Eunuch Qin nodded in agreement, though in his heart he could only sigh. His Majesty is just blowing off steam in the safety of the palace walls.
If the prince never came back, what could the emperor really do?
Drag him back to scold him? Beat him? Or… force himself on him?
Would he even have the heart to?
Eunuch Qin had just stirred up all that fury, yet the emperor hadn’t so much as given the order to summon the prince.
In moments like this, he almost wished His Majesty were a cruel, depraved tyrant.
But the emperor wasn’t.
That was the tragedy of it. His nature wasn’t bad; it was the circumstances that had twisted him up like this.
And the worst part was… deep down, the emperor himself believed that violating the bonds of kinship was a grave sin.
The more carefree and radiant the prince seemed now, the more the emperor probably felt that this was the life the prince deserved.
His Majesty truly, hopelessly loves the prince.
And yet, it was strange.
The prince’s feelings for the emperor were genuine—anyone could see that. Before leaving the palace, the prince had written thousands of words to the Imperial Medical Bureau and to those of them who served at his side—words filled with care and sincerity.
So why, now that he was outside the palace, had several days passed without a single message sent back?
Eunuch Qin couldn’t help but worry that maybe the Empress Dowager had said something to the prince.
The emperor hadn’t slept in days. He looked terrifying—haunted.
And over at Cien Palace, they probably hadn’t slept well either these past few days. From the moment the prince left, the Empress Dowager’s people had barely dared leave their quarters. Once, Eunuch Qin passed by Cien Palace and saw female officers armed with swords standing guard along the corridors—clearly bracing for the emperor to lose his mind.
Then, one day, in a rare gesture, the Empress Dowager sent food to the emperor.
She had Sun gongzheng deliver it personally.
Naturally, the emperor refused to touch it. His resentment toward the Empress Dowager ran deep.
And that was the only time she sent anything. After that, nothing.
Who knew if she’d been angered by the emperor’s coldness… or if the gesture had only been for show in the first place.
Another two days passed, and the prince still showed no sign of wanting to return to the palace—not even for a brief visit.
The atmosphere in Qingyuan Palace grew heavier by the hour.
Fuhuang stood in the courtyard, gazing up at the sky above the towering palace roofs, watching the swallows dart and soar.
The world beyond the walls… really is vast and free.
Then he ordered Eunuch Qin to prepare for a palace move.
Ordinarily, when an emperor moved to a new residence, it was a grand affair: the astrologers would choose an auspicious date, rites would be held to honor heaven, earth, and the ancestors. But this time, the emperor dispensed with all that.
It wasn’t that he wanted to move out of Qingyuan Palace to avoid painful memories. No—he moved into them. He relocated to the east annex.
He slept in the bed the prince had once slept in. He wore the robes the prince had worn.
Everything in the east hall had been kept just as it was.
To Eunuch Qin, it felt like His Majesty was building himself a dragon’s nest out of the prince’s lingering scent and traces.
But life wasn’t exactly easy for the prince either.
After a few days of roaming about and seeing the sights of the capital, he settled down to study again under Old Master Cheng.
The Empress Dowager, for her part, sent maids every day—mostly to deliver dishes to him.
Of course, it wasn’t as though he lacked for food. This was simply the Empress Dowager’s kindness.
But the emperor… didn’t send so much as a single word.
At night, lying in bed, Fu Ye couldn’t help but wonder: What on earth did I say to him?
When he’d woken up that morning, his clothes had been neat and undisturbed. Surely he couldn’t have done anything that inappropriate.
Damn that wine. It’s nothing but trouble.
And yet, now he couldn’t sleep without it.
Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, he consoled himself: even though the emperor had sent him out of the palace, he hadn’t reduced his honors or privileges. Surely, deep down, he still cared.
And after all, even Xiao Ai had said it—once someone like Fu Huang truly falls for someone, it’s nearly impossible for him to pull back.
Right now, Fu Huang probably loves me and hates me both.
