The Seventh Prince Can't Read My Mind. I died after staying up all night reading, then transmigrated into a cannon-fodder concubine daughter who wouldn't survive three chapters and got stuck with a gossip System.
The Seventh Prince, Zhao Yan, has mastered mind reading, but he can't read mine.
He has no idea what I'm thinking. But the entire court knows. The emperor stifles a laugh on his throne, Consort Shu hides her face behind a round fan, and the crown prince's ears turn as red as shrimp. The hidden guards crouch on the rafters, shaking as they try not to laugh, while my maid escapes to the latrine every day so she can make noise without being heard.
Sometimes I use basic pharmacology to treat headaches and fevers. I also give history lessons at the academy. After all, I was a top liberal arts student in my previous life, so I might as well put it to use.
Later, he cornered me behind a rockery and braced one hand against the stone wall beside my ear. "What were you saying in your head?"
I picked up a melon rind and rubbed it against his sleeve. "Your Highness, care to guess?"
This book has been dropped.
