In Fu Ye’s mind, ten thousand screaming chickens were running wild.
AAAAAAHHHHHHHH.
If Fu Huang opened that book in front of everyone, he might as well smash his head on the floor and die.
Eunuch Qin caught sight of the cover and froze for a second.
There was no helping it—that illustration was just too suggestive.
He immediately looked up at Fu Huang and saw the emperor toss The Tale of the Jade Hairpin onto the table as well.
Having served the emperor for many years, Eunuch Qin responded quickly. He stepped back and waved his hand, ordering everyone in the room to leave immediately.
Shuangfu followed suit, though he still had no idea what was going on. Just as he peeked in through the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse, Eunuch Qin walked out too.
That was shocking—Eunuch Qin, the man the emperor trusted most, was also stepping aside?
He immediately backed up and stood at attention with his head down, hands respectfully at his sides.
Just then, Qingxi arrived at the east wing with two other palace eunuchs. The hem of his crow-blue robe swayed like rippling waves, though his upper body stayed perfectly still.
Seeing the crowd gathered under the corridor, he paused, startled. He glanced at Shuangfu, who shook his head ever so slightly.
He had no clue what was going on either!
They all said the emperor’s moods were unpredictable. Today, he finally saw it for himself—and his heart was now lodged firmly in his throat.
He snuck a look at Eunuch Qin, only to find the elder eunuch’s lips twitching uncontrollably.
??
A breeze blew through the red-lacquered window, rustling the pages of The Tale of the Jade Hairpin still lying on the table. The paper fluttered noisily—whap-whap-whap—before stopping squarely on an illustrated page.
It depicted two men.
In an intimate embrace.
!!
Fu Huang had no idea things like this even existed.
He lowered his eyes for a better look—sure enough, it was two men. Their expressions were lewd, their bodies tangled together.
Fu Ye couldn’t take it anymore. He rushed forward, grabbed a memorial from the table, and slammed it down on the book, awkwardly calling out, “Imperial Brother…”
Fu Huang didn’t look angry, or even shocked. He simply fell silent, picking up the two remaining books on the table.
One copy of Discourse on Statecraft was covering a spring-themed erotic album titled Scenes of Melting Spring.
Fu Huang tossed both onto the heated table as well. After a long silence, he asked, “…Is this what you usually read?”
Fu Ye immediately shook his head. “I only found that yesterday in the archives. I’ve never read anything like it before!”
As he spoke, he hastily placed Discourse on Statecraft back on top, then dutifully picked up the memorials that had fallen off the table, carefully arranging them in place. Normally so glib, he was now blushing furiously—even his ears were red. He didn’t say another word, just gave Fu Huang a sheepish, ingratiating smile.
Fu Huang rubbed his fingertip thoughtfully, then—unbelievably—pulled Scenes of Melting Spring back out.
“Imperial Brother!”
Fu Ye lunged to press the book down.
The illustrations in this one weren’t anything like the little inserts from storybooks—those just showed people hugging, fully clothed at least. This? This was full-color art, no clothes, and some of the poses even he had been stunned by.
If someone like Fu Huang—a rigid, old-school straight man—saw them, it’d probably shatter his worldview on the spot!
“Be a good brother, don’t look at that,” Fu Ye said with a fawning grin, panicking and leaning in close.
Fu Huang’s expression turned cold.
Fu Ye had bright eyes, like polished garnets, his irises vivid and shimmering. He always looked a little too delicate, like a fragile porcelain shell barely containing a mischievous soul. Usually, that sparkle let people forget how frail he really was. But right now, with his face flushed from embarrassment and the dash over here, he looked very small and very vulnerable.
Looking at him like this—how could he not forgive him, even if the crime were far worse?
Fu Huang finally pulled his hand back. His lips pressed into a firm line, his face now frighteningly stern.
Fu Ye quickly gathered the erotic booklets and said hurriedly, “These are really only for people like me who… favor men. You’d better not read them, Imperial Brother—you’ll just have nightmares. They’re really not even drawn that well anyway…”
“You seem to have seen quite a few,” Fu Huang replied, eyes not even on him.
Fu Huang clearly didn’t believe a word of it and called for Eunuch Qin.
Eunuch Qin approached cautiously, head lowered, though Fu Ye could still see the corners of his mouth twitching.
His face turned even redder. Standing so close to Fu Huang, his legs were nearly touching the emperor’s boots.
“Your Majesty?” Eunuch Qin asked.
Fu Huang looked at Fu Ye and said, “Is there more?”
“There’s more in the archives. I don’t have any more here,” Fu Ye said quickly. “If you don’t believe me, you can search.”
Fu Huang, of course, would not stoop to a search himself. He merely ordered Eunuch Qin to take the materials away.
