Summary

... Read More

Zhou Mingyi and her elder brother Zhou Mingchong were orphaned young and relied entirely on each other for survival. Mingyi worked as an embroiderer to support the household, enabling Mingchong to return to his studies. He excelled, placing third in the imperial examinations as the Tanhua. However, Princess Zhaoyang, the Emperor’s only daughter, seized him and forced him into her residence as a male favorite. In a previous life, Mingyi sought help from her fiancé, Cen Shaoyuan, who betrayed her by offering her to the Crown Prince instead. The Crown Prince and his wife framed her for debauchery, beating her nearly to death. She escaped to the city gates only to find her brother’s flayed corpse displayed there. Overcome with grief, she took her own life.

Mingyi awakened back in time, before the events that led to her brother’s capture. Bound to a System, she learned that bearing the Emperor a child would ensure Princess Zhaoyang was no longer the sole heir, thereby securing her brother’s safety and enabling her revenge. She resolved to seduce Emperor Qianwu, who had been unable to produce heirs due to a poison administered in his youth. The Empress Dowager, desperate for an imperial grandson, had arranged for a woman to be given to the Emperor at Hanshan Temple. Mingyi intercepted this arrangement, using a System-enhanced beauty and an aphrodisiac to ensure the Emperor’s favor.

Emperor Qianwu, initially suspicious of his mother’s interference, found himself captivated by Mingyi’s peerless beauty and resilient spirit. He granted her the title of Fourth-Rank Beauty and ordered her entry into the palace in three days. Meanwhile, Mingchong was released from Princess Zhaoyang’s detention, unaware that his sister had entered the imperial harem to save him. When Mingyi revealed her situation, Mingchong was devastated but ultimately accepted her sacrifice, vowing to rise in rank to protect her. The Emperor, pleased with Mingyi, elevated her status to Concubine Jieyu before her official entry, signaling his deep interest.

Princess Zhaoyang, furious at losing control over her brother, demanded the Emperor and Empress Dowager return Zhou Mingchong to her. Both refused, prioritizing the potential birth of a prince over the princess’s whims. Noble Consort Chen, Zhaoyang’s mother and the current head of the rear palace, felt her authority threatened by the new arrival and the Emperor’s grant of partial management rights to Consort Rong. She plotted to maintain her status, hoping to conceive another child herself, though she had failed for years despite taking fetus-stabilizing medicine.

Before entering the palace, Mingyi visited her former fiancé, Cen Shaoyuan, to formally dissolve their engagement. She disguised her face with a veil, claiming it was damaged, to avoid the Cen family’s recognition. Madam Cen, eager to break the engagement due to the Zhou family’s decline, accepted Mingyi’s claim of plain appearance without suspicion. This allowed Mingyi to sever ties with the Cen family, who had previously betrayed and used her. With her past connections cut, Mingyi prepared to enter the palace, fully committed to her plan to bear the Emperor a son, dismantle the power of Princess Zhaoyang, and exact revenge on those who destroyed her in her past life.

Novel Items

More
Arcane_treasure
A star mecha that transformed into a small white kitten due to low energy. It communicates with Yun Shu, accumulates favor points, and serves as her companion. It can only meow to others but Yun Shu understands its words. It feeds on favor points rather than conventional food.
Pills
A pill administered by the Empress Dowager to both Emperor Qianwu and the arranged woman to ensure they would consummate their union. The Empress Dowager believed this would help fulfill the wish for an heir.
Pills
An elixir that Zhou Mingyi exchanged for points in the System store. Its effects stir desire and cause the user to emit an irresistible warm fragrance when aroused. Zhou Mingyi used it to ensure the act appeared convincing.
Materials
A poison administered to the Emperor by Consort Chen that did not impair male dignity but affected his ability to have offspring. It was responsible for the Emperor only having Princess Zhaoyang as his biological child after twenty years of reign.
Poison
A poison that Emperor Qianwu was subjected to in his early years, which caused him difficulty in producing heirs. Despite years of effort, he only managed to produce one daughter, Princess Zhaoyang.
Drug
Stolen from the village clinic by Zhang Shufen. When taken in large amounts, it takes ten to twenty minutes to effect; with less, about half an hour. It was used in the scheme in the dorm, causing Gu Dahai, Zhou Shanshan, and Zhang Shufen to become unconscious or incapacitated. The drug's effects last at most twenty minutes.
Latest Release
DateGroupRelease
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c10
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c9
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c8
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c7
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c6
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c5
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c4
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c3
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c2
2026-08-11shanghai fantasy c1

Community Reviews

Rating(3.8 / 5.0, 9votes)
5 stars
2(22%)
4 stars
3(33%)
3 stars
4(44%)
2 stars
0(0%)
1 stars
0(0%)

