Han Feng’s figure had just vanished through the hall doors when Hong Fu slipped inside without a sound. He moved lightly to the table, poured a cup of tea, and set it down gently beside Liu Yuanze’s right hand.
Others might not understand why Liu Yuanze had flown into such a rage, but Hong Fu saw it all as clear as day.
He knew the Emperor was not merely angry. Beneath that fury lurked a profound bewilderment, and at its core hid a rare thread of fear—a fear that only Hong Fu could discern.
For years, the Emperor had believed he understood Prince Rui perfectly. He knew his brother would not easily share a bed with anyone, so many of his actions had been predicated on that certainty.
But Han Feng’s report had forced him to confront a harsh truth: What if Prince Rui truly had consummated things with Gu Lianzhao? Was that truly the outcome he desired?
Hong Fu had grown up alongside the Emperor and watched Prince Rui mature. He knew Prince Rui was a man of deep loyalty and responsibility. Knowing his own life was nearing its end, he would never sullied a ger’s purity without good reason.
Just based on those two sentences from Han Feng, not even Hong Fu himself believed Prince Rui had given in so easily—let alone the Emperor.
The root of the Emperor’s outburst was simply his anger masking an inner terror.
Though he had decreed the marriage, he had not told Gu Lianzhao that he was the key to saving Prince Rui, nor had he informed Liu Yuanxun that he could still live. He always said, “Leave it all to the will of heaven.”
Leaving things to heaven was nothing more than a gamble.
A man only rolls the dice in one of two situations: when he cannot control the outcome and must trust fate, or when he shirks responsibility and stands aside, letting destiny decide.
As the Son of Heaven, the Emperor could accomplish almost anything in this world, save for defying birth, old age, sickness, and death.
He could only be the second kind.
And indeed, he was.
He could not bear the agony of causing Prince Rui’s death, yet he dared not shoulder the infamy of letting his birth mother die unjustly. So he had tossed the choice to heaven, hoping the heavens would make the call.
But did his heart truly hold no preference?
Far from it.
Hong Fu saw it plainly: deep down, the Emperor favored Prince Rui’s death. He knew Prince Rui would not bed someone he did not love. And he knew even better that if Prince Rui fell for Gu Lianzhao, he would never take the man’s body when his own lifespan was so short.
Since consummation was unlikely either way, the Emperor’s elaborate scheme became obvious.
When does a man act extravagantly without a care?
When he is certain he won’t have to pay the bill.
The Emperor ignored his birth mother’s death not out of greater love for Prince Rui, but because he knew Prince Rui’s character well enough to be sure it would not come to that.
The Emperor’s care and concern for Prince Rui were genuine. Without the matter of Noble Consort Ling, he would have been one of the finest brothers in the world.
But there were no ifs in this world. With such a blood debt tangled in their brotherly bond, choices had to be made.
The Emperor cared for Prince Rui, but he loved himself more.
The path to the throne was arduous; every step demanded sacrifice. By now, the Emperor’s heart was iron-hard, and he knew precisely what to discard and what to cling to.
The death of one Prince Rui would bring him pain, true—but it aligned with karma and was Prince Rui’s own choice. From any angle, it was just and reasonable.
Letting Prince Rui bear the blame for his mother’s unjust death, however? The histories would condemn him for it, and even he himself could never step past that hurdle in his heart.
In moments of self-examination, emotions and desires often blind one’s eyes. Perhaps even the Emperor believed his own decree stemmed from softness of heart. But Hong Fu had served him for most of his life and understood him better than he understood himself.
Hong Fu knew the truth: It was not softness, but Prince Rui’s perfect sense of measure—seeing too clearly, yielding at every turn, understanding the Emperor’s position, always leaving him room to maneuver. That had made the Emperor ever more greedy, greedy to the point of selfishness.
He did not merely want Prince Rui’s life; through the marriage decree, the forced union, and even plotting a way out for Prince Rui, he sought to absolve himself.
