After a brief midday rest, the afternoon arrangements began.
Consort Ning, in charge of the palace affairs for the day, had clearly made thorough preparations. Many of the ladies visiting the palace were elderly and tended to grow weary in the afternoon, struggling to stay lively even while conversing with the Empress Dowager.
To accommodate them—and knowing the Empress Dowager’s fondness for opera—Consort Ning had arranged for the Music and Performance Bureau to stage a theatrical performance. Sitting and watching the opera while chatting was a perfect way to entertain without exertion, and it would surely please the Empress Dowager.
The Cining Palace had its own private rear garden. A stage was set up there, along with tables, chairs, and an assortment of snacks and tea. Once everyone was seated, the performance began.
For Qi Daiyu, this was her first time watching an opera since transmigrating into this world, and she was thrilled to witness the finest performances of the era.
First, she secretly snapped a photo with her phone and posted it to her social media:
"Ninth day of the ninth month—praying for blessings, watching opera, and cracking melon seeds."
She carefully arranged the nine-grid layout, making sure to include everyone present in the photos.
After admiring the pictures, Qi Daiyu turned her attention to the stage.
At the time, mixed dramas and legends were popular. She had heard that The Peony Pavilion was all the rage among the common folk, but its themes didn’t suit the occasion, so it wasn’t included in today’s program.
To align with the Double Ninth Festival, most of the selections were drawn from The Twenty-Four Filial Exemplars, interspersed with some contemporary favorites.
Qi Daiyu flipped through the opera program—there was quite a variety: Joy in Colorful Robes, Guo Ju Buries His Son for Filial Piety, Journey to the West, The Female Top Scholar Declines the Phoenix for the Phoenix…
Her eyes lit up when she spotted Journey to the West, but when the performance began, she realized this version was different from the one she knew—it was an earlier adaptation, still recounting the tale of Tang Sanzang and his three disciples’ pilgrimage to the West.
In her past life, Qi Daiyu had never properly attended a live opera performance, and she had expected to find it hard to appreciate. Yet, to her surprise, she was quickly drawn in. The performers from the Music and Performance Bureau were highly trained, their acting and vocal skills impeccable. At the most riveting moments, she even forgot to crack the melon seeds in her hand.
That said, having been exposed to modern television and films, she still found some operas difficult to sit through—like Guo Ju Buries His Son for Filial Piety.
She couldn’t bear to watch that one, nor did she want to.
So she tuned out and eavesdropped on the conversations around her instead.
The imperial consorts were seated close together, though not too near the front.
Thanks to Concubine Miao’s earlier remarks, none of them were fully focused on the opera. Instead, they were discreetly observing the young noblewomen in attendance, already identifying a few "potential rivals."
Following their gazes, Qi Daiyu spotted two in particular—both had previously paid their respects to the Empress Dowager, so she remembered their names.
One was the daughter of the Left Vice Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate (a fourth-rank official), and the other was the daughter of the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review (a third-rank official). Both were striking in appearance and demeanor, their every move carefully polished to perfection.
If they were merely beautiful, it wouldn’t be such a concern—the palace was never short of lovely faces. What truly unsettled the consorts was the status of these women’s fathers.
Though third and fourth-rank officials couldn’t compare to first or second-rank ministers or the nobility, the Left Vice Censor-in-Chief and the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review were currently favored by the Emperor—rising stars in the court, his trusted confidants.
This meant that even if the Emperor had no personal interest in these women, he might still bring them into the palace as a gesture of favor to their fathers. And once inside, they could easily gain his affection precisely because of their family backgrounds.
After all, there was already a living example in the palace—Concubine Shu’s enduring favor was largely attributed to her father’s status as the Emperor’s right-hand man.
Of course, Concubine Shu’s charm played a role too, but the other consorts weren’t thinking about that right now.
All they knew was that if these two women entered the palace, they’d have two more formidable rivals to contend with.
Especially for lower-ranking consorts like Consort Cao and Consort Ma, their frustration was barely concealed.
Qi Daiyu observed their silent exchanges for a moment before dismissing them.
It wasn’t her concern anyway! Not only did she not care whether these women entered the palace, but even if she did, what could she do? She had no favor with the Emperor—her peaceful life so far was entirely thanks to the Empress’s protection. And with no influential family backing her, she couldn’t even gather information about these young ladies.
So it was best to stay out of it.
Having eaten too many melon seeds, Qi Daiyu felt parched and drank several cups of tea. Soon, the need to relieve herself arose, and she quietly slipped away to freshen up.
