Shu Changyu had never realized what kind of thoughts he held toward Jing Mu before.
Every time he saw Jing Mu, he would feel an unusual sense of ease. But he always thought it was merely because the boy was honest and dull-witted, and because he offered unconditional trust. Thus, when facing Jing Mu, he did not need to expend any effort thinking about him.
But now that he suddenly came to his senses, everything felt different.
He always said Jing Mu depended on him—but how was he any less dependent on Jing Mu? In his previous life, everyone he encountered either detested him, opposed him, or dealt with him in false courtesy. The only one who treated him with genuine sincerity was Jing Mu.
So he grew bold in bullying him, as if testing the other’s bottom line without restraint.
In truth, it was nothing more than abusing that trust to act recklessly.
Thinking of it now, Shu Changyu felt even more that he was not a proper person. Relying on that small favor of upbringing, he twisted and ordered this child around, and in the end even developed unspeakable thoughts toward him—how was that not beastly?
With such complicated feelings, he walked up to Jing Mu and lowered his eyes in a formal salute. “This minister greets the Second Prince.” After speaking, he carried his book case and stepped aside, waiting for the other to enter first.
Jing Mu looked at his suddenly distant demeanor without saying anything, standing there and staring at him for a long moment.
“Second Prince?” Shu Changyu felt increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze, as though his own thoughts had been seen through.
“Jing Mu has not seen Grand Tutor for nearly ten days,” Jing Mu said.
“Hm?” Shu Changyu looked up at him.
“…Nothing.” Jing Mu met his gaze for an instant, then looked away and walked into the main hall.
Shu Changyu was somewhat at a loss, but said nothing and followed him inside.
He opened the box and only then discovered that Kongqing had packed his manuscripts together with his books. A thick stack, placed atop the Shangshu, along with several travel notes and references.
Jing Mu immediately recognized that the top sheets were river-channel diagrams. From the markings and orientation, it was clearly the Yellow River.
Jing Mu showed nothing on his face, and casually stepped forward before Shu Changyu to take the stack. “Grand Tutor, what book is this?”
Seeing Jing Mu holding the manuscripts, Shu Changyu did not try to snatch them back. He had originally planned to submit them once completed—by then, it would also be the season when the Yellow River flooded. At that time, he would present the work to the emperor and request an assignment to manage river control, allowing him to leave for the south.
“Reporting to Your Highness, this minister’s river-control manuscript,” Shu Changyu said. “In recent years, the Yellow River floods have become increasingly severe. This minister worries for the southern people, so I have studied previous dynastic records and compiled a strategy, which I intend to present to His Majesty, hoping it may benefit the people.”
Jing Mu was naturally familiar with this strategy. In his previous life, Shu Changyu never wrote poetry or essays; the only surviving work of his was this river-control treatise.
In that life, Shu Changyu used this work—written over three years—to successfully tame the Yellow River, after which it never flooded again. After Shu Changyu’s death, Jing Mu had read it hundreds of times, even memorizing it.
Scholars of the current dynasty all pursued elegance and ornamentation in writing. But Shu Changyu was different—his writing was extremely concise, not wasting a single unnecessary word.
Yet it was precisely this kind of book that allowed Jing Mu to feel every trace of his emotions between the lines. Where he was irritated enough to stop writing, where he felt inspired and at ease—Jing Mu could see it all.
The more he read, the more his heart ached for him.
The world called him a treacherous minister and traitor, but only Jing Mu knew what kind of gentle and upright person he was. Even after walking through hell once, he still treated the common people with a soft heart.
But the world did not understand him, only envying the overwhelming authority in his hands.
Now, seeing this manuscript again, Jing Mu’s state of mind was different.
He only needed one glance to know what was written on it. He looked up and asked, feigning innocence, “Grand Tutor, will you go personally to manage the river control?”
“I do not know whether this strategy is effective, so I dare not entrust it to others,” Shu Changyu replied.
Jing Mu understood immediately.
Of course you know its effect—you used it in your previous life and had others implement it. Now you wish to go personally only because you want to leave the capital.
And the reason for leaving the capital was obvious.
He knew that since returning in this life, Shu Changyu had been subtly trying to avoid him, fearing that too close an association would attract the emperor’s suspicion and repeat the previous tragedy.
But how could he allow him to suffer the same pain again?
