An Author and Protagonist Got a Happy Ending [Transmigration] - Chapter 6

The auspicious day for the wedding was the tenth of next month.

Fortunately, today was only the fifth, leaving over a month of time. It seemed the Princess had been thoughtful enough to leave a window for Xiao Muyu to recover from her injuries.

—Essentially, a stay of execution.

Xiao Muyu watched the little maid depart while nibbling on a hawthorn cake.

Two days had passed since she was rescued by the Princess. Her small courtyard remained peaceful; no one from the Temple came to harass her, and no one from the palace inner circle came to mock her. If she ignored the looming hidden crises, this was actually a wonderful place to idle away the rest of her life.

Pity.

Eight or nine times out of ten, life does not go as one wishes.

Xiao Muyu was long used to the layered disasters and tragedies of life. As a survivor of the apocalypse, simply being alive was a stroke of luck. As for how one lived, few people cared.

Moreover, Xiao Muyu felt her current treatment was quite decent. The Princess had issued an order: although Xiao Muyu wasn’t allowed to leave the courtyard, the maids were indeed at her beck and call. Whatever she wanted, as long as it was within their power, they delivered it without a second word. Even when she asked the strangest questions, no one pried; they answered everything they knew.

Of course, the maids’ knowledge was limited. The moment she asked about court factions or political power, they knew absolutely nothing.

Xiao Muyu didn’t ask questions that were too profound anyway. The original owner’s memories were fragmented, like a giant jigsaw puzzle shattered into countless pieces; only an occasional flash of insight could piece together a corner.

The only certain thing was her identity as the Temple Saintess. The scattered images in her mind were mostly of dark rooms and views of the frozen world through window cracks.

The Xuefu Kingdom was perpetually encased in ice, surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Only the interior of the Imperial Palace, protected by magical arrays, could showcase the flowers of all four seasons. However, the palace was currently in the grip of winter as well. Looking out from the courtyard window, aside from the distant snow peaks, there were only lonely, withered branches and a ground covered in yellow leaves dusted with a thin layer of snow.

This place had originally been the Princess’s study when she was a child. Now that she had moved elsewhere, only a sense of nostalgia remained. It was spacious enough for an outsider to stay temporarily once the dust was cleared.

Xiao Muyu had nothing to do, so she spent her time piecing together her remaining memories while listening to the maids talk about palace affairs. Regarding matters outside the courtyard, the maids knew very little. Through indirect questioning, she only gathered some basic “setting” information.

For instance, there were currently only three concubines in the harem. The late Empress had passed away over ten years ago, leaving only one daughter. After her death, the old Emperor never appointed a new Empress, clearly deeply devoted to his first wife.

Among those remaining, the Noble Consort held the highest status and had the best relationship with the Princess. Additionally, the Princess had three elder imperial brothers. Only the Third Prince, born to the Noble Consort, had a decent relationship with her; the others had their own fiefs and rarely visited.

The maids’ words were laced with hints to Xiao Muyu: implying that once she married in, she wouldn’t suffer because of the harem or royal interpersonal relationships, telling her to set her mind at ease. They had certainly grasped the Princess’s intent thoroughly.

Every time the topic came up, Xiao Muyu could only give a hollow laugh to change the subject. If they talked any further, her stomach would start to hurt. She couldn’t exactly tell the maids she was plotting to run away the moment her injuries healed. She wasn’t insane.

Aside from the Princess suddenly losing her mind and saying she wanted to marry her, the character settings Xiao Muyu had seen so far matched her memories. According to the original plot, the Princess was someone destined for greatness—a natural-born ruler, cold and devoid of desire, who would unify the world. Everyone around her, except for her capable subordinates, was a cannon fodder or a tool.

Staying by the Princess’s side as a “vase” or a target was no safer than staying with the National Preceptor.

Of the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing is the best. If only she could run now…

Xiao Muyu pressed her hand to her chest. Her body still throbbed with a dull ache. She didn’t know if these were lingering injuries from her previous life or if this Saintess was just inherently miserable, but her bones felt as if they had been crushed and reassembled. She was weak and pained, forced to follow the doctor’s orders for now: rest peacefully.

Not to mention, she didn’t even know the way out.

Then there was the old National Preceptor… Xiao Muyu recalled the sharp pain from her last collapse. It was as if a keyword had been triggered, and her heart was suddenly seized. This was a high-fantasy cultivation world; weird “silencing charms” or curses weren’t uncommon.

Thus, after waking up, Xiao Muyu hadn’t dared mention the National Preceptor to the Princess. The Princess hadn’t asked either, acting as if the man didn’t exist. But it was impossible for him to be forgotten. Xiao Muyu knew this, which only made her more anxious, her heart hanging in suspense.

Why on earth did I decide to write a novel with such a complicated background? Xiao Muyu sighed and took another bite of the hawthorn cake.

“Hiss—” This one was too sour.

Pop.

A sound like a bubble bursting followed Xiao Muyu’s furrowed brow. In the flower vase on the table, a tiny flame sprouted out of nowhere, flickering briefly before burning the decorative blue flower to ash.

