When it comes to consorts spending the night with the emperor, there are basically two main styles—and a whole bunch of subcategories.
They’ve seen it all over the years, and with enough discipline and training, they can usually slice through any wicked thoughts. But tonight, with Imperial Consort Mia Wise’s seductive singing echoing through the halls, even the most repressed impulses started peeking out. Palace guards are young and full of fire—they’re not eunuchs, after all.
But honestly, even though yours truly couldn’t find exact historical records, this sushi-roll method wasn’t all that common before the Qing Dynasty—especially not in the Tang or Song. And let’s face it, fast food might be convenient, but it’s got zero romance. Men are hunters at heart; if they don’t get to unwrap the package themselves, it just doesn’t feel right. Even in the Qing, the emperor’s favorites didn’t have to go through this routine.
So, the emperor could go with option number two—which barely needs explaining: however you do it, that’s how he does it. At the end of the day, the emperor’s just flesh and blood like the rest of us.
Joan was lurking beside her and couldn’t help but snicker. “Aren’t these guys experts? What, you think they’re too weak?”
Before nightfall, Simone was rolling up to the Hall of Benevolent Origin in a fancy carriage. Every consort and maid she passed had that classic look: envy, jealousy, and just a dash of bitterness.
Simone’s expression was perfectly on point—nervous and anxious, but with a hint of that "I’m about to make it big!" excitement. To everyone watching, she looked exactly how a lucky consort should at a moment like this.
Joan pointed at the guards with her jade-like finger. “The palace is all about keeping enemies out. The walls and gates are packed with soldiers. Add in the regular patrols, and the number of experts here easily beats our Spirit Eagle Palace. The bodyguards aren’t here to fight off invaders—they just need to hold the line and wait for backup. These thirty-six guys are more than enough most of the time. Unless there’s a full-scale invasion, there are only a handful of people in the world who could bust through them in minutes.”
Inside the Hall of Benevolent Origin, Simone bathed and changed. This wasn’t the real deal yet—think of it as the palace security checkpoint. The old matrons watched her bathe, dress, and do her hair, never letting her out of their sight for even a second. Since it was her first time, they were extra cautious.
“You’re a total freak—who’d ever think to defend against someone like you? Most masters hate group fights, especially arrow volleys. But you? You just charge in with your shield up and bulldoze ahead. Still, it’s only because the palace concubines don’t have big backgrounds that security’s this thin.” Memories of their escape from Mystic Isle flashed in Joan’s eyes as she warned, “Don’t underestimate the imperial foundation. A country is nothing like a sect. Real power isn’t always out in the open.”
The maid styling her hair kept her eyes down and said softly, "Best wishes, Noble Consort Simone. The time’s about right—please head over to Dewmont Hall. Wait about a quarter hour and His Majesty will come to visit you."
"Thank you," Simone replied, flashing a nearly flawless smile—the kind that made the maid dazed for a moment. By the time she snapped out of it, Simone was already gliding toward Dewmont Hall. Watching her mesmerizing silhouette, the maid couldn’t help but mutter, "This woman’s got a charm that works on everyone—men and women alike."
Tonight, Simone was absolutely glowing.
Of course, she wasn’t the only one feeling lively. When a bunch of troublemakers get together to stir up mischief, everyone gets a little extra energy—no exceptions. Even the seasoned pros couldn’t help but get hyped for tonight’s shenanigans.
"Look, here comes the palace expert you were waiting for." Joan jerked her chin toward the elderly eunuch walking in lockstep beside Emperor Richard Song. "Eighty years of training—not bad, huh?"
As soon as Simone stepped into Dewmont Hall, an ethereal melody floated out from inside. The singing was both enchanting and refined—seriously, top-notch stuff.
Outside, a guard couldn’t help but whisper, "Most consorts are too nervous to even speak on their first night, but Noble Consort Simone can still sing? That’s something else."
Another guard, looking especially sleazy, chimed in, "See? They said Simone was the most dazzling of all the new consorts, and tonight proves it!"
A third guard looked downright heartbroken: "I heard she used to be a songstress. If I’d known, I’d have spent ten years’ salary just for a chance…"
Seeing how he acted, Yang Qi pointed right at him. Joan nodded knowingly—yep, he’s the one.
The Dewmont Hall guards are the ones who stand watch while His Majesty sleeps, and keep vigil while the Emperor does... whatever he does—except they can only look in the other direction. No matter how much the concubines moan and wail in bed, those guys have to focus on staring at fake mountains, palace walls, and glazed tiles. They can look anywhere, just not at the live show.
They’ve seen it all over the years, and with enough discipline and training, they can usually slice through any wicked thoughts. But tonight, with Simone’s seductive singing echoing through the halls, even the most repressed impulses started peeking out. Palace guards are young and full of fire—they’re not eunuchs, after all.
When the mind stirs, so does the energy. These guys aren’t top-tier masters—they can’t keep their aura locked down every second. The moment their energy shifts, anyone with a sharp eye can see right through them.
“Regular guards have thirty-plus years of training, and the captains have forty. Just to play with a woman, you need thirty guards and six captains on duty—now that’s a luxury eavesdropping crew.” In a hidden corner, Yang Qi’s big eyes peeked out, puzzled. “But where are those legendary palace experts everyone talks about?”
Jiaoniang was lurking beside her and couldn’t help but snicker. “Aren’t these guys experts? What, you think they’re too weak?”
“Exactly! This is the imperial core and all we get are a handful of half-baked guards? Feels pretty shabby if you ask me.”