The Cining Palace had a small side chamber designated for this purpose. After finishing her business, Qi Daiyu was on her way back to the garden when she caught sight of a familiar figure hurrying away.
"Is that Ju Yi from Kunning Palace?"
Having paid her respects at Kunning Palace several times, Qi Daiyu had memorized the four senior maids serving the Empress. Unless she was mistaken, that was indeed Ju Yi leaving in a rush.
Shiliu confirmed, "It’s Ju Yi."
Qi Daiyu frowned. "Did something happen to the Eldest Princess?"
Since the Empress was away from the palace, she naturally couldn’t bring the young Eldest Princess with her. The Empress Dowager, who adored the child, had arranged for her to stay in a side chamber of Cining Palace, both to keep her close and ensure she was well cared for in the Empress’s absence.
With everyone now gathered in the rear garden for the opera, the front halls were likely understaffed. Qi Daiyu worried that something might have happened to the Eldest Princess.
Even if it was a misunderstanding, the Empress had been genuinely kind to her, and maintaining her current lifestyle still depended on the Empress’s goodwill. To Qi Daiyu, the Empress was essentially her boss, and the Eldest Princess—the boss’s daughter—deserved her concern.
"Let’s go check," Qi Daiyu decided without hesitation, heading toward the side chamber.
Before she even reached the door, she heard faint sobbing from inside.
Quickening her pace, Qi Daiyu entered and saw the Eldest Princess in tears. Yet, even while crying, the child maintained her royal bearing—her lips pressed together, eyes and nose red, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Clearly, the Empress had taught her well: even tears must be shed gracefully. But the Eldest Princess was still young, and though she tried to control herself, occasional sniffles escaped.
The sight was both pitiful and endearing.
Qi Daiyu had a soft spot for children, and her professional instincts kicked in. She hurried over, crouched down, and pulled out a handkerchief to gently wipe the Eldest Princess’s face.
In her gentlest voice, she cooed, "Why is my little treasure crying?"
She smiled warmly, her expression tender.
The Eldest Princess blinked, momentarily stunned out of her tears.
She recognized this woman—Consort Qi.
But… did she just call her treasure?
Even her doting parents, the Emperor and Empress, had never called her that.
It was the first time she’d heard such an openly affectionate term. She understood its meaning—something precious, worthy of love.
"Does Consort Ning like her so much?" The Eldest Princess momentarily forgot her tears, shyly turning her head away.
Zhuyi, who had been holding and comforting the Eldest Princess, was also taken aback.
Consort Ning had appeared so suddenly that before she could react, the consort had already knelt down to console the Eldest Princess—something she hadn’t expected.
Holding the Eldest Princess, Zhuyi took a slight step back and explained, "The Eldest Princess is fussy from lack of sleep and insisted on seeing you."
Qi Daiyu pondered this. The Eldest Princess was still young and naturally dependent on the Empress. Today, with so many people in the Empress Dowager’s palace, it was no wonder she felt timid. Moreover, the Eldest Princess had a habit of napping in the afternoon, but with the opera performance in the Empress Dowager’s garden, the constant clanging of gongs and drums must have made it impossible for her to rest properly.
She then asked, "I just saw Ju Yi?"
Zhuyi replied, "The Eldest Princess wanted Mianmian—the rabbit doll you made. These days, she refuses to sleep without holding it. Ju Yi went back to the Empress’s palace to fetch it."
So that was it. Qi Daiyu felt relieved. She wasn’t particularly pleased that the Eldest Princess adored the rabbit doll. From a psychological perspective, children often develop attachments to certain objects—like stuffed toys or blankets—when they lack a sense of security, a phenomenon known as "transitional objects." As for naming dolls, Qi Daiyu had seen it countless times before.
The Eldest Princess’s emotions hadn’t entirely faded. Despite her shyness, fear and grievance welled up again, tears pooling in her eyes.
Qi Daiyu’s heart softened. Spotting the handkerchief in her hand, she deftly folded it into the shape of a small rabbit. "Eldest Princess, does this look like Mianmian?"
Instantly distracted, the Eldest Princess widened her eyes. She couldn’t yet distinguish materials but saw only that Qi Daiyu had conjured another rabbit in her hands.
"Mianmian? A smaller Mianmian?"
Qi Daiyu smiled. "This isn’t Mianmian. This is Mianmian’s friend, sent by Mianmian to keep you company until Mianmian arrives to join you."
"Really?"
"Of course! See, doesn’t it look just like Mianmian?"
The best way to stop a child from crying is to divert their attention—a trick that worked perfectly on the Eldest Princess.
She took the handkerchief rabbit from Qi Daiyu and soon broke into a smile.