When Prince Rui inevitably took his own life in the end, the Emperor could sigh in sorrow and relief: It was all the will of heaven.
The Emperor was a benevolent ruler, but not a soft-hearted brother. If he had ever shown a moment’s mercy, the imperial clan would not have only him and Prince Rui as its sole surviving princes.
Hong Fu understood it all, yet he buried his thoughts deep. As a eunuch, bereft of his roots below, he survived by his wits above. He knew exactly when to speak and what to say.
Until the imperial physicians confirmed whether the prince had lost his vital essence, all the Emperor’s emotions were meaningless. Hong Fu would not let him wallow in such turmoil.
He glanced casually at the sky, then said softly, “Your Majesty, it is getting late. Court should begin soon.”
Liu Yuanze rubbed his tight brow and murmured, “Help me change.”
Hong Fu assented and, after washing his hands, lifted the dragon robe—the symbol of supreme imperial authority—and began attending to Liu Yuanze as he dressed for court.
…
Hall of Guarding Simplicity.
Physician Wang kept his eyes fixed on the prince’s nose as he took the pulse, not daring to glance up at Prince Rui. The wrist beneath his fingers was snow-white, the pulse faint and thready; he had to press hard to feel it properly.
This pulse indicated a severe deficiency of yang energy. It could stem from last night’s exertions, which made sense—but chronic illness or overwork could produce the same signs. That left Physician Wang in a bind.
To confirm, he would need to ask.
Prince Rui was of noble blood, a jade branch of the imperial tree. Physician Wang could hardly strip him to inspect. But Lord Gu was even more terrifying; checking his virginity mark would be like stripping the prince bare…
After much deliberation, Physician Wang mustered his courage. “Your Highness…”
“Mm.” Liu Yuanxun’s black hair spilled loose as he half-reclined on the bed, wrapped tightly in his robes. But the red marks behind his ears and on his neck were glaringly obvious to anyone not blind.
“Did Your Highness overexert yourself last night?” Physician Wang asked.
The scene from the night before flashed through Liu Yuanxun’s mind. Heat rushed to his face, his ears turning red. He replied uncomfortably, “It was… tolerable.”
He had not been exhausted, really. It was mostly A’Qiao…
Seeing his cooperation, Physician Wang pressed on. “May I ask at what hour Your Highness retired last night, and when you finally slept?”
Liu Yuanxun shook his head. “I don’t quite remember…”
Physician Wang continued. “And during ejaculation, did Your Highness feel any discomfort?”
The flush on Liu Yuanxun’s ears spread to his neck. He stammered, “N-no discomfort…”
“And afterward?” Physician Wang pursued. “Any dizziness, blurred vision, weakness, or sweating?”
Save me… A’Qiao had only said they needed to fool Eunuch Hong, not that Physician Wang would come too. Mortified and annoyed, Liu Yuanxun burst out, “Physician Wang, I’m not ill. What exactly are you checking for?”
“Ah… well…” Physician Wang could not quite explain. The little eunuch who delivered the decree had only said Prince Rui spent the night in the Hall of Guarding Simplicity and summoned them at dawn to check his health.
They had all assumed something was wrong with the prince; half the Imperial Medical Bureau’s physicians had rushed over. But Prince Rui was too exalted for them to take turns at his bedside. As his personal imperial physician, Physician Wang had to pulse first and report to the others. If anything was amiss, they could discuss countermeasures.
But now Prince Rui sat here hale and hearty, marked by recent intimacy, with a pulse of excess indulgence—but otherwise in fine fettle, even better than expected.
Even before the prince’s marriage, Physician Wang had warned the Emperor that such activity ill suited his constitution. It was not impossible, merely injurious; as the saying went, one drop of essence was worth ten drops of blood. Best to avoid it.
Physician Wang had expected the prince to look wan and listless after indulging. Instead, his complexion was surprisingly good.
