Her Majesty The Empress Has Made Her Debut In The Center Position [Ancient to Modern] - Chapter 41.2

Just as the fans guessed, Ji Zhao felt a sudden sense of relief after Yu Cheng hugged her, then quickly grew annoyed. She gritted her teeth and snapped, “You dare scare me like that? Huh?”

Yu Cheng quickly apologized. “They made me do it!”

Ji Zhao gently pushed her away, glaring. “Spill it.”

Instead, Yu Cheng asked worriedly, “Did I scare you?”

Ji Zhao was about to dismiss it—How could that scare me?—but seeing Yu Cheng’s genuine concern, she felt a twinge. Her acting instincts kicked in. “Yes, I was scared. My heart’s pounding.”

Yu Cheng said, “I know I was wrong.”

Ji Zhao asked, “Want to hear it?”

Yu Cheng froze. “Hear what?”

Ji Zhao grabbed her wrist. “Listen to how my heart’s racing because of you.”

Before Yu Cheng could process what she meant, Ji Zhao had already pulled her close, pressing her ear against her chest. Yu Cheng’s mind exploded with a deafening roar.

Thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump-thump.

The violent, frenzied beating.

It was her heart.

Ji Zhao said to her, “You deserve to die ten thousand deaths.”

Yu Cheng thought, Yes, I deserve to die ten thousand deaths.

Ji Zhao asked her again, “How do you plan to make it up to me?”

Only after speaking did she realize Yu Cheng hadn’t said a word. She lowered her gaze and saw Yu Cheng leaning against her chest, half her face hidden there, her scorching breaths seeping through the thin fabric and making the skin beneath burn. Her heart began to race, and she pushed Yu Cheng away. “What are you thinking?”

Yu Cheng snapped out of her daze. “I…”

Ji Zhao, terrified Yu Cheng might say something, hastily interrupted her. “We’re still filming. Let’s talk about this later.”

“Oh.”

Right, they were still filming. They needed to follow the script.

Trainees trickled in one after another, some delighted, some startled, and some anxiously waiting for their partners at the tent entrance. The outside gradually grew lively.

“This is our group’s song,” Yu Cheng said, handing Ji Zhao a rectangular box. Inside was a similarly sized sheet of paper, a dry rose color with roses painted in each corner. It looked beautiful. “It’s in English.”

“English?” Ji Zhao’s voice rose. “Aren’t you making this difficult for me?”

No matter how strong her learning ability or how good her memory, the time was simply too short. Her English was barely at the beginner level, and the fact that she could speak it at all was already impressive. To ask her to sing it now was truly daunting.

Ji Zhao pulled out a piece of paper. “I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE.”

Yu Cheng asked, “What does that mean?”

Ji Zhao hesitated. “I want to become your slave?”

Yu Cheng: “…But isn’t everyone supposed to be equal now?”

Ji Zhao pursed her lips. “Look at the song’s theme.”

Yu Cheng read: “This song is performed by Maneskin. With bold lyrics and a wild style, it captures the longing of encountering someone who sparks your heart during your most restless youth. I want to become whatever you like, I want to lead you into love. They say that in love, the winner takes all, but I think it’s okay to lose too.”

“It’s meant to tell everyone that in love, you can be anything, whether you’re a mess or a queen.”

Ji Zhao pondered the production team’s theme, then looked at the song title again, and felt something was off. “Why does this feel like two different songs?”

Yu Cheng asked, “Shall we listen?”

Ji Zhao nodded. “Let’s listen.”

The production team left a tablet in the tent, and the music app only contained this one song. Yu Cheng pressed play. The song didn’t have an intro, jumping straight into the lyrics. As soon as the words started, both Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng’s eyes widened simultaneously.

I wanna be your slave

I want to be your slave

I want to be your master.

I want to be your master.

I want to touch your body.

I crave your body.

It’s so fucking electrifying.

It’s like being struck by lightning.

I want to make you hungry.

I want to make you feel desperate.

Then I want to feed you.

Then I’ll satisfy you.

I wanna be your sex toy.

I wanna be your teacher.

I wanna be your sin.

The song finished playing.

Ji Zhao: “……”

Yu Cheng: “……”

They looked at each other, speechless.

