He Xingzhi pressed her temples, her brows furrowed into a tight knot.
Ever since transmigrating into this game, she had been plagued by headaches, accompanied by vague, flickering images in her mind.
She assumed it was just part of the player’s in-game setting and hadn’t paid it much mind, but the dull, throbbing pain was undeniably unpleasant.
"Ugh, my head hurts."
"Master, what did you just say?" Hongdou bent down, as if fearing she’d caught her master’s affliction of impaired hearing.
"Nothing, just a slight headache. Hongdou, fetch me the cooling balm."
Hongdou paused for a moment before fishing out a small jar of cooling balm from a hidden pocket in her right sleeve.
"Master, is it the headaches again? You’ve been sleeping so much these past few days, resting more than enough. The weather’s been fine too—why do they still bother you?" she muttered while scooping a dab of balm and gently massaging it into He Xingzhi’s temples.
"It’s just an old ailment, nothing serious."
Perhaps due to the game’s backstory, He Xingzhi had fallen gravely ill in her youth, leaving Hongdou perpetually anxious about her health.
"Hongdou, come look! I bought so many new hairpins and accessories. Which one should I wear today?"
Eager to change the subject, He Xingzhi glanced excitedly at the array of gold hairpins and jade ornaments spread across the table, her eyes gleaming with delight.
She picked up a gold hairpin, bringing it close to inspect. Delicate filigree coiled into endless vine-like patterns, petals layered like clouds, and the stamen adorned with tiny pearls.
She was a simple soul, utterly enchanted by such glittering treasures.
"The art team went all out with the details..."
Her fingertips traced the intricate engravings, so fine she had to squint and lean closer to see them clearly.
"Master, be careful with your eyes. Should I fetch the magnifying pearl from the accounts room?"
Noticing He Xingzhi’s narrowed eyes in the bronze mirror, Hongdou gave her shoulders a light squeeze.
She knew her master’s eyes had been weak since childhood—likely from overwork and years of squinting at ledgers in her youth.
He Xingzhi handed the hairpin to Hongdou. "No need. It’s just for tying my hair. I want to wear this one."
"Of course!" Hongdou secured the pin in just the right spot, adjusting it slightly. "Gorgeous. You look stunning in anything, Master."
"Flatterer." He Xingzhi admired her reflection in the mirror, unable to resist a little vain preening.
The bronze mirror, unlike modern ones, lacked sharp clarity, blurring her dark circles and the exhaustion from her real-world work. Its natural "soft-focus" effect made her feel as flawless as the image reflected.
With a sigh, He Xingzhi slumped back into her chair and closed her eyes.
How could she still feel so drained after sleeping so much last night?
"Master, I’ll brew you some eye-brightening tea later," Hongdou said, adding another hairpin to her updo. "The capital isn’t like Jiangnan—perhaps we can find a better physician here to treat your eyes."
She stepped in front of He Xingzhi, cupping her face in both hands.
He Xingzhi blinked her dry eyes, instinctively raising a hand to rub them. "Huh? Hongdou, did you just say something about my face?"
"Your face is lovely, Master. I said we’d find a capital physician to treat. Your. Eyes!"
Hongdou, long accustomed to this, deftly dotted decorative makeup on He Xingzhi’s cheeks.
He Xingzhi couldn’t fathom why nearsightedness—such a common modern ailment—was treated like an incurable disease by this young maid.
Still, she nodded obligingly.
After fussing with her newly styled hair in the mirror, He Xingzhi sprang up, satisfied, and began nudging Hongdou toward the door.
"You’re too young to fuss like an old steward, Hongdou."
"Master, where are we going?" Hongdou allowed herself to be herded out of the room and down toward the front courtyard.
"Feast time! Jinxi Lou has so many dishes different from Jiangnan’s. I’ve barely tried any—let’s see what their chefs can do today."
"But Master, you just ate!"
"Got hungry again. Hehe."
...
The consequences of overindulgence were immediate: a carb-induced haze, compounded by the light buzz from the wine, left He Xingzhi sprawled lazily on the daybed.
