Chapter 9

    Mingzhe had spent many days in Shin Wang’s palace, but today marked the first time he had the opportunity to leave.

    The rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels echoed along the city streets. Mingzhe, seated sluggishly inside the carriage, noted how hurried the Emperor of Zhongwang seemed—as if afraid Mingzhe might flee. By the hour of Mao[1], the consort’s carriage had already been prepared for the journey.

    Mingzhe boarded the carriage early in the morning. As a deity accustomed to the leisurely pace of modern times, waking at five in the morning put him in a foul mood.

    Mingzhe still felt unrested. Since resolving the matter of the left hand, the spectral left hand had vanished, leaving behind only a pale, obedient hand. Yet, someone seemed reinvigorated by recovering this body part, persistently disturbing him throughout the night. It wasn’t until three in the morning that he finally managed to fall asleep.

    ‘Still sleepy?’

    A cold voice echoed in his ear intermittently. Since resolving the issue of the left hand, Shin Wang had gained the ability to communicate with him briefly and directly.

    The prince spoke to him often—almost every chance he got. Mingzhe, unwilling to appear as though he were talking to himself like a lunatic, always pretended to ignore him.

    ‘Mingzhe…Zhe’er.’

    “Too familiar. Don’t call me that,” Mingzhe muttered aloud.

    “Pardon?” The coachman responded, snapping Mingzhe back to the present. He realized he wasn’t alone.

    “It’s nothing. Just a slight headache,”

    He replied dismissively, raising a hand to massage his temples and trying to shake off his drowsiness. Mornings like this were far too disorienting. He didn’t forget that he was about to meet someone important and couldn’t afford to remain in this groggy state.

    Steadying his thoughts, Mingzhe did his best to ignore Shin Wang’s occasional attempts at conversation.

    Perhaps it was early morning, so when he opened the carriage window, he saw only a silent, deserted city. The roads leading to the royal palace were empty. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the early hour or if Shin Wang’s city had been devoid of residents all along.

    “Why is this city so quiet?” He asked the coachman.

    “Reporting to the consort: it’s likely because it’s still very early. By late morning, the streets will surely be bustling with people. This is why His Majesty was eager to send for you so early, fearing that a lively crowd might obstruct the carriage later.”

    The coachman’s tone was hesitant, his answer filled with uncertainty. Mingzhe chose not to press further. There was little point in interrogating someone of low rank—he doubted he would gain any valuable information.

    Besides, this audience with the Emperor would likely take some time. While the lack of people on the journey there could be excused, he was curious to see if the claim about a bustling city would hold true on the way back.

    Even the sun, which should have been easier to spot than people, was elusive. Mingzhe had spent several days in this world, yet he had never seen sunlight once.

    The sky was perpetually overcast, with rain constantly threatening to fall. Venturing outside the palace was rare enough. Even within its walls, his movements had been restricted, much to his chagrin.

    Mingzhe had been born as a deity, accustomed to doing as he pleased without anyone daring to command him. This was the first time in his existence that he had lived such a subdued and constrained life.

    After spending what felt like an eternity in the swaying carriage, they finally arrived at the royal palace. Mingzhe was escorted out of the carriage, standing alone without any attendants or maids by his side. Fortunately, his clothing and ornaments clearly conveyed his extraordinary status.

    Mingzhe had grown accustomed to wearing women’s clothing by now, and he played the role of a princess with natural ease. There was no hint of fear or disorientation in his demeanor. The more he acted, the harder it was to hide the truth, so he opted to act normally—feigning a bit of cluelessness and naivety. This way, even if the Emperor wanted to make a move against him, he would find it quite difficult.

    ‘I can’t follow you further.’

    ‘The royal palace is dangerous.’

    ‘Be careful.’

    Who asked you to follow me in the first place?!

    Mingzhe responded with a faint hum, though he couldn’t help but think that this visit felt less like meeting his nominal husband’s father and more like preparing for battle. Why did the other party have to sound so tense?

    The eunuchs and palace maids had been specifically assigned to Mingzhe. After all, even a title as insubstantial as the consort of Shin Wang demanded respect and formality. Mingzhe was escorted toward the throne room, seizing the opportunity to observe the people in the royal palace.

    The faces of those in the royal palace were as lifeless as paper dolls. They walked with heads bowed. The air around them felt devoid of vitality, their pallid complexions marred by dark circles under their eyes.

    This is bad. The thought that this might be a ghost city popped into his mind once more…

    The former Snow Deity felt increasingly uneasy. Meeting normal people was becoming an increasingly rare event. He could only hope the person awaiting him ahead wouldn’t be a disappointment.

    The throne room was not a place anyone could enter lightly. Mingzhe hadn’t walked far before a pair of towering doors came into view. The eunuchs and maids retreated without a word.

    Two guards crossed their spears to block the entrance, and Mingzhe waited as one of the eunuchs went inside to announce him to the Emperor.

    “Presenting Princess Lianghuang.”

    Princess Lianghuang, as mentioned: "...."

    Mingzhe had almost forgotten about that name. Hearing it spoken again made him pause, momentarily confused. The body he inhabited happened to share his name, so being called Mingzhe felt natural. During his time in Shin Wang’s palace, he met no one else, and most people simply referred to him as the consort. This Lianghuang name… felt completely unfamiliar.

    "I am now wedded to Shin Wang. Call me the consort instead."

    To avoid ignoring this false name in the future, the former Snow Deity offered a sweet smile and calmly corrected the eunuch.

    You’d already married me off to your Shin Wang. Why were you still calling me a princess?!

