Chapter 41

“My dear, you are in serious trouble.”

Fu Ye said, “Xiao Ai! You finally show up—get ready to clean up my corpse!”

Xiao Ai snapped, “I swear, not one word I told you actually sank in!”

“You can’t blame me! The emperor’s coming on too strong—when a straight guy loses his mind, who can handle it?”

“You better not just be into him for his looks.”

Fu Ye’s face flushed a little. “Desire is human nature! We’re modern adults—we should face our feelings head-on! I like him, so what?”

Xiao Ai clicked its tongue. “Tsk. Do I even need to tell you how painful it is to fall for a straight guy? Remember Xiao Mei? He got drunk and called me ‘baby’ once—these straight dudes, they’ve got all kinds of little tricks.”

Fu Ye vaguely remembered Xiao Mei. Someone super aloof, barely said a word if he could help it. Nowhere near as cute as Xiao Ai.

“Anyway, I’ll say it again—the man’s the emperor. You better be careful! Or hey, why don’t you try seducing him, see if there’s even a chance?”

Fu Ye froze. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good. Even if he does like men, would he go for his own brother? And even if—if—he does like you, you really think he’d dare mess with his brother? And would you dare mess with the emperor, with the empress dowager and every minister in the realm watching?”

Fu Ye groaned. “…Forget it. It’s hopeless.”

So he buried himself in the memorials again, face blank.

These were mostly documents the Secretariat would’ve handled—basically training material, to help him practice—but Fu Huang had probably screened them; at least there weren’t any that were complete nonsense.

He’s definitely just trying to lighten his own workload by grooming me to run the Secretariat, Fu Ye told himself firmly.

Yeah. That’s definitely it.

Xiao Ai: “Tsk tsk.”

Okay, fine. Even he felt a little guilty thinking that.

“He really is good to me,” Fu Ye murmured to Xiao Ai. “In all of history, has any prince ever been treated as well as I have?”

Xiao Ai: “Nope.”

“I owe him everything. I shouldn’t be thinking about silly love stuff. I should think about how to repay him, what I can do for him.”

Xiao Ai: “…Wow. So noble.”

Fu Ye started working even harder.

Fu Huang was a little surprised.

Fu Ye had never been one to love studying—even as a kid, he had to be dragged to class. And government business? It was complicated, exhausting, and full of rules.

But Fu Ye took to it fast.

He showed a quick mind, able to connect the dots and grasp the heart of things, far sharper than most of the officials in the Secretariat. Fu Huang had thought it’d take months to train him, but now… maybe not.

Before nightfall, they’d finished going through all the memorials.

Fu Huang read over his comments and said, “The Secretariat’s job is to guess at my intentions and handle business accordingly. You don’t have to be like them. On some things, just follow your own judgment. If I think you’re off, we’ll talk it over.”

Xiao Ai muttered, “Talk it over? This emperor really spoils you rotten.”

Fu Ye: “…He’s so generous, I feel like I should offer myself to him.”

Xiao Ai: “…Yeah, I better keep a close eye on you. I’ve seen plenty of hosts fall in love, but you’re the first to fall for your emperor… who’s also your brother.”

Fu Ye burned with shame. “I wouldn’t say love—just… stirred up. Stirred up!”

I’ll get it under control!

After a long day, he ate way too much at dinner.

Later, the eunuch Sun Gongzheng came from the Pear Blossom Palace on the Empress Dowager’s orders to check on him and the emperor. He brought pear blossom cakes and sweet rice wine.

Sun entered, saw someone at the imperial desk going through memorials, surrounded by attendants. At first, he assumed it was the emperor.

But when he got closer, he realized—it was Prince Fu Ye.

He’d seen the emperor indulge the prince before: letting him ride and hunt, treating him beyond what custom allowed. But that had just been favor, nothing more.

Now the emperor was letting him rule on his behalf…

And he was even wearing the emperor’s robe.

Once, they’d dreamed of this—plotting how to use Fu Ye to topple Fu Huang. And now? The emperor himself had handed Fu Ye the throne.

What’s he doing?

Why… why is he so good to the prince?

Could this really just be brotherly affection?

Is the emperor hiding some big move?

Sun Gongzheng, deeply worried, said, “If His Majesty intends to support the prince as Imperial Brother Heir, we need to start preparing on our end too.”

At the very least, they had to find a way to test the emperor’s true intentions.

After all, all these years, the one they’d quietly backed had always been Prince of Ankang.

By rights, of course, Prince Huan now stood first in line for the throne. But he’d been lost in foreign lands for so many years—even though he’d returned and was clearly beloved, many of the old generals and nobles still harbored doubts about his bloodline.