Fu Ye shook his head at himself. I’m such a fool. And yet, sometimes, lying there thinking about how the emperor must be torn between love and hatred for him… his heart would start to race with wild, dangerous thoughts.
There was something so delicate, so complicated about that kind of love-hate. A straight man, discovering his brother harbored such feelings for him—he’d be shocked, disgusted even. But at the same time, they shared such deep bonds of affection that he couldn’t just cut it off. That kind of tangled, bitter love… maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, Fu Huang would let his guard down, and he’d win him over somehow.
After all, Fu Huang was so starved for love.
Those dark, reckless little thoughts kept creeping in, tempting him.
Ahhhh, I’m awful!
Xiao Ai scolded, “You really are awful!”
Fu Ye groaned, “I’m guilty!”
Xiao Ai teased, “A gentleman judges by actions, not by secret thoughts. Honestly, Fu Huang—so sickly and fragile—does have a certain unique appeal. It’s only natural for you to feel tempted. If I set morals aside, I’d almost like to see you play with him.”
Fu Ye groaned, “Stop it! Don’t say another word!”
But it was too late—the images were already forming in his mind.
Fu Ye couldn’t help thinking: Sure, Fu Huang seems dark and intimidating, with that powerful build and those few extra years on me. But that doesn’t mean he understands everything better than I do.
If he were to tease him—really tease him—he could probably leave him completely flustered.
To think… to have an emperor so flustered that he blackens with fury, only to end up pushing me down in frustration…
Ahhh, stop, brain!
Of course, that’s all it was—just idle fantasy. Even letting his mind wander this far left him guilty. He’d never done anything truly bad in his life, and he certainly wasn’t about to hurt Fu Huang for the sake of some selfish desire.
After all, Fu Huang wasn’t just any man—he was his brother in name, his sovereign.
He kept telling himself: I have to think with great love. If you really love someone, it doesn’t mean you have to possess him. You should think about what’s best for him.
So he threw himself even more earnestly into his studies, determined that one day he’d be able to shoulder some of Fu Huang’s burdens.
There wouldn’t be a more loyal subject in all the land than him.
And now that he no longer had to pretend—no longer had to hide his education or downplay his knowledge—he studied freely, without holding back.
Though he was nominally a student of Old Master Cheng, the aging scholar left most of the teaching to several other brilliant minds. The Empress Dowager must have given them special instructions, because instead of the usual courtly arts—music, chess, calligraphy, riding—he was being taught the ways of governance, the principles of rule: ethics, law, sociology, economics, agriculture, military strategy… a vast and grueling curriculum.
It was dry work, hard work—but every lesson made him think of Fu Huang.
Back in the day, didn’t Fu Huang have to learn all this too?
He was following the same path Fu Huang had once walked.
And with that thought, the hardship didn’t seem so hard. It made him feel just a little closer to Fu Huang.
With his natural wisdom and now such high rank, his house was constantly visited—officials from all over came to pay their respects. Even those returning to the capital from distant posts stopped by. After all, everyone said the same thing: with the prince now out of the palace and running his own household, surely it was a sign he was being groomed for greater things.
After all, as a prince, the next step up… was Crown Prince. Or even Emperor.
Especially men like Xiao Yichen and Xie Liangbi—they’d sent him visiting cards more times than he could count.
And nearly every time, he declined.
Because he knew—Fu Huang would be jealous.
Maybe not the kind of jealousy he dreamed of, but Fu Huang was nothing if not possessive.
Fu Ye knew Fu Huang had sent him out of the palace for his own good.
And he wasn’t about to repay that kindness with betrayal, bringing Fu Huang grief.
At first, Fu Huang had been furious with Fu Ye.
But as day after day passed, and the spies reported back that Fu Ye was up late every night studying, that he devoted himself solely to the classics and never so much as spoke to a handsome young courtier…
Fu Ye was being so very, very good.
So good that Fu Huang’s heart ached for him.
And Fu Huang thought, Maybe it’s only fair that he hasn’t come back to see me. After all, I’m the one who forced him to leave.
