The entire hall fell instantly silent.

When the Son of Heaven was enraged, it could mean corpses strewn across the land, blood flowing a thousand miles. Even with such a benevolent ruler as His Majesty, in the face of thunderous fury, there was no guarantee that Sang Zhixin would leave with his head still attached.

For a moment, Sang Zhixin and the emperor stared at each other, while not a single courtier present dared rise to plead for mercy. They remained mute and motionless—like a flock of quail with shrunken necks.

Fang Linyuan was so startled that his shoulders gave a small tremble.

The next moment, a slightly cool hand gently landed on his knee, calmly pressing down.

Fang Linyuan turned his head—only to see Zhao Chu looking at him.

“It’s fine,” he said softly.

They were several feet away from the imperial throne—naturally, such a small voice wouldn’t carry to His Majesty’s ears.

…But Zhao Chu truly was bold.

Among all the gathered officials and nobles, who wasn’t too afraid to even breathe too loudly? Only Zhao Chu, his expression placid and even faintly tinged with disdain, lifted his brows ever so slightly and looked coolly toward the high platform.

Just then, Sang Zhixin made a move.

Fang Linyuan turned to see him, hands holding a wine cup, kneeling squarely before the dais. He raised the cup above his head and kowtowed deeply.

“This humble minister understands Your Majesty’s words!” his voice rang out clearly.

Everyone present was stunned—no one understood what he meant.

Then he continued: “Your Majesty’s pain as if gnawed by bone is the result of this humble minister’s failure in office! Please be assured, within three days I shall submit a method to purge the corrupt officials and cleanse the filth from Your Majesty’s court!”

*

The Hongyou Emperor said nothing. He simply waved his hand, signaling Sang Zhixin to withdraw.

Fang Linyuan clearly saw that when Sang Zhixin rose and returned to his seat, the expressions of the people around him were full of fear and hesitation, their postures evasive and wary.

With those words, Sang Zhixin had clearly placed himself in a position of utter isolation.

The emperor still hadn’t responded to him, yet he had brazenly positioned himself as the antithesis of the corrupt officials under investigation. At this point, neither his colleagues nor the emperor above would place any further trust in him.

After a moment of silence, as the noise in the hall began to return, Fang Linyuan leaned toward Zhao Chu and asked quietly, “Is this cutting off the tail to survive?”

Zhao Chu let out a soft laugh. “You saw it too?”

“I saw it…” Fang Linyuan hesitated a little. “But can this work? His crimes of forming a party and corruption have already reached His Majesty—how could the emperor still use him?”

“The evidence we submitted to the palace doesn’t definitively implicate him,” Zhao Chu replied. “As long as there is no proof to convict him, this move still has its use…”

At this, he turned his head slightly toward Sang Zhixin.

“The odds aren’t great. It’s just a gamble,” he said. “But since it’s already a dead end with no retreat, let him struggle as he pleases.”

Hearing this, a shadow of concern crossed Fang Linyuan’s face.

“A trapped beast’s fight is always the most unpredictable,” he said. “Do you have a countermeasure?”

Zhao Chu looked at him, silent.

Fang Linyuan grew somewhat tense.

“Don’t tell me even you didn’t anticipate this step from him? That would be troublesome. The emperor’s thoughts are always the hardest to gauge—if he goes so far as to push the entire Yanzhou affair onto someone else, wouldn’t that…”

He muttered softly to himself, when suddenly—a cool breath drifted close, falling lightly by his ear before he could react.

“Still within my calculations.” It was Zhao Chu’s voice, barely above a whisper.

Fang Linyuan froze completely.

Then he heard Zhao Chu continue, “But this isn’t something that can be explained in a few words. We’re in the palace now—not exactly the place to speak openly in public.”

His tone was lazy, with a smile hanging in the air by Fang Linyuan’s ear. At that moment, Fang Linyuan felt like a stone full of cracks.

So rigid he could not move—because if he shifted even slightly, he’d be crushed to pieces under the pressure.

“…I see.”

After a pause, he responded stiffly, and even moved himself—and the redwood chair he sat on—a little further away from Zhao Chu.

Zhao Chu paused slightly.

In his line of sight was Fang Linyuan’s expressionless, even slightly stern profile. His hair was tied up high, leaving his neck and ears fully exposed to the candlelight, without the slightest cover.

But in stark contrast to his cold, evasive expression, that patch of skin was flushed a brilliant red—radiant, as if it were giving off steam.

It was a face that had never been good at hiding anything. Yet now, in front of Zhao Chu, ice and fire clashed—and all of Zhao Chu’s limited experience in human relationships failed him. For a moment, he couldn’t make any sense of it.

Zhao Chu’s brows twitched slightly. Then, subtly, he let his gaze linger on that rosy flush.