Popular reviews

... Read More
There's this recurring image of mirrors and reflections throughout these chapters that I can't stop thinking about. Madam Cen staring into her bronze mirror, having her hair styled in the "smooth reflective surface," watching herself transform — it's almost like she's preparing for battle, and she is. But then Zhou Mingyi arrives wearing a veiled hat, hiding her face, and the whole dynamic flips. The veil becomes this incredible symbol, doesn't it? In a world where women's appearances determine their fate, Zhou Mingyi's claim that she "damaged her appearance" is either a lie or a weapon. Either way, it gives her power. She walks into the Cen residence unseen and still commands the room. And then there's the mirror metaphor running through the palace scenes too — Chuntao watching herself try to imitate the opera mistresses, the palace maid's reflection of her own disdain. The author keeps coming back to this idea of surfaces versus reality. Everyone is performing. Madam Cen pretends to want the engagement to continue while secretly wanting it broken. Zhou Mingyi plays the humble, plain woman while clearly being sharp as a tack. The betrothal token itself — that physical object representing a promise between families — becomes this symbol of everything that can be broken, renegotiated, discarded when political winds shift. And what about the crown prince's ship metaphor? The Cen family boarding it, hoping to rise when the emperor dies — that's the grandest symbol of all, isn't it? Everyone is just trying to survive by attaching themselves to the right person at the right time.
... Read More
Let me just lay this out plainly: the stakes in this story are life and death, and every single character is walking into a trap without seeing the walls. Zhou Mingyi's stakes are the most immediate and personal. She came to a temple to pray for her brother's safety. Instead, she lost her chastity to the emperor through a drugging orchestrated by his own mother. Her brother is being held hostage in the palace, starving, because a spoiled princess wants him. She has no family, no connections, no power — except now she has the emperor's bed, which is both her only weapon and her greatest vulnerability. The text makes it clear what she's risking: "What Zhou Mingyi wanted was submission. She wanted Emperor Qianwu to fall at her feet, to be captivated by her." This isn't just about survival. This is about power. She's not trying to escape the palace — she's trying to conquer it. But the risk is enormous. If he sees through her, if he realizes she's manipulating him, there's nowhere to run. She's already given him something irreplaceable. Zhou Mingchong's stakes are physical. Four days without food. Surviving on well water. The text doesn't dramatize his suffering — it just states it, which makes it worse. He's a scholar, not a soldier. His body is breaking, and when he's finally released, he's so weak he can barely stand. His sister has to catch him. The emperor has to steady him. He's been reduced to this fragile state by a princess's whim, and nobody in power seems to care. Princess Zhaoyang's stakes are about control. She wants Zhou Mingchong, and she's using every tool at her disposal to get him. But she's also pitting herself against her mother, the Empress Dowager, who has her own plans. The Empress Dowager is already reshaping Zhou Mingchong's destiny — from reluctant male consort to "young and promising talent worthy of being a match for the princess." She's grooming him for a different purpose, and Zhaoyang doesn't even know it yet. The emperor's stakes are legitimacy. He's been poisoned with a sterility drug, produced only one child, and lost interest in the rear palace. Then this woman appears — peerless beauty, satisfying him in ways no one ever has — and suddenly he's desperate to keep her. But keeping her means confronting his mother, his daughter, and the entire power structure of the palace. He says he'll protect her, but can he? The Empress Dowager drugged her without his knowledge. Who really holds power in this palace? And the highest stake of all: the "Woman of Destiny" prophecy. The Empress Dowager believes this woman was chosen by heaven. But was she? Or was she manipulated into place? If the prophecy is real, then Zhou Mingyi's suffering has cosmic significance. If it's a lie — and it almost certainly is — then she's been sacrificed for nothing. That's the conflict that drives everything: is fate real, or is it just power wearing a mask?
... Read More
This chapter drops you right into the belly of the imperial palace and honestly, the author doesn't waste a single sentence on description. When Chuntao first wanders through those corridors, the text doesn't just say "it was fancy" — no, we get the palace maid's disdainful glance, the expensive objects lining every surface, the way Chuntao has to clear her throat and imitate opera mistresses just to blend in. That detail about the veiled hat! Zhou Mingyi claiming she "accidentally damaged her appearance" as a child — what a perfect worldbuilding choice. It immediately tells us this is a society where a woman's face is her currency, where a veiled entrance at a family home carrying political weight is both insult and statement. And Madam Cen's reaction to that hat, the way she internally fumes about her own elaborate preparations being wasted on someone who "couldn't even see them clearly" — you can practically feel the tension in that drawing room. The palace itself becomes a character, doesn't it? Those "secret guards protecting her in the shadows" that Zhou Mingyi knows about but pretends not to see. The author builds this world where every mirror, every hairstyle, every fabric pattern carries meaning. The bronze mirror scene with Madam Cen getting her Gold Filigree Gem-Inlaid Sanskrit set — that's not just decoration, that's power being applied to the face like armor.
... Read More