Fu Ye had begged him that day—not to go.
Their conversation that day… Fu Huang couldn’t even remember it clearly anymore. He’d been up all night, burning with fever, his head spinning—who knew what nonsense he might have said? But the sight of Fu Ye, kneeling there on the floor… that, he remembered perfectly.
The most important thing for his condition was to keep calm—his illness was heavily influenced by his emotions.
And lately, with so many in the capital catching cold, he too had fallen ill.
His health had never been strong to begin with. Now that he was sick, it hit him like a mountain collapsing. His fever raged on without breaking.
The palace grew eerily quiet, tense as a drawn bow. Though no unnecessary personnel were allowed in or out of Qingyuan Palace—not even anyone from Cien Palace—the imperial physicians stayed within, not daring to leave. This only fueled the rumors outside.
“His Majesty must be gravely ill,” said Grand Eunuch Sun.
The Empress Dowager—who in the heat of anger had more than once secretly wished for Fu Huang’s death—felt nothing but grief now, seeing how sick he truly was. And she couldn’t help thinking: Fu Ye had only just left… the cause of this illness is obvious.
She had never imagined the Emperor’s feelings ran this deep.
But as for softening her heart, and granting their union—no, that was too dreadful to even consider. What Empress Dowager could possibly send a younger brother to the dragon’s bed, just because the Emperor loved him so much it made him ill?
Dowager Empress Zhang fretted for days before summoning Eunuch Qin.
Since falling ill, Fu Huang’s mind often wandered. One night, he even dreamed of Fu Ye standing at his bedside.
And when he woke, all he could think was: If I were dead, it would all be over. No more pain. No more torment in this world.
He lay there in that haze when Eunuch Qin entered.
Eunuch Qin dismissed the attendants and spoke quietly: “Today, when I went to Cien Palace to relay Your Majesty’s message, I learned something. It turns out that whenever the palace maids brought gifts to the prince, he would always ask two questions.”
Fu Huang, feverish and dazed, stared at him.
“First, he asks how Her Majesty the Empress Dowager is faring. Second, he asks: ‘Is my royal brother still in good health?’”
Fu Huang turned away, a hollow ache swelling in his chest, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.
The bitterness in his heart far exceeded the bitterness of the medicine on his tongue.
Eunuch Qin said softly, “Let me go bring His Highness back, or at least send word. I know he’ll come rushing to Your Majesty’s side.”
Fu Huang sat in silence for a long moment, then muttered, “What’s the point…”
No one knew whether he meant there was no point in living, or no point in calling the prince back.
Poison to quench one’s thirst—yes, what was the point?
And yet, the Emperor forced himself up.
With careful nursing and bitter medicine, he gradually began to improve. After several days, the fever finally broke. He recovered—at least outwardly.
But he was thinner, gaunt even.
All the same, the Emperor returned to his duties with even more fervor. Draped in the prince’s red cloak, he buried himself in the mountain of memorials and reports that had piled up during his illness.
Eunuch Qin saw it clearly: the Emperor meant to pave the way for Fu Ye. He wouldn’t rest until he had.
Lately, Eunuch Qin wept so often his eyes were swollen. Because he saw no hope ahead—only this cold, desolate Qingyuan Palace.
Qingyuan Palace felt like it had before Fu Ye came. But now, after tasting what life could be, the emptiness seemed all the deeper.
The Emperor had changed. Everyone saw it. The palace folk moved with extreme care. Once, you could hear the soft clink of their jade pendants when they walked; now, they cupped their hands over them so as not to make a sound.
It was like death.
And Fu Ye? He was the first who couldn’t bear it anymore.
Fu Huang, you really are cruel, he thought.
A whole month had passed. No summons. Nothing.
If the prince wanted to enter the palace, he’d have to either submit a formal request, or wait for the Emperor to call him in.
He’d been driven out of the palace—of course he felt too ashamed to take the initiative and submit a formal request to enter. He was afraid Fu Huang still didn’t want to see him.
