If there was one silver lining to surviving an assassination attempt and accidentally triggering a political purge, it was the room service.
Five minutes after Prime Minister Su and Su Jian stormed out to restart the level (God, please don't let them burn down the city), a trembling maid scurried in. She didn't say a word. She just placed a bowl of bird's nest soup on the table, bowed so low her forehead touched the floor, and backed out like she was escaping a tiger's den.
Su Yaoyao sat on the edge of the bed, spooning the expensive soup into her mouth.
"Okay, plan B," she mumbled to herself, the warm soup doing absolutely nothing to settle the cold dread in her stomach. "Dad is currently out there playing Dynasty Warriors with the government officials. Brother is probably sharpening his sword on a statue. I need to see what I'm working with."
She set the bowl down and wobbled over to the large bronze mirror in the corner.
In the novel, Su Yaoyao was described as a vicious beauty. A face that could launch a thousand ships—and then sink them just for fun.
She stood in front of the polished metal.
"Oh," she whispered. "Okay. Not bad."
The girl in the reflection was undeniably pretty. She had big, upturned eyes that looked naturally flirtatious (or scheming, depending on the lighting), a small nose, and skin so pale it looked like she'd never seen the sun. She looked like a porcelain doll that would bite you if you touched it.
"Face card is valid," Yaoyao nodded approvingly. "10/10. No filters needed."
Then, she lowered her gaze.
Her smile dropped.
"Where..." she poked her chest. "Where are they?"
She turned to the side. Flat as an ironing board. She turned to the other side. A gentle breeze could knock her over.
"I'm a bean sprout," she groaned, clutching her flat chest in despair. "I'm sixteen! I should have something! This is a tragedy. How am I supposed to be a femme fatale villainess when I look like a disgruntled chopstick?"
Great. Just great. I have the personality of a gremlin and the body of a ruler. No wonder the Prince wants to execute me; he probably mistook me for a boy in a dress.
"Who dares mistake my daughter for a boy?!"
The voice didn't come from the door. It came from the hallway, booming with enough authority to shake the window frames.
Yaoyao jumped, spinning around just as the broken doors were shoved open again.
If Prime Minister Su was a terrifying storm cloud, the woman who entered was the sun—blinding, hot, and impossible to ignore.
She was tall, dressed in layers of crimson and gold silk that flowed around her like liquid fire. Her hair was piled high in an intricate style held together by jade pins that probably cost more than a modern Ferrari.
But the most distracting thing about her wasn't her jewelry. It was her figure.
She was magnificent. Curves in all the right places. A waist that defied physics. She walked with a sway that commanded attention, radiating an energy that screamed, I own this building, the land it sits on, and your soul.
This was Madam Shen. The Prime Minister's wife. My mother.
And she was absolutely stacked.
Yaoyao looked at her mother, then looked down at her own flat chest.
Make it make sense! Yaoyao screamed internally. Genetics, explain yourself! Did Dad's genes fight Mom's genes and win? Why did I inherit the stick-figure build? This is a scam! I want a refund on this birth!
Madam Shen froze in the doorway.
Her sharp, phoenix-like eyes widened. She tilted her head, her gold earrings chiming softly.
"Refund... on this birth?" Madam Shen whispered, her hand drifting to her chest.
Yaoyao stiffened. Crap. She heard that too?
But Madam Shen didn't look angry. Her expression crumpled into pure, dramatic heartbreak.
"My poor Baobao!" Madam Shen wailed, rushing forward in a cloud of expensive perfume. "You think you are unworthy? You think your body is lacking because you haven't blossomed yet? You want to be reborn because you envy your mother?"
Before Yaoyao could say, No, I just want boobs, she was engulfed.
Madam Shen hugged her. And when I say hugged, I mean Yaoyao was buried face-first into the very assets she was just envying. It was soft, warm, and smelled like jasmine. It was also suffocating.
Mmph! Yaoyao flailed her arms. I can't breathe! Death by cleavage! Okay, honestly? Not the worst way to go. Tell the Prince I died happy.
Madam Shen stiffened again. A flush of pink rose on her cheeks. She pulled back slightly, looking at Yaoyao with a mix of shock and amusement.
"You wicked child," Madam Shen chuckled, tapping Yaoyao's nose with a manicured fingernail. "Thinking such shameless things about your own mother."
"I can't help it," Yaoyao gasped for air, her face red. "You're... very effective, Mother."
Madam Shen preened. She smoothed her robes, looking pleased. "Of course I am. How else do you think I kept your father on a leash for twenty years?"
She walked over to the table, sat down, and poured herself a cup of tea. Every movement was elegant, precise, and terrifying.
"Speaking of your father," Madam Shen blew on the tea, her eyes narrowing. "I heard he is currently trying to mobilize the Black Feather Guard to storm the Ministry of War. He was shouting something about restarting the server. Do you know anything about this?"
Yaoyao froze.
Oh no. She knows. She's going to scold me. She's going to realize I'm a fraud.
Yaoyao stood straight, trying to look innocent. "I... might have had a nightmare? And Father might have... overreacted?"
