If he left now, he’d offend the crazy emperor.
If he stayed, he’d piss off the Empress Dowager.
Between the two?
Yeah, offending the emperor definitely sounded worse.
But he couldn’t throw the Dowager under the bus either!
“Mother,” he said carefully.
The Dowager snapped, “What, you think he’s going to kill both of us?”
…Actually, that was a real possibility.
From the way Fu Huang was pushing every limit, it looked like he had no desire to live peacefully anyway.
Fu Ye took a deep breath. “I can treat Royal Brother’s head illness.”
The Dowager turned to look at him.
Fu Ye doubled down, pushing past any hesitation. Even if this backfired later, he had to sell it now. “Please, let me try. If it works, it will be a blessing for the empire—and for your son.”
His eyes were steady, full of conviction. He almost believed it himself. The Empress Dowager stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable.
Eunuch Qin quickly chimed in, “This servant is willing to vouch for Sixth Prince’s safety!”
Fu Huang cut in flatly, “No one can guarantee that.”
!!!
This lunatic—he lived to torment people.
Fu Ye looked over at Fu Huang. In this world, whether you were building a startup or surviving palace politics, bluffing was half the job. If you had three parts skill, you had to sell it as five. That’s just how it worked.
So he said with total composure, “I can cure the head pain. That alone should be enough to keep me alive.”
Xiao Ai (internally): “You’re really saying that out loud?!”
Fu Ye: “Look, even if I can’t cure him, I can at least be the royal version of Advil. As long as I’m useful, he has no reason to kill me.”
High risk, high reward. He knew how to farm favor points when it mattered.
And besides—it was time to bust out the good ol’ sickly prince card.
As soon as he finished speaking, his knees buckled.
Celebration quickly rushed to catch him as he fell into her arms, coughing violently.
Fu Ye thought, Not the first time I’ve fainted on command. Won’t be the last.
Then—he passed out cold.
Xiao Ai: “Bro… I bow to you.”
The Dowager was clearly panicked. Even Fu Huang’s expression flickered with concern. Eunuch Qin was frantic. “Your Highness! Call the Imperial Physicians—NOW!”
Chaos erupted in Qingyuan Palace. Servants scrambled to carry him back to the side hall, imperial doctors were summoned left and right, and the Empress Dowager stayed by his side the entire time. In the cramped courtyard, people crowded wall to wall.
Since the Empress Dowager was there, the Emperor’s people had no choice but to keep their distance.
Eunuch Qin only checked on the Sixth Prince a few times, each time overhearing the Dowager furiously cursing the Emperor.
Common folks always thought the royal family lived lives of elegance and refinement. What they didn’t know was—behind closed doors, a pissed-off old lady could still curse like a sailor.
Qin, of course, didn’t repeat a word of it. The entire day had been tense and nerve-wracking, most of it thanks to His Majesty scaring the hell out of everyone with his behavior. Eunuch Qin wanted to say a few words in defense of Fu Ye, so he began gently, “His Highness the Sixth Prince has spent many years in foreign lands—cold climates, constant hunger and hardship. The doctors say his body is terribly weakened. That’s why he keeps fainting so easily. He’ll need time to fully recover.”
Fu Huang, suffering another wave of headache, lay slumped on his side, clearly uninterested in hearing more.
Still, Eunuch Qin pressed on, “Sixth Prince has had a rough life. Royal blood or not, he never got to live like it. That he made it back alive… it’s practically divine intervention. And now he returns with medical knowledge—maybe that’s heaven’s way of blessing Your Majesty, too.”
Fu Huang let out a cold, sharp laugh.
Eunuch Qin figured he’d said enough for one day. He bowed and said, “Your Majesty must be tired. Please rest early.”
Tired didn’t even begin to cover it.
Fu Huang laid back, head resting on his arm. “That sword the Dowager used today… looked like the one I gave her.”
Eunuch Qin froze.
The Emperor had already closed his eyes.
But Eunuch Qin remembered now—yes, it was back in the twelfth year of Tianyun. That was when Lady Zhaoyang died. The same year the Sixth Prince vanished. The capital had been utter chaos. The Pear Blossom Palace had burned for days. After burying Zhaoyang’s remains, His Majesty had stayed behind to guard the city while sending the royals and nobles to safety in Lianzhou. Before they left, he’d handed his personal sword to Empress Zhang for protection.
The blade was unnaturally sharp—able to slice iron and stone with ease.
There was a story: once, when soldiers needed to chop down trees to cross the Heng River, the late emperor complained they were too slow and asked Empress Zhang for that sword. She refused, clutching it tightly and saying, “This was a gift from Erlang. It is no mere wood-cutting tool. If I ever draw this sword, it will be to strike someone who deserves it.”
