelings for me—even just admiration—the Emperor would immediately assume they harbored ulterior motives.

Let alone the fact… he didn’t like me.

He looked at me and said, “I shouldn’t have promised Yongjia not to take you into the harem. County Princess, you’ll have to marry someday.”

The princess had been right. The Emperor still intended to take me as a concubine. Only if I became his, completely and utterly, would he feel secure.

I knelt and said, “Your Majesty granted me a title and ordered me to mourn my aunt. I am now like her daughter. I cannot serve Your Majesty. It would violate morality—and I would be ashamed to face my aunt in the afterlife.”

“Then tell me,” the Emperor said, “how do I keep others from coveting you?”

I steeled myself and bowed low. “Your Majesty once joked about wanting me to be your daughter-in-law when I was young. I wonder—do you still mean it now?”

He looked surprised. “Yuan Min is gone. My three sons are eleven, seven, and six.”

I raised my eyes and asked, “Would Your Majesty mind if I were five or ten years older than your son?”

The Emperor smiled with satisfaction. He rose, helped me up, and said, “Good child. You are truly thoughtful. You’ll assist me now, and later assist my sons. Five or ten years—what does it matter? No matter which one ascends the throne, I’ll have them make you Empress. Back then, I wanted your aunt to be empress too, but the late emperor’s will prevented it. You won’t suffer that injustice. It will honor your aunt’s memory.”

If my aunt truly has a spirit, I fear she must be even more restless now.

The Emperor returned to his seat. “I heard from the imperial concubine that several families once proposed marriage for you. Who were they?”

I replied dutifully, “Last year’s top scholar, Shao Yong; Song Xianggong’s eldest grandson, Song Shike; and Zhou Yi, my step-grandmother’s nephew. Later, because of Dowager Consort De, the Zhou family withdrew, and Prince Xin was suggested instead.”

“Did your aunt meet all of them and find none satisfactory?”

“Yes, so the matter was postponed.”

The Emperor was silent, then said, “I recall now—Prince Xin did want to marry you. Why is he engaged to your sister now? Doesn’t your family have only one daughter?”

So he suspected Prince Xin.

I exhaled lightly. “That cousin of mine was raised in secret. She had no official status and was only recently acknowledged. Even the imperial concubine didn’t know. As for Prince Xin and her, it was fate, a destined match. His previous proposal probably stemmed from Princess Dowager De misunderstanding our family’s messy affairs and misreading Prince Xin’s intentions. Thankfully, it was corrected in time, and didn’t hinder a true match.”

The Emperor didn’t pursue the matter further, but asked, “Since your aunt’s death, have you seen Prince Xin?”

“Not for several months.”

“You’ll be staying in the palace for a while,” the Emperor said. “Visit the Concubine Dowager when you can.”

“I understand.”

I understood. He wanted me to spy on the Dowager and Prince Xin, to see if they harbored disloyal thoughts.

The Emperor himself had once promised to pass the throne to Prince Xin. But Prince Xin must never have wanted it.

Now the Emperor regretted it. He wanted to pass it to his own son. But how could a Son of Heaven go back on his word? Even if Prince Xin said he didn’t want it, that wasn’t enough—it would make the Emperor look untrustworthy, betraying the Emperors of Fengtian and the late Emperor, breaking faith with the world. The best solution was to find fault with Prince Xin, then publicly demote or even execute him. That way, the Emperor’s virtue would remain intact, and the threat would be eliminated for good.

But Prince Xin had lived quietly as a timid glutton for over a decade, barely stepping outside—there was no excuse to kill him.

His life had likely never been easy. I had once mocked him for being lazy, greedy, and foolish. But I had been the foolish one.

A descendant of the Fengtian Emperor had to pretend to be dim-witted just to survive. Didn’t the Emperor feel any guilt when he spoke of his father and brother?

He felt none. Not even toward my aunt. He even said he wanted me to become Empress, to serve them forever, to bring peace to my aunt’s spirit.

The Emperor had driven my aunt to her death out of greed and ambition—and now he wanted to enslave me, too.

He should have paid the price.

As I walked through the long corridor behind Yanfu Gate, I asked Li Minghai, “Is that Noble Consort Chu’s Yunxiu Palace? It used to be the most lively, with lights and music every night.”

Now it was pitch black. Silent. Like a tomb.

Li Minghai bowed. “Yes.”

I asked, “Has Eunuch Li burned any paper money for Noble Consort Chu lately?”

He smiled awkwardly. “What are you saying, County Princess? I have nothing to do with that vicious woman.”

“She may have nothing to do with you, but she saved your life. Burning a little paper for her isn’t too much to ask.”

Li Minghai feigned confusion. “County Princess, please don’t speak nonsense. When have I ever received her favor?”

I stared at him. “If Noble Consort Chu hadn’t drawn the Emperor’s wrath that day, making him forget about the others, you’d likely be the one buried in the mass grave, without even a sheet of paper burned for you. Does that count as a life-saving favor?”

He stopped smiling. His gaze lowered, then cautiously lifted.

“You’ve served the Emperor for so many years, always choosing not to see, not to hear, not to speak—carefully avoiding any mistake. But no matter how obedient you are, to the Emperor, you were once a servant of the Fengtian Emperor, and that made you forever someone else’s man. You’ll never be as trusted as his own.”

I gave him a smile. “And besides, you really were, weren’t you?”

His expression turned serious—completely unlike his usual oily cheer.

I said directly, “Arrange for me to meet Prince Xin.”

Li Minghai hesitated. “But… he’s already left the palace and established his own residence…”

“You’ll find a way,” I cut him off. “However you used to meet him, I’ll meet him the same way. And besides, we’ll have the Dowager Princess to help. Won’t we?”