Chapter 40: Gan Qiongying’s Greatest Skill Is to Grow Stealthily

In the dead of night, after Gan Qiongying waited for Lihua to fall asleep, she got up and had Manyue support her to the empty, uninhabited area at the back of the estate.

“Did you prepare the things I asked for?” Gan Qiongying tightened her cloak and asked Manyue.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Manyue patted the bundle on her back. “Everything is inside, just as you instructed. Incense, candles, and paper money—all complete.”

Gan Qiongying nodded. Manyue’s lips twitched slightly as if she wanted to ask the reason, but in the end, she said nothing.

She held absolute loyalty and trust in her mistress. Even if Gan Qiongying were to take her to commit murder or arson, asking Manyue to hand over a knife or pour oil, she would not hesitate in the slightest.

And now, Gan Qiongying was merely taking her to burn paper money in a secluded spot.

On the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, the gates of the underworld open wide.

On this day, many commoners burn paper money at crossroads to honor their deceased relatives, hoping they can live well in the afterlife.

Gan Qiongying had initially considered finding a crossroads, but after some thought, she decided it was unnecessary.

Because she wasn’t burning paper money for any deceased relative—she was burning it for herself.

Or rather, she was burning it for “Princess Duanrong.”

Ever since leaving the palace that day, Gan Qiongying had been plagued by dreams, each time feeling as if she were immersed in a 3D movie.

Those were the true memories of Duanrong—the love, hatred, obsession, and resentment, the unwillingness and regret—all laid bare before Gan Qiongying.

And she was like a thermos flask, forced to open its lid and be filled with scalding, vivid emotions of love, hatred, obsession, and resentment that did not belong to her. It left her insides blistered, peeling, and rotting.

For several days, Gan Qiongying could hardly even attempt to lift her spirits. Simply trying not to cry was a struggle.

During these days, she was like a young woman who had been wronged, burying herself in the Consort’s arms and weeping softly.

At first, she tried to resist, not wanting to be laughed at by the Consort. After all, although they were husband and wife, to put it bluntly, they weren’t very familiar…

But later, she gave up. The feeling of being unable to control her emotions was too unbearable. As a modern person raised under the red flag, even though she had suffered from cancer and died young, the accumulated sorrow of her entire life could not compare to even a fraction of Duanrong’s.

Over the past few days, she had transformed into a weeping mess, soaking the fabric of the Prince Consort’s shoulder with tears, layer after layer.

Heartache came and went repeatedly, and bitter medicinal broth was forced down her throat several times a day. By the end, Gan Qiongying felt that the medicine was nothing.

Her life was the bitterest of all.

Fortunately, she had finally stopped dreaming these past two days, and it happened to be the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month. Gan Qiongying felt she must burn paper money for Princess Duanrong.

Not for any other reason—she simply felt that her uncontrollable urge to get close to the Emperor, the dreams, and the heartache were all because Duanrong’s soul or consciousness still lingered within her body and had not yet departed.

Gan Qiongying crouched there, holding a small stick. After lighting the brazier, she used the stick to stir it, placing paper money inside while sending Manyue to the entrance of the deserted courtyard several yards away to keep watch.

This courtyard was already in ruins, on the verge of collapse. As Gan Qiongying burned the paper money, she glanced around. The faint traces of the small courtyard where Duanrong and the Emperor had relied on each other for survival in their childhood could still be seen.

After becoming a Princess, Duan Rong enjoyed boundless favor, transforming the imperial retreat into her own Princess Manor. She renovated and rebuilt extensively, yet never touched this small courtyard.

She must have felt nostalgic, yet dared not indulge in such feelings.

Gan Qiongying, having been forced to share sensations with her, also harbored complex emotions toward this place.

After surveying the surroundings and confirming there was indeed no open space where eighteen surveillance shadow guards could perch, she lowered her head to look at the brazier. From her bundle, she pulled out two large golden paper ingots and tossed them into the flames.

“Princess, if you’re still in this body, I can return it to you. Just put in a little effort and push me out.”

She never wanted to occupy another’s body to live. Even though she cherished this hard-won life, Duan Rong had so many regrets, while she had none. Why should she seize the chance to live from her?

The flames licked the golden ingots, which soon caught fire, casting a crimson glow on Gan Qiongying’s face.

Her expression was indescribable—she wanted some response from “Duan Rong,” yet feared she might actually reply.

After all, even though she had crossed into another world, she truly couldn’t handle the shock of “actually seeing a ghost.”

After a while, Gan Qiongying continued, “If you cannot return to this world, yet remain unwilling and uneasy… Gan Lin.”

At this point, Gan Qiongying felt a sharp pain in her heart.

