The entanglement of the bedchamber was far too good at entrapping people, so much so that Fang Linyuan and Zhao Chu remained delayed in the marquis’ residence until the morning of the second day of the New Year.

Early on the second day, Wu Xinghai hurried back to the Anping Marquis’ residence with urgent news — something momentous had happened in the palace, and Zhao Chu was requested to return at once to take charge of the situation.

It was that Emperor Hongyou had met with misfortune.

After he was sent back to his sleeping quarters, guarded layer upon layer — the Guarded Yangxin hall contained only him and Zhao Jin, who had been released from the secret chamber.

By Zhao Chu’s order, the eunuchs and maids of the palace were to enter only at mealtimes and for cleaning; the rest of the time, no one was to disturb the emperor’s “solitary cultivation.”

But Emperor Hongyou had lived in the palace for fifty years; he could not even dress or remove his shoes on his own — how was he to “cultivate” in peace?

All the more so when, at his side, was his own son, staring at him with eyes full of hatred.

It was said that on New Year’s Eve, as soon as Emperor Hongyou returned to his quarters, he gave Zhao Jin an order. Zhao Jin immediately quarreled with him fiercely.

Before long, the two were shouting in earnest, and Zhao Jin even stepped forward to push him. From outside, a palace maid delivering supper could already hear words like “Consort Mother” and “severing the ties between father and son,” along with the violent sound of porcelain shattering. She hurried in to stop them before the two could come to blows.

Even so, the emperor’s dragon robe had its sleeve torn, and he looked utterly disheveled.

That night, Zhao Jin moved to sleep on the second floor of the scenic pavilion, each occupying one floor, and for the time being they lowered their banners and stilled their drums.

But the next morning, while putting on his boots halfway, Emperor Hongyou suddenly took offense.

It was said he stormed up to the second floor to argue with Zhao Jin.

The Guarded Yangxin Hall was the tallest and broadest palace in the inner city; its second floor stood several zhang above the ground. Before the attendants below could hear what the two were shouting about, they saw the emperor accidentally pushed from the second floor by the third prince, rolling down the glazed golden tiles and landing upon the steps before the hall.

The emperor lay motionless.

The court physicians were summoned in haste, but he had struck the back of his head; blood flowed across the snow, and the meridians in his limbs had lost all command. He could not even move a finger, let alone speak.

Zhao Chu, having stayed at the marquis’ residence these past two days, made a grand and public return to the palace with his spouse on the morning of the second day. Half the capital saw it; naturally, no one could place the blame for the emperor’s grave injury on him.

He first sent Fang Linyuan back to Yuntai Palace, reassuring him to remain there quietly and await events, and then went straight to Emperor Hongyou’s quarters.

When he arrived at the Guarded Heart Hall, the place was already filled with kneeling physicians.

Zhao Chu stood beside the dragon bed and questioned each one in turn.

Half the Imperial Medical Bureau was present. Every one of them shook their head, saying that His Majesty was beyond saving, and from now on could only be kept alive like a living corpse.

Hearing the unanimous verdict, Zhao Chu turned his head to look at Emperor Hongyou on the bed.

Having fallen so suddenly, with everyone too busy worrying about his life, not one person had fixed the hair crown Zhao Jin had pulled loose; his appearance was a picture of disgrace.

And now, unable even to move his mouth, his jaw lax, he could only keep it half open, drool trickling down to the corner of his jaw.

Zhao Chu made no effort to hide his disgust. He stepped back half a pace, frowning in distaste. “Wipe it clean,” he said. “Don’t you find it revolting yourself?”

His gaze swept over the emperor from above, his mouth tugging downward in open impatience. But how could Emperor Hongyou possibly clean himself now? He glared at Zhao Chu, his pupils narrowing in fury, yet he could not even rebuke him with a word.

The physicians and attendants around them only lowered their heads further.

It was plain the emperor was finished, and this Fifth Highness was the one holding the edict to inherit the throne.

Never mind the storms of blood and wind a woman on the throne would face — these servants, no matter how disrespectful the Fifth Highness was, dared not speak out.

No one dared make a sound; the only one blowing his beard and glaring in outrage could not even command his own drool, let alone command others.

Zhao Chu’s mocking gaze lingered on him for a moment, then he could not be bothered with further words. “They say he needs quiet recuperation?” he asked the physicians mildly.

The physicians all nodded in unison.

“Then let him recuperate,” Zhao Chu said blandly. “Wu Xinghai, prepare a quieter bedchamber, and move him there at once.”