“Oh, come on! You think there are super-masters lurking around every corner? You’ve run into too many hotshots on your travels—now your standards are way too high.”
Jiaoniang pointed at the guards with her jade-like finger. “The palace is all about keeping enemies out. The walls and gates are packed with soldiers. Add in the regular patrols, and the number of experts here easily beats our Lingjiu Palace. The bodyguards aren’t here to fight off invaders—they just need to hold the line and wait for backup. These thirty-six guys are more than enough most of the time. Unless there’s a full-scale invasion, there are only a handful of people in the world who could bust through them in minutes.”
Yang Qi nodded, but still looked annoyed. “Yeah, I get it. But shouldn’t there at least be a few heavy-hitters to keep things in check? If this is all they’ve got, I could just smash my way through the whole palace, no sweat!”
“You’re a total freak—who’d ever think to defend against someone like you? Most masters hate group fights, especially arrow volleys. But you? You just charge in with your shield up and bulldoze ahead. Still, it’s only because the palace concubines don’t have big backgrounds that security’s this thin.” Memories of their escape from Mystic Isle flashed in Jiaoniang’s eyes as she warned, “Don’t underestimate the imperial foundation. A country is nothing like a sect. Real power isn’t always out in the open.”
"Yeah, you’re right." Yang Qi nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly her eyes lit up with excitement. "They’re here!"
Night had fallen, and a large group approached from afar. Since this is the Emperor’s favorite hangout, there’s no need for any grand "His Majesty has arrived!" announcements. Still, Yang Qi recognized him instantly—the eager old man leading the pack was none other than Emperor Richard Song.
—Yep, the same guy who dared to brag to the Sacred Heir, recite dirty poems, dream up wild schemes, and even try to get handsy. The palace’s resident dirty old man.
So, her gaze immediately turned wicked.
"Look, here comes the palace expert you were waiting for." Jiaoniang jerked her chin toward the elderly eunuch walking in lockstep beside Emperor Richard Song. "Eighty years of training—not bad, huh?"
Yang Qi thought for a moment, stroking her chin. "I’ve seen him before—he was at Putian too." Back then, Emperor Richard Song had familiar faces on his left and a big-shot official on his right, so the old eunuch barely stood out.
"Beloved Consort, your king has arrived!" Emperor Richard Song barged in like a general looking for his favorite courtesan, shoving open the doors and charging inside.
The old eunuch, meanwhile, kept a stone face and shrieked arrogantly at the guards, "Don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to. Listen up, all of you—stay sharp! If anything goes wrong, you’d better watch your heads!"
"Yes, Eunuch Liu!" The guards all bowed their heads, not a single one daring to show any dissatisfaction. Clearly, this old eunuch was Emperor Richard Song’s personal attendant and head steward—a top dog in the palace.
Seeing how he acted, Yang Qi pointed right at him. Jiaoniang nodded knowingly—yep, he’s the one.
"Everyone, stay put." The old eunuch dismissed his attendants and headed for a side hall of Dewmont Hall. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to leave the Emperor’s side for even a minute—not even when the Emperor was asleep. His job was both protection and surveillance, a secret deal made with that important person behind the scenes.
But when it comes to the Emperor’s bedroom antics, even he had to step out for a bit.
Creak—the old eunuch pushed open the side hall door and walked inside.
Sigh, what a hassle. His Majesty’s like a randy old dog, always in heat, always busy. It’s a lot of trouble for me—like dealing with those women who end up pregnant. These days, the Emperor can’t just have kids on a whim. If I and that important person say no, then no it is.
Creak—the door shut again, and he settled in to slack off.
Oh well, it’s close by anyway. With my world-shaking skills, nothing escapes my ears—not falling petals, not flying bugs. Those guards think they’re something, bragging to each other, but I’m the real expert here! Ha!
—Wait, hold on! I’m never this smug. Why am I so full of myself tonight?!
Just as the old eunuch snapped out of it, a deadly aura descended upon him.
In that shifting moment between light and dark, night and day, a crushing force slammed down on him like the heavens collapsing. It was as if a Buddha from above was striking with a divine palm—the intent alone hit his heart like a mountain.
In that instant, the old eunuch’s heart nearly exploded. This is bad—an unrivaled master! Help! Somebody save me!
The old eunuch’s energy surged—if he could just make a noise, he’d be rescued. Even a top master can’t kill me quietly; if you cause trouble in the palace, even the strongest have to back off!
But at that moment, someone else appeared before him. He couldn’t see their face—when that person reached out, everything else faded into the background.
He only saw the five fingers, dragon-like, reaching as if to pluck stars and rip clouds. Behind that hand were a pair of eyes—and the moment he met their gaze, he was frozen in place.
It was a pressure unlike any master’s, but just as terrifying. Like a frog meeting a snake—he went limp, unable to move.
His face twisted in terror, ghastly as a ghost. He was scared out of his wits; with no escape, he tried to open his mouth and scream one last time.
But then came a singing voice—mournful, longing, drifting in from afar. The guards in the garden heard it and cursed, “That old pervert can’t wait a second before getting down to business,” but didn’t think much of it.
But in the old eunuch’s ears, that voice sparked a raging storm in his mind. His head throbbed, his nose almost bled, and his scream stalled for a moment.
In a single moment, everything was decided.
"Heaven wants me dead!!" That final thought flashed through his mind—then snap, that hand grabbed his throat, choking off his cry...