Li Zhaoyi was currently trying to reason with Mu Ke.
He had eaten breakfast. And then he had eaten lunch. He’d assumed the palace would be a chaotic whirlwind at a time like this, yet the meals were sumptuous. Even though he could barely taste them, he forced himself to eat some, clinging to the belief that he’d need strength. He could only attribute it to the Imperial Kitchens’ chefs being exceptionally dutiful.
But the situation loomed large. Eating more did nothing to ease the anxiety gnawing at his heart. And so, for the ten-thousandth time, he asked Mu Ke:
“Can I really not go see Yun Yin?”
And for the ten-thousandth time, Mu Ke answered patiently, “Your Majesty, His Highness is currently occupied.”
Yun Yin was busy. Possibly dealing with the aftermath of the coup. Possibly dealing with Lu Zhong. Lying on the bed, closing his eyes, then opening them again, Li Zhaoyi stared blankly at the clouds outside the window and felt, for the first time, his own utter helplessness.
By the time Yun Yin entered, he was already in a daze.
Mu Ke moved to announce him, but Yun Yin raised a hand to stop him. Mu Ke could only retreat silently from the chamber, pulling the door shut behind him.
Even after Mu Ke left, Yun Yin didn’t make a sound. Li Zhaoyi sat on the edge of the bed, gazing out the window. Following his line of sight, Yun Yin saw only the slightly yellowed, dense foliage of the trees and the drifting clouds in the sky.
Autumn had arrived. The view outside Bright Clarity Hall seemed somewhat bleak. Perhaps, he thought, he could select some plants that thrived in autumn. That way, even if Li Zhaoyi stared out the window in a daze, he wouldn’t feel like all he saw was a landscape of desolate cold.
Then he thought again. Was Li Zhaoyi staring like this because he envied the drifting, free clouds outside? The world was vast and boundless, yet he couldn’t go anywhere.
Yun Yin felt drunk, but his mind was exceptionally clear.
He watched Li Zhaoyi’s profile quietly, as if observing a silent painting.
At one moment, the painting moved.
Li Zhaoyi turned his head, spotted him out of nowhere, and jumped in fright. He scrambled to his feet instinctively.
He moved his lips, looking somewhat at a loss. “You’re back.”
Yun Yin lowered his eyes. “Back”—he liked that word very much. If only Li Zhaoyi’s tone hadn’t been so fearful.
“Yes,” he answered.
Li Zhaoyi’s nose caught a faint scent. Hesitantly, he asked, “Have you been drinking again?”
Again, Yun Yin replied, “Yes.”
He sat down at the small table nearby. A few plates of pastries were arranged on it. The Imperial Kitchens, afraid Li Zhaoyi might get hungry, had sent them over as snacks. Yun Yin picked one up. Sweet. Li Zhaoyi always favored this flavor.
His honesty left Li Zhaoyi at a loss for what to say. He murmured quietly, “Oh.”
Silence descended upon the room again.
Li Zhaoyi endured the suffocating atmosphere for maybe a few seconds before he couldn’t hold back. “Lu Zhong, he…”
“Is currently alive,” Yun Yin said flatly. “But if Your Majesty says one more word, this minister cannot guarantee that will remain the case.”
Li Zhaoyi: “…”
He forcibly swallowed his words.
Out of the corner of his eye, Yun Yin caught his expression—a mix of disbelief and the indignation of someone who dares not voice their anger—and let out a soft laugh.
Done laughing, he finally spoke.
“Why?” he asked softly.
Li Zhaoyi was still stewing in Yun Yin’s overbearing manner and looked confused. “…Why what?”
As the words left his mouth, he looked up and met Yun Yin’s eyes. In that instant, he understood.
He pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to retreat again. But Yun Yin wouldn’t let him off. He asked again, “Why?”
Why didn’t you leave? Why did you come back to help me? Why, when you are effectively a hostage, do you consider everything for my sake so unreservedly?
Yun Yin wasn’t narcissistic. If, in the very beginning, he had ever suspected Li Zhaoyi might harbor feelings for him, that notion had long since been dispelled. This wasn’t love. Compared to love, the word “sacrifice” seemed more fitting. Li Zhaoyi was sacrificing himself—like a moth drawn to a flame.
