Chapter 97
Chi Lin didn’t know how long she had slept. When she woke up, golden sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains; it was late afternoon.
Had she slept the entire day?
She had never slept so soundly, so unguardedly. Waking up, she felt refreshed and clear-headed.
The ache in her back lingered, but after moving her arms, it seemed less severe.
She was starving, so she went to the kitchen to find something to eat.
Lou Mi had stocked the smart fridge with all sorts of ingredients.
Chi Lin ordered a steamed fish and some wine. While waiting, she noticed the apartment was unusually quiet; she was alone.
It was past five, and Lou Mi still hadn’t returned.
Hadn’t she said she would be back in two hours?
Chi Lin checked her phone and saw a message from Lou Mi:
“The meeting is running longer than expected, I’ll probably be home around six. Has my Little Lin slept well? I haven’t heard your voice all day, I’m parched…”
Fifteen minutes later, another message arrived:
“Still sleeping?”
Below the slightly forlorn message was a GIF of a small raccoon tossing and turning in bed, clutching a pillow.
Lou Mi was clearly suffering, but she didn’t want to disturb Chi Lin, only sending two messages all day.
Looking at the distressed raccoon, Chi Lin imagined Lou Mi’s expression and chuckled.
She replied: “I just woke up, is your meeting over?”
After sending the message, she finished her fish and wine, but Lou Mi still hadn’t replied.
Was she still in a meeting?
As Chi Lin put the dishes in the dishwasher, a message arrived.
Not from Lou Mi, but from the Nine Heavens group chat.
Xie Buyu messaged Chi Lin: “Little Sister, come quick! Your sister has lost it!”
Chi Lin: “??”
Xie Buyu: “Get online!”
Chi Lin could never predict Lou Mi’s antics.
Not in her past life, not in this one.
Logging into Return to Jianghu, she immediately noticed that ENIAC’s guild name had been changed to “ENIAC Reigns Supreme.”
Seeing those words, Chi Lin had a bad feeling.
She teleported to the guild headquarters. Before even seeing Lou Mi, she heard her voice, reprimanding someone sternly:
“…The Chiyuan Steed was stolen again? Why aren’t you retrieving it? What’s there to be afraid of? Guaren worked hard to build this empire, and you’re squandering it all!”
Chi Lin’s steps slowed.
Here we go again.
Lou Mi’s addiction to being the Emperor was incurable.
The guild headquarters, usually bustling with activity and carriages, was now adorned with a red carpet leading to a newly built platform, where a large, throne-like chair sat in the center.
Lou Mi’s usual elegant warrior outfit was gone, replaced by a black robe with embroidered dragons. Her flame spear was replaced by a large, square jade seal.
She was scolding someone, raising the jade seal with every sentence, as if she might drop it on someone’s head.
Chi Lin had entered the game expecting to see Lou Mi indulging her imperial fantasies, but Lou Mi’s elaborate imperial attire momentarily stunned her.
It was as if the Empress from her past life was standing before her.
Lou Mi, seeing Chi Lin online, her smile almost breaking through her stern facade, told the person she was scolding to retrieve the Chiyuan Steed, then rushed over to Chi Lin:
“You’re awake? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I sent you a message, but you didn’t reply.”
“You messaged me?” Lou Mi briefly logged off, then returned. “I’m still on my way home, I didn’t want to disturb you, so I came online to kill some time. You must have been really tired, sleeping the entire day.”
Lou Mi’s gaze was fixed on Chi Lin’s beautiful eyes.
She noticed that the “Lin” account seemed to have been redesigned. Chi Lin’s eyes were slightly narrower, her eyebrows darker and longer, her lips thinner, her chin more delicate. She looked more mature and capable.
Most importantly, she no longer looked like a child, her appearance closer to her actual age.
Lou Mi’s heart fluttered. She was stunning…
She hadn’t expected to see the real Chi Lin so soon.
With the help of technology, Lou Mi had searched the in-game store for an outfit similar to the Empress’s robe she had seen in her memories, and Chi Lin had also recreated her true appearance.