After a long pause, Ji Zhao finally broke the silence. “That was… quite bold, huh?”

Yu Cheng hummed in agreement.

Ji Zhao glanced at the lyrics, then at the theme. “How are we supposed to perform this on stage?”

Yu Cheng pursed her lips. “There should be a dedicated dance instructor to choreograph it.”

Just then, the camera hanging in the tent swiveled, and the Assistant Director’s voice came through. “Next, we’ll discuss lyric interpretation. Tell us which line you like the most.”

Which line?

Ji Zhao didn’t even want to look at the lyrics closely.

Although the Great Qi Dynasty was known for its liberal customs, where women could have multiple husbands and openly discuss matters of intimacy, this was taking things too far. This, this, this… Her voice stiffened. “Is this… SM?”

The assistant director watched silently.

Yu Cheng said, “This is probably ‘DOM’ and ‘SUB’.”

Ji Zhao gave her a piercing look. “Where did you learn all this?”

Yu Cheng paused, realizing she couldn’t bluff her way out. “Yu Cheng follows some related public accounts,” she explained. “DOM stands for Dominant, and SUB stands for Submissive.”

Ji Zhao remarked coldly, “You certainly play around with these things.”

Yu Cheng protested, “She just reads about it! I’ve seen her chat logs with friends. She says she has all the theoretical knowledge, but no real outlet for it.”

The assistant director snapped, “What on earth are you talking about?! Let’s get back to the main point—your favorite lyrics!”

Ji Zhao hummed in acknowledgment and casually pointed to a line. “I like this one.”

She was pointing at the first line:

I want to be your slave, I want to be your master.

“Actually, from the very first line, it’s clear this isn’t just about simple dominance and submission,” Ji Zhao said. “Perhaps it’s really as the production team intended: labels don’t matter; the person is what truly counts.”

The assistant director blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

Is that what it means? Didn’t the script team just make it up?

Ji Zhao asked Yu Cheng, “Which line do you like?”

Yu Cheng scrolled through the screen and clicked play: “I wanna be a champion (I want to be the king), I wanna be a loser (but it’s fine if I lose).”

“Why?” Ji Zhao asked.

Yu Cheng replied, “In love, it’s not about winning or losing. It’s enough to have loved.”

Ji Zhao chuckled. “Neither of us has ever been in a relationship, and here we are talking about love. Won’t our fans make fun of us?”

Yu Cheng laughed along with her.

But secretly, she whispered back, No way. Our fans will just think we’re in a relationship.

Half an hour later, the teams were set.

Shen Yican and Chen Xingzi were paired together, their song being “Sakura Grass.” Chen Xingzi was thoroughly disgusted, complaining about how they could make her sing such a syrupy sweet song with Shen Yican. What if her fans took it too seriously?

Song Jiangjiang and Qiao Yue formed another team. Qiao Yue waited for Song Jiangjiang in the tent until the last minute. Together, they revealed their song, “One is Summer, One is Autumn,” a song about friendship. They stood silently for a long moment. CP fans obsessing over friendship—blessing or curse? It’s hard to say.

Qian Xingxing and Li Yunyue formed a duo to sing “Running Towards You With All I Have,” a pairing of a social butterfly and a social phobia that fans eagerly fawned over.

Pei Jia and Ying Tian emerged as a sweet girl duo, gaining many fans. Some even chanted “PP Love YYDS” (PP Love, You’re the Best!) and chose Tanya Chua’s “No One Knows” as their song.

The most bizarre pairing, however, was Shen Xin and Zhou Yuting. The two had no prior connection, but CP fans stubbornly pushed their ship based solely on their looks. Even after both Zhou Yuting and Shen Xin’s more popular pairings were eliminated, they somehow rose to the top, forming an actual couple.

Seventeen small teams, each consisting of two members, sat together in little tents—some happily, some awkwardly, some indifferently—listening to the assistant director announce the next task through a megaphone outside.

“You’ll have two weeks to prepare for this performance. Though the time is ample, some trainees have other commitments during this period, so don’t waste a single second.”

“The estate has sufficient dorm space, but to foster team chemistry, we’ve re-assigned your roommates. You’ll be paired two to a room, so feel free to… ahem! Develop your chemistry, I mean!”

