PTCQT Chapter 30

The Empress Dowager’s birthday was fast approaching, and it happened to coincide with the arrival of envoys from the southern tribes, who had come to offer tribute in the capital. As the Empress Dowager disapproved of extravagance, she made a special decree allowing the tribal envoys to present their tribute directly during the birthday banquet, so as to avoid unnecessary waste.

In preparation for the celebration, the palace grew increasingly busy. Fresh fruits and vegetables from across the land were delivered into the palace grounds, and music and dance filled the Hall of Harmony each day, all in rehearsal for the performance in honor of the Empress Dowager’s birthday.

The banquet had been in the works for a full half month. Though it wasn’t adorned with golden threads or lavish silks, the scene was vibrant with blooming flowers and lively festivities, it was a sight of pure, joyous celebration.

The palace banquet began, with the assembled officials entering first. A short while later, the young emperor entered, escorting the Empress Dowager by his side. The officials all rose to pay their respects, but even after the emperor had helped the Empress Dowager to her seat, the banquet hall remained silent, no music, no instruments had yet begun to play.

It wasn’t until a lavish, opulent carriage came to a halt outside the palace gates that movement stirred. Attendants hurried to set down the footstool, and from within the carriage, a figure stepped out gracefully.

“His Highness, Prince Yi, has arrived!” came the herald’s cry, echoing through the palace corridors, one voice after another carrying the announcement down the halls.

Feng Feibai sat upon the imperial throne, his fingers tightening beneath the folds of his robe. He cast a glance at the Empress Dowager beside him; only after receiving a faint nod from her did he turn his eyes toward the man now entering the grand hall. A flicker of complex emotion passed through his gaze.

No matter the time or place, this man was always the most dazzling presence wherever he appeared. Yet if today’s plan succeeded, that ceremonial robe and jade crown would never again adorn him.

The gathered officials all rose, not with the full kneeling rites reserved for the emperor, but with utmost deference nonetheless. “We pay respects to Prince Yi. Long live Prince Yi.”

“Please rise, everyone,” Shen Chun said as he ascended the steps. Stopping before the Empress Dowager, he smiled and added, “I arrived late. I offer my wishes for Your Majesty’s boundless longevity, may you forgive this humble one for the delay.”

“Prince Yi is busy with important affairs. Of course I understand, you need not stand on ceremony,” the Empress Dowager replied. “Come, have a seat.”

Once Shen Chun was seated, a eunuch gave the signal, and only then did music and dance begin.

The melodies were soft and alluring, the scent of fine wine filled the air, and the court officials offered their birthday congratulations.

Birthday tributes in the capital were nothing out of the ordinary, mostly gold, jade, and decorative scrolls. Occasionally, there would be a Shoushan stone or two, all in the spirit of liveliness and festivity.

After the court officials and noble clans had presented their gifts, it was the turn of those in the seats of honor. Shen Chun remained still, but Feng Feibai raised his hand, and a eunuch stepped forward with a scroll, which was unfurled before all to see.

The scroll was impressively long, requiring two attendants to hold it open. Its ink brushwork was exquisitely detailed, the colors vivid yet never garish, only enhancing the serene compassion of the Guanyin depicted, a figure who seemed to radiate boundless love for the world.

“This painting was done by my own hand,” Feng Feibai said, rising to his feet. “I offer it for the Empress Dowager’s devotions.”

“Excellent,” the Empress Dowager said, gazing at the Guanyin painting. “Your Majesty is most thoughtful.”

The imperial family lacked neither gold nor jade, what they lacked, rather, was sincerity and genuine care.

The unveiling of the painting drew admiration from all present. Yet amidst the chorus of praise, many of their glances, subtle, almost imperceptible, drifted toward Shen Chun.

Shen Chun raised his hand, and at once an attendant stepped forward, presenting a lacquered box. When it was opened, it revealed a string of prayer beads, each bead carved from lustrous jade, its delicate sheen made all the more ethereal in the candlelight, evoking a sense of transcendence.

“What is this?” someone asked.

“These prayer beads are carved from warm mutton-fat jade,” Shen Chun said. “All 108 beads bear the images of various Buddhas. I humbly present them to the Empress Dowager, in the hope that they bring her joy.”

Mutton-fat jade was among the rarest treasures in the land, warm to the touch and highly prized. To craft it into 108 prayer beads, each bearing a Buddha’s image, made it an artifact of extraordinary rarity.

The Empress Dowager took the prayer beads from the box and held them in her hand. She ought to have felt pleased, yet for some reason, they felt faintly searing to the touch. “Thank you, Prince Yi. This gift pleases me greatly.”

Those who devoted themselves to the Buddha were not meant to concern themselves with matters of life and death. Yet the women of the inner palace turned to worship precisely because their hands had been stained with too much blood.

After the birthday congratulations, the music and festivities had yet to cease when a eunuch suddenly called out in a loud voice: “Envoys from the southern tribes, enter to pay respects!”

All movement in the banquet hall, the raising of cups, the exchange of toasts, came to a halt. Several figures stepped in from beyond the grand hall. Though all were dressed in ceremonial robes, the cut of their garments and the small braids in their hair immediately drew curious, if not wary, glances from the assembled officials.