Mostly because he hadn’t been back long enough to erase those suspicions.

Who could have imagined he’d win this much favor in such a short time?

And who would’ve thought the emperor would love him to this degree?

Truly unheard of in all of history.

That night, Fu Ye again slept beside Fu Huang.

But tonight, his mind wasn’t spinning with wild thoughts. Instead, he sat upright on the bed, deep in discussion with Fu Huang about state affairs, well into the night.

There was too much he didn’t know, too much he wanted to learn—and that thirst for knowledge burned so hot that even deep into the night, he felt no trace of sleepiness.

It wasn’t just him—even Xiao Ai was completely absorbed, listening intently.

Maybe it was the excitement. He sat there barefoot, one leg pulled up, leaning casually against the pillows. All that shyness from yesterday was gone without a trace; now he looked easygoing, almost roguish.

Fu Huang thought back to how shy Fu Ye had been yesterday at the Hundred Flowers Pool, doing whatever he was told, cheeks red with embarrassment. And now here he was, debating policy, speaking with such spirit and fire.

Fu Huang liked him when he was shy. But he also liked him like this—bright-eyed, passionate, full of energy.

When feelings ran this deep, it was easy to lose yourself.

And it wasn’t until much later that he noticed—Fu Ye had suddenly fallen silent.

He was just staring at him, almost as if in shock.

Fu Huang asked, “What is it?”

Fu Ye looked at him, the faintest smile blooming on his face, though his eyes still held a trace of disbelief. He shook his head and said softly, “It’s nothing.”

And to his surprise, Fu Huang actually smiled.

That mouth, usually pressed into a firm, cold line, quirked up at the corners as he leaned lazily against the bed, gazing at him.

Fu Ye couldn’t help but think of those old historical dramas where the steward would gasp, “Young master smiled?!”

The thought made him laugh out loud.

Fu Huang lowered the corners of his mouth again and said, “What’s got you grinning like a fool all of a sudden?”

Fu Ye propped himself up on one elbow, tilting toward him, and said, “I just suddenly felt like… this kind of life is pretty nice.”

Fu Huang froze for a moment, his gaze lingering on him—on the thin spring robe draped over his body, on the bare, pale feet peeking out beneath it.

Outside, the spring rain had started again, soft and steady. The triple-layered screens wrapped them in their own quiet world, warm lamplight pooling gently around them. Moments like this—they were things Fu Huang wouldn’t have dared even dream of in the past. Now, here they were. And yes, it was peaceful. Very peaceful.

But desire knows no end. Fu Huang thought: If only we could share a bed truly, hold each other close—how much more perfect would that be?

Noticing Fu Huang’s long, lingering gaze, Fu Ye suddenly felt a bit self-conscious. He lay down on the Xiangfei bamboo couch, not bothering to pull up the quilt, just resting there atop the embroidered peonies. The hem of his robe curled up, revealing his smooth, pale calves.

Fu Huang’s gaze swept over him like a slow caress before he too lay down.

Just moments ago, they’d been laughing together like brothers. Now, all at once, silence fell between them.

Fu Ye tugged the quilt up around himself, pretending not to notice Fu Huang watching him. Through a slit in the screen, he caught a glimpse of Qin Neijian, quietly reading a Buddhist scripture, looking surprisingly focused.

Tomorrow, Fu Ye thought, when I go to the Buddhist grove, I really do need to pray properly.

The next morning, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained heavy and gray, the air biting cold.

Fu Ye stood beneath the pear trees, hands clasped behind his back, sighing over and over. Last night’s rain had left the courtyard carpeted with fallen petals, like a dusting of snow.

Shuangfu asked, “Your Highness, what’s troubling you?”

He glanced at Qingxi, who said nothing, looking thinner than ever.

Fu Ye asked, “What’s wrong with you, Qingxi?”

Qingxi replied, “Nothing, Your Highness. What about you?”

Fu Ye said, “Nothing’s wrong with me either.”

Qingxi: “…”

Shuangfu: “…”

Not long after, they saw Fu Huang emerge with his attendants.

It was time to return to the palace—but first, they planned to stop by the Buddhist grove for a bit of quiet retreat.

The Great Zhou court honored Buddhism deeply. The Empress Dowager and others were devoted followers. When Chonghua Temple was rebuilt, she had been the first to donate thirty thousand strings of cash from the sale of her cosmetics, and she’d given a ruby-and-diamond-encrusted Buddha head from her own private altar.

So when people spoke of Empress Zhang, they always said: stern in temperament, devout in faith, and full of compassion.

