Transmigrated into a Novel: Married the Villain and Got Spoiled into a Salted Fish

Jade towers and golden halls, laurel palaces and orchid courts. Outside the Zichen Hall, the palace maids held their breath, not daring to lift their eyes toward the chamber within. “Justice is clear as day! How could I, Princess Qin Fei, ever be forced to wed Cen Hejue, a treacherous minister? If Father insists on compelling me, then I shall, right here before all…” Her face had been set in defiance, ready to die rather than yield. Yet in the next instant, her expression went blank, her words veering sharply: “…then I shall, right here before all, agree to this marriage!” Emperor Qin choked on his tea, caught between swallowing and spitting, nearly fainting on the spot. “Wh-what?!” Qin Fei exhaled deeply in her heart. She had transmigrated. Just now. Into a notorious tearjerker of a novel—A Farewell to the King—a story said to make readers shed eight pounds in tears. Whether it was tragic or not didn’t matter. Qin Fei’s focus was entirely on those eight pounds. The novel was cruel for cruelty’s sake: the hero and heroine loved each other, but the hero was ambitious and opportunistic. For the throne, he became a “phoenix man,” filling his harem with powerful women, climbing ever upward. Though he saved twenty years of struggle, he left the heroine battered and broken. Their misunderstandings were never resolved; she took her own life, and he later died of grief at her grave. In the end, the villain triumphed, reaching the pinnacle of power. Qin Fei admitted the writing was vicious. She felt nothing for the melodramatic love story, but found herself fascinated by the villain’s rise. She had been driving when she finished listening to the audiobook. Not a single tear fell; instead, she wanted to slam the brakes and write a ten-thousand-word scathing review. But before she could, she crashed into a guardrail, tumbled off a bridge, and sank into the river— And now, here she was, inside this body. Not the frail, tragic heroine. Not the venomous rival. But a minor cannon-fodder character who happened to share her name. Cannon fodder was fine. Cannon fodder without sense was fatal.

The Eighth Princess of Qin, Qin Fei, youngest of the royal brood, spoiled into arrogance by her father’s indulgence. Outwardly cherished, but in truth, the Emperor’s real affection lay with his third daughter, Qin Xiu—the novel’s vicious supporting role. Rumor had it that Cen Hejue, long unmarried, was secretly devoted to Qin Xiu. Cen Hejue, Preceptor of the court, wielded immense power. His elder brother was the General of the Auxiliary State, commanding the army. The Cen clan stood in both civil and military spheres, a looming threat to the Emperor. How could he send his beloved Qin Xiu into the tiger’s jaws? Instead, he offered up the pampered Eighth Princess as a token gesture. A neat, ruthless sacrifice. That was the original Qin Fei’s purpose—nothing more than a shield. But the girl herself didn’t know. She only saw her father’s sudden coldness, his decree that she marry a notorious “traitor.” In the current plot, Qin Fei had already been ensnared by the hero’s schemes and naturally refused to wed Cen Hejue. Thus, this scene: her public rejection of the match, her bold declaration that she would marry the son of the Minister of State, none other than the hero, Song Jinglan. Song Jinglan was cunning and ruthless. He seduced Qin Fei, courted Qin Xiu, all to seize the throne. Qin Fei, a twenty-something with zero romantic experience, regarded such trash men as disposable. “…” Silence fell around her. After finishing her inner monologue, Qin Fei turned to survey the men before her. Closest stood a young man of striking beauty—jade-like features, red lips and white teeth, clad in flowing white robes, elegant and debonair. Hmm. A textbook pretty-boy face. “Master Song?” Song Jinglan’s brows knit. This foolish princess had always gazed at him with adoration, calling him Song Lang. Why was she suddenly so polite today?

