Long Live the Emperor, Minus Me (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 8
“It’s an invitation addressed to Your Highness. What should we do?”
I thought seriously. At this point, wouldn’t failing to dominate the Emerald Palace make me seem utterly incompetent?
The Empress’s favor was astonishing. Merely sitting beside her during tea and helping create a harmonious atmosphere had prompted everyone who attended that party to rush and send invitations.
Right. Except for a few, everyone here was essentially a sacrificial lamb—pushed aside due to their lack of influence back home. To such people, how much like a lifeline from heaven must I appear? I could fully understand that.
“Hagingaebokke. Tadeul.” (I’ll check it over. Bring me a cup of tea.)
“Yes.”
Tula, already accustomed both to my pronunciation and to my choice of words—which didn’t quite match my age—understood roughly what I meant and went off to prepare tea.
Though I was merely a princess of a minor kingdom, I did have a few palace attendants assigned to me; thus, my nursemaid Tula didn’t actually need to brew tea herself. But she’d clearly understood my gesture as a request for privacy.
“Tamtakan aiya.” (What a good child.)
Yet, in this ruthless battlefield, she was also endlessly fragile. It seemed I truly had no choice but to exert my strength myself.
Steeled in resolve, I tore open the envelope and pulled out the invitation. My three-year-old body simply wasn’t dexterous enough yet to handle a letter opener, so there was no alternative.
As expected, the contents of the invitations were all nearly identical—ostentatiously worded in superficially pleasant language yet dripping with arrogance.
Had they grown careless because I was only three years old? Or had they assumed a subordinate would read it and thus written such condescending messages? Their insolence made it impossible to view them as genuine lifelines.
More than half of them had already set unreasonably tight deadlines.
Had they truly believed it acceptable just because the Empress herself had issued the notice on the same day? That sort of behavior was barely permissible only when directed toward hostages by someone of the Imperial Empress’s stature.
First, I filtered out all invitations scheduled within less than a week. One-third of the pile vanished instantly.
“Taee.” (Burn them.)
When I pointed firmly at the stack of invitations and spoke decisively to Tula, who had just finished brewing the tea, her eyes widened slightly before she quietly replied,
“Yes.”
Though she didn’t need to do it herself, Tula left the room with the letters, leaving me alone. I sank into thought, staring at the remaining invitations.
Indeed, how far could I demonstrate my capabilities without crossing the line?
Yesterday, I’d merely been flustered, but upon reflection, the Empress’s favor had been far too sudden and excessive. Aside from the brief audience, it wasn’t the kind of grace one would normally bestow upon a child meeting her for the first time.
After yesterday’s tea party ended, the Empress had ostentatiously ordered her own knight to escort me back—a personal guard of the Empress escorting a mere hostage. It was excessive honor.
Yesterday, overwhelmed by such unexpectedly grand treatment, I’d been focused solely on not appearing arrogant. But now, alone with my thoughts, the situation was clear.
It seemed the Emperor had no intention of allowing me to feign helplessness or make excuses about lacking means.
Otherwise, this situation made no sense at all. Surely the Empress couldn’t genuinely adore me—someone she’d properly met for the first time today.
“Unraeneun sumgi-eogo haenneungdae.” (I originally intended to hide it.)
I hadn’t planned to reveal my full abilities. After all, I was only three years old—a princess of a minor kingdom in a foreign land—so I had more than enough excuses ready.
Under normal circumstances, merely coaxing those three into negotiations would have been sufficient. For a three-year-old, that alone would already demonstrate remarkable competence.
But now that the Empress had taken notice of me, I could confidently summon those three residents of the Emerald Palace without any schemes. Which meant, to leave an impression of exceptional talent, I needed to do something more.
“Neomu gahaedeo…” (It was too much…)
I never intended to draw this much attention. How had I ended up attracting the Emperor’s interest so thoroughly?
Suppressing the fundamental question rising in my mind, I flipped through the remaining invitations. I needed to recalculate—determine precisely what level of talent I could safely display, what achievements I could present to the Emperor.
*
Perhaps my unsettled mind caused it—I dreamt that night.
It was a dream of a longed-for past.
“Please, Your Majesty, withdraw your decree.”
I knelt prostrate on the floor, pleading. Perhaps because it was a dream, I knew His Majesty stood before me.
“Does My gift displease you?”
His voice, laced with amusement, fell above my head. Truly oblivious. If he weren’t His Majesty, I’d have lifted my head instantly and snapped back.
Gritting my teeth, I implored humbly,
“How could I dare find the Heaven’s grace burdensome? It is simply that such honor is far beyond this unworthy servant’s station, making me cautious.”