With no ailment evident, further examination was unnecessary. Physician Wang ceased his questions, smiled, and bowed. “Your Highness’s health is indeed sound. We shall take our leave.”
The moment Physician Wang departed, Liu Yuanxun let out a long breath of relief.
He glanced stealthily at Gu Lianzhao beside him, mouthing silently: Anyone there?
Perhaps tasting some sweetness from the night before, Gu Lianzhao’s gaze landed squarely on Liu Yuanxun’s lips the instant he looked up.
For the first time, he noticed how perfectly shaped Prince Rui’s lips were—plump and glossy like petals, their only flaw a pale hue that bespoke illness.
If he rubbed them, touched them, infused them with color… they would be even more exquisite.
Seeing no response from Gu Lianzhao, Liu Yuanxun whispered, “A’Qiao?”
Gu Lianzhao’s lashes fluttered. He shifted his gaze upward to meet Liu Yuanxun’s eyes. “Yes?”
His demeanor seemed relaxed, with no hint of eavesdroppers. Liu Yuanxun eased a little. “Once His Majesty returns to the Imperial Study, I’ll ask him for the Imperial Sword of Authority. Then you can resume your post with the Embroidered Uniform Guard.”
It was good news indeed.
Gu Lianzhao bowed his thanks. “My gratitude, Your Highness. If ever you have need of me in future, do not hesitate to say the word.”
Bathed in the light, Gu Lianzhao reverted to his usual reserved and courteous self. The licks that had softened his bones last night, the husky breaths, the soft sighs hidden in the deep darkness… they felt like a dream only he remembered.
Though Liu Yuanxun felt a twinge of disloyalty in the thought, he could not help but breathe easier. He was grateful for Gu Lianzhao’s aid last night, but compared to that subtly dangerous version, he preferred the man before him now.
Even in his dazed state then, he had sensed a faint unease. That Gu Lianzhao evoked their first meeting: warm blood flowing in the street, man and horse cleaved in two, entrails strewn across the ground… and the youth standing amid the carnage, wiping his blade clean with a white cloth.
That Gu Lianzhao was like a bloodied dagger, blinking at killing. He seemed neither man nor ger, but an emotionless weapon, radiating chill and slaughter.
That was what made him recoil in fear.
Yet the Gu Lianzhao who had married into Prince Rui’s Mansion was a lively young man. He had a bit of a willful streak from time to time, but he always understood the greater scheme of things. He loved his food and could be possessive about it. He trained diligently in martial arts and was remarkably intelligent. Having endured great hardships in his youth, he had always remained resilient and unyielding…
He hadn’t realized it before, but upon reflection, Liu Yuanxun discovered that he shared so many memories with Gu Lianzhao. It was precisely these vibrant recollections, infused with the warmth of everyday life, that gradually washed away the initial impression Gu Lianzhao had left in his mind. Bit by bit, the fear in his heart faded, replaced by a deep well of pity.
At this thought, the tenderness already brimming in Liu Yuanxun’s gentle eyes deepened even further. He said softly, “No need to thank me. Though we met purely by chance, we’ve been through a great deal together along the way. If you have no other plans, why not treat Prince Rui’s Mansion as your own home?”
The rippling light in his eyes swayed gently, like fine wine that could intoxicate anyone who met his gaze.
Gu Lianzhao felt a sudden jolt in his chest. An unfamiliar emotion, one he had never known before, surged through him like a tidal wave. It coursed unbidden through every limb and bone, leaving his back tingling with a soft numbness in an instant. This sensation was even more exquisite than the licks and kisses of the previous night.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His chest felt both itchy and hollow, threaded with faint strands of restless heat amid the emptiness. The feeling defied words, and what troubled him most was his utter inability to trace it to its source.
But Liu Yuanxun was still gazing at him with eager expectation. Gu Lianzhao could only tug at the corner of his mouth and reply in a mild tone, “If the Prince is willing, then it is naturally my good fortune.”