The trainees: “……”

Suddenly, the talent show turned into a dating show. Who understands this?

Fortunately, the production team worked quickly and soon sent the new dormitory assignment list to the group chat. The trainees were busy moving all day, finally finishing just before evening.

Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng didn’t have much to move, so Shen Yican and Chen Xingzi stayed in Room 309, while the two of them moved to Room 412.

Chen Xingzi walked them to the stairwell, looking devastated. “Now that you’re gone, Shen Yican won’t know how to torment me! Can I come running to you when she’s bullying me?”

Yu Cheng immediately rejected the idea. “No.”

Chen Xingzi: “?”

That’s a bit too blunt, isn’t it?

Ji Zhao tried to reason with her. “You’ll be assigned to the same group to complete a stage performance. You’ll need to work together and get along.”

Chen Xingzi protested angrily. “I refuse arranged marriages! I support free love!”

Ji Zhao: “……”

When Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng pushed open the door to Room 412, they finally realized just how determined the production team was about this “arranged marriage”—

The four-person bunk bed, which had been removed at some point, had been restored to its original state. The 1.8-meter-wide double bed was a carved wooden frame, covered in dark rose-patterned sheets and quilt cover. Above the headboard hung a reproduction of Claude Monet’s Piccadilly Circus.

Ji Zhao pushed her suitcase over to the wardrobe, and Yu Cheng instinctively began to unpack.

Ji Zhao sat on the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment before suddenly saying, “We really need to hire a maid. You shouldn’t have to do all this yourself.”

“It’s just a few small things. I can handle it,” Yu Cheng replied. She hung Ji Zhao’s clothes in the wardrobe one by one, then arranged her own beside them, neatly sorted by color and style. Satisfied, she closed the wardrobe and joined Ji Zhao on the bed.

Follow PD, lurking in the corner, trained the camera on them.

Filming their casual conversation lets fans enjoy the family vibe. Capturing one of them sitting on the bed while the other unpacks lets fans enjoy how Yu Cheng spoils her wife. Filming them sitting silently on the bed together lets fans… enjoy… enjoying… the air, I guess?

Follow PD whispered, “Talk!”

Ji Zhao clicked her tongue, feeling the awkwardness of just sitting there. It was almost like she was being forced into an arranged marriage, expected to fall in love after the wedding. She leaned back against the headboard and casually remarked, “The dance for this song isn’t easy.”

When they first returned, they watched the demo provided by the production team. The stage wasn’t just for them; there were backup dancers too, which undoubtedly increased the difficulty level.

“The choreography feels pretty average,” Yu Cheng said, having watched countless dance performances from around the world in recent days. “It doesn’t capture the essence of the song.”

Ji Zhao chuckled. “What is the essence of the song?”

She kicked off her slippers, stretched out her long leg, and rested her pale foot against Yu Cheng’s waist. “Is submission about kneeling… or about dominating?”

A tingling sensation spread through Yu Cheng’s waist. She barely managed to maintain her composure in front of the cameras, slowly reaching out to grasp Ji Zhao’s ankle. The skin felt warm and cool at the same time, and her fingertips trembled. “…Any pair of opposites can become synonyms.”

In a literal sense, kneeling is the most direct expression of submission.

But in matters of psychological control, perhaps the one who kneels actually holds the power—submission as a means to an end. Or perhaps the one being dominated is the true king, relinquishing physical control precisely to achieve greater pleasure.

They couldn’t say any of that on camera, lest they ruin the narrative the production team had set up and risk the show getting pulled.

Follow PD, however, found the whole situation rather odd.

Could Ji Zhaozhao and Yu Cheng… be flirting?!

That night, the estate was unusually quiet. The trainees, exhausted from two days of strenuous training, slept soundly in their familiar surroundings, catching up on much-needed rest.

The next morning, refreshed and energetic, they trickled into the dining hall one by one.

The thirty-four trainees made the long table seem empty and the atmosphere rather desolate. When Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng arrived, they found Song Jiangjiang and Qiao Yue locked in a heated argument over Song Jiangjiang’s refusal to eat egg yolks.

Most of the arguing came from Song Jiangjiang.

