An Author and Protagonist Got a Happy Ending [Transmigration] - Chapter 16

…What did she mean by “again”?

Xiao Muyu was even more bewildered than the Princess, who may or may not have been fully conscious.

She must be mistaking me for someone else, Xiao Muyu thought.

Perhaps it was her mother—the late Empress who had passed away years ago.

“I’m not your mother…” Xiao Muyu muttered under her breath.

Looking at the Princess’s misty eyes, she judged that the other woman was likely still in a daze and looked somewhat pitiable. Thinking of the Princess’s life story, Xiao Muyu felt her heart soften, and an unbidden sense of guilt welled up.

Tracing things back to the source, she could be considered the “chief culprit.”

Setting aside the Princess’s cold personality and her future imperial ambitions, she truly was a tragic figure. Her mother died young, her father was gravely ill, she had no friends, and the weight of an entire nation rested on her shoulders. Not to mention the villains lurking in the shadows, watching like tigers for any chance to kill her.

If she didn’t have such a cold and vigilant personality, she probably wouldn’t have survived at all.

Xiao Muyu instinctively reached out and gently stroked the Princess’s hair. It was softer than she had imagined. Furthermore, the Princess didn’t get embarrassed or angry and hit her.

She must really be out of it.

The Princess heard Xiao Muyu’s murmur clearly and understood her meaning without any obstacle.

Actually, that wasn’t it.

The Princess swallowed her words, lowered her eyes, and let her head sink heavily onto Xiao Muyu’s lap. The person harborring a subtle sense of guilt didn’t pull away this time.

The Princess felt her consciousness truly blurring—but it wasn’t entirely a misunderstanding. While not the primary cause, if she thought about it carefully, she had felt a surge of anger earlier. Especially when her father mentioned being unable to face her mother.

The late Empress was a knot in the Princess’s heart.

Although the Old Emperor doted on the Princess to an extreme—to the point of being indifferent to his other three sons—it didn’t mean the Princess grew up in a healthy environment. On the contrary, it was this extreme environment that forged her cold nature.

Years ago, the Emperor and late Empress were deeply in love, but the Empress was unable to conceive for many years. As the court grew restless, she repeatedly urged the Emperor to take concubines. After confirming the concubines were pregnant, the Emperor never saw them again, merely leaving servants to care for them, intending to adopt one of the children into the Empress’s care.

However, within six months, the Empress became pregnant and gave birth to the Princess. From that point on, the Emperor threw the idea of adoption to the back of his mind, wanting only to dote on his and the Empress’s only daughter. As for the other concubines and children, he provided their allowances, but beyond that, he was neither a husband nor a father to them.

The late Empress was kind-hearted and gentle. She cared for the other children more than the Emperor did, and since they were close in age to the Princess, she often had them play together.

But children’s perceptions are sharper than adults’. They quickly realized their father didn’t like them while doting on their sister. Distinct jealousy was easily kindled. Furthermore, the harem never lacked for deep-scheming and ambitious people. Under their influence, the children banded together to deliberately isolate the youngest sister and several times became invisible accomplices in harming her.

The Princess suffered many hidden setbacks then and gradually grew to dislike socializing. The Empress likely sensed this; she eventually stopped forcing her to interact with her brothers and began to protect her consciously, but that only lasted a few short years.

When the Princess was still young, the late Empress died for her country during a war. The Emperor was devastated and, in a rage, chose to annihilate that country even after they had surrendered. He remained despondent for a long time afterward.

The neglected Princess suffered a great deal during that time. It was the Noble Consort who stepped in to look after her until the Emperor finally remembered he had a daughter. By the time he wanted to double his compensation to her, the Princess had already grown up in that turbulent environment.

During her immature rebellious phase, the Princess had resented her mother. Even today, her feelings toward her mother were complex—a mix of love, longing, and blame. Years ago, her mother had left without looking back, giving the Princess her first taste of abandonment.

Later, in that seemingly endless dream, she revisited her life countless times, repeating that pain. First, her mother’s death, then her father’s departure, and the betrayal by someone she thought was a confidant… She thought her destiny was to end all wars, yet she was treated as a tyrant and a demon; even the commoners cursed her to die, and no one anticipated her existence…

By the time she realized it, she was all alone.

That was the lowest point of her life, yet she was trapped in the wind and snow for a vast stretch of time. Facing the blizzard alone was enough for her to savor every detail of her short life over and over. She wasn’t Xiao Muyu; at first, she didn’t know she was just a character in a book. Those real memories and experiences once became the source of pressure on her nerves, the forced repetition nearly driving her insane—

Perhaps she had gone insane long ago.

The stagnant time turned into a void in her heart, until she saw Xiao Muyu at the end of the blizzard. She was a flicker of fire in the dark, the last straw for a drowning person; naturally, the Princess reached out without hesitation to grab it.

