Eunuch Qin went back to sleep for a while. When he woke up again, he saw several young eunuchs crouched behind the screen, rustling about as if hiding something.
He threw on his robe and got up. “You brats aren’t attending His Majesty—what are you all doing, sneaking around here?”
The young eunuchs jumped, startled, and revealed a small ebony box carved with intertwined branches. Inside the box was a green orchid.
They hastily explained, “Your Excellency, His Majesty ordered us to find this green orchid and hide it here. He wants to surprise the Prince.”
The orchid was indeed a fine one, its buds about to bloom, though one of its branches was half-missing. It must have been the very one the Emperor had seen earlier.
The flower was small, all green, and would have been hard to spot in the dense forest.
“You boys really went to some trouble to find this,” Qin said.
One of them replied, “His Majesty left markings. We followed the direction he described and found it right away. There were actually several larger green orchids in that spot, and we brought those back too. But His Majesty insisted—only this one would do.”
Qin thought to himself, This was the one His Majesty picked for His Highness the Prince. That makes it special to him. No matter how fine the others are, they can’t replace this one.
His Majesty has grown more obsessive and single-minded over the years, his nature changed. It’s unlikely he’ll ever go back to the way he was.
If he’s so fixated on a single flower tied to the Prince, what of the Prince himself?
Even with a thousand other beauties, none could ever take his place.
But then Qin wondered—if the Emperor had marked the spot, why hadn’t he dug the plant up right then?
It reminded him of when the Emperor had meant to gift the Prince the imperial Longhua sword. He’d taken it out, but in the end, had them put it back.
The Emperor… his mind runs deep.
He truly knows how to rule over others.
With the help of the young eunuchs, Qin dressed and stepped out of the tent. Outside, the air was filled with shouts and cheers. Ahead, several thousand men had formed a great hunting ring. At its center, a figure in red robes dashed across the field.
It was the third day of the spring hunt. The Emperor wasn’t hunting this time. Instead, he was acting as a beater, driving the game toward the Prince.
Alongside him were the Commander of the Imperial Guards, the leader of the Palace Guard, several generals, and a few young ministers.
To Qin, it looked as though the Emperor was leading a whole host of officials in a game—just to entertain the Prince.
Hands tucked in his sleeves, worry in his heart, Qin spotted the carriages of Chancellor Xie and his party in the distance.
For the past two days, Chancellor Xie had been overseeing the spring imperial exams in the capital. He hadn’t dared leave the city. But with his youngest son out here accompanying the Emperor at the hunt, he’d been sick with worry, unable to eat, and had lost weight from the stress.
At home, the old lady of the family had already cried for two days straight.
If only I’d been firmer back then, Xie thought bitterly. When Xie Liangbi was so determined to serve the Emperor and insisted on joining the Golden Armor Guards, I should never have given in. Then we wouldn’t be facing this disaster today.
Trembling with anxiety, he reached the hunting grounds—only to see Xie Liangbi alongside other familiar faces from the Golden Armor Guards, accompanying the Prince in the hunt.
It was his first time seeing the Prince on horseback, bow in hand.
They old ministers had often muttered among themselves in private. The imperial clan of the Great Zhou was famed for their skill at riding and archery, their sons tall and strong. But this Prince had never seemed to fit the part—almost like an imposter.
After all, he’d been recognized as royal kin largely on the strength of a clever tongue, a few marks, and scattered memories. There were always lingering doubts about his bloodline.
His recognition as kin had gone so smoothly, perhaps because everyone wanted to see how the Emperor would respond to having an heir apparent before them.
How many factions, how many schemes had been tangled up in that process? Even those at the center of it likely couldn’t say for sure.
But this much was certain—the Prince had been a pawn for many people.
And that was why Qin had always felt that the Prince’s current favor was anything but secure.
He didn’t believe for a moment that the Emperor’s affection was without calculation.
His Majesty is long past caring for love or kinship.
