Warning : NSFW – adult content

Xiao Han felt as if he had been trapped in a dream for an eternity. When he finally woke, a moment of disorientation troubled his mind as he struggled to distinguish between illusion and reality.

Above him stretched a bright yellow canopy embroidered with golden dragons, shimmering under the soft glow of the lamplight. He stared at it for a long time before abruptly sitting up, his gaze sweeping across the room.

Celadon incense burners released delicate bundles of smoke, golden lacquered screens stood majestically, and by the footstool rested a pair of golden dragon-embroidered boots. Not far from the bed, a lattice radiator exuded warmth, its smoke curling upward. Every detail in the room was opulent, vintage, and exquisitely crafted—luxury woven into every inch of the space.

The subtle rustling of fabric broke the silence as someone, startled by his sudden movement, hurried inside. A young man entered the chamber, bowing respectfully before standing still behind the screen. His voice was soft yet flattering as he announced, “Is Your Majesty awake? The Great Scholar has been waiting in the East Room for quite some time.”

It was Xian Fu, the chief eunuch, who had served by the Qing Emperor’s side since childhood. The emperor was known for his unfathomable mind and volatile temperament, and only a handful of people could even attempt to grasp his thoughts. Xian Fu was among those few, his understanding of the sovereign’s moods making him the confidant of confidants.

Now, as he observed the emperor sitting silently on his imperial bed, Xian Fu inwardly sighed. It seemed that the emperor’s “favour” toward the Great Scholar was nearing its end. Everyone knew that His Majesty’s affections were fleeting and capricious. Xian Fu couldn’t help but pity the Great Scholar, whose unwavering devotion was doomed to fade into insignificance. Even now, the man still lingered in the East Room, waiting for a call that might never come.

Xian Fu remained in his bowed posture, waiting quietly. Finally, after a long pause, the stillness of the chamber was broken by a low, hoarse voice.

“Let him wait,” the Qing Emperor said slowly. His tone was colder than usual, laced with an edge of unspoken anger.

Xian Fu’s heart clenched and his face stiffened. It wasn’t the emperor’s anger that unsettled him—it was the uncertainty of its cause.

“Pour us some water.”

A flicker of doubt surfaced in Xian Fu’s mind, but he dared not hesitate. With practiced ease, he swiftly poured a cup and presented it with both hands. There had been a noticeable pause before the emperor addressed him, but Xian Fu, accustomed to His Majesty’s ways, did not dwell on it. Fear of imperial authority left no room for unnecessary thoughts.

The Qing Emperor disliked his attendants standing too close, so after offering the tea, Xian Fu respectfully withdrew behind the screen.

It was winter, and the tea was warm but not scalding. The tea leaves, a tribute of lotus needles from a small southwestern kingdom, released a delicate fragrance. The emperor took a sip, yet no amount of floral aroma could warm the chill in his expression.

As the emperor drank, Xian Fu found himself growing increasingly perplexed. Unable to resist, he dared to steal a glance. In that instant, he met the emperor’s dark, inscrutable eyes.

His heart lurched. His knees nearly buckled.

“Xian Fu.”

The emperor set the cup down, its contents already cooling. His tone was as cold as the untouched tea.

“Let him come in and serve us.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Xian Fu quickly withdrew, keeping his head bowed. Only after he had closed the door behind him and taken a few steps down the corridor did he dare to exhale. His trembling hand wiped away the cold sweat beading his forehead before he hurried toward the East Room.

Inside, the Great Scholar had been waiting in restless anticipation. At the sight of Xian Fu’s return, his steps grew lighter, almost eager. Even the sound of his feet crunching against the snow carried a touch of delight.

Just before they reached the Evergreen Palace, the scholar reached out and gently tugged on Xian Fu’s sleeve. His voice was careful, cautious. “Eunuch Xian, may I ask… how is His Majesty’s mood tonight?”

Xian Fu hesitated. This was a dangerous question. With a sigh, he responded helplessly, “Your Honor, His Majesty does not like others to speculate about him. You put me in a difficult position, for I cannot answer. However… you are at the peak of His Majesty’s favour. There is no need for excessive worry. Still, please be cautious.”

The Great Scholar was momentarily taken aback, then nodded in gratitude.

Evergreen Palace was dimly lit that evening, its shadows casting a subdued atmosphere. Whether this was by imperial command remained unclear.

Inside the break room, the brazier burned hotly, but when the door opened, a cold air briefly disrupted the warmth before vanishing into the heat.

Shedding his heavy fur cloak, the Great Scholar revealed his purple-and-blue official robes, which clung to his slender frame.

Head bowed, he stepped toward the screen before the imperial bed. He knelt, his movements graceful and reverent, and saluted the emperor with flawless etiquette, embodying the refined air of a scholar.

The Qing Emperor lay reclined, his eyes closed, exuding an air of indifference. He had given no acknowledgment since the other man entered, but now, at last, he opened his eyes.

His gaze settled on the kneeling figure before him.

