Reborn Nine Times, the Tyrant Always Wants to Imprison Me - Chapter 6

Fangru’s back pressed tightly against the railing, leaving her no room to retreat. Only then did she realize with a start that he had known everything all along.

“Your Majesty sees all,” she lifted her gaze to meet those bottomless eyes. “This humble subject merely couldn’t bear to see a precious pearl obscured by dust.”

Zhou Ling chuckled softly and suddenly took a step forward.

“And what of this pearl?” his voice deepened. “Why refuse to dance for me personally?”

A sudden night breeze stirred, shaking loose a shower of wisteria blossoms.

Pale purple petals drifted in the moonlight, several landing upon the shoulders of Zhou Ling’s black brocade robe.

Fangru lowered her gaze to the petals and whispered: “This subject would prefer to ease Your Majesty’s worries.”

“Oh?” Zhou Ling’s slender fingers plucked a petal from his shoulder, twirling it gently between them. “Such as?”

“Such as…” Fangru’s gaze shifted toward the dimly lit garden pavilion in the distance, where faint strains of music could be heard. “The daughter of the Minister of Works, Cheng Jinse, is currently having a secret rendezvous with the son of the Vice Minister of Rites, Du Heng, by the lotus pond in the southeast corner.”

The petal between Zhou Ling’s fingers suddenly crumbled to dust, scattering in the wind. He narrowed his eyes: “When did Miss Shen learn to imitate those gossipy women, focusing on illicit affairs?”

“This subject isn’t watching romantic entanglements,” Fangru’s voice was soft yet cut through the night like a thin blade. “But heavenly fate. Soon, both of them will fall into the water.”

As if confirming her words, the night wind suddenly intensified, whipping the willow branches by the pond into frantic, ghostly dances.

Zhou Ling’s eyes darkened. Just as he was about to speak, a loud “splash” echoed from the distance, followed by a woman’s panicked scream.

“Help! Someone’s fallen in the water!”

Guards rushed over with torches, quickly dragging two disheveled figures from the water. Cheng Jinse’s rose-colored silk dress clung transparently to her body, while Du Heng’s outer robe had somehow come undone, revealing his soaked undergarments.

Zhou Ling’s gaze sharpened like a blade. He turned to Fangru, his voice carrying dangerous undertones: “Miss Shen possesses remarkable methods, even surpassing the intelligence networks I’ve established.”

Fangru bowed slightly: “This subject dare not claim credit, merely… chanced to see what was about to occur.”

“Ha!” Zhou Ling suddenly laughed aloud, casually breaking off a wisteria branch to toy with. “Does Miss Shen mean to claim the power of foresight? In this court, I’ve seen plenty who play at mysticism.”

The distant commotion grew louder, mingling Cheng Jinse’s sobs with Du Heng’s excuses.

Fangru smoothed her wind-tousled hair: “There are too many ears here. If Your Majesty has questions, perhaps we might move to the Drunken Immortal Pavilion? Their grape wine is particularly mellow.”

A flicker of interest crossed Zhou Ling’s eyes as he tucked the wisteria branch into Fangru’s hair: “Very well, I’m curious to see what other tricks Miss Shen has to offer.”

In the private room on the second floor of the Drunken Immortal tavern, the window overlooked a deep, narrow alley.

Fangru poured Zhou Ling a full cup of wine: “In the time it takes an incense stick to burn, someone will be murdered in that alley.”

Zhou Ling snorted derisively, draining his cup in one gulp: “Miss Shen, are you aware that deceiving the emperor warrants execution of nine generations?”

“This subject wouldn’t dare,” Fangru calmly watched the alley outside. “The victim will be the daughter of a silk merchant. The killer will be her gambling-addicted cousin, to whom she’s owed money. The murder weapon will be a dagger engraved with the character ‘fortune’, because…” she paused, “…it was a gift from the victim for his birthday last year.”

Fangru lowered her lashes, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the embroidery on her sleeve. These details were all things her cousin had once told her as amusing anecdotes in the deep palace of her past life.

Zhou Ling’s hand, toying with his wine cup, paused slightly. Just then, a piercing scream erupted from downstairs: “Murder!”

The guards rushed down and soon returned to report that a woman had indeed been stabbed to death, the murder weapon exactly as Fangru had described.

