……What kind of reason was that!

Fang Linyuan felt that Zhao Chu was just joking, but those deep and focused eyes of his clearly didn’t look like he was joking at all.

“New Year’s Eve doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning,” Fang Linyuan could only quietly remind him.

“I missed you,” Zhao Chu replied, full of righteous confidence. “I didn’t want to wait until after midnight to see you again.”

As he spoke, his gaze lingered on Fang Linyuan’s face for a moment, then he added: “You didn’t miss me?”

How could this man be so unreasonable!

The two of them were facing each other in a tight embrace, their breaths too close. Zhao Chu’s pressing made Fang Linyuan’s waist ache.

“…No!”

He reached out to push Zhao Chu away, but before his hand even got free, it was seized in Zhao Chu’s grasp.

“Alright, I was teasing you,” Zhao Chu said. “I know you’ve been waiting for me on an empty stomach.”

As he spoke, he let go of Fang Linyuan a little and gently pushed him down into a seat at the table.

The attending servants quickly filed in and cleared away the cooled dishes. During the brief moment when the dishes were being replaced, Fang Linyuan picked up the memorial document beside him and said, “By the way, why did you give this to me?”

“So you could read it,” Zhao Chu replied while pouring tea for him. “Also to leave you a souvenir. After all, this is your merit.”

“Who keeps memorials as souvenirs?” Fang Linyuan was amused. “That’s nonsense, isn’t it?”

“What’s that to you,” Zhao Chu said casually.

If Fang Linyuan weren’t so cautious, even the old emperor’s head could’ve been kept as a memento for him.

Let’s see who else would dare bully him in the future.

“How did the talk with the emperor go?” The freshly heated dishes had just been placed on the table, and before Fang Linyuan even picked up his chopsticks, Zhao Chu handed him a pair of jade chopsticks.

“Quite well,” Zhao Chu said. “I’ll go to him again tomorrow morning, that’ll be enough.”

Fang Linyuan nodded at this, but immediately thought of something else.

“Then tomorrow’s Grand Court Assembly…” He looked at Zhao Chu with a bit of concern in his eyes.

Zhao Chu said, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I know how to handle it.”

At that, he tilted his head and looked at Fang Linyuan. “You’re attending the assembly too, aren’t you?”

Fang Linyuan nodded.

Zhao Chu’s expression turned more serious. After a moment of silence, he said, “Tomorrow’s court session won’t be peaceful. Given how close we are, it’s better if you don’t appear for now.”

Hearing that, Fang Linyuan didn’t insist further. “Alright.”

Just then, a servant came in to report that the Grand Court Assembly was scheduled for the hour of Mao (NT: 5 to 7 am).

Zhao Chu gave a mild nod and said, “Alright, no need to bother. I’ll head out myself at the hour of Yin (NT: 3 to 5 am).”

Yin?

Fang Linyuan’s hand, holding the porridge bowl, paused slightly.

Under the lamplight, although Zhao Chu looked composed, the bloodshot lines in his eyes made them appear tinged with red.

It was already past the hour of Hai (NT: 9 to 11 pm). That meant Zhao Chu had less than three hours of rest left.

*

Fang Linyuan, without hesitation, finished his bowl of porridge in a few bites. Then, without giving Zhao Chu a chance to object, he stood up and dragged him all the way into the bedchamber.

He pulled Zhao Chu along, gave him a quick wash, changed his clothes, and forcibly pressed him into the bedding.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “Tomorrow all the ministers and officials are entering the palace—you need proper rest first.”

As he spoke, he suddenly remembered something, turned around, and went to extinguish all the candles in the hall.

Now that the eunuchs and palace maids were all under control and detained, these tasks had to be done by him alone.

Zhao Chu, who was ordered not to get out from under the covers, watched Fang Linyuan busily moving about.

As the candlelight gradually dimmed and Fang Linyuan stopped at the bedside, Zhao Chu said honestly, “I probably won’t be able to sleep. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

That won’t do!

Just from looking at his eyes, one could see how exhausted he was—not to mention what Zhao Chu’s men had told him about how tirelessly he’d been running about these past few days.

Fang Linyuan raised his hand and placed it gently over Zhao Chu’s open eyes.

“No,” he said softly, his tone coaxing, “you have to get at least some rest.”

His palm was dry and warm, calloused from years of spear practice. When it touched Zhao Chu’s skin, it carried a faintly rough and heated sensation.