Though he had no understanding of romance, he was well-versed in human nature. He knew that expressions could be faked—but physical reactions to desire could not.

What’s more…

One does not blush at the ears from loathing or avoiding someone.

That, without doubt… was the flush of surging blood and energy.

*

Two days later, just as he had promised, Sang Zhixin submitted a memorial to Emperor Hongyou.

It was an openly presented memorial at the Grand Court Assembly, and within it, an exhaustive list of twenty-one detailed items was laid out, all concerning methods of restraining local officials, controlling the management of grain and treasury warehouses, and suppressing powerful local clans.

These twenty-one provisions, when combined, were thorough and meticulous in their rigor. Sang Zhixin titled them the Tax Verification Act.

As he had passionately argued in court, he had combed through past cases of local officials colluding with wealthy gentry to cause unrest and found that the core issue was taxation. Taxes were a significant expense for local aristocrats; their collusion with local officials usually began with tax evasion or manipulation. The grain and silver embezzled were, more often than not, skimmed off from collected taxes.

Thus, his “twenty-one tax verification measures” targeted taxation directly—stripping local officials of unchecked control over tax management, cutting off their avenues for profiteering, while at the same time sealing any loopholes the powerful gentry might exploit.

But such reforms came at the cost of challenging a massive institutional foundation.

The amount of farmland reported, the yield per acre—all needed to be recalculated. Local tax records and warehouse inventories had to be cross-verified with ledgers anew.

Sang Zhixin stated that implementing this policy might take one to three years, but if successful, the empire would enjoy peace of mind for the next fifty years.

It was said that the entire court erupted like a boiling pot.

How many of the court ministers were truly clean? Sang Zhixin’s move was ruthless—betraying his own to uphold principle—and in doing so, he’d dragged the entire civil and military bureaucracy to the edge of disaster with him!

Immediately, memorials of opposition flooded Emperor Hongyou’s desk like a blizzard.

When Fang Linyuan heard the news, he was amazed for a while. That day, while dining at Huaiyu Pavilion, he couldn’t help but comment to Zhao Chu.

“I read those twenty-one articles myself. Lord Sang truly has the heart of one who’s shattered his own cauldrons and sunk his boats—determined to make enemies of half the court,” Fang Linyuan said. “If this is his way of saving himself... Lord Sang is indeed a formidable man.”

But across from him, Zhao Chu seemed distracted.

“To rise from a commoner to where he is now, he must be willing to sever ties—and he must understand the man on the Dragon Throne well enough,” Zhao Chu replied after a pause.

Hearing this, Fang Linyuan nodded thoughtfully.

“So you’re saying he sensed His Majesty’s desire to purge the bureaucracy but reluctance to make the first move, and thus offered himself as the blade in His Majesty’s hand?”

Zhao Chu said nothing.

Something’s on his mind?

Fang Linyuan turned his head to look at him—

And happened to catch Zhao Chu looking away, quietly reaching out with his chopsticks.

But the piece he picked up was mutton—something he usually disliked—and yet he placed it in his mouth as if he didn’t care what it was.

He’s definitely troubled.

Fang Linyuan looked at him a moment longer. When Zhao Chu noticed the stare, he raised his eyes.

“Did something happen today?” Fang Linyuan asked. “You seem... tired.”

Zhao Chu paused slightly, then looked at him and said, “Do I?”

Fang Linyuan nodded firmly.

Zhao Chu lowered his gaze. After a pause, he said softly, “Sorry.”

Fang Linyuan waved his hand quickly, though with his bowl and chopsticks in hand, the gesture was clumsy: “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just making conversation. If you’re tired, rest early—it’s nothing.”

Zhao Chu paused again, then said, “I’m fine.”

Fang Linyuan was about to respond when Zhao Chu stood up. With one hand he swept up his wide soft sleeve, revealing a pale, jade-like wrist; with the other hand, he reached across the table and picked up a piece of tender fish belly.

“This is shad fish from Songjiang, sent in specially. They say its meat is finer than the river fish we get in the capital.”

As he spoke, Zhao Chu leaned slightly and placed the piece of fish in Fang Linyuan’s bowl.

Fang Linyuan’s eyes were fixed on the fish—but at that moment, a few fragrant, cool strands of hair drifted down beside his ear.

...Zhao Chu!

As Zhao Chu leaned forward to serve him, his shoulder-length hair slid down and brushed over Fang Linyuan.

Just a few strands—but they were cool and faintly fragrant, like silken spiderwebs wrapping around him.

Fang Linyuan froze completely. The fish landed in his bowl, and Zhao Chu’s voice spoke right at his ear: “Try it.”

What kind of voice was that? It was the whisper of a merman luring souls.