Yet as he looked at the Emperor and his officials surrounding the Prince in the hunt, Qin had to admit—the Prince now stood at the height of power.
He truly was a prince of the realm.
They exchanged brief greetings with Qin before turning their attention back to the hunt. When the drive paused, Xie and the other senior ministers approached to pay their respects to the Emperor and the Prince.
Once the Emperor and the Prince retired to change, Xie no longer cared about appearances. He seized the chance to call his son over at once.
It had only been a few days since he’d last seen his youngest son, but now the boy already looked worn and haggard.
Though he felt anger, Xie couldn’t help but also feel a stab of pity. In a low voice, he asked, “Has His Majesty… given you any trouble?”
Xie Liangbi hurried to reassure him. “Father, you worry too much. His Majesty hasn’t made things difficult for me.”
In truth, it was because these past few days he’d been standing guard over His Highness the Prince, unable to draw near, his heart burning with longing, until even his belt felt looser from the weight he’d lost.
The man who shared his quarters, Wei Sime, would spend the days telling him just how kind and gracious the Prince was.
Not only was the Prince strikingly handsome, he had a heart as beautiful as his face—like some little immortal come down to earth.
Now that the spring hunt had ended, Xie Liangbi feared he might not get another chance to see him, not even once. The Prince had made promises about the future—but when would that future come? No one could say.
Xie Liangbi didn’t care about the future. He only wanted today.
But he also knew that asking his father to scheme on his behalf would likely be in vain. His father was known for his caution, and the more the Prince was favored, the more his father would want to steer clear.
Prince Fu Huang had changed his robes and was now receiving Chancellor Xie and the others in his tent. He also summoned Fu Ye to listen in.
Fu Ye hadn’t had time to change—he’d only straightened his robes and hat, worried his body might still smell of sweat, so he’d hung a few sachets of fragrant herbs from his belt before stepping into the main tent.
Fu Huang said, “They’re reporting the results of the spring exams. You should listen as well.”
Fu Ye was used to this. He stood to one side, hands at his sides in respectful silence.
Though the Emperor would sometimes show him affection beyond what was proper, in front of senior ministers like Chancellor Xie, he was always strict about keeping decorum.
So in front of these venerable officials, Fu Ye played the part of the courteous, proper prince. Even though his hair was a little disheveled and his face flushed from the hunt, standing at the Emperor’s side he was like a tall, slender red orchid in bloom, its fragrance filling the air—beautiful beyond compare.
The spring exam results had been posted. As tradition required, before the final palace examination, the results of the provincial exams and the achievements of the most talented candidates were to be reported in detail to the Emperor, so he’d have an overall understanding.
As Chancellor Xie and the others spoke of this year’s exams, their faces glowed with excitement.
This year’s spring exams had produced many outstanding scholars—almost on par with the famed “Hundred Blossoms Spring List” of the 14th year of Emperor Mingzong’s reign.
The “Hundred Blossoms Spring List” was a legendary exam session, often mentioned in connection with the Mingzong golden age. The Great Zhou prized elegance; nobles’ collars were often embroidered with ornate patterns—the imperial family bore the sun, moon, and stars as their emblem, while officials favored floral motifs. Of the more than 200 scholars who passed that year, over 30 went on to reach high office at the third rank or higher. That exam was celebrated by later generations as the “Hundred Blossoms Spring List”—a symbol of flourishing talent that ushered in an era of prosperity. Some of those scholars had become great Confucian masters, like Chancellor Xie Qi’an himself, who had placed third that year.
Not long ago, the Red Lotus Society had destroyed the state of Dayong. Its new ruler, Huang Tianyi, was a bold and warlike man with ambitions to unify the realm, and his campaigns had already reached Zhou’s borders. The people of Great Zhou lived in constant fear, seeing their Emperor so indifferent to life and death that many believed the dynasty was doomed.
But now, the court had taken on new life. Even the spring exams brimmed with talent. Truly, Heaven was watching over Great Zhou—perhaps a new age of revival was upon them!