Zhao Chu’s eyelids fluttered; he blinked up and down. His long eyelashes brushed across the palm of Fang Linyuan’s hand, a tickling sensation spreading through him. Fang Linyuan hurriedly pulled his hand back.

“What are you doing!”

Zhao Chu let out a muffled chuckle.

At the moment, he was indeed wide awake.

After days of holding the bowstring taut in preparation, and finally rising in rebellion tonight—he had personally captured the emperor—the blood still surged hot in his veins. And besides, Fang Linyuan was right here beside him.

He could simply lie there and look at Fang Linyuan until morning—how could he possibly fall asleep? Yet Fang Linyuan looked even more anxious than he did.

So Zhao Chu had no choice but to behave.

After a moment, as if he were the one soothing Fang Linyuan, Zhao Chu obediently closed his eyes.

“Alright,” he exhaled slowly, laughing softly as he spoke.

Fang Linyuan squatted beside the bed like that. Through the covers, his hand rested on Zhao Chu’s body, gently patting in a motion that was honestly just like coaxing a child.

The light rhythm of his hand against the bedding made the quiet night feel drowsily peaceful. But Zhao Chu reached out his hand, gently clasping the one laid on the quilt.

“Come up,” he said softly to Fang Linyuan.

Even with his eyes closed, he could sense Fang Linyuan hesitating at the bedside.

Zhao Chu gave him a gentle tug toward the bed. “If you’re going to stay with me, then get under the blanket,” he said. “I want to hold you.”

That second sentence clearly made Fang Linyuan a little embarrassed.

But Zhao Chu didn’t leave him a choice—he pulled him in anyway, wrapping him fully under the covers.

The young general’s body was warm in a way that made people feel at ease. Zhao Chu had him in his arms in just a few movements.

“Can you even sleep like this?” Fang Linyuan’s breathing was slightly tense.

Zhao Chu gave a soft hum in response. After a pause, he opened his eyes in the dark. “Then… tell me a story.”

Fang Linyuan, lying face-to-face with him, met his gaze directly.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains and spilled across Fang Linyuan’s face, dyeing even the frosty shadows of the moon with a blush at his cheek.

“You…”

Under Zhao Chu’s gaze, that blush deepened to a vivid red.

“Close your eyes,” Fang Linyuan scolded softly and sleepily.

Zhao Chu gave a low laugh and obediently closed his eyes.

After a moment of silence, he heard Fang Linyuan begin to speak, really starting a story.

“They say, in a past dynasty, there was a scholar who traveled to the capital to sit for the imperial exam…”

His voice came out a bit awkward and stiff—clearly not someone skilled at storytelling. But his tone was gentle, slow, filled with an earnest sincerity that made it clear he was giving it his all.

In the darkness, Zhao Chu’s lips curved faintly into a smile.

“Mm.” He answered supportively. “And then?”

“The scholar was poor and had no silver to stay at an inn, so he rested at a temple along the way. The temple was grand and magnificent, but wild grass grew all over the floor, as if no one had visited it in ages.”

Fang Linyuan was slowly getting into the rhythm. His voice was naturally clear and pleasant to hear, and when spoken softly like this in the night, it could easily make someone’s heart soften.

Zhao Chu tightened his hold around him again. Though the two were already pressed close, to him, it still didn’t feel like enough. It was as if nothing would suffice unless their bones and blood melted into one.

“At night, the scholar couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, he heard faint voices speaking on the other side of the temple wall,” Fang Linyuan continued without realizing anything strange. “So he went out to take a look. Climbing up the wall, he saw on the other side was… uh…”

Fang Linyuan paused slightly—only then realizing what kind of story he was telling.

There lived a yaksha (NT: nature spirit from Hindu and Buddhist tradition) and a female ghost. The yaksha ordered the ghost to kill person after person. Over several nights, the scholar stumbled upon crime after crime, and only then vaguely realized something was wrong.

…In the middle of the night—he was clearly telling a ghost story.

Fang Linyuan stopped awkwardly. He really wasn’t very good at telling stories. The books he used to read with his childhood friends were either martial epics or tales of demons and fox spirits—a bunch of mischievous kids who always went for whatever was most thrilling.

He blinked and looked at Zhao Chu apologetically.

