(NT: Chinese expression meaning that seductive beauties or indulgence in pleasure can lead to the downfall of even the greatest heroes.)

Lord Su, Zhao Jin’s maternal grandfather, had sources of intelligence that were incredibly well-informed. As soon as Yuan Honglang’s messenger stepped through the palace gates, the news was swiftly delivered to the Su residence.

However, the messenger was unaware of the content of the letter.

That confidential letter was read by His Majesty in private. Not a single soul around him knew what it said. All subsequent orders were handed over to Shi Shen of the Eastern Depot.

And he—was a tough, impenetrable wall with no cracks to exploit.

Lord Su was pacing anxiously in his residence, but time waited for no one. In the current situation, there was no room left for hesitation or elaborate planning.

A messenger on a fast horse sped through the night, heading straight toward Zhao Jin’s fleet.

By the time the following night fell, Zhao Jin received his grandfather’s urgent letter.

At that moment, Zhao Jin was on the ship, having dinner.

Under his command, several large ships were sailing at high speed, so much so that the massive vessels rocked slightly even as they advanced.

Zhao Jin was utterly exhausted that day.

The official sent by his grandfather, someone he trusted deeply, had been tasked with guarding Empress Jiang’s entire family.

That family had already been tied up tightly when he captured them by force. The so-called guard duty was simply to prevent the sailors aboard from making any moves.

Who would’ve expected that the previous night, Empress Jiang’s brother managed to break free from his bindings and quietly dragged the Ninth Princess up onto the deck.

The night was deep, the river rushing.

Most of the sailors on board were already fast asleep.

The Ninth Princess cried and struggled, but her mouth and nose were covered. Fortunately, the official had not gone to sleep that night. At the critical moment, he rushed forward and snatched the princess away—just as she was about to be thrown into the canal.

By that time, the Ninth Princess had already been tied to heavy stones. Had they been a moment later, there would have been no saving her.

Zhao Jin had been roused in the middle of the night by the commotion.

He rushed up to the deck, still half-dazed.

But by then, the official had already taken control of the situation. He was directing the sailors to tie up the Jiang family once again, this time more securely, and to gag them tightly to prevent any chance of suicide or escape.

A follower came to report to him, saying that thanks to the official’s quick thinking, Zhao Jin’s most important witness had not been lost.

“He wanted to silence her—why choose today of all days?” Zhao Jin asked with a yawn after the situation had been dealt with. “Four years ago would’ve been the perfect time. Why didn’t he take it then?”

“I interrogated him briefly,” the official replied. “He didn’t say it outright, but he implied that he wanted to use the child to control Her Majesty the Empress.”

Zhao Jin let out a cold laugh.

Indeed, even one's own family schemed against and guarded against each other like this.

But it was precisely because of that, wasn’t it? Otherwise, who would have left him such a perfect witness and leverage?

After hearing this, Zhao Jin waved his hand and said, “You may go. Your rescue of the princess today—I will remember it. Once we return to the capital, His Majesty will reward you.”

The official lowered his head, expression unreadable, and thanked him repeatedly before exiting the cabin.

Zhao Jin watched his retreating back.

Two days were enough for him to figure it all out.

Had it not been for this Ninth Princess delivered right into his hands, he might have broken with his father over the matter of his mother, the Imperial Consort. But now, heaven had aided him—and so had his grandfather—delivering such a grand gift. It was meant to punish his father, and in doing so, compensate him.

All he had to do was escort these people back to the capital, and both the Empress and the so-called Ninth Prince would not survive.

And his father?

Beneath him now were only daughters. As age took its toll, it was unlikely he would have more sons. Looking across the court, the only one capable of inheriting the throne was Zhao Jin.

So what did he have to fear?

No matter how wary his father was of him, he wouldn’t dare act rashly. With this assurance in hand, Zhao Jin had all the time in the world to avenge his mother.

This, surely, was the blessing of his late mother’s spirit in the heavens.

So Zhao Jin thought.

But he did not expect that at dawn the next day, as light crept over the sky, his fleet would be intercepted on the canal by the troops of Chuzhou Prefecture.

“An imperial edict is here! We ask that His Highness, the Third Prince, halt his steps!”

The patrol ships nearly blocked off his entire fleet. The thunderous cry of voices shook the sky and the waters, jolting Zhao Jin from his sleep.

He saw the government ships rapidly closing in, clearly intent on capturing him alive.

Fortunately, once again, the man his grandfather had assigned to him emerged.

Standing at the bow of the ship, he orchestrated their escape in the wide canal and, incredibly, found a path out of the encirclement.