"Overreacted?" Madam Shen scoffed. "That man doesn't know the meaning of the word. He worships the ground you walk on, Yaoyao. If you sneezed, he would outlaw dust."
She took a sip of tea, then slammed the cup down. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"However," Madam Shen said, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "If he thinks he can start a civil war without my permission, he has another thing coming."
Yaoyao stared at her.
In the novel, Prime Minister Su was the ultimate villain. He was cold, heartless, and cruel. But there was one detail the author had emphasized: He never took a concubine.
In a world where powerful men had harems of ten or twenty women, Prime Minister Su had only one wife. Madam Shen.
Yaoyao had assumed it was because they were deeply in love. Looking at Madam Shen now—terrifying, beautiful, and radiating Final Boss energy—Yaoyao realized it wasn't just love.
It was fear.
Dad isn't the boss, Yaoyao realized, her eyes widening. She is. He's the dog, and she holds the leash. Oh my god, she's the true villain of this story. Prime Minister Su is just her henchman!
Madam Shen's lips curled into a smirk. She heard that.
"Smart girl," Madam Shen murmured. "Men are simple creatures, Yaoyao. They like to think they rule the world with their swords and their laws. But we? We rule the men."
She beckoned Yaoyao closer.
"Your father," Madam Shen said casually, "once looked at a dancer for three seconds too long at a banquet. Do you know what I did?"
Yaoyao gulped. "What?"
"I didn't scream. I didn't cry," Madam Shen examined her nails. "I simply told him that if he liked dancers so much, I would hire ten of the most handsome male dancers from the Western Regions to perform for me every night in my bedroom."
Yaoyao's jaw dropped. Savage. Absolutely legendary behavior.
"He never looked at another woman again," Madam Shen winked. "But enough about him. He is currently outside, probably frightening the horses. We need to discuss you."
Madam Shen stood up and circled Yaoyao, eyeing her up and down like a butcher inspecting a cut of meat.
"You look pale," Madam Shen critiqued. "And your posture is sloppy. You stand like a wet noodle."
"I was almost assassinated ten minutes ago!" Yaoyao defended herself.
"Excuses," Madam Shen waved a hand. "If you are to survive in this court, you cannot look like a victim. You must look like a predator who is simply resting."
She grabbed Yaoyao's shoulders and yanked them back. "Chin up! Chest out! ...Well, push out what little you have."
"Hey!"
"Listen to me, Yaoyao," Madam Shen's face turned serious. She grabbed Yaoyao's chin, forcing her to look into her eyes.
"I heard your thoughts earlier," Madam Shen said softly. "You wanted to die? You wanted to go home?"
Yaoyao's breath hitched. The comedy vanished from the room.
"I..." Yaoyao looked away. "I just... I don't belong here, Mother. Everything is scary. The food is weird. The toilets are holes. And people want to kill me."
And in five years, you and Dad are going to be executed, and I don't want to watch that happen.
Madam Shen's grip tightened. Her eyes shimmered with a fierce, protective light.
She didn't hear the part about the execution—Yaoyao's panic had been too jumbled—but she heard the fear.
"You belong where I say you belong," Madam Shen said fiercely. "You are a Su. We do not run from fear. We make the fear run from us."
She pulled Yaoyao into another hug—gentler this time.
"If you want to go home to some other world," Madam Shen whispered into her hair, "I will burn every temple and slay every god until I find the way. But until then, you are mine. And no one—not the Prince, not the Emperor, and certainly not some second-rate assassin—is allowed to touch you."
Yaoyao stood there, stiff in her mother's arms.
She should be annoyed. She should be planning her escape. But this woman was so warm. And so fiercely on her side.
Crap, Yaoyao thought, feeling a lump in her throat. I think I just unlocked a new attachment. How am I supposed to ruin this family when they keep being so… cool?
Madam Shen pulled back, wiping a stray tear from Yaoyao's cheek. Then, the Boss Lady mask slammed back into place.
"Now," Madam Shen clapped her hands. "First order of business. Your father is likely about to commit treason because he misunderstood your restart comment. I should probably go stop him before he accidentally makes you the Empress."
She turned to the door. "Maids! Prepare a bath for the Young Miss! And burn these clothes; she looks like a peasant who rolled in a dustbin!"
She paused at the shattered doorway and looked back at Yaoyao.
"And Yaoyao?"
"Yes, Mother?"
"Don't worry about the chest," Madam Shen smirked, glancing down at her own ample figure. "I was a late bloomer too. Drink more papaya milk. It worked for me."
With that, she swept out of the room, yelling for her sedan chair to take her to the Ministry of War.
Yaoyao stood alone in the room again.
She looked at the mirror. She poked her flat chest.
"Papaya milk," she muttered. "Noted."
She sighed and flopped back onto the bed. "Okay. Dad is a loose cannon. Brother is a battle maniac. Mom is a terrifying girl-boss. And I'm a flat-chested bean sprout who just wants Wi-Fi."
She stared at the ceiling.
"Prince Zhao," she whispered to the empty air. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay far, far away from this family. We are absolutely insane."