Jinbu ornaments were all about harmony and design. His was crafted by the finest artisans in the palace, who spent months perfecting it. It was, without exaggeration, a masterpiece.
Now, with a heavy black jade token tied to it—entirely out of place in both color and weight—the whole ensemble was ruined.
And worse, it was very noticeable. Everyone could see it.
He thought about taking it off right then and there. But he was afraid Fu Huang might take it the wrong way.
Because something told him that’s exactly what Fu Huang wanted—for it to be that noticeable, for everyone to see.
Whether it was the jade pendant or the clothes he gave him.
Xiao Ai tried to explain it: “Think about it. He’s basically someone with no family, utterly alone. Now that he sees you as his real brother, of course he wants everyone to know you’re one and the same. In his mind, it’s a way to bind the two of you together, permanently.”
Fu Ye thought that actually made a lot of sense. It also made Fu Huang seem kind of… pitiful.
And a pitiful emperor—that was a dangerous thing.
So he wore that imperial black jade token everywhere. That afternoon, he even put on one of the emperor’s robes and went out of his way to show up in front of him, just to strut around a bit.
Hoping it might make Fu Huang feel better.
Fu Huang’s face was as impassive as ever, buried in state affairs—but Fu Ye thought he saw it. Or hoped he did.
And if Xiao Ai’s analysis was right, then Fu Huang probably liked what he saw.
That thought alone made Fu Ye content. Only then did he go off to Ziyang Palace to attend to the Empress Dowager.
Fu Ye knew medicine, and he stayed by her side with the imperial physicians. The Empress Dowager’s health had been unstable, and she often woke from her stupor to find him in one of Fu Huang’s robes, serving her medicine.
At first, it startled her.
The second time, she seemed to calm a bit.
By the third time, as she watched Fu Ye tending to her with such quiet devotion, it brought back memories—of the days when Fu Huang, too, had once been a loving son.
She even began dreaming of him again.
One day, dazed and half-asleep, she relived the nightmare she’d had so often: blood-drenched Fu Huang dragging the Fifth Prince out from behind her skirts, a sword in hand, the stench of blood thick in the air. She trembled, reaching out to him—just like the time she’d once begged the former emperor not to execute Fu Huang—and pleaded: “Don’t kill again. Erlang, don’t…”
Before she could finish, hot blood sprayed across her face. A head rolled to a stop at the hem of her gown.
She shoved the blood-soaked table in front of her aside and staggered to her feet. Blood trickled into her eyes, turning the world into a red inferno. She saw Consort Li and others cradling their children’s corpses, weeping, as Fu Huang’s soldiers surrounded Qingtai Hall like a tide of demons from hell.
That old fear washed over her again—the terror of kin killing kin, the horror of war and death.
Suddenly, she heard a soft voice: “Mother, are you feeling any better?”
She grasped the hand beside her and cried, “Erlang…”
The person flinched.
That’s when she snapped back to reality—and realized, once again, she’d mistaken Fu Ye for Fu Huang.
Fu Ye, in the dragon-embroidered cloak gifted by Fu Huang, gently held her hand.
She had been ill for too long. Her body was frail, her strength fading. Tears suddenly welled up. Her graying hair spilled across the pillow as she turned her face away. Her tears soaked the intricate embroidery beneath her head—hundreds of sons, thousands of descendants, woven in gold thread.
Fu Ye didn’t ask, didn’t speak. He simply sat there.
That heavy silence was only broken when the Da Furen arrived. Fu Ye rose and greeted her. The old matron sat carefully beside the Empress Dowager’s bed and asked, “Is Her Majesty feeling any better?”
The Empress Dowager rested her head in the woman’s lap, silent, tears falling without end. The old woman stroked her white hair and gently said to Fu Ye and the others, “Please give us a moment.”
Fu Ye bowed and turned to leave. Outside the curtains stood several tai fei, unmoving amid the curls of blue incense drifting from a gilt boshan censer. They stood there in utter stillness, like a row of faded clay figurines.