Zhao Chu, still with his eyes closed, waited quietly for a moment. Then, sensing the silence, he opened his eyes.

“Hmm?” he asked. “What did he see?”

Fang Linyuan looked embarrassed, but still answered honestly: “…A female ghost.”

Zhao Chu burst into laughter.

Fang Linyuan hurriedly said, “That story wasn’t good—I’ll tell another one. Let’s see… uh…”

To lull someone to sleep—should he tell the tale of Lu Zhishen punching Lord Guanxi? Or the one where the Southern Hero shocked the treacherous court by tossing heads?

(NT: During a dinner at an inn, Lu Zhishen, an army officer, challenged Zhen. In the ensuing fight, with only three powerful punches, he struck Zhen Guanxi dead)

Fang Linyuan looked flustered, casting an awkward and helpless glance at Zhao Chu.

Zhao Chu gave another quiet laugh, wrapped one arm around him, and placed the other over the back of Fang Linyuan’s head, gently pressing his face into his own chest.

“Did the scholar end up falling in love with the ghost?” he asked warmly.

Fang Linyuan nodded. “They got married.”

Zhao Chu’s laughter rumbled softly through his chest, resonating into Fang Linyuan. “Then that’s a good story,” Zhao Chu said.

“But… she was an evil ghost…”

“She had someone she loved. She wouldn’t do evil anymore.” Zhao Chu replied gently.

*

In the end, it was Fang Linyuan who fell asleep first.

At the break of dawn, Zhao Chu quietly rose from bed.

By the time the golden rays of the sun leapt across the rows of glazed golden roof tiles stretching for miles, he had arrived outside the Qinzheng Hall.

The heavy palace doors were pushed open by the attendants. Zhao Chu stepped in slowly—and the first thing he saw was Emperor Hongyou, pale-faced and disheveled.

He was sitting amidst a scattered mess of memorial documents, his hair in disarray, spilling from a crooked golden crown. His right hand, wrapped in white cloth, was filthy, with blood faintly seeping through—age and exhaustion written all over his wretched figure.

Zhao Chu stood a short distance away, silently watching him.

A eunuch was already holding out the finished imperial edict with both hands.

Emperor Hongyou lifted his head in a daze, just about to say something—when he suddenly froze.

He stared blankly at Zhao Chu.

The bright daylight streamed in golden behind him, illuminating the trailing ceremonial robe on his body until it shimmered with golden light.

Yes, a ceremonial robe—a zhanyi, the formal dress worn only by princesses and titled noblewomen.

Emperor Hongyou stood there, stupefied.

Before his very eyes, the Fifth Prince who had revealed his true form just last night was still dressed in resplendent, ornate female attire.

The gold-thread embroidery of a phoenix clutching a pearl, a collar covered in jade and genuine pearls, a skirt of brocade inlaid with gold dragging two feet behind him, and a phoenix coronet adorned with Eastern pearls—all of it crowned a face with exquisite makeup, cold, seductive, and unearthly.

He… he…

Why was he still in a woman’s guise!

While Emperor Hongyou stood in stunned silence, Zhao Chu had already lifted the edict, shaking it open and scanning it with lowered eyes and an indifferent expression.

The characters written with his injured right hand were somewhat unsightly, but the strokes were smooth and clean—it was unmistakably Emperor Hongyou’s handwriting.

The edict stated that, due to illness, he could no longer attend to state affairs and was temporarily entrusting governance to the Fifth Prince. A fortunate date would be chosen to officially appoint the Fifth Prince as Crown Prince. The Astronomical Bureau and the Six Ministries would jointly arrange for the Fifth Prince’s enthronement, and he himself would retire as Taishang Huang (NT: Retired Emperor) to enjoy his twilight years.

He had, indeed, left ample room for retreat, giving the ministers enough grounds to shield him. If things failed, and the ministers couldn’t save him, he’d still end up with the title of Retired Emperor.

But Zhao Chu didn’t care about any of that. The signatures and imperial seal were all there—it was already a valid and binding imperial edict.

Once Zhao Chu confirmed its authenticity, he casually put the edict away and handed it to a nearby attendant.

Just then, Emperor Hongyou snapped back to his senses and leapt forward in fury. “What are you wearing? Take it off this instant!”

Zhao Chu calmly stepped back, letting him lunge into thin air.