Outside, the cold wind howled through the palace walls as Empress Zhang left the side hall of Qingyuan Palace in her sedan.
Palace maids lit her path with red lanterns, while the senior Lady-in-Waiting Sun and other officials followed behind, draped in mink-lined cloaks. They moved with dignified grace, the power of the imperial household on full display as they passed through the grand palace gates. The Dowager didn’t even glance back toward the inner palace. Instead, she turned her head sharply away in disgust.
Lady Sun said softly, “Eunuch Qin reports that His Majesty has fallen asleep.”
The Dowager said nothing.
The moon above was especially large and round that night. For once, the skies had cleared. Leaning slightly in her sedan, the Dowager murmured, “Fu Ye is a clever and thoughtful child… Heaven must still favor the Mingzong bloodline. It won’t be lost yet.”
Lady Sun caught the deeper meaning in her words. She replied cautiously, “His Highness has lived abroad for many years… He knows little of palace affairs.”
The Dowager didn’t answer. But her expression clearly said she wasn’t concerned.
Even if there was going to be a change on the throne, it was still far off. But Fu Ye had a clever face—he was worth grooming.
The next morning, the Dowager summoned her brother, Grand Academician Zhang Hui, into the palace.
Fu Ye, meanwhile, assumed that Fu Huang would call for him again—but days passed, and he didn’t hear a word.
Xiao Ai had also been busy lately, saying Fu Ye’s case wasn’t urgent—he had to go deal with some hosts who were on the verge of execution.
So Fu Ye made use of the time by asking the Imperial Medical Institute for a stack of medical texts.
When Eunuch Qin Eunuch found out, he rushed to report it to the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, the Sixth Prince asked the Imperial Physicians for more medical books again today.”
“Your Majesty, he was reading them all the way until the third watch last night.”
“Your Majesty, he’s working himself to the bone for you—he hasn’t even recovered himself yet.”
Fu Huang said nothing.
Most of the time, Fu Huang liked peace and quiet.
He preferred the people around him to be quiet, too. He wasn’t much of a talker himself.
But lately, dark clouds seemed permanently settled over Qingyuan Palace. The Emperor’s headaches were getting worse—so severe at times that it felt like his skull might crack open. He could barely see straight. And with the year-end approaching, affairs of state were piling up fast. Even though he had built up a secretariat of trusted eunuchs to help, there were just too many things to worry about.
Just across the border, in Dayong, a string of winter disasters had sparked a series of riots. The biggest threat came from a group called the Red Lotus Society. In just a month, they’d seized control of four provinces. A hybrid Buddhist-Taoist sect, the Red Lotus had quietly gained followers within Great Zhou as well—and that made them dangerous.
Lately, a prophetic saying had been circulating. No one could say for sure if the Red Lotus was behind it, but it had all the signs of political sabotage.
Fu Huang didn’t care much for prophecy. What annoyed him was people daring to stir up trouble under his nose.
“What kind of prophecy?” Fu Ye asked.
Xiao Ai replied, “They say every dynasty that built its capital in Jiantai has fallen to the same curse: He who spills the blood of kin will die heirless, and his line will end.”
Apparently, for several dynasties that had chosen Jiantai as their capital, the last emperor had always committed some form of familial bloodshed. And every one of them died without an heir and lost the throne.
And as it happened, Fu Huang’s own rise to power had long been rumored to involve patricide and fratricide.
Ancient folks loved their doomsday prophecies. And this kind of talk was more dangerous than any rebellion. If the people believed you were cursed, they’d never support you.
Worse still, Fu Huang didn’t even have a designated heir. No wives, no consorts, no children.
Honestly, he didn’t even seem like the kind of guy who’d have a harem.
Who would dare join his harem anyway? Who knew what kind of madness he might unleash?
Even Fu Ye admitted—I’d be terrified, too!
Lately, Fu Ye had been poking around, trying to learn more about the imperial bloodline.
Besides Fu Huang and himself—the fake—there was no one left from the Mingzong line. There were some distant relatives, sure, but Fu Huang didn’t seem interested in appointing any of them as heir.
That, combined with his widely known chronic illness and the lack of a successor, was a real risk. Because if Fu Huang suddenly dropped dead, Great Zhou would spiral into chaos.
Of course, it wasn’t time to worry about that yet.
Because according to how the story went, the real trouble would come before any heir showed up—when Dayong launched its invasion.
That was the moment dynasties changed.
Xiao Ai asked, “You want to help him change his fate?”
Fu Ye said, “I don’t even know how long I can survive next to him.”
His favorability with Fu Huang wasn’t high enough to guarantee his safety. Based on how the emperor had talked to him last time, it was clear he saw Fu Ye as a political threat. And now, days had passed with no summons—it was obvious Fu Huang didn’t trust him.
