When Zhuo Fan woke up, the snowfall had ceased.

Blinking his eyes open, he saw a man seated beside the bed, reading quietly. At the sound of his movement, the man looked up and offered him a faint smile. “You’re awake.”

“…Prince Wen?” Zhuo Fan recognized him instantly. Shocked, he attempted to sit up and pay his respects, only to be gently pressed back down onto the bed.

“You’re still unwell. There’s no need for formalities,” Wen Muyan said, his palm warm against Zhuo Fan’s forehead. “I had an imperial physician take a look at you. He said it was a cold. Fortunately, your fever has already subsided. Drink your medicine later and get some more rest.”

Zhuo Fan stared at him in a daze, his eyes widening.

He knew Prince Wen. Around the time he began to fall out of favor with the emperor, Wen Muyan had arrived in the capital for a royal audience as the heir apparent to his father’s title. After formally conferring the principality upon him, the Qing Emperor had invited Wen Muyan to stay in the palace for a short period. Zhuo Fan had encountered him several times at court and, for reasons he could never quite understand, Wen Muyan had always seemed particularly well-disposed toward him.

Back then, still blindly devoted to the Qing Emperor, he had ignored both Shao Ze’s and Prince Wen’s courting attempts. But now that he had seen through the emperor’s heartlessness, the prince’s timely kindness felt unexpectedly precious.

Returning to his chair and picking up his book once more, Wen Muyan remarked casually, “Xian Fu came by to see you earlier.”

Zhuo Fan let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t expect to trouble even Eunuch Xian Fu…”

Although Wen Muyan’s gaze remained on the pages of his book, his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. After a moment, he added, “His Majesty sent him to visit you.”

Zhuo Fan stiffened. Sitting on the bed with his head lowered, he scoffed in a particularly sarcastic tone, “To think His Majesty still cares whether I live or die—despite having found a new favorite! Should this humble subject thank him for such an imperial honor?”

Wen Muyan put down his book and shook his head gently. “If anyone else heard you say that, they might cause trouble for you.”

Zhuo Fan pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly. His voice was defiant. “Let them hear! Let them laugh at me! I’m the fool anyway!”

Burying his face in his arms, he refused to look at Prince Wen. Silence stretched between them until a warm palm patted his back in slow, reassuring strokes. Above him, a deep, magnetic voice murmured, “Lift your head, and you’ll see that there are others in this world who are worthy of your love.”

The words were spoken very, very slowly—Prince Wen had likely gathered all his courage just to say them out loud.

Zhuo Fan raised his head. Seeing the other man’s handsome, composed face, an inexplicable unease stirred in his chest. “Your… Your Highness, I…”

“Don’t say anything now.” Wen Muyan quickly withdrew his hand. “If you ever need anything, come find me.”

Flustered, Zhuo Fan scrambled out of bed, hurriedly bowing. “Please forgive me, Your Highness! Your humble subject will take his leave now!”

He turned and fled toward the door, forgetting for a moment that his body was still weak and recovering from illness. Yet the warmth of Wen Muyan’s touch seemed to linger on his skin, spreading heat throughout his body, making his heart pound frantically.

When he returned to the Zhuo residence, still dazed, he almost collided with his friend and classmate, Shao Ze, who had clearly been waiting for him for a long time.

Shao Ze was not an especially striking man—stocky rather than tall, his build leaning toward sturdy. His square face was often stern, but over the years, he had treated Zhuo Fan with unwavering sincerity. “What happened yesterday? I heard you spent the night at Prince Wen’s residence.”

Grabbing Zhuo Fan’s arm, Shao Ze fixed him with a reprimanding stare.

Although his tone was sharp, Zhuo Fan could hear the concern hidden beneath it. With a wry smile, he nodded. “Last night, I got caught in the rain and snow. I must have fallen ill at that time and fainted. Prince Wen happened to pass by and saved me. When I woke up, I was already at his house.”

“What? Are you still feeling unwell?” As he spoke, Shao Ze reached out to check Zhuo Fan’s forehead, only for the other man to hastily dodge his touch.

