Chapter 33

*The Soft-Rice Agreement*
Zhu Yu fetched two spoons and a fresh set of tableware from the cafeteria.
In those careful silences she sensed permission to press further. If Bai Shuzhou did not object, she might eat beside her, talk through the meal, and perhaps trigger a memory—
The cook smiled with honest warmth, handed over the utensils without fuss, and then asked—almost shyly—whether Zhu Yu would sign something for her.
She pulled a blank notebook from under the counter and gushed that Zhu Yu was even handsomer in person than on the net, and that she and the princess were clearly made for each other.
Pink bubbles rose in Zhu Yu’s chest. She lifted her chin a fraction, pleased—then Melnor materialized from nowhere and snatched the pen from her hand.
Sharp brows swept over Zhu Yu. “Your Highness. Members of the imperial household do not give autographs at random—least of all on blank paper.”
The honorific was correct; the pressure was not. Zhu Yu’s spine tightened as if she were being scolded by a teacher.
Melnor turned to the cook. “You are dismissed.”
Two attendants stepped out of shadow, one hand over the cook’s mouth, ignoring her panicked struggle. They dragged her away without a sound.
The hall went still again, as if nothing had happened.
Zhu Yu’s pupils shrank. This was excessive—wasn’t it? She opened her mouth to plead, but Melnor’s lips curved coldly first.
“She violated the employee handbook. It is all in the confidentiality regulations. Do your duty in your post—that is the minimum decency.”
“If you had signed just now, that name could surface anywhere before long.”
“Your Highness, do not forget who you are. A careless gesture may harm you and the entire empire. Choose your words with care.”
Each calm sentence landed like a stone. Cold sweat crept down Zhu Yu’s back.
One moment they had been chatting; the next, the woman was gone.
For the first time Zhu Yu felt the chill and arrogance of imperial power—only the tip of the iceberg.
Melnor watched her swallow. “You will not kill her, will you?” Zhu Yu’s voice was dry.
Melnor paused half a second, almost smiling. “…Perhaps not.”
She bowed and left.
“Please don’t be too harsh—it was me who spoke to her first! I’ll be careful from now on—!”
Melnor’s words had carried something else, something that left Zhu Yu uneasy.
She stood a while. The holographic screen in the hall scrolled reports of energy anomalies somewhere in the empire. Zhu Yu gripped her tray and decided to find Bai Shuzhou first.
Food mattered. Eating with her wife mattered most.
But when she reached the room, Bai Shuzhou was already gone.
Even the snow-leopard knights at the door had been replaced—two unfamiliar, hard faces. No matter how Zhu Yu probed, they would only say “routine rehabilitation.”
She carried the tray back, carried it away again, the news murmuring in the background like noise she could not shut off.
Only when the luxury car returned her to the palace did she realize she had walked off with the cafeteria’s dishes.
The stainless tray lay in a gilded chamber—cold, out of place—a silent reminder that none of this was a dream.
Zhu Yu raked her fingers through her hair. If only she had not gone for spoons. What would happen to that cook? At minimum she would lose her job.
Melnor had not been joking.
The restrictions on Zhu Yu had just been lifted today; she had been glad to breathe again. Now the world felt dangerous in a new way.
She would have to be careful. More careful still.
She threw herself on the bed. The maids kept it immaculate; Bai Shuzhou’s scent had faded to a trace on the air, like wind that passed and did not return.
Sweetness left; uneasy emptiness remained.
Ding—
Her neural terminal lit. A red “special concern” banner pinned itself to the top.
She opened it without thinking. Between dense blocks of text her name and Bai Shuzhou’s leapt out at once.
A marriage contract.
She sat up from an undignified sprawl, spine straight though no one watched, breath held.
The file used some high encryption—lines only appeared as her pupils scanned them, one after another, very grand indeed.
The opening declared that for the duration of the marriage Zhu Yu would hold no royal political decision rights and bear no corresponding duties. The boundary was drawn with surgical clarity.
Sixty-odd pages. Zhu Yu’s heart sank. This was clearly to stop her coveting power.
The split was so clean it did not feel like a marriage at all—more like a modern sale contract.
Further down, rewards stood in bold: full sovereignty over two third-tier planets; one million star credits per month as pocket money; additional wages for “special services.”
Her chest felt hollow, then stuffed full by a string of zeros.
She forgot to breathe and counted on her fingers—units, tens, hundreds… one million every month.
Fortune struck like lightning.
If she remembered correctly, only a handful of nobles held mining rights on energy worlds. This document granted sovereignty—whole worlds.
She could crown herself on those planets if she wished. Not a formal princess-consort title, not nobility—a petty emperor on the rim.
“Am I dreaming…” She pinched her wrist hard.