Hua Feixue had watched half of Xiao Muyu’s life. Even though they had never met before then.

The “saving straw” that had turned into an obsession was so heavy that even after waking up and finding herself years in the past, she felt no joy; only the void in her heart remained. Waking with a start in the middle of the night, she could only see an empty palm.

In those moments, the feeling of abandonment reappeared. Deeper than ever before.

—You saved me, yet you walked away, without even giving me the chance to confirm if you were real.

But she was lucky. That person finally came to her side. Yet occasionally, waking from a nightmare, she still felt panicked, fearing this was just a dream—that in the blink of an eye, the person beside her would turn into stardust and vanish. She could only reach out again and again, gripping tighter and tighter.

Xiao Muyu knew none of this, and the Princess would likely never tell her. One woman was momentarily soft-hearted, the other momentarily indulgent; they leaned against each other and stayed like that for the night.

The next day, they were woken by Pei Qiuyue.

Pei Qiuyue had been summoned by the maids. When she hurried over, she clearly hadn’t expected the Princess to be there. She started to call out “Saintess,” only to see the Princess poke her head out from under a massive, ungraceful bundle of quilts.

“What is it?” the Princess’s voice was raspy, as if she had just woken up.

“…” All of Pei Qiuyue’s words got stuck in her throat. She stared, speechless for a long time. If she had to describe her feeling, it was something akin to a myocardial infarction.

Princess, why are you here? Princess, why are you lying here? And where is the Saintess?

Pei Qiuyue was full of complaints but didn’t know which one to say first. The Princess has definitely been led astray by the Saintess.

Xiao Muyu woke up in this awkward silence. Pei Qiuyue’s gaze made her skin crawl, so she glanced at the person at the door, quickly turned her head back, and retreated into the quilt, trying to curl into a ball while simultaneously trying to kick the Princess out secretly.

She didn’t succeed. The Princess reached out and pressed down on her thigh.

Xiao Muyu’s face turned white instantly—her leg, which had been pressed on all night, was completely numb; the sensation now could only be described as “intense.”

Catching a glimpse of Xiao Muyu frozen in the quilts, the Princess’s lips quirked up. The dark, chaotic mood of the previous night cleared instantly. Turning back to Pei Qiuyue, she suppressed the look of pleasure on her face.

Pei Qiuyue’s expression grew even more complex: “…” The girl is grown and can’t be kept at home. (Likely the same feeling the Emperor has).

“Well?”

“The… several Consorts of the harem wish to see the Saintess,” Pei Qiuyue sighed, getting down to business. “Also, I heard His Majesty summoned the National Preceptor for a private audience.”

“Where are they?” the Princess asked.

Pei Qiuyue realized she was asking about the people who wanted to see the Saintess.

“They’ve been blocked outside. The maids hurried to report; I didn’t think the Princess was here…”

Pei Qiuyue sighed. Although she didn’t like Xiao Muyu, she knew that if the girl faced those consorts alone, she’d likely suffer. That’s why she had rushed over.

The Princess had always disliked those consorts, and they usually didn’t approach her. They might not see each other once in several years, and the Princess wouldn’t summon them for fear of “dirtying her eyes.” This time, they were likely either coming to show off or had heard rumors and wanted to win the Saintess over early. The greatest fear was that someone of higher status was secretly instructing them to find trouble. If something happened to the Saintess, the one to take the fall would be an insignificant, unloved consort, but the trouble would be massive.

Better to avoid unnecessary conflict. “Since the Princess is here, I’ll send word for them to return.”

Pei Qiuyue turned to leave, but the Princess called her back.

“Let them in,” the Princess said.

“Princess?” Pei Qiuyue was surprised.

“Since they’re already here, there’s no harm in getting to know them,” the Princess said, her tone chilly.

Pei Qiuyue shut her mouth, offered a few seconds of silence for the visitors with unknown intentions, and then nodded and went out to deliver the word.

Xiao Muyu, who was quietly acting as a wallflower, still had a numb leg. As soon as Pei Qiuyue left, she wanted to wrap herself in the quilt and flee. She vaguely remembered how insufferable the other consorts (besides the Noble Consort) were—practically walking templates of “cannon fodder pests.” After all, they were early-stage minor characters used to annoy the Princess.

If the Princess weren’t there, she could have jumped onto the roof and run again. Unfortunately, the person beside her was watching like a hawk.

Xiao Muyu was about to roll off the corridor like a ball, but the Princess grabbed the corner of her quilt, forcing her to change course and roll right into the Princess’s arms.

“Where are you running?”

Xiao Muyu’s face was slightly contorted from the leg cramps. Hearing this, she gritted her teeth and put on a deliberately weak look: “…I-I’m scared.”

Even though the Princess knew she was faking…

“What is there to fear?” The Princess reached out and pinched Xiao Muyu’s cheek. “I’ll back you up.”