Lu Zhong was his last shred of remaining sanity. Yun Yin admitted he didn’t particularly enjoy watching Li Zhaoyi gaze at Lu Zhong with utter dependence. But he understood even more clearly that Li Zhaoyi’s regard for him was no less weighty.
So, why?
Yun Yin needed to know the answer. Since stepping onto the battlefield, he’d rarely felt a pressing urgency for anything. He believed mostly that life and death were preordained. But now, he felt an urgency he’d never experienced before. Or rather… impatience.
His demeanor must have frightened Li Zhaoyi, who involuntarily took a step back. Realizing Yun Yin likely wouldn’t let this go, he pressed his lips together.
After a pause, he seemed to steel his resolve.
He said, “…Do you still remember? When you were seventeen, you helped a child pick up a Kite.”
~
Li Zhaoyi had once believed that saying these words would be desperately hard. He was thin-skinned. So was Lu Zhong. Lu Zhong cherished him and treated him well, but Lu Zhong would never tell him things like “I like you” or “I love you.” When he’d feigned departure—which, in Lu Zhong’s eyes, was plainly a final farewell—Lu Zhong hadn’t uttered a single word of reluctance. And so, Li Zhaoyi had become that kind of person too.
It wasn’t until this moment, as he actually spoke the truth, that he felt a relief unlike any he’d ever known. He realized, in fact, that he wanted to tell Yun Yin. To tell him of the bond between them. To tell him they had met long ago.
As his words fell, Yun Yin’s expression visibly froze.
He seemed to be digesting the statement. Then, as if involuntarily sinking into a brief memory, searching through a sea of old tales to retrieve this particular one, his gaze landed on Li Zhaoyi’s face and abruptly stopped.
“The person you saved,” Li Zhaoyi said softly, “was me.”
“You might have forgotten.” He paused, then added a little disjointedly, “But…”
“This minister remembers,” Yun Yin said.
Li Zhaoyi stopped short. He murmured, “…You remember.”
Yun Yin didn’t speak.
Of course he remembered.
At that time, he’d spent a short period in the Imperial Palace. He’d encountered a child being bullied by a group. The child was dressed plainly, even a little dirty. He’d assumed it was some young eunuch from one of the palace departments. He’d never been able to stand by and watch such things, so he’d intervened and saved the child. He’d even told him he could come to the Eastern Palace to find him if needed.
But the child never came. He’d guessed the child was too afraid. He never saw him again afterward, and eventually, the matter faded from thought.
He remembered that the little eunuch had exceptionally beautiful and clean eyes.
He looked at Li Zhaoyi now. The person before him had ink-black hair, loosely bound with a simple Dragon Head Jade Hairpin. Beneath his tousled bangs, his features were exquisite—peerless in their beauty. Only those eyes remained the same as in childhood: round and luminous, the blacks and whites clearly defined.
…So. He had met Li Zhaoyi so early on.
He was lost in thought, but Li Zhaoyi was simply surprised. Surprised, yet also a little happy. His tone even relaxed considerably. “I thought you wouldn’t remember.”
“A lot of people don’t recognize me,” he explained quickly, worried Yun Yin might overthink it. “And the clothes I wore back then were all old ones left over in the Cold Palace.”
He’d long since come to terms with it. He’d thought—how could Yun Yin possibly have recognized him? So much time had passed, and he’d changed so drastically. Not just his appearance, but even his clothes—there was a world of difference between now and when he was ten. In those last few years, he’d grown up, and life had become much easier. Not because anyone had suddenly seen the light, but simply because Lu Zhong had followed Yun Yin and thus gained more authority.
Li Zhaoyi had completely relaxed. He thought Yun Yin would have a sudden epiphany, would say, “So that’s how it is.” And then their misunderstanding would finally be resolved—no, it wasn’t even a misunderstanding, really; just a truth that had never been spoken aloud. What he meant was, once Yun Yin understood that all his actions had reasons and were genuinely heartfelt, then… could they start discussing Lu Zhong’s situation?
His mind was wholly consumed with Lu Zhong right now. He was anxious, but Yun Yin wasn’t.
Yun Yin simply kept looking at Li Zhaoyi, his reflection mirrored in his eyes.
Then, Li Zhaoyi heard him say: “Just because of that.”
The words hit him, and Li Zhaoyi froze.
–
When he found his voice again, his first words were: “What do you mean, ‘just’?”