The envoys were tall, with sun-darkened skin. As they approached, they bowed deeply and offered their greetings: “We greet Your Majesty. May the Empress Dowager’s blessings be as vast as the Eastern Sea, and her life as enduring as the Southern Mountains.”

Their speech in the Yong court’s language was far from fluent, but their meaning was clear enough for all present to understand.

“Envoys of the Babut tribe,” the Chief Eunuch said sternly, “when paying respects to the emperor in Yong, one must kneel.”

“We of the southern tribes do not kneel to any man,” the leading envoy replied.

Though they had been defeated, their pride and defiance were plain for all to see.

Food shortages were an unavoidable hardship for the people of the grasslands, but to deal with hunger by raiding, burning, and looting, only to flee afterward, Shen Chun found no honor in such arrogance.

An awkward silence settled over the grand hall. Shen Chun spoke softly, his tone calm but laced with meaning: “Seems the Yong army withdrew a little too soon.”

The Babut envoys turned their heads sharply at his words. Upon seeing him, one of them asked bluntly, “And who are you?”

A ripple of shock spread through the court, but no one dared to speak.

Shen Chun merely smiled. “Who do you think I am?”

“Judging by your delicate skin and pampered appearance, you must be some pampered noble, coddled in the luxury of the capital,” said the Babut envoy with scorn in his eyes. “The Yong army is not something a soft-handed aristocrat like you has any say over.”

He clearly held nothing but disdain for the decadence of the imperial court. If not for Prince Yi, he believed, their tribe would have already conquered all of Yong, its palaces and farmlands theirs for the taking.

Such words would normally send shockwaves through the court, turning the faces of ministers pale. Yet Shen Chun didn’t grow angry, instead, he laughed. “General Babut,” he said mildly, “you are mistaken. Tell me, how’s the shoulder I pierced that day? Has it healed yet?”

At Shen Chun’s words, the expressions of the Babut envoys immediately darkened.

The southern tribes were known for their fierce and fearless warriors, but they had run into a nemesis in Prince Yi. Every strike he made drew blood, and within just a few exchanges, he had cut down even their most valiant champion from horseback.

They did not fear the emperor of Yong. What they feared was Prince Yi.

In this resplendent hall of gold and grandeur, they had seen no sign of that deadly star. Babut had let down his guard, only to find his entire body going rigid now, the chill of recognition sinking in.

He remembered that clash well, his opponent atop a horse, fierce as a demon, his face twisted like a beast, charging forward with the weight of a thunderclap. A long spear had shot straight for his face, and if he hadn’t dodged in time, if he hadn’t yanked the weapon from his pierced shoulder and tumbled from his horse, he would not be standing here today.

Very few knew what had truly happened that day. And in all of Yong, only one man could have known it: Prince Yi.

“You… you were that man? Impossible!” General Babut’s face twisted in disbelief, struggling to deny it.

“Whether you believe it or not,” Shen Chun said softly, “I’ll ask you only once, will you kneel, or not?”

General Babut clenched his fists, but after a deep breath, he lowered himself to the ground. The others behind him followed suit, all kneeling in unison. “Babut pays respects to Prince Yi.”

Victory belongs to the conqueror, defeat to the vanquished. His tribe had no power to resist now. But once his wings were strong enough, there would be a day to rise again.

“You may rise,” Shen Chun said calmly.

Though the envoys had yielded, the court remained silent. The officials merely exchanged subtle glances among themselves. It was not only the people of Yong who acknowledged Prince Yi over the emperor, even those from the southern tribes recognized only him.

Babut and his tribesmen rose. From his sleeve, he drew out a rolled parchment of sheepskin. “This time, we have come to the capital first to offer birthday wishes to the Empress Dowager, and second, to pay tribute to Yong,” he announced. “We present ten chests of agate, one hundred thousand head of cattle and sheep, and mutton-fat jade…”

The southern tribes possessed abundant mines, and their nobles adorned their dwellings with jewels and jade. What they lacked was grain and fresh produce, precisely what Yong had in surplus. As the full list of tribute was read aloud, the officials watching from the sides could not help but swallow quietly.

With a single tribute mission, the imperial treasury would be richly replenished once more.

Babut rolled up the sheepskin scroll and handed it over. The Chief Eunuch accepted it, but instead of presenting it to the emperor or the Empress Dowager, he brought it directly to Shen Chun.

Seeing this, General Babut gave a faintly mocking smile. “In addition to all this, our tribe would also like to present a luminous pearl, to the Prince Yi of Yong.”

The state of Yong was clear even to outsiders. The Empress Dowager glanced at Feng Feibai. The young emperor remained expressionless. Though bitterness stirred in his heart, he knew full well, only Shen Chun held the kind of sway that could make the southern tribes bow.

“Oh?” Shen Chun smiled. “Then I would be pleased to see it.”

General Babut studied Shen Chun’s smiling face, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. No matter how he looked, he couldn’t reconcile the blood-soaked, ferocious general from the battlefield with the calm, elegant man before him. After a pause, he clapped his hands and said, “Bring it in.”

Two burly, dark-skinned tribesmen stepped forward, carrying a jewel-encrusted chest.

Shen Chun’s ear twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing with a glint of thought. General Babut flipped open the lid of the chest, and all the officials leaned in to look. But instead of a gleaming pearl, what emerged from within was an arm, reaching out slowly from the darkness inside.

