Fang Linyuan was pushed into Hua Yu Pavilion in a whirl of darkness—a rush of motions until he found himself pinned securely in Zhao Chu’s embrace. Outside, fireworks continued to erupt like distant constellations, but Zhao Chu’s heavy, consuming kiss landed with such force it seemed to steal Fang Linyuan’s breath entirely.

Zhao Chu seemed innately skilled in such intimate stratagems. His kiss was both urgent and fierce, his breath hot and chaotic. His arm clenched so tightly around Fang Linyuan’s waist and back that breath nearly failed him. Intricate hair ornaments jingled as Zhao Chu advanced relentlessly.

All Fang Linyuan’s vision blurred beneath that kiss. The brilliant fireworks melted into soft, pulsing lights, while the fierce embrace and pressing kiss consumed every sense.

In his ear echoed Zhao Chu’s deep, surging breaths—palpitating, urgent, stirring his very pulse.

Pushed backward on instinct, Fang Linyuan lost his footing and plummeted—captured mid-fall as Zhao Chu stabilized them both on the snowy tiles of the third-story balcony.

In a dizzying cascade, Zhao Chu pushed him through the doorway. The third floor, meant for nurturing flora, was lined with carved windows and warmed beneath, like spring below a dome. Among blooming peonies and crabapple, only a single ornate rosewood couch remained.

Fang Linyuan was pressed down onto the couch. The fireworks beyond the window were blocked from view, but inside, surrounding petals and blossoms seemed to burst to life around him. Zhao Chu stood over him, eyes ablaze, unrivaled by even the flowers’ brilliance.

A soft gasp escaped Fang Linyuan’s throat—and lit a fiery glow in Zhao Chu’s gaze.

Layered silks draped over him as the passionate kiss paused. Zhao Chu cupped his cheek and gently traced his lips—not in tease, but instinctively, amid their mingled breaths, as a fleeting substitute for something unuttered.

"Fang Linyuan," Zhao Chu murmured—just two words, yet Fang Linyuan’s heart trembled, body all taut yet tingling with awakened sensation.

He stared into Zhao Chu’s eyes, glistening like twin pools.

Then Zhao Chu kissed him again—beyond passion, this time at once stripping layers of hesitation. He began peeling away Fang Linyuan layer by layer : a primal instinct took over; his hands trembled with restrained strength and longing.

Their desires collided as blossoms tumbled from around the couch, petals scattering onto silken folds. A white fox fur throw lay untidy at their side, and Fang Linyuan’s hand rose to anchor Zhao Chu’s neck in return.

He loved him. He couldn’t separate his heart from his body, nor amid such intensity think of the fact that one day, he’d leave him.

Fang Linyuan clung to Zhao Chu’s neck and responded clumsily yet wholeheartedly—like a flower that, warmed throughout the night, spreads blossoms with abandon.

Their entangled desires and rationality, the intimacy of breath and touch, sent his blood racing. Tears slipped from his eyes under intense sensation—and he dared to think: if this is the end, let me die in this moment.

He closed his eyes and surrendered his senses entirely to Zhao Chu, letting instinct guide him, mind emptied—until all that remained was Zhao Chu.

But after an indeterminate time, Zhao Chu slowed. Fang Linyuan opened his eyes to a blur—and a trembling fingertip brushed across them.

"Why are you like this? So frightened?" Zhao Chu’s voice was quiet, caring.

He realized his face was wet with silent tears.

Zhao Chu’s finger trailed over his cheek, but barely finished—then gently used the back of his hand to wipe again.

Fang Linyuan shook his head, tried to deny it, but only a soft sob emerged.

He wasn’t sure how long he had cried. Zhao Chu continued wiping his damp face, his sigh soft and brimming with unspoken love.

He found a handkerchief and gently, tenderly wiped Fang Linyuan’s eyes and cheeks dry.

“Did you hurt yourself somewhere?” Zhao Chu asked softly while stroking him.

Fang Linyuan shook his head. It wasn’t fear, nor pain.

It was just that...

He raised his hand and gently laid it over his chest.

Though he was pressed closely against Zhao Chu, kissing him, there was an undeniable ache tightening in his heart. The more fiercely it pounded, the harder it became for him to breathe.

It was just that… even though he already knew he would have to leave, he still couldn’t bear to part.

