Chapter 21: So Pitiful…

Lin Xiaoye felt as though he stood at the center between two worlds.

The pain was excruciating.

Ahead of him, the warriors teetered on the brink of collapse, yet they still mustered the strength to celebrate the Empress’s birthday. Behind him echoed the imperial clan’s raucous laughter filling the skies, mingled with the rhythmic gasps of pleasure drifting from the house.

Lin Xiaoye’s hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

Yeah, right. What was worth it?

What in this godforsaken country deserved such desperate defense?

They might as well all die.

~~~

Lin Jianxi suffered from a sex addiction. More often than not, once he lost himself in it, he couldn’t rein in his impulses. The Emperor floated in a haze of ecstasy under his touch, reluctant even to leave for urgent matters—he clung to him, unwilling to let go.

“What do you want?” The Emperor’s voice quivered. “I’ll give you anything. Everything. Alright?”

Lin Jianxi murmured into his ear, “Peace and prosperity for the realm, Your Majesty. I want you, me, and all our subjects to live in safety.”

The Emperor had been spoiled rotten since boyhood, remaining a foppish wastrel to this day—disinterested in scholarship, devoted solely to indulgence.

Lin Jianxi knew his words would fall on deaf ears, but he spoke them anyway. The Emperor promised earnestly, only to wheel around moments later and bark irritably for Lin Xiaoye to bring in the water.

Once the Emperor had departed, Lin Jianxi sprawled across the bed. Lin Xiaoye entered the room.

Lin Jianxi regarded him.

The young man’s robes hung in disarray, too indolent to straighten. His eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze roaming the other’s form with deliberate intent.

Lin Xiaoye still carried the metallic tang of blood. He had returned wounded, untreated, his face ashen, yet he bore the bucket of water with unwavering steadiness.

His foundation in martial arts must be solid.

Lin Xiaoye set the bucket down and lifted his gaze. His movements froze.

He stared, transfixed.

Lin Jianxi lay prone on the bed, clad in gossamer silks that concealed scarcely anything.

A soft smile played on his lips. With each blink, his long lashes fluttered, veiling and revealing the luminous depths of his eyes—beautiful as a fox spirit from some forbidden tale.

Lin Xiaoye had never truly looked upon the Empress before. This fleeting glimpse rooted him to the spot.

The air around Lin Jianxi thrummed with the musk of recent passion. Lin Xiaoye knew the man had given birth not long ago, his body frail from the ordeal… and yet he had indulged with the Emperor even so…

Lin Xiaoye curled his lip.

The Empress was childish at heart, pampered and demanding, with a voracious appetite for handsome men. He doted on comely youths, delighting in their smiles, stealing furtive handholds now and then, even drawing courtiers’ heads to his chest to stroke their hair with tender affection.

Lin Xiaoye couldn’t muster the effort to feign courtesy for such a creature.

Utterly depraved.

While the warriors bled and broke themselves on the battlefield, this one reveled in luxury.

Lin Xiaoye let out a cold scoff, spun on his heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him!

Bang!

Lin Jianxi shut his eyes.

A moment later, he opened them to the silhouette lingering in the doorway.

Lin Xiaoye appeared to be steadying his breath.

After a long pause.

He sank slowly to the floor, pressing a handkerchief to his chest.

His lashes quivered faintly, but he remained still for ages.

“…”

Lin Jianxi watched him that way, drifting off without realizing when sleep had claimed him.

Until the System jolted him awake. “Aaaah, wake up! The Protagonist’s coming to cut your throat!”

Lin Jianxi: “…”

Lin Jianxi pushed himself up on the bed and said slowly, “But according to the plot, I’m not supposed to die today.”

System: “In the original plot, he’d be gasping his last, too weak to harm a fly. But you healed him up, so now he’s on his second-to-last breath.”

“…”

Lin Jianxi snapped alert.

Peering through the door crack, he saw Lin Xiaoye dragging his long sword toward them. Lin Jianxi considered for a beat, then whistled to summon the messenger pigeon.

The bird fluttered to Lin Xiaoye’s side, delicately pecking at the red cord encircling his wrist.

“Safe.”

“If it’s possible, let me love you.”

…

Lin Xiaoye’s movements stuttered to a halt.

Safe.

Killing the Empress would shatter that.

The sword slipped from Lin Xiaoye’s grasp.

He fished a letter from his bosom—somehow already composed—and with trembling fingers, bound it to the pigeon’s leg.

Lin Jianxi sat against the door, head tilted back.

His eyes drifted to the swaddled infant slumbering peacefully nearby.

A single door between them.

Yet it might as well have been the gulf between heaven and hell.

Lin Jianxi sighed softly, extending his arm as the pigeon winged in through the back window to perch there.

He unbound the missive, unrolled the paper, and pored over every word.

Lin Xiaoye’s script was elegant; he must have practiced it with diligence in his youth.

He had filled pages—accounts of roadside vistas, chance encounters, a trove of pretty stones gathered to gift him.

The final line read:

—If possible.

—May I see you one more time?

“…”

Lin Jianxi fell silent for a spell, then took up a brush and inscribed:

—When you need me, I shall appear.

He added no more. Flowery phrases paled against a single balm for the heart.