“Yes,” Wu Xinghai bowed.

He understood what “quiet” meant. In a palace with over a thousand rooms, choose the farthest, most remote one, and His Majesty would never be seen again for the rest of his life.

“Select the attendants yourself. Once he’s moved, have the Guarded Yangxin Hall cleaned from top to bottom.”

As Zhao Chu spoke, his gaze swept again over the dilapidated emperor, his brows drawing tightly together in unconcealed distaste.

It was written plainly on his face — he found him filthy.

“Yes, this servant obeys. Not a speck of dirt will be left to hinder Your Highness’s ascension.”

Wu Xinghai’s words flowed smoothly as he bowed.

…Ascension! He still wants to ascend the throne!

Emperor Hongyou’s eyes widened, fixed on Zhao Chu.

He wanted to curse him.

But when he strained to open his mouth, only animal-like squeaks came forth through the stream of drool.

*

Emperor Hongyou glared at Zhao Chu. If he could have moved, even if it meant rolling off the dragon bed, he would have slapped him hard.

But alas, the physicians had said that fall had damaged his vital essence and left him completely paralyzed. For the rest of his life, he would never move again.

And that one-eyed eunuch, arrogant in the shadow of power, bustled about after Zhao Chu left, ordering people to lift the emperor from the dragon bed.

That damned eunuch said, The Fifth Highness is fond of cleanliness; quickly move His Majesty.

Otherwise, if His Majesty were to soil himself and further dirty the bed, what then?

The emperor was so enraged he nearly choked. But no matter how furious he was, no one cared anymore.

Least of all Zhao Chu.

He glanced lightly at Emperor Hongyou twice, finding this useless man unbearably offensive to the eye. Giving a few perfunctory instructions, he turned and left the Yangxin Hall.

There was still Zhao Jin waiting for him to deal with.

Unlike the victimized Emperor Hongyou, Zhao Jin’s actions were both assault and lèse-majesté, so he was immediately escorted to the Court of the Imperial Clan.

By now, daylight had fully broken. His maternal grandfather, Su Xin, was already kneeling outside the palace with his hair disheveled and his coronet removed, pleading for His Majesty to spare the Third Prince’s life.

But how could His Majesty speak? His repeated kowtows were aimed at Zhao Chu alone.

The palace attendants of the Court of the Imperial Clan pushed open the hall doors for Zhao Chu. Stepping inside, he saw Zhao Jin, who was under house arrest there.

Zhao Jin’s expression was blank, his hair disheveled, his complexion and lips both bloodless.

The light from outside spilled over his figure.

He raised his eyes and looked toward Zhao Chu, who stood a few paces away.

Zhao Chu looked at him without speaking, and the instant Zhao Jin met his gaze, he frowned and turned his eyes away.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, for more than ten years Zhao Chu and his mother had been passively enduring his resentment and fury.

How was he supposed to face Zhao Chu? He didn’t know.

Zhao Chu said nothing, his gaze upon him cool and tranquil. Zhao Jin pressed his lips shut, holding his ground against him, until finally, after a pause, he spoke coldly. “When will you grant me death?” he asked.

But Zhao Chu gave no reply—he simply settled himself with deliberate slowness onto a chair set behind him by an attendant eunuch.

A head full of gleaming golden and jade hair ornaments, under the glow of light, seemed for a fleeting moment to merge with another figure.

“If the book cannot be read smoothly, you may copy down the passages you do not understand. Write them out several times, and the meaning will naturally become clear.”

It was that dazzlingly beautiful yet cold-as-a-tutor former empress.

His mother had never liked that striking woman she regarded as an enemy—yet this woman was the sole exception.

His mother loved bringing him to her palace to play, but she rarely paid him attention; if she spoke to him at all, it was to test him on his lessons.

He had feared her somewhat. Yet when she would occasionally explain something simply, and he parroted it back to the Grand Tutor, the tutor would be so delighted he would slap the desk in praise, exclaiming how quick-witted he was.

The memories of his childhood had long grown hazy; thinking back now, he only vaguely remembered that the lotus pastries in the former empress’s palace were delicious. Once, he had been greedy enough to eat two extra pieces, expecting punishment—but luckily she hadn’t noticed.

After that day, however, every time he went to her palace, there were lotus pastries on the table.

Once, he had thought it was mere good fortune.

Zhao Jin now looked at Zhao Chu before him, and after a moment, his eyes grew faintly hot.