Zhou Ling’s expression finally shifted. He seized Fangru’s wrist and demanded, “Who are you, really?”

Fangru met his gaze calmly. “Someone who can help Your Majesty. The Northern Di envoy will arrive in the capital in six months. Though they appear to seek peace, they have brought thirty assassins to carry out an attack during the welcoming banquet.” She looked directly into Zhou Ling’s eyes. “Release Gu Zhou, and I will share everything I know with Your Majesty.”

Zhou Ling released her hand and suddenly laughed. “What a remarkable Shen Fangru! I can release Gu Zhou, but on one condition.” He leaned in closer. “You must join the inner court and become my State Preceptor.”

Fangru’s pupils contracted slightly. Joining the inner court meant being fully drawn into the vortex of court politics, but… She took a deep breath. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” His low voice brushed against her ear like a feather, carrying an undeniable authority. “I will build a Taoist temple for you…” His slender fingers suddenly lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Right beside the Zichen Hall, so you may day and night…” His thumb stroked her lips suggestively. “…‘observe the heavens’ for me.”

Fangru’s breath hitched; she could clearly feel the warmth from his fingertips. Zhou Ling’s presence enveloped her, the scent of ambergris mingling faintly with wine, making her tremble involuntarily.

“I hope Miss Shen’s predictions…” He leaned in abruptly, his lips nearly grazing her earlobe, his voice dangerous and mesmerizing. “…will always remain this…accurate.” The last four words were almost a whisper, yet they seared into her heart like a brand.

When he drew back, Fangru realized her palms were damp with sweat.

Zhou Ling’s retreating figure stood tall and straight like a pine tree, but he paused briefly at the hall entrance, glancing back with a meaningful look that clearly said: You cannot escape.

Returning to the Shen residence, the familiar atmosphere allowed Fangru to momentarily forget the oppression Zhou Ling had imposed on her.

News of Gu Zhou’s release soon arrived. A cool breeze carrying petals brushed her cheeks, and in the distance, she heard the joyous voices of servants—so vivid, so real, forming the starkest contrast to the gilded prison of her memories.

“Young lady, your hand…” a maid beside her exclaimed in alarm.

Fangru then noticed the crescent-shaped marks her nails had left in her palm. She unclenched her hand, gazing at the faintly glistening traces in the sunlight, and suddenly let out a soft laugh.

The laughter started quietly, then grew louder, until it carried a hint of a sob.

The self trapped in a gilded cage in her past life, the rainy night she had watched helplessly as Gu Zhou was slain in the inn, the restless regrets and resentments—all were gently soothed in this moment by the tender breeze.

She raised her hand and caught a falling petal. The pale pink blossom quivered in her palm, mirroring her unsettled heart.

So fate could truly be changed. So she need not repeat the same mistakes.

“How wonderful…” she murmured softly, pressing the petal to her heart, basking in the sunlight that enveloped her entirely.

This time, she could finally be with Gu Zhou openly and honorably.

As dusk deepened, hoofbeats finally sounded outside the mansion gate.

Fangru stood beneath the corridor clutching her handkerchief, watching two servants supporting a stumbling figure across the threshold.

The person hung his head, disheveled hair partially revealing a pale chin, yet Fangru immediately recognized the indigo robe Gu Zhou often wore – now torn beyond recognition, its front stained with large patches of dark brown blood.

Gu Zhou was settled on the low couch in the west wing.

Only when Fangru drew closer could she see his lips were so chapped the skin peeled, all fingernails missing from his right hand, fingertips covered in thick scabs.

When the physician cut open the clothing on his back, Fangru gasped sharply – among the crisscrossing whip marks, two had already festered.

“What a sin…” Shen Fu paced around the room wringing his hands, “Had I known this would happen, I shouldn’t have agreed to the marriage arrangement with the Gu family back then.”

Fangru didn’t respond, wringing out a cloth to gently wipe the cold sweat from Gu Zhou’s forehead.

When she touched his brow bone, Gu Zhou suddenly opened his eyes. Those eyes that always held laughter were now bloodshot, his gaze scattered for a moment before focusing on her face.