The terminal seemed to read her doubt. Bai Shuzhou’s personal electronic seal ghosted in the background—the royal crest a silver dragon with wings spread.
Zhu Yu realized with a jolt: these had been Bai Shuzhou’s fiefs.
Though the princess had never left the imperial capital, both the late emperor and Bai Qianze had been generous to her.
Beside planetary sovereignty, a million credits a month looked small. As for those special services—
Zhu Yu read line by line.
The contract euphemized her healing gift as “companionship services.” Any improvement in Bai Shuzhou’s condition would be rewarded by degree. The wording was meticulous—even comfort required during heat periods.
Some phrases were blunt enough to scorch. Could this really be written down?
She clutched the blanket, ears burning, seeing color in black and white she had no right to see.
She had to breathe, scream silently into the pillow, glance around the room as if admiring the view, and only then force herself through the next few lines.
Stuck. Scream again.
She had never imagined intimacy could be priced and filed like merchandise.
This was not a normal marriage. It was a thorough, outrageously generous arrangement—kept consort terms in all but name.
An enormous bowl of soft rice.
Kiss her wife, get paid extra. Who had ever heard of such a thing?
She would not have dared dream it.
But why treat her so well? Had Bai Shuzhou not forgotten her?
Zhu Yu scrolled back, digging through polished language, and noticed other threads.
Since the incident when she had abducted Bai Shuzhou and become a wanted criminal, her military rank and political benefits had been revoked and never restored. She wore “Your Highness” as an empty shell—her military power hollowed out.
From a free-spirited officer to the princess’s kept soft-rice spouse.
Zhu Yu had little ambition and liked violence less. She could accept that trade.
Staying safely at Bai Shuzhou’s side was reward enough. As for making Bai Shuzhou love her instead of treating everything as transaction—she would think of a way.
In good spirits she rolled in the blankets, scrolled to the end, ready to sign.
Why hesitate? She had no reason to refuse.
Her finger lifted—then caught the smallest line at the bottom, easy to miss.
“During the marriage, should Zhu Yu harm Bai Shuzhou or commit infidelity (physical or emotional)—”
“Summary execution.”
Execution?!
Seeing those three words in an interstellar legal document left her dizzy. She checked again. Yes—real law.
Her accidental touch on the signature field had started a thirty-second countdown. Fail to sign and the offer vanished.
Given the original body’s record, such a clause was almost reasonable.
Zhu Yu set her jaw. The threat galvanized her. She signed at once, afraid Bai Shuzhou might change her mind.
She was not that scumbag. Not beating, not cheating—baseline humanity.
She trusted herself. If she ever became the kind of beast who broke those lines, she would jump before Bai Shuzhou needed to lift a finger.
Golden characters flashed on the screen, rolled up, vanished, stamped crimson.
Almost simultaneously her bank balance shifted—one million credits deposited.
Memo: allowance, voluntary gift.
“……”
Shamelessly she counted digit by digit again.
She still did not grasp how rare her gift was, but instinct said: this much money, plus a slice of territory—how was it not love?
Her fingertip brushed a hidden panel. Sender profile popped up. Nickname: Rock Sugar.
Chat history had been wiped clean. Zhu Yu stared, then understood—this was Bai Shuzhou’s private account.
They still had a line between them; the original had only hidden it.
She had thought she was deleted and blocked.
Before she could smile, the contact list below erupted like a virus, refreshing madly.
The original had hidden far more than Bai Shuzhou.
When loading finally stopped, Zhu Yu trembling opened one profile and her vision darkened.
The remark field was longer than life itself—name, birthday, post, hometown, verbal tics, preference for blond blue-eyed women in blue gowns, golf at Cloud Summit Wed/Sat afternoons, hatred of insects, no chili in food—
She scrolled down in horror. Nearly every contact had a dossier like this, a sea-king’s manual thicker than the contract she had just signed.
Only the pinned “Rock Sugar” had an empty note—not one word.
How could you neglect your own wife like that?
Her fist tightened. Acid rose—anger at the original, grief for whatever Bai Shuzhou had endured in silence.
Yet “Rock Sugar” sounded sweet, oddly perfect—white, angular, sweet inside, a cube that melted slow on the tongue.
Still, aside from public facts, Zhu Yu knew less about Bai Shuzhou than those files recorded—habits, hobbies, daily routes, even her birthday.
Worse: hidden contacts held mountains of unread messages.
No wonder when she first unlocked the terminal no friend had checked in—the original had managed relationships abysmally.
Better to stay abysmal!
How guilty did you have to be to hide all this?
Red dots multiplied. 99+ notifications swamped her. The alerts were even three-dimensional, battering her already unsteady heart.
Zhu Yu stared at the enthusiastic chat windows with grave expression.
Behind fortune’s gift, three characters seemed to hang in the air—
Summary execution.