“I’m much better now,” Zhuo Fan assured him. “A few more days of rest, and I’ll be fully recovered.”

Shao Ze didn’t seem annoyed at all as he silently withdrew his hand. His usual frown returned, and he resumed his customary sanctimonious demeanor. After a brief pause, he said, “This morning at court, Prince Wen requested leave on your behalf. His Majesty’s reaction was… difficult to read. As soon as court was dismissed, Eunuch Xian was sent to visit you at Prince Wen’s residence. As for the news of your overnight stay there… well, the palace is rife with gossip. If you hear anything unpleasant, don’t take it to heart. You know the Empress already considers you a thorn in her side.”

His tone darkened slightly. “Who knows? Someone might be stirring the pot, hoping to use this against you.”

Zhuo Fan remained silent, offering no response.

Noticing Zhuo Fan’s lack of response, Shao Ze kept trying to reason with him. “There’s never a shortage of pretty faces around His Majesty—you’ve seen that yourself. I’ve always warned you not to entangle yourself with him. You’re the most brilliant scholar of our generation. Why should you lower yourself to the status of a concubine in the inner palace—”

He stopped abruptly.

Zhuo Fan, however, let out a pitiful laugh. His smile was so bitter and pained that it looked even sadder than tears. “You’re right. I am the best scholar. I have my pride and dignity too! Why should I let him ruin me? I gave him my whole heart, but it was useless. He was blind to my sincerity from the very start.” His voice trembled with emotion. “Never again! I won’t break my heart for such an indifferent, fickle man ever again!”

“That’s it! You’ve finally come to your senses!” Shao Ze was so overjoyed that he grabbed Zhuo Fan’s hands, his stern face lighting up with rare excitement. Seeing that Zhuo Fan merely blushed instead of pulling away as usual, he grew even more encouraged. Lowering his voice, he said earnestly,

“Zhuo Fan, we’ve been classmates for so many years. You should know by now that my feelings for you run deeper than anyone else’s. I…”

For a moment, Zhuo Fan was too stunned to react. He had never seen such an expression on Shao Ze’s face before—so open, so unguarded. But before he could process it, an image of Prince Wen’s calm and charming demeanor flashed through his mind.

His heart skipped a beat.

Abruptly, he pulled his hands away, his voice tinged with both annoyance and apology. “Shao Ze, I know you’ve always been good to me, and I’m grateful for it. But I’ve only ever considered you a dear friend. I don’t have any other feelings for you, and I never will.”

Shao Ze froze.

After a brief silence, he let out an awkward chuckle, his expression turning wry. As if trying to make light of the situation, he casually waved a hand. “It was just a passing remark. I didn’t mean anything by it, heh. Don’t overthink it. Just forget I said anything.”

Zhuo Fan let out a breath of relief. “Well… we’ll still be friends like before, right?” he asked hesitantly.

Despite the sting of rejection, Shao Ze forced a nod, suppressing the turmoil in his chest. “Naturally. That goes without saying.”

But inwardly, his heart ached.

He thought back to their childhood, the years of friendship, the countless moments when he had secretly loved Zhuo Fan from afar. Nearly a decade of silent longing—and yet, Zhuo Fan had never once looked at him that way.

It wasn’t his fault.

No matter how much Shao Ze loved him, he could never force Zhuo Fan to feel the same. As long as he could protect him, as long as Zhuo Fan could live a happy life, that would be enough.

And yet…

He had fallen for the Qing Emperor instead. Not just any man, but a ruthless, heartless ruler who had tossed him aside after toying with his deepest affections.

The thought made Shao Ze’s chest tighten with fury.

Zhuo Fan—his precious Zhuo Fan, the man he cherished the most—had been used and discarded like he was nothing. He had given his body and soul to an unfaithful man who never deserved even an ounce of his love.

The Qing Emperor was a bastard. No—he was lower than human trash!

Shao Ze clenched his fists.