~~~

Night had fallen.

The snow showed no sign of relenting.

Lin Jianxi judged the hour right and dispatched the pigeon with the reply to Lin Xiaoye.

From within the room, watching his silhouette, he queried the System: “Per the plot, what befalls Lin Xiaoye tonight?”

System: “He collapses outside. The Emperor discards him like refuse into the Barbaric Wasteland. Clinging to life by a thread, he endures through battles with savage beasts, forging peerless martial prowess and unshakeable resolve. Tonight marks the story’s pivotal turn.”

“…”

So cold.

Snowflakes settled on the youth’s shoulders—featherlight, yet they bowed his back.

Lin Xiaoye received the letter and bent slowly at the waist.

Clutching his chest, he crumpled to his knees.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, drop by drop.

Too cruel.

Lin Jianxi drew a deep breath, his fingers curling tight.

His hand rested atop the mask laid ready on the table.

Lin Xiaoye collapsed into the snow.

The letter remained pinned beneath his palm. His body heat melted the flakes, which seeped into the paper, blooming the ink into dark smears.

Lin Xiaoye forced his eyes open, but the words had blurred beyond recognition.

“…”

Snowflakes drifted down one by one onto the letter paper. Lin Xiaoye stared at them in a daze as they accumulated—from a single flake to dozens—before suddenly halting. A shadow fell across his vision, and he caught sight of the hem of a white robe.

Who…

It didn’t matter who it was. It definitely wasn’t that person anyway.

The only ones who could show up here were the Emperor or the Empress.

Lin Xiaoye tucked the letter beneath him, heedless of the biting cold of the snow, and lay there stock-still.

He let the tears flow freely. In his current state, no one cared whether he lived or died, so he might as well cry until his heart was empty.

Someone gripped his shoulders and hauled him up from the snow, drawing him into an embrace.

Lin Xiaoye froze. Frost clung to his lashes as he stared, unblinking, at the familiar mask right before his eyes.

“…”

“…………”

Lin Xiaoye broke down sobbing, burying his face in the man’s chest.

“I missed you so much…”

The boy’s raw, hoarse voice echoed in his ear. Lin Jianxi patted his back gently. “Then come with me.”

“…What?”

Lin Xiaoye looked up at him, cheeks flushed crimson from the cold.

Lin Jianxi brushed away the tears at the corner of his eye. “Do you want to come home with me?”

“…” Lin Xiaoye sniffed, his gaze vacant.

Lin Jianxi went on. “I have only one condition.”

“—Yes, yes, anything! Whatever your condition is!” Lin Xiaoye shook his head to clear it, blurting the words in a panic.

Lin Jianxi tapped the tip of his nose.

“Just be good.”

~~~

Lin Jianxi brought Lin Xiaoye to live at the foot of a remote mountain, far from any well-trodden paths.

The System had a sudden realization. “So those three months right after you transmigrated—all that hard work—was for this?”

“Mm.” Lin Jianxi dipped his brush in ink. “I knew I couldn’t bring myself to be harsh. Back in the real world, I learned some ancient martial arts from my grandfather. They’re not masterful, but they’re enough to build a foundation for Lin Xiaoye. Soon I’ll find him a proper teacher.”

In his real life, Lin Jianxi had lived with his grandfather, a history buff who knew the subject inside out. He’d picked up a great deal that way.

Their home resembled a siheyuan, complete with a vast book pavilion in the back courtyard. As a bored child, Lin Jianxi had spent his days there, reading from dawn till dusk.

Those history tomes he’d pored over were finally proving useful.

Lin Jianxi committed portions of the history he recalled to paper and dictated others to Lin Xiaoye. He didn’t rely on rumors or folklore; instead, he laid it all out in dry, meticulous detail.

To his surprise, Lin Xiaoye soaked it all up with rapt attention. He’d sit at the table, eyes sparkling as he watched Lin Jianxi, nodding along now and then or flashing a sweet smile. When scolded, he’d own up to his mistakes with utter sincerity. Lin Jianxi never meant to punish him, yet Lin Xiaoye would kneel by the bed from midnight till sunrise, back ramrod straight.

Winter yielded to spring, then winter returned…

The seasons turned.

Four years slipped by in an instant.

Lin Xiaoye shot up in height, his boyish features sharpening into something more mature.

Lin Jianxi decided it was time for him to leave come spring.

—Lin Jianxi visited every half month or so, spending most of his time in the palace. Even so, Lin Xiaoye made the most of every second. When Lin Jianxi was away, he’d read on the roof—anything to avoid squandering the precious moments from his return outside until they were safe indoors together.

The System faltered. “Have you replaced the plot Lin Xiaoye was meant to go through with something of your own design?”

Lin Jianxi gazed at the youth practicing his sword forms outside, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Isn’t this better? He’s healthy, robust… and he’s learned so much.”

The spring blooms lingered, pear blossoms in perfect splendor.

The youth lounged indolently in the pear grove, one arm propping up his head as he lay on his side. Every so often he’d tilt back for a sip of wine or toy with the little cat nearby.

Lin Jianxi approached. The moment the youth spotted him, he sprang to his feet—wine sloshing onto his clothes—and grinned sheepishly.

“I… I saw you drinking all the time and wanted to try the taste.”

Ever the picture of politeness and obedience.

Lin Jianxi reached out to ruffle his dark hair. If he didn’t tie it back for Lin Xiaoye, the boy would tousle it on purpose until Lin Jianxi couldn’t resist fixing it himself.

Lin Jianxi met the youth’s clear, guileless eyes.

It was time for Lin Xiaoye to return.