Creak—

The moment the door opened, Xiao Muyu watched as the last bits of ash fluttered to the bottom of the vase, leaving no trace. She froze, hawthorn cake still in her mouth, and looked toward the door.

Pei Qiuyue had just pushed the door open. She didn’t seem to notice the strange little flame. Even as sharp as she was, it was hard to notice the tragic end of a single wildflower.

“Saintess, how have you been lately?” Pei Qiuyue greeted her gently, her eyes showing nothing but concern.

Xiao Muyu forced her gaze away from the vase. She felt uneasy seeing Pei Qiuyue; she was still thinking about that bottle of poison and figured that beneath that gentle exterior, the woman might already be planning how to tear her limb from limb.

“I’m alright,” Xiao Muyu replied, glancing at the vase again.

“Her Highness the Princess is a woman of her word. Since the order has been given, the Saintess needn’t be restrained. Just treat this place as your home,” Pei Qiuyue comforted her. “If you have any needs, just ask. Don’t have any reservations.”

The first time we met, the Princess wanted to behead me. Xiao Muyu only dared to think this; saying it would be ungrateful.

On the surface, she maintained her “wooden beauty” persona—blank and seemingly adrift. She gave a perfunctory “Okay” but didn’t take the words to heart. She knew very well such promises couldn’t be taken seriously. Better to leave this ‘good fortune’ for someone else to enjoy.

Pei Qiuyue, seemingly unaware of the Saintess’s discomfort, insisted on caring for her in that gentle tone for a long while. Finally, appearing to have exhausted the pleasantries, she rose to take her leave.

Xiao Muyu watched her go with a wooden stare. Click. The wooden door was shut once more.

Xiao Muyu breathed a microscopic sigh of relief. When the room was empty, she reached out to touch the vase while finishing the half-eaten hawthorn cake. The tart flavor spread through her mouth. She frowned, her fingers pausing at the unusual heat coming from the vase’s wall.

Just as she was about to peer at the ash inside, the room suddenly dimmed.

“Pei—”

Xiao Muyu thought Pei Qiuyue had returned. She looked up, only to meet a pair of sinister eyes. Her hand jerked, knocking the vase over. The round vessel rolled across the floor with a clatter, and she felt the dull ache in her heart begin to return.

Meanwhile, on the path to the study.

“Aside from these, has she made any other requests?” Pei Qiuyue asked the maid while walking briskly.

The maid following her was the one left in the courtyard to look after the Saintess. The maid kept her head down, repeating the Saintess’s words rote. Compared to the screaming fit Pei Qiuyue had expected, the Saintess had been remarkably well-behaved since waking up.

After two days of surveillance, Pei Qiuyue hadn’t heard anything abnormal. Of course, they knew so little about her that it was hard to tell the difference; they could only conclude that the Saintess showed no signs of trying to escape or cause trouble. Perhaps she had been frightened by her own collapse.

Pei Qiuyue wanted to interrogate her to find out who was backing her. With a little pressure, she might talk. But the Princess had forbidden it, so she had to drop it. Despite the surveillance, she was being provided with the best food and drink, and a courtyard that usually saw few visitors had been vacated specifically for her.

Over the past two days, whenever the Temple sent people to inquire about the Saintess, the Princess blocked them all, acting as if she were taking full responsibility. If it weren’t for the fact that the Princess was handling official business with her usual—even improved—composure and insight, Pei Qiuyue would have feared the Princess really had fried her brain during that fever.

She didn’t know what the Princess saw in that Saintess to protect her like this. No talent, no virtue, a terrible personality, willful, arrogant, and spineless… the only thing going for her was a face that could barely be called a virtue.

But was the Princess such a superficial person?

Pei Qiuyue’s brow knitted slightly. The maid, thinking she was unsatisfied, added after a moment: “The Saintess also mentioned she wanted to eat candied haws (tanghulu).”

“Candied haws?”

“It’s a snack only found in the markets outside the palace,” the maid replied. “She wanted them urgently, so I brought her some hawthorn cakes first.”

“What did she say?”

“The Saintess said, ‘I guess these will do,’ and looked like she didn’t really like them.”

“The Saintess has quite a picky palate,” Pei Qiuyue noted with an unreadable expression.

They reached the study, and the topic ended. Pei Qiuyue dismissed the maid and knocked on the door. A maidservant opened it; when Pei Qiuyue entered, the Princess was in the inner room, standing by the desk and staring blankly.

Pei Qiuyue assumed she was reading memorials, but as she drew closer, she saw a portrait spread out on the desk. Upon seeing the face in the painting, she couldn’t help but gasp.

The person in the painting looked incredibly familiar—it was the Saintess she had just seen. However, the person in the portrait didn’t look like that “wooden beauty.” There was a spirit and liveliness in the eyes and brows, and every stroke of the brush showed the painter’s deep cherish and a touch of tenderness that didn’t fit the Princess’s usual character.

Pei Qiuyue’s intuition told her the Princess was looking at someone else. The world was vast; perhaps there really were people who looked identical.

Watching the Princess’s entranced profile, a flash of insight struck Pei Qiuyue’s mind. Suddenly, all the abnormal behaviors had a logical explanation—

It turns out the Saintess is a body double.