Clara closed the book and sat still for a moment, lost in thought.
In that instant, it felt as if the walls around her were crumbling, revealing a broader world slowly unfolding before her eyes.
The story might be fictional, even a dramatized retelling, but no matter how imaginative the author was, in a society dominated by men, no one would dare fabricate a tale where an empress nearly declared herself sovereign, or a princess fought for the right to be crown heir.
Who wrote this book?
Clara flipped back to the end. Only three characters marked the author's name: "Anonymous."
There had always been tales of the imperial couple whispered among the people—about how devoted they were to each other, how His Majesty had only one woman in the palace, how he despised corrupt officials, how the two princes traveled the realm, delivering justice and granting tax relief, pardoning crimes...
But never had she heard anyone mention what kind of person the Empress was, or what role she played in shaping the Sheng Empire.
Reflecting on everything she'd seen and heard lately, Clara realized that, compared to the previous dynasty, restrictions on women had already loosened. Women walked freely in the county town. Some ran stalls. Some even owned shops. And Emily Ding's study was filled with all sorts of historical and fictional books.
There were signs everywhere that things were changing.
Perhaps, behind the scenes, there were powerful women already wielding influence and fighting for their rights.
That thought stirred something in Clara.
She couldn't go back to the world she came from, but she could hope that the restrictions on women in this world would gradually fade.
And with that hope, she found a new ambition: if she couldn't climb the ladder herself, she would help someone else do it—someone like Lester Liew.
He had a decent foundation. He was an adult. She wouldn't have to worry about raising him from scratch.
Over the past weeks, Clara had learned that while Lester was lazy and loved comfort, he wasn't dumb. He just lacked discipline.
In her past life, she'd survived "Three years of college entrance examination and five years of simulation." She wasn't going to let a grown man laze around when he had a functioning brain.
She didn't expect him to become a top scholar. Just passing the provincial-level exam would be enough.
At the very least, passing the county exams would exempt him from taxes and corvée labor. That alone would be a major contribution to their household.
And who knows? With his shameless charm and good looks, maybe he'd even network his way into a low-level bureaucratic job in the county.
This trip to the Ding residence had been eye-opening for Clara. If you wanted a better life in this world, you had to play by its rules.
With a degree or a title, people would send you land, money, and respect—and you wouldn't even need to get your hands dirty.
In her past life, Clara had fought and killed for survival. In this one, she wanted to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
Granted, her definition of a "comfortable life" was perhaps a tad high by local standards.
She had it all planned out. Once this bodyguard job was over, she'd go home and force Lester back into his books—whether he liked it or not.
But she still let out a small sigh of frustration.
If only she could sit for the exams herself. All that glory, status, and income could've been hers.
But… it was what it was.
Emily Ding had circled the courtyard seven or eight times, her excitement building. At last, she dashed into the study.
"Clara, did you finish the book?"
Clara nodded and gently placed the booklet on the desk. Looking solemnly at the girl, she said, "I've finished it. My advice is to burn it."
Emily's expression shifted. "That serious?"
Clara nodded again. "In the future, sure, this would be harmless. But in this empire, under an absolute monarchy and strict hierarchy, even storytellers in teahouses only dare to praise the emperor—and even then, with caution."
"If someone twisted the meaning of this book into slander, it could cause real trouble."
"So I suggest burning it."
"I can tell you the story again later, but this book should not remain in the house. Your father and brother both have political aspirations. Keeping a book like this could be dangerous."
Seeing Clara's serious expression, Emily grew uneasy. "We really have to burn it?"
Clara noticed her reluctance and encouraged her, "Why don't you read it for yourself first? I'll keep watch outside."
She turned to leave, but Emily stopped her. "I… I don't dare read it."
If she never read it, she could truthfully say she didn't know the contents.
But if she read it, what if she let something slip someday? Her father was so sharp—he'd surely figure it out.
"Don't worry. It's nothing scandalous. Just that different readers might interpret it differently."
Clara gave her a calm smile and stepped out to the corridor.
After barely two seconds of hesitation, curiosity won out. Emily sat down and opened the book.
It wasn't long—just thirty to forty thousand words. Clara had finished it in half an hour.
But Emily stayed holed up in the study the entire afternoon and didn't emerge until it was time for dinner.
After their meal, the first thing she did was rush to Clara. "Help me burn the book."
Still, she lingered over it a moment longer. "That was the most exciting story I've ever read. If only it weren't about the imperial couple…"
Clara nodded, understanding her sentiment. "Stories usually revolve around men. It's rare to find one with a strong female lead."
Emily grinned. "At least I've memorized it. I wonder if my brother read it?"
Clara chuckled. "I doubt it. If he had, he probably would've burned it already."
With much reluctance, the deed still had to be done.
Clara took the book to a secluded patch of the backyard, built a small fire with dry leaves, and tossed it in. It didn't take long for the flames to consume it.
Just in case, she burned a second time—ensuring not even a scrap of paper remained.
Then she dusted off her hands and prepared to turn in.
The sky had turned completely dark. Clara entered through the side gate, where Giles opened the door for her. Once she was inside, he shut the door, slid the bolt, and went to rest in the small room beside the entrance.
The inner courtyard was deathly quiet. Even Emily's room had gone dark.
That's awfully early for bed, Clara thought as she stretched. She lay down in her small room, staring out the narrow window at the faint moonlight. Sleep didn't come easily.
Outside the Ding residence stretched wide fields, where frogs croaked in waves—a sort of natural white noise.
Clara squinted and slowly drifted toward sleep.
Then—a faint thud.
Her eyes snapped open.
Without hesitation, she sat upright and grabbed the long knife from the table beside her bed.
She tilted her head, listening intently.
Someone was outside.
There was a rustling sound, like someone trying to place something against the courtyard wall.
(To be continued)
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