Once the Emperor and the Prince had entered, Steward Jin and the others took charge of receiving the palace attendants who’d come along.
The crowd of onlookers outside could only gape as those elegant, finely dressed palace maids carried box after box of treasures through the gates of the Prince’s residence.
The maids, meanwhile, were quietly thinking to themselves: It’s been ages since we got to wear these pearl-trimmed skirts and tasseled slippers. The dresses we’d kept packed away since Emperor Wuzong’s days are finally seeing the light of day again.
The maids looked so beautiful, so refined—
If the treasures they’re carrying are worthy of such pretty hands, they must be priceless beyond imagining!
Behind them came eunuchs hefting large chests.
What a shame—the crowd couldn’t see what was inside. They could only wonder what wonders those chests held.
But there was one thing the crowd did manage to see clearly—a massive jade mountain.
That jade carving was famous across the realm, said to be the largest jade sculpture in existence. Its surface bore an intricate engraving of the vast rivers and mountains of the empire—a landscape of ten thousand miles. It was the palace’s most treasured artifact, the very symbol of imperial power. And the poems inscribed on it? All personally written by Emperor Mingzong himself!
Just seeing that one piece, they could imagine the caliber of the other treasures being carried inside.
His Majesty is being unbelievably generous to this Prince of Huan. Is he planning to make him the little Emperor or what?!
Though the imperial procession had already entered the residence, the crowd lingered, reluctant to disperse. Their talk turned to the Emperor.
“He doesn’t look scary at all.”
“Just… so thin.”
“And holding hands with the Prince of Huan like that—looks like real brotherly affection to me.”
“They don’t look much alike though—hard to believe they’re full brothers.”
“Wasn’t there a rumor the Emperor wasn’t actually born of Lady Zhaoyang…”
“Are you crazy?! You dare say such things out loud?!”
“Dragon fathers have nine sons, and every son is different!”
“Now that’s well said,” someone chimed in.
Xiao Yichen overheard the murmuring and thought to himself: The atmosphere in the capital really has changed. In the past, who would have dared speak like this?
He turned to Wei Simo. “Why are you still standing here?”
Wei Simo said softly, “His Highness looks truly splendid today.”
Xiao Yichen narrowed his eyes. “He’s wearing an eleven-bead crown. Do you even know what that means?”
Wei Simo’s cheeks flushed. “I was just looking, that’s all.”
Xiao Yichen said flatly, “From now on, he’ll be as unreachable as the heavens.”
Wei Simo gazed at him. “Hasn’t he always been as unreachable as the heavens?”
Xiao Yichen fell silent, staring at that delicate face.
Wei Simo hurried after him. “You’re really leaving?”
Xiao Yichen said, “With Daliang eyeing our borders, this is the best time for a man to serve his country and earn honor.”
What he didn’t say was—before he left, he just wanted one last look at that man who dwelled among the stars.
“There’ve been so many joining the army lately. Xie Liangbi and the others left with the main force just the other day,” Wei Simo added. “You worked alongside them at court—you should look out for each other in the army.”
Xiao Yichen chuckled. “We’re not even headed to the same place. They’re bound for Langguo. I’m off to Zouzhou.”
“Zouzhou? But isn’t Langguo where the fighting is?” Wei Simo was startled.
Xiao Yichen replied, “No need for you to worry about these things. Just stay in the capital and work on your riding and archery. Try not to fall off your horse again at next year’s spring hunt!”
Wei Simo’s eyes reddened at that. He stood there watching as Xiao Yichen mounted and rode away. Parting was the thing he dreaded most. He wanted to call out, offer some last bit of advice, but was afraid Xiao Yichen would scold him for being so clingy. So he held it in. And when Xiao Yichen finally disappeared from view, he remained standing there for a long while.
Inside the Prince of Huan’s residence, the ceremonial music came to an end.
Fu Huang took his seat in the main hall of the front courtyard, and accepted the kneeling bows of all the Prince’s household.
Fu Ye hadn’t yet built a proper team of advisors. His residence held only a steward, a chief historian, a moral instructor, a military advisor, a secretary, a handful of courtiers, and his study companions—Zhang Jianwen and Zhang Hanlin—who also served as resident tutors.
The rest were the maids and eunuchs who attended him in the inner residence. Altogether, they numbered over a hundred.
It was Fu Huang’s first time seeing the people of the Prince of Huan’s household.
When he’d finished looking them over, he said simply: “Reward them.”
A few eunuchs came forward, each holding a vermilion lacquered tray. And on those trays—piles of gold leaves.
Each golden leaf was as thin as a cicada’s wing, its edges engraved with intricate cloud patterns, shining so brightly it dazzled the eyes.
Fu Huang rewarded everyone with a handful of gold leaves.