Deep down, he felt guilty—as if he’d ruined the bond between them as brothers.
But now, after all this time without word from the Emperor, that guilt was starting to fade.
“He treated me so well. I mean, I’m gay—if I ended up falling for him, can you really say it’s all my fault? Think about it—those possessive tendencies of his, the way he doted on me like no one else. Tell me, what gay man who’s never been in love before could resist that?”
Xiao Ai said, “You’re right.”
“Sure, I was drunk and behaved inappropriately. But it’s not like I did anything unforgivable, right? And look at me now—up at five, to bed at midnight, every single day…”
Xiao Ai sighed, “Just hearing about it makes my heart ache for you.”
Fu Ye’s eyes grew red, tears threatening as he clutched his wine flask. “What more do you want from me!”
Xiao Ai said, “Exactly.”
Fu Ye collapsed onto the table, defeated. “Fine! I’m going to the palace—I want to see just how heartless he really is. He’d better be as cold as ice. Then I’ll stay here in my prince’s mansion, eat well, drink well, and never think of him again.”
Xiao Ai said, “Sounds like a plan.”
Fu Ye frowned. “What’s with you? Why aren’t you trying to stop me?”
Xiao Ai let out a long sigh. “Would you listen if I did?”
He would have.
But his heart wouldn’t.
This was the end for him.
His first time falling in love, and it had to be with the Emperor’s favorite. With someone like Fu Huang—one of a kind.
No one else in this world could ever compare.
Whoever he ended up with, he’d probably always feel a lingering regret.
Fu Huang really was a curse on his heart.
He was thinking just that when Shuang Fu came running in, panting heavily.
Shuang Fu had been putting on weight lately. No one in the palace was around to keep him in line, and he’d clearly been living the good life. Just a few steps left him out of breath.
“Your Highness! Your Highness!”
Fu Ye put down his wine flask.
“Who is it?” he asked, steadying himself as a wave of dizziness hit him—thankfully Shuang Fu caught him before he stumbled.
Shuang Fu said, “There’s a visitor. Someone’s come to pay their respects.”
Fu Ye immediately stood up straighter, still feeling lightheaded.
“Who came?”
“It’s the top scholar and his friends.”
Lately, the people Fu Ye saw most often were Zhang Gui and Zhao Ziying—the little lovebirds.
He couldn’t help it. His heart ached, so he liked watching people who were happy. Though truthfully, every time he saw them, it only left him feeling more bitter inside.
He envied them to death.
And honestly, if he ever got to have a relationship, he was sure he’d be sweeter than those two.
But that would never happen for him. He’d be alone for the rest of his life.
Just him… and that man locked away in the palace.
Fu Ye was particular about these things—before seeing guests, he changed clothes, burned some incense. While the incense smoke curled through the room, he had a sudden thought: If I see more of these handsome young scholars, maybe it’ll stir Fu Huang up enough that he’ll want to see me.
That man’s possessiveness is off the charts.
Usually, he held back because he didn’t want Fu Huang to be upset. But maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was his pent-up frustration and grievance—today he was determined.
Zhang Gui’s cohort of new scholars was famously close-knit. People said their graduating class was like the legendary Hundred Blossoms List of old—a rare compliment that had become their badge of honor. They liked the idea, and so they kept up strong ties.
And wouldn’t you know, today Liu Hui came along too.
A truly beautiful young man—no less striking than Xie Liangbi or Xiao Yichen. But shy, blushing at just a few words. A straight guy, though—recently betrothed to the daughter of the Honglu Temple minister… who happened to be Fu Ye’s distant cousin. Fu Ye was starting to realize these capital officials were all tangled together by marriage. In Great Zhou, there was a saying: Capital girls don’t marry out, capital boys don’t marry in. It sounded like those aristocratic clans of history, marrying among themselves. Or like modern locals who insisted on marrying their own.
Truth be told, Zhao Ziying was the most beautiful—delicate and graceful like a willow. Sitting side by side with Zhang Gui, they were so perfectly matched Fu Ye couldn’t help imagining them in his own little fanfiction in his head.