The face was the same—radiant, yes—but the mind was empty, nothing compared to Nian’er. Still, that was a kind of advantage. First bring this idiot into the fold, then bring Nian’er in. With his skill, controlling this fool would be no problem. He would never let Nian’er suffer, and his father would be appeased. “Princess, do not anger His Majesty for Jinglan’s sake.” Song Jinglan leaned closer, lowering his voice in feigned devotion: “His Majesty is your father. If he truly wishes to tear us apart, then Jinglan can only bury his feelings deep within. Alas, you are to marry Perceptor Cen, that sort of man. If only Jinglan could rival him, I would steal you away to my side.” Qin Fei nearly failed to hide the contempt in her eyes. Still, credit where it was due—she actually saw a flicker of red sincerity there. Serves him right to live off this kind of trickery! She slowly turned her head, catching the Emperor’s bewildered gaze. Wait. In the novel, Qin Fei only appeared in ten chapters. At the public refusal scene, the great villain Cen Hejue was present in the hall. Her eyes swept the chamber, then caught on a black-lacquered screen embroidered with silver mountains and rivers. Large enough to hide a man. Her heart stirred. Song Jinglan thought she was faltering, ready to press his advantage—when suddenly her collar was yanked back by a woman’s hand, and a sharp knock landed squarely on his head. The Emperor recoiled in shock; the screen trembled. “Well, well, Song Jinglan! Daring to slander my future consort before me—how many lives do you think you have? Careful, or I’ll chop off your head and water the flowers with it!” The Emperor gasped, “Future consort?” Qin Fei tossed Song Jinglan aside and cooed sweetly: “Yes, Father. In truth, I have long admired Perceptor Cen. Since you wish to grant me to him, then surely he is my future consort.” Behind the screen, a eunuch serving tea sneaked a glance at Cen Hejue. The man’s face held only scorn. “But didn’t you say Cen Hejue was a sly, black-hearted fox, guilty of every evil?” the Emperor asked, not realizing he had just bartered away his daughter. Qin Fei’s smile stiffened. In the novel, the original Qin Fei loathed Cen Hejue to the bone—she would burn mugwort after merely brushing past him, to ward off ill luck. Though she had no memory of the original, the text made it clear: their relationship was terrible. Yet now, she had no choice but to marry Cen Hejue. Not because Song Jinglan was too awful. On the contrary, if marriage to Song Jinglan were truly possible, she might grit her teeth and endure it. But the Emperor had no intention of pairing her with Song Jinglan.

The Qin realm seemed calm, but the rival Qi kingdom repeatedly provoked them. The aging Emperor feared war and had long planned to marry off a princess. The unlucky pawn chosen was Qin Fei. In the novel, the Emperor believed she had only two uses. First, by marrying her into the Cen family, she would ruin them—since a royal consort could not hold military power, Cen Hejue’s elder brother would be forced to surrender his command. Second, if Cen Hejue refused the marriage, Qin Fei could be sent to Qi as a peace bride. The original Qin Fei’s fate was exactly that: betrothed to Qi. But before reaching the kingdom, she was assaulted and killed by “bandits” along the way—though in truth it was orchestrated by Qi, meant to provoke war with Qin. The Emperor, a coward, ignored the obvious truth. His daughter’s tragic end didn’t move him; he simply sent another minister’s concubine-born daughter in her place, a pitiful, fawning substitute. Qin Fei loathed this old fool. Yet to maintain her character’s image, she clung to his sleeve and wheedled: “Father, I am still a maiden. How could I openly confess my feelings for Perceptor Cen? My scolding was just a way of showing affection—‘to strike is to love, to curse is to care.’” The Emperor inhaled sharply. “Then what about the straw dolls you stuck with pins for Perceptor Cen?” “Straw dolls??” Qin Fei pointed at herself. “Me?” “Yes.” The Emperor, oblivious to Cen Hejue’s presence, began listing her misdeeds: “On rainy days, you had his umbrella torn, when he rode, you removed the wheel from his carriage, when he wrote memorials all night, you smeared them black, and—” “Enough!” The novel had never mentioned any of this. Qin Fei’s head throbbed. “Let’s just say I was uncouth before.” The Emperor raised a brow. “It was only to catch his attention,” Qin Fei forced a smile, her eyes darting toward the screen. With Cen Hejue’s legendary abilities, surely he was already plotting how to silence her without a trace. The Emperor stroked his chin. “Who would have thought? You truly are devoted to him. But marriage must be mutual. Hejue, come out.” Qin Fei’s heart sank. What was this? Why not simply decree the marriage—why ask Cen Hejue? From behind the great black-lacquered screen, a figure slowly emerged. Qin Fei’s gaze flickered, involuntarily drawn to the tall silhouette. The novel had never described Cen Hejue’s appearance. Judging by how much the original Qin Fei despised him, he must have been plain. After all, who doesn’t like a handsome face? She looked at him without much expectation.