Zhuo Fan should have been noble and untouchable, a rare flower blooming atop the highest peak—meant to be adored, cherished, treasured. How lucky would someone be to receive love from such an extraordinary man? Zhuo Fan was kind, devoted, brilliant, and handsome beyond words. And yet, the man he had loved had been blind to all of it.

But now… now that Zhuo Fan’s love for the Qing Emperor had finally died, it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, that unfaithful man would come to realize what he had lost.

And when that day came, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Shao Ze concealed the infatuation in his eyes and watched Zhuo Fan walk away. Only after the other man disappeared through the doorway did he finally turn around and leave.

Meanwhile, Zhuo Fan was lost in thought. He hadn’t expected so many things to unfold after just one night of fever. One after another, images of the Qing Emperor and Prince Wen surfaced in his mind, unsettling his heart. He shook his head, his face pale, completely unaware of Shao Ze’s lingering gaze or the emotions hidden behind it.

As soon as he entered his room, exhaustion overtook him. He collapsed onto his bed and fell into a deep sleep.

In a dreamlike trance, he found himself transported to a vast, white room. In front of him stood an equally white bed, and lying upon it was a man—his face eerily familiar.

The Qing Emperor.

But he was motionless. Lifeless.

The realization struck Zhuo Fan like a blade. The Qing Emperor was already dead.

A surge of indescribable anger and disbelief filled his chest. He heard his own voice ringing out, shouting at the lifeless body: "What happened to that promised reversal, where you’d try to win me back after I lost all feelings for you? What about kneeling before me, crying over me, shielding me with your own body?"

"Where is all that ‘tyrannical and possessive love’ you were supposed to show me?!"

Desperation clawed at his throat as he raged at the man who could no longer answer.

"Wake up! Even if I didn’t love you anymore, you weren’t allowed to stop loving me! Even if I had driven you away, you should’ve regretted it immediately and spent every moment yearning for me!"

"Even if you were a scoundrel, even if I pretended to reject you, I would have forgiven you in the end—with kindness, acceptance, and only a little reluctance! But only because of your desperate devotion and emotional blackmail—not because you were a tall, handsome, and ridiculously rich, loyal dog, mind you!"

"How dare you die like this?! Now that you’re gone, who’s going to secretly please me by being jealous of extras 1, 2, and 3?"

"This isn’t how the script was supposed to go!"

Zhuo Fan burned with frustration. Then, as if his very existence could no longer tolerate such an absurd twist of fate—

—he died of anger.

The dream was vivid, almost frighteningly so, but when he awoke, all memory of it slipped away like water through his fingers. All that remained was an unbearable headache, a sharp pain pulsing at his temples.

Just then, his valet entered hastily, his footsteps quick with urgency. Bowing deeply, he said, “You’re finally awake, Master. Someone from the palace is here to request your presence!”

“…Someone from the palace?” Zhuo Fan muttered, still groggy. His expression darkened as he sneered. “Let me guess—was this person sent by His Majesty?”

The valet nodded briskly, his tone bordering on excitement. “Yes, yes! Eunuch Xian came in person, in fact! What a great honor—”

“I’m not going.”

Zhuo Fan turned his back to the valet and pulled the covers over himself. His voice was cold, unwavering. “I am not a dog at his command.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Report to Eunuch Xian Fu that I am far too ill to leave my bed. He’ll have to convey my sincerest apologies to His Majesty.”

The valet nearly choked. “Ah? Master, you—Oh, my good master, have mercy on us all! What if the emperor becomes furious?”

Dismayed, he fell to his knees, kowtowing repeatedly, his forehead nearly bruising the floor. “Please reconsider! If His Majesty sees this as defiance, we’re all doomed!”

But the man on the bed remained silent, as if he had already made up his mind. Just as the valet was about to try persuading him again, a sudden commotion erupted in the courtyard.

Startled, he rushed to the door—only to freeze in horror. His breath hitched as he stammered, “L-long live Your Majesty! Long live Prince Wen!”

Two men, flanked by several sturdy guards, walked through the main entrance with an air of undeniable authority.

The Qing Emperor and Prince Wen.