“It’s the ceremonial dress you conferred on me at my investiture,” Zhao Chu looked down at Emperor Hongyou, now restrained by several guards, and said flatly. “It’s New Year’s Eve. For the Grand Court Assembly, isn’t this what I’m supposed to wear?”

Emperor Hongyou was so stunned, he could hardly speak.

Last night, he had cursed over and over in his mind—Dou Qingyi, that cunning, old woman, had been scheming from the start, raising Zhao Chu to cross-dress and deceive him.

And Zhao Chu himself—this lunatic—had kept up the act for twenty years, just to seize the throne. But… he had already gotten what he wanted. Why was he still wearing women’s clothing?!

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Emperor Hongyou was incredulous. “You’re going to appear before the court dressed like that? What of your own dignity? What of mine?!”

Zhao Chu appeared utterly unbothered. He even lazily opened his arms, looking down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?” he said. “Did I ever tell you I intended to ascend the throne as a man?”

A sharp, grating sound burst from Emperor Hongyou’s throat. He stared at Zhao Chu, speechless for a long time. Zhao Chu only smiled faintly back at him.

After a moment of locked gazes, Emperor Hongyou abruptly lost control. “Take it off—take off that skin right now!!”

He shrieked, raging and struggling, only to be pinned to the ground again and again by the attendants.

“You pervert! Dou Qingyi raised you into a sexless pervert!”

“You’re a man—a man! And you want to be a woman? You’re dressed like some creature neither man nor ghost—how will you ever face your ancestors and the heavens?!”

His curses were vile, and even the nearby attendants turned pale. But Zhao Chu only smiled lightly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

Only when Emperor Hongyou exhausted himself, gasping heavily as he was pinned to the floor—his eyes still rolling upward, wild and unrelenting in their stare—did Zhao Chu slowly speak.

“Royal Father, the one who raised me into something neither man nor ghost… was you,” he said. “The only trace of humanity left in me—was taught by my mother. And of course, she gave her life to show me that listening to your so-called morality and authority would only lead to death.”

He crouched down, smiling as he looked into Emperor Hongyou’s eyes.

“If I were to don the robes of a prince today, wouldn’t that be admitting to the world that you were right? I’ve come this far—do I still have to revert to the son you wanted just to sit on that throne?”

He continued, “Then I’d rather test this: wearing this dress, can I seize what you have agonized over day and night—what you wouldn’t even let my mother touch?”

Zhao Chu stood, looking down on Emperor Hongyou from above.

“You’re mad!” Emperor Hongyou’s voice was hoarse from shouting.

Zhao Chu didn’t respond directly. He merely lowered his eyes, smiling as he reached out and lightly took the imperial edict from someone nearby.

“Suit yourself,” he said blandly before turning. “Oh, right. I forgot to tell you: I don’t understand things like propriety, righteousness, integrity, or honor. Naturally, I also don’t know what it means to keep one’s word.”

“…What did you say?”

“I said…”

Zhao Chu looked down at him with a faint smile, sunlight gleaming off his vivid red lips. “Thank you for your edict. I’m heading to the Grand Court Assembly now to reveal all your filth to the gathered ministers.”

Emperor Hongyou shrieked again, while Zhao Chu smiled—a soft voice, ice-cold and merciless. “Royal Father, just consider this your final contribution to your unfilial son’s path forward.”

*

Fang Linyuan had woken up early as always.

Sunlight shone brightly outside the window, and faint arguing could be heard at the door. Still groggy, he was suddenly roused fully by the sharp ring of a sword being drawn.

What was going on out there?

Fang Linyuan immediately sat up, pulling on his robes as he walked toward the door.

He saw several guards standing stiffly at the entrance, blocking a palace maid with high-bridged nose and deep-set eyes.

“I beg you, our Lady is not well…” The maid’s Han Chinese was clumsy and halting, her whole face wet with tears.

One of the guards said coolly, “What Lady? The Emperor is gone.”

The maid was briefly stunned, then caught sight of Fang Linyuan inside the doorway.

"Lord Marquis! Lord Fang!" she cried out anxiously.

Fang Linyuan took a few steps forward and pressed down the blade the attendant was using to bar the maid's way.

"What’s wrong?" he asked. "Who are you?"

"I’m Consort Yu’s maidservant. Her Ladyship had unstable fetal movement last night, and she’s just started bleeding!" the maid said in a flurry. "The imperial physicians from the Imperial Medical Bureau are also imprisoned. Her Ladyship has no other way, my lord!"