On the fourth day, Fu Huang’s headaches returned with a vengeance.
Fu Ye was woken up in the middle of the night by frantic knocking at the door. The night watchman, Qingxi, went to answer it. Fu Ye sat up in bed just in time to see Eunuch Qin enter.
“His Majesty’s headaches have returned,” Eunuch Qin said urgently. “He asks for Your Highness at once.”
Fu Ye didn’t hesitate. He jumped out of bed as Qingxi handed him his outer robe. “Bring my medicine kit.”
He had assembled the kit over the past few days from the Imperial Medical Institute—herbs, tools, everything prepared.
While Qingxi fetched it, Fu Ye ran after Eunuch Qin, out the small side door and across the palace courtyard. A crowd of inner court eunuchs stood outside the hall. Doctor Hu and others were kneeling under the eaves.
Inside was dead silent.
Fu Ye figured the pain must not be too bad yet—until he stepped into the innermost room.
He stopped cold.
It was the first time he had seen Fu Huang during an episode. The Emperor was lying on the bed, veins bulging, clutching his head as his body spasmed violently. He didn’t make a sound—but the sight alone was terrifying. All of Fu Ye’s fear vanished in an instant. He rushed forward and climbed onto the bed.
Qingxi arrived, panting, with the medicine kit. Fu Ye barked orders: “Eunuch Qin, hold him down. Qingxi, the needles!”
But the moment the words left his mouth, Fu Huang suddenly flipped him over and slammed him into the bed. A hand like iron wrapped around his neck.
“Your Majesty!” cried Eunuch Qin. “Erlang!”
Fu Huang’s grip loosened. Fu Ye rolled away, gasping, and said firmly, “It’s me, Fu Ye—your brother.”
His neck was red and raw, but his expression held no fear. “I’m going to needle you. Don’t move.”
Fu Huang stared at him with bloodshot eyes, brow twitching, face unreadable.
Fu Ye reached for a needle—but his wrist was suddenly grabbed. Not by the Emperor, but by Eunuch Qin.
Fu Ye met his eyes. His own gaze was resolute.
Fu Huang spasmed again. Eunuch Qin finally released his grip and helped pin the Emperor down.
Fu Ye’s hands were trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, then began the acupuncture.
The whole time, Fu Huang never looked away.
His voice was hoarse and dark as he said, “This would be the perfect moment to kill me.”
Fu Ye said coldly, “I know how to save lives—not take them.”
He ignored the emperor’s ominous words and continued with the acupuncture. It had been a long time since he’d last done this, so his technique was a little rusty—but a few pinpricks were probably nothing to someone like Fu Huang.
Beside him, Qingxi held the medicine kit tightly, his forehead beaded with sweat.
Fu Ye watched as Fu Huang’s rigid body slowly started to relax. Beyond the compassion of a physician, he felt a strange, inexplicable thrill rising in him. It started in the hand holding the needle, crept up his spine, and shot all the way to the crown of his head.
He knew that from tonight on, he wouldn’t have to worry about his own life—at least for a good while. He’d taken a huge step forward.
By the time he finished the procedure, his inner robe was completely soaked, clinging to his thin frame.
Fu Huang had gone completely still. The man’s breathing was so faint that, lying there, he almost looked dead.
He was tall—unnaturally tall. Even under that thin robe, there was a power to his frame that reminded Fu Ye of a dragon.
A dragon at rest. One that looked ready to tear the world apart when it woke.
Eunuch Qin personally brought over hot water and a towel. Fu Ye washed his hands first, then sipped a cup of ginseng tea. His neck throbbed where he’d been grabbed earlier. He rubbed at it, then, still fully clothed, leaned on the edge of the bed to rest for a moment.
After removing the needles, he asked about the emperor’s sleep habits.
Eunuch Qin answered without hesitation: “His Majesty doesn’t sleep more than an hour a day.”
No wonder.
Anyone would lose their mind on just two hours of sleep.
That constant lack of rest probably had something to do with the migraines. But the cause might not be purely physical—it could be psychological, too. In Fu Huang’s case, it was probably both. Even modern medicine might not be able to fix it.
Eunuch Qin brought over a censer they commonly used in the palace. The burner was carved in the shape of a suanni—a lion-like mythical beast—with blackened metal and a snarling face, bared teeth, and bulging eyes that gave it a terrifying appearance.
Fu Ye stared at it for a moment.
He really couldn’t relate to the emperor’s taste.
He lit the medicinal incense he’d prepared.
He could’ve gone back to sleep in the side hall, but instead chose to stay in the main palace. He didn’t climb into the bed—just lay down beside it. Eunuch Qin laid out a soft quilt for him on the floor, and Fu Ye wrapped himself in it and quickly fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, a tickle in his throat woke him, and he started coughing. That’s when he heard Fu Huang say, “So noisy.”