When Fu Ye left Ziyang Palace, he felt a chill seep through his whole body.
He figured he must have grown emotionally attached after spending so much time with these people. That must be why he could now feel the heaviness that weighed down this imperial household—a kind of sorrow and complexity that was far more suffocating than when Xiao Ai or Qin Neijian simply told him about it.
It was pressing down on him now. Crushing.
Chief Steward Sun, perhaps sensing his discomfort, tried to break the silence. “Your Highness… you look quite a bit like His Majesty used to.”
Fu Ye offered a faint smile. “Do I?”
She nodded, her posture straight, her eyes gazing far away—as if recalling the Fu Huang from long ago.
Fu Ye said quietly, “Shame I never got to see it for myself.”
Sun Gongzheng replied, “The year His Majesty was named Crown Prince, he performed an archery ritual at the palace banquet. The noble ladies of the capital were peeking from behind the curtains, crowding so much they dropped their fans. I remember back then, the capital had something like a ‘most handsome men’ list. His Majesty was ranked number one.”
Fu Ye pictured it in his mind: the daughters of noble families peeking out eagerly, fans slipping from their hands. It made him wistful.
He really wished he could’ve seen Fu Huang back then.
Xiao Ai suddenly asked, “You really want to see him?”
Fu Ye blinked. “Can I?”
Xiao Ai said, “The main system just rolled out a new feature. It can merge the memories of all the characters in the novel’s world to recreate historical moments. I can try applying for you to test it out. But it might take a while—too many users are queuing up.”
Fu Ye was thrilled. He urged Xiao Ai to apply right away, so much so that when he saw Fu Huang that evening, he was still visibly excited.
Fu Huang had been staying at the temporary palace for several days now. But working from there was far from ideal—too many tai fei, too much coming and going among officials. It was inefficient and chaotic. So Fu Huang had decided to return to the main palace.
Still, he left behind a full unit of golden-armored guards to secure the compound, even stationed hundreds more soldiers just outside to keep watch. And even then, he wasn’t at ease. He gave Fu Ye a long list of instructions and reminders before leaving.
Seeing Fu Ye stealing glances at him over and over again that night, Fu Huang finally asked, “What is it?”
So Fu Ye told him what had happened earlier—how the Empress Dowager had mistaken him for Fu Huang.
Fu Huang said nothing at first.
Then Fu Ye added, “Sun Gongzheng said I look like you. I told her, no way. How could you possibly be better-looking than me?”
Fu Huang’s mouth twitched. He flicked the edge of his memorial scroll at Fu Ye’s head.
Fu Ye just laughed and continued helping organize the scrolls on the desk.
In truth, when he’d peeked over at Fu Huang earlier, he had been struck by how good-looking the man was. Those sharp, cool eyes slightly upturned at the corners—the natural elegance of phoenix eyes. That lean face and those tight lips, always slightly pressed down—it gave him a fierce, almost wild edge, the kind of intensity only a ruler could pull off.
Fu Ye was quick with words, always full of flattery, but now that there was actually something worth praising, he found himself oddly speechless. He just smiled softly, eyes lowered.
Fu Huang looked up and caught that smile.
In the warm candlelight, Fu Ye’s smile was radiant—almost too bright for a man. It hit harder than cannon fire on a battlefield.
Thankfully, the imperial physician arrived just then to check on Eunuch Qin, and Fu Ye slipped out to the adjoining room.
Eunuch Qin had twisted his ankle recently and had been on bed rest for a while. Truth be told, the injury was almost healed, but Fu Huang had strictly forbidden him from moving around.
Fu Ye crouched down to check the ankle himself, and Eunuch Qin was visibly moved. Still, he didn’t forget to stir the pot a bit between the two brothers. He asked, “And how’s His Majesty’s injury? Has he been applying the medicine?”
Fu Ye blinked. “My brother is injured?”
So he hadn’t known.
Of course he hadn’t. Fu Huang would never say a word about it. Wailing dramatically—that was more Fu Ye’s style.