The novel never specified Cen Hejue’s age, but the man before her was far younger than Qin Fei had imagined. He looked to be in his early twenties. His dark robe embroidered with dragons swept the floor, cinched at the waist with a white jade belt. Unlike Song Jinglan, his black hair was not bound in a scholar’s crown but tied high with a silver coronet. Tall and lean, his frame carried the elegance of pine and crane, radiating nobility. He did not lift his eyes to her—perhaps because the original Qin Fei had never been close enough to meet his gaze. That left her free to study him openly. Fair skin, long brows, dark eyes. A tiny crimson mole sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, adding a touch of charm to his striking features. His beauty was undeniable, yet his bearing was aloof, cold, like a thousand shards of icy jade—distant, untouchable. Holy— He was gorgeous. If the original Qin Fei were still alive, she would have told her straight: Respect, sister. You’ve got guts. Cen Hejue looked like this, and she still despised him? Qin Fei’s gaze flicked between Song Jinglan and Cen Hejue. The difference was immediate, glaring. Were the original’s eyes growing out of her heels? Before, Qin Fei had only admired Cen Hejue’s political skill. Now she had converted from career fan to face fan. “Did you hear that, Hejue?” the Emperor chuckled. “Fei’er has long admired you.” Qin Fei nodded vigorously, hoping to catch the handsome man’s attention. But he didn’t spare her a glance. “Your Highness, do not mock your servant,” Cen Hejue said, his words falling like pearls on jade, his voice low and rich. Even his voice was beautiful! “Fei’er, Fei’er,” the Emperor nudged her with his elbow when she froze. Qin Fei snapped back to herself and turned to the old fool. “What did he say? He’s too handsome—I was busy staring at his face.” The Emperor repeated: “He said you were mocking him.” Cen Hejue’s brows furrowed as he finally raised his eyes to Qin Fei. This woman was acting strangely today—had that Song fellow whispered some crooked scheme into her ear? “Ahem…” Qin Fei straightened her expression. “Perceptor, my feelings are sincere. If I weren’t serious, why would I choose to ‘mock’ you and not someone else?” Cen Hejue’s brow arched, his disdain plain in his gaze. “After all, Your Highness’s devotion to Master Song is clear as the sun and moon. Did you forget? At the academy, you even composed a poem in public to confess your feelings to him.” Qin Fei froze. Academy? A poem? Right—the novel had mentioned Cen Hejue teaching the princes and princesses. In such cases, they could select ministers’ children as study companions. Song Jinglan was the Second Prince Qin Jin’s companion. As for the original Qin Fei writing a poem for Song Jinglan—she truly didn’t remember. Likely just a passing detail. “I… wrote a poem…” Qin Fei stammered, then a sudden idea struck. She stepped closer to Cen Hejue—and nearly gasped. Up close, he was even more handsome than from afar. She jabbed a finger against his chest. Solid muscle. Firmer than the martial brothers she’d seen at the training hall. Clearly a man of discipline. If not for Cen Hejue’s expression icing over at lightning speed, she might have been tempted to poke him again. “Eighth Princess,” Cen Hejue ground out between his teeth. Qin Fei withdrew her hand, feigning a pout. “And whose fault is that?” Cen Hejue’s face darkened. “What does this have to do with me?” “I only wanted to test whether you cared,” Qin Fei huffed, then shot Song Jinglan a glare before turning back to Cen Hejue with feigned tenderness. “I wanted to know—if I liked someone else, would you be jealous?” Cen Hejue’s expression remained unmoved, clearly unconvinced. Song Jinglan, however, frowned deeply. He prided himself on reading hearts. Qin Fei’s girlish affection for