A slender hand idly waved a delicate silk fan as she yawned, gazing out at the ink-dark night beyond the window.
The night market was still lively. Tilting her head, He Xingzhi faintly caught the sounds of a theatrical performance.
Jinxi Lou kept long hours—opening at dawn when temple monks struck their wooden fish to mark the day’s start, and closing only when the night market ended well past midnight. During festivals like Lantern Day, it stayed open all night.
The He family’s breweries were famed for their Ruilu wine, crafted exclusively from the finest osmanthus blossoms of Guilin—a rival even to the imperial court’s prized Guanglu wine.
With their masterful brewing techniques and unique transportation methods, Ruilu wine had gained renown in the capital long before Jinxi Lou opened its doors here.
Beyond that, Jinxi Lou boasted several exclusive recipes, particularly for fruit wines—crisp, sweet, and universally appealing. The people of the Zhao Dynasty had a particular fondness for such drinks.
This was one reason Jinxi Lou thrived in the capital.
Even at midnight, the ground-floor hall buzzed with noise.
He Xingzhi, a quintessential STEM graduate, hadn’t studied history seriously since high school. The Zhao Dynasty had barely warranted a few pages in her middle-school textbooks.
This was her first immersive glimpse into a dynasty’s daily life. Though the game took artistic liberties, it built its world on historical logic—a peaceful, prosperous microcosm.
Truly, only a strong nation could bring its people happiness.
Even knowing this world was fake—a data-constructed escape from reality—she found solace in slipping into this crafted fantasy, a rare respite from her fast-paced, tech-saturated life.
Nights always invited melancholy musings, especially for someone tipsy like He Xingzhi.
She rolled onto her side, smacking her lips. Though she’d rinsed her mouth, the lingering taste of wine still teased her senses.
After pondering life’s grand mysteries, He Xingzhi lapsed into a blank, meditative state.
Only then did she notice the blinking red dot on her system panel.
Opening the notifications revealed a backlog of unfinished tasks—some even from the beginner quests.
Most weren’t mandatory, but completing them earned bonus points exchangeable for premium in-game items. Most players grinded quests for those rewards.
He Xingzhi collected the points for the completed tasks and carefully browsed through the list, only to find that the highest-reward task at the moment was triggering encounters with the four male leads.
To be honest, she still hadn’t grasped the appeal of the romance storyline in this game—earning money at Jinxi Lou was far more entertaining. But seeing this task worth a whopping 520 points, while the handful of completed tasks she’d just claimed barely added up to 100, made it impossible not to be tempted.
He Xingzhi quickly counted on her fingers. She had already met and spoken with the State Preceptor, the young general had been rescued by her in Jiangnan, and the Ninth Prince was a frequent visitor at Jinxi Lou, where he loved listening to storytellers spin tales. The only one she hadn’t encountered yet was the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review.
“The Minister of Judicial Review… under what circumstances would I even meet him?” He Xingzhi tossed aside her fan and rolled over.
“Whatever, the male leads will come looking for me sooner or later anyway.”
Her burst of motivation lasted all of two seconds before she collapsed back onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. Hugging a quilt over her stomach, she dozed off almost immediately.
The next day, the kitchen was bustling so much that one could hardly see the chefs’ feet beneath the chaos.
Not only were high-ranking officials like the State Preceptor and the Vice Grand Councilor visiting, but a merchant caravan from the Western Regions had also arrived in the capital.
The caravan had specifically reserved a private room at Jinxi Lou to rest, and since He Xingzhi wanted to discuss a spice trade deal with them, she had instructed the head chef to pull out all the stops for today’s menu.
At noon, the caravan approached the restaurant, accompanied by the jingling of camel bells.
He Xingzhi’s family ran a teahouse back home, and she had often helped out during summer and winter breaks. Though the Zhao Dynasty was centuries removed from modern times, the essence of running a teahouse or restaurant remained similar.
Coupled with her lifelong love for management simulation games and the advantage of being a player with insider knowledge, striking a deal was child’s play for her.