All day long, they engaged in evasive maneuvers. That man led the fleet and managed to shake off the government boats.

The Chuzhou patrols chased them for quite a distance, but as night fell, they were finally shaken off.

After an exhausting day, Zhao Jin was at last able to relax.

He praised the official once again and made a mental note to reward and promote him properly once they returned to the capital.

But Zhao Jin himself, amidst the flight and pursuit, had become so seasick he was nearly vomiting.

These fools! What he had on his ship was evidence of the Empress’s bait-and-switch, her attempt to confuse the royal bloodline—it was His Majesty’s own biological Ninth Princess!

He was escorting these people back to the capital with troops, and they still dared to stop him?

Zhao Jin couldn’t understand why they would try to intercept him.

So, suppressing his discomfort, dragging his exhausted body, and bottling up a stomach full of anger, he forced himself to eat a rough dinner.

It was at this moment that the messenger sent by his maternal grandfather came aboard.

“A letter from Grandfather?” Zhao Jin looked at the man in confusion and opened the envelope while sitting before a table full of rare delicacies.

(Your Highness, please rein in at the edge of the cliff. One mistake has already been made—you must not make another! His Majesty already suspects you of treason. If you wait for him to take action, the consequences will be disastrous. I beg Your Highness to think for your own sake, and for the entire Su family. Whatever the reason, if you stop today, there is still a chance to turn things around.)

Zhao Jin’s brows knitted tightly.

“What does Grandfather mean by this?” he asked the messenger.

The messenger knelt and said, “Lord Su instructed me: His Majesty now knows Your Highness’s movements like the back of his hand. Whatever you do is already under His Majesty’s control. At present, Lord Su has no opportunity to find out His Majesty’s exact intentions—he can only beg you to halt and quickly return the troops from Suzhou!”

Zhao Jin slapped the letter onto the table.

Absurd. His movements? What movements?

He was delivering his father’s own daughter, helping clear away the venomous woman at his father’s side. Even if he arrived in the capital today, he had every reason and evidence to defend himself—eyewitnesses, material proof, everything.

Having already decided not to directly clash with Emperor Hongyou over his mother’s death for now, Zhao Jin was now full of righteous confidence.

“I don’t know why Grandfather wants me to stop. This matter is far too important—how could it be stopped just because he says so?”

Seeing that the messenger was about to speak again, Zhao Jin impatiently waved his hand.

“Just go back and tell Grandfather—I know what I’m doing. This time, I’m certain of victory. I have a plan. Grandfather doesn’t need to worry.”

*

The palace was steeped in the eerie calm before a storm. Heavy clouds hung low, faintly exuding a restless, oppressive atmosphere like the breath of death.

It was said that Her Majesty the Empress had caught a cold and passed it on to half the palace maids and eunuchs in Fengqi Palace. To avoid delays in the envoys’ travels, envoys from various nations had been gradually escorted out of the capital over the past two days.

The envoys, naturally, had no objections. Especially since, because of this unexpected illness, Emperor Hongyou had bestowed gifts far more generous than in previous years.

To these small nations, these rewards were not only gold and jewels—they were also the promise and protection of a vast empire.

They accepted the favors with pleasure, made no fuss, and departed one after another with their heavily loaded carts.

The ministers in court had been busy for a while, and many were sent to see the envoys off.

Only the Marquis of Anping’s residence remained quiet.

After all, the master of the house was still running a high fever, and the princess had been attending to him day and night, never leaving his side. It was said she didn’t even entrust the decoctions to others—they were always delivered to the marquis’s bedside by her own hand.

And this was no exaggeration.

Inside Huaiyu Pavilion, bright sunlight filtered through snow-laden branches and into the room. Zhao Chu placed a bowl of warm “medicine” by Fang Linyuan’s bed, then leaned in and helped him sit up.

Fang Linyuan stole a glance at the “medicine” bowl.

Osmanthus syrup with white fungus soup. The syrup was brewed from fresh osmanthus flowers personally picked by Eunuch Wang earlier this year. It smelled gently sweet and fragrant.

He followed Zhao Chu’s guiding strength and sat up, sighing: “After two days in bed, I feel like my bones are rusted.”

Zhao Chu expertly checked his forehead temperature. Confirming that the fever was subsiding, he lifted the bowl, sat at the bedside, stirred the soup, and passed it into Fang Linyuan’s hands.

“You should be fine by tomorrow. Then you can move around a bit inside the room,” Zhao Chu said gently.

Fang Linyuan felt like he was being pampered so much by Zhao Chu that even his limbs were rusting from lack of use.