Even more heartening than the exam results was this: His Majesty had grown increasingly considerate of his old ministers. When Xie and the others had finished their report and were preparing to return to the capital, the Emperor, clearly in good spirits, said, “You have all gone to great trouble traveling back and forth. Stay and have lunch before you depart.”
… The Prince had enjoyed great success at the hunt today, and the Emperor wanted his ministers to share in the celebration. He granted them the honor of dining together.
Deeply moved, Chancellor Xie and the other elder ministers fell to their knees to express their thanks.
It had been several years since he’d last had the honor of dining at the emperor’s table.
Usually, it was the emperor who would share his own game with the ministers as a gesture of favor. But during this year’s spring hunt, though His Majesty had made quite the haul, he chose instead to bestow the prey caught by Prince Huan upon his subjects as a mark of imperial grace. Seeing the prince bag a few wild rabbits and pheasants was enough to fill the emperor with pride, as if he wished to share that joy with the entire realm.
The emperor’s fondness for Prince Huan truly ran deep—deeper than anyone could have imagined.
But what feelings did Prince Huan harbor toward the emperor? That remained a mystery.
Eunuch Qin, after summoning all his courage, decided he ought to act on the emperor’s behalf.
He’d just overheard the court officials at the hunting grounds gossiping about a scandal that had recently come out of this year’s imperial examination candidates—a piece of juicy gossip involving forbidden love between men. A heaven-sent opportunity, no less.
Eunuch Qin understood the emperor’s heart all too well by now. At this point, what needed to be uncovered was whether there was any chance Prince Huan might also develop an affection for His Majesty. He figured the emperor himself must be longing to know—why else would he seem so eager, and yet so restrained?
If there was a chance, well then, all would be well and good. But if not, the emperor would at least know to tread more carefully going forward. The last thing they wanted was to frighten the prince away.
When the spring hunt concluded, their party planned to visit the hot springs by the shores of Goddess Lake. Departure was set for mid-afternoon.
Fu Ye ordered Qingxi and the others to pack their things.
Everything else was secondary; what mattered most to him was that single stem of green ladyslipper orchid. He intended to secretly press it into a specimen and preserve it.
Eunuch Qin, seeing how dearly the prince treasured that orchid, felt even more heartened.
So he took it upon himself to personally assist Fu Ye with dressing. The emperor, just behind the screen, was busy reviewing memorials—a better chance than this would be hard to find.
And so, he began to share the gossip he’d just heard.
“This old servant just overheard a few ministers outside talking about the top scorer in this year’s imperial exams. Word is, he’s caused quite the scandal over his fondness for men. The whole capital’s been abuzz about it these past couple of days.”
Fu Ye had always loved a bit of gossip. Sure enough, he perked right up.
“Fondness for men?”
Eunuch Qin nodded eagerly, his head bobbing like a drumstick, sneaking a glance at the emperor through the screen before steadying his breath and beginning his tale.
It was said that this year’s top candidate, a young talent named Zhang Gui, wrote poetry with a strength and vigor rare in a man of his age. His essays were deemed by Chancellor Xie as those of “a genius seen but once in a hundred years.”
Yet this same scholar had recently found himself at the center of controversy.
Apparently, while on his way to the capital for the exams, Zhang Gui had stayed at Baishui Temple on the outskirts of the city. There he met a young monk named Zhao Ziying, whose secular name that had been. Zhao was strikingly handsome, born into a family of scholars that had since fallen on hard times, driving him to take refuge in the temple. He was well-versed in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.
During Zhang Gui’s stay, the two became close, their friendship harmonious as a well-tuned zither and lute. After the results came out and Zhang took first place, he immediately returned to the temple, intent on persuading Zhao to leave the monastic life. But the temple, accusing Zhao of breaking his vows of celibacy, confined him and forbade them from seeing each other.
A few of Zhang’s fellow exam candidates, young and headstrong, went so far as to storm the temple in an attempt to free Zhao, setting off a huge commotion. It later came out that the temple’s abbot had himself desired Zhao, and, bitter over being spurned, had set out to ruin them both.
