“Zhao Chu…”

Fang Linyuan turned his head and looked straight at the man in front of him.

It really was Zhao Chu.

Even if he said nothing, even with such voluminous and intricate robes, even with such a heavy mask covering his face—he could recognize him in an instant.
Even more so, because he was hugging him.

The faint scent of osmanthus tea permeated the air, as if it were about to seep into his very bones.

Inside the hall, the Western-style clock pointed precisely to the third quarter of the hour of Xu.

Below the high platform, flames filled the sky.

The vast number of lanterns and colorful banners arranged for the Great Nuo Exorcism Ceremony had been easily knocked over in the chaos. The firelight illuminated the still-burning decorative lights, crackling and flaring amid the sounds of shouting and clashing weapons.

The palace eunuchs and maids had no ability to resist whatsoever.

The soldiers dressed as gods and ghosts, their faces completely obscured, were highly trained and skilled in martial arts. They quickly subdued the majority of those present. As for the rest, they didn’t even need to be subdued—most surrendered outright, desperate to save their lives.

From just outside the Qinzheng Hall, the sound of crying and begging faintly reached them.

It seemed a few of the concubines who had managed to flee had run headlong into the rebels wearing ghost masks and wielding weapons gleaming coldly. In that moment, they truly could not tell if what they faced were men or monsters. Crying and screaming, they begged for mercy.

“Mm.”

Amid the chaos, Fang Linyuan heard only Zhao Chu’s low voice replying to him.

“You—” Fang Linyuan was so shocked he could barely speak coherently. “All these men below… they’re yours?”

Zhao Chu nodded.

His eyes, lit by the flames, gleamed intensely. You could clearly see the bloodshot veins, like cracks running through jade.

“I told you—I’d come to take you away,” Zhao Chu said. “Did he do anything to you?”

Fang Linyuan shook his head. Just as he was about to speak, not far off, the voice of the Hongyou Emperor rang out. “Who are you?!”

His voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion and trembling with fear.

Zhao Chu turned his eyes slightly to glance at him.

The emperor had only just managed to beat out the flames. His dragon robe was scorched and tattered, his face blotched with soot.

Zhao Chu gave him just that single look before turning his gaze away, no longer sparing him another thought.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked Fang Linyuan softly, looking back at him.

Fang Linyuan lifted his head and looked at him, shaking his head.

Zhao Chu’s arm—the one holding him—rose slowly. As if bewitched or drawn by something, his hand brushed across Fang Linyuan’s cheek. “That’s good then.”

“You don’t look well,” Fang Linyuan couldn’t help saying, even though the moment was entirely inappropriate.

Zhao Chu merely looked at him, not replying.

His gaze was unfathomably deep. Beneath the mask, those magnificent eyes glowed with firelight, their pupils shimmering like polished gems.

In the next instant, a long sword flashed cold and sharp, raised high before the eyes of the Hongyou Emperor.

The emperor flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut in terror.

But the sword did not fall toward him. What rose beneath the blade was a sweeping, voluminous sleeve.

Like a dark cloud blotting out the sky, the great sleeve flared upward, enveloping both the ghost-masked rebel and Fang Linyuan beneath its shadow.

Firelight spilled across the high platform.

Within the shelter of that robe, the underworld god who had rallied armies and seized the imperial city suddenly lowered his head—and fiercely kissed the young general’s lips.

The sleepless torment of recent days, the cold-biting hatred that had fueled each step of his long-prepared vengeance, the overwhelming love and longing that had consumed him—all of it poured into a kiss that was clumsy yet ferocious, reckless and wild, tangling in their breath and teeth.

*

The fire had briefly died down. The Qinzheng Hall was in complete disarray.

The Hongyou Emperor was tightly bound with ropes. Once the supreme sovereign, he now resembled nothing more than livestock awaiting slaughter, thrown beneath the imperial throne by ghost-masked rebel soldiers.

That “Zhong Kui” now sat atop the throne.

Outside the opened doors and windows, the flames that had raged across the palace grounds were already extinguished.

Brand new lanterns were lit anew. Thousands of rebels in fantastical costumes, dressed as gods and demons, stood armed and posted at every corner.

The vast imperial palace had been seized—completely, thoroughly, and without a crack left open.

The palace gates had already been shut since the hour of Shen (NT: 3 to 5 pm).
Separated by the towering red walls and the heavy palace doors, one could not tell apart the clamor of weapons and shouts from the chants of the Nuo ritual. No one outside knew that the vast imperial city had already changed hands.

Inside the hall, the candle flames flickered quietly. “Zhong Kui” sat there, his relaxed posture still carrying an inescapable air of nobility.