Thank you, Return to Jianghu, thank you, N-T development team, for making past and present lives even more exciting.
Lou Mi was almost in tears.
“Little Sister! You’re here! Thank goodness!”
Hearing Xie Buyu and Fu Tu’s voices, Chi Lin turned around curiously.
She saw a eunuch and a palace maid running towards her, their faces indignant.
It took Chi Lin a moment to recognize them from their faces and names; it really was Xie Buyu and Fu Tu.
Fu Tu, usually a tank, a male character, was now wearing a dainty palace maid outfit, looking like a very unconvincing cross-dresser. Her name now had the title “Head Palace Maid.”
Xie Buyu was even worse.
Originally a twin-tailed, doe-eyed, cute little girl, she was now a gloomy-looking eunuch, her title “Chief Eunuch.”
Chi Lin: “…”
Xie Buyu pointed at Lou Mi: “Look at the mess your sister created! Turning Return to Jianghu into Return to the Imperial Court! Fine, she wants to play emperor, let her, she’s HighTowerMiyuki, she can do whatever she wants. But she’s the emperor, and I’m a eunuch! Where’s the justice in that?!”
Chi Lin suppressed a smile: “Can’t you change your appearance back?”
“If I could, I wouldn’t be here! As soon as I enter this cursed guild, I’m forced to wear this outfit! All my belongings are here! Sister Mi, give me a straight answer, are you changing it back or not? If not, I’d rather beg on the streets than be a eunuch!”
Lou Mi tried to reason with her: “Why are you focusing on the eunuch part? You’re the Chief Eunuch! All Guaren‘s internal affairs are under your control. And see how thoughtful I am, I even gave you a Head Palace Maid. You two can even share meals together.”
Xie Buyu held up a hand, stopping Lou Mi:
“Fu Tu and I don’t need to share meals in a game, we can do that anywhere.”
Fu Tu, who had been standing beside Xie Buyu, echoing her every complaint with a “that’s right,” suddenly realized what Xie Buyu meant and smacked her on the back of the head:
“What the hell are you saying?!”
“Was I wrong? Why did you hit me?!”
“Is that the point?! How can you be so shameless! Who’s sharing meals with you!”
The two, who had come to confront Lou Mi, started arguing amongst themselves. Lou Mi grabbed Chi Lin’s hand and pulled her towards the back of the hall.
Passing through the main hall, Chi Lin noticed a plaque above them: “Taihua Palace.”
“I remembered some more things.”
Lou Mi led Chi Lin to a secluded garden. Chi Lin found the scenery familiar.
A pond surrounded by hibiscus flowers, dotted with unlit candle holders, which would surely be a beautiful sight at night. A bridge extended to a pavilion in the center of the pond, its red pillars and pointed roof seemingly floating on the water, picturesque and charming.
With Lou Mi beside her, the scene was strikingly similar to the Southern Palace.
When Chi Lin first entered the game, seeing the changes Lou Mi had made to the guild headquarters, she had thought it was just a silly prank.
She hadn’t expected such a heartwarming surprise.
She knew the power of holographic games, how they could create entirely new worlds, but she hadn’t thought of using it to recreate scenes from their past life.
Chi Lin stared at her surroundings, mesmerized.
“You, remembered the Southern Palace?” She instinctively clutched Lou Mi’s sleeve.
Lou Mi noticed this was Chi Lin’s habit, gripping someone’s sleeve when she was nervous.
Lou Mi’s heart fluttered as she looked at Chi Lin’s hand.
She was so adorable.
“Yes, I remembered.” Lou Mi pulled Chi Lin into her embrace.
Actually, she only remembered a few scenes. The hibiscus flowers and the pavilion had suddenly appeared in her mind while she was in the elevator earlier.
She had immediately focused, trying to capture every detail of the memory fragments, then logged into the game as soon as she got in the car.
Familiar with the in-game store, she quickly recreated the garden, trying to replicate every detail she could remember, the color of the hibiscus flowers, the size and structure of the pavilion, as accurately as possible.