“…Fang…ru?” His voice was too hoarse to carry a tune, yet he struggled to sit up, “The Court of Judicial Review…wronged me…they deliberately…”

“Don’t speak.” Fangru pressed down on his shoulder, turning to the physician, “Use snow ginseng to sustain his energy first. I’ll fetch the golden wound medicine from the storeroom.”

She walked briskly out of the room, but suddenly crouched behind a corridor pillar, burying her face in her skirt as she trembled silently.

She knew that look in Gu Zhou’s eyes too well – identical to his final gaze when Li Zuo killed him in their previous life.

Her knuckles turned white from clenching, forcing herself to take deep breaths. Now was not the time to break down.

Three months later.

“The locust plague in Jizhou will begin seven days after the Mid-Autumn Festival.” Fangru lowered her gaze while arranging copper coins, deliberately omitting the two most crucial counties, “We need to prepare two hundred thousand dan of grain provisions in advance.”

Zhou Ling lightly tapped the table with his fingertips, his gaze lingering on her slightly trembling eyelashes.

Over the past six months, her prophecies had always been accurate yet deliberately incomplete, like carefully designed bait that forced him to take the hook again and again.

“My minister seems unsettled lately.” He suddenly leaned forward, enveloping her in the scent of ambergris, “Could you be concerned about Young Master Gu’s injuries?”

The copper coin in Fangru’s hand chimed as it trembled.

“My abilities are connected to my state of mind.” She raised her eyes to meet the emperor’s gaze, her voice light as frost on a blade’s edge, “If I lose control due to my fiancé’s severe injuries, I might foresee some… futures Your Majesty would rather not see.”

Zhou Ling’s pupils contracted slightly.

He clearly sensed she could only prophesy events within six months, yet merely straightened up slowly: “Issue the decree – bestow ten century-old mountain ginseng roots upon Gu Zhou.” His black robes billowed like thunderclouds as he turned, “Tomorrow, I want to hear the complete locust prophecy.”

Another three months passed.

By the time the Northern Di envoy group entered the capital, Zhou Ling had already prepared dozens of oil cauldrons at the city gates.

Li Zuo grinned viciously as he kicked the chained envoys one by one into the boiling oil, their piercing screams echoing between the gate towers.

The watching commoners turned deathly pale, some vomiting on the spot, while several women fainted from terror.

Yet within the palace, an entirely different scene unfolded.

Silk and bamboo music filled the air as wine cups clinked in toast.

Zhou Ling reclined obliquely on the dragon throne, fingertips idly tapping against his luminous wine cup.

The faint screams drifting from the distant city gates, mingled with the crackling of boiling oil, formed the most delightful symphony in his ears.

“Your Majesty…” The eunuch beside him trembled violently.

Zhou Ling suddenly seized his wrist and, under the eunuch’s terrified gaze, drank the wine from his hand.

“What are you afraid of?” He chuckled softly as he released the eunuch, letting him collapse to the floor. “This is only the beginning.”

Outside the hall came the synchronized clatter of iron armor.

Li Zuo strode into the hall: “Your Majesty, all thirty have been executed.”

“Good.” Zhou Ling hurled the wine cup to the ground. “The Northern Di feigned peace talks while plotting assassination. From today, all provinces shall conscript three hundred thousand troops. In one month, we march against the Northern Di.”

The hall fell into dead silence, as if even breathing had frozen.

Fangru stared in shock. In her previous life, Zhou Ling had only ordered strengthened border defenses at this time. Why was he now launching a northern expedition?

Had she truly toppled the first domino and altered history?

The civil officials stood bewildered, but Li Zuo was the first to step forward: “This subject volunteers to lead the vanguard!”

Then, all civil and military officials knelt in unison, their foreheads touching the floor with sounds like autumn fruit falling.

Zhou Ling chuckled lightly: “My ministers… are all quite understanding.”

After three rounds of drinks, Fangru excused herself for fresh air and retreated to the corridor.

The night wind carried the early autumn chill, making her temples throb. These days, recalling her past life too often caused fragmented images to flash before her eyes.

“Minister Shen is quite skilled.”

The sudden voice from behind made Fangru spin around.

The man stood leaning against a vermilion pillar, dressed in a deep blue official robe with cloud patterns, casually twirling a white jade wine cup between his fingers.