He leaned forward, one elbow resting on his knee, the other hand hanging down as he sifted idly through the memorials scattered across the floor.

The Hongyou Emperor struggled, but his mouth had already been tightly gagged. After a moment of muffled whimpers, it was still nothing more than futile resistance.

He watched helplessly as the man picked one up from the floor and flicked it open with a single hand.

It was the victory report from Longxi, just delivered today.

At that moment, a rebel painted with a judge’s mask strode into the hall.
He walked straight past the Hongyou Emperor and stopped in front of the seated figure.

“Master,” said the rebel, “the Marquis has been settled in. Supper has been prepared for him. The Marquis asked whether you’ve eaten. He’s waiting to dine with you.”

Marquis…

The Hongyou Emperor stared at him in disbelief.

He had just seen how intimate this man was with Fang Linyuan—and now, it seemed the two of them truly were in league!

But ever since Fang Linyuan returned to the capital, he had been under the strictest surveillance.

A plot to usurp the throne and commit regicide—surely that wasn’t something that could be hatched in a day or two. He had guarded against this tightly… and yet still hadn’t detected a thing!

On the other side, the man beneath the mask gave a soft “Mm.” When he spoke again, his tone had grown gentler.

“Let him eat first,” he said, handing the memorial in his hand to the rebel. “Give this to him.”

“Yes.”
The rebel took it with both hands, saluted swiftly, and turned to leave.

Just then, the masked man lazily straightened up. As he leaned slowly back into the dragon throne, he raised his hand and pointed at the Hongyou Emperor below him.

“I’ll ask him two questions.”

The rebel immediately understood. He bent down and yanked out the cloth stuffed in the emperor’s mouth.

The Hongyou Emperor erupted into violent coughing.

“This chair of yours,” the man’s voice came from above, “is very comfortable. No wonder you’re so reluctant to part with it.”

The Hongyou Emperor looked up—and saw him casually lift one leg, placing it gracefully atop the dragon throne.

The hand resting on his knee merely lifted a little, and the several rebels standing nearby instantly withdrew. The hall doors swung closed, leaving only the two of them inside.

“Who the hell are you?” the Hongyou Emperor barked hoarsely through his coughs, almost breathless with rage.

The man looked at him at ease. Even through the mask, one could sense the amusement on his face.

Those eyes—somehow familiar—but hidden behind the mask so completely that only the playful, mocking pupils were visible, their coldness chilling to the bone.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “Better worry about whether you’ll live to see New Year’s Eve.”

The Hongyou Emperor’s pupils shrank. “You dare kill Us?” His voice trembled.
Even the fierce rage he tried to summon was weak and hollow. “Was it Fang Linyuan who put you up to this?”

At once, the smile in the man’s eyes disappeared. He lowered his gaze and looked down at the emperor, high above and remote—as if staring at a corpse. “You’re still doubting him.”

Though framed as a question, the tone was flat, like a statement of fact.

Doubting him?
What, as the emperor, was he not even entitled to that much power?

The Hongyou Emperor glared at him but did not answer. Instead, he raised his voice, eyes fierce with menace. “You serve him, and you think that’ll bring you fortune and glory? That you’ll rise with him to the top? Even if you kill Us—what then? There are over a hundred thousand imperial troops stationed outside the capital. If you think you can escape now, you're deluding yourselves!”

As he spoke, a kind of crazed satisfaction rose in the emperor’s expression. “Without legitimacy, without righteousness, even if you seize the imperial city—so what? You’re nothing more than a ragtag band of rebels!”

The man lowered his eyes and stared at him.

“Really?” he said. “What if I do have rightful claim and moral authority?”

The Hongyou Emperor trembled as he let out a laugh, as if he’d just heard a joke.

Rightful claim? His one and only legitimate son was still locked up in a secret chamber of his bedchamber — where in all the realm was there a second person who could legitimately sit on his throne?

Yet the man before him acted as if he hadn’t noticed the ridicule in that laugh.

He just stared at him, gaze searing — like a venomous snake ready to lunge and sink its fangs into his throat.

And yet, his tone was so certain, it sounded almost reverent.

“Fang Linyuan — from beginning to end — never once harbored disloyalty toward you.”

How laughable. A snake soaked in poison coils at the base of the lotus pedestal, baring its fangs to protect a god perched high above in the clouds.

The Hongyou Emperor paid it no mind.

His life hung by a thread — and now, of all things, should he care about the loyalty of some irrelevant man?

If he were loyal, he should be here now — protecting his sovereign!

“He’d like to, wouldn’t he? But he doesn’t even have the Tiger Tally. Just because the common rabble mockingly call the troops in Longxi the ‘Fang Family Army,’ do you really think they'd rise in rebellion for him?”