“Raise your head.”

His voice was light, yet it carried the weight of undeniable authority.

When the man raised his head, his gaze instinctively flickered toward the imperial bed. A thin gauze curtain hung around it, veiling but not entirely obscuring the figure within. Through the translucent fabric, he could make out the emperor’s striking features—a broad forehead, a straight, noble nose, impeccably shaped brows, and thin, tightly pressed lips. His profile was cold and severe, unchanged from the day of the royal ceremony, when he sat high upon the dragon-shaped carriage, receiving the worship of his people with an air of supreme dignity.

The Great Scholar had been in the crowd that day, watching from afar. That glimpse had taken root in his heart, haunting him ever since. The sight of the Qing Emperor, so aloof and untouchable, became an obsession that he could neither suppress nor escape.

Now, the dim light from the brazier cast a flickering glow on his face, accentuating the faint flush that spread across his cheeks.

The moment the Qing Emperor saw the man’s face clearly, his pupils contracted sharply.

Zhuo Fan.

Even though his demeanor carried a different air than before, there was no mistaking it—this was Zhuo Fan.

The Qing Emperor was the ruler of the Qing Dynasty. His surname was Xiao, and in accordance with imperial tradition, the previous emperor had given his eldest son the surname Han. His true name was Xiao Han.

And the man kneeling before his bed was none other than the scholar he had chosen with a single glance during the palace examination—the one who had claimed the top rank: Zhuo Fan.

Zhuo Fan was undeniably handsome, with an air of refined elegance. The Qing Emperor had always had a taste for men, finding them a refreshing contrast to the simpering concubines who filled the harem. When he first laid eyes on Zhuo Fan—the quiet adoration hidden in his gaze, the scholarly reserve—he had been intrigued.

Like a connoisseur craving an occasional change of palate, the Qing Emperor effortlessly drew Zhuo Fan into his bed. Night after night, he favored him. And night after night, Zhuo Fan fell deeper, believing himself to be in the midst of a grand love story. He had completely forgotten that the man before him was not some tender lover, but an emperor—capricious, ruthless, and utterly heartless in matters of romance.

He was not the first to believe he was special.

Every single person who had once been favored by the Qing Emperor had shared the same illusion. They all thought they were different from the others. They all foolishly believed that they would be the exception—that they would be the one to tame the emperor’s wild heart, to turn him from a fickle ruler into a devoted lover.

Could there be anything more pathetic?

Do you think growing out your hair makes you some dreamy heroine? What’s with all these people suffering from “princess syndrome” these days? They're everywhere!

Xiao Han’s expression darkened, cold as an arctic glacier beneath the midnight sky. He had once thought that defying the script would mean death at most. But he had been wrong.

There was something worse than death—no relief, even after dying.

Despite the shift in identities, despite the changed plot, the same cursed dynamic remained. The same wretched duo, playing out the same damn story, forcing him to participate once again.

Does this mean that if I refuse to follow the script, I’ll be bound to this guy forever?!

At the thought, Xiao Han’s already dark expression drained of color.

“Your Majesty?”

Zhuo Fan was still kneeling, his posture flawless, but he couldn’t ignore the way the Qing Emperor was staring at him from behind the curtain. A strange look flickered in those imperial eyes—one that sent a chill through his bones.

He thought back to Eunuch Xian’s earlier warning: Be cautious.

“…Stand up.”

The Qing Emperor’s voice was flat, emotionless—so cold it was almost lifeless.

Zhuo Fan, long accustomed to such moods, slowly obeyed. The favor he had received over the past few days had emboldened him. Even when he occasionally overstepped his bounds, the Qing Emperor had never punished him too harshly.

To him, this command felt like an invitation.

Tentatively, he took a step closer to the bed, leaning in slightly. The emperor did not react.

Emboldened, he cautiously approached, reaching out to part the gauzy veil that surrounded the imperial bed.

The Qing Emperor sat against the headboard, clad in a dark gold robe, his cloak draped over his shoulders. His sharp, piercing gaze fixed itself on Zhuo Fan.

Under such scrutiny, Zhuo Fan instinctively averted his eyes. Lowering his head, he murmured, “Your Majesty, allow this humble subject to undress you.”

Silence.

The emperor neither agreed nor refused.

To Zhuo Fan, that silence was permission.

Summoning his courage, he climbed onto the bed, hands trembling as they pressed against the emperor’s chest. With practiced familiarity, he reached for the emperor’s collar.

A sharp tug stopped him.

Startled, Zhuo Fan looked up—only to find that the Qing Emperor had closed his eyes. He was no longer looking at him.

“Take yours off.”

The command was uttered without emphasis, almost indifferent. A moment later, the emperor released his wrists.

Zhuo Fan hesitated for only a second before lowering his gaze and complying.

Slowly, he undid the buttons of his official robe. Piece by piece, his clothing slipped away, pooling at his feet. Even when he was left in nothing but his undergarments, he did not stop.