Fang Linyuan had been avoiding getting close to Zhao Chu for days now. At this moment, he was stiff as a board. But then Zhao Chu tilted his head and asked lightly: “What’s wrong? Don’t like steamed fish?”

Like a marionette yanked by invisible strings, Fang Linyuan quickly picked up his chopsticks and awkwardly shoved the fish into his mouth.

“Mhm. It’s good,” he mumbled, nodding hastily, hoping Zhao Chu would just sit back down.

But Zhao Chu, seeing his reaction, added, “Really? Then I’ll get you another piece...”

Fang Linyuan acted like he was being chased by a ghost.

“No need!” He felt his whole head steaming. Desperate to stop him, he blurted it out.

And as if to prove that he really didn’t need more, he did something completely against dining etiquette.

He leaned over and directly picked up the plate of fish, placing it before himself.

The soft clink of porcelain against wood snapped him back to his senses. He suddenly realized what he’d done.

He—

How utterly disgraceful! Like he’d lost his soul!

He had no choice but to pretend nothing had happened. He set the plate down, sat stiffly, and buried his face in his bowl, eating furiously.

He didn’t see Zhao Chu still watching him quietly from the side.

But Zhao Chu’s eyes weren’t on his face.

They were on the tips of Fang Linyuan’s ears—

Once again flushed a vivid crimson.

Once might be coincidence, but twice? Surely not.

This was unfamiliar to Zhao Chu.

It was different from the disgust, scheming, and greed he was used to. It burned hot, yet remained pure—like those words used in fantastical storybooks: “awakening of love,” or “fluttering of the heart.”

Was it truly so? Between him and Fang Linyuan?

This realization made Zhao Chu’s grip on his ivory chopsticks tighten.

He was a demon clad in painted skin, never once touched by anything so beautiful. If he truly caught a glimpse of such loveliness, he would no doubt pounce upon it, seize it, dominate it, make it his and his alone.

But he couldn’t.

He feared it was all but a delusion—an obsession born from his own corrupted desires.

He couldn’t scare Fang Linyuan.

So, all he could do was suppress it—clench shut those sharp claws, tamp down the howling fangs—imprison his savage soul inside this elegant, alluring form, and mimic those seductresses: to test, to tempt.

It still kept him hidden in darkness—but this time, it was a darkness unlike any he’d ever walked before.

This time, each step was carefully laid—toward touching the sun in the sky.

Zhao Chu’s heart gave another uncontrollable, tingling shiver.

*

That day in court, regarding Sang Zhixin’s submission of the Twenty-One Articles of Tax Measures, Emperor Hongyou made no immediate comment. As a result, within the next two days, a storm of memorials denouncing Sang flooded the imperial desk—countless accusations, some with ferocious wording, openly condemning Sang as a sycophant using seductive words to curry favor and cover up his own corruption.

Still, the Emperor gave no reply.

Until two days later, when Sang Zhixin—after kneeling for hours outside the imperial study—was finally granted a private audience.

It was said that on that day, the Emperor only asked him three questions.

No one knew what Sang said in response, but afterward, the long-indifferent Emperor was unexpectedly delighted. Not only did he reinstate Sang Zhixin to his former position as Vice Minister of the Central Secretariat, he also placed the tax reform memorial on his own desk and declared it would be reviewed and refined jointly by the Six Ministries.

This news struck the court and opposition like thunder out of a clear sky.

What exactly did the Emperor ask? What had Sang said in return? Everyone wanted to know how he had turned decay into divinity—and what he now planned to do about his old colleagues and rivals.

The two factions in court descended into chaos.

Fang Linyuan, upon receiving the news, was equally stunned.

But unlike many of the panicked officials, he wasn’t anxious. After all, however rigorously they investigated taxes and finances, he had a clear conscience and nothing to fear.

His only concern was Zhao Chu.

That day, after leaving the yamen, he went directly to Huaiyu Pavilion. It was still early; dinner had yet to be served. The setting sun blazed outside the window, and Zhao Chu was seated beside it, holding several letters.

“You’ve heard about Sang Zhixin too?” Fang Linyuan asked. “Why would His Majesty let him off so easily?”

Zhao Chu said nothing, simply handed him one of the letters.

Fang Linyuan looked down, and saw that the letter contained a full account of that day’s conversation in the palace between Emperor Hongyou and Sang Zhixin.

He looked at Zhao Chu in surprise.

Zhao Chu merely gave a calm nod, gesturing for him to read on.

Fang Linyuan lowered his eyes.

The letter stated that upon meeting the Emperor, Sang knelt and saluted. The Emperor did not tell him to rise, and instead asked: “You offer this tax regulation proposal—have you considered that many of those imprisoned during recent investigations are your former protégés and close associates?”

Sang bowed his head to the ground and replied, “Your servant does not beg forgiveness, for that is indeed my first and greatest sin.”