Now that he had already lost imperial favor, once he left the palace, he would be seen as a discarded prince with no court support. Even so, Shu Changyu still wanted to avoid him.
He could have used the emperor’s lingering affection for his mother and the internal struggles of the concubines to rise to the position of crown prince. But for Shu Changyu, he had taken this self-destructive, irreversible path instead.
And even so, Shu Changyu still wanted to distance himself.
Jing Mu looked at him and asked, “Grand Tutor, what will I do after you leave?”
Shu Changyu’s emotions became complicated. After a pause, he said, “Your Highness will soon be enfeoffed as a Prince. At that time, you will no longer need a Grand Tutor.”
“But my Four Books are not yet completed,” Jing Mu said.
“…There will be other tutors, Your Highness,” Shu Changyu replied.
Then he saw Jing Mu lower his eyes, his expression gradually turning bitter. After a long silence, he slowly placed the manuscript back into the book box. “It is Jing Mu who has failed Grand Tutor’s teachings and disappointed you.”
Shu Changyu frowned. “…Your Highness?”
“Despite Grand Tutor’s repeated guidance, Jing Mu remains dull-witted and has offended Father Emperor’s reverse scale, resulting in being driven out of the palace early. I am already a useless prince,” Jing Mu said. “It is only right that Grand Tutor leaves me early. I am foolish, while Grand Tutor is young and talented. I should not stand in your way.”
Shu Changyu’s brows furrowed even tighter.
Jing Mu had clearly misunderstood—thinking he was abandoning him because he had already been demoted and expelled from the palace.
…How could that be.
Shu Changyu opened his mouth to explain, but the words stopped at his lips.
How could he say it?
Should he say: I am not disgusted with you, but have developed improper feelings toward you and must keep my distance?
He could not say it.
Thus, Shu Changyu could only watch helplessly as Jing Mu placed the manuscript back into his box, closed it completely, and handed it back to him.
“Grand Tutor, please return,” Jing Mu said.
“…Your Highness?” Shu Changyu frowned.
“Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death,” Jing Mu said. “I have no mood to study. Please come again tomorrow.”
Shu Changyu took the box, still frowning.
Jing Mu had issued an order to leave. Logically, this should have been a relief for him—but for some reason, his chest felt heavy and uneasy.
Almost as if in protest, he gave a formal salute and turned to leave.
Behind him, Jing Mu did not speak, simply watching him go.
He thought: after today, Grand Tutor will have no other choice.
Your life was pulled back from the gates of hell by me. So… how can you leave me so easily?
——
Every year on this day, Emperor Qianning stayed overnight in Qianhe Palace; it was a rule he set for himself.
As an emperor—especially one with frail health—he always felt he stood too high, and the cold emptiness beside him was unbearable.
In his youth, he was betrayed by the brother he trusted most, ruining his foundation and nearly losing the throne. The suffering of succession left not only physical illness but also deep psychological scars.
Even blood relatives could not be trusted—let alone ministers and consorts who sought glory and profit under him?
The greatest taboo for an emperor was overthinking, and Emperor Qianning was precisely someone who thought far too much.
His meticulousness gave him security, making him believe that his long reign was due to such caution. But excessive caution also brought exhaustion and coldness, which required release.
Thus, mourning Consort Yun became his outlet.
The dead would not betray him. He could give them his sincerity and warmth without reservation, while also earning himself a reputation of deep affection.
That night, under a bright moon and scattered stars, he lay in Qianhe Palace. Everything in the hall was arranged exactly as it had been when Consort Yun was alive.
Just as he was about to fall asleep, he saw a figure in the courtyard.
The figure moved too quickly to see clearly, but in that instant Emperor Qianning could tell it was heading toward the eastern wing.
So late—who could it be?
Annoyed and unable to sleep, Emperor Qianning got up, put on his clothes, and followed.
The eastern wing had been turned into a small Buddhist shrine after Consort Yun’s death, housing a Buddha statue and her memorial tablet.
Through the window, in flickering candlelight, a tall figure stood inside.
Emperor Qianning pushed open the door.
And there he saw Jing Mu, dressed in black robes with a dark blue cloak, holding a bouquet of vivid red azaleas, standing in the candlelight and gazing up at the portrait of Consort Yun on the wall.
The red azaleas—Consort Yun’s favorite flowers.