The valet had never been this close to the emperor before in his entire life. His legs nearly gave out beneath him, and he felt an overwhelming urge to kneel and beg for his life.

Xiao Han, the Qing Emperor, moved forward with an air of effortless dominance, his bright yellow sleeves draping neatly as he folded his hands before his waist. His gaze remained indifferent, his posture regal. Stopping just outside the door to Zhuo Fan’s room, he finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of an emperor’s decree. “We have heard that our dear official Zhuo has fallen ill—so gravely ill, in fact, that he could not even come to the palace when summoned.”

His dark eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion. “Fearing that his condition may be severe, we have come to visit him in person.”

His gaze swept over the tightly shut doors. His tone was light, but laced with something cold. “Why, then, are these doors still closed to us?”

The valet, kneeling on the ground, looked up in shock. His mouth opened and closed, unable to form a coherent response. It was only when Prince Wen—ever the gentler presence—motioned for him to rise that the words finally spilled from his trembling lips. “Y-Your Majesty, my master… my master is very ill. His head… it’s not quite straight right now!” He swallowed hard, feeling sweat bead at his temples.

“That’s why—why he cannot enter the palace to pay his respects to Your Majesty. He is definitely not doing this on purpose to look down on you or… or… play hard to get!”

The moment the words left his mouth, the valet wanted to slap himself.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no!

He didn’t dare to look up at the emperor’s expression.

‘Are you a brainless fan of your master or his professional anti-fan?’ Xiao Han wondered, momentarily speechless at the valet’s ridiculous response. Then, with a lazy flick of his hand, he pointed at the door. “Take it down.”

“Uh— What?”

Before the residents of the assistant minister’s residence could regain their senses, the Qing Emperor’s guards had already sprung into action. Without hesitation, they began dismantling the door.

The valet stood frozen, his face a mask of shock—but more telling was Prince Wen’s barely restrained unease. However, he knew to wisely keep his thoughts to himself. Challenging the willful and tyrannical emperor was never a good idea.

Of course, the original script had dictated that, after being rejected by Zhuo Fan’s closed doors, the Qing Emperor should reflect on his own mistakes. However, it had conveniently failed to specify how long this reflection should last.

So, Xiao Han took the liberty of defining that duration himself.

One second.

As for whether he was actually reflecting on his past mistakes or merely contemplating what to have for dinner—who cared? He simply couldn’t be bothered. If the script had such a big problem with it, it could jump out and bite him for all he cared. As if that would change anything.

After playing the role of the ultimate bastard for so long, Xiao Han had begun to understand the quirks of the script. For example, as long as it didn’t explicitly dictate what he had to say or do, it wouldn’t punish him for acting on his own. Furthermore, his thoughts remained untouchable—no matter how omnipotent the script might be, it couldn’t dictate what went on in his head.

In other words, if the script told him to stand and wait, he shouldn’t sit down. But if it didn’t specify that he had to stand for an hour, then standing for a mere second was perfectly acceptable.

He had also learned—through painful firsthand experience—that failing to follow the script’s core demands resulted in a horrible death. And an endless cycle of transmigrations. However, as long as the script didn’t outright command him to do something, he was free to do as he pleased. He could choose beauties for the night, sneak off to the imperial kitchen for a plate of chicken drumsticks—there were plenty of ways to pass the time.

Throughout his tenure as emperor, Xiao Han had perfected the number one survival skill in dealing with the script: finding loopholes.

Aside from occasionally being forced to interact with Zhuo Fan—who he found endlessly exasperating—his life was rather comfortable.

Unfortunately, good times never lasted. The moment had come to act out the crowd-favorite segment of the plot: “Suddenly Loyally Licking Boots.”

What was “Suddenly Loyally Licking Boots”, you ask?

Simply put, it was the classic “The bastard protagonist, after utterly shattering the bottom’s heart, suddenly repents and transforms into a loyal dog, kneeling at the bottom’s feet and licking them with unshakable devotion!”