The person inside stretched lazily as they emerged from the chest, the sound of dangling ornaments chiming softly with the movement. In a moment, they were already standing gracefully within it.

A collective gasp swept through the hall, not because the figure was unpleasant to look at, but precisely because they were breathtaking.

Deep-set eyes, elegant collarbones, and a waist that revealed itself in glimpses, though not soft like a woman’s, it was supple and powerful, revealing exquisitely defined lines that left a vivid impression.

Though his skin was dark, it was smooth and even-toned, catching the candlelight in a way that seemed to shimmer faintly. As his long legs stepped out of the chest, more than a few gazes were drawn to him, unable to look away. Some ministers frowned, uncomfortable with such display from a man, but even they could not suppress their curiosity.

The ornaments on his body swayed with his movements, their rhythm precise and mesmerizing. Under the flickering candlelight, they sparkled brilliantly, lending even a man an air of boundless allure. And yet, all that shimmer paled in comparison to his eyes; those green eyes, clear as polished jade. Like a cat’s eyes glowing in the dark, they narrowed with languid grace, carrying a feline mystery and indolence that was impossible to ignore.

His every step was a dance, each movement seeming to land directly upon the hearts of those watching, yet his gaze remained fixed, walking straight toward Shen Chun, whose smile lingered as he watched him approach.

Feng Feibai had been curious to see what kind of “pearl” the envoy would present. But when he saw this scene, his fingernails had already dug deep into his flesh.

He knew well enough what the term ‘cut sleeves’ and ‘shared peaches’ meant. As he grew older, he had come across such words in palace texts. Naturally, he also knew of Shen Chun’s fondness for men, of the rumors that he once kept a favored male companion in his residence. But that man had disappeared years ago, said to have been sent away, and since then Shen Chun had taken no one else. It was that restraint which had allowed Feng Feibai to endure until now.

He was a man, and yet, he had fallen for another man: Shen Chun. Their positions placed them on opposite sides, making it near impossible for their lives to ever align. And each time he imagined someone else one day lying beside Shen Chun, held in his arms, the thought burned through him like wildfire.

What comforted him, what he clung to, was that Shen Chun hadn’t taken anyone. Not once. Not all these years.

And now… now came this moment.

The pain in his palm grew sharper, more distinct, and the clearer it became, the more clearly Feng Feibai saw how that man walked, step by step, toward the one he loved. And Shen Chun… made no move to stop him.

If he did not seize power, then tonight would be the night Shen Chun held someone else in his arms.

The beautiful man had now reached him, fingers already resting lightly on Shen Chun’s shoulder. A faint smile played at his lips, and when he spoke, the words came like a melody:

“Prince Yi.”

Shen Chun watched his movements, then reached out to gently roll the earring by his ear between his fingers. “No wonder they call you the Pearl of the Grasslands. What’s your name?”

There was unmistakable satisfaction in his tone. Feng Feibai could already feel the dampness gathering in his palm.

“Xizhadi,” the man replied softly.

“What a gentle name,” Shen Chun said with a faint smile, taking hold of the hand resting on his shoulder. “It’s just… your actions fall terribly short of the grace your name suggests.”

In the flickering candlelight, a flash of steel suddenly appeared. Feng Feibai saw it clearly, and in that instant, everything else vanished from his mind. “Watch out!”

Shen Chun’s hand had already caught the fingers gripping the hidden blade, turning the strike back with a swift motion. With a flick of his wrist, the once-seductive figure collapsed to the floor, blood spilling hot and fast from his chest. He looked as if he wanted to speak, something trembling on his lips, but no words came. Moments later, he was dead.

“Assassin!” the Chief Eunuch cried out.

The heavy hem of a robe swept across the floor, knocking over cups and goblets with a series of crisp, shattering clinks. The Babut envoys immediately tensed, falling into alert formation, but Shen Chun’s gaze had already shifted, not toward them, but toward the young emperor, who stood amid the chaos in visible panic.

The trailing jade ornaments on his crown swayed with his movements, yet they couldn’t conceal the urgency and worry etched across his face.

Before Shen Chun could speak, a flood of black-clad men stormed in from outside the hall. Each one wielded a barbarian-style saber, and the palace banquet descended into chaos. Nobles and ministers scattered in panic.

Shen Chun did not rise from his seat. He raised a hand to block an incoming strike; with a twist of his fingers, the attacker’s wrist snapped, bones breaking audibly. The saber clattered into Shen Chun’s grasp. Rising swiftly, he didn’t strike the enemy, he turned and in one motion held the blade to the emperor’s throat. They were so close the emperor’s soft whisper could be heard: “Stop…”

This sudden move plunged the hall into even greater disorder. Even General Babut was caught off guard, he couldn’t understand why Shen Chun would seize the emperor instead of attacking their enemies.

“Your Majesty,” Shen Chun said, arm tightening around Feng Feibai’s waist, “call off your men. Otherwise, the real enemy will take advantage of the chaos.”

Feng Feibai’s heart twisted with grief. He had no time to untangle the implications of Shen Chun’s words, only pain and urgency remained. “Stand down!”

At his command, the black-clad figures who had just been dominating the hall instantly froze in place. The assault halted in an instant.

The chaos in the hall came to a halt, yet General Babut and his men remained tense, weapons drawn, eyes bloodshot as they scanned the room, ready to strike at any moment.

