The next day was the day Shu Changyu officially took office.
At present, he rose early in the morning to attend court. After court, he would go to Jing Mu’s Lu Ming Palace to teach him lessons. At noon, he would return home for a meal, and in the afternoon he would report for duty at the Ministry of Works.
When Shu Changyu left the residence, the sky was still dark, with only a few scattered stars remaining. By the time morning court ended and Shu Changyu walked out of the Yonghe Hall holding his ceremonial tablet, the sky had already brightened.
Standing at the very back during court, Shu Changyu ended up walking among the first few to leave. Just as he stepped down the stairs, he heard someone calling him from behind. Turning around, he saw a short, stocky man with graying beard hurrying over.
Shu Changyu recognized him at a glance—Minister of Works Qian Rubin.
This Qian Rubin was not particularly capable; he only knew how to form factions, flatter superiors, and oppress subordinates, constantly finding ways to embezzle silver from public works projects. In his previous life, when Shu Changyu had become Chancellor, his first major purge had been to remove this man’s head.
Now, that same man was running toward him under the bright morning sun, gasping for breath, his face flushed red, the flesh on his face trembling slightly—somehow even a bit comical to look at.
“Minister Qian,” Shu Changyu greeted with a mild expression, stepping forward against the flow of people and bowing respectfully.
“General Shu, how have you been recently?” Qian Rubin stopped and lightly supported his arm, then walked alongside him as they moved forward.
Shu Changyu thought coldly: my father wouldn’t even know your name. If he ever learned what you have done, he would not waste a word on you—he would be the first to spear you through the throat.
Yet outwardly, Shu Changyu smiled gently. “My father is well. Thank you for your concern, Minister Qian. When he has time, I, Jingchen, will convey your regards to him.”
Qian Rubin was pleased by his politeness and responded repeatedly, “I would not dare, I would not dare. General Shu protects the nation; it is only natural that we useless scholars care and worry.”
Shu Changyu maintained a more respectful smile on his face, while inwardly feeling increasingly irritated, unwilling to listen to the boasting of this man who, in his previous life, had been among his executed officials.
Finally, when they reached the square outside the hall, he quickly took his leave.
“Then I shall not delay the Second Prince’s studies,” Qian Rubin said with a laugh. “I also trouble Shu Third Young Master to arrive earlier this afternoon at the Ministry of Works. The western suburb road repair project is in need of supervision. You will be working hard there, Third Young Master.”
Shu Changyu smiled and agreed, not forgetting to say, “Just call me Jingchen, Minister.”
Only after they parted ways did Shu Changyu finally breathe out in relief.
He thought: no wonder in my previous life I eventually abused power and eliminated officials. With court officials like Qian Rubin, how could one not feel suffocated and want to take their lives?
—
The road from Yonghe Hall to Lu Ming Palace was one Shu Changyu knew too well. Familiar to the point that it had become instinct. Now, walking this old path again, his body seemed to guide him forward on its own, as though he had returned to the past.
Only when he reached the entrance of Lu Ming Palace did he finally regain full awareness.
Lu Ming Palace now looked exactly as it had the first time he came here.
The plaque above the palace gate had begun to grow wild grass. Now, with spring returning, the green weeds on it looked especially vibrant. The two guards at the gate were yawning, leaning against the wall with their swords in hand. When they saw him arrive, they quickly straightened up and opened the weathered red-lacquered doors.
Lu Ming Palace had originally been the residence of a concubine from the previous dynasty who had died unjustly. Later, when new residents moved in, they constantly complained of hauntings. Taoist exorcisms were performed several times to no effect, and eventually the place was abandoned for decades.
Emperor Qian Ning was often ill and rarely visited the harem. Thus, all palace affairs were handled by the Empress. The emperor was already overwhelmed with political struggles and paid little attention to such internal matters. So when Jing Mu entered the palace, he was casually assigned to the Empress, who—whether out of indifference or deliberate malice—placed him in Lu Ming Palace.
It was a place even servants avoided. With no one caring for its master, neglect spread accordingly, and Lu Ming Palace was rarely attended by servants.
Shu Changyu entered and, unsurprisingly, saw the overgrown courtyard and the main hall with its doors wide open. The early spring winds of the capital swept through, making the old paper windows rattle loudly.
The courtyard did not contain the rare exotic plants found in other palaces. Instead, there was a small pond crossed by a stone bridge, filled with melted snow from winter and last year’s fallen leaves. On both sides of the main hall stood more than ten willow trees, their colors uneven, growing poorly, with willow catkins drifting everywhere.
This scene was all too familiar to Shu Changyu. Without looking around, he carried his book box and walked directly to the steps of the main hall.
At that moment, he saw someone step out from the open hall.