Truly pathetic.

Fang Linyuan’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Zhao Chu’s silk handkerchief had already lightly brushed past his eyes, and his voice, like a furnace that hadn’t yet extinguished after burning hotly, dropped sparks of warmth with each word.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not trying to bully you,” Zhao Chu said.

But his heat… still hadn’t faded.

Once the moisture was wiped away, Fang Linyuan finally saw that Zhao Chu’s robe, somehow, had already come scattered.

Beneath his jade-like neck, half of his snow-white shoulder was revealed in languid elegance. Tight, lean muscles were draped in gold-and-red brocade embellished with pearls and jade.

And higher up, even his sideburns had come loose.

Golden flower ornaments trembled, half-fallen in his dark hair; rouge had smudged across his lips, like the falling crabapple petals drifting down behind him.

His bearing was languid, yet strikingly seductive.

Fang Linyuan couldn’t help but stare at him, not even realizing his own gaze had gone shiny. Until Zhao Chu gave a low chuckle and leaned down to peck him hard on the lips.

“Still daring to tease me?” Zhao Chu asked.

Fang Linyuan didn’t even know how he had teased him.

But the sobs he’d just barely choked back still clung to his throat, making it hard to speak.

So he simply looked at Zhao Chu until Zhao Chu kissed him a few more times, picked up the robe that had fallen to the floor, and draped it over him.

*

With the palace without a sovereign, they ought not to have stayed out overnight. But Zhao Chu lazily clung to him, refusing to let go, and in the tangle of reluctance, midnight passed.

Zhao Chu brought Fang Linyuan downstairs and headed straight to the bedchamber.

“Is it alright not to return to the palace tonight?” Fang Linyuan asked as he sat at the bedside, still a little uneasy.

“It’s fine. I’ll give a few instructions and go back in the morning,” Zhao Chu said, bending down to kiss him at the corner of his lips.

Then he straightened, pulled on the cloak at his side, casually smoothed his hair, and turned to leave.

Fang Linyuan’s gaze followed him involuntarily.

He had meant to wait a few more days… but looking at it now, perhaps he shouldn't have waited at all. People are always tempted to take an inch, then a mile—and Zhao Chu’s allure was nothing short of fatal.

If things kept going like this...

He feared that by the time the ministers petitioned for Zhao Chu to produce heirs and expand the imperial harem, he still wouldn’t be able to leave.

*

Zhao Chu wasn’t gone long before he returned.

He had left enough people behind in the palace. There was no need for further instructions—only that the critical memorials be sent to the residence, and someone notify Shi Shen.

His robes were elaborate, so he sat in front of the mirror and removed his ornaments and makeup. When he turned slightly, he saw Fang Linyuan sitting on the bed, eyes bright as stars, watching him.

Truly...

He just had to use those eyes to hook him in, and once hooked, if touched even slightly, he’d start to cry.

Zhao Chu genuinely had no way to deal with him. His gaze lingered on Fang Linyuan’s face, his canine teeth grinding faintly.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

Fang Linyuan stared at him a moment, then suddenly asked, “Do you plan to always appear like this?”

Zhao Chu didn’t know why he asked, but he answered honestly: “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Haven’t decided?” Fang Linyuan hadn’t expected that answer.

Zhao Chu nodded. “With this identity, there are still some things I want to accomplish first,” he said. “After that, we’ll see.”

“Is it really that easy to change identities?” Fang Linyuan couldn’t help asking.

Zhao Chu gave a low hum. “It’s easy to change back,” he said. “With the Astronomical Bureau’s help, just using omens and destiny, I can create countless reasons to justify a false identity.”

As he spoke, he removed the final hairpin and stood up, walking over to the bed.

The moment he drew near to Fang Linyuan, a smile unconsciously spread across his features.

“Why suddenly ask that?” he looked down at Fang Linyuan, smiling, his knuckles brushing against his cheek. “Do you prefer me a certain way?”

Of course, that couldn’t be compared.

Fang Linyuan looked at Zhao Chu and, after a pause, said honestly, “No. I just want to hold you.”

A sigh rose from Zhao Chu’s throat. He didn’t respond, just bent down and wrapped Fang Linyuan in an embrace, pressing him into the bed curtains without hesitation.