He had never seen someone so meticulous. Though no one else was in the room all day, Zhao Chu still managed to take care of all his needs—meals, rest, care—with flawless precision.

During these two days of fever, Fang Linyuan only had to sleep with eyes shut and eat with mouth open. Everything else had been handled ahead of time by Zhao Chu.

And not only was Zhao Chu never flustered, he even had time to handle letters and correspondence. Occasionally, he would have time to sit beside Fang Linyuan, warm a pot of tea, or even sew a garment.

Yes—sew a garment.

On the first day Fang Linyuan moved into Huaiyu Pavilion, Zhao Chu noticed the material of his nightclothes was too stiff. He said nothing, but on the second day, a set of nightwear made of soft, thick cloth with fine stitching had appeared at Fang Linyuan’s pillow.

Zhao Chu must truly be some kind of fox spirit!

Now, wearing the nightclothes Zhao Chu had made, and holding the bowl of soup he handed him, Fang Linyuan felt like the man before him was a fox who had cultivated into human form, disguised as a virtuous wife, come to repay a debt of gratitude.

“You can’t even swing a spear indoors,” Fang Linyuan sighed, cradling the bowl. “Didn’t feel it before, but being stuck in here all day is really driving a man mad.”

At his side, Zhao Chu’s eyes curved gently in a faint smile.

"Just wait a few more days," he said. "It’ll be soon."

Speaking of this, Fang Linyuan grew a little curious.

“It’s been two days already. How is His Highness the Third Prince now?” he asked.

But Zhao Chu’s brows and eyes darkened slightly at the question. He fell into thought for a moment, and yet no answer came for a long while.

Alright, here we go again.

In the past two days of being together from morning till night, Fang Linyuan had, despite his fever and drowsiness, talked quite a bit with Zhao Chu.

He had long noticed it—whenever Zhao Chu’s plans were mentioned, the man either fell silent or gave some vague promise. In short, all he ever said was “don’t worry,” and never more.

Watching him once again sink into silence, Fang Linyuan paused, then pressed his lips together into a faint smile.

“Never mind, I was just asking offhand,” he said. “If you don’t want to tell me, there’s no need to force it.”

He smiled with generous ease, but to say there wasn’t the slightest bit of awkwardness in his heart would be a lie.

This kind of concealment and avoidance inevitably creates distance between people.

If it were just an ordinary relationship, this would be normal privacy, a matter of basic courtesy, and not something he should pry into.

But the man before him was Zhao Chu...

Forget it. After all, it was Zhao Chu’s right.

Fang Linyuan let out a soft breath, almost inaudible, and was just about to continue drinking his soup when he looked up and saw Zhao Chu staring at him.

He instinctively wanted to avert his gaze, but then heard Zhao Chu speak. “I’m not trying to hide things from you,” he said. “I just think... it’s better if you don’t know.”

Fang Linyuan was slightly stunned, not quite understanding what he meant. “Why?” he asked directly.

Zhao Chu was silent for a long time before saying, “Because even if I don’t tell you, you can already guess—everything that’s happened between the two of them, how it’s come to this point, has been part of my design.”

Fang Linyuan nodded slightly, unaware of just how clear and unclouded his eyes were at that moment.

He only saw Zhao Chu looking at him, then smiling softly. He reached out and gently tousled Fang Linyuan’s hair.

“To you and me, they are sovereign and father. To plot against them is to be disloyal and unfilial.”

Zhao Chu’s voice softened a bit more as he continued. “If you don’t know, then it has nothing to do with you. If you’re not aware of my plans, then you’ve never taken part in scheming against them.”

His gaze was incredibly gentle. As he touched Fang Linyuan’s hair, it was as if he were gazing up at the sun.

But Fang Linyuan couldn’t help but ask, “Then what about you?”

Zhao Chu paused slightly, as if the question had never occurred to him.

He tilted his head a little, thought for a moment, and then replied: “I was never a good person to begin with. I’m not afraid of that.”

“You are,” Fang Linyuan blurted out almost the moment Zhao Chu finished speaking.

Zhao Chu let out a quiet laugh, low and raspy, with a sound that made the ears tingle.

“You’re just different from others,” he said softly, his voice tinged with affectionate amusement.

But Fang Linyuan shook his head firmly.

“Did you fabricate the reason for their falling out from nothing?” he asked Zhao Chu.

Zhao Chu shook his head.

“Then you were just striking back. They were in the wrong first. Why is it, just because you refused to swallow the injustice, that you’re no longer considered a good person?” Fang Linyuan said.

Zhao Chu was momentarily stunned.