A person stood upright at the doorway, the ruined and desolate hall behind him.
Jing Mu.
Jing Mu still wore a coarse, washed-out robe. Standing there, his expression was unreadable, his eyes deep and dark. Perhaps because he had grown up in a military environment, he was taller and more upright than others his age, with a steady, reliable presence.
Shu Changyu instinctively stopped and looked up at him.
This was not the first time in this life Shu Changyu had seen Jing Mu. Yet over these years, he had rarely looked at him so clearly, as he had in the past.
After he became Chancellor in his previous life, he had already been blinded by hatred and power. Jing Mu, who had once stayed by his side, was the cleanest person around him—but also a king, and someone who stood in his way. Thus, every time Shu Changyu looked at him directly, he felt uneasy and irritated, and deliberately ignored him, treating him like a clay statue.
Shu Changyu knew very well how important he had been to Jing Mu. Jing Mu had experienced all the coldness of the world in his youth, and Shu Changyu had been the only person who once reached out to him.
But perhaps that hand had been extended in the wrong way.
For members of the royal family, the worst thing is to place trust in someone unrelated, and to elevate them to an important position. And for Jing Mu, the most terrifying thing was not the hardships he endured in childhood—but being saved by Shu Changyu, and thereafter becoming completely obedient to him.
Thinking this, Shu Changyu walked up the steps. Just as he was about to bow, Jing Mu suddenly bent deeply in salute and said in a hoarse adolescent voice: “Jing Mu greets Imperial Tutor.”
The scene was exactly the same as in the previous life. Before Shu Changyu could even think, his body moved first, reaching out to support Jing Mu exactly as before. “Your Highness need not be so formal.”
Jing Mu lifted his head. His expression remained unchanged, but the light flickering in his eyes was especially bright.
Shu Changyu did not notice it. He instinctively avoided Jing Mu’s gaze and walked past him into the room.
“I am not yet familiar with Your Highness’s level, so I have brought several books. After testing you, I will select the two most suitable for you.”
Jing Mu said nothing, following him into the main hall in silence.
Shu Changyu did not think anything of it. In his previous life, Jing Mu had always been like this—quiet, obedient, never questioning, never resisting.
The more he thought about it, the more frustrated Shu Changyu became. By the time they reached the desk and saw the few sheets of paper and a worn, split-bristle writing brush, he could not help but turn sharply and question him.
“Second Prince, how can one write with such a brush?”
In his previous life, Shu Changyu had seen the same thing. Back then, he had pitied Jing Mu and, without much ability to help, had opened his own book box and given him several brushes, gently advising him that studying required proper tools.
But now, Shu Changyu no longer had such gentle patience.
He stared at Jing Mu coldly. Jing Mu paused, then bowed apologetically without any anger.
“My residence is too simple; this is the only brush I could find. I have offended you. Please do not take offense.”
“Do not take offense? How can I not take offense!”
Seeing this submissive, spineless attitude, a surge of anger rose in Shu Changyu.
He had once only pitied this boy—but now it seemed entirely self-inflicted. If he was bullied yet only knew how to endure it, how could he not be swallowed whole in the palace until nothing remained?
In his previous life, he had only known to be kind to him, raising this timid, weak “fool” into someone even more useless. No wonder he had later been rescued from the imperial prison, only to become a puppet under Jing Mu for more than a decade!
“Second Highness, your words are incorrect,” Shu Changyu said coldly. “You are of imperial blood—your status is beyond compare. Not to mention that His Majesty favors you greatly. Yet somehow you have fallen to this state, bullied into living in such conditions, worse even than servants. If you do not save yourself, who will save you?”
He spoke deliberately harsh words, believing bitter medicine was necessary.
Jing Mu simply bowed again. “Thank you for your instruction. I will remember it.”
Remember it. What use is remembering it?
Shu Changyu was so frustrated he nearly choked on his words and stopped speaking altogether. He gritted his teeth and began the lesson.
This life was unlike the previous one—he did not teach slowly or gently. He already knew Jing Mu’s level and finished the lesson efficiently. Before noon, he ended class and prepared to leave.
Before departing, unable to tolerate Jing Mu’s useless brush any longer, he rummaged through his book box and tossed two brushes onto the desk.
Then he left.
Jing Mu did not stop him. He escorted him to the entrance of Lu Ming Palace.
That figure in indigo official robes, tall and straight, black hair like silk, walked across the fallen leaves and drifting willow catkins, gradually disappearing into the distance.
Just like that year.
Standing on the steps, Jing Mu thought:
He has finally returned to my side again.
Then everything he had done in his previous life to bring this man back—even using the power of an entire nation, sacrificing thousands of living souls, and turning thousands of miles of land into scorched earth—had not been in vain.
This time, he would not let him be lost again.