Without sorting them, Eunuch Qin gathered up all the books—respectable and indecent alike. With him present, Fu Huang seemed to regain some composure and simply said, “Don’t read this kind of trash anymore.”
When Fu Ye returned to the central hall, Eunuch Qin walked with him.
He was on his way to the archives to clean out more of that so-called “trash.”
All along the way, Eunuch Qin could barely hold in his laughter, while Fu Ye—face still crimson—fumed silently.
What was so wrong about reading some smut?!
He was twenty years old—couldn’t a grown man read a dirty book in peace?!
What happened to justice?!
The more he thought about it, the more he felt the real issue was that Fu Huang simply had no sex drive. He couldn’t possibly understand what it was like.
Fu Ye spent the whole walk contemplating how best to medically address that.
If he could get the emperor waking up every morning with a solid erection, maybe then he’d understand—a little porn was nothing!
Eunuch Qin eventually gathered all the “improper” books from the archive. There were so many volumes it took until evening. Prince Huan arrived after study to help with sorting and witnessed box after box of erotic albums and risqué storybooks being hauled out.
The sky was dark, heavy with clouds. Only the corridor lamps lit the way. Eunuch Qin led the procession with two red-robed personal eunuchs from Qingyuan Palace carrying the boxes into the western wing.
Inside, the emperor stood silently, hands clasped behind his back.
He clearly had no idea such obscene materials had been circulating within the palace. His expression was icy, deeply displeased.
Eunuch Qin stepped in to defend Fu Ye: “His Highness is still young and full of energy. Being cooped up in the palace, it’s only natural for him to be curious about these things.”
Fu Huang gave no reply, his gaze landing on the stack of erotic books.
The pile of painted booklets gleamed in colors of peacock green, cinnabar red, gold and silver powder layered thickly. One book stood out—it was the largest, most ornate, and impossible to ignore. On the cover, a pale, slender man sat astride a powerfully built figure, his robes falling away. The larger man’s hands gripped the youth’s narrow waist; his face was pressed to the other’s chest—unclear whether he was kissing or just breathing him in.
A vein bulged visibly on Fu Huang’s temple.
His Majesty didn’t even open the book. After a moment of silence, he simply instructed Eunuch Qin to take everything away.
Eunuch Qin had grown up in the palace and used to serve the concubines of the late Emperor Renzong. Back then, during the emperor’s private visits, he was often tasked with serving tea. He’d seen more than just illustrations—he’d witnessed real-life spring scenes. So none of this shocked him. But he knew His Majesty had no experience in such matters, had never kept a harem, and to find these kinds of things—especially in the possession of the refined and well-bred Prince Huan—must have come as a serious jolt.
That night, Prince Huan came back very late. He said nothing, just quietly went to bed. He was probably thoroughly embarrassed.
His Majesty didn’t go to the East Wing either and turned in early.
Eunuch Qin served tea four times and couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: His Majesty really ought to take on a consort.
It was just a stack of erotic pictures—yet it had him tossing and turning half the night.
The next morning, when the emperor awoke, he asked Eunuch Qin to fetch fresh towels, inner robes, and undergarments.
Unlike Fu Ye, Fu Huang had grown up with court attendants serving him and had no embarrassment over such matters. But as he dressed that day, he seemed deeply preoccupied.
Prince Huan had risen early that morning—he was already out by dawn.
The gates of Qingyuan Palace stood open, and the emperor, cloaked in a thick robe, stood under the eaves, silently watching as Fu Ye passed through the covered corridor outside. The skies above the palace were black and heavy, as if about to collapse over the entire imperial city.
Fu Ye felt awkward, thinking he should probably give it a day or two before seeing Fu Huang again. He’d never been exactly a rule-abiding little brother to begin with.
But when he came back from his studies, there was Fu Huang again—working inside his bedroom.
He greeted the emperor with a formal bow. Fu Huang ordered the servants to bring food.
Since His Majesty wasn’t making a fuss about what happened, Fu Ye gladly pretended nothing had happened either. He had just picked out a book from the archives—one he thought had extremely high literary merit and was very well written.
In fact, it was barely even fiction. It was a handwritten copy of the famous Palace Memoirs.
Palace Memoirs had been authored by Consort Fang—a noble lady from a foreign vassal state. The work was exotic, refined in diction, and spanned hundreds of thousands of words. A true epic. Fu Ye had read part of it and was even thinking of visiting Lihua Palace again to meet Consort Fang in person.
“This book is really well-written,” he said, a little awkwardly, handing it to Fu Huang.
His eagerness to present a literary classic so quickly after the incident practically screamed guilty conscience—it was too obvious.