Shen Chun released Feng Feibai and turned his gaze toward Liang Wendong. In response, palace guards surged in through the main doors, and within moments, they had surrounded the hall. The black-clad intruders found blades at their throats, held steady and without mercy.

“The jewel gifted by the general was indeed beautiful,” Shen Chun said, driving the saber into the imperial banquet table with a cold clang. “A pity it was laced with poison, such beauty becomes foul when tainted.” He bent down, grabbed the lifeless body of Xizhadi, and flung it toward the Babut envoys as if the flirtatious exchange just moments ago had never happened.

“A pity the poison failed to kill Prince Yi,” Babut said, eyes fixed on Shen Chun, burning with hatred. “It makes his beauty… a wasted effort.”

Shen Chun looked down on him from above, smiling faintly. “The general’s hatred seems rather misplaced.”

“Misplaced?” Babut snarled. “Do you have any idea how many cattle and children of my tribe starved to death in a single winter? If not for you, Shen Chun, the great Yong would have already been in our hands, nothing more than a prize in our pocket!”

At those words, the ministers looked around at one another in alarm, uncertain and uneasy. Shen Chun remained silent. General Babut swept his gaze across the hall once more before locking eyes with Feng Feibai. “It seems that those who wish to kill Prince Yi are not only we of the southern tribes, but also your own emperor. Hahaha! Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!”

His laughter grew louder, almost mad, until suddenly, with grim resolve, he bit down hard. The others followed without hesitation. Within moments, several envoys collapsed to the floor, blood-black foam seeping from their mouths and noses.

The hall fell into absolute silence, as if even breathing had ceased. Not because of Babut’s death, but because of his final words.

Shen Chun turned his gaze toward the devastated young emperor. Feng Feibai met his eyes, trying to speak, trying to explain, but the words, when they came, were pale and powerless. “I didn’t…”

He had never wanted Shen Chun’s life.

“It was I…” the Empress Dowager began, attempting to speak, but her voice was quickly cut off by an aged one, steady and grave.

“It was I who proposed the plan,” said Grand Duke Yao, stepping forward and dropping to his knees. “It had nothing to do with His Majesty. I ask Prince Yi to pass judgment as he sees fit.”

The Empress Dowager’s hair was now streaked with white, strand by strand. Duke Yao, her father, knelt beside her, his own hair already white as snow. Removing his official hat, he bowed deeply and solemnly. “I ask Prince Yi to pass judgment.”

Feng Feibai understood: Duke Yao was shielding him, offering himself up to preserve the emperor’s name. All Feng Feibai had to do was deny involvement. But in that moment, pain surged through his chest, so heavy it blurred all reason. “It was me.”

Seeing Shen Chun laugh and flirt with another had torn at his heart. Seeing him nearly killed had filled him with fear. When the plan was abruptly set into motion, it shocked him. And now, to see a man in his seventies kneeling to take the blame for him, his kin, bowed low for his sake, it was too much. Grief, fear, shame… it was more than he had ever imagined.

From the very first moment he saw the black-clad assassins, Shen Chun had known it was him. And yet… he couldn’t understand where he had lost. Where the leak had sprung. That pressure, immense and unrelenting, pressed down like a mountain, leaving him no space to resist, no room to breathe.

He turned his gaze toward the young emperor and clicked his tongue softly. [Seems I pushed him too far.]

Too much pressure wasn’t always a good thing.

In the original timeline, Feng Feibai had endured in silence from a young age, calculating each step until he finally ascended the throne and seized power. But by then, his family was gone, love had withered in his heart, and even the one person he had once promised himself to, had died and left him behind. Even seated upon the highest seat in the realm, he had become nothing more than an empty shell, void of feeling. A ruler must be ruthless, but not utterly without emotion.

The Feng Feibai of now still had family. He endured, yes, but he was still alive in the truest sense, a man with love in his heart. And only a heart that knows love can treat the people as his own children.

Pressure must be given gradually. Too little, and he floats away. Too much, and he collapses.

[Yes, Host.] 521 replied dutifully.

[Raising a child really is troublesome.] Shen Chun muttered.

521 offered a bit of comfort: [Please rest assured, Host. He’s already grown up.]

“Your Highness, please pass judgment!!” Grand Duke Yao was still kneeling, forehead striking the floor again and again.

None of the ministers dared to speak. Dou Yun made an attempt to rise, but faced with such a scene, he found himself at a loss, there was nothing he could say that might reverse what had already unfolded.

The emperor had tried to kill Shen Chun. If Shen Chun chose to tear off the veil and turn hostile, the empire itself could very well change hands.

“Grand Duke Yao, rise,” Shen Chun said, his gaze lowered as he looked down at the kneeling old man.

“Prince Yi, this was entirely my doing, it had nothing to do with His Majesty!” Duke Yao cried, tears streaming down his weathered face.

“If that’s so,” Shen Chun replied calmly, “then strip Grand Duke Yao of his title. He is to be demoted to a commoner and sent home to live out his days in retirement.”

Duke Yao’s forehead halted mid-bow. He had thought his life forfeit, yet this sudden turn left him stunned, unsure of how to react.

As Shen Chun’s words fell, guards had already stepped forward, removing Duke Yao’s official hat and gently helping the old man to his feet, escorting him out.