The illustrious Mingzong Emperor, once hailed as a wise and virtuous ruler, had built the Buddhist Grove at Goddess Lake, and it had since become a sacred site for monks seeking austere practice. Naturally, Mingzong himself was a devout follower of the Buddha. It was said that in the final years of his reign, when he had become the Retired Emperor, he spent several months here in retreat.

In his youth, he’d been a brilliant sovereign; in his old age, he turned toward the Dharma. It was hard to find fault in his entire life.

By comparison, Fu Huang fell short. Violent, ruthless, steeped in bloodshed—he had no reverence for gods or Buddha.

Even in modern times, most people preferred to err on the side of caution when it came to higher powers—better to believe than not—but Fu Huang seemed truly indifferent. Since taking the throne, he had neither prayed to gods nor worshipped Buddha. He was, it seemed, a true atheist.

So Fu Ye couldn’t help but wonder: Is the emperor coming to the Grove today just to humor me?

Ah, he was hopelessly mired in this sinful longing now, unable to pull himself out.

Their party made its grand way toward the island. The monks came out en masse, kneeling to greet them. The area wasn’t locked down, but plenty of imperial guards came along, and word of the emperor and the prince’s visit had drawn crowds of common folk. The shores of Goddess Lake were packed; the island itself, even more so.

Today, at least, the emperor showed respect to the high monks and elders.

Fu Ye was even more courteous. Since they walked together as one, his deference reflected on the emperor as well. The emperor’s dark reputation preceded him—he could use the goodwill.

Fu Ye’s attire today was elegant and pure: robes embroidered with treasure-flower patterns, adorned with a string of seven-jeweled pendants. This wasn’t for show. During his time at Fuhua Temple, he’d learned much about Buddhism. He knew that when the Buddha was a prince, he’d worn such ornaments, and that bodhisattva statues were always lavishly adorned.

His visit today wasn’t merely for leisure.

So upon entering the first temple, he removed his pendant and offered it before the bodhisattva statue. He told the abbot, “I have heard that when the Buddha taught the Dharma, the bodhisattvas would offer up their own ornaments in devotion. In the Lotus Sutra, it is written that when the Buddha spoke of Avalokiteshvara’s great virtues, the Bodhisattva Inexhaustible Intent praised him and, in reverence, removed his bejeweled necklace to offer. Today, I follow that example, as a sign of the respect my brother and I bear for the Buddha.”

Fu Huang raised a brow.

These days, he truly enjoyed watching Fu Ye’s quick wit and silver tongue.

The abbot, long resigned to the emperor’s indifference toward Buddhism, had braced himself for cold courtesy at best. Overjoyed, he bowed repeatedly and said, “His Highness is boundlessly virtuous… and so is His Majesty!”

Qingxi stood quietly nearby, watching the two brothers.

Their ways could not have been more different. Fu Ye, warm and eloquent, his easy smiles making the emperor’s silence seem all the more stark. And yet, the emperor wasn’t diminished—if anything, Fu Ye’s presence only set him off to greater advantage. It was like the relationship between a bodhisattva and the jewels that adorned it—the ornaments enhanced the bodhisattva’s majesty, and the bodhisattva in turn lent the ornaments their sacred beauty.

Two imperial brothers: each radiant in his own right, their brilliance all the greater for being together.

Today’s display truly made Fu Huang see Fu Ye in a new light.

He’d never accompanied Fu Ye to ancestral rites or temple ceremonies before. He’d always thought of him as someone who simply wanted to enjoy his life, be pampered and indulged, and live in idle luxury. But now, he saw someone who could stand tall on his own—graceful, noble, and poised.

It was as if he’d never been lost to foreign lands at all—as if he’d always been part of the palace.

And what an irony: the more Fu Ye embodied the dignity of a prince, the less it served Fu Huang’s private interest. And yet, as emperor, the prouder he was of seeing Fu Ye so resplendent, the closer he felt to him—as if they were two imperial brothers bound together, inseparable.

He cherished that feeling—that it was the two of them, and the rest of the world far, far away.

The name of brotherhood—it was a double-edged sword, sweet and painful all at once.

When they left the temple, they wandered through the famed Buddhist Grove.

It was called the Grove because most of the statues were carved directly into massive stone pillars. The smallest towered over two meters high. Deeper into the Grove, a fine mist hung in the air, veiling nine caves in a shroud of morning fog. As they walked through, the air was thick with incense smoke. Countless votive candles glowed in the caves, their melted wax pooling like crimson lotuses. Ash from burnt offerings piled up like drifts of white snow. The soft murmur of chanting never ceased.