“Trying to tempt me again?” Zhao Chu nipped at his lips. “Then you’re not allowed to cry anymore.”

Fang Linyuan’s ears flushed red at his words. But truly, he hadn’t meant to do anything else.

Not that he didn’t want to… he simply knew that giving in to desire after having made up his mind would be unfair to Zhao Chu.

So, he only hugged Zhao Chu back, and did nothing more. Zhao Chu kissed him for a while, indulging himself just enough, then simply lay there holding him, burying his face in Fang Linyuan’s hair.

By now, Zhao Chu had lost track of whether he’d gone three or four days without sleep.

Now that the storm had passed, with Fang Linyuan lying quietly in his arms, it didn’t take long before Zhao Chu’s breath grew slow and peaceful.

He had fallen asleep.

At last, Fang Linyuan slowly raised his head in his arms. By the soft glow of the lamplight and the quiet of night, he was finally able to look at him freely and without restraint.

So there truly existed someone in this world—someone for whom even braving fire and boiling water, one would never regret.

He must already be fortunate enough, right?

That night, Fang Linyuan’s breathing was light as he watched Zhao Chu. The moon dipped west and dawn neared. In the distance, faint firecracker sounds drifted through the streets.

It was the first day of the Lunar New Year—and the celebrations outside hadn’t yet ended.

At that moment, Fang Linyuan quietly rose.

Zhao Chu’s dressing table was strewn with his jewelry. Gently, Fang Linyuan cleared a space, and by the corner he found brush, paper, and an inkstone opened with still-wet ink inside.

He turned and gazed at Zhao Chu’s peaceful profile.

The soft morning light illuminated his face, serene and composed like a painting.

A painting vast enough to extend to the end of one’s life.

Fang Linyuan’s eyes lingered on that face for a long moment, until he gathered his courage and reached for the brush.

A Divorce Pact.

Three bold characters, written neatly across the first page of the paper.

*

Zhao Chu turned over—and felt the emptiness of the embrace suddenly.

He frowned slightly, then slowly awoke.

It was already bright daylight. If he hadn’t been sleepless these past days, he wouldn’t have slept in so late.

In the morning light, he saw Fang Linyuan seated by the dressing table—not far away; tall, dark hair draped across his shoulders, writing something.

Sunlight, reflecting off the snow outside, traced his silhouette in bright gold.

But the thing he was writing seemed to torment him. He held the brush awkwardly with one hand, unable to write a single word, instead nibbling at the brush handle like a student who couldn’t finish his homework.

Zhao Chu almost laughed.

He sat up softly and noticed the floor scattered with wadded-up attempts at writing. It seemed he’d wrestled long with whatever he was writing.

Zhao Chu’s brows curved into a smile. Cautiously, he slipped out of the bed.

He intended to see what was so difficult to write—but perhaps if he wrote it for Fang Linyuan, he might earn a gentle kiss in return.

He hadn't tried to quiet his steps—and Fang Linyuan immediately stiffened at the sound.

Zhao Chu saw it at this time, he looked panicked, as if he didn't expect him to wake up at this moment.

"What's wrong?" Zhao Chu was stunned. "What are you writing about?"

Zhao Chu paused just six feet away, hearing a rustling noise.

Fang Linyuan was hastily trying to gather the half‑written sheet.

Zhao Chu stopped behind him and glanced at the table suspiciously. He saw that Fang Linyuan was panicked, the ink was still wet—and smudged all over.

“Nothing… I didn’t finish…” Fang Linyuan stammered.

Zhao Chu’s brows knit tightly. His gaze landed on a crumpled ball of paper on the floor.

On that messy scrap, he could still read two blurred words: Divorce pact.

(NT: Divorce agreement in ancient China, drawn up when both spouses willingly agreed to separate, often including arrangements on property, debt, and custody. It differed from unilateral divorce and was generally seen as more amicable and socially acceptable.)

Fang Linyuan fumbled for the stack of letters and hurried to pick up the discarded scraps.

This time, Zhao Chu grasped his wrist and stopped him.

A divorce pact? What divorce pact?

His heart tightened inexplicably as he leaned in and unfolded the balled-up note.

Divorce Pact.