“This is the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet,” Shen Chun said, his tone even. “Such bloodshed is truly out of place. Clear everything away,” he continued, “and as for the rest of you, I imagine none are in the mood for wine tonight. You may all return to your residences.”

With the order given, the ministers quickly rose to their feet and took their leave, one after another, fleeing as if death itself were chasing at their heels.

The black-clad intruders and palace guards had long since withdrawn. Bloodstains were scrubbed clean, the banquet dishes cleared away. Even the remaining palace servants didn’t dare approach the hall without reason.

Shen Chun turned his gaze toward the Empress Dowager seated above and said calmly,

“Your Majesty must be tired from today’s events. You should return and rest early.”

“Prince Yi, His Majesty…” the Empress Dowager tried to speak.

Shen Chun smiled faintly. “His Majesty should return as well.”

Feng Feibai had thought the dispersal of the court was to make room for a private conversation. He hadn’t expected it to be just that, a dismissal, nothing more.

He had so much he wanted to say, but no idea how to say it. In the end, all he could do was help support the Empress Dowager and quietly walk her out.

The great hall fell silent once more. Shen Chun reached for a wine jug from the imperial table, settled into a seat, and tipped his head back slightly. The wine poured smoothly into his mouth.

[Host, the young emperor never intended to have you killed,] 521 said gently. [It was Grand Duke Yao who secretly altered the command.]

Even though the host always claimed not to care for raising children, having the one he raised with his own hands turn around and try to kill him…It must still hurt.

And just thinking that the host might be hurting made 521 feel like crying, too.

[Mn. I know.] Shen Chun gave a soft laugh in reply.

[Huh?] 521 was full of confusion.

[He likes me.] Shen Chun laughed again, low, unhurried. [And to think… I only realized it today.]

In the past, whenever the young emperor looked at him, it had always been with admiration.

Admiring the strong was human nature and Shen Chun had never thought much of it. Though he liked men, he liked grown men. He had never once paid attention to the thoughts of a little brat.

But today, when he was nearly stabbed, the emperor’s panic and distress had been written all over his face. Only then did Shen Chun finally perceive the truth behind those eyes.

[Aren’t you… sad?] 521 asked softly.

[I was the one who forced him to take this step, what’s there to be sad about?] Shen Chun said as he finished the last of the wine. [It’s just a shame… his execution was still so clumsy.]

The empty jug slipped from his fingers, landing softly on the carpet, rolling in a slow circle. Shen Chun rose and began walking out of the palace hall. Outside, Liang Wendong stepped forward to support him. “Marshal, how do you want to handle things tonight? The barbarians are one thing, but that dog of an emperor—”

Shen Chun shot him a glance. Liang Wendong immediately corrected himself: “His Majesty… really is ungrateful beyond words.”

“Return to the manor. Shut the gates. Decline all visitors,” Shen Chun said as he stepped onto the carriage. “Send all memorials to His Majesty, leave nothing out, no matter how trivial. Let them stew in uncertainty for a few days. This prince could use a few days’ rest.”

The attempted coup the night before may not have succeeded but it had already shattered the nerves of every minister in court. There was no immediate resolution that night, and all had assumed that by the next morning, a decision would be made.

But to their shock, when court convened the next day, Prince Yi was nowhere to be seen. Citing illness, he did not attend. And so the young emperor sat alone on the throne.

The mood in the court hall was subdued during the morning session. Yet the affairs of the realm were endless, there was always something to be discussed. Still, without Shen Chun’s presence, it felt as if the court had lost its backbone entirely.

Each issue drew out a flurry of opinions, everyone armed with their own reasoning.

In the past, Feng Feibai had watched Shen Chun handle such matters with ease, thinking it looked simple. But now, with the decisions falling to him, he found himself hesitant, unable to settle on any one direction.

For anything of importance, all he could do was delay the discussion for another day. And then came the memorials. Where once they had been reviewed and sorted through by Shen Chun’s hand, what now lay before Feng Feibai was several times that amount, piling high, covering every inch of the imperial desk.

Feng Feibai held his brush and stared at the growing stack of memorials. “There are really this many?”

“Your Majesty, what Prince Yi brought you each time were only the major matters,” the Chief Eunuch replied gently.

Feng Feibai’s hand paused mid-air. In the end, he reached for the topmost memorial and opened it. Big matters, small matters, every kind of matter now waited on his judgment. The minor ones he could still manage. But when it came to state affairs of real consequence, his hand instinctively reached for the red annotations at the back, the ones Shen Chun always left behind.

Only then did he stop, fingers frozen. There were none.

“Is Prince Yi… truly ill?” Feng Feibai asked softly.

The Chief Eunuch sighed with some hesitation. “If Your Majesty is worried… you could go visit him.”

“What face do I have to see him with?” Every time Feng Feibai thought back to that night, it was a tangle in his chest, a mess of emotions he couldn’t unravel, couldn’t reason through. “…Where is my grandfather?”

“Grand Duke Yao has already returned to his homeland, he left early this morning,” the Chief Eunuch said.

The Yao family was part of the imperial in-laws, but their clan was no longer based in the capital. Once home, they would have no further involvement in court affairs.

“I should have sent him away sooner,” Feng Feibai murmured to himself.

If he had been sent back earlier, he wouldn’t have gotten entangled in all of this. For his sake, for his mother’s, for their clan’s, Shen Chun had already shown more than enough mercy. But it was precisely because of that mercy that Feng Feibai now felt overwhelming guilt.