The negotiation wrapped up smoothly, and she traded tea leaves for rare spices that were hard to come by even in the capital.
Pleased with herself, He Xingzhi pinched a peppercorn between her fingers as she stepped out of the private room and headed to the small accounting office on the third floor.
Just as she emerged, she spotted Hongdou darting toward her in a fresh spring-green dress, lifting her skirt as she ran.
“Boss, how did it go?”
“Pretty well, closed a good deal. What’s got you in such a hurry, Hongdou?”
“Boss, there’s something… Lord Song can’t drink alcohol. Apparently, he breaks out in rashes and itches all over if he does. But we didn’t know, so we served him wine. Luckily, he didn’t drink it—the State Preceptor just had Liu Xiaoer replace it with tea.”
“He’s allergic to alcohol?” He Xingzhi blinked, then belatedly asked, “The State Preceptor is here?”
Her impression of the State Preceptor was quite vivid. He had sharp brows and bright eyes, yet his gaze wasn’t piercing—instead, it carried an inescapable air of compassion toward all things.
Their first meeting had been at a temple, where she drew a fortune slip she couldn’t decipher. Since it seemed unrelated to the plot, even the system hadn’t provided any hints. It was the State Preceptor who had interpreted it for her.
Though He Xingzhi was a little embarrassed to admit that even after his explanation, she still hadn’t fully understood… Years out of school, the classical Chinese she’d learned in high school had long been forgotten.
All she remembered was something about past lives and present lives—sounded like a cliché straight out of an ancient romance novel.
Hongdou nodded eagerly. “Yes, they arrived about fifteen minutes ago.”
She hesitated before adding, “Boss… do you think Lord Song and the others will hold it against us?”
“No. He didn’t tell us beforehand—ignorance isn’t a crime.” He Xingzhi said decisively. “Here’s what we’ll do: you and I will go together, apologize, and waive their tea charges.”
One of the male leads showing up at the restaurant couldn’t be a coincidence. Going by the usual tropes, this was likely a plot trigger.
He Xingzhi was reminded of the system’s task from last night.
But when she and Hongdou entered the private room, greeted the guests, waived their tea fees, and even personally brewed a fresh pot, the State Preceptor merely exchanged a few polite words with her.
Aside from the State Preceptor and Lord Song, there were four others in the room—probably officials the State Preceptor was close with in court.
He Xingzhi wore a veil, and through the thin white gauze, the scene before her was somewhat obscured. But since she was standing close, she could vaguely make out about seventy to eighty percent of the guests’ clothing and features.
She faintly sensed a gaze fixed on her and instinctively turned toward its source—a man seated to the State Preceptor’s right.
He stood out distinctly, with half of his raven-black hair tied up by a white jade hairpin. His attire was simple yet elegant, exuding both scholarly refinement and an air of nobility.
He fit He Xingzhi’s stereotypical image of a literati, but there was also… an unfamiliar sense of familiarity, as if she’d seen him somewhere in the capital before.
Beyond that, she couldn’t see much else, though she could guess his looks were certainly striking.
Being nearsighted, she didn’t even realize the two of them had been making eye contact.
It wasn’t until after she left the room that her mind kept circling back to that unfamiliar man.
“Hey, Hongdou, who was that unfamiliar face sitting to the State Preceptor’s right?” He Xingzhi asked curiously.
Hongdou blinked in surprise. “Boss, didn’t I tell you yesterday? That was Lord Song.”
“What?” He Xingzhi’s voice rose involuntarily.
Hongdou hushed her—they were still on the third floor, after all—and tugged at her sleeve, whispering, “Why the sudden shock? Did you really not recognize him?”
He Xingzhi shook her head innocently, mimicking Hongdou’s hushed tone. “How would I know? I’ve never seen him before!”
Her mental image of the Vice Grand Councilor had been that of an old man, and she couldn’t reconcile it with his male lead-worthy appearance.
“I thought he’d be an old geezer, at least around the Grand Tutor’s age.”
As she spoke, He Xingzhi stroked her chin, imitating the Grand Tutor’s beard-stroking mannerism.
