Synopsis: The Female Grand Tutor Turns the Tyrant’s Court Upside Down
Lin Qingtang dropped dead while livestreaming a rocket sale. When she opened her eyes, she was kneeling in the throne room of Great Chu, having become the first female Grand Tutor to disguise herself as a man. Her chest binder was painfully tight, and beneath her official robes she was hiding a modern camisole. Yet she had to smile at the tyrant twirling a dagger on the throne and say, “Your Majesty, I can explain the wonderful method of ‘boiling water to cook porridge’ in three stand-up routines.”
She was a thorny begonia who turned the imperial court into her stage. At the morning audience, she used livestream shopping tactics to sell the grain stockpiled in the treasury. For the imperial examinations, she had the young ladies write policy essays in rap. She even slipped the tyrant potato chips as he reviewed memorials: “Try these. These ‘Western Regions Crisps’ are much crunchier than your dragon’s-breath incense.” The old ministers were so furious they banged their ceremonial tablets, but she just swayed her sleeves, where begonias were embroidered in a subtle pattern. “A scholar’s refined pastime. Get it?”
The tyrant, rumored to kill without batting an eye, would secretly pick up her fallen bamboo hairpin and jade ornament. When she called out, “Bro, let’s eat,” he would quietly bring her another bowl. And when she was impeached for being “too feminine,” he would throw down an imperial decree: “The begonia scent in the Grand Tutor’s hair is a ‘remedy for governing the realm,’ personally bestowed by Me. Speak of it again, and I’ll show you what it means to be ‘roasted into silence.’” But she had noticed the peace-sign bunny pendant at his waist, identical to the fan badge of “Lone Boat Beneath the Moon,” a fan she had blocked in her previous life.
When the System displayed “Loading bond from a previous life,” she touched the begonia-shaped birthmark on her collarbone and smiled. So, even back in her previous life, when she complained that “ancient men don’t understand romance,” some tyrant had already carved her catchphrase into the Imperial Seal: “You’ve met today’s quota for complaints. I hereby permit you... to spend the night with Me without wearing a chest binder.”