State affairs left him with no time, he only managed to snatch a hurried meal, spending the rest of his hours buried in memorials. Even though he revised his instructions repeatedly on separate drafts, there were still decisions he couldn’t make.

Even after seizing the throne, he was still far from commanding true loyalty, far from truly securing his place as the ruler of this nation.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Feng Feibai was still at a loss. After going over everything again and again, he finally put down his brush, got up, and gathered a few memorials before heading out.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty! Where are you going?” The Chief Eunuch hurried after him.

“To Prince Yi’s manor. These matters can’t be delayed,” Feng Feibai replied.

The Chief Eunuch rushed to keep up and shouted, “Prepare for the Emperor’s departure!”

Feng Feibai, dressed in plain court robes, left the palace and arrived at Prince Yi’s residence. The carriage stopped at the gates, and a eunuch stepped forward to knock. The door opened from within, and a guard, holding a blade in his hand, asked coldly, “Who is it knocking?”

“It’s His Majesty,” the young eunuch replied.

“Our prince is ill. He isn’t seeing anyone. Not even the Emperor, let alone the late emperor, would be granted an audience,” the guard said bluntly.

“You—!” The young eunuch was afraid of Prince Yi, but not so much of the guards. He was about to flare up, but when faced with the drawn blade, he swallowed his words and gave a weak cough. “At least go in and report it.”

The guard snorted in response but was suddenly tapped on the back of the head. He turned, ready to snap, but when he saw who it was, he immediately cupped his fists and said respectfully, “General Liang.”

“No discipline at all,” Liang Wendong scolded. “The Marshal is already under suspicion, do you want to hand them more ammunition?”

“Your subordinate was wrong,” the guard admitted. “But His Highness did indeed order that no visitors be allowed.”

“Who is it that’s come?” Liang Wendong asked.

“It’s His Majesty,” the young eunuch replied.

“Oh…” Liang Wendong responded coolly, his tone indifferent. “Please ask His Majesty to return. Our Marshal is unwell today and cannot receive visitors.”

“You—!” The young eunuch had never been turned away so bluntly and was about to protest.

“How is the Prince Regent?” A voice came from inside the carriage, Feng Feibai’s voice, causing Liang Wendong’s hand, which had been reaching to close the door, to freeze mid-air.

No matter how he handled the young eunuch, things were different with the emperor himself, Liang Wendong couldn’t risk bringing trouble to the Marshal. He stepped forward and bowed. “Your Majesty, the Marshal truly is unwell today and is unable to receive visitors.”

“If he’s ill, then I must see him all the more,” Feng Feibai said, stepping down from the carriage.

But as he approached the gate, Liang Wendong extended an arm to block his path. Feng Feibai’s gaze turned cold. “General Liang, what is the meaning of this?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Liang Wendong said calmly, standing his ground. “I fear that if you see the Marshal now, his condition may only worsen.”

Feng Feibai sensed his displeasure but found no words to refute him. He could only say, “I have state affairs to discuss that cannot be delayed.”

“State affairs are Your Majesty’s business, what does that have to do with the Marshal?” Liang Wendong snorted disdainfully.

He dared to speak so boldly because he feared no emperor. Even if his head were to fall, leaving a scar the size of a bowl, he was determined to vent his anger at the Marshal.

“I will not quarrel with you,” Feng Feibai took a deep breath. “This concerns the people, if delayed, and disaster falls, I doubt you would be able to bear the consequences!”

Liang Wendong faltered for a moment. He naturally understood how much the Marshal valued matters of state. But still he hesitated. “It’s not that I don’t want His Majesty to see him…” he said with a frown, “it’s just… the Marshal is drunk. Even if Your Majesty were to see him now, he wouldn’t be in any state to handle affairs.”

“Drunk?” Feng Feibai was stunned in place.

Was he truly that disappointed in him?

“Yes,” Liang Wendong confirmed, his brows knit. “But if Your Majesty has urgent matters, this humble subject can have the kitchen prepare some sobering soup, and we’ll see if he can regain clarity later this evening.”

“Much obliged,” Feng Feibai said.

“Please, Your Majesty, come inside,” Liang Wendong gestured respectfully.

Feng Feibai hesitated for a moment but eventually stepped over the threshold. The landscaping of the Prince Yi’s manor was exquisite, meandering paths, delicate arrangements. As Feng Feibai followed one such winding path, he stepped through a doorway, and the view suddenly opened up before him.

In the courtyard lay a small lake, its surface adorned with jagged rock formations and surrounded by lush greenery. A winding bridge stretched gracefully across the water, leading to a pavilion at the lake’s center. The pavilion was draped in gauzy curtains; from the lakeside, only vague shadows within could be seen. The lake was covered in broad lotus leaves, come summer, when the flowers would bloom, it would surely be filled with fragrant breezes and the delicate scent of lotus blossoms floating through the air.

“Your Majesty, this way please,” Liang Wendong said.

Feng Feibai followed him onto the wooden bridge, heading toward the pavilion at the lake’s heart. At first, no one could be seen. But as they turned past a rock formation, a figure lying within the pavilion came into view.

A soft couch had been set up in the pavilion, with a cushioned backrest to recline against. The figure lay there in a relaxed sprawl, unmoving. Liang Wendong led the emperor closer and said, “This is how he’s been.”