She had imagined Chi Lin’s excitement, but…
Why did Chi Lin’s expression seem so complex?
She was excited, but also hesitant, her joy mixed with something else.
“What’s wrong?” Lou Mi, sensing her unusual mood, asked.
“Why did you remember the Southern Palace specifically…” Chi Lin turned away.
Lou Mi: “??”
What was wrong with the Southern Palace? Lou Mi’s heart skipped a beat. Had they had a fight there?
Well, no couple could stay lovey-dovey forever without arguments. Their past life had been sweet enough, a little disagreement was normal.
But this was the only scene she remembered, a scene she had struggled to recall.
Which memory fragments her brain chose to surface was beyond her control.
She wanted to remember everything, but she couldn’t.
Lou Mi turned to Chi Lin, pouting slightly: “Are you upset?”
“Not really…” Chi Lin’s cheeks flushed. Lou Mi, seeing her furrowed brow, couldn’t decipher her emotions.
Chi Lin was a master of coaxing, and Lou Mi had learned a few tricks from her. Now was the time to put them to use.
“I can’t choose which memories to recall.” Lou Mi leaned against Chi Lin’s arm, acting pitiful. “If you don’t like it, I’ll tear it all down. Tell me what you like, and I’ll build it for you. I’ll do whatever Lin Jie wants.”
In the game, Chi Lin’s redesigned character did look older, so Lou Mi calling her “Lin Jie” wasn’t out of place, and her sweet, slightly childish tone transported Chi Lin back to Dayuan, back to the Southern Palace.
Lou Mi, eager to appease Chi Lin, had no idea that it wasn’t a fight or disagreement that made Chi Lin’s expression so complex.
On the contrary, the Southern Palace held their sweetest and most passionate memories.
Her Majesty had spent an entire year there with her, using her “recovery” as an excuse to keep Chi Lin by her side, only attending to official matters when necessary.
It was a year of unrestrained love, of inseparable intimacy.
The near-death experience on the northern front had shaken Her Majesty deeply; she couldn’t bear to let Chi Lin out of her sight, not even for a moment.
The palace gardens, this sea of hibiscus flowers, was a place only for the two of them.
The bridge, the pavilion, every corner held traces of Her Majesty’s affection.
Her Majesty had clung to her day and night, as if trying to make up for all the years of separation during Chi Lin’s northern campaign.
Chi Lin had never experienced such intense intimacy before.
And in broad daylight, no less.
She knew Her Majesty loved her, and she cherished Her Majesty deeply.
Her shyness had gradually faded, replaced by an instinctive desire.
Having devoted her life to studying and martial arts, carrying the weight of her nation’s stability, Chi Lin’s thirty years of life had been more arduous, more restrictive than most.
Her family were scholars, and she was the first to pursue martial arts.
Her reserved nature was influenced by her studies, always prioritizing duty and propriety, never considering romance.
Her Majesty had opened her eyes to a new world, a world she had once found foreign and shameful.
Day after day, lost in Her Majesty’s embrace, indulging her every whim, Chi Lin had almost forgotten who she was.
Now, remembering the Southern Palace, a wave of affection surged through her heart. She knew Her Majesty’s mark was etched onto her soul, unchangeable, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
But even now, the memory of that year of unrestrained passion, even the smallest details, made Chi Lin blush.
Her Majesty in this life still had the innocence of first love. Lou Mi might seem mature on the outside, but inside, she was still a child.
Chi Lin couldn’t bring herself to taint her innocence with those memories.
It seemed Lou Mi only remembered the scenery of the Southern Palace, not the events that transpired there.
This was good; Chi Lin didn’t want her to remember.
If she did, even if she wasn’t jealous of her past life self, she might be tempted to reenact those moments.
The thought alone made Chi Lin blush.
“You seem quite comfortable calling me ‘Lin Jie’.” Chi Lin took her hand, a smile appearing on her face. “So, should I call you ‘sister,’ or should you call me ‘sister’?”
