The first 5 chapters of "Charged Forward, Pace Consort!" are now live on my Patreon! ?? If you’re curious about this fiery new tale of ambition and intrigue, hop over to patreon.com/Xiaobai_xoxo to dive in!

  ?? PSA for Cute Lovers! ??Do you adore whimsical, one-of-a-kind treasures? Check out my Etsy shop, AdorableThingsByNoen! Every item you snag directly supports my transtion hustle (and my nursing school dreams!).

  Want to help even more? A like, share, or follow means the WORLD to me! I know these reminders might feel repetitive (trust me, I cringe a little too ??), but this little side gig helps me keep most transtions free.

  ___

  At dusk, word came from Qianqing Pace: His Majesty had chosen Wen Guiren’s namepte.

  Jiang Shuyi had been sitting by the window, watching spring swallows return to their nests. At the news, she froze for a moment, then slowly closed her eyes and wiped away a rebellious tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye.

  Unlike the quiet at Zhaoyang Pace, Changle Pace was brimming with cheer.

  A eunuch from the Office of Attendants came to deliver the good news. The two maids Wen Guiren had brought with her into the pace were so generous with rewards that they grabbed gold melon seeds by the handful and tossed them at the eunuchs, one handful per person.

  The eunuchs were grinning from ear to ear, singing praises as if they cost nothing. The two maids responded with glowing smiles, dutifully receiving the compliments on behalf of their mistress.

  But Wen Yao herself sat with a faint frown, as though being summoned for the night was something troublesome.

  In this dynasty, it had once been the rule for consorts to be bathed, wrapped in brocade quilts, and carried into Qianqing Pace by eunuchs before sharing the Emperor’s bed. This was meant to prevent any concealed weapons or assassination attempts.

  However, the te emperor found the image of bare and identical women boring and preferred that they dress themselves up and find creative ways to please him.

  As for assassination? The te emperor had scoffed at the idea that pampered consorts raised in luxury would sacrifice their entire cns just for a stab.

  So the rules changed. Now, consorts dressed and beautified themselves, then rode the Qixiang Panquin to the Qianqing Pace on their own.

  When the pace matron came to instruct Wen Yao in these customs, she mentioned this change in protocol. Unexpectedly, Wen Yao gave her a cold gnce and frowned slightly. “Even if the te emperor hadn’t changed the rule, I was born noble and pure. I would never allow myself to be paraded into the Emperor’s bed naked by a bunch of eunuchs.”

  The matron was left speechless.

  What was that supposed to mean? That the consorts before her were neither noble nor pure?

  She gnced at her fellow matron, who subtly shook her head—best not to meddle. This one had the Empress Dowager as her aunt and the Grand General as her father. Who dared provoke her?

  Night deepened.

  Wen Yao arrived at Qianqing Pace in her Qixiang Panquin. Upon entering the sleeping quarters, she saw Pei Yan seated, reading.

  It was a volume of the Book of Songs—its cover worn and creased, clearly well-read.

  She found it odd. Shouldn’t His Majesty already have these foundational texts memorized? Why revisit them now?

  Wen Yao kept her thoughts to herself and knelt respectfully three steps away, bowing formally. Her voice was quiet and steady: “This concubine greets Your Majesty. May Your Majesty find peace this evening.”

  Pei Yan looked up from the book, as if only now noticing her presence, and closed it.

  Wen Yao was dressed as simply as always—a pale pink gown and a mutton-fat jade hairpin, priceless and glowing under candlelight.

  “You may rise,” said Pei Yan.

  Wen Yao stood, then lowered her head without speaking.

  The hall fell silent.

  Pei Yan ran a finger along the edge of the book, studying her for a while before finally saying, “You needn’t be nervous. I won’t touch you tonight.”

  Wen Yao stiffened, lifting her head in shock.

  Pei Yan sat composed as always, appearing just as he had when she’d seen him with her aunt—refined, graceful, a gentleman in every regard. Dressed in moonlight-colored brocade, he looked more like a noble schor than the sovereign of the realm.