Fu Ye felt a swell of emotion. He pressed his hands together and silently recited a prayer. When he turned to look at Fu Huang, as expected, the emperor wasn’t paying much attention to any of it. Instead, he was watching the mandarin ducks playing in the lake.

It was Qin Neijian who stood behind him, mumbling devoutly, burning handful after handful of gold ingots.

He had apparently spent the whole night folding them into neat stacks.

Fu Ye followed Qin Neijian’s lead and tossed in his offering too. Then he glanced back at Fu Huang, the firelight casting a rosy flush across his cheeks. In a low voice, he asked, “Do you think… will my brother be upset that we’re doing this?”

Qin Neijian looked at him. “Huh?”

Then, realizing what Fu Ye meant, he shook his head.

In front of the Buddha, he didn’t dare speak carelessly. But once they had walked some distance away, he quietly said to Fu Ye, “Actually, His Majesty doesn’t entirely reject gods and Buddha. When he was still a prince, he used to accompany the Empress Dowager to Chonghua Temple every year to offer incense. In fact, the temple still keeps a copy of the Lotus Sutra he hand-copied himself.”

Fu Ye turned to look at him.

Qin Neijian lowered his gaze, thinking it was no harm to share this much with Fu Ye. “It’s not that His Majesty doesn’t believe—it’s that he doesn’t dare believe.”

Fu Ye froze where he stood.

All around them, mist rose thick from the water, the sky overcast and heavy, the chill of the lake making the world feel even colder. The trees by the shore stood like cold green jade, and the wind off the lake pushed the white mist against his face, icy and sharp.

And suddenly, he realized—he’d forgotten this.

Fu Huang was, after all, a man of the old world. When he said he didn’t believe in gods or Buddha, maybe that wasn’t the full truth.

From what Qin Neijian had said, Fu Huang had grown up in a devout imperial court. Those beliefs, that reverence, would have been deeply ingrained in him. Once upon a time, he had surely been as pious as any of them, just like Qin Neijian.

Fu Ye remembered the emperors in history who had seized the throne through bloodshed—men wise and brilliant in their prime, only to be haunted by demons of their own making in old age.

Is my brother bound to end up the same?

Is it out of fear that he keeps his distance?

As he thought about Fu Huang’s life, a chill swept over him that had nothing to do with the cold. His skin prickled with goosebumps.

He didn’t dare imagine what went through Fu Huang’s mind, or what sort of heart he carried as he faced it all.

Has he always believed that hell awaits him?

What kind of future does he see before him?

The breeze lifted the mist and brushed it across his cheeks. Through the crowd, he gazed at Fu Huang.

Fu Huang stood at the water’s edge, tall and straight like a lone pine.

For a moment, Fu Ye could only stare.

Just ahead loomed a massive cave. Inside, countless votive lamps burned. He lifted his eyes to see the bodhisattva statue within—eyes lowered, fingers gently pinching a flower, face serene and full of compassion. The folds of its robes were dusted with ash, as if bearing the sorrow of all mankind. It was said that offering light to the Buddha could bring wisdom and blessings, dispel the darkness in one’s heart, repay the four great debts, and ease the suffering of beings in the three lower realms.

When they finished at the Buddhist Grove, they headed back by carriage to the Lihua Palace, before returning to the main palace.

The imperial carriage was already waiting by the shore, surrounded by palace attendants and guards. Banners and canopies embroidered with sun, moon, and stars rippled in the cold wind, while crowds of commoners gathered around to catch a glimpse.

Fu Ye had always loved crowds and attention. On occasions like this, with the eyes of the world upon him, he carried himself with pride and dignity.

But today, wrapped in his cloak, his slender waist barely filling it, he simply followed quietly behind the emperor.

Once they were in the carriage and the curtains were drawn, Fu Huang noticed the tip of his nose was red from the cold. “You’re cold?” he asked.

Fu Ye nodded.

Fu Huang ordered Qin Neijian to fetch him another cloak—this one lined with fox fur.

He was already bundled up thickly, and now with that fox-fur cloak added, he looked round and puffy all over. Wrapping it around himself, he suddenly sprawled across Fu Huang’s knees.

Fu Huang was caught off guard.

Fu Ye murmured, “Still cold. Let me warm up by holding onto you, Brother.”

Fu Huang didn’t move. These past few days, he hadn’t bathed in medicinal herbs, so that bitter scent that clung to him had faded a lot.

“I’ll always be here with you.” Fu Ye whispered out of nowhere.