Fang Linyuan furrowed his brows. Without a physician present, a miscarriage this far into the pregnancy could easily result in death.

After a brief pause of thought, he looked toward the attendant beside him and said, "I’ll go with her to fetch a physician. If Zhao Chu returns, just tell him plainly—he won’t blame you."

"But our master ordered us to ensure your safety," the attendant said, visibly troubled.

Fang Linyuan didn’t hesitate—he reached out and took the blade from the attendant’s hands. "This will be enough for me."

With a flick of his wrist, a sharp flourish of sword light flashed through the air. The long blade was instantly sheathed with a cold glint.

The sharp burst of killing intent startled the surrounding attendants.

Indeed, with such deadly and precise martial skill—this was a man who could fight his way through an entire army and return again. He certainly didn’t need their protection.

*

Fang Linyuan accompanied the maid to the heavily guarded palace where Saihan resided. With him present, their passage was unobstructed.

The physician quickly entered to treat Saihan, while the maid knelt to express her profound gratitude to Fang Linyuan, thanking him for saving a life.

Fang Linyuan merely gave a faint shake of his head. "I’ll wait here. You go in and check on her."

The maid nodded quickly.

Just before noon, the maid came out, escorting the physician.

"How is she?" Fang Linyuan asked.

"Her Ladyship’s child is safe," the maid said, her face bright with joy. "Her Ladyship would like to see you."

Fang Linyuan felt there was no need. But unable to resist the maid’s repeated and earnest pleas, he eventually followed her in for a brief visit.

And it was just that—a glance.

He stood at a distance outside the bedchamber, separated by the wide hall and layers of curtains, gazing toward Saihan from afar.

"Is there something you needed to see me about?" Fang Linyuan asked.

Saihan struggled to sit up on the bed, clinging to the curtain, revealing a face pale as snow. "I just wanted to thank you in person."

Seeing her current state, Fang Linyuan couldn’t help but be slightly startled.

The last time he’d seen Saihan was during the Mid-Autumn family banquet. She had been full of spirit, her eyes sharp and vibrant—radiant like the wildflowers that bloomed so fiercely across the grasslands.

But now, her face was pale as paper, and she was so thin she was nearly unrecognizable. Only her belly was swollen—like new buds sprouting from a dying tree trunk.

"…It was nothing more than a small effort," Fang Linyuan said after a moment of silence.

Saihan shook her head. "Until today, I didn’t even dare to take medicine to stabilize the fetus," she said. "I was on guard against him, but everything I had—my room, my clothes—were all given by him."

As she spoke, she lowered her gaze to her belly. "He didn’t want this child. Neither did I." Her voice was detached. After a moment, she closed her eyes.

"But I heard people say that a fetus this far along already has a human shape," she said. "…I couldn’t bring myself to kill him."

Fang Linyuan didn’t know how to comfort her.

After all, he wasn’t like her—his own body would never carry a second life. When it came to bloodlines and life itself, there were always deep and unspeakable entanglements. As a powerless bystander, he couldn’t offer advice or solace.

But Saihan didn’t press for an answer. She smiled and looked at him. "You should thank your wife for me too," she said. "She’s an impressive person."

Fang Linyuan paused, then nodded. "Alright. I’ll pass on your thanks. You’re safe here now—he won’t do anything to you."

Saihan rested a hand on her belly and sighed.

"She’ll have a hard road if she wants to sit on the throne," she said. "She may even have to bear her own heir, personally."

Just a passing musing of a woman in pregnancy, she said it to herself, not expecting Fang Linyuan to take it to heart.

But to his surprise, the moment those words reached his ears, Fang Linyuan froze ever so slightly.

He and Zhao Chu… had no heir.

Such a casual remark pierced through the mist of overwhelming affection that had obscured the issue before—and once again, that unsolved problem surfaced through the drifting clouds.

The late Emperor Hongyou had caused such chaos merely for having too few heirs. What would become of a dynasty where no offspring could ever be born?

He didn’t need to imagine to know just how turbulent a throne without a successor would be.

--

Author’s Note:

Fang Linyuan: Then I’ll just go ahead and…

Zhao Chu: Go ahead and what? (eyes narrowing dangerously)

Fang Linyuan: … (The words “leave” stuck in his throat, too afraid to say them)

 

 

Translator : DarNan