The abbot, far from an ordinary man, then accused Zhang of immoral conduct—claiming he and Zhao had defiled the sanctity of the temple.
Now, the capital was divided. Some sided with Baishui Temple; others supported Zhang and his beloved. Both camps were at odds, and the city was in an uproar.
Fu Ye listened, wide-eyed and stunned.
The capital’s attitude toward such affairs… had it truly grown this open?
The whole city was eating up the scandal like it was the latest hot dish!
Fu Ye could hardly believe it.
Eunuch Qin kept his head lowered as he gently fastened the eight-treasure pendant around Fu Ye, his voice soft as silk. “Your Highness may not know, but in our dynasty, love between men is quite common. Even Prince Qi and Prince Zhao both have their favored attendants and beloved generals.”
Fu Ye was well aware of that.
Back when he’d let slip his fondness for men, Eunuch Qin had regaled him with stories of these princes and their male favorites—stories that were nothing short of colorful. There were even rumors of these favorites fighting each other in fits of jealousy.
Eunuch Qin cleared his throat, stole another glance at the emperor through the screen, and lowered his voice. “In fact, it’s nothing strange for members of the royal family to have such preferences. Throughout history, many emperors have doted on male companions.”
“I know that too,” Fu Ye replied.
With a kindly look, Eunuch Qin coaxed, “Then, what sort of man does Your Highness like?”
But Fu Ye was on his guard. He shot him a sharp look and lowered his voice. “Did my royal brother put you up to this to test me? I swear—I have no such thoughts about him.”
“No, no! This old servant is merely curious.”
Fu Ye felt a twinge of panic. He turned to glance at the emperor, who was reading his memorials. Who knew how much he’d overheard? The tent was so quiet—he must have caught some of their gossip. Fu Ye forced himself to reply, “Naturally, he’d have to be good-looking.”
Fu Huang’s expression darkened a shade.
“Taller than me,” Fu Ye added.
The emperor’s face eased slightly.
After all, no one around was taller than he was.
Eunuch Qin’s heart raced with hope, so he gently guided the conversation. “And his family? If I may be so bold, Your Highness is of such noble standing—surely the other’s family can’t be too humble, or it would be beneath you. And a man should have strength and reliability. Some pretty-faced young men have nothing but their looks. Your Highness yourself is beautiful—if it’s beauty you want, you could simply gaze in a mirror! Truth be told, Your Highness is so noble and handsome, it’s hard to imagine anyone worthy of you. Their family should match yours, their character should be equal to yours.”
But Fu Ye fell silent.
Because as he listened, a face surfaced in his mind—Fu Huang’s face.
Ah, stop it! he scolded himself inwardly.
A jolt of panic ran through him. It felt as though that secret, subtle thought in his heart had been snatched into the open. Half speaking to Eunuch Qin, half to himself, he said, “Family and ability are important, of course. But over time, it’s temper that matters most. A clean background, learned, proper—a gentleman, warm and kind. That’s the sort of man fit for a life together.”
In short—definitely not the emperor.
“…I see,” said Eunuch Qin, his voice trailing off.
Heaven help them. The very thing he’d feared most had come to pass!
His Majesty wasn’t Fu Ye’s type at all.
Fu Ye, flustered, heard the sounds of carriages and horses outside. Eager to escape, he said, “Is Chancellor Xie and the others about to depart? I’ll go see them off on my brother’s behalf.”
With that, he hurried out from behind the screen. The jade pendants at his waist jingled softly, the eight-treasure pendant swaying. The sunlight at the doorway caught the gems, scattering a kaleidoscope of colors across his deep green robe—then he vanished beyond the curtain.
Inside the tent, all was deathly still.
The emperor didn’t move. He wasn’t even reading his memorials anymore.
Though it wasn’t a rejection to his face, it felt like a slap all the same.