Fu Ye lifted his head. In the dim candlelight, he saw Fu Huang sitting up in bed, watching him. Who knows how long he’d been awake.
Fu Ye turned around, poured himself a cup of tea, and only after finishing it did he remember the emperor. “Would Your Majesty like some?”
Fu Huang said, “Go back to your own room and sleep.”
Fu Ye replied, “I can’t rest easy unless I stay here to keep watch over Your Majesty.”
Play the dutiful little brother—what’s the harm?
Fu Huang didn’t respond.
So Fu Ye just wrapped himself tighter in the quilt and lay back down. “Do you feel any better?” he asked.
Still no reply.
Before, Fu Ye would’ve been mentally rolling his eyes a thousand times over. But after witnessing one of Fu Huang’s episodes firsthand, he just thought the man was pitiful. Being cold and unsociable didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.
“I can’t promise to cure Your Majesty completely,” he added, “but I can at least help ease the pain like I did tonight.”
If it were anyone else, they probably would’ve asked where a royal of noble blood learned medicine after growing up in exile.
But Fu Huang didn’t ask.
Maybe he didn’t care.
Fu Ye knew that after tonight, even if all he could offer was the usefulness of a bottle of ibuprofen, he’d earned his place at Fu Huang’s side—for now. That thought gave him some peace. No longer afraid of losing his head at any moment, he drifted off again.
Fu Huang had never shared a bedchamber with anyone before. He hadn’t known someone could sleep so deeply and soundly—especially right in front of him.
Maybe Eunuch Qin was right. It was the royal blood. Fu Ye might’ve looked too delicate, too beautiful to seem like a true Fu clan heir, but that courage… that felt familiar. Like one of their own.
Thin wisps of smoke drifted from the suanni-shaped incense burner, curling like a dream. The brocade under his shoulders was a deep green silk embroidered with intricate, silver-threaded vines. Beautiful and rich, it shimmered like living jade under the candlelight.
Fu Huang’s gaze settled on Fu Ye’s face. His hair, half-unbound, spilled across the blanket. The ends had been cut clean—neat and even, splayed like the shape of a fan. His cheekbones were sharp, face soft and narrow like a porcelain doll. Only the dark bruises on his neck grounded him in reality—reminding Fu Huang that he was flesh and blood.
They had both been raised in Lady Zhaoyang’s palace, though they hadn’t often seen each other. Fu Ye was five years younger, a chubby little brat back then—spoiled and temperamental. Fu Huang had always just tolerated it. He hadn’t understood why their mother treated them so differently, but he never resented Fu Ye. He just figured his little brother was too young to know better.
He never expected that brat to grow up into someone so… different. So obedient. So dangerously beautiful.
And suddenly, Fu Huang’s head began to throb again.
Sleeping hunched over the edge of the bed wasn’t exactly comfortable, so Fu Ye woke up before dawn. He glanced over and saw that Fu Huang was still asleep.
…He kind of looked like a corpse.
“One night in, and look at you two—moving fast, huh.”
Fu Ye said, “You suddenly appear and disappear without a sound—are you trying to scare someone?”
Xiao Ai chuckled, “Hehe.”
Fu Ye tiptoed out from behind the curtain and saw Eunuch Qin leaning against a pillar, his eyes half-closed. Upon noticing Fu Ye, Eunuch Qin quickly stood up.
Eunuch Qin escorted him out of the palace. The sky was just beginning to brighten, the first light of dawn creeping in, but the world outside was a frozen wasteland of snow and ice.
“I’ve never seen Your Majesty sleep this long before,” Eunuch Qin remarked.
Fu Ye smiled faintly, as if the world itself had brightened with him. The light was beautiful, rich and warm, far more stunning than the faint dawn glow filtering through the palace roofs. He stretched lazily, then wrapped his robe tighter around him, his movements lazy but dignified, like a pampered young noble. “Eunuch Qin, you’ve worked hard tonight as well. I’ll return to my hall and get a bit more rest.”
With that, he strolled toward the side hall. Eunuch Qin watched him disappear into the small gate, but as he turned around, he saw Fu Huang standing by the door.
Fu Huang was still wearing only his thin robes and seemed unfazed by the cold.
“Your Majesty, you’re awake,” Eunuch Qin said, “The Sixth Prince just left.”
A young attendant came forward with a black dragon robe woven with gold thread. Eunuch Qin took it, draping it over Fu Huang’s shoulders. As the robe settled on him, Fu Huang felt the cold air rush into his lungs, sharp and clear. The sun rose above the palace, and in an instant, golden light bathed his form, making the golden dragon on the robe shimmer as if it had come to life.
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