“Why are you being so polite with me, Royal Brother?” Fu Ye said as he climbed barefoot onto the couch.
He began massaging the emperor’s head. The emperor leaned into him, and their hair became tangled together.
Once he was done with the massage, Fu Ye began performing acupuncture on Fu Huang.
Fu Huang’s chronic headaches were difficult to cure—at best, Fu Ye could only help ease the pain.
Fu Ye looked worried.
Seeing his expression, Fu Huang said, “It’s already much better.”
Fu Ye nodded. “You should sleep early, Royal Brother.”
Then he went to light the medicinal incense.
Milky white smoke unfurled slowly from the mouth of a bronze suanni, spreading gently through the room. Fu Huang lay on the couch, watching as Fu Ye approached again to adjust the corner of his quilt.
With his hair down and only dressed in his inner robe, Fu Ye appeared intimately close, as if he intended to share the bed with him.
But once everything was done, Fu Ye didn’t leave. He simply said, “Don’t mind me, Royal Brother. I’ll go in a bit.”
Qin Neijian laid a thick quilt on the floor by the bed. Fu Ye sat down beside him, quietly keeping him company.
Fu Huang stared blankly for a while before saying, “Get up here.”
Fu Ye replied, “It’s fine. I’ll just stay here.”
Fu Huang said nothing.
He knew all too well how stubborn the emperor could be—controlling and insistent.
So Fu Ye relented and climbed up.
The imperial couch was large enough for two, more than enough, really.
But Fu Ye didn’t lie down—he sat quietly at Fu Huang’s side. Fu Huang didn’t force him, either. He just lifted the quilt and covered Fu Ye’s feet.
Then Fu Ye told Qin Neijian to blow out the nearby lamps, and the sleeping chamber dimmed into silence.
It wasn’t the first time Fu Ye had kept vigil here. The palace attendants were used to it by now, and someone even brought him one of Fu Huang’s robes, which he casually draped over himself.
No more sound stirred in the still hall.
Fu Huang’s breathing was shallow—when he slept, he looked almost like a corpse.
At first, Fu Ye had trouble adjusting to it. He would constantly lean in to check if the emperor was still breathing. But Fu Huang was sharp; the moment Fu Ye got close, he would open his eyes and stare back at him, leaving them both awkwardly blinking at each other.
Eventually, Fu Ye got used to it. Now he just sat with his cheek resting on his knees, staring into space. His hair had grown quite long, spilling in dark waves over the dragon robe he wore.
Like a favored consort dressed in the emperor’s robes—radiant with a quiet, commanding beauty.
Fu Huang genuinely thought he looked stunning in it.
Then, suddenly, the emperor spoke.
“I heard that son of Prime Minister Xie once came to you about the Shan Yuan Temple case?”
Fu Ye answered without hesitation, calm and straightforward. “He did. He didn’t dare speak to you directly, so he came to me instead. I thought he was loyal to you, and what he said made sense, so I tried putting in a word. I didn’t mention his name because I didn’t want you to overthink it.”
Fu Huang felt thoroughly appeased.
Fu Ye hadn’t tried to hide anything. He answered openly, just as he liked.
Still, he said, “Overthink what? That you helped him because he’s got a decent face?”
Fu Ye paused in the darkness, then replied, “Well, either way, my reputation for being a lecher is stuck now, isn’t it?”
Fu Huang replied, “You’re not a lecher?”
He honestly hadn’t met anyone more driven by desire than Fu Ye.
That kind of desire—not just for women—was something else.
Fu Ye said, “Lecherous? Fine. Then give me back my Spring Palace books.”
Fu Huang fell silent.
Fu Ye replied calmly, “Desire for food and pleasure is human nature. In this whole world, only you, Royal Brother, seem above such things.”
Then he asked with a hint of curiosity, “Do you really not like it?”