The Hongyou Emperor gnashed his teeth as he spat the words, but noticed that the man's eyes were growing increasingly glacial.

“He’s not the one who wants to kill you. I am.”

The man gave a soft laugh — only two chuckles — but it sent a chill down one’s spine like falling into an ice cave.

“…What?” the Hongyou Emperor froze.

“I haven’t had a single day when I didn’t want to kill you,” the man said slowly, with a smile that chilled to the bone.

The Hongyou Emperor shuddered involuntarily. “You…”

The man simply lowered his gaze with a faint smile. “You’re dying to know who I am, aren’t you?”

As he spoke, he raised his hand without hesitation and removed the mask from his face.

The Hongyou Emperor’s pupils spasmed, as if someone had clutched his throat.

A harsh, hoarse, guttural sound forced its way out of his throat uncontrollably.

*

“Zhao… Zhao…!”

The man before him had a face of striking beauty — yet to the emperor, it was as if he’d just seen a ghost.

The man holding the mask in one hand leaned slightly toward him, calm as ever, and nodded. “Yes. Zhao Chu.”

The Hongyou Emperor's eyes widened, and though his limbs were bound so tightly he couldn’t move, he still struggled — inching backward step by step, clawing at the floor as he tried to retreat.

“Don’t recognize me, Father Emperor?”

Before him, Zhao Chu actually looked quite pleased — even calling him “Father Emperor,” which he rarely did.

The Hongyou Emperor grew even more horrified.

For a moment, it was as if Dou Qingyi was sitting there smiling at him.

A ghost. This person had to be a ghost!

But in the dim candlelight, Zhao Chu’s shadow was clear and solid. Only the living cast shadows like that.

The Hongyou Emperor had almost completely lost his voice. His mouth kept moving, yet no matter how wide he opened it, all that came out was a breathy, hissing rasp.

Zhao Chu seemed all the more pleased.

He leaned back lazily into the dragon throne, crossed his long legs, rested one elbow on the armrest, and slowly rubbed his chin and lips with his slender fingers.

“…You’re a man. You were pretending!” After a long silence, the Hongyou Emperor finally forced out a sentence.

“You’re not pleased?” Zhao Chu asked in return.

“This is treason!”

Zhao Chu burst out laughing. “What are you even talking about?” he said. “I’m not even afraid of regicide.”

The Hongyou Emperor trembled again and could no longer speak.

He didn’t dare.

He didn’t know why, but when he’d believed the rebel was Fang Linyuan, he could dare.

But now that the one standing before him was Zhao Chu — For some reason, deep down, he was certain:

Zhao Chu dared.

And not only dared to kill him — But dared to make his death agonizing and utterly disgraceful.

Across from him, Zhao Chu turned his eyes slightly, glancing at the Western-style clock not far away.

“Let’s make this brief, Father Emperor,” he said. “I’m here today to talk to you about… you.”

He lowered his gaze toward the Hongyou Emperor. “As of today, any hope you had of dying peacefully is gone,” he said.

“I’ve sent people to Longxi — by now, Lin Zizhuo should already be under arrest. On him can be found the imperial edict you ordered him to forge, declaring a false victory. In your bedchamber, we’ll also find your ‘good son’ whom you’ve kept under house arrest.”

The Hongyou Emperor’s wide eyes began to tremble uncontrollably. “No… you can’t… you can’t…” he stammered, incoherent.

“I can,” Zhao Chu said calmly. “Including the edict you personally had forged, ordering your men to disguise themselves as Turkic bandits and kill civilians on the night of the Flower Festival — that, too, can be found at Sang Zhixin’s residence.”

Zhao Chu looked at him and smiled. “Father Emperor, your son entered the palace today to offer counsel with the intent to die for it. But if Father Emperor refuses to heed advice, then it is only natural that your son must—however painfully—temporarily manage state affairs on your behalf.”

The Hongyou Emperor nearly collapsed to the floor.

Zhao Chu…
This lunatic—this perverse monster who had disguised himself as a woman and lived in hiding for twenty years!

He didn’t just want his throne, didn’t just want his life—he wanted to drag his name through the mud, to ruin his legacy, to leave him reviled for ten thousand years!

“You’re my child… I gave birth to you, raised you! Zhao Chu—how dare you, how could you…!”

The Hongyou Emperor trembled. He was afraid, he was horrified, and he fully understood just how feasible everything Zhao Chu had just said was.

If things truly went as Zhao Chu had laid out… Even in death, he would not be clean. He couldn’t even muster the strength for a stronger tone.

