"Your Highness... how can this be considered a gift? At most, it should be called returning lost property," Zhou Shengsheng said with an awkward laugh.
[Don’t make me kneel and beg you, please don’t!]
Song Weiqing ignored her and instead brought up another matter.
"You and I are fated. Now that you’re stranded outside the palace, and I’ve always found you agreeable, it just so happens I’m in need of a personal maid."
Zhou Shengsheng forced a smile and explained, "Your Highness, I’ve said this many times—Consort Duan didn’t banish me from the palace. It was during my journey back to the Zhu Kingdom with Miss Jiang from the Yong Kingdom that we encountered an assassination attempt, forcing us to take refuge in the Zhen Kingdom."
"I see," Song Weiqing said, nodding with sudden understanding, his expression feigning surprise.
Relieved that he finally grasped the situation, Zhou Shengsheng let out a quiet sigh.
But then he continued, "So, you accidentally discovered one of Consort Duan’s major secrets, were exiled to the Yong Kingdom, and on your way back, assassins sent by the consort ambushed you. Yet, against all odds, you survived and ended up in the Zhen Kingdom."
"Am I right?" His earnest eyes gleamed under the lamplight.
Taking a deep breath, Zhou Shengsheng felt the urge to kneel right then and there.
It was true that she knew Duan Fusheng’s secret—but how did this man spin such an elaborate tale out of thin air?!
[Do you have some grudge against Duan Fusheng? How many novels do you have to read daily to concoct such a dramatic plot?!]
She was exhausted. Fine, whatever.
[Though the circumstances of their meeting differed slightly from the original novel’s plot, at least she had finally crossed paths with him. She had been worrying about how to stay by Song Weiqing’s side, and now the perfect opportunity had presented itself.]
"If Your Highness requires it, I shall serve. However, I must eventually return to the Zhu Kingdom."
Hearing the word "plot," a thoughtful glint flickered in Song Weiqing’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Jiang Zhiyu was the first to protest loudly upon hearing Zhou Shengsheng’s decision to become Song Weiqing’s maid.
"Don’t go, please! He’s a bad person!" Jiang Zhiyu clung to Zhou Shengsheng’s arm, her pretty face scrunched up in distress as if Zhou Shengsheng were about to leap into a pit of fire.
Song Weiqing remained unfazed at being called a "bad person."
The world praised the Crown Prince of Zhen Kingdom as a gentleman—humble, benevolent, and destined to be a wise ruler. But the true nature of Song Weiqing? Only he himself knew.
Zhou Shengsheng patted Jiang Zhiyu’s hand calmly, smiling like a benevolent elder. "His Highness is a wealthy man."
Jiang Zhiyu’s expression froze for a second.
Wealth = delicious food.
"Then he must be a good person! Shengsheng, you must serve His Highness well. I’ll help too!" she declared solemnly.
Zhou Shengsheng nodded with equal gravity.
Song Weiqing: "......" Since when did wealth become the standard for judging good and evil?
Speaking of money, Zhou Shengsheng suddenly remembered something entirely unrelated.
[That bastard Ming Siran... didn’t he forget to pay my wages?!]
Her pupils constricted sharply as a pang of heartache struck her like a knife!
She had assumed her ties with Ming Siran were severed for good—who knew fate had other plans?!
He never paid her! Six months’ worth of wages! Half a year of hard-earned money!
"Your Highness, I just recalled something urgent," she said, her face ashen.
Startled by her sudden distress over unpaid wages, Song Weiqing motioned for her to continue.
"I’ve just remembered an unresolved matter in the Yong Kingdom. Perhaps I could take up my duties after returning from settling it. What does Your Highness think?"
So she planned to go back and demand payment?
Song Weiqing glanced at her determined expression and, for some inexplicable reason, found Ming Siran utterly despicable.
How could he withhold wages from an honest, hardworking commoner striving to make a living?
After much persuasion from both Song Weiqing and Jiang Zhiyu, Zhou Shengsheng finally abandoned her plan to return to the Yong Kingdom for her wages. She even enthusiastically supported Song Weiqing’s idea of gifting Ming Siran the torn strip of fabric from his sleeve as a birthday present.
Thus, during the grand banquet attended by hundreds of officials, when Ming Siran opened the box—specifically marked for his personal inspection by the Crown Prince of Zhen Kingdom—and found the clearly laundered strip of cloth inside, his already stormy expression darkened further, resembling the bottom of a scorched pot.
"Zhou! Sheng! Sheng!"
He gritted out her name through clenched teeth, veins throbbing at his temples.
But he also realized something else.
Zhou Shengsheng had gone to the Zhen Kingdom—and was now entangled with Song Weiqing.
---Interlude: Happy Birthday, Old Ming---
Even when she had been punished to scrub chamber pots in the Xinzhe Repository, Zhou Shengsheng had never felt this exhausted.
Her hands trembled slightly as she turned helplessly toward the man leisurely reading a novel beside her. "Your Highness, must I really copy all these Buddhist scriptures?"
Song Weiqing sat upright at his desk, holding a book with refined elegance as he sipped his tea.
Had she not spent enough time with him to know his habits, anyone might mistake him for perusing some profound philosophical text.
Who would have guessed that the revered Crown Prince of Zhen Kingdom, second only to the Emperor, was secretly an obsessive novel enthusiast?
Zhou Shengsheng had hit the nail on the head—he devoured at least three novels a day, which explained his wild imagination.
"They’re for my younger sister’s blessings, so of course they must all be completed," he replied absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the page.
Song Weiqing’s younger sister, the youngest and most beloved child of the Emperor, was unfortunately born with an intellectual disability. The royal family had sent Song Weiqing to study Buddhism, partly in hopes of divine intervention for her condition.
Yet Zhou Shengsheng saw no trace of genuine reverence for Buddhism in him.
As the saying went—
[Who says just because your body is in a temple, your heart must follow Buddha?] Mimicking Song Weiqing’s tone, she grumbled inwardly.
Song Weiqing’s fingers paused mid-page-turn.
"Come to think of it, there’s another volume that needs copying. Don’t forget, Little Red," he said with a charming smile, though his words plunged Zhou Shengsheng into despair.
Another one?!
She had assumed serving Song Weiqing would be no different from her time with Ming Siran—just pouring tea and grinding ink. Who knew this man was a wolf in sheep’s clothing?!
Was there really no state affairs in the vast Zhen Kingdom demanding his attention?!
Just as her frustration peaked, a girl’s melodious laughter drifted in from outside. A young woman in a white dress skipped in, holding a swallow-shaped kite.
"Shengsheng! Your Highness! Look! A kite!" Jiang Zhiyu chirped excitedly, waving her new treasure.
Song Weiqing, as the Crown Prince, had seen it all and naturally had no interest in such trivialities. He dismissed her with a lazy wave, as if shooing away a playful pet toward Zhou Shengsheng.
He had long lost interest in the female lead, especially in her current state. Even before her memory loss, he couldn’t fathom how the original version of himself in the novel had fallen for such a woman—pretty, but utterly lacking in substance.
In contrast, Zhou Shengsheng responded warmly.
"It’s lovely! Who gave it to you?"
Jiang Zhiyu pointed outside. "That sister over there did."
As she spoke, an elegantly dressed and dignified woman suddenly entered: "Your Highness."
Hearing the voice, Song Weiqing's hand paused. He calmly placed the playbook in his hand face down on the table, but Zhou Shengsheng noticed—he seemed slightly flustered.
