The Empress Just Wants to Take It Easy and Be a Couch Potato

When Jiang Li transmigrated into this palace-intrigue novel, she was in the middle of a blissful dream about a tropical island getaway. It all started three days earlier, when she spilled tea on the Noble Consort's fingernails. No, to be precise, it was the original owner's stupid mistake. Jiang Li had only transmigrated at the worst possible moment and inherited the consequences. The Noble Consort sneered that she would teach her a lesson, while the concubines around the palace held their breath, waiting to see how the new low-ranking consort would wail and beg. Jiang Li neither cried nor screamed. She glanced at the paddle, supposedly capable of smashing someone's backside, then at the Noble Consort's carefully painted willow-leaf brows. Lifting her skirt, she simply lay down on the spot. “This concubine admits her guilt. This concubine deserves to die. This concubine will leave the Hall of Mental Cultivation at once.” The whole room fell silent. Even the paddle in the matron's hands trembled in midair. And so Jiang Li became the first low-ranking consort in the Great Ye dynasty's history to be sent straight to the Cold Palace. Other young ladies transmigrated into books to defy fate and change their lives. She had transmigrated only to lie around and wait for death. Others competed for the emperor's favor to stay alive. She gave up because, come on, the original owner's family was the richest in Jiangnan, and her father found a new way to smuggle silver notes into the palace every month. She could treat this as a vacation at the royal sanatorium. What was the point of fighting and competing? The Cold Palace was admittedly a little rough around the edges, but Jiang Li had money. The retired consort next door spent every day hanging out with her, and Jiang Li made the whole place feel so lively that anyone who didn't know better would think some rich merchant's wife had opened a farm resort in the palace.