  “You don’t wish to share the bed, do you?” he asked.

  Wen Yao’s face flickered with panic, and she quickly dropped to her knees. “This concubine would never dare!”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Pei Yan repeated with a faint smile. “Then I was right.”

  Before she could argue, he continued, stroking the spine of the book with a curious tone. “Wen Guiren, if you wished to avoid me, why did you enter the draft selection and come into the pace at all?”

  Wen Yao knew she had no excuse. She bit her lip and then met his gaze directly. “To answer Your Majesty, it is not that this concubine wishes to avoid Your Majesty. I simply hoped for a husband who would love me and only me.”

  Pei Yan didn’t seem to catch the faint hope in her eyes. With feigned confusion, he asked, “Your father dotes on you like a pearl in his palm. If he knew of this desire, surely he would never have allowed you to enter the pace draft. Did you not tell your family?”

  Wen Yao looked down again.

  Of course, she had told them. Her father had even tried to find noble sons who swore they would never take concubines. But none of them met her standards. Her father was a renowned general whose victories shook the realm. She’d grown up living like a princess. Why should she settle for a mediocre husband, serve in-ws, and waste away in obscurity?

  Only the Emperor—virtuous, brilliant, the very image of imperial grace—was worthy of her.

  “Your Majesty may not know,” she said ftly. “Most noble sons today are nothing more than pampered fools. I would rather enter the pace than marry one of them.”

  There was a trace of frustration in her voice. She gnced at Pei Yan, eyes wavering with uncertainty, then added softly, “Perhaps… perhaps Your Majesty might come to cherish me one day.”

  Pei Yan smiled, like a breeze melting winter frost. “And am I not already treating you well now?”

  Wen Yao was briefly dazed. Then she sobered and looked away. “Your Majesty is kind to all your consorts, especially Jiang Fei. Aunt has told me, Your Majesty favors her deeply.”

  Her tone at the end held a note of discontent.

  Pei Yan thought of Jiang Shuyi.

  She had been acting out for days now.

  But he had raised her for five years. Her clinginess, her outbursts, they made sense. She relied on him, and sulked when hurt—it was only natural.

  But Wen Yao…

  Pei Yan chuckled and tapped the book lightly. “Wen Guiren, from tonight forward, any kindness I show you will not be because you are the Empress Dowager’s niece, but because you are my consort. As Emperor, and as a husband, I am bound to care for you. But the same applies to every consort in the pace.”

  Wen Yao couldn’t tell whether she felt joy or sorrow at those words.

  Joy, because it meant he wasn’t acting out of duty to her father or aunt. Sorrow, because if he was so fair to all, would he ever love her alone?

  She bit her lip, then cautiously said, “Then may this concubine boldly ask: before Your Majesty has truly fallen for me… might I be spared from serving the bed?”

  Pei Yan regarded her like a child throwing a mild tantrum. He sighed, set the book aside, and raised a hand.

  “Fine. I’ll indulge you. Now get up— the floor is cold. You’ll catch a chill.”

  His gentle tone made Wen Yao’s heart tremble.

  Her father, though doting, was a coarse man of war, not one to murmur tender concern. Her brothers were stationed on the northern border and rarely came home. They’d grown distant.

  This was the first time she had felt warmth from a man.

  Wen Yao stood up, uncertain of what to do next.

  Pei Yan smiled. “I heard you enjoy reading?”

  She nodded. “My father has a great many rare books. He doesn’t read them, and my sisters prefer pying around to studying. I’m the only one who prefers peace and the company of poetry.”

  Pei Yan said, “Then you’ve likely read everything I have here. How about this—we’ll each write a poem on the theme of ‘a spring evening.’ If you win, you may sleep in the main bed. If not, the couch in the outer room will have to do.”

  He curved his eyes in a teasing smile. “Wen Guiren, I’m doing this for your sake. If you leave now, others will gossip.”

  Wen Yao’s heart fluttered wildly—and before she knew it, she had said “yes.”