My brother entrusted his child to me, and I livestreamed raising the baby, making the Empress cry wi

That day, she was half asleep on the wooden board, and the sound of raindrops was like a lullaby, making her drowsy and her eyelids so heavy that she could hardly lift them.

She rested her head on her arm, feeling her pulse pounding at her temples, mingling with the rhythm of the rain pounding on the floor from the leaky roof.

Then, Shu Jingwei heard a sound that shouldn't have come at this time at all.

It was the sound of footsteps, not the casual, relaxed footsteps of one or two people, but the messy, muffled sound that comes from many people walking together.

The footsteps grew closer and more frequent, the sound of footsteps treading through muddy water rising and falling, from far to near, from indistinct to clear.

Her eyes snapped open, her pupils shrinking to pinpoints in the dim light of the room, and her heart pounded in her chest once more.

It's okay, it's okay...

Shu Jingwei comforted herself.

She's in this state now—crippled, disfigured, covered in filth, worse off than a stray dog ​​on the street…who would want to find her?

I guess I was just passing by.

Perhaps someone is in a hurry and will pass by this dilapidated house without stopping to take a look.

As Shu Jingwei thought about it, she slowly calmed down. Her heartbeat gradually slowed down from its frantic pounding, and her breathing became more even.

until--

The footsteps stopped abruptly outside the door.

Then, under her horrified gaze, one person after another stepped into the dilapidated mud house.

One by one, their figures emerged from the dark doorway. Before entering, they would shake the water off their raincoats, and the water that fell off would gather on the ground and flow into the house.

Boots slid across the thin layer of water in the room, making a crisp, pattering sound, one after another.

Every step felt like stepping on Shu Jingwei's heart.

Shu Jingwei curled up on the wooden bed, staring wide-eyed as these people filed in, crowding the already small mud house.

Her fingers unconsciously clenched the quilt beneath her, her knuckles turning white, and she froze on the bed, not daring to move.

Once everyone was inside, the dilapidated house was immediately packed with people, filled with the rustling of raincoats and the pattering of water droplets.

Those people were all wearing straw raincoats, and rainwater dripped incessantly from the edges of their hats, each drop hitting the puddles that had been there, creating countless fleeting flowers on the water's surface.

After they entered the room, they did nothing else but silently line up on both sides with their heads bowed, and then a person walked out from the middle.

The newcomer was short, even shorter than the average woman in the Great Flame Kingdom. Compared to the tall and imposing figures in the two rows, she looked like a little kid who had wandered into a land of giants.

His raincoat was clearly custom-made, a size smaller, but with more refined workmanship. The straw was woven more densely and evenly, and the edges were trimmed with a dark edging of some unknown material.

As they walked over, their boots made a crisp clattering sound as they stepped into the puddles, each step taken at a leisurely pace, exuding composure.

But anyone with eyes could see that this group of people was in charge of this "little brat".

The way those tall figures bowed to him, the respectful silence they exuded, and the way people on either side slightly stepped aside to make way for him as he passed by—all of these proclaimed his status.

This person was none other than Fujiwara no Shūjin.

Shu Jingwei was, after all, someone who had once been an emperor.

Although she was purely promoted by Ye Fan, she still sat in that chair for some time, met envoys from all over the country, and dealt with open and covert struggles.

Ye Fan had taught her many times that she should never show weakness under any circumstances.

Even if you're terrified inside, you have to keep a straight face.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.

The breath, carrying a musty and damp smell, along with the scent of rain emanating from those people, coldly filled my lungs.

Facing the undisguised scrutinizing gaze of the newcomer, Shu Jingwei forced herself to speak.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

Fujiwara no Shūjin smiled slightly.

His face was thin with small features. When he smiled, his eyes narrowed into slits, which, from Shu Jingwei's perspective, completely covered the shrewdness in his eyes, making him look even somewhat simple and honest.

But the moment he opened his mouth, that honest and simple demeanor vanished.

His tone was full of the imposing air of someone who had been in a high position for many years. Fujiwara no Shūjin spoke standard Da Yan Mandarin, with clear and accurate pronunciation, even more so than some local Da Yan officials with regional accents.

"Nice to meet you, Shu Jingwei." He paused, his eyes meeting Shu Jingwei's wary gaze, each word pronounced clearly and forcefully.

"The former emperor of the Great Flame. I am here to help you!"

Help her?

Shu Jingwei was stunned for a moment, then tugged at the corners of her mouth, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

To help her?

Ever since Wang Meng dragged her down from that position, broke her arms and legs, and then disfigured her face, she has become like a piece of trash. Everyone who sees her just tells her to get lost.

Everyone looked at her with even more disdain than they would at a stray dog ​​on the street.

I haven't heard the word "help" in a long time.

Regardless of whether she was genuinely helping her or not, at least knowing that she wasn't there to kill her, Shu Jingwei felt a little relieved.

She had nothing left but a worthless life.

"Come help me?" Shu Jingwei repeated, her voice heavy with self-mockery. "I'm in this state now, what value is there in helping me?"

She looked down at herself.

His left arm hung limply from the shoulder down, like a piece of dead flesh hanging on his shoulder.

That arm had been soaked in rainwater for almost the entire time, and the skin was covered with layers of wrinkles, turning a pale gray, almost indistinguishable from the skin of a dead person.

The fingers below were curled up, the joints stiff, like withered branches frozen in winter.

The left leg was twisted at an abnormal angle, the knee was swollen like a moldy bun, the skin was stretched and shiny, and the bone underneath was crooked and protruding, and you could feel the deformed ridge through the skin.

It's safe to say he'll never be able to stand up again in his lifetime.

Although the scar on my forehead has scabbed over, it still feels uneven to the touch, like a centipede crawling on it.

The scar started above the left eyebrow and crookedly climbed to the hairline. Some of the scabs had softened from being soaked by the rain, and the edges had turned up, revealing the pink, tender flesh underneath.

She doesn't even dare to look at her reflection when she goes to the water's edge, afraid that the reflection in the water will give her nightmares.

What value does she have now?

Fujiwara no Shūjin's smile remained unchanged.

Rain dripped from the roof not far behind him, pattering and pattering... as if keeping time for their conversation.

"Whether you have value," he said slowly, "depends on whether we need you."