Okay so Zhou Mingyi is absolutely terrifying in the best way possible. Let me just say this upfront: I have never met a fictional character who can lie to an emperor's face while crying and I didn't immediately suspect she was plotting something. The moment she says "Does Your Majesty wish to hear the truth or flattering lies?" — I literally sat up in bed. Most female leads in these palace dramas are either purely innocent or purely scheming. Zhou Mingyi is both at the same time, and that's what makes her so damn compelling. She's playing a long game here. And her brother? Zhou Mingchong. Poor guy. He's been locked up for FOUR DAYS without food because a spoiled princess took a shine to him and he refused to bend. The text says he survived on well water. Four days. And when he finally gets released and sees his sister with the emperor walking into his home — he can't even react. He's so muddled from starvation that his brain just short-circuits. But here's what gets me: Zhou Mingyi could have just walked into the palace and started flexing her new status as the emperor's fourth-rank beauty. She didn't. She asked to go home first to say goodbye to her brother. Is this genuine sisterly love? Or is it another calculated move? The text says she's "resilient" and taught herself embroidery — she's not naive. She knows exactly what she's doing. Meanwhile the Empress Dowager is this fascinating shadow figure. She drugged Zhou Mingyi, arranged the whole thing, but then decides it doesn't matter because the "Woman of Destiny" prophecy is fulfilled. She's pragmatic to a fault. And then she brings in Chuntao — the girl she originally planned — just to cover her bases. This woman is playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers. What I love most is the dynamic between Zhou Mingyi and the emperor. He thinks he's the one in control, that he's captivated her with his power and beauty. But she's letting him believe that. The text literally says: "mixing seven parts truth with three parts falsehood could better confuse the heart." She's not falling for him. She's using him. And the delicious irony? He's genuinely smitten. He wants her to love him willingly. She's giving him exactly what he wants while wanting something completely different. I need to know what her endgame is. Because right now she's playing the grateful, tearful sister, but I have a feeling the mask is going to slip at the worst possible moment for everyone around her.
... Read More
Let me just say this — the author knows exactly when to slow down and when to let the story sprint. The Chuntao scenes in the palace move at this almost suffocating pace, don't they? Every line is tight, every sentence building on the last: she hears sounds, she realizes someone took her place, she feels jealousy, she reconsiders, she hopes. The structure here is like a coiled spring. But then we cut to the Cen residence and suddenly the pacing shifts into this almost comedic social dance — Madam Cen drinking tea, glancing at the door, sending for Yuan'er, the whole family performing their roles. And then Zhou Mingyi arrives with that veiled hat and the entire rhythm changes again. The engagement dissolution scene is masterfully paced. Madam Cen's internal calculations, her whispered conversations with the maidservant, the way she prepares her elaborate appearance only to be met by someone in plain dress — it's all building toward this moment where Zhou Mingyi simply says she wants to break the engagement. The author doesn't rush it. We get the back-and-forth, the false modesty from both sides, the subtle power plays. And that ending with the betrothal token being fetched? Perfect cliffhanger. You want to know what happens next immediately.
... Read More
I need to talk about this single exchange because it completely redefined how I see this entire scene: "Does Your Majesty wish to hear the truth or flattering lies?" That's it. That one line. Zhou Mingyi just looked the most powerful man in the empire in the eye and offered him a choice between honesty and flattery — and in doing so, she revealed everything about who she actually is. Most characters in palace dramas would either grovel or perform. Zhou Mingyi does something far more dangerous: she gives the emperor agency. She lets him choose. And of course he chooses truth, because who wouldn't? That's exactly what she expected. The dialogue throughout these chapters is sharp because everyone is performing. The emperor performs benevolence. Zhou Mingyi performs gratitude and fear. The Empress Dowager performs maternal wisdom while orchestrating everything from the shadows. Even Princess Zhaoyang, who never appears in these chapters, is present in every line — her demands shape the actions of everyone around her. What I love is how the emperor's voice changes. At first he's commanding, almost clinical: "What is your name?" But by the end, he's cooing: "Why not accompany me into the palace today?" The shift is subtle but it's there. He's falling, and he doesn't even know it. Meanwhile Zhou Mingyi's voice stays consistent — soft, deferential, gentle — but the reader knows it's a performance. The gap between what she says and what she means is where the tension lives. There's also this moment where she compliments his appearance: "If you hadn't mentioned it, I would have thought you were only a few years older than my elder brother." On the surface, it's flattery. But it's also a knife. She's reminding him that he's old — that he's thirty-seven and she's sixteen — while making it sound like a compliment. The emperor feels a "slight discomfort" but can't quite place why. He's being manipulated and he's thanking the person doing it. The author's narrative voice is also worth noting. It's third-person limited, mostly following Zhou Mingyi's perspective, but it dips into the emperor's thoughts too. This dual perspective is brilliant because it lets us see the gap between what each character thinks is happening. He thinks he's seducing her. She knows she's seducing him. Both are true. Neither is complete. And the Empress Dowager's dialogue — sparse, measured, always probing. "Zhulan, do you believe in the will of heaven?" She doesn't give orders directly; she asks questions that lead other people to the conclusions she wants. That's power. That's voice.
See all reviews

Characters

See all characters

Custom lists

Oops…There is nothing here.