    "M… My deepest apologies, Your Highness. It was my grave oversight. I deserve to die for this."

    Do you all have to bring up dying for every little thing? Wasn’t Zhongwang Region already steeped in enough death as it was?

    "It’s fine. At first, I wasn’t used to being called the consort either. But over the past few days, even the maids have been addressing me as the consort so consistently that I’ve grown accustomed to it."

    "Every… every night, Your Highness?"

    "Thanks to His Majesty’s immense benevolence, the maids assigned to serve me are exceptionally diligent. Even in the dead of night, they ensure I’m not left uncomfortable by stopping by to check on me constantly,"

    Mingzhe replied with a soft, gentle smile, in stark contrast to the eunuch’s blood-drained, pale face.

    "Consort, please don’t hesitate. If anything is lacking, you may inform His Majesty."

    By this point, the eunuch couldn’t meet Mingzhe’s eyes.

    Mingzhe tilted his head, deciding he had teased the eunuch enough.

    The guards opened the massive doors to the throne room. Mingzhe adjusted his robes slightly and strode in with confidence.

    Waiting ahead of him was the man who held the power to decide life and death across the region—the Heavenly Son of Zhongwang, Guo Yuexiang’s father.

    "I offer my respects to Your Majesty. May you live ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand of ten thousand years."

    Before someone of such high status, one had to show proper humility. Mingzhe knelt gracefully to pay his respects.

    He remained calm. He felt that this attitude was appropriate. As a former princess, there was no reason for him to fear the Emperor’s authority. Moreover, having survived in Shin Wang’s palace for several days, pretending to be terrified now would have been unnecessarily theatrical.

    "No need for excessive formalities. Rise."

    "Thank you, Your Majesty."

    "Consort of Shin Wang, please be seated."

    Once Mingzhe had taken his seat, the Emperor’s interrogation began…

    The first questions were general inquiries about his well-being, such as: Are you comfortable in the Wang’s palace? Do you miss your homeland? Gradually, the questions grew more probing, eventually circling around the collapse of the northern inner courtyard.

    Mingzhe answered most questions without difficulty. But when it came to the matter of the northern courtyard, he deliberately hesitated, adding a touch of uncertainty to pique the Emperor’s curiosity.

    The Emperor’s gaze sharpened. Though his expression remained cold, his interest in Mingzhe’s responses was evident.

    Mingzhe raised his head to look at the Heavenly Son directly. It was odd—while many people in Zhongwang appeared pale and unwell, the Emperor seemed robust and full of vitality. His face was bright, his complexion healthy, suggesting good rest and care. He had a solid, agile physique. Throughout the conversation, there was a man standing beside the Emperor’s throne. The figure stood still, as if deliberately trying to fade into the background.

    When the questions about the northern courtyard were answered dismissively, the Emperor seemed to notice Mingzhe’s lingering gaze.

    "This is the Grand Tutor of Zhongwang."

    "Greetings, Grand Tutor."

    "Mm."

    The man was concealed beneath a voluminous black cloak, obscuring his features and form. Mingzhe only glanced briefly before returning his attention to the Emperor.

    Feigning ignorance and simplicity, Mingzhe recounted his encounters with ghosts, adopting the demeanor of someone too naive to grasp what he had experienced. Yet the more he spoke, the more the Heavenly Son’s expression grew unnatural.

    Not long after, the Emperor raised a hand to massage his temples. Seeing this, the Grand Tutor stepped forward and suggested that His Majesty needed rest, and that Mingzhe should take his leave for the day.

    Summon me when you wish, dismiss me with a wave when you don’t.

    Hah! What do you take me for?!

    Mingzhe silently tallied his growing irritation, keeping it buried within. Outwardly, he responded with a polite smile, bowing respectfully as he took his leave.

    Today had been nothing more than a game of testing boundaries. The Emperor remained suspicious of him, but Mingzhe’s demeanor seemed to prevent any immediate action, even if the Emperor entertained the thought of silencing him to avoid future complications.

    The most suspicious figure in Mingzhe’s eyes, however, was undeniably the Grand Tutor. Dressed as he was, how could anyone not feel unsettled?

    Upon stepping out of the throne room, Mingzhe was greeted by the warm sunlight of the day. He gazed at the bright, clear sky, which stood in stark contrast to the gloom of Shin Wang’s palace. Lost in the sight, he instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s rays.

    ‘Zhe’er.’

    He had barely left the throne room and reached the outer courtyard of the royal palace when someone seemed so anxious that he couldn’t help but call out to him.

    Mingzhe responded with a faint hum, boarding the carriage prepared to return to Shin Wang’s palace.

    Resting his chin on the window frame, he lifted the curtain secretly to observe the city’s inhabitants. As the coachman had claimed, while the people didn’t appear particularly lively, they were out and about, bustling with activity under the sunlight.

    Guo Yuexiang’s voice continued to echo in his ear, filled with concern and questions about what had transpired. Mingzhe, however, ignored him, his thoughts preoccupied with the conversation he’d had with the Emperor. Throughout the interrogation, the Emperor had pressed him with numerous questions. Yet, from beginning to end, there was one name the Emperor never mentioned: the name of his favored son.

    “Guo Yuexiang.”

    ‘Hm?’

    “How did you die?”

    There was a long pause before Mingzhe heard a sigh from Guo Yuexiang.

    Mingzhe raised a hand to rub his ear, which suddenly felt warm and itchy.

    ‘I don’t know.’

    Such a simple three-word answer—yet it carried an unbearable weight…

[1] The hour of Mao corresponds to the time period between 5:00 AM and 6:59 AM.