“In real life, you calling me ‘sister’ is fine, and in the game, I’ll call you ‘sister.’ We both get what we want.”
Lou Mi was overjoyed.
Chi Lin in real life was the one she was familiar with, the one she fell in love with first.
Who would have thought there was another version in the game?
She had both the older sister and the younger sister; was there anyone happier than her?
Dating Chi Lin was truly exciting.
Lou Mi, her heart racing from the realization of their past and present connection, was too naive to realize she had missed the even more exciting parts, which were already making Chi Lin blush.
She led Chi Lin around the garden, asking for her opinion, any changes or improvements she wanted to make.
“I want it to be as accurate as possible,” Lou Mi said excitedly. “We can come here whenever we have time, it might even help me regain my memories faster.”
For the first time, Chi Lin thought it might be better if Lou Mi didn’t remember everything.
In the game, Chi Lin was sitting in the pavilion. In real life, she was sitting on the sofa in the living room when she suddenly felt arms around her. She hadn’t even opened her eyes.
She hadn’t noticed Lou Mi enter the room, her attention still scattered from the Southern Palace memories.
Lou Mi’s embrace was gentle, her head resting on Chi Lin’s shoulder:
“I missed you so much. How are your injuries?”
The scent of Chi Lin’s hair and the feeling of holding her close were incredibly comforting.
“They’re much better.” Chi Lin removed her access crystal. “I can go to school tomorrow.”
As she turned her head, their lips were barely an inch apart.
Lou Mi wanted to kiss her. She gave her two quick pecks, then stopped.
Chi Lin always tried to appear strong, Lou Mi knew this well.
She had endured so much pain before without complaining. Now, saying she was “much better” meant she wasn’t in excruciating pain anymore, but she must still be uncomfortable. Lou Mi didn’t want to push her.
She would wait a few more days until Chi Lin had fully recovered.
Lou Mi had been busy at the club all day, barely eating and surviving on coffee.
She had rushed to recreate the Southern Palace in the game, and now she was starving.
Chi Lin offered to cook: “Beef stew with tomatoes and some greens, okay?”
Lou Mi didn’t want her to move, but Chi Lin insisted on being active, so Lou Mi could only relax on the sofa, enjoying the royal treatment.
Chi Lin brought her the food, watched her eat, wiped her mouth, and then offered her a caramel cheesecake cupcake.
Lou Mi paused: “I haven’t seen this cupcake on Mr. System’s menu.”
“I added it,” Chi Lin said. “You mentioned last week that the cupcakes on TV looked delicious, so I found a recipe and tried making one. I find it a bit too sweet, but it should be just right for you. Try it, and if you don’t like it, I’ll adjust the recipe.”
Lou Mi immediately took a large bite. The sweetness was perfect, not too much, not too little.
“Is it good?” Chi Lin asked expectantly.
“It’s amazing!” Lou Mi devoured half the cupcake in two bites, and Chi Lin was worried she would choke.
“Eat slowly… you got some crumbs on your face.”
Chi Lin held out her hand beneath Lou Mi’s mouth.
Lou Mi: “What are you doing?”
“Catching the crumbs, so they don’t fall on the table, it’s unseemly.”
“…”
Lou Mi was speechless.
She had almost forgotten she was a fake Empress, while the person before her was a genuine one.
Even though she was a general, she was still a scholar, a doctor, with impeccable manners.
Crumbs on the table were fine, they could be cleaned up later, why bother catching them?
But seeing Chi Lin’s clean hand patiently waiting, without a hint of impatience, Lou Mi’s heart melted.
Being an Empress was truly blissful…
No wonder she had been so spoiled in her past life, with such a gentle and attentive person waiting on her hand and foot, it would be hard to be independent.
But Lou Mi didn’t consider herself a spoiled brat, and she didn’t want Chi Lin to work so hard.
At least catching crumbs was something she could do herself.
Lou Mi pushed Chi Lin’s hand down and caught the crumbs herself.
Chi Lin didn’t comment, letting her be.