It was Fu Ye who suggested they all go out to dinner at Lotus Pavilion that night.
Normally, he met them to talk about their studies or affairs of state, always modest, never inviting them out like this.
Lotus Pavilion was famous throughout the capital—its setting, its dishes, even the music and dance performances inside were second to none. But too expensive for most of them to afford. Fu Ye didn’t blink—spent lavishly, and everyone had a wonderful time.
Afterward, they went to Moonlight Bridge to hold a poetry contest. A group of brand-new scholars, accompanied by the stunning Prince Huan, drew a huge crowd of onlookers.
It was nearly evening before they finally parted ways.
Fu Ye, tipsy, took a small boat back to his residence. The lamps along the waterway hadn’t been lit yet; dusk settled around him, quiet and heavy. The canal rushed beneath him like waves of salt and snow, the banks blooming with crabapple trees like clouds of pink. The scene was too beautiful. And he was too tired.
That’s what made it all so heartbreaking.
As they passed Flower-Washing Alley, he caught a glimpse in the distance of the palace walls.
Those towering walls, so high and imposing, caging in a dragon.
Enough, he thought. A man of the new era shouldn’t sit around waiting for some prince to come to him.
If the Son of Heaven won’t come to me… then I’ll go to him.
And so, right then and there, he wrote up a petition for entry and sent it in.
The gate towers loomed high at the Heavenly Gate, flanked on either side by massive stone beasts with bulging eyes and fierce expressions. In the night, they looked downright terrifying. The palace gates were just about to be locked for the night, but he was a prince. Fu Huang had granted him privileges nearly equal to those of the emperor himself.
He told himself he’d just take a quick look at Fu Huang and leave. He had no other thoughts—he was simply worried about his brother’s head illness. What if the women from Ci’en Palace had only reported good news and hidden the bad? Or maybe they didn’t even know the truth themselves.
Before long, the palace sent a litter to bring him in.
It had been a month since he last stepped foot in the palace.
By now, night had nearly fallen. The palace lamps weren’t yet lit, and everywhere he looked, all he could see were the dark, towering palace walls—no lights, no people.
It reminded him of his very first time entering the palace.
It hadn’t felt like entering a royal palace at all. It felt like stepping into the underworld.
And tonight, the palace seemed even quieter, more desolate than that first time. The farther in they went, the deeper the silence grew, until they reached the familiar Qingyuan Palace. A flock of crows swept overhead, cawing loudly.
It was too dark.
In the distance, a palace maid was lighting lanterns, the faint glow of the flame flickering like ghost lights in the depths of the palace.
He stepped down from the litter at Qingyuan Palace and saw Eunuch Qin waiting at the entrance, with just two other eunuchs behind him. The glow from the palace lanterns illuminated their crimson robes, making them look all the more like spirits.
Maybe it had just been too long since he’d been in the palace. He wasn’t used to it anymore.
Seeing Qin, Fu Ye’s eyes burned with tears. “Eunuch Qin…”
Qin looked like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He dropped to his knees in a rush. “Your Highness! You’ve finally come back!”
Fu Ye stepped forward and helped him up, gripping Qin’s hands. The two of them stared at each other, eyes shining with tears, as if they hadn’t seen each other in half a lifetime.
“Is my brother well? Where is he? What’s he doing?” Fu Ye asked one question after another.
Qin answered, “His Majesty… His Majesty is reviewing memorials in the west annex hall.”
With that, he led Fu Ye toward the west annex.
As they walked, Fu Ye caught sight of a group of eunuchs peeking at him from the east courtyard gate.
He even heard their soft whispers: “It’s His Highness! It really is His Highness!”
“His Highness has come back!”
Their voices were low, but it was clear how much they had missed him.
And no wonder. With someone like Fu Huang—such a tyrant—at the helm, everyone lived under pressure. Fu Ye was like the little angel of the palace. Of course they loved him.