The cold moonlight fell upon his face, illuminating sharp, distinct features—sword-like brows, a tall nose bridge, and thin lips pressed into an indifferent line.

“I am Zheng Yu, Director of the Ministry of Justice.” He took half a step forward. “In charge of that dirty business in the imperial prison.”

Fangru’s nails dug into her palms. Were the wounds on Gu Zhou’s hands and the scars on his back all thanks to this man?

“I heard Young Master Gu can walk now?” Zheng Yu took a sip of wine. “What a pity. If we had been more thorough back then, perhaps he could have…”

“Minister Zheng has drunk too much.” Fangru turned to leave.

“You think helping Zhou Ling eliminate the Northern Di delegation makes you meritorious?” Zheng Yu suddenly raised his voice. “But do you know he plans to invade the Northern Di next? How many men will be conscripted? How many families will be torn apart?”

Fangru paused mid-step.

Would many people suffer family separations because of her?

Zheng Yu leaned close to her ear, his breath reeking of alcohol mixed with a cloying sweetness: “When Gu Zhou was in Zhao Prison, I could have made sure he never left.” His voice was soft. “Unfortunately, someone intervened…”

Fangru’s pupils contracted. She hadn’t expected him to dare provoke her so openly, especially since she now served as Zhou Ling’s State Preceptor.

“Minister Zheng’s words seem to carry hidden meanings today.” She laughed lightly, though her fingertips secretly dug deeper into her palms.

Zheng Yu retreated half a step, his smile appearing particularly sinister under the moonlight: “This humble official merely worries that the State Preceptor might suffer nightmares tonight.”

Only when the blue-robed figure completely disappeared down the corridor did Fangru realize her hands were trembling uncontrollably.

“Why is Sister Shen standing here alone in a daze?”

A clear voice startled Fangru, making her jump.

Lin Yueyao approached arm-in-arm with a scholarly-looking young man. Since taking Fangru’s advice six months ago to cease her infatuation with Zhou Ling, this young mistress had grown increasingly radiant.

“This is Xu Ziqian,” Lin Yueyao introduced with flushed cheeks, “He’s a compiler at the Hanlin Academy.” Suddenly leaning close to Fangru’s ear, she whispered, “Quick, little sister, tell me if he’s my destined one!”

Ever since Fangru had been appointed State Preceptor by Zhou Ling, young noblewomen who previously seldom interacted with her had suddenly become exceedingly friendly.

Although invitations from various mansions’ young ladies arrived daily at her residence, Fangru preferred to believe the sisters who held her hand sharing intimate thoughts harbored genuine affection in their eyes, rather than schemes regarding her status.

Fangru observed the refined scholar before her, who was nervously rubbing his hands, the cuffs of his blue robe still stained with fresh ink.

In her memories of her previous life, Lin Yueyao should have been obsessively infatuated with Zhou Ling at this moment—how could she possibly know some Hanlin compiler?

“Sister,” Fangru gently withdrew her tugged sleeve, “Matters of marriage should be judged by one’s own heart.”

“Good sister, please just take a look for me!” Lin Yueyao persisted relentlessly, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Last time you said His Majesty wasn’t my destined match, weren’t you exactly right?”

Fangru blinked, then suddenly reached out to pinch Lin Yueyao’s chin, examining her with feigned seriousness. “Let me see,” she deliberately drawled, “how come our Miss Lin’s face so clearly bears the words ‘desperate to marry’?”

“You!” Lin Yueyao immediately bristled, lunging to pinch Fangru’s waist. “I’ll tear your mouth shut!”

Fangru nimbly dodged behind Xu Ziqian, using him as a shield. “Young Master Xu, quickly control your lady! To be this fierce before even marrying—however will you manage later!”

Blushing with embarrassment and anger, Lin Yueyao lifted her skirts to chase Fangru around Xu Ziqian.

Xu Ziqian stood frozen in place, his face reddening as if about to bleed. Seizing the opportunity, Fangru grabbed fallen flowers from the stone railing and stuffed them down Lin Yueyao’s collar.

“Shen Fangru!” Lin Yueyao shrieked, hopping madly as she shook petals from her clothes. “Just you wait!”

The two girls chased and frolicked beneath the corridor, their laughter startling sparrows from the eaves.