~~~

On the day of departure, Lin Jianxi presented Lin Xiaoye with a knife he’d forged and polished by hand—about half an arm in length.

Lin Xiaoye accepted it reverently with both hands, eyes alight. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Lin Jianxi shook his head. “This is where we part ways.”

“…”

After that exchange, Lin Xiaoye kowtowed at the door for three full days and nights, undeterred even by rain, pleading against such cruelty. Lin Jianxi offered no reply, and at last, Lin Xiaoye departed in sorrow.

Two more years passed.

Lin Xiaoye proved himself admirably, seizing control of the reins of state power bit by bit. He’d mastered patience and cultivated a genuine bond with the Emperor through subtle maneuvers. At long last, the pair truly resembled “blood brothers.”

The world knew Lin Xiaoye owed his rise to a mysterious mentor, though his identity remained a secret. The Emperor pressed him: “Bro, how’d you meet that guy? Hook me up?”

Lin Xiaoye brushed it off with a smile, his eyes flicking ever so briefly toward the Empress, who dozed nearby. “I can’t find him anymore.”

~~~

The world also knew Lin Xiaoye for the Emperor’s own brother, the two inseparable as flesh and blood, bound by unshakeable trust.

Only Lin Jianxi’s personal palace maid knew the truth: it was all for show.

As it was right now. The reigning Empress—Lin Jianxi—knelt at Lin Xiaoye’s feet while the man sprawled brazenly in a chair, looming over him.

Well-behaved?

Polite?

All an illusion.

A mere performance for the sake of someone Lin Xiaoye held in esteem.

A seething hatred, years of malice festering in the depths of his heart, now began to seep to the surface.

Lin Jianxi kept his lashes lowered, head bowed as he bound the wound on Lin Xiaoye’s hand.

Abruptly, something cold pressed against his chin, tilting his face upward.

He glanced down at the familiar object.

—The very knife he’d given Lin Xiaoye himself.

“…”

Lin Xiaoye slouched against the chair’s back, a scornful smirk playing on his lips.

A flicker of confusion passed through Lin Jianxi’s eyes. “The wound isn’t bandaged yet.”

He added, “That cut is pretty deep. You need to take good care of it, or your hand will ache later on.”

Lin Xiaoye said nothing, merely watching the man before him with keen interest.

Lin Jianxi had been kneeling for so long that a hint of grievance crept into his voice. “Fine, no bandage then. My legs hurt—let me get up.”

There was no fear in Lin Jianxi’s eyes, only a pitiable vulnerability. With hands pampered from a life of indulgence, he grasped the other man’s fingers, roughened by thin calluses. “Lin Xiaoye, I bruised my knee yesterday. It hurts so much.”

Lin Xiaoye made no reply.

Lin Jianxi lowered his lashes, tears spilling down in a steady stream. “I miss the Emperor…”

“…Didn’t you see him just last night?” Lin Xiaoye asked.

“…”

Lin Jianxi realized he had a point. Shifting tactics, he asked with a mix of excitement and caution, “Do you want to see the Prince? He’s adorable.”

“…”

Tugging at the man’s finger, Lin Jianxi spoke earnestly, eager to share his most beloved child. “I’ll show you the Prince—just let me get up.”

He truly adored his son.

Lin Xiaoye had often seen him like this, hand in hand with the Little Prince as they wandered the gardens, plucking flowers for the boy.

The Empress never used polite titles with anyone—not even the Emperor, whom he addressed bluntly as “you.” In a way, the Empress was even more spoiled than anyone else, doted on from birth by his family and later by the Emperor after their marriage. He had grown exceedingly delicate, prone to whimsy and unreasonableness at times, but…

Lin Xiaoye’s gaze lingered on Lin Jianxi’s fair, slender fingers—so soft and warm—and those beautiful eyes that stirred pity in any who beheld them.

Then he bent down. “Your scent is quite unique. Do you know that?”

Lin Jianxi blinked in confusion. “What?”

Lin Xiaoye let out a soft chuckle, his finger brushing tenderly across the other’s cheek. “Benefactor, I never imagined a day would come when I could make you kneel at my feet.”

“…”