A chill ran down her neck, startling her greatly. This undoubtedly confirmed that even if Duan Rong’s soul hadn’t dissipated, at least part of her consciousness remained within the body.

Gan Qiongying swallowed hard, her voice strained as she said, “I will help you look after him.”

“Occupying your body was not my intention,” Gan Qiongying said, “but since I am here, I cannot leave on my own. Life is precious, and I will help you care for your loved ones.”

Gan Qiongying wasn’t saying this out of fear from Duan Rong’s lingering consciousness.

She genuinely meant it.

Originally, she only thought of self-preservation, trying to alter the plot and change the tragic ending.

But after entering the palace, she now understood that her peaceful days were bought by the Emperor drinking poison daily for her sake. How could she stand idly by?

The brazier crackled as it burned.

Gan Qiongying spread open her bundle again and pulled out a white, square paper object dotted with sesame seeds. Upon closer inspection, it resembled radish cake.

“Have some,” Gan Qiongying said in a tight voice. “Gan Lin misses you very, very much.”

Suppressing the ache in her heart, she added, “Although he feels no romantic love for you, he is filled with attachment and longing for his elder sister. Your efforts to protect him were not in vain—he is still your beloved child.”

Tears welled in Gan Qiongying’s eyes as she spoke.

She sniffled, grabbed a handful of the radish cake paper offerings, and tossed them into the fire.

Addressing the increasingly vigorous flames, she said, “From now on, as long as I can carve out a path to survival amidst the twists of fate, I will definitely pull Changshengnu along to live with me.”

As soon as Gan Qiongying finished speaking, the brazier let out a “bang,” and flames shot up high, nearly licking her forehead.

She stumbled backward and sat on the ground, feeling a sudden night breeze. The cold wind chilled her sweat-drenched body, piercing to the bone like a silent accusation from someone.

Gan Qiongying’s gaze was resolute amidst the flickering flames. “I keep my promises.”

She crouched there, burning all the paper offerings she had brought in the bundle. Only after extinguishing the fire did she rise, leaning on her knees for support.

The night wind swept in once more, carrying the ashes of burnt-out embers as it brushed past her entire body.

Gan Qiongying strode away from the place, and Manyue soon approached her as well.

With each step Gan Qiongying took, she felt a sense of relief washing over her.

Her footsteps grew lighter and more buoyant. By the time she left the courtyard and returned to the entrance of the main house, she looked up at the starry sky, feeling as though she had been reborn.

The once-blurred path ahead was now crystal clear. She no longer needed to agonize over how everything had come to be.

She understood that her relationship with the Emperor was now like a seesaw—when one prospered, both prospered; when one suffered, both suffered.

She realized that Duan Rong in the story did not truly love Zhongli Zhengzhen, nor was she a lovesick fool who chased after men and willingly debased herself.

She was merely trying to prevent the Jinchuan Zhizi from allying with Jingxi, and had to disrupt their alliance.

She was not driven mad by a man. She sacrificed her reputation, colluded with local officials, accepted bribes, raised private soldiers, and even took in so many male consorts—all to conceal her true intentions.

She was fighting for a sliver of hope for the child she loved, the younger brother who drank poison as if it were sweet spring water for her sake.

This book, this world, revolved around the love and hatred between the male and female protagonists, but it was only at this moment that Gan Qiongying finally felt the reality of this world.

It was not a shallow description on a few pages, nor could a lifetime be summarized in a line or two.

What was described in the book was merely the most insignificant tip of the iceberg in this world.

The person she had transmigrated into was no villainess at all. She was a pitiful soul struggling to survive, risking everything for herself and her loved ones, gambling it all in one desperate move.

It was just that the intricate web of court power was far more complex than dealing with three malicious servants in a small courtyard back in the day.

She had nearly given up everything, shattered herself to pieces, but a princess with limited authority could only do so much.

Even if she had not accidentally died under the hooves of the horse at the moment Gan Qiongying transmigrated, her ultimate fate in the book was still failing to protect the Emperor and ending up with a body torn to pieces.

Gan Qiongying gazed at the twinkling galaxy and sighed. She lamented Duan Rong’s plight, for no one could have done better than she did—no matter which woman took her place.

But she also regretted that Duan Rong had ultimately been too stubborn. As a noblewoman raised in the imperial family, even if she dug out her spine to fashion it into thorns and covered her back with them to masquerade as a ferocious beast, she could not escape her circumstances and upbringing to view things differently.

She was like a sharpened long blade, charging recklessly until it broke and she perished, forgetting that a blade could be used not only to stab people but also to chop vegetables, perform tricks, or even serve as a fire poker.

To put it plainly, Princess Duanrong did not understand the concept of “lying low and biding one’s time.”

And that was precisely what Gan Qiongying excelled at.