Chapter 11
Xie Zhi thought for a moment and still decided to tell Fang Xianxing about the business trip.
When Xie Zhi mentioned he was going to serve as an expert consultant for a drama crew set in the Yuan Shun dynasty, Fang Xianxing found it oddly familiar. Upon asking, it turned out to be *The Yuan Shun Emperor*—that very drama.
The world truly was small.
She was one of the investors in this TV series, and her younger sister played the second female lead. Though the crew was filming in the somewhat distant Ni Ge Film City, it still felt like half her own territory.
Over here, the government bidding process dragged on slowly.
The underwater archaeology team across the Boundary Sea needed some time for training, which couldn’t be rushed either.
So, she supported Xie Zhi in heading to the drama crew to unwind a bit.
Since Song Longsha was still in the midst of running away from home and didn’t want her ties to the family exposed, Fang Xianxing avoided mentioning Song Longsha. She only said the drama had her investment and told him that if anyone bullied him there, he should contact her.

After listening to Fang Xianxing’s analysis, Xie Zhi’s mood improved considerably. He got up, packing his luggage while continuing to chat idly with her.
Fang Xianxing began complaining about the drama.
She asked him whether Yuan Shun Emperor and Wen Ru ever had something going on, her tone a bit gossipy.
Imagining Fang Xianxing, with her usual serious demeanor, leaning in to hear some gossip, Xie Zhi’s lips curved into a smile. Realizing it, he quickly flattened his expression and shrugged his nose.
“It’s all nonsense from unofficial histories. Yuan Shun Emperor was the ruler with the largest harem in the Mi dynasty. The system of three palaces and six courts began with her. The phrase *‘My lord departs in silence, mountains and seas crumble’* that she later had carved on Wen Ru’s tomb was merely an expression of sorrow.”
“In ancient times, travel was difficult, and reuniting after a parting was rare, so the ancients valued friendship deeply. The bond between Yuan Shun Emperor and Wen Ru was likely just the friendship between a ruler and her vassal.”
“In the Wei dynasty, there was once a princess who wrote a nearly thousand-word epitaph for her aide, with language so tender and heartfelt, yet historical records and artifacts confirm they were entirely innocent.”
Seeing him send such a long, serious response, Fang Xianxing’s face lit up with a smile. “What about Yiyang Prince? Or Yuan Shun Emperor’s Male Empress Gu? No connection there either?”
Xie Zhi hadn’t expected Fang Xianxing to know so much. He answered earnestly, “The death of Yiyang Prince remains a mystery to this day. The histories only say that in her middle years, Yuan Shun Emperor fell under the sway of sorcerer-healers, allowing them to infiltrate nurseries across Da Mi and poison countless lives, claiming millions.”
“Yiyang Prince couldn’t bear the people’s suffering. He set fire to himself in the palace, staining the walls with his blood, and only then did it awaken Yuan Shun Emperor. Filled with regret, she rounded up the treacherous sorcerer-healers, executed them in Wei Jing City, and burned over thirty thousand volumes of their wicked texts.”
Xie Zhi let out a long sigh. “In an instant, the nurseries that once dotted Da Mi were reduced to one in ten. Men struggled to find healers for childbirth, and countless died in labor.”
“Had it not been for the wealth Wen Ru amassed for the Yuan Shun dynasty before her disappearance, along with the support of local officials, gentry, and heroines, the Mi dynasty might have ended with Yuan Shun’s reign.”
“But setting aside the calamity of the sorcerer-healers, Yuan Shun Emperor still ranks as an emperor for the ages. After the devastation, she restored order in just seven years. She even organized experts to collect scattered medical texts across Da Mi and beyond, separating sorcery from healing. She compiled the most comprehensive medical compendium of its time, benefiting all her people. The population of the Mi dynasty grew to over three times what it had been before the calamity, reversing the crisis and ushering in four centuries of unparalleled prosperity.”
“As for Male Empress Gu, he was just that—a Male Empress, nothing more. Born to a disgraced vassal, he relied entirely on Yuan Shun Emperor’s favor to live. He indulged her expansion of the harem, leading to the three palaces and six courts. Even her successor wasn’t his own child.”
Fang Xianxing blinked in surprise. “Then why don’t you admire Yuan Shun Emperor, yet focus so much on Wen Ru? It can’t just be because Yuan Shun Emperor was a mess while Wen Ru was devoted, right?”
Xie Zhi couldn’t quite explain it. When he studied this history, the books gave Wen Ru only a brief mention, yet his eyes lingered on her name.
Back then, no portrait of Wen Ru had survived. Unofficial histories claimed she was stunningly beautiful, weaving tales of her allure—how her carriage would be adorned with flowers tossed by passing men whenever she went out, forcing her to borrow a friend’s carriage to travel for a time.
But Xie Zhi felt the unofficial accounts were mostly exaggerated. Flowers weren’t a token of love in ancient times; those who threw them at Wen Ru were likely common folk grateful for her benevolence.
When Xie Zhi didn’t reply for a while, Fang Xianxing lowered her eyes, silently pursing her lips. No need to guess—he was probably thinking about Wen Ru again, maybe even digging out her portrait to stare at, forgetting all about her.
“Don’t you think that portrait looks a little like me?”
Fang Xianxing had actually forgotten what the painting looked like, but the fleeting moment of déjà vu, as if gazing into a mirror, still stuck with her. Even more vivid was Xie Zhi’s dismissive, infuriating expression at the time.
On Wen Ru, Xie Zhi replied quickly, “No resemblance.” His tone was firm.
Fang Xianxing choked a little. Did he have to be so decisive? Two eyes, one nose, one mouth—at least a slight similarity, no?
Xie Zhi kept messaging her.
“The Wen Ru portrait I used as my wallpaper isn’t authentic.”