In the past, if someone had said this to him, he would’ve laughed. Zhao Chu, a good person? They’d have to be blind.

But now, staring into those clear, gentle eyes, he found himself dazed, like someone looking up for too long into the light—until it actually pierced the cold darkness of his cave.

Fang Linyuan looked serious and continued, “The sages said, ‘Judge actions, not hearts—what was it...’ something like that.”

He paused, his solemn expression showing a faint hint of embarrassed awkwardness.

“Judge by deeds, not by intentions; if one judges by intentions, there is no one in the world who is without fault,” Zhao Chu gently finished for him.

(NT: traditional Chinese proverb aligning with Confucius’ philosophy,  highlighting that people should be held accountable for what they do, not just what they think )

“Yes!” Fang Linyuan immediately said. “You’ve read that too. So you must understand. Since I’ve known you, you’ve done so many good things. If you say you’re not a good person, then what are all those corrupt officials who preach righteousness?”

Sure, all people are filthy and ugly. Only one Fang Linyuan is clean and pure.

Zhao Chu thought this to himself.

But then he saw Fang Linyuan look up and say seriously, “If you belittle yourself like that, aren’t you saying my judgment is terrible?”

Zhao Chu could no longer tear his eyes away from him.

Yes... even the sun loved him.

Someone so vibrant and brilliant, someone who ought to stand proudly above the world, had instead turned all his care and focus to gently cleanse the filth from Zhao Chu, bit by bit—as if he had found a luminous heart buried deep inside this ugly clay shell.

Zhao Chu didn’t say anything. Fang Linyuan reached out and poked him.

“I asked you a question,” Fang Linyuan said.

Zhao Chu grabbed that hand he had stretched out.

Before Fang Linyuan could react, Zhao Chu’s shadow loomed over him—and in the next instant, he leaned in.

A light kiss, barely brushing like a dragonfly skimming water, landed swiftly at the corner of his lips.

“All right,” came the low, still-hoarse voice, carrying a trace of nervous breath at the side of his face. “I’ll listen to you.”

Fang Linyuan’s breath disappeared in that moment.

His eyes flew open wide as he stared straight ahead, like a traveler turned to stone under the gaze of a merman.

A faint chill brushed gently past his ear. Beside him, Zhao Chu seemed at a loss for what to do next.

That kiss—born of impulse—had come like divine guidance from the heavens. As if compelled by a will that allowed no resistance, he had pressed his lips down in that fleeting moment. But what to do afterward… the gods had offered no further instruction.

So after a brief pause, he acted purely on instinct, on the yearning that burned in his soul—pulling Fang Linyuan directly into his arms.

“You… then you…” Fang Linyuan, cradled against his chest, could hardly speak. “…If you have something to say, don’t hide it from me anymore.”

“Alright,” Zhao Chu answered again, holding him even tighter.

It was as if he were drawing Fang Linyuan into his very bones and blood—soft, yet unrelenting, wrapping him in a firm embrace.

Just then, Zhao Chu’s arm slipped around his lower back, and his hand happened to brush over the ridge of Fang Linyuan’s spine.

Fang Linyuan’s whole body tensed instantly.

That spot… was the site of an old injury from years ago. The skin that had regrown over the blade wound was thin and delicate, far more sensitive than the surrounding flesh.

Zhao Chu’s palm landed right on it, and a tingling shiver shot straight down to the base of Fang Linyuan’s spine.

He stiffened, not daring to move.

Meanwhile, Zhao Chu continued speaking.

“But this matter, I still can’t tell you—not yet,” Zhao Chu said in a low voice. “After this is over, I’ll never hide anything from you again. Is that alright?”

“…Why?” Fang Linyuan’s back had already softened, and he could only go along with Zhao Chu’s words now.

“Because you’ve always been loyal and upright. In all these years, you’ve never once done anything that defied the laws of heaven or the teachings of your ancestors.”

Zhao Chu’s calm voice flowed past his ear like water. “I don’t want this to stain you. I want you to stay radiant and bright, always true to your heart.”

It was over.

Fang Linyuan’s entire heart went weak—right along with his spine.

A beautiful lover’s embrace truly was a hero’s grave.

--

Author’s note:

Fang Linyuan: Fine…  A true man shouldn’t argue with his wife over who’s on top and who’s on bottom."

Zhao Chu: Darling, right now the only thing hard on your whole body is your mouth.

(NT: 嘴硬 (zuǐ yìng) means "stubborn in speech," but 硬 (yìng) also means "hard” physically, Zhao Chu implies that Fang Linyuan is all talk )

Fang Linyuan: ???

 

Translator : DarNan