Eunuch Qin sighed at how different the two of them were, practically opposites despite being brothers. Still, he decided to play it up for sympathy:
“Back when the fire broke out at Chonghua Temple, His Majesty saw it from the palace. When he heard you were inside, he was frantic. He ordered the saddle taken off and rode bareback all the way there, just to get there faster. The mountain roads were brutal, and by the time he dismounted, the horse’s back was covered in blood—his blood.”
!!
He had no idea about any of that!
Eunuch Qin added, “His Majesty’s always been good at enduring pain. He probably doesn’t even see this kind of minor injury as anything worth mentioning. Besides, he’s been wounded so many times already.”
Fu Ye, soft-hearted as ever, was deeply moved when he heard that. When he stepped outside, he saw Fu Huang putting on his heavy cloak, clearly preparing to head out on patrol.
Fu Huang had already fortified the entire palace grounds like a steel fortress, and still—still—he wasn’t satisfied. He insisted on inspecting things himself.
“Brother!” Fu Ye called out.
Fu Huang turned back under the dark sky. “I’m going to check the perimeter. No need to wait up for me.”
“Your leg—is it hurt?”
Fu Huang waved it off. “It’s fine. Healed already.”
And with that, he descended the jade steps with Li Dun and the others.
Looking at Fu Ye dressed in his robes, Fu Huang couldn’t see the resemblance others talked about. Fu Ye had a dazzling, ethereal beauty. He himself… maybe one-tenth of that, at best.
The palace grounds were vast—it took over an hour to walk a full circuit. Aside from the four main gates, many areas were dimly lit, with the forests beyond silent and still. Only the wind stirred. Fu Huang’s inspection was thorough, the crunch of dry twigs underfoot, the chill breeze brushing cold against his face and neck.
When he reached the southern gate, he saw rows of brightly lit tents.
Over the past few days, because ministers had been summoned frequently to the temporary palace—and it was quite far from the capital—many of the elder statesmen, like Chancellor Xie, had set up camp outside to avoid the exhausting travel. The Golden Armor Guards’ barracks were also nearby. At this late hour, the world was still, save for the wind. As Fu Huang passed the main tent, he suddenly overheard voices—guards off-duty, chatting quietly.
One said, “Liu Jiahui was bragging again today—claimed His Highness Prince Huan was especially friendly with him. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Guy’s dreaming in broad daylight. Keeps saying the prince likes men, so he’s always trying to get close.”
“As if he can tell. Honestly, I think he’s the one who’s got a crush.”
“Well, can you blame him? Prince Huan is gorgeous. Plus, he’s royalty. If you could get in his good graces, your rise would be meteoric.”
“Say no more—just look at Xie Liangbi. That kid’s usually got his nose in the air, but these past couple days he’s been using the patrols as an excuse to cozy up to the prince.”
“And Xiao Yichen? He’s been trying to pull strings to get transferred to the Black Armor Guards—says he wants to be Prince Huan’s personal escort.”
“Oh, and Wei Simei—such a refined, handsome guy. I heard from Old Chen that he saw Prince Huan just once from a distance on Heavenly Street, and went home so lovesick he couldn’t eat. Took everything his dad had to pull strings and get him into the Golden Guards. Every time he sees the prince now, he just stares like a deer in headlights. Doesn’t even dare approach. Makes me want to go introduce them myself!”
“He’s got a shot! Guy looks like that, and we all know the prince has a thing for beauty!”
Li Dun and the others were standing silently behind Fu Huang, who hadn’t said a word, but the air around him had gone ice cold. No one knew what he was thinking.
The emperor moved on without a word, gliding like a shadow through the night back toward the palace gates.
The gates were ablaze with light. The commander of the Golden Guards stood ready, waiting for him.
Fu Huang paused for a moment, then said, “Gather the Golden Armor Guards.”
The Golden Guards weren’t much for actual combat; their role was mostly symbolic—a display of imperial authority. Occasionally, they assisted with palace patrols. Fu Huang scanned the group and pointed out several individuals.