While running, Fangru suddenly slipped, allowing Lin Yueyao to catch her. They tumbled together into a thick pile of wisteria blossoms, their hair coming undone as they laughed uncontrollably.

“Alright, alright, I surrender!” Fangru raised her hands in defeat, but seized the chance to shower Lin Yueyao’s head with petals. “The bride wears her flower crown!”

As Lin Yueyao prepared to retaliate in mock anger, Fangru suddenly pointed behind her. “Oh! Young Master Xu is leaving!”

“What?” Lin Yueyao turned in panic, only to find Xu Ziqian standing there suppressing laughter. When she turned back, Fangru had already lifted her skirts and fled into the distance, leaving only a trail of silver-bell-like laughter echoing through the corridor.

After their footsteps faded, Fangru emerged from behind the rockery.

She nimbly climbed to sit atop the highest rock, her skirt swaying gently in the breeze.

Faint military drills sounded beyond the distant palace walls, reminding her of Zheng Yu’s words—would this war sparked because of her truly lead to widespread suffering?

“Thinking about the war?”

The sudden voice behind nearly made her slip from the rock.

Zhou Ling stood unexpectedly at the rockery’s base, his black robes flapping sharply in the wind, a half-empty wine jug dangling from his hand.

Fangru hastily rose to curtsy, her embroidered slippers slipping on the moss.

She inwardly cursed—her memories from before rebirth had reached their limit. For the past fortnight, she had deliberately avoided the emperor, never expecting to be caught red-handed today.

“Your Majesty jests.” She lowered her head. “How could the northern barbarians ever rival the celestial dynasty’s mighty army?”

Icy fingers suddenly gripped her chin, forcing her to look up.

Zhou Ling’s scent of ambergris mixed with wine washed over her. “Is that so?” His eyes were hazy with drink, yet his tone was terrifyingly clear. “Yet I see you evading me daily, as if awaiting my obituary.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Fangru struggled slightly, but his grip tightened. “Please release me, Your Majesty.”

Her back pressed against jagged rockery as palace servants’ footsteps approached in the distance. Instead of retreating, Zhou Ling closed the distance between them.

Finally breaking free, Fangru was about to take her leave when he shook his wine flask. “What’s the hurry? I haven’t finished questioning you. For instance… the Yellow River’s autumn floods?”

Fangru’s heart lurched. In her previous life, the Yellow River had been perfectly calm at this time—why would he ask now?

She could only play along.

In that fleeting moment, she raised her fingers as if calculating. “Last night while observing the stars, I noticed dark qi gathering over Yuzhou’s quadrant…” Before she could finish, her wrist was seized.

Zhou Ling dragged her forward by the captured wrist, his wine-laden breath hot against her ear. “Since my minister excels at divination…” His other hand suddenly gripped her waist with bruising force, “…why not calculate what position I intend to use to punish you now?”

Fangru’s breath caught.

Over these past six months, Zhou Ling had governed and deployed troops according to her predictions, leading her to believe he’d long forgotten those late-night summons. Yet the burning imprint on her waist felt even more brazen than their first encounter.

“Your Majesty…” Her voice trembled as her back pressed harder against the cold stone. “I merely…”

“Merely what?” Zhou Ling’s thumb stroked her waist with inexorable pressure. “Half a year ago in the imperial study, weren’t your calculations precise enough?” He deliberately lowered his voice, his warm lips nearly brushing her earlobe. “Even the old scar on my waist was pinpointed without error.”

Fangru’s heart skipped. That night, she had annotated celestial charts by candlelight, her fingers accidentally brushing his sash before he pinned her against the dragon-carved desk. The memory of sandalwood overlaying the present wine scent left her disoriented.

“I was only…” she began, but Zhou Ling tightened his grip on her waist.

“Playing foolish now?” His breath stirred her fluttering lashes. “Shall I help you remember?”

The sudden approach of imperial guards’ footsteps gave Fangru an opening to create slight distance. “Your Majesty, someone’s—”

Zhou Ling remained unmoved, instead trapping her between the rockery and his chest. “Afraid?” His low chuckle vibrated through her as he twirled a stray lock of her hair. “I recall you saying the Purple Forbidden Star dims tonight,” his tone shifting dangerously, “…perfect for unspeakable deeds.”