“You’re trying to choke me to death and make me find another home, aren’t you?” Song Jiangjiang exclaimed.

“You’re up to no good!”

“I’ll never eat it!”

Qiao Yue turned to Ji Zhao for support. “Who only eats the egg whites and leaves the yolks? The yolks are so nutritious!”

Ji Zhao, half-asleep, nodded absently. “Exactly!”

Song Jiangjiang argued stubbornly, “But people don’t just eat for nutrition. We eat for pleasure too! If we only cared about nutrition, hot pot would be kicked out of the ‘delicious’ category!”

Ji Zhao perked up at the mention of hot pot. “Exactly!”

Qiao Yue and Song Jiangjiang stared at her in unison. “Which side are you on?!”

“Neither,” Yu Cheng said, sitting between the two and Ji Zhao. She peeled an eggshell and placed it on Ji Zhao’s plate, then shot a warning glance at the other two. “Just eat your food.”

Song Jiangjiang stood up. “But—”

Yu Cheng crushed two walnuts in her hand. “What?”

Song Jiangjiang sat back down. “…Never mind.”

Ji Zhao took a bite of the egg, a little displeased with Yu Cheng’s actions. “Why did you scare them like that?”

Yu Cheng whispered, “They were disturbing your meal.”

Yu Cheng hadn’t slept well last night. Dark circles under her eyes matched her foul mood, making her unusually sensitive to criticism. Ji Zhao found the dark circles amusing and gently brushed her fingers against them. “Insomnia?”

Yu Cheng’s eyes flickered slightly.

How could she sleep well with Her Majesty right beside her?

She hummed in acknowledgment. “I’m a bit worried.”

“It’s rare to see you so invested in a performance,” Ji Zhao said, taking a sip of milk. “Perhaps we’ll find answers at the Extreme Sensory Experience Center we’re visiting today.”

“What? The Extreme Sensory Experience Center? You’re going there?” Song Jiangjiang asked, her voice tinged with envy. “Why do Qiao Yue and I have to go to the botanical garden?!”

Shen Yican, sitting across from them, retorted coolly, “Perhaps because one of you is like summer, and the other is like autumn?”

Qiao Yue turned to her. “Yican, Xingzi, where are you going?”

The long preparation time for this performance, combined with the small group size of only two members, meant that practice room training alone wouldn’t cut it. The production team had gotten creative and arranged for trainees to shoot outdoor scenes together.

Some went to botanical gardens, others to amusement parks, and some to private cinemas—various locations that also helped promote the show.

Chen Xingzi and Shen Yican were heading to a private cinema.

After breakfast, the trainees boarded buses arranged by the production team and left the estate. Hearing Song Jiangjiang’s envious tone, Ji Zhao’s curiosity about the Extreme Sensory Experience Center was piqued. “Could it be some cutting-edge technology we’ve never seen before?”

This era had given her so many unimaginable surprises that it was no wonder she was filled with anticipation. Upon reaching their destination, she couldn’t resist the urge to skip a little.

The Extreme Sensory Experience Center was on the 27th floor. As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, a staff member enthusiastically greeted them and led them inside.

“Is this your first time here?” the staff member asked as they walked through the dimly lit corridor. “Our center is closing down tomorrow, so you’re here just in time—and quite brave to come.”

Ji Zhao listened to the staff member while surveying her surroundings. The air was thick with an intoxicating fragrance, perhaps part of the “extreme experience.” The lighting was hazy, and a faint, repetitive melody drifted through the air: “Itch~…”

Ji Zhao paused, then whispered to Yu Cheng, “Itch? Is that part of the experience?”

Yu Cheng pondered for a moment. “It’s possible.”

After all, some people are ticklish.

The staff member led them down a corridor lined with display cases. Ji Zhao leaned closer to examine the contents, and her expression shifted when she recognized what she was looking at.

“We rarely see girls come here together,” the staff member continued. “Sex education is still severely lacking in our society. Girls especially shouldn’t be ashamed of sex; they should boldly face…”

Yu Cheng and Ji Zhao couldn’t hear what the staff said after that.

They only saw the drawing in the display window: two beautiful girls embracing each other naked, their poses suggesting they were kissing and…

Ji Zhao: “!!!”

Can they really air this?!

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