Several empty wine flasks were scattered on the small side table nearby, and a glazed cup still held the dregs of a crimson liquor. The scent of wine lingered thick in the air. The man lying there had not opened his eyes, clearly lost in a true drunken slumber.

A cool breeze rustled the pavilion’s sheer curtains, stirring the loose strands of hair and the trailing ribbons by his side. Shen Chun was not dressed in court attire but wore a plain robe of soft white. His knees were slightly bent, and even in sleep, his posture exuded a lazy, effortless elegance and charm.

Feng Feibai gazed at his closed eyes, momentarily dazed. He had never seen Shen Chun so completely at ease.

“Your Majesty, I shall have someone prepare some sobering soup,” Liang Wendong said, pulling him back from his thoughts.

“You may go,” Feng Feibai said.

Liang Wendong cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, I cannot leave you here alone.”

Their marshal was drunk, after all. If this damned…if the emperor intended to harm him, it would be as easy as turning a hand.

“You suspect me?” Feng Feibai looked at him.

Liang Wendong nodded honestly. “Your Majesty, what happened just yesterday is still fresh.”

Liang Wendong’s loyalty lay with Shen Chun. Feng Feibai had no way of explaining that he’d never intended harm; besides, even if he tried, Liang Wendong likely wouldn’t believe him.

Feng Feibai walked to Shen Chun’s couch. He reached out, intending to brush aside a lock of hair that had nearly fallen to the ground, but just as his fingers neared, a strong hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Feng Feibai looked up and met Shen Chun’s half-lidded gaze, misty and mesmerizing, like the rain-laced haze over the lakes of Jiangnan. For a moment, Feng Feibai was lost in those eyes. Then suddenly, his arm was pulled, and he was already sprawled atop Shen Chun.

“Your Majesty!” the Chief Eunuch called out in alarm.

“Marshal!” Liang Wendong also cried out.

“And who’s this little beauty?” Shen Chun chuckled, one hand gripping Feng Feibai’s wrist, the other wrapped around his waist. “Quite the handsome one, aren’t you?”

“You—!” Feng Feibai was stunned. Such flirtatious words coming from Shen Chun’s mouth, yet not a trace of frivolity in his tone.

“This…” The Chief Eunuch tried to step forward and pull them apart, but Liang Wendong nudged him firmly toward the pavilion steps. “Our Marshal is drunk. Best not to disturb him right now.”

The Emperor was heartless, then don’t blame the Marshal for being unrighteous. He might as well take advantage of him!

Only the two of them remained in the pavilion. Feng Feibai found himself sprawled on top of Shen Chun, their eyes locking. In the next instant, his body was flipped over, and Shen Chun was now on top.

“Shen Chun!” Feng Feibai tried to struggle, but a firm hand halted his every movement.

Shen Chun braced himself with one hand, gazing down at him from above. His fingers brushed across Feng Feibai’s lips as he smiled and said, “Truly the one from my dreams, born exactly to my liking.”

Feng Feibai looked up, only to feel the warm breath drawing closer. His own breath hitched, and his throat moved in a quiet swallow. For a fleeting moment, he found himself anticipating what might come.

He closed his eyes, yet no kiss landed.

Instead, the weight pressing down on him suddenly lifted, and beside his ear came Shen Chun’s voice: “Your Majesty, I have overstepped.”

Feng Feibai opened his eyes and looked at the man beside him, his gaze already clear and sober. The next moment, he lifted his arm to cover his eyes and turned his head away.

Shen Chun might have been drunk, but he himself had been completely sober, willing and unresisting. And now, he had no idea how the man would see him.

“I was reckless under the influence, Your Majesty. I hope you won’t take offense,” Shen Chun said as he caught sight of the emperor’s flushed ear tips. With that, he collected himself and sat down on a nearby stone bench with proper decorum.

The tribute wine from Jiangnan, known as Peach Blossom Drunk, was rich with the fragrance of peaches, perfect for the early spring days of March. Shen Chun, rarely having leisure time, had indulged in a few extra cups. Who would’ve thought that despite its low alcohol content, the wine had a powerful aftereffect? He became thoroughly drunk in his enthusiasm. If not for the lingering memory of a promise yet to be fulfilled, the young emperor would’ve been completely taken advantage of by now.

At a time like this, the more he apologized, the more awkward the young emperor would feel.

He said no more, and the pavilion was left steeped in the lingering scent of wine. Suddenly, Feng Feibai spoke: “Does my beloved subject always get this flirtatious when drunk?”

If that were the case, he must have had no shortage of beauties in his arms over the years.

“Your Majesty, this is the only time I’ve truly been drunk in all these years,” Shen Chun replied. He rarely overindulged in drink, when he did, he still managed to stay clear-headed. Situations like today’s were exceedingly rare. And even when intoxicated in the past, he had never had a habit of taking liberties with others.

Feng Feibai’s heart eased a little. Remembering there were still important matters to tend to, he lowered his arm and stood up, but his ears and face were flushed red, as if he had been the one drinking. “Beloved subject, you were drunk, no blame from me.”

“Your Majesty is generous and magnanimous. I am deeply grateful,” Shen Chun said with a smile. “What brings Your Majesty here today?”