He heard Zhao Chu speak. “Lord Su has been kneeling outside the palace all morning. Even if only for his sake, I will not go so far as to kill you.”

His tone was very calm.

“You…” Zhao Jin was slightly taken aback.

Not kill him? His maternal grandfather did not have such great influence.

He had nearly killed the emperor—more seriously, it was regicide, a capital crime with no pardon.

Even if Zhao Chu merely granted him the mercy of an intact corpse, it would already be counted as magnanimous.

Zhao Jin stared at him in surprise, and saw Zhao Chu continue, “But deposition and house arrest are unavoidable. Since you have already left the palace and established a residence, there’s no need to waste palace space on you.”

…He was even allowed to continue living in his residence outside the palace.

Zhao Jin could not believe Zhao Chu’s generosity—what he said did not match the cold, dead-object gaze in his eyes.

He looked at Zhao Chu in puzzlement and repeated after a pause, “You’re not killing me?”

Zhao Chu cast him a faint glance.

He had no idea that the cold-blooded fox spirit’s sole shred of mercy came entirely from the divine radiance of the Celestial God’s influence.

Sparing his life, to Zhao Chu, was merely because Fang Linyuan was currently living in the imperial palace—better to refrain from killing and avoid sullying his household’s threshold with bloodshed during the New Year.

Zhao Chu did not answer, only lifted his hand lightly and said, “This thing is yours.”

Zhao Jin looked up and saw two palace attendants carry something over together and set it before him. It was a potted crabapple tree with luxuriant branches and leaves.

Zhao Jin’s pupils contracted sharply.

The flowerpot of this crabapple—he recognized it.

Years ago, his mother’s bedchamber had been filled with such plants. This was the most flourishing and striking of them all, taller than he was back then, placed in the most prominent position in her chambers.

After so many years… this crabapple tree, now dusted with white snow, still looked exactly as it had then, with the same lush branches and leaves.

When he looked back at Zhao Chu, his eyes were already faintly red.

Zhao Chu, however, was expressionless, already standing to leave.

Before he stepped over the threshold, Zhao Jin raised his voice to ask, “…Where did you move this from?”

“The Cold Palace.” Zhao Chu turned his head slightly and left those two calm words.

Zhao Jin, eyes reddened, turned to look at the crabapple tree.

Cold Palace…

His hand trembled as he reached out, gently brushing away the melting snow from the branches and leaves.

So many years had passed—Consort Qing, once so dazzling and glorious, had long since become nothing more than a vague, half-true rumor within the palace. No one remembered anymore what she liked, or what kind of person she truly was.

Only that Empress Dowager—whom he had regarded as a “poisonous woman” for over a decade—

had tended to his mother’s favorite crabapple tree until its branches were once again laden with blossoms.

*

When Fang Linyuan returned to Yuntai Palace, the desks in the main hall were piled high with memorials.

“His Highness said that the Yangxin Hall hasn’t been put in order yet, so these will be placed here for the time being,” Juan Su explained at the side. “His Highness said you needn’t avoid them. If you have nothing else to do, you can flip through them—it’s no trouble.”

Matters of state, and Zhao Chu made them sound like light reading material.

Fang Linyuan smiled slightly and nodded toward Juan Su. “I’m fine. Where’s Yan Ting? I went back to the residence two days ago and didn’t see him.”

“Yan Ting is in the back hall clearing space for you, my lord,” Juan Su replied. “His Highness ordered us to bring your weapons rack into the palace. There happens to be an open space behind Yuntai Hall—it can be set aside for your martial practice.”

Hearing this, Fang Linyuan’s curiosity was piqued, and he made his way to the back hall.

Sure enough, there was his weapons rack. In the splendid, finely crafted palace, it looked slightly out of place—but every blade and sword had been polished to a mirror shine, lined neatly in the white snow, framed by flowering trees.

“My lord!” Yan Ting, busy among the palace attendants, turned his head, his cheeks faintly flushed with delight.

The surrounding attendants, hearing the greeting, quickly knelt and saluted Fang Linyuan.

Fang Linyuan waved them off as he approached, casually lifting a spear from the rack. With a simple flick of his wrist, he executed two clean, sharp spear forms.

Not the slightest trace of rustiness—once in hand, the spear was as natural to him as his own limbs.

He reversed it single-handedly, resting it behind him.

“Fine spear work, my lord!” Yan Ting clapped enthusiastically at the side.