Zhuyi let out a long sigh of relief.
"Consort Ning, thank you so much this time." If they hadn’t been able to calm the Eldest Princess and she had cried herself hoarse, they would have had a hard time explaining it to the Empress when she returned.
"It’s nothing, just a small matter."
Still, Zhuyi committed the kindness to memory. "But Consort Ning, your hands are truly skillful." To shape a mere handkerchief into a rabbit…
Qi Daiyu thought to herself, This is nothing. She could not only fold handkerchiefs into rabbits but also handle all sorts of paper crafts—origami, paper-cutting, and the like.
Just basic skills for early childhood education, that’s all.
Of course, she couldn’t say that aloud. Instead, she simply smiled. "Just a little pastime to pass the time."
She had an excuse ready—someone who had once been confined to bed would naturally turn to such things for amusement, wouldn’t they?
Zhuyi understood immediately and didn’t press further, not wanting to dredge up painful memories for Consort Ning.
Soon, Ju Yi returned from the Empress’s palace.
"Mianmian!" With the real friend now here, the makeshift one was promptly forgotten. The Eldest Princess even turned to Qi Daiyu in delight. "Mianmian really came!"
Qi Daiyu smiled at her. "Of course. Mianmian is your good friend. When you need her, she’ll always hurry to your side."
The Eldest Princess beamed even brighter. She remembered her mother saying that Consort Ning was a good person. Ever since Qi Daiyu had given her "Mianmian," she had liked her. Now, after Qi Daiyu had even summoned Mianmian’s friend for her, her fondness grew.
She even stopped reaching for Zhuyi and instead stretched her arms toward Qi Daiyu.
Qi Daiyu froze, immediately glancing at Zhuyi and Ju Yi’s expressions.
Zhuyi merely looked surprised, but Ju Yi pressed her lips together.
Qi Daiyu asked Zhuyi, "May I… hold her?"
Zhuyi replied, "If the Eldest Princess wishes it, of course. We only worry it might tire you."
But the Eldest Princess leaned forward insistently. "I want!"
Afraid she might fall, Qi Daiyu had no choice but to pick her up.
Zhuyi had initially worried that Consort Ning, having never borne children, might not know how to hold the Eldest Princess properly, causing discomfort. Yet to her surprise, Qi Daiyu’s posture was flawless.
After just a few minutes, Qi Daiyu began to regret it. This body was far too frail, with virtually no arm strength. Her muscles were already aching.
Zhuyi noticed her struggle. "Would you like to sit on the couch?" With support, it might be easier.
Qi Daiyu nodded and moved toward the couch. Zhuyi and the others quickly arranged a large cushion behind her for support.
Knowing the Eldest Princess needed to sleep, Zhuyi dismissed the other attendants, leaving only herself and Ju Yi waiting in the outer chamber.
Ju Yi frowned and pulled her aside, whispering, "Is it wise to leave her alone with the Eldest Princess?" What if Consort Ning had ill intentions?
Zhuyi signaled for her to lower her voice. "Consort Ning is someone the Empress favors." Even Concubine Shu wouldn’t dare harm the Eldest Princess, let alone a mere consort. Besides, Consort Ning relied on the Empress’s goodwill—she wouldn’t be foolish enough to sabotage her own future.
Ju Yi pursed her lips. Among the Empress’s four senior maids, she was the least fond of Consort Ning. From the start, she hadn’t understood why the Empress showed her such favor. Even if it was repayment for saving her life, two years of kindness should have been enough. Why go so far as to secure her prospects?
Now, Ju Yi felt another surge of resentment. She had been the one to rush back to fetch Mianmian, yet the Eldest Princess clung to Consort Ning instead.
Her eyes darkened.
Inside, the Eldest Princess, truly exhausted, clung to Mianmian and nestled against Qi Daiyu, her head nodding sleepily.
When Qi Daiyu judged she was nearly asleep, she tried to lay her down—only for the Eldest Princess to snap her eyes open the moment she touched the cushion, gripping Qi Daiyu’s sleeve with a pout.
Qi Daiyu: "…"
Some things truly are universal across worlds—children everywhere are the same.
Resigned, she picked the Eldest Princess back up.
Over the next while, Qi Daiyu attempted several more times, but each time she tried to set the Eldest Princess down, the girl would immediately stir awake.
Finally, Qi Daiyu gave up.
She settled in, holding the Eldest Princess, and pulled up the holographic screen in front of her to pass the time with a drama.
Before starting, she remembered the post she’d made earlier and opened it to edit:
"Ninth day of the ninth month: prayers, opera, sunflower seeds, and babysitting."