“So, you don’t need it, and you’re worried others will make a fuss, causing you trouble—that’s why you don’t want it?”
It was good when my lord and I understood each other well, but moments like this were rather awkward.
I had indeed been thinking exactly that, but did he really need to state it so bluntly? When I’d carefully chosen polite phrasing and respectful words?
“Your Majesty.”
“I always get scared whenever you lower your voice like that.”
My heart lurched instantly.
This wasn’t the first time His Majesty had acted this way. We’d met as children—back when he wasn’t yet Emperor and I wasn’t his subject—so perhaps that was why he often used casual, almost familial speech when we were alone.
Yet, despite it happening repeatedly, I still felt a sudden fear each time—though I couldn’t even say what exactly frightened me. I, who’d never known fear even on the battlefield.
So I stubbornly retorted,
“Are you, the fearsome one, really acting like this now?”
It was a transgression beyond a servant’s bounds. I’d spoken only because no eyes watched and no ears listened—but precisely for that reason, it was even more forbidden.
Yet His Majesty seemed delighted.
“It’s precisely because I’m scared that I’m enduring it.”
Knowing further prostration was pointless, I swallowed a sigh and straightened my back.
“Do you truly have a reason to act this way? This bestowal is genuinely excessive.”
“I want to do it. Isn’t that reason enough?”
It wasn’t insufficient—it overflowed.
Yet the burden remained heavy.
“I understand you wish to reward merit clearly to uplift your ministers’ morale and motivation, but this is truly too much. What you’ve already granted is more than sufficient—”
“Rewarding merit?”
His Majesty gave a soft chuckle.
“Do you really see it that way?”
I knew it wasn’t a genuine question, but honesty was my only recourse, so I answered plainly.
“If not for that, you’d have no reason to act thus. No matter how I consider it, it remains far too excessive.”
His Majesty’s favor had always been lavishly excessive. I’d received the Emperor’s personal belongings—items that alone would constitute immense honor—on multiple occasions. I’d even been granted permission to review His Majesty’s letters, revise them at will, and send them out without further approval.
If my achievements weren’t genuine, the court ministers would have long since lined up before the throne hall, pleading for justice.
Yet even accounting for my merits, this latest bestowal was excessive—far beyond what any mere subject should receive.
“Sometimes,”
His Majesty let out a long sigh. I couldn’t fathom who truly needed to sigh here.
“I can’t tell whether you genuinely don’t know, or if you’re pretending not to know.”
It was deeply unfair. While I might occasionally feign ignorance, I truly had no idea why he was acting this way.
“This servant is dull-witted…”
“Well, fine. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know.”
My attempt at modesty was cut off. His Majesty clasped both hands together, raised them upward, and grinned.
“If you don’t know, I’ll just keep pouring it on.”
As His Majesty opened his clasped hands, shimmering objects fell through his fingers.
His gifts.
An inkstone carved from jade, a hairpin with a dragon’s mouth clasping kingfisher feathers, intricately carved ivory ornaments, and countless jewels.
Silk embroidered with phoenixes, a turtle sculpted in gold, the Emperor’s seal. Edicts granting every noble title imaginable and tax-exempt territories.
All the tokens of favor I’d wrapped in silk and returned before my death.
Thus, leaving no evidence behind for me.
Reasons I still couldn’t comprehend, even after being reborn.
I closed my eyes, watching the ceaseless flow of gold and gems. It was time to awaken now.
*
Consciousness returned, and overwhelming fatigue crashed over me before I could even open my eyes. My body was drenched in cold sweat—as if I’d just woken from a nightmare.
Strange. It hadn’t been a bad dream at all. I tried to wipe my sweat-dampened forehead but failed—the arms of a three-year-old were simply too short.
“Daetta…” (Never mind…)
Giving up, I let my limbs flop loosely and waited for the sweat to dry naturally. Feeling slightly chilled from the dampness, I pulled the blanket up tightly to my neck. It wasn’t thick, but better than nothing.
“…Geudae. Geudaebodaneun natti.” (Yes. Better than back then.)
It struck me as absurd. Had my mind regressed along with my body? Even if I lived a hundred lifetimes, I’d never encounter a more perplexing figure than His Majesty—so why had I been agonizing over anything?
He truly was a difficult master—brilliant, capricious, and possessing an undeniable magnetism.
Yes. The problem lay in that last part: his human charm. Beyond profit or gain, he inspired a pure, unwavering desire to serve him faithfully.