[“It is said the bond between husband and wife is formed through deep mutual affection... If fate has not aligned, and they cannot be of one mind, then according to the agreement, on an auspicious day they shall part ways. I and Zhao Chu—on our wedding night—made an accord… Now that the greater matter is settled, and the agreement is complete, today we part ways...”]

A rustle—

Fang Linyuan inadvertently scrunched the freshly opened note back into a ball.

The fragile paper in his strong hands seemed crushed in an instant.

Fang Linyuan froze, shoulders trembling in shock. When he looked up, Zhao Chu was gazing at him, expression unreadable yet deeply grim.

“Written to me?” Zhao Chu asked.

Fang Linyuan paused briefly, then nodded.

“Where are you going?” Zhao Chu’s voice followed.

The moment was sudden; Fang Linyuan hadn’t figured out how to explain. Under Zhao Chu’s pressing stare, he hesitated, then whispered:

“Longxi is still unstable. I was originally stationed there as commander. As we agreed… once the task is done, I will return to the border…”

But he couldn’t finish.

Impassively, Zhao Chu pulled out that very Divorce Pact from Fang Linyuan’s hand—it was nearly finished. The ink was still damp but the text complete—just a closing line left.

Such a formal letter was not easy to write. Fang Linyuan had been in turmoil all morning and had bitten through the brush’s handle, yet had only managed this far.

Zhao Chu unfolded the pact and read it in cold silence—from start to finish.

Fang Linyuan’s heart twisted.

He was afraid—but didn’t know what he was afraid of.

He couldn’t possibly be afraid that Zhao Chu would hit him.

Was he afraid that Zhao Chu wouldn’t agree?

But somehow... deep down, instinctively, what he feared even more was that Zhao Chu would agree—calmly and without hesitation.

In that moment, his heart felt like a tangled skein of thread, a mess of confusion, his mind gone completely blank. He could only stare tensely at Zhao Chu, watching him read through the divorce pact, word by word, line by line.

Time seemed to crawl, or perhaps it was just that Zhao Chu was reading very slowly.

At last, a faint rustle of paper—Fang Linyuan saw Zhao Chu lift his eyes to look at him. Those eyes were clearly freezing cold—gloomy, dark, and piercing—but somewhere within them, a flame leapt.

After a brief moment of eye contact, Zhao Chu opened his mouth. "Fang Linyuan," he said slowly. "This is what you call seduce and abandon."

Fang Linyuan waved his hands in a panic. "No, I—this isn’t, it’s just that we—"

But a sharp tearing sound interrupted him. It was Zhao Chu, expressionless, ripping the several-page-long divorce pact cleanly in half.

Fang Linyuan’s mind went blank for a moment, and the next thing he knew, Zhao Chu had taken a step forward, forcing him back against the edge of the dressing table.

His back pressed right to the edge—there was nowhere left to retreat.

“...You're a man.” It took Fang Linyuan a second to choke out that sentence.

He looked up at Zhao Chu, his voice tiny, his panicked eyes making him look pitiful.

But Zhao Chu only lowered his eyes, calmly stacking the torn halves of the divorce pact together—then tore them again.

“You didn’t know I was a man before?” he asked.

Fang Linyuan shook his head.

“Or is it now—you mind that I’m not a woman?”

“No, it’s just that we can’t—”

Fang Linyuan didn’t even get the words out before Zhao Chu yanked him up in one motion.

The torn pieces of the divorce pact scattered to the floor like snow.

“There’s no such thing as ‘can’t.’”

Fang Linyuan was suddenly pulled hard by Zhao Chu, lifted straight from the chair by the dressing table and tossed back onto the soft bed behind.

The bedding still held Zhao Chu’s lingering warmth—hot and real. Fang Linyuan sank into it, wrapped instantly in that heat.

He tried to get up and explain, but Zhao Chu’s hand shot out—and the bed curtains came down behind him.

All the morning light was instantly shut out.

In the sudden darkness, the only thing Fang Linyuan could see clearly were Zhao Chu’s eyes, sharp and unrelenting. “Bringing up the fact I’m a man—again, are you?”

The rustle of fabric—robes brushing—sounded, and the half-upright Fang Linyuan was suddenly, completely engulfed by Zhao Chu’s presence.

He was pressed down into the bedding once more.

“But it seems I never told you—being a man comes with its own benefits.”

 

Translator : DarNan