And just then, he felt Fu Huang’s hand come to rest on his head. Out on the island, after so long in the cold wind, Fu Huang’s hand was icy. His fingertips, rough with calluses from years of archery, slid down the back of Fu Ye’s neck, raising a trail of goosebumps. Still, Fu Ye stayed put.

That small red mole at the nape of his neck seemed lighter now. Fu Huang’s fingertip brushed over it, the little mark sinking into a patch of flushed skin.

His skin’s so soft…

All around them, the island echoed with the hum of chanting monks and the ever-present scent of sandalwood. The wind was sharp and cold; everyone felt chilled to the bone.

Fu Huang hated places like this. After the upheaval at the Qing Tai Hall, the Empress Dowager had invited monks to the palace to chant and perform rites. Back then, sick and fevered, he’d sometimes wake only to hear that constant droning, and it filled him with dread.

He’d dreamed plenty of times of falling into the deepest pits of hell.

Later, he got used to it, resigned to whatever fate awaited him. It stopped bothering him so much.

Coming to this island today, seeing all the Buddhas, the only thing that gnawed at him was whether this forbidden desire of his would bring ruin on Fu Ye too. The thought made him restless again.

But now, warmth slowly spread from his knees up through his chest, and that dark mood lifted, bit by bit.

If I’m the one doing the tempting, he thought, then he’s the victim. He bears no sin.

They lunched at Lihua Palace with the Empress Dowager, then set out together for home.

When they returned to Qingyuan Palace, Fu Ye saw the eunuchs and maids of the east wing all standing quietly under the eaves, doors and windows tightly shut.

He used to find the palace suffocating. But right now, it felt like coming home. It filled him with an unexpected warmth. He called for Shuangfu and the others to start unloading their things.

One of the eunuchs at the gallery smiled and said, “We’ll need Your Highness to go in first.”

Fu Ye blinked. The maids led him, all smiles, to the doors of his chambers, and pushed them open.

A strange, sweet fragrance filled the air.

He stepped inside—and saw that the room was filled with fresh lychees and peonies. He walked quickly to the curtains, drew them back, and found more peonies and clusters of lychees hanging beneath the canopy.

It was just like what he’d once joked about at the Hundred Flowers Pool, trying to ease the tension: “A peony and lychee offering.”

Ankang Prince hadn’t lied—this fragrance really was incomparable.

No wonder he felt almost drunk on it now.

Shuangfu and Qingxi came in and looked around, equally stunned.

Shuangfu took a deep breath. “It smells amazing! Wow—fresh lychees too!”

But then he saw Fu Ye walk back out, all the way to the gate beneath the carved eaves.

From there, he saw the main hall’s eunuchs moving things. The emperor’s entourage had brought plenty with them on the trip.

Fu Huang had already gone inside.

Fu Ye just stood there, beneath the carved gate, for what felt like a long time.

Dear heavens, he thought, please stop tempting me.

If this keeps up, I really will make a mistake…

Before long, Qin Neijian appeared, leading a group of eunuchs in red robes. They were carrying a box that seemed familiar, though Fu Ye couldn’t place it right away.

Qin Neijian approached, smiling. “Why are you standing out here, Your Highness?”

From the look on his face, he clearly knew about the “peony and lychee offering” in Fu Ye’s rooms.

Fu Ye asked, “What’s in the box?”

He noticed that Qin Neijian was also holding a brocade box in his hands.

Qin Neijian said, “Your Highness, please—let’s go inside. This isn’t something we should open out here.”

So Fu Ye followed him back into the room and dismissed the attendants.

Qin Neijian first gestured to the big box. “His Majesty said that since Your Highness is feeling cooped up in the palace, there’s no harm in passing the time with some storybooks. He asked me to return these to you. And he said that if Your Highness finishes them and wants more, just let him know—His Majesty will see what can be found among the common folk.”

Fu Ye opened the box and—every last one was an erotic picture book.

Oh God oh God oh God.

This is like pouring hot oil on an open flame!

Your Majesty, if you do this, you’re going to get yourself seduced!

He didn’t dare look. One glance, and he’d probably be like a runaway horse.

His face was burning. Just then, he saw Qin Neijian still smiling as he opened the brocade box.

Inside was a pot of glossy green lady’s slipper orchids, carefully tended for two days—now the buds had all opened.

Fu Ye: …

How was he supposed to resist this?

Where was Xiao Ai? Come out here and tell him—how was he supposed to resist this?

Maybe it was okay if he just… secretly loved his royal brother from afar?

Author’s Note:
If people are to love in sin, then they should love so deeply their very bones creak. — For a Night’s Love