Eunuch Qin’s heart was uneasy. He regretted ever asking—but perhaps it was better this way than for the emperor to act rashly and ruin the bond between brothers.
But still, the emperor’s brooding silence filled him with dread. He longed to offer comfort but didn’t know how to begin. To think—even an emperor couldn’t always have what he desired. Wasn’t that just how it had been for the Lady of Chu?
…What a tragic mess this all was.
Fu Huang felt as though the world spun before his eyes.
He’d long known he wasn’t Fu Ye’s type—but hearing it spoken aloud chilled him to the bone.
He clenched the memorial in his hand just as the curtain lifted.
He looked up, but it wasn’t Fu Ye returning—it was one of his own attendants.
The man knew his temper well. One glance at his face and the attendant’s heart lurched. He bowed low, trembling. “Your Majesty… Chancellor Xie requests an audience.”
Chancellor Xie, thinking of how Xie Liangbi’s recent conduct had been improper on more than one occasion, feared that his son had likely fallen out of the emperor’s favor. The thought of leaving his son by the emperor’s side filled him with dread. But today, His Majesty had seemed to be in rather good spirits. The chancellor figured it was the perfect chance to plead for his son and request permission to bring him back to the capital. And so, he brought Xie Liangbi with him to the imperial tent.
But when they were summoned inside, they found the emperor seated darkly on the couch, his expression stormy. “What is it?” he asked.
The sudden shift in mood sent a chill down Chancellor Xie’s spine.
Heavens—this emperor! His moods change like the wind! Hadn’t he just been in high spirits?
It was too late now to send Liangbi away. With no choice, the chancellor steeled himself and said, “Your Majesty, the dowager at home misses my son terribly. Might I ask Your Majesty’s permission to take him back with me?”
But no sooner had the words left his mouth than Xie Liangbi, who had stood silent all this time, suddenly dropped to his knees and kowtowed. “Your Majesty, I do not wish to return.”
“Stop this nonsense!” Chancellor Xie barked, his voice sharp with alarm.
This old fox, Xie Qi’an—who had survived through three reigns—was known for his greatest strength: knowing when to stay silent and obey. Cunning, cautious, always mindful of self-preservation. And yet here he was, raising his voice in open rebuke for the first time.
Fu Huang felt a pounding in his head. Leaning tiredly against the couch, he raised his eyes just as Xie Liangbi pressed his forehead to the ground and said, voice quivering with either fear or passion—it was hard to tell which: “I’ve heard, Your Majesty, that today all who joined the hunt are to be rewarded. I don’t ask for titles or honors. I beg only one favor.”
“Xie Liangbi!” Chancellor Xie’s face flushed red with panic.
Fu Huang leaned forward slightly, his phoenix eyes narrowing in sharp interest. “And what favor do you ask?”
As he shifted, the black silk of his robe cascaded down. The golden dragon embroidered there glared fiercely, its claws poised to strike.
Xie Liangbi remained prostrate on the ground. Whether from fear or excitement, his voice trembled. “I… I wish to serve as a personal guard to Prince Huan. I beg Your Majesty to grant this mercy.”
When he lifted his head, his face was flushed scarlet, but his gaze blazed bright with determination—as if his heart had found its purpose, and for that purpose he would go through fire and water.
Fu Huang sat upright, studying him intently.
A youth of about twenty, clad in sky-blue robes embroidered with a spring scene. The son of the chancellor, grandson of a princess—born of the highest lineage.
Handsome, with features as fine as carved jade. No match for Fu Ye, certainly—not even close—but next to most, he’d count as a striking young man.
Tall, too—nearly eight feet by the old measure, well-built and imposing.
And his character? Famous for his gentlemanly grace, admired wherever he went.
To defy his father, to speak such bold words before the throne—that took courage and conviction.
A young man perfectly tailored to suit the prince’s taste.
Or perhaps, when Fu Ye described his ideal, he’d simply been describing Xie Liangbi all along, as if painting from life.
Had they not been rather close?