After she finished eating, Chi Lin took the paper cup and threw it away.
“Does your head hurt today?” After discarding the cup and sanitizing her hands, Chi Lin walked behind Lou Mi and started massaging her shoulders.
Lou Mi didn’t know whether to say it hurt or not.
Chi Lin’s massage was too relaxing.
Why was Chi Lin so good at pampering her? How could she be independent with such attentive care?
“I’ll massage you too later.” Lou Mi said, enjoying the massage, and squeezed Chi Lin’s hand.
Chi Lin hummed in disagreement.
“Why?”
“It’s not appropriate.”
“Why not?” Lou Mi didn’t understand at first, then she realized.
It was that feudal superstition again, the Emperor was divine, untouchable.
Lou Mi opened her eyes and looked up at Chi Lin: “We were married in our past life, were you always the one attending to me? Didn’t I ever do anything for you?”
“Not really, but I mostly took care of your daily needs.” Chi Lin smiled. “You’ve always been bad at taking care of yourself, both in this life and the past. Even if you could do certain things, I wouldn’t trust you to do them properly.”
“You took care of my daily needs?” Lou Mi asked. “Then what did I do for you?”
At this question, Chi Lin’s expression turned slightly awkward, but she quickly recovered:
“You were the Emperor, burdened with the affairs of the entire nation, you didn’t have time for anything else.”
Lou Mi didn’t understand: “What do you mean ‘anything else’? You’re my wife, not ‘anything else’.”
At this point, Lou Mi, the experienced gamer, finally understood.
Of course, she “took care” of Lin Jie in bed.
Lou Mi basked in her own cleverness for about five seconds, then reality hit.
If she didn’t remember it, it wasn’t hers…
Chi Lin, seeing her changing expressions, her mind clearly wandering, tapped her forehead:
“Stop overthinking things.”
So, subjects could tap their Emperor’s forehead.
Well, there could be some playful intimacy between emperor and subject.
“What am I overthinking?” Lou Mi grabbed Chi Lin’s hands. “Tell me.”
Chi Lin couldn’t bring herself to say it: “I won’t fall for your tricks.”
Lou Mi couldn’t get enough of Chi Lin, longing to remember everything from their past life.
“So, should I call you ‘sister,’ or ‘Your Majesty’ from now on?” This had been bothering Chi Lin lately.
Lou Mi seemed to have accepted her past life, but Chi Lin was still worried about accidentally offending her.
She had listed all the potentially disrespectful scenarios, asking for Lou Mi’s guidance.
“Is that even a question?” Lou Mi turned to face her. “You can call me whatever you want. Isn’t calling me by my name good enough?”
“Just Lou Mi?”
“Lou Mi seems a bit distant, how about Mi Mi?” Chi Lin was older, and whether it was a term of endearment from a senior or a lover, Lou Mi liked it.
But Chi Lin remembered the horrifying nickname the original Chi Lin had saved for Lou Mi in her contacts, and she had a slight aversion to “Mi Mi.”
“How about ‘baby’? Hmm?” Lou Mi leaned closer, nuzzling Chi Lin’s neck.
Chi Lin giggled, shrinking back: “Baby is too cheesy.”
“Minister Chi is so hard to please. Then what should I call you?”
“Minister Chi” transported Chi Lin back to her early years in the court.
The then-princess, her feelings still hidden, had also called her that. It was a title that had stayed with her for many years.
Lost in thought, Chi Lin asked cautiously:
“When we’re alone, can I call you Your Majesty?”
Lou Mi’s gaze softened: “You can even call me Jin Yi. Whatever you like.”
Chi Lin immediately shook her head: “No, just Your Majesty.”
Lou Mi cupped her face, tilting her head up:
“I’m your Majesty, I’m Lou Mi, I’m Jin Yi, these are just titles. If it gives you peace of mind, I can be anyone. Didn’t you say you love me, no matter who I am?”
Chi Lin held her wrist and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Really want to thank me?” Lou Mi whispered back. “There are other ways to show your gratitude.”
Chi Lin: “?”
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