him had once been genuine—so why had she suddenly changed sides? The Emperor coughed twice from the throne. “A young girl’s heart is truly hard to guess.” Earlier Qin Fei had seemed to loathe Cen Hejue, so even the Emperor believed she had no interest. But if she did, then the marriage would be easy to arrange. “Hejue, Little Eight has gone to great lengths for you. I still recall—your father’s favorite among my daughters was Little Eight. Now that he is gone, and you’ve remained unmarried all these years, it is time you considered a match.” Qin Fei sneered inwardly. She had suspected something was off. The old Emperor was always calculating—why would he suddenly ask Cen Hejue’s opinion? A false kindness, in truth, a pressure tactic. Cen Hejue replied coolly: “I am fine alone.” The Emperor cared little about whether Cen Hejue remained single. What concerned him were the rampant rumors of Cen Hejue’s devotion to Qin Xiu—and above all, the safety of his precious daughter. Qin Fei guessed what the old emperor was worrying about. She leaned closer to Cen Hejue and lowered her voice: “Perceptor, it’s better if you marry me.” Cen Hejue’s gaze fixed on her face, his eyes flickering slightly. Qin Fei pressed on: “Qin Xiu’s schemes are more tangled than the knots in the Matchmaker’s red strings. If you marry her, you’ll exhaust yourself daily. But if you marry me—well, I have no great virtues, but I don’t like to think too hard, I’m lazy and fond of food. Easy to manage.” “Manage?” Cen Hejue studied her. Gone was the usual arrogance and petulance. The Qin Fei he knew prided herself on her brilliance—she would never belittle herself like this. Which meant… this was not the same Qin Fei. “I promise, if you marry me, I won’t interfere in anything you do. Outwardly, you’ll have a wife, and a princess at that. Even if others want to send beauties your way, they’ll hesitate because of my status.” She winked. “All I ask is food and lodging. Let me be a happy salted fish in your household.” “Salted fish?” Cen Hejue’s eyes narrowed, a trace of mocking amusement glinting within. “Does Your Highness not know the rumors about me?” “Of course I do. Perceptor Cen is capable of anything.” Qin Fei shot him a look. “With you assisting, Qin’s empire will be unshakable.” Her words were hard to read—whether careless or deliberate. But one thing was true: Cen Hejue hated trouble. His household was empty, fueling endless speculation. Only by securing the Emperor’s trust could he accomplish his aims. Qin Fei—or rather, whoever now wore Qin Fei’s skin—might indeed serve as his shield. “Your servant dares to beg His Majesty’s grace: permit me to wed the Eighth Princess.” Cen Hejue bowed slightly, his words ringing through the Zichen Hall, echoing long after. — Red-tiled roofs, carved beams, painted rafters. Qin Fei sat in her bridal sedan, admiring the scenery, her mind still replaying Cen Hejue’s request to marry her. To suddenly wed the novel’s great villain—even if she had asked for it herself—was hard to digest. Yet Cen Hejue had been easier to persuade than she imagined. Perhaps because she had struck the right chord. In the novel, Cen Hejue was cast as the antagonist, scheming for the throne, destroying the royal family, and branded as ambitious and disloyal. But in truth, it all stemmed from a battle years ago. His father, then a general, was captured while saving the Emperor. The Emperor could have commanded the army to rescue him, but out of cowardice, he delayed, waiting for reinforcements. Father Cen lost his life. Cen Hejue, upon learning the truth, had endured years of patience at court to avenge his father. In the end, he seized the throne and slaughtered the Qin royal family. By her guess, a ruthless man like Cen Hejue would never weigh love above ambition. The old emperor was desperate to plant a woman