“When did this happen?” Fang Linyuan ignored the praise, casting him a glance. “Moving my things without telling me?”

His tone was casual, and Yan Ting could tell at once that he wasn’t angry.

Grinning, Yan Ting replied, “It was by His Highness’s order. He said that even though you’re living in the palace, you can still come and go freely. Bringing your things in makes it easier to use them.”

Leaning in, Yan Ting added, “His Highness also said that Liu Huo can be brought back to the capital in the next couple of days. He’s asking whether you’d like to set aside space in Yuntai Hall to keep it here, or house it in the palace stables.”

At the mention of Liu Huo, Fang Linyuan paused slightly.

Where Liu Huo was kept wasn’t the main issue. Because the last time he had been separated from Liu Huo was during that journey north—when Lin Zizhuo had drugged him.

If Liu Huo was being returned to the capital, that meant…

Lin Zizhuo had also been escorted back.

Thinking of that man, Fang Linyuan felt a tangle of emotions.

He bore him no hatred. After all, as a member of the Embroidered Guard, Lin Zizhuo was a retainer serving the emperor’s commands. Moreover, he was an orphan raised within the Embroidered Guard offices—following orders was only natural for him.

Even so… Fang Linyuan thought he should see him, though he didn’t know what roles they would play when they faced each other again.

“My lord?” Seeing his silence, Yan Ting leaned closer.

“Mm.” Fang Linyuan gave a brief answer. “Either place will do—send him to the stables for now.”

“Yes!” Yan Ting answered quickly.

Just then, a tall, graceful figure appeared in Yan Ting’s sight.

“Greetings, Your Highness!” Quick-witted, he grinned as he bowed to Zhao Chu.

Fang Linyuan turned and saw Zhao Chu lift his trailing skirt with one hand, step over the threshold, and walk toward him.

Fang Linyuan spun the spear, then with a ringing clang set it back into the weapons rack.

“How is the emperor?” Fang Linyuan asked.

Zhao Chu came closer, eyes tinged with a smile, his gaze sweeping between Fang Linyuan and the weapons rack before finally settling on Fang Linyuan’s face.

“Not dead.” He looked at him intently, answering the question in a very straightforward, almost offhand manner.

Fang Linyuan froze. …What kind of answer was that?

“He’s just crippled.” Seeing Fang Linyuan’s startled expression, Zhao Chu chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss him.

Fang Linyuan snapped out of it, hastily taking a step back to avoid the kiss under the eyes of so many onlookers.

Zhao Chu paused, watching Fang Linyuan straighten his back, clear his throat, and glance—slightly awkwardly—at the surrounding attendants.

Ah—so the young marquis wanted to save face, keeping the bearing of a husband in public.

After a brief pause, Zhao Chu’s smile only deepened.

“Is my husband concerned for him?” he asked with a smile, his eyes as alluring as silk. Seeing the tips of Fang Linyuan’s ears redden, he stepped closer and lightly took Fang Linyuan’s arm.

The attendants, seeing this, wisely excused themselves and withdrew.

“…I was just asking. After all, it’s an important matter.”

Fang Linyuan was tangled up so much that half his body went stiff. He quickly pulled his arm out from Zhao Chu’s embrace. But Zhao Chu just smiled at him, leaning in to peck him lightly at the corner of his mouth.

...In broad daylight!

Even with no one else around, such an unabashed display made Fang Linyuan’s ears burn bright red.

“You…” The awkward, thin-skinned young general looked at Zhao Chu in surprise, raising his hand to cover the spot where he had been kissed.

“…And this is still outside!” He gritted his teeth and lowered his voice.

Zhao Chu wasn’t afraid of inside or outside at all. On the contrary, such a shy prey only made this fox demon’s heart flutter all the more.

Zhao Chu smiled, his eyes shimmering like rippling waves. His arm circled Fang Linyuan’s waist, and his body pressed close.

“Then let’s go inside the hall.”

With a teasing low laugh, his voice was silkily seductive despite the blazing sunlight—carrying an unmistakable, indescribable hint of intimacy.

Fang Linyuan knew this was the fox demon about to cause mischief again.

But doesn’t the scholar in the story know? Falling step by step into the trap is caused not only the work of demons but also by the irresistible pull of desire. .

No one can resist.

 

--

Author’s note:

Zhao Chu: Stick close by skill, feast on meat every day by skill W

Fang Linyuan: exhausted.jpg

 

Translator : DarNan