The Emperor remained silent. Sang continued: “Your servant failed to judge characters, appointing disloyal and unfilial men. It was my own blindness that brought harm to Your Majesty’s realm. And after their appointments, I failed to rein them in. Even when I sensed misconduct, I dismissed it as harmless error, fearing that overreach would be seen as overstepping the rules. So I let it be—and disaster followed.”

At this point, Fang Linyuan couldn’t help but be impressed.

He said his laxity led to the current state—wasn’t the Emperor just as guilty of indulgence? What a clever move—pushing blame upward in the guise of self-reproach.

“But as for forming a clique—I swear I had no such intent. Yet in court, colleagues are often grouped by hometown or year of entry. Even if I never meant to take part, I cannot deny having benefited from their support over the years. So, I dare not ask Your Majesty’s pardon.”

According to the letter, the Emperor’s expression didn’t change. After a pause, he asked:
“They were old friends, former colleagues—yet you would so ruthlessly abandon even their lives?”

“Our lives belong to Your Majesty, to the court,” Sang answered. “I’ve already sinned so grievously—I must not be wrong again. Presenting this tax proposal is merely an attempt to atone. If Your Majesty accepts it, even if my own life is taken, I shall not utter a word of complaint. As for the others—the law stands above us all, under the bright sky. Let them, like me, answer for their crimes.”

By this point, the Emperor’s expression had visibly softened.

“You say this—does that mean you acknowledge your guilt?” he asked, the final question.

The letter said Sang, overwhelmed with tears, could barely speak.

“Your servant knew only hunger in childhood, survived by sheer chance. Without Your Majesty, how could I have risen, step by step, to serve before the throne? All I am today—including my life—was bestowed by Your Majesty. Now that I’ve failed the trust given to me, I would rather die to repay Your Majesty’s vast grace.”

“But dying would be easy. What I cannot do is leave behind this mess for Your Majesty to clean up alone. So I must carry my guilt and sorrow forward. Even if I must stand against the whole court, against officials from every province—I will cleanse the filth for Your Majesty! And when the time comes, if I die with infamy on my back—what of it? So long as I repay Your Majesty’s favor, even a thousand cuts will not deter me!”

At this, Fang Linyuan broke into a cold sweat.

Precise medicine for the Emperor’s ailment, eloquent yet devoted—only someone with unparalleled skill could thrive so long before the throne.

Finishing the letter, he looked toward Zhao Chu, visibly stunned.

“He…” Fang Linyuan was momentarily at a loss for words.

To say something utterly blasphemous: if he were His Majesty, and a minister broke down before him with such tearful earnestness, he too would be shaken.

Even through a sheet of paper, he felt a wary hesitation toward that man.

He was speechless, but saw Zhao Chu merely shake his head slightly and say, “It’s as autumn’s grasshoppers—only a few more jumps, and they suit my mood all the better.”

Fang Linyuan didn’t understand why Zhao Chu said that.

At that moment, a gust of cold wind blew in. The window hadn’t been shut tightly, and the wind pushed it open, suddenly tossing up the strands of Zhao Chu’s loose hair.

It also blew the outer robe draped over his shoulders askew.

Only then did Fang Linyuan belatedly realize Zhao Chu was dressed too lightly. Perhaps no one was attending to him inside the room, and he had worn his robe carelessly. With the sudden gust, a patch of white, delicate, and well-proportioned shoulder was exposed.

Fang Linyuan’s mind was set ablaze again.

This appearance clearly carried a touch of the brothel’s charm—disheveled clothes, wandering hair—yet all this was on a man’s body.

A man…

Did Zhao Chu even remember he was a man?

The heat nearly steamed onto Fang Linyuan’s face. He quickly pointed to his own shoulder, signaling to Zhao Chu: “The wind outside is strong; you should wear something thicker. Be careful not to catch cold.”

But Zhao Chu seemed not to understand, and just stood up to close the window.

“It’s fine inside the room,” he said. “The underground dragon in the mansion is burning early, there’s still some warmth.”

Who told you to close the window, and who told you to put on clothes?!

The heat inside Fang Linyuan’s body surged wildly, rushing up and down uncontrollably, so intense that he could only tremble with fear—both toward himself and Zhao Chu.

He gritted his teeth, straightened up, crossed the small table on the couch, and was about to personally pull Zhao Chu’s clothing back up.

But his mind was somewhat chaotic, causing his movements to be a bit rough.

He reached out his hand and grabbed the slipping collar of Zhao Chu’s garment.

At the same time, the warm pads of his fingers suddenly brushed across the skin on Zhao Chu’s shoulder.

 

--

Author’s note:

Fang Linyuan: Stay away from me! I’m calling the police!!!

Zhao Chu: (Innocently blinking) Is seducing your own husband even a crime?

 

Translator : DarNan