He was practically in disbelief. How could Yun Yin be so dismissive?!
His voice rose uncontrollably—this was the first time Yun Yin had seen Li Zhaoyi speak so loudly in his presence. To defend his own cause, no less.
Li Zhaoyi said, very loudly, “I almost died. You saved me.”
“The ice was not particularly thick,” Yun Yin countered. “But it wouldn’t have shattered so quickly. Your Majesty, if you’d retrieved the Kite and run straight back, you’d have had plenty of time.”
Li Zhaoyi was speechless for a moment.
Then he tried: “…And you—you scolded them for me, too.”
That was really just a side note. But Yun Yin had refuted his previous point.
Yet Yun Yin replied, “This minister has always despised the bullying of the weak. Your Majesty or not, I would have said those same words.”
Li Zhaoyi’s eyes reddened instantly.
But Yun Yin wasn’t finished.
He said, “Your Majesty may not be aware, but back then, when the Crown Prince wanted to rescue Your Majesty from the Cold Palace, it was this minister who stopped him. Otherwise, Your Majesty might not have emerged into the light of day until just a few months ago.”
Li Zhaoyi went rigid on the spot.
Yun Yin looked at him and said softly, enunciating every word: “Just because of this. Your Majesty, you are giving me your entire life.”
As the words landed, a profound silence filled the chamber.
–
It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered the reason might be absurd.
Yun Yin had known for a long time that Li Zhaoyi’s way of thinking differed from most people’s. It was likely because he’d been exposed to so few normal people and experiences. Yun Yin had never deliberately tried to correct it—he found it endearing, like a well-behaved Kitten. The kitten was beautiful and clingy. Yun Yin wouldn’t deny that from the very beginning, even while probing Li Zhaoyi with suspicion, he’d also started enjoying that clinginess.
If not, he wouldn’t have developed a desire for Li Zhaoyi so quickly.
But obedience… and sacrificial submission were two entirely different things.
Yun Yin closed his eyes briefly.
On the other side, Li Zhaoyi had already scrambled to react.
“…It doesn’t matter,” he said, a little flustered. “Crown Prince Brother couldn’t have saved me back then. He would’ve dragged himself down too. You stopping him was… it was the right thing to do.”
Still defending him. Sincere and clumsy.
But Yun Yin said, “That’s a separate matter.”
Li Zhaoyi instantly fell silent. He looked at Yun Yin, lost and bewildered. “Yun Yin, why…”
Why keep refuting it? These were facts. Why was Yun Yin trying so hard to prove he was the villain? He didn’t understand.
Something warm trickled from the corner of his eye. Li Zhaoyi scrubbed fiercely at his tears. When he’d started speaking, he’d never imagined their conversation would turn out like this. Yun Yin hadn’t imagined it either.
But he still finished what he needed to say: “Your Majesty, you don’t owe this minister anything.”
“Even if there was a debt from the past… this time, it should be fully repaid.”
Li Zhaoyi had helped him. Though it was his own obsession, Li Zhaoyi understood him. And to save Yun Yin from a difficult position, he’d chosen to return to the cage that trapped him. By any calculation, the debt was settled.
Yun Yin’s knuckles whitened where his fist clenched. Just as he was about to speak further, he saw Li Zhaoyi staring at him fixedly, his eyes holding a pure, heartbroken stubbornness.
“Then let me go,” Li Zhaoyi said.
Yun Yin’s eyes snapped up.
Li Zhaoyi looked at him, as if in a dream, yet his words were clear. He said, “Yun Yin, if you believe I don’t owe you anything, then let me go. Right now.”
He was speaking out of pique, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was piqued about. The truth was, having chosen to return, he wasn’t planning on leaving again anytime soon. It was pure instinct that drove the words out. Strangely, his intuition told him this was the only way to stir Yun Yin’s emotions—to stop him from being so condescending, speaking in that tone he hated.
His intuition proved correct.
The moment he finished speaking, Yun Yin’s expression changed.
Li Zhaoyi pressed his lips together. He sensed a flicker of danger, though he couldn’t say why. But then he thought of something and felt compelled to add, “…And my Master. I want to leave with my Master.”
Yun Yin suddenly laughed.
Li Zhaoyi blinked a beat too late.
In the next second, his eyes widened—he was lifted into the air and flung onto the wide, soft Dragon Bed beside them.