At first, no one could figure out why the emperor was singling them out. But by the time the fourth or fifth name was called, a pattern had become painfully obvious:
Every one of them was good-looking.
The emperor was known for his stern demeanor, so no one dared say a word. They stood silently in the cold, until he spoke again, addressing the commander:
“Replace them.”
Even the commander seemed baffled—why remove these particular men?
The Golden Armor Guards usually handled assignments just outside the royal palace and traveled with the royal family. They were carefully selected for height and appearance—meant to enhance the grandeur of imperial processions. Could it be that His Majesty simply didn’t think the temporary palace needed so much… eye candy?
Because one thing was certain—His Majesty was definitely not interested in men.
Back in the day, when the emperor had long gone without a harem, there were a few who’d tried to curry favor, hoping to become favored companions.
Every last one of them met a terrible end.
It was common knowledge: His Majesty found the very idea of male companionship utterly revolting.
That’s why it was even stranger that among those he singled out tonight, not all were beauties. Two of them, in fact, were quite average-looking—and earlier at dinner, they’d been bragging about chatting it up in front of the Ziyang Palace with the empress dowager’s maids and even Prince Huan himself.
No one could figure out what criteria the emperor had used.
But with the air around him so icy, no one dared to ask.
Once the emperor was gone, one of the bolder guards—Xie Liangbi—mustered his courage and whispered to the commander, “Sir, I’d like to stay at the temporary palace.”
The commander gave him a look. “…Then you can tell His Majesty yourself.”
Xie Liangbi fell silent.
Fu Huang was gone for more than an hour. When he returned, he found Fu Ye already asleep. He waved his attendants away and stood quietly by the bedside, gazing at Fu Ye’s face.
He really was beautiful.
Not the kind of beauty you could hide or downplay—he radiated it. Lush, inky hair; luminous skin; a vibrant, almost untamed grace.
The weather had warmed, and the Zhengyang Palace was quite cozy now. Fu Ye, ever a restless sleeper, had kicked off most of the covers—one foot was left peeking out.
Fu Huang gently tucked the foot back under the blanket. But after doing so, he didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, his fingers lingered, lightly stroking Fu Ye’s slender ankle.
Fu Ye was delicate—slender without being gaunt. His bones were finer, his skin smoother, almost glowing. Touching him was like brushing against polished jade.
After a moment, Fu Huang lifted the blanket again, quietly examining that foot in the dim light, head bowed, expressionless, fingertips running slowly along each toe.
Outside the curtain, a junior attendant—assigned to night watch because Eunuch Qin was still recovering—caught a glimpse of the scene through the gauze and dared not even breathe.
When the emperor finally emerged, the servant’s head dropped so low it nearly hit the floor.
The truth was, the emperor had never stayed at the temporary palace before. Zhengyang Palace didn’t even have a dedicated staff. All these attendants had only been assigned here recently.
They’d heard all the rumors about His Majesty, but seeing him in person… he didn’t seem so fearsome. Just thin, solemn, not one for idle talk.
But right now, under the weight of the night, the emperor’s cold stare nearly made the young eunuch’s knees give out.
For the first time, the legendary, ruthless emperor—the one said to bathe in blood and rule with terror—had taken on a face.
The emperor walked away at a leisurely pace… and didn’t return for the rest of the night.
The young attendant let out a quiet breath of relief. Through the veil, he saw Prince Huan turn over in bed, the light robe draped over his body outlining his graceful curves—slim, long, and softly defined.
Eunuch Qin had no idea why the emperor had shown up in the middle of the night.
He had his own bedchamber—yet he’d come here.
And not even to sleep, exactly. He’d just… lain there, motionless, lost in his thoughts for half the night.
And then, he’d noticed something strange—the emperor’s robes had shifted ever so slightly around his lower half, revealing a subtle rise.
That… surprised him.
It seemed His Majesty’s health was finally improving.