His mood lifted, and with the wine still in his veins, he waved cheerfully to them. Shuang Fu said, “Your Highness, let me go say hello. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them.”
Fu Ye smiled. “Go on then.”
Shuang Fu immediately trotted over.
Fu Ye continued on with Qin, passing through the west garden gate.
And suddenly, his heart started pounding again.
He really hadn’t seen his imperial brother in so long.
And now, all of a sudden, he just wanted to cry.
That heart-stealer—he’d given him this lovesickness, yet somehow could still be so heartless.
Fu Ye was trying to think of what excuse he should offer, when before he knew it, they had arrived at the doors of the west annex hall.
Soft light glowed from beneath the window. He heard Eunuch Qin announce, “Your Majesty, His Highness the Prince has arrived.”
There was no response from inside.
Qin turned back to look at him and lifted the curtain. “Your Highness, please go in.”
Fu Ye stood still for a moment. It struck him—he’d come here in such a rush, he hadn’t even put on anything especially nice. After spending half the day out and having had some wine, who knew if his face was oily, if his hair was neat enough?
As those thoughts ran through his mind, he’d already stepped inside.
The hall was brightly lit. He saw Fu Huang standing at his desk, hair loose about his shoulders. “So, you actually remembered to come back.”
He had grown so thin—so, so thin. He looked older too, like all that was left was skin and bone, like a withering pine tree clinging to life.
Fu Ye only took one look at him before the tears spilled over.
Fu Huang had been ready with a bellyful of harsh words, but when he saw Fu Ye bow his head and start to sob, he froze. He glanced toward Qin, only to realize the eunuch had already left.
And had shut the door behind him.
By candlelight, Fu Ye’s robes looked especially fine—purple with a delicate pattern of kudzu blossoms. The hem of his robes seemed to carry a faint fragrance. Or maybe Fu Huang was just imagining it—how else could it feel like he’d caught a whiff of his scent?
Fu Huang’s lips twitched, but then a cough seized him. The sound rattled in his chest like a broken bellows. Fu Ye forgot his tears at once, rushing forward to steady him, hand pressed to his back. He could feel the ragged wheeze trembling beneath his palm, and panic rose in his heart. “How did you get this sick?”
Fu Huang rasped, “I’m not dying.”
Then added, “If I really were close to death, someone would’ve summoned you long before now.”
He turned to look at Fu Ye, saw the shimmer of tears in those eyes—God, those beautiful eyes, the ones he dreamed of night after night. Whatever cutting words he’d planned melted on his tongue. He only said, “Just a cold. Almost better. I don’t want you catching it.”
A month apart, and it felt like he’d been lost in a daze—like they hadn’t seen each other in a lifetime. Fu Ye drew his hand back, voice soft. “I’m not afraid of that.”
Fu Huang was silent for a long time, then asked, “So why did you come back today?”
All those excuses Fu Ye had come up with on the way over—he’d forgotten them all. Overcome, he could only say, “I missed you.”
He was the Son of Heaven, the ruler above all, who had heard endless songs of praise and tribute. He had weathered bloodshed and betrayal, endured curses and slander without flinching, stood tall through every storm. Yet this one simple sentence shattered him.
He thought—feelings between people weren’t always about mutual desire. What he shared with Fu Ye was no lesser than any love in the world.
Deeper, stronger, irreplaceable—like vines with roots so tightly entwined underground that no one else could ever see or separate them.
And that was good. Let it bind them tight where no one else could see.
Now, even if they didn’t meet again, he would no longer fear that Fu Ye would ever truly leave him, or forget him.
His own sick, boundless love had already seeped into Fu Ye’s very bones.
His temples throbbed painfully. Those dark cravings that usually only clawed at him in the dead of night were breaking free again, pushing against the walls of his self-control.
Right now, Fu Ye—with his roots entwined so closely with his own—looked beautiful.
Like he was waiting to be drawn in, twisted together until they became one. Until they lived as one, and together blossomed into a sea of spring.
Author’s note:
Restraint and separation that go against the heart only hasten the breaking of the dam.
