Chapter Text
Shen Yuan was fucked. He was reading a chapter of the Protagonist’s 300th Wife, a shitty stallion novel where a mistreated servant became emperor after many political schemes that led him to kill the previous emperor, Tianlang Jun, his father, when he litterally choked from rage on his boiling noodles and lost consciousness. When he awoke, he was lying in a decrepit bed, his whole body aching. He was in a sparse room, with a small bed, a table, a chair, and a broken cupboard, holding on by a thread. Everything seemed old and used, smelling like mold and piss. He noticed a pot chamber filled with urine next to the bed, which was not occurring anything good.
Did someone drug his food? Had he finally been kidnapped like his brother had predicted and sold to a pervert old man?
Shen Yuan noticed his long green sleeves when a door opened with a bang. A petite woman marched into the room and gazed around, a snarl on her face. She was wearing a simple traditional red dress, beautiful despite its lack of finesse.
“It smells like shit in here. Can’t you clean up a little bit?” she asked, hands on her hips.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” Shen Yuan interrupted.
The woman squinted her eyes. “You think you’re so funny. You can forget your little schemes from now on, no one will listen to your tantrums here. You made fun of us for years, treating your servants like ants. Now that you have been destitute of your rank, we’ll see how you like being treated like trash.”
And suddenly, it hit Shen Yuan. He knew why this scenery seemed both odd and familiar. He had read about it for hours last night.
Oh no, no, no.
Shen Yuan rose to his feet and crossed the room. He watched his face in the dusty window and blanched. He recognized those green robes and the fan in his hand.
Fuck. He was in The Protagonist’s 300th Wife.
He was Shen Qingqiu, and this woman was one of the servants he had mistreated for years. After attempting on Luo Binghe’s life, his husband, Shen Qingqiu had been whipped and lowered to the rank of a concubine, and all the people Shen Qingqiu had mistreated in the past came back to seek revenge. Luo Binghe had only agreed to this union because they were forced by Tianlang Jun when he was still the emperor. They never consummated their marriage, and for seven years, Luo Binghe had left him alone, too busy to fuck every woman he met.
After Shen Qingqiu woke up from a fever that lasted thirty days, he was starved and mentally tortured to insanity.
He killed himself three years after his fall from grace.
Shen Yuan sat back on the bed, his head dizzy. He was in deep shit. He had no way to escape this courtyard, since the only exit led to the palace. As a concubine, he wasn’t allowed to go out and be seen by people. He had no freedom, nothing. And if things went according to the novel, his servants hated him so much that they would report any weird activity from him.
Shen Yuan sighed, unaware of his servant’s confused gaze. She had been insulting and screaming at Shen Qingqiu for a while now, but the man just kept whining while holding his head in his hands.
She had known Shen Qingqiu for five years, and he had never acted so out of character. She knew how cunning he could be, but his behavior was so odd that she ran from the room, crept out.
Shen Qingqiu wondered for a while if there was a way to come back to his previous life, but if transmigration novels were right, his previous body was probably dead. He couldn’t hear a System, so it was unlikely that he could accomplish some tasks to come back to his world.
Shen Yuan had only read the first 200 chapters of the novel, but honestly, he didn’t care about what happened after his death.
Sitting on his bed, he searched for answers. His husband hated him, and he had no way to prove his innocence. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t a main character so it was difficult to come to a helpful solution.
His door opened on two servants bringing him a bowl of soup. Shen Yuan remembered that his servants liked to spit in Shen Qingqiu's food, so he pretended not to see the bowl, and turned to the broken clipboard, humming. “Do you have some material to fix this?”
He glanced at Ming Fan, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. In the novel, Ming Fan was written as a bit too tall and not very bright, and this awkward-looking youth seemed to fit the description.
Since he didn’t know Shen Qingqiu from his previous life, maybe things could be different this time between them.
“If you want to fix it, do it yourself!” spat another maid.
“OK. Do you know what I could use?” Shen Yuan said, unaware of the shocked look he gathered.