“Five years ago, when they were blasting mountains for a road, they uncovered Wen Ru’s memorial tomb. The local archaeological institute rushed to excavate it. But within ten seconds of opening the main chamber, the air rushing in altered the tomb’s conditions. The colored silk portrait hanging behind the coffin faded, its fibers disintegrated, and it was destroyed in an instant. The current one was redrawn from memory by those present. They say it’s only about fifty percent accurate.”
Fine, then she wouldn’t compete with a fake painting over resemblance. Imagining Xie Zhi gazing “fondly” at a counterfeit all this time, Fang Xianxing couldn’t help but secretly applaud—destroyed beautifully.
With that thought, she guiltily changed the subject, asking Xie Zhi when he’d depart and to let her know when he arrived.
Xie Zhi agreed.
Lately, perhaps from chatting so much with Fang Xianxing, Xie Zhi had grown closer to her, unconsciously trusting and relying on her. He knew the archaeological work across the Boundary Sea still had preparations to complete and wasn’t urgent, but it was her reassurance that truly set his mind at ease.
Xie Zhi thought it was because Fang Xianxing was someone who took everything so seriously that people couldn’t help but believe in her.
Not because of… anything else.
*
Fang Xianxing had originally thought asking Xie Zhi about the Yuan Shun dynasty was just to humor him—whatever he liked, she’d indulge him and chat more about it.
She hadn’t expected that very night she’d have a dream.
In the dream, she walked through an imperial palace. Not far off, black smoke billowed into the sky, crimson flames roaring in a massive pit, illuminating the dim heavens with an eerie, vivid glow.
She drew closer and saw a woman in dragon-and-phoenix imperial robes standing on the stone steps by the fire pit, a female official in deep brown robes behind her.
The official noticed her first, offering a kind smile.
The Emperor then turned to look at her, her gaze sharp and commanding.
Fang Xianxing warily stepped back half a pace.
The Emperor frowned slightly, then turned back, pointing at the fire before her. “My dear vassal, look—I’ve done it. From now on, I can rest easy.”
Fang Xianxing followed her gesture to the pit’s base. Burning there were books—bamboo, paper, and silk.
She recalled Xie Zhi’s words about the sorcerer-healer calamity, how the Emperor hunted them down and burned over thirty thousand volumes of their evil texts.
What you dwell on by day haunts your dreams at night—could this be that very event?
“Pity that Yiyang is gone, and so are you,” the Emperor said, standing there, gazing imperiously at the towering flames, though her eyes held endless solitude.
“Why couldn’t you all understand me?” The Emperor smiled faintly, then fixed her stare on Fang Xianxing. “My dear vassal, just wait. One day, all the ages will thank me. It was I who saved everyone.”
Someone speaking in such a tone should have been mad, yet Fang Xianxing found this Emperor utterly calm, cloaked in solemn dignity, quietly admiring the sky-high flames.
The scene seemed to freeze suddenly. Fang Xianxing stepped back, wanting to leave. If she couldn’t wake up, she’d wander elsewhere—better than standing here, bewildered, facing an Emperor who looked dangerous.
“My dear vassal, leaving again?” the Emperor called out.
Fang Xianxing paused, turning to frown at her. She wasn’t her vassal—she bowed to no one.
Seeing her expression, the Emperor’s smile softened. “Leaving so soon? You haven’t even seen my daughter. Compared to the Su Li you bore, she’s every bit as remarkable.”
*Bore?* What nonsense was she spouting?
Fang Xianxing glanced at her clothes—her pajamas from last night. Who did this Emperor think she was?
The Emperor paid no mind to her reaction, sighing. “The child Shen Guishi bore looks more like me—truly wondrous. Had Xu Fangjun not given birth to a stillborn, I might’ve had two daughters on the same day.” She met Fang Xianxing’s eyes. “Your sister’s contribution—I’ll see it remembered.”
*My sister?* What did Song Longsha have to do with this? What merit could Song Longsha have earned to be noted by this Emperor? Or was it someone else she meant?
The sister of whoever she was looking at?
Fang Xianxing stood there like an outsider, wary yet lost.
“Tell her to care well for Yiyang and his child. If I hear she’s wronged him in the slightest, I’ll hunt her to the ends of the earth and end her,” the Emperor said, her gaze sharpening. “She should’ve died long ago. Everyone who knows of this should die.”
Startled by her piercing look, Fang Xianxing stumbled back three steps. The path had been clear when she arrived, but somehow, retreating now, she fell, plummeting as if into an abyss.
The scene before her churned into chaos.
“Ugh…” Fang Xianxing woke drenched in cold sweat, the Emperor’s eyes still vivid when she closed hers.
Was that woman Yuan Shun Emperor?
Who was she looking at?
Who was she speaking to?
*
In the morning, Xie Zhi rode with Ke Jie to Ni Ge Film City.
Ke Jie wasn’t much for talking either, the car filled only with music. Xie Zhi sat quietly in the passenger seat, his cool gaze drifting over the passing streets.
The music’s beat was strong, nearly drowning out his phone’s notification.
“Xiao Xie, your phone,” Ke Jie said, glancing over while driving.
Xie Zhi hurriedly pulled it out. Ever since setting Fang Xianxing as his lock screen and wallpaper, he’d been extra sneaky with his phone.
He’d assumed she’d sent something mundane—*Have you left? How long till you arrive?*—that sort of thing.
But to his surprise, her messages were stranger than strange.
“Xie Zhi, do you think it’s possible Yiyang Prince didn’t die during the sorcerer-healer calamity?” “Who was Yiyang Prince’s wife-master? What did she do for the Emperor?” “Xie Zhi, you won’t believe this, but last night I dreamed of the Mi dynasty palace, and Yuan Shun Emperor called me ‘my dear vassal.’”