Fu Huang: “…”
“You’ve never had such thoughts at all?” Seeing his brother remain silent, Fu Ye added quickly, “…I overstepped. With all the matters of state and your health, of course you—”
Fu Huang’s headache stirred again. “I have, alright?!”
They both fell silent.
Fu Ye felt his cheeks heat up. Since they were already talking this candidly, he figured he might as well go a little further.
So, in a soft, almost coaxing tone, he murmured, “Royal Brother could try it sometime. It feels… very good.”
As expected, that was where his mind went. Honestly…
Truly insatiable.
If Fu Huang hadn’t been the one constantly restraining him, who knew whose bed Fu Ye would’ve ended up in by now?
An uncontrollable urge rose in him. He reached under the blanket—and grabbed Fu Ye’s foot.
Fu Ye let out a pained cry and fell back onto the couch. “Ow!”
Fu Huang had spent years in the military, his hands stained with blood. Mercy was not his strong suit.
Fu Ye, after all, was a delicate young man. Who knew what damage that fragile ankle might’ve taken under his grip? For a moment, all the blood in his body felt as though it surged out of rhythm.
He held that slender ankle in his hand, his voice low and rough: “Don’t move.”
Fu Ye quickly yielded, “I was wrong, Royal Brother—please forgive me.”
Fu Huang: “…Don’t talk.”
Fu Ye obeyed, biting back any further words. All he could feel was Fu Huang’s fingers grinding firmly over his ankle bone.
It hurt—sharp, biting pain—and yet it was as if an electric current shot from that ankle straight up his leg. He jerked instinctively, and Fu Huang let go.
The robe Fu Ye had draped over his shoulders slipped off and tangled with the quilt.
Fu Huang lay silently beside him on the couch, saying nothing more.
Fu Ye felt awkward, terribly awkward. Am I a masochist? he wondered. The emperor just crushed my foot, and I… felt something?
He shut his mouth for good.
He was only twenty, and even if he was frail, he was still young and full of fire. But Fu Huang was a harsh and disciplined man—surely he didn’t appreciate this kind of teasing.
And just as he thought that, he heard Fu Huang mutter:
“This kind of thing… I don’t need you to teach me.”
Fu Ye: “Yes, of course. I was showing off before the master craftsman.”
Fu Huang: “…”
Forget it.
Right now, he was just agitated all over.
He only wanted to grab Fu Ye and knead him out of shape.
He was deeply aware how dangerous that impulse was. If someone truly cherished another, they would hold them gently, treat them with care—how come he, on the other hand, had such violent, near sadistic urges?
He feared that if Fu Ye ever did share his bed, he might not survive the night.
The chamber was silent. Fu Ye quietly scooted further away.
The incense he had lit was meant to aid sleep. It had a calming, sedative effect. Fu Ye, unlike Fu Huang, had no trouble eating or sleeping. He had clearly gained a little weight lately. Under the influence of the incense, before Fu Huang even felt drowsy, Fu Ye was already dozing off.
By the time he woke the next day, he was shocked to find himself lying on the dragon bed.
He startled awake, bolting upright. The blanket slipped off him, and the dark outer cloak he’d thrown over himself the night before also fell to the floor.
Fu Huang was no longer in the hall.
Eunuch Qin waved a hand, and Shuangfu, Qingxi, and the others quietly filed in.
“Your Highness really slept well.”
“What time is it?”
Shuangfu replied, “Your Highness, it’s already chen hour!” (around 7–9 a.m.)
Fu Ye immediately climbed off the dragon bed. Eunuch Qin added, “His Majesty said not to wake you, and that you may go to class a little later today.”
But Scholar Zhang and Zhang Jianwen were surely already there. How could he shamelessly keep his tutors and study companions waiting?
Fu Ye left the bedchamber and saw Fu Huang in the west annex hall reviewing state affairs.
He ran over and asked at the door, “Royal Brother, are you feeling better?”
