At the corner gate, Zhang Laosan's raspy voice was finally swallowed up by the sandstorm that filled the sky, vanishing without a trace.
A few garrison soldiers dragged and carried that mutilated body with only one arm, hauling it forcibly down the wall's horse ramp.
Xu Qinghuan paused at the windward opening.
She stared for a while at the muddy trail left by the dragging, then turned, pulled her cloak tighter, and led Qingque back to the residence.
Returning to the side courtyard, she was greeted by stacked documents and memorials piled high on the desk.
Xu Qinghuan sat down, idly shuffling through the papers with her fingers.
A thousand tangled threads, all tied to this modest desk.
The more she looked at these words, the more she felt like a performer forced onto a stage, playing a role she hadn't rehearsed.
Thousands of eyes watched from below, gongs clanging in her ears, yet she was the only one on stage, a solitary solo.
Looking around, could there really be no one to take this deadly burden off her hands?
Outsiders all said the Imperial Envoy never miscalculated, but who knew that deep down, she was merely a merchant's daughter who just wanted to muddle through her days and return home early?
Qingque entered with a freshly decocted calming tea, steam rising, the scent of herbs bitter and strong.
"Set it down here. You may withdraw," Xu Qinghuan raised a hand.
Seeing her weary expression, Qingque dared not linger, placed the bowl down, and exited, shutting the door behind her.
The room sank back into deathly silence.
Xu Qinghuan leaned back in her chair, tilted her head up, and began listlessly counting the rafters in the ceiling beams.
One, two, three… By the third count, the stifling weight in her chest hadn't dissipated; it only grew heavier.
Unable to hold back any longer, she closed her eyes and summoned the long-dormant "Get Rich by Ruthless Means" system in her mind.
A blue, luminescent screen flickered to life in her consciousness.
Xu Qinghuan stared coldly at that rigid panel and cut straight to the chase with a question.
"System! Do you still remember our original contract, black and white: spend a hundred million, ruin my reputation, and return home with a billion? How did it turn into me being stuck guarding the border, burning supply lines for the entire Northern Frontier, and scheming over tens of thousands of lives?"
"Where the hell has this landed me!"
The System was silent for a moment before coldly flashing four words:
"Contract terms unchanged."
Xu Qinghuan laughed in anger, sitting up straight to argue with this unfeeling lump point by point.
"Unaffected? Open your eyes and look at my situation!" She slapped the stack of memorials on the desk. "I bought spoiled rice for porridge, intending to disgust the refugees and ruin my name—but I ended up a living female saint who saved countless lives. I spent a fortune building the Brocade Tower, locking innocent girls inside without entertaining guests, planning to squander wildly—only to accidentally train the first batch of female officials in Great Qian. I emptied my family's coffers to send glass to enemy nations, hoping to be convicted of treason—instead, it became a masterstroke to corrode the enemy's high command, and even my greedy father got promoted to Grand Secretary of the Cabinet!"
She paused, slightly breathless, picked up the cold tea on the table to moisten her throat, then sneered: "And now? Not only was my family not seized, but I have to plan a retreat for tens of thousands of border troops, and even set fire to the barbarians' grain stores myself. Tell me, at what step did I go wrong?"
The System remained utterly unperturbed, its characters unchanged:
"Host's spending records are normal. No anomalies."
This dry reply landened like a fist hitting cotton.
Xu Qinghuan stared at the line of text. Abandoning any pretense of strategy or dignity, she poured out all her pent-up grievances to this cold, wooden block.
From the wagon ruts left by secret agents watching her when she left the capital, to the late-night battle map drills that lasted until cockcrow.
From old General Tie Lanshan's petitions, to Zhang Laosan's empty sleeve.
The more she spoke, the more aggrieved she felt. But when her frustration peaked, it twisted into a sense of absurd humor.
"In my past life, I'd never even killed a chicken. Now, life and death are always on my lips. Heaven must be blind to place such a heavy burden on someone who just wants to run away." She shook her head, laughing bitterly at herself.
The System remained utterly silent, only occasionally flashing a few runes or numbers indicating operation, without a single word of comfort.
Yet Xu Qinghuan felt somewhat relieved.
If she complained to Qingque, or to her father and brother far away in the capital, she'd have to maintain the Imperial Envoy's dignity, read their expressions, and weigh which words to say and which to suppress.
But with this cold, hard object, she could speak without restraint, without fearing leaks—and it was surprisingly cathartic.
All the world thought she was a master strategist; only this dead thing knew her true nature.
Letting out a breath, she leaned back and asked casually: "You soulless thing, since you've pushed me as a pawn, can't you at least give me a hint? How much longer must this dead-end game drag on?"
It was merely a vent. She never expected the System to answer.
But an unexpected change occurred.
The blue screen didn't immediately display its standard reply. Instead, it stalled in an eerie pause. For a full two seconds, the blue glow flickered erratically.
Then, half a line of corroded old-record characters abruptly jumped up, the script glowing dark red.
But before Xu Qinghuan could make out what it said, those half-line characters disintegrated, as if burned away, erased without a trace.
Xu Qinghuan shot upright: "What was that just now? What are you hiding from me!"
The System screen returned to its cold blue light, and the icy text reappeared:
[Contract terms unchanged.]
When she pressed further, it was met by dead silence. No matter how she coerced or coaxed, those half-line characters never reappeared.
Xu Qinghuan frowned deeply.
That sudden anomaly just now wasn't her imagination.
The System, though rigid, never erred. That forcibly erased content must conceal matters of grave importance.
She focused, scouring her memory of the years since arriving in Great Qian.
She vaguely recalled that in the first few months after transmigrating, her head had been filled entirely with schemes to waste money, ruin her family, and drive her corrupt father mad.
Back then, the System had indeed occasionally shown different prompts.
At the time, she was too busy testing the limits of this world, and seeing those words irrelevant to "spending," she found them annoying and dismissed them without a glance.
"Could the answer have been right there…"
Xu Qinghuan's fingers tapped unconsciously on the desk.
She strained to grasp those fragments of old memory, trying to piece together a word or phrase from the depths of her mind.
Yet it was like fishing for a fine needle through thick fog. The harder she reached, the further the phantom image receded; the more she recalled, the sharper her headache grew.
"You damned System! What the hell did you say?"
She questioned again in her consciousness.
The System continued to play dead, its screen dimming, fully silent.
All Xu Qinghuan could do was mentally flip it off, rolling her eyes at the screen.
"Ah! Damn heaven! Damn system!"