Xiao Han may have gained more flexibility in fighting the script this time around, but in the end, he still wanted to live. If he died again, only the gods knew where he’d end up next—what absurd dimension, what godforsaken hellhole. He might be forced to continue playing out the plot indefinitely, never seeing the end.

And, above all, being hit by a car really hurt.

Xiao Han despised pain. All he wanted was a peaceful and stable life. After tasting death once, he had no intention of going through it again.

While Xiao Han was caught up in these thoughts, the door was torn down in the blink of an eye. With such a commotion, there was no way Zhuo Fan could continue playing dead.

His room, now exposed to the world, revealed him sitting up in bed. His thin robes did little to cover his frail frame, his complexion pale, his eyes dull with exhaustion. If Shao Ze were here, he would have clutched his chest in silent agony—Ah, my lovely idol! God of my dreams!

But it wasn’t Shao Ze standing before Zhuo Fan.

It was Xiao Han and Wen Muyan.

Under Zhuo Fan’s tired, empty gaze, Xiao Han stepped into the room. With a sidelong glance, he gestured at Xian Fu. The ever-efficient eunuch immediately scurried off, retrieved a chair, and respectfully assisted the emperor into his seat.

“I was not aware of Your Majesty’s arrival,” Zhuo Fan murmured hoarsely. “This humble subject is ill. May Your Majesty forgive me for failing to welcome you with proper courtesies.”

With great effort, he pushed himself out of bed, swaying unsteadily as he attempted to bow.

“Since our dear official is in poor health, let’s dispense with the formalities,” Xiao Han replied lazily.

He was immensely grateful that the script didn’t require him to help the other man up.

Next to him, the almighty Xian Fu miraculously produced tea and pastries from who knew where, serving them with expert precision. Xiao Han secretly gave him a mental thumbs-up. Now this is true love.

What a pity that he was a eunuch.

“Please forgive this humble subject’s incivility,” Zhuo Fan said flatly. He remained kneeling, his expression devoid of warmth. “Colds are contagious, and the air in this humble abode is stale. For the sake of Your Majesty’s health, it would be best if you returned to the palace as soon as possible.”

His voice was calm, his tone cool. It was clear he had no intention of getting up unless the emperor left.

Xiao Han took a sip of tea.

Zhuo Fan’s legs began to ache.

The emperor ate a pastry.

Zhuo Fan began to regret not lying back down.

Xiao Han drank more tea.

Zhuo Fan—Why was this man still drinking tea?!

At long last, as if he had spent days wandering through a desert and finally found salvation, Xiao Han finished his cup. Only then did he seem to remember the lines he was supposed to say.

Chewing on a delicate piece of osmanthus cake—a must-have in any palace drama—he mumbled with his mouth half full: “Having heard that our dear official fell ill while picking plum branches for us, we felt very—”

The Qing Emperor suddenly choked.

Perhaps he had taken too big a bite.

After a brief moment of struggling, he swallowed with difficulty and finally managed to finish his sentence. “…Touched.”

Zhuo Fan: “…”

Prince Wen, who had been standing silently by—his presence barely registering—suddenly cleared his throat.

Xiao Han arched an eyebrow and glanced at him.

For some reason—perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him—Wen Muyan’s expression seemed somewhat… twisted? No, wait. Was that constipation?

Xiao Han stroked his chin thoughtfully. Considering how thoroughly he had bullied the little bottom, wasn’t it about time for the long-suffering, devoted “cannon fodder” to finally snap in the name of his unrequited love?

Surely there had to be some kind of reaction now?

Would Wen Muyan scold him like he had in their previous life? Maybe sneer at him with cold disdain? Or, better yet, would he rush forward and beat him to a pulp?

The script said nothing about this moment. How frustrating!

But Xiao Han didn’t have to wait long.

Prince Wen finally spoke his first line in this pivotal plot event…

Except—

It wasn’t a scathing remark directed at Xiao Han.

Nor was it some secretly tender sentiment murmured for the beloved bottom languishing in bed.

No, it was aimed at none other than—Xian Fu.

What Wen Muyan said: “Eunuch Xian, bring me a chair.”

 

Translator : DarNan