Chapter 200 Day 2 of Transmigrating into a Rebirth Novel

Chapter 200: The Second Day of Transmigrating into a Rebirth Story

Thereafter, Ran Zhuyu, leveraging the advantages of her rebirth, carefully maneuvered, defeating numerous enemies both within and outside the household.

In this life, Qi Haocang was drawn to her instead, once again expressing a desire to marry her, but her heart held only hatred.

To break free from this karmic entanglement of her past life, she resolutely decided to marry the Seventh Prince, Qi Haowen, even though rumors said the Seventh Prince was a fool—she didn't care.

Little did she know, that Qi Haowen had been playing the fool for years, feigning madness.

After Ran Zhuyu married him, the two had their struggles, and Qi Haowen gradually "recovered." The couple joined forces, eventually overthrowing Qi Haocang and the other princes one by one. In the end, Qi Haowen ascended the throne, and Ran Zhuyu naturally became the empress.

Unlike her previous life, the enthroned Qi Haowen did not change his heart; he kept the harem empty for her, and the couple were perfectly in tune, celebrated as a legendary couple.

An Yi: "..."

Alright, then.

And the identity he had transmigrated into—the Great Ming State Preceptor—was, in the original novel, one of the "villains" casually taken down by Ran Zhuyu.

Calling him a villain might be an overstatement; it was more like the female lead, in the heat of vengeance when the moment was right, conveniently swept away an irrelevant yet eyesore obstacle.

The reason was that in her past life, after being cast into the cold palace, Ran Zhuyu had desperately sought help from this venerable State Preceptor.

However, the original owner was merely a charlatan, unwilling to meddle in the affairs of the inner palace, and had coldly refused.

After her rebirth, Ran Zhuyu deemed the original owner as cold as iron and utterly useless. When Qi Haowen later ascended the throne and the new emperor neither believed in elixirs nor pursued immortality, the State Preceptor’s status plummeted. She then gave him a final push to finish him off.

An Yi gently swirled the leftover wine in his cup: "..."

Okay, that works. Interesting.

An Yi lowered his eyes, his fingertips absentmindedly brushing against the warm, translucent edge of the wine glass.

He had no intention of interfering with Ran Zhuyu’s revenge plan.

She had her own karma, her grievances, her love and hatred.

But well... the plot point from the original novel where the original owner was killed off as cannon fodder—that wasn't going to happen again.

Since the one now occupying the seat of the Great Ming State Preceptor was him, An Yi, and not the original fraud, the course of many events wouldn't be so easily controlled by others.

The original owner got by on playing tricks and currying favor with the emperor; now that it was him...

Be a con man?

That could be fun too.

Since fate had placed him in this position, why not... genuinely be a good "State Preceptor"?

Solidify this illusory, emperor-dependent divine office into something real.

Being a real State Preceptor was a brand new experience.

With his mind made up, An Yi’s expression remained as serene and untroubled as ever.

He leaned back in a relaxed posture, the wide black sleeves of the State Preceptor’s robe flowing downward, setting off his pale, handsome features as if he were beyond worldly affairs, untouched by dust.

In the center of the hall, Mu Yurou’s dance grew increasingly enchanting and intense.

Her slender waist swayed gracefully like a willow in the breeze, her lotus steps light as a dragonfly skimming water; as her water sleeves fluttered, they carried wafts of fragrant breeze. Her eyes shimmered with allure, sparkling with life, striving to perfect every move, capturing everyone’s gaze.

At the moment of a swift spin and a backward glance, her eyes seemed to casually and swiftly brush past the direction of the Crown Prince, Qi Haocang.

That glance, seemingly careless, left behind a trace of barely noticeable lingering affection.

Meanwhile, the Crown Prince Qi Haocang, seated at the head in his bright yellow heir-apparent formal robes, had a handsome face with sharp brows and bright eyes, his brow naturally carrying the nobility befitting a crown prince.

The instant Mu Yurou’s seemingly casual gaze swept over, his hand, about to lift the wine cup for a drink, paused almost imperceptibly. Then, he raised his eyes, and his gaze precisely met that alluring gaze in an extremely brief exchange.

A flicker of a man’s instinctive appreciation for beauty, mixed with a hint of amusement, darted through his eyes before quickly reverting to his usual gentle and composed demeanor.

Unless one was deliberately observing, it would be nearly impossible to detect this fleeting, secretive interaction.

However, An Yi noticed it.

He also noticed that, seated lower down, Ran Zhuyu in her pink dress, whose face was already cold and gloomy, instantly darkened even more upon keenly catching that brief yet unmistakable exchange of glances between Crown Prince Qi Haocang and Mu Yurou. Her body even trembled almost imperceptibly.

She clutched her sleeve tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force.

In her eyes, a burning hatred now surged.

So they were already in cahoots!

In her past life, she had been kept in the dark, foolishly paving the way for them, only to end up in such a miserable state!

Ran Zhuyu sneered inwardly, God damn it!

An Yi took all of this in, the lovesick men and resentful women, the love and hatred.

Mu Yurou’s tribute dance eventually ended to a chorus of praise.

Breathing a little heavily, she gracefully knelt before the imperial throne, her voice sweet and charming, like a nightingale's song: "I, your humble subject, wish Your Majesty boundless longevity and the Great Ming’s prosperity!"

The Old Emperor was clearly very pleased. He clapped and laughed heartily, his face—unnaturally ruddy from long-term consumption of elixirs—filled with delight. He praised repeatedly: "Good! Well danced! Minister Mu has taught his daughter well! Rewards! Lavish rewards!"

"Thank you for Your Majesty’s immense grace!" Mu Yurou and her father, that Minister Mu, hurried forward, knelt in thanks, their faces beaming with undisguised excitement.

To earn such favor before the emperor was undoubtedly a great honor for the Mu family.

An Yi: "..."

He silently averted his gaze, still feeling that this scene carried a weird awkwardness.

What a weird situation.

The banquet continued. The sounds of strings and pipes resumed, cups clinked, and laughter and chatter filled the air once more—a scene of toasting and revelry, a picture of prosperity.

Until the palace banquet neared its end. The Old Emperor had drunk considerable amounts of elixir wine steeped with so-called "immortal herbs," making his face even redder. His spirit showed a strange blend of excitement and lethargy, clearly revealing fatigue.

Supported carefully by attendants, he prepared to return to his bedchamber.

Just as the imperial entourage was about to move, the Old Emperor seemed to suddenly remember something. His murky eyes holding a hint of craving, turned to An Yi, who had been sitting silently in his high seat, scarcely speaking.

He beckoned An Yi over, his gesture slow and sluggish.

An Yi rose unhurriedly, his wide sleeves flowing like water over the chair as he moved. With steady steps, he walked to the foot of the imperial steps and bowed slightly: "Your Majesty."

"State Preceptor." The Emperor’s voice carried a tired hoarseness, along with a barely perceptible hint of reliance.

"Recently... I have felt uneasy in my mind, troubled by restless sleep and frequent nightmares, awakening drenched in sweat. Could this be an ill omen from the heavens? Or have the elixirs not yet reached the proper potency to commune with the divine?"

As these words were spoken, the princes standing nearby visibly sobered.

The Crown Prince’s eyes flickered, his thoughts unreadable.

Several glances—some obvious, some subtle—each with a different meaning, turned toward An Yi.

Fortunately, the officials below were too far away to hear, and the music was still playing, so the conversation on the dais went unheard.