“State affairs,” Feng Feibai replied, glancing around in search of Jinrong’s figure. Yet after a few steps, he spotted the Chief Eunuch hiding behind an artificial rock with a conflicted expression, and beside him, none other than Liang Wendong.

“You’re already sober, Marshal?!” Liang Wendong exclaimed in surprise the moment he saw him.

Feng Feibai: “……”

What kind of subordinates are these people?

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” the Chief Eunuch asked with concern.

It was better when they didn’t say anything, at the mere mention of it, Feng Feibai’s ears, already tinged with red, flushed a deep, transparent crimson.

“Wendong, go fetch some hangover soup,” Shen Chun called out. “Eunuch Jinrong, please bring the memorials we’re to review.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the two replied and quickly withdrew.

All the wine jugs in the pavilion had been cleared away. The wind passed through, dispersing the lingering scent of alcohol. Shen Chun sat on a stone bench, holding a small porcelain bowl. He gently blew on the rising steam before sipping the hangover soup.

His gaze was lowered, lashes casting faint shadows. The breeze stirred the sheer drapes and lifted the strands of his hair and ribbon. Dressed in simple white rather than court attire, he seemed more relaxed and languid than usual, less imposing, but just sitting there, he made Feng Feibai feel inexplicably at ease.

Just as the people believed in their hearts, without Feng Feibai, the empire would still have an emperor, but without Shen Chun, this peace and prosperity across the realm might not last for long.

While Feng Feibai was still lost in thought, Shen Chun had already picked up the memorials from the table and begun reading, though he said nothing of his own opinion. “Does Your Majesty have a decision?”

Feng Feibai came back to his senses and replied, “I fear my judgment may be lacking.”

The memorial detailed the approaching flood season along the Weishui River in Yong Dynasty territory. The stationed officials were requesting a full evacuation of local residents and the reinforcement of the river embankments.

If that were all, it wouldn’t be difficult, but there were counter-memorials opposing the plan. After all, the Weishui had not caused any serious harm for many years. Reinforcing the dikes would cost millions of taels of silver.

There were countless affairs in a nation to manage. Even with a well-stocked treasury, some expenses had to be curbed. Otherwise, should a true disaster strike and relief funds fall short, the resulting casualties would be far greater.

What’s more, the riverside was densely populated, these people relied on the water for their livelihood. A sudden forced relocation would leave them not only without shelter, but also without a means to survive.

But if nothing was done, and the floods came, the price could be tens of thousands of lives.

Feng Feibai weighed both sides, unable to reach a decision. Though this matter was not yet urgent, it also could not be delayed for long.

“The Weishui River has many tributaries,” Shen Chun said, turning to look at Feng Feibai. “Since the people depend on the water, most are skilled in navigating it. It’s only the Minyang area where sediment tends to accumulate. Let the residents there evacuate temporarily, reinforce the embankments, and send Li Ji from the Ministry of Works to oversee the flood control.”

With just a few words, he had clearly laid out the heart of the matter. Feng Feibai watched him speak with such calm confidence that a rush of emotion stirred in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t look away.

“Matters concerning the people’s welfare,” Shen Chun continued, his gaze brushing across the young emperor’s features with a slight smile, “even if they cost more silver, must never be taken lightly. Today I can help Your Majesty make a decision, but I cannot make every decision for you. These matters must ultimately rest with Your Majesty’s own heart.”

Though his words carried no strong emotion, they pulled Feng Feibai back from his wandering thoughts, and his heart sank.

Even if they could still sit here today, speaking face to face, it didn’t mean that what had happened the night before could simply be forgotten.

“I know you’re angry,” Feng Feibai said quietly, “but I truly never intended to harm your life.”

There was guilt and sorrow in the emperor’s eyes. Shen Chun looked at the man seated before him and let out a soft laugh. In the past, he had always viewed the young emperor with the indulgence reserved for a cub, something to be guided, protected. He knew the boy had grown up handsome and likable. But now…

The emperor’s lips were finely shaped, neither too full to seem crude, nor too thin to lose their charm. Their natural color wasn’t overly red, yet because the emperor had inherited his mother’s snowy complexion, those lips appeared exceptionally vivid, strikingly alluring. At just a glance, one could tell, they were made to be kissed.

Without the veil of flowing jade to obscure them, the emperor’s features were clear and striking. Unlike Shen Chun’s own naturally charming, amorous peach-blossom eyes, Feng Feibai’s gaze was sharp and cool, finely shaped with a hint of distance. His nose and brows bore the unmistakable trace of masculine strength. Clad in imperial robes, he was strikingly handsome, almost otherworldly.

The old emperor dared to scheme against him? Then repaying him with a son, well, that was just fair exchange.

[Bastard might not be such a bad thing after all.] Shen Chun chuckled.

521 was stunned by this remark, momentarily feeling that its host was so shameless, even the heavens would rage: [Host, are you really going to make a move?!]

No matter how many oaths the host broke, no matter how heartless he acted, as the system, it would follow him loyally and tirelessly, guiding him toward the correct outlook on life, values, and worldview.

[Just kidding.] Shen Chun said with a smile.

A promise is a promise; if it can be changed on a whim, then it’s no better than empty talk.

521 was immediately relieved. Its host was still quite reliable!

[But there are only two years left before the hundred-year mark. I can wait.] Shen Chun said with a smile.

521: […]

 

 

 

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