Thus, even knowing no amount of favor could last a thousand years, I gave my loyalty completely—and when he cast me aside, I accepted it meekly.
And instead of considering other options, I chose suicide. Better to die than raise a hand against him.
In contrast, what I’m doing now with the Emperor of Letail is at least a transaction. I offer him no loyalty, and he grants me no favor. So whatever outcome arises, I can at least afford to play a few tricks.
“Gyeolsimhaetta.” (I’ve decided.)
With temptation cast aside, resolve came easily. At last, I’d determined my goal, my methods, and my limits.
Yes. Let’s build a social circle.
Male lead Asks for a Divorce Every Day
It’s not often you come across a plot like this in the female-dominant genre — make sure to check it out!
This is a novel I’m planning to reread as well.
The male lead is strong, skilled in martial arts, and not the usual fragile type you often see in matriarchal novels.
Meanwhile, the female lead is a scientist—rational and logical. Even when she falls for the male lead, she doesn’t let her emotions cloud her decisions.
If you push through the first few chapters, you’ll gradually find the story really intriguing.
It has a mix of mystery, detective elements, and romance.
The author’s writing style is like crafting a puzzle—except they deliberately leave out a few pieces, making it hard to predict what happens next, yet keeping you hooked.
In the end, everything will come together and be explained.
One-sentence summary: Wife, stop playing with beakers and look at me!
In a laboratory accident, research scientist Zhu Wansheng accidentally travels to a matriarchal world. The original owner of the body is an eighteen-year-old only daughter of a wealthy rouge merchant, already married with a handsome young man.
Zhu Wansheng grins: Nice! She always said she was heaven’s favorite granddaughter. After a life of toil in her previous life, she can enjoy blessings in this one.
However, her joy lasts no more than three seconds as bad news arrives: the original owner’s family is about to go bankrupt, and her husband wants a divorce.
Even worse, she’s stuck with a research system full of restrictions.
Zhu Wansheng: ? Is this the destiny of a research dog?
——
Faced with this mess, Zhu Wansheng pours herself a bowl of wine to drown her sorrows. In her drunken haze, her husband arrives.
His figure is imposing, holding a long sword, with a dignified air that captivates Zhu Wansheng.
Gu Yingqing, however, looks at the alcohol-reeking Zhu Wansheng with undisguised disgust and coldly asks, “Divorce or not?” The intoxicated Zhu Wansheng mumbles vaguely, “I think… it’s not… it’s not… impossible!”
——
The next day, after sobering up, Zhu Wansheng is full of energy, rolling up her sleeves ready to make a big move. As for yesterday? She has no memory of it.
Zhu Wansheng is ambitious; a research dog fears nothing!
Upgrading rouge, extracting fragrances, producing perfumes, researching lipsticks… all shall bow to the power of modern technology!
The original owner’s dying rouge shop is revitalized. Her mother is pleased and with a wave of her hand, passes on the family business to her. As she takes control and her experimental results gain popularity, it’s the pinnacle of her life…
——
But there are always those who can’t stand to see her doing well. Jealousy, scheming, assassination attempts – they want nothing less than her life.
The person who has always kept his distance from her suddenly holds her tightly in his arms, eyes full of concern.
She is unharmed, but he falls into a pool of blood…
Zhu Wansheng feels guilty, “I can grant you one wish.”
Gu Yingqing tentatively circles his arms around her, carefully resting his head in the crook of her neck, pleading softly, “I regret it. Can we not divorce?”
Zhu Wansheng: ? When did I agree to a divorce?
[Small Theater]
The newly developed rouge is beautifully packaged, and Zhu Wansheng is eager to try it.
Gu Yingqing suddenly appears: “My lady, may I apply it for you?”
Cool fingertips lightly brush her lips. His Adam’s apple bobs as he leans in for a light bite.
Zhu Wansheng: ?
Gu Yingqing: It smells so good, I wanted to taste it…
On a warm spring day, Zhu Wansheng tries a new perfume: “Spring Night.” Gu Yingqing corners her against a wall.
Warm breath lingers on her neck.
“My lady, from now on, may I test the fragrances for you?”
[Humorous female scientist vs scheming live-in son-in-law male lead]
[Touch the gear icon in the bottom right corner of the screen to move to the next chapter if you want.]
Tula is shockingly uneducated, especially for her role.
Honestly, that sounds awful. If I ask for one, it’s because that one is meaningful. To follow that with hundreds of pounds of cut flowers demeans the original request. Stupid grand duke.
She is inadequate. She doesn’t even recognize an assassination attempt in a hostile country.