But to his surprise, Fu Huang actually gave him a way out. Without a word, he took the book and began to read.
Outside, rose blossoms swayed in the breeze, their fragrance drifting through the palace halls, beautifully echoing the lush descriptions of life in the inner palace found in Palace Memoirs.
Fu Ye had expected the erotic books to stir up some sort of trouble—at the very least, a few days of lecturing from Fu Huang.
He never imagined the emperor would act like nothing had happened.
He kept stealing glances at Fu Huang’s expression. The emperor looked just as he always did—dry and severe, a stern young man clad in black robes, completely devoid of amusement or desire.
This calmness, this total lack of reaction, made Fu Ye even more uneasy.
The air in the room felt heavy. Outside, the wind had picked up, pushing through the half-open window. It stirred his ink-black hair, strands of it drifting over and brushing against the golden embroidery of the dragon tail on the emperor’s robe.
Fu Ye was beautiful.
More beautiful than any painting.
In the muffled wind, Fu Huang lifted his eyes slightly. He had phoenix-shaped eyes—sharp, elegant, almost dangerously handsome. His gaze drifted over Fu Ye’s pale, slender neck, his white hands, the wide dark robes that pooled over him. The boy lounged casually nearby.
The image called to mind the dream from the night before.
Fu Huang’s expression darkened.
His dry fingertips slowly stroked the pristine, gold-speckled page. His robe fluttered in the breeze. The man stood tall and motionless—monolithic and brooding.
In his dream, Fu Ye was straddling his waist, riding low where old knife scars crisscrossed his skin. His own body was pure and immaculate, exquisite in every detail, which only made Fu Huang’s scarred form—with its bluish veins and taut, corded muscles—stand out all the more. But Fu Ye didn’t seem to mind. He ground himself against the ridged muscles below Fu Huang’s navel without a hint of shame.
At his core, Fu Ye was never truly obedient. He was sharp-tongued and clever, and even in Fu Huang’s dream, he showed no restraint, unafraid of indulging in anything and everything.
In his dream, he was… very vocal.
And now, here they were, sitting face to face in this paradise-like hall.
Fu Ye’s looks and posture were enough to bewilder the senses. What had only been a hazy impression upon waking suddenly snapped into vivid focus.
Could he really move like that?
Could he really sound like that—
—calling him “good brother,” begging for mercy?
Fu Huang reached out and pushed the window fully open.
The wind swept in. Fu Ye immediately scrambled to cover the stack of manuscripts on the kang table.
Palace Memoirs was all handwritten—ten thousand characters to a volume, piled high. Fu Huang had already read through some of them, setting the finished volumes in one stack, the unread in another. The arrangement was a bit messy. Fu Ye leaned forward to keep the papers from scattering.
So pure. So completely unsuspecting. It was as if he truly believed Fu Huang had forgotten about yesterday. With excitement in his voice, he said, “It’s raining!”
A soft spring drizzle began to fall. Fu Ye, always one to appreciate beauty and indulge in comfort, immediately called out to Shuangfu, “Go set the glass lanterns outside.”
He wanted to watch the rain fall on the rose blossoms.
The spring rain was light, but the roses were in full bloom. Their petals, unable to bear the weight of the moisture, drooped under the steady drizzle, soaked and bowed, unable to lift themselves again.
Fu Huang told Eunuch Qin to fetch his cloak from his own palace.
Fu Ye asked, “Are you cold, Brother? I’ve got an extra cloak here.”
But Fu Huang insisted on having his own brought over—only to drape it over Fu Ye.
Since returning to the palace, Fu Ye hadn’t worn any of the emperor’s garments again.
He felt it wasn’t proper. Besides, he had plenty of his own clothes.
He looked at Fu Huang, puzzled as to why the emperor was doing this.
“I have my own clothes, Brother. You should wear yours—you’ll catch cold,” he said.
Fu Huang reclined lazily on the couch and didn’t answer him.
He didn’t explain himself—probably couldn’t even come up with a reason.
He just wanted to do it.
Rain or thunder, favor or punishment—they were all expressions of a ruler’s will. He merely wanted to see Fu Ye wrapped in his own cloak. It was the only way to ease the turmoil smoldering in his chest.
As for Palace Memoirs, he had no idea what it said. His mind was too heavy with darker, more pressing thoughts.
Fu Ye knelt beside the kang table, watching the rain. His feet were bare—white as snow, like they’d never once touched the road.
Even the dream version paled in comparison to the real thing.
Fu Huang reached out and covered those feet with the cloak, afraid they’d get cold.
And yet he himself, drowsy and weighted, leaned toward the damp night air outside—longing for this false image of brotherly harmony to last just a little longer.