Zhao Chu, meanwhile, nodded with a detached expression. “So, Father Emperor would prefer your son to spare your life.”

As he spoke, he drew a blank imperial edict scroll from the side and tossed it in front of the Hongyou Emperor. “Then issue the decree: you're ill, and are passing the throne to me.”

Zhao Chu rose to his feet. “I’ll give you one night to consider. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve — the day when all the ministers enter the palace, the gates are opened, and a grand court assembly is held. If Father Emperor fails to make a choice by tonight…”

He bent down and gave the Hongyou Emperor a sinister smile. “Your son will choose for you.”

*

Fang Linyuan had been settled in a palace courtyard not far away. Zhao Chu’s subordinates were meticulous and efficient. Once the courtyard had been prepared, they promptly brought out a full table of dinner for him.

Just from the smell alone, Fang Linyuan could tell — this was the handiwork of Eunuch Wang from Zhao Chu’s pavilion.

“Eunuch Wang came into the palace with you too?” Fang Linyuan asked someone nearby with mild surprise.

But that man shook his head, saying he didn’t know who Eunuch Wang was.

It seemed these people were likely the ones Zhao Chu had raised and trained outside the palace and beyond his official residence.

Fang Linyuan nodded and sat at the table, waiting for a while.

Before long, the subordinate who had gone to deliver a message to Zhao Chu returned.

Though his face was painted with colors, Fang Linyuan vaguely recognized him—he was one of Zhao Chu’s former subordinates who had accompanied him to Chongzhou, likely a deathsworn soldier under his command.

“The master ordered me to give this to the Marquis.” The deathsworn held out a folded memorial with both hands and placed it in Fang Linyuan’s hands.

Fang Linyuan looked down, and saw that it was the very same memorial the Hongyou Emperor had shown him earlier.

“This?” He blinked slightly. “Why give it to me?”

The deathsworn shook his head. “The master didn’t say—only that you should have your meal and not wait for him.”

Fang Linyuan glanced at the table, but despite the full spread of dishes before him, he still felt uneasy.

“Please rest assured, Marquis,” the man added. “Everyone in the palace now is our master’s people. Nothing will go wrong.”

A flicker passed through Fang Linyuan’s brow. He raised his head and asked, “How many of you entered the palace?”

“More than a thousand,” the man replied crisply. “Outside the palace, Eunuch Wu has brought more men to respond if needed.”

That many?

The man seemed to notice Fang Linyuan’s surprise, and went on, “We are the master’s private troops, originally hidden among his shipyards and other industries—raised all along for this very day, to serve him.”

His bluntness took Fang Linyuan slightly aback. “Zhao Chu allowed you to speak of this openly?” he asked.

The deathsworn replied, “The master gave orders.”

“What orders?”

“That if all goes well, and the Marquis wishes to know anything, we are to tell you everything.”

“And if things don’t go well?” For some reason, Fang Linyuan asked this question almost as if something had taken over his mind.

Even the deathsworn was momentarily stunned, unsure how to respond. It was, indeed, a difficult question.

Seeing his silence, Fang Linyuan gave a small smile and was about to say “forget it,” when Zhao Chu’s voice came from behind him. “They won’t fail,” he said.

Fang Linyuan turned to look, but before he could fully turn, someone embraced him from behind.

That person wrapped around him tightly. The embrace, carrying a chill from wind and snow, was a little cold, but the steady, powerful heartbeat was burning hot, thudding against Fang Linyuan’s back.

“Zhao Chu…”

The surrounding attendants all silently withdrew—none of them made a sound.

Only Zhao Chu’s calm voice, along with the beating of his heart, wrapped Fang Linyuan completely. “With you in the palace, how could I dare take risks?”

At that, even Fang Linyuan’s own heart began to pound.

“I…” His ears flushed hot under the warmth of breath, and he tried to move aside, but Zhao Chu immediately followed and closed the distance again.

He kissed him once more, lightly, on the ear.

Fang Linyuan trembled faintly from neck to spine. He could only turn back around and raise his arms to embrace Zhao Chu in return.

“I heard them say you were with the Emperor just now,” Fang Linyuan said. “You finished talking that quickly?”

“There was nothing worth saying,” Zhao Chu said flatly. “I didn’t want to waste time with him.”

Waste time?

Fang Linyuan didn’t understand—what could Zhao Chu possibly be busy with besides this? But just then, from the corner, the chimes of the Western-style clock rang out.

Zhao Chu gave a soft chuckle. “I wanted to come back and spend New Year’s Eve with you,” he said.

“Yes, not bad—just in time.”

 

--

Author’s Note:

Give the old emperor a famous sword.
Finish the resignation paperwork, and then die. :D

 

Translator : DarNan