His familiarity was uncalled for and the servants just couldn’t figure out what kind of scheme that was.
“I think a screw and a hammer,” Ming Fan said, hesitating.
“Ah, yes. You’re probably right. Can you bring me to where you keep all that?” Shen Yuan asked with a smile.
His face softened and the servant blushed furiously. He had been warned about Shen Qingqiu’s temper, but not about his charm. Shen Qingqiu had been married to the current emperor at thirty-two, while Luo Binghe was barely twenty. It had been said that Tianlang Jun had picked an old guy as his son’s first wife just to piss him off. After all, everyone knew Luo Binghe loved soft-tempered women. But Ming Fan couldn’t imagine being upset at being married to such a graceful man.
Flustered, Ming Fan brought him to the cupboard, where he helped Shen Yuan pick the right tools. He came back to his chamber with him. Their strange behavior gathered curious glances, but no one said anything as Shen Yuan fixed his clipboard in front of five maids watching from the doorstep. At first, they watched him without talking, but after the second time he knocked his thumb with a hammer, they all started giving advice.
Shen Yuan ended up with bloodied hands and a very unstable clipboard. He stood straighter, proud of his work. Now his servants wouldn't dare to say he wasn't useful. He wasn't used to labour, but it wasn't that hard, in the end.
After he went out for a tour of the courtyard, Shen Yuan found a bandage and ointment on his bed. He didn’t know who put it there. Was it poisoned? Or did Shen Qingqiu have an ally in this place? Was it Ning Yingying, Shen Yuan’s future Empress? She was known for her kindness and benevolent behavior, after all. Was she already Shen Qingqiu’s servant? He hadn’t seen her all day, but she probably wouldn’t have come to laugh at his misfortune.
Shen Yuan decided to take a risk and put the balm on his finger, before attempting to bandage his wounds. It looked like a five year-old did it, but without modern medicine, he felt like it was the best he could do. At least it covered his wounds.
It’s in the same way that he tied his clothes the next morning. It was midsummer and the weather was hot, so he only put on his inner clothes, having no intention of going out of his chamber. He had discovered some paper and ink to grind under his bed and had decided to learn how to write with it. He had never excelled at calligraphy, so he could work on that to keep his mind busy.
He didn’t hear his servants as they entered the room, finding him in his feathery white robes, his dark hair let loose, and his face glowing in the sunlight. Nor did he feel eyes trained on him, watching him silently.
He only raised his head when Ming Fan set down the tray on the table, worried. His master didn't eat the day before, and still nothing today. He had made sure that no one spat in this bowl. After all, Shen Qingqiu was a wise man, going on his forty. He probably knew what was going on in the kitchen and didn’t want to touch it. His suspicions were confirmed when Shen Qingqiu started eating mindlessly, only sparing him a glance and a smile, before going back to his work.
Ming Fan was a servant, so he didn’t know how to write or read. To him, those letters looked elegant and Shen Qingqiu’s skills excellent.
Shen Yuan eventually noticed his interest, and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.
“My hand still hurts, my writing’s skills are better, usually.”
Ming Fan shook his head, “Master Shen is impressive. I wish I knew how to write.”
Shen Qingqiu then realized why he was looking at it. Was it envy?
“Do you want to learn?”
Ming Fan’s eyes widened. For a moment, he thought he finally tasted Shen Qingqiu’s cruelty, but the older man kept smiling softly, without a hint of humor in his eyes.
“Oh, I can’t bother Master Shen–”
Shen Yuan snorted. “Please, I am in seclusion. Do you think I have better things to do with my time?”
Finally convinced, Ming Fan bowed deeply in front of Shen Qingqiu, “This disciple begs Shizun's indulgence.”
Shen Yuan smiled, his eyes crinkling up into slits. The sun fell on his jade face, his hair falling like a waterfall over his translucent white robes.
On his knees in front of his new Shizun, Ming Fan felt like he was worshiping a god.