His breath hitched as he removed the last piece of fabric.

Now fully bare, he knelt beside the emperor, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

Despite having been favored countless nights before, Zhuo Fan was still easily embarrassed. The Qing Emperor had always been the one to take the lead—guiding, coaxing, consuming. But tonight, he remained still.

The silence stretched.

With the emperor showing no signs of taking the lead, Zhuo Fan began to feel a bit flustered.

He did not know where to place his hands.

After a long pause, Xiao Han remained unmoved. Zhuo Fan, realizing he had no other choice, gritted his teeth, summoned his resolve, and leaned down to kiss the emperor on the lips. However, to his surprise, Xiao Han frowned and instinctively turned his face away, causing the kiss to land on his cheek instead. When Xiao Han turned back, he saw Zhuo Fan kneeling before him, an innocent yet hurt expression on his face. Rather than attempting to kiss him again, Zhuo Fan lowered his head and began to gently caress the emperor's chest through his robes.

As Xiao Han considered the dubious nature of the situation, he felt no sense of pleasure or satisfaction. Yet, he also knew that tonight's encounter was unavoidable unless he chose to alter the plot once more. But he had already learned the disastrous consequences of such decisions; nothing could be more painful than the scene unfolding before him now.

At least let’s follow the plot for a while before figuring out how to handle the script, he thought resignedly.

Though Xiao Han harbored no affection for Zhuo Fan, his body still responded to the other man’s touch. Deciding to distance himself mentally, he closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of the man beneath him. Moments later, he felt his robes being lifted, followed by the loosening of his underpants. His hardened shaft sprang free from the confines of his clothing, and Zhuo Fan, his face flushed a deep crimson, cautiously took it into both hands.

Zhuo Fan glanced up at the Qing Emperor, noting that his eyes remained closed. A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him as he lowered his head and took Xiao Han’s length into his mouth. Xiao Han maintained his stoic expression, his breathing steady until the moment he neared his climax. His breath hitched, and his eyes snapped open. Zhuo Fan, caught off guard as he prepared to take the swollen shaft deeper, froze in shock.

Xiao Han’s gaze fell directly on Zhuo Fan’s exposed and slightly strained member. His frown deepened—he truly had no desire to see this. Without hesitation, he grabbed Zhuo Fan by the arm and threw him further onto the bed, forcing him to lie face down on the snow-white bedding.

“Your Majesty?” Zhuo Fan shifted uncomfortably. Despite the heater in the hall, the winter chill seeped into his naked body, leaving his hands and feet icy cold.

Xiao Han pressed down on Zhuo Fan’s waist, his voice cold and commanding. “Stop moving. Don’t turn around.”

Zhuo Fan, though increasingly uncomfortable, obeyed and lay still, enduring the emperor’s intrusive fingers as they prepared him, making his walls supple and ready. Xiao Han, restless and devoid of any desire for foreplay or flirtation, gripped Zhuo Fan’s waist and thrust into him without hesitation. The warm, tight heat clenched around him, sending a surge of burning pleasure through his body. Unable to control himself, he pushed deeper and began pounding into the tender flesh with relentless force.

“Mn… Your Majesty… Ah…” Zhuo Fan’s body swayed with Xiao Han’s movements, his intermittent moans lost in the waves of guilty desire. He longed to look back at the Qing Emperor’s face, but his body was firmly immobilized. All he could hear was the man’s heavy, indifferent breathing above him.

In stark contrast to Zhuo Fan’s nakedness, Xiao Han remained neatly dressed, apart from his slightly pulled-down underpants. The sheets quickly became rumpled beyond recognition under Zhuo Fan’s desperate grip. The confines of the canopied imperial bed were soon filled with the sounds of wanton moans and the wet, rhythmic smack of flesh against flesh.

Yet, the hotter Xiao Han’s body grew, the colder his heart became. It was as if someone else were watching their absurd affair with apathetic eyes, detached and unfeeling.

At the climax, a loud, involuntary cry tore itself from Zhuo Fan’s throat. His eyes glazed over as uncontrollable shivers wracked his body, his thighs trembling repeatedly. Xiao Han collapsed onto Zhuo Fan’s back, gasping for air. After a long moment, he slowly pulled himself up and slipped out of the warm, moist sheath of Zhuo Fan’s body.

Xiao Han’s dark eyes watched as milky fluids dripped onto the sheets from between Zhuo Fan’s thighs. He showed no desire to touch Zhuo Fan again, his expression cold and indifferent to the extreme. Feeling uncomfortable from the sticky moisture on his body, Xiao Han frowned and cleaned himself up. Without so much as a glance at the tearful man left on the bed, he stepped away. The hall was filled with nothing but Zhuo Fan’s agitated breathing and the cold, echoing sound of Xiao Han’s footsteps, making the space feel hollow and silent.

Since the script wants me to be a scumbag, Xiao Han thought bitterly, then I’ll be a scumbag until the very end.

 

Translator : DarNan