In that moment, the emperor felt a surge of murderous rage. He would have liked nothing more than for Xie Liangbi to drop dead where he knelt.
Beside him, Eunuch Qin’s legs nearly gave out from fright.
That Xie boy’s life must be far too smooth—why else would he court death like this? The eunuch could only pray the emperor wouldn’t add another life to his hands.
The atmosphere inside the tent froze solid. Chancellor Xie didn’t even know what to say anymore. But after so many years at court, he didn’t need words—he could sense it. His son had enraged the dragon. And when that happened, no matter who was right or wrong, there was only one thing to do: drop to his knees and beg forgiveness.
With a heavy thud, Chancellor Xie dropped to his knees. “My son spoke out of turn, Your Majesty! I beg your forgiveness!” he cried, bowing low and knocking his head against the floor.
Eunuch Qin wrung his hands nervously, holding his breath as he looked to the emperor.
The emperor sat there, silent for what felt like an eternity, as if the pain in his head had become unbearable.
“Your Majesty…” Qin ventured.
Fu Huang lifted a hand, but instead of granting or denying the plea, he said, “Summon Prince Huan.”
“Your Majesty…” Qin hesitated, uncertain.
But Fu Huang seemed sharper now, his gaze cutting like a blade. “Go. Call him.”
Qin lowered his head slightly and turned to leave the tent. He’d nearly reached the entrance when Fu Huang’s voice stopped him. “Wait.”
Qin froze, turning back.
The emperor said nothing at first, and the silence stretched. At last, Qin asked cautiously, “Your Majesty?”
He suspected Fu Huang meant to call Fu Ye in to see whether the prince would accept Xie Liangbi’s offer—to test his heart.
But… Your Majesty…
“Forget it,” Fu Huang said suddenly.
I, the emperor above all, why should I fear like this? The thought burned bitterly in his chest.
Qin’s heart swelled with feeling. He said quietly, “I don’t think the prince would take him, either.”
Let the prince refuse him face-to-face—let him shatter that boy’s foolish dreams once and for all.
He was sure the prince understood what was at stake.
But Fu Huang looked down at the father and son still kneeling before him. To Chancellor Xie, he said, “Take your son and leave this place. Don’t let me see him again.”
Relief flooded Chancellor Xie’s face, as if he’d been granted a royal pardon. He bowed low again. “Yes, Your Majesty!”
Without wasting a moment, he grabbed his son’s hand.
Xie Liangbi, sensing something was deeply wrong, felt confusion and dread rising within him, though he couldn’t grasp exactly what he’d done. All he’d asked was to serve as Prince Huan’s personal guard—surely that wasn’t too much to ask? It wasn’t as though he’d proposed marriage!
The fierce tiger embroidered on the carpet seemed to roar up at him, its yellows and reds filling his vision. The mingled scent of earth and incense clogged his nose. Already tense, he now felt dizzy with fear and bewilderment. His father’s grip on his wrist was firm as he stumbled along, pulled from the tent.
“I can’t bear this headache,” Fu Huang muttered to Eunuch Qin.
Qin said quietly, “Your Majesty, I did ask the prince. He has no desire to take a man into his chambers.”
“He wouldn’t dare. It’s not that he doesn’t want to,” Fu Huang said through clenched teeth. “You don’t understand him—he’s so…”
“So what?” Qin prompted gently.
He looks at those lewd paintings, he’s lustful, he likes men and yet…
But Fu Huang bit back the words. All he said was, “My head aches terribly.”
Beneath his arm lay the ebony box that still held the orchid he’d given to Fu Ye.
Qin hurried to offer, “I’ll go summon the prince.”
But Fu Huang grabbed his arm, leaning against him, his voice strained. “Don’t frighten him. If you do… if you do…”
“My lord, I understand! I understand completely!” Qin burst out, his eyes shining with emotion.
At last, they’d laid their hearts bare between them.
Then Qin turned and ordered a servant nearby, “Go! Fetch the prince—at once!”