Fu Huang nodded and said, “I’ll come to the archery pavilion this afternoon to see if you’ve improved.”
Fu Ye called back as he walked away, “Don’t bother, I haven’t!”
The clerks of the Secretariat exchanged glances—finally, a bit of life in the palace.
The emperor watched the prince walk away, looking unhurried and at ease. But when he noticed the others in the hall staring at him, his smile faded back into a stern expression.
Everyone quickly bowed their heads and resumed their work.
Yet the emperor turned and left the west annex hall.
And returned to the bedchamber to sleep.
Last night, after he had laid Fu Ye down, he got back up.
He hadn’t actually shared the bed with him.
He lit a lamp and closely examined Fu Ye’s ankle—and sure enough, it was red and bruised.
So delicate. And he had only used a fraction of his strength.
If he’d been any rougher, would Fu Ye really have been able to take it?
It was only because his feelings were sincere. In his life, he had everything—except this kind of true affection. Flesh and lust, by contrast, were insignificant.
As long as Fu Ye stayed beside him like this, he could be his imperial brother for the rest of his life.
But just as Eunuch Qin had warned—Fu Ye was still young, in the prime of his youth. And he didn’t seem like the abstinent, ascetic type.
If someone like Li Cong got too close, Fu Ye might not be able to resist temptation.
Apparently, even plain-looking men couldn’t be trusted.
After all—you can know a man’s face, but not his heart.
Fu Ye was stunning—men across the empire flocking to him was no surprise at all.
That afternoon, he still went to the Empress Dowager’s palace for lunch. During the meal, the Empress Dowager told him that the fifteenth day of the third lunar month was the founding day of the Great Zhou. Each year on this day, the Fu clan would host a spring Dharma assembly at Chonghua Temple, inviting eminent monks to chant sutras and pray for the nation’s fortune. This year, feeling her health was failing, the Empress Dowager had decided to send Fu Ye in her stead—and also put him in charge of organizing the fundraising effort for Chonghua Temple’s reconstruction.
In the past, Fu Ye had only ever tagged along for fun or stood in for the emperor at ancestral rites. This was his first time handling real responsibilities.
But the Empress Dowager was kind and thoughtful; she arranged everything carefully. After lunch, she had a court ritual official walk him through the process. Fu Ye had attended ancestral ceremonies before, and compared to those, a spring Dharma assembly was nothing major. Since the great fire had reduced Chonghua Temple to ruins and some embers were still smoldering, this year’s ceremony had been relocated to Fuhua Temple.
Fuhua Temple wasn’t quite as revered as Chonghua, but it was located on the northern slopes of Mount Yongchang. Nearby was the famed “Goddess Lake,” a geothermal lake said to be the bathing place of a fairy, hence the name. There was an island on the lake, and on that island lay a Buddhist forest, built by the founding emperor in imitation of Luanzhou’s sacred groves. Shrouded in white mist, the island was filled with towering Buddha statues, some several zhang tall, and many eminent monks practiced there in seclusion.
It sounded like a tourist paradise—absolutely worth a visit.
If only he had more freedom, he would’ve traveled the empire by now. The thought of getting to leave the palace delighted him to no end.
He was just basking in that excitement when a few court ladies suddenly rushed in, whispering urgently into Palace Matron Sun’s ear. Matron Sun’s expression turned grave.
The Empress Dowager immediately asked, “What is it?”
Matron Sun replied, “His Majesty has mobilized the palace guards.”
The Empress Dowager was visibly startled. Matron Sun reacted swiftly—armed palace women from Cien Palace quickly filed out and stood guard at the main hall’s entrance.
The atmosphere in Cien Palace changed in an instant—tense and watchful.
Fu Ye couldn’t help once again marveling at the strained relationship between this plastic mother-and-son pair.
He volunteered, “Let me go check things out.”
“No!” the Empress Dowager stopped him firmly and instead sent other attendants to investigate.
