After transmigrating as Yongzheng, Jia Baoyu hands the empire over to Zhen Huan and the others. Six women who were supposed to wither away in the harem help him hold up the Phoenix Pavilion. Meanwhile, he sits beneath the grape trellis, snacking on melon seeds and admiring the flowers. Every so often, he steams a bowl of milk custard in the kitchen and sends Shen Meizhuang at the Chrysanthemum Hall a lopsided painting of white chrysanthemums. When the ministers kneel and beg, “Your Majesty, please get a grip,” he doesn’t even look up. “My proper business is making sure they take care of theirs.”