Gold leaves granted by the Emperor—this wasn’t just a gift. This was something they could send home to be enshrined like a sacred relic!
The entire household of the Prince’s residence was overwhelmed, grateful to the point of tears.
Beside them, the court diarists swiftly recorded everything with their brushes.
Fu Ye had grown so used to those diarists that he barely noticed them anymore, treating them as part of the Emperor’s regular entourage. But today, for some reason, they caught his attention, and he leaned over slightly to take a look.
The one writing today was the youngest of the lot. When he saw Fu Ye glance his way, he flushed with excitement and eagerly tilted his writing board to show him.
Fu Ye saw the words:
“…His Majesty entered the residence, met the household in the Hall of Three Blessings, and then bestowed golden leaves upon all, from the highest to the humblest. Such a rare honor—truly a glimpse of how deeply the Prince of Huan is favored.”
Ah.
And suddenly it hit him. All the moments between him and Fu Huang… had these diarists recorded everything too?
Like that day during the spring hunt? The night at the goddess’s hot spring?
Ahhhhhh.
His face went red at the thought, embarrassment flooding him. And yet… wouldn’t those records go down in history one day? Long after they were gone from this world, their words would remain. Even if, in future chronicles, Fu Huang was only described with a passing line—“The Prince of Huan was dearly beloved”—that alone would bind them together for a thousand, ten thousand years.
That thought sent a surge of emotion through him. He stole another look at Fu Huang, who sat there so composed, so regal, exuding imperial dignity in every gesture. Fu Ye’s heart burned hotter. If Fu Huang could truly become a ruler for the ages, his name sung for all time, Fu Ye’s heart swelled with pride—and with feelings too fierce to suppress.
But a visit like this had its set protocol: tour the residence, enjoy performances and banquets. Officials were everywhere, diarists at hand, recording every word spoken. He had no choice but to rein in the tide of his emotions, instead showing utmost respect—calling Fu Huang “Royal Brother” with every phrase, polite and proper, his every move dignified.
Only… he thought, even if no one else can see how full my heart is, he must know.
And Fu Huang did know.
Right there, in front of everyone, Fu Ye was looking at him with those eyes, eyes filled with longing, eyes that spoke of springtime and desire.
As if he couldn’t wait to send everyone away and drag him into the inner chambers to be alone together.
Could he at least try to hide it a little?!
The way he was looking at him… it made Fu Huang want to scold him on the spot.
The boy doesn’t know his limits. He looks so delicate as it is—last time, when I held him just a little too tightly, he acted like his bones were about to break.
That night, when they’d bared their hearts to each other, Fu Ye had kept nuzzling against his cheek—Fu Huang had known full well what he wanted, only the boy had been too shy. Fu Huang, worried his lingering cough might still be infectious, had held himself back.
Does Fu Ye look at me now, see me thin and frail, and think I’m too weak to pose any threat?
Or does he think I’m some kind of saintly gentleman?
Though this visit had been arranged on short notice, Fu Ye had still prepared song and dance performances, acrobats, and a feast beyond compare. He’d especially arranged for all the dishes he’d long wanted Fu Huang to try—authentic crab-stuffed oranges, cherry fritters, stonefish belly, and other beloved local delicacies.
There was just so much he wanted to show him, so much he wanted him to taste.
Fu Huang, who’d spent his years confined in the palace, ruling over the world but knowing so little of its joys—he deserved it all. Fu Ye felt like he was cradling a trove of treasures, not even knowing which to offer first.
Even Eunuch Qin, standing quietly at the side, felt moved to tears at the sight.
One had to admire how the Emperor kept his composure.
Before the Prince of Huan, he always managed to stay collected. Probably because, like any man in front of the person he loved, he wanted to appear the bigger man, the true gentleman.
And oh, how much satisfaction that must bring him inside.
In no time, half the day had slipped by.
And now, it was nearly time for the imperial carriage to return to the palace.
Fu Ye finally dropped the act. He asked, “The wall behind the rear tower is from the previous dynasty, with its brick reliefs—they’re rare these days. Royal Brother, would you like to go take a look?”
Fu Huang rose to his feet.
This time, as they entered the inner courtyard, it was only the few eunuchs closest to him—Shuang Fu, Eunuch Qin, Li Dun, and a couple others—who followed along.
Once they passed through the carved gallery, Li Dun and the others stopped at the corner gate.
Brick reliefs weren’t in fashion in Great Zhou anymore. The wall opposite the rear tower stretched more than thirty feet, its carvings exquisitely detailed, depicting scenes from the Classic of Mountains and Seas. Beneath the central figure of the Queen Mother of the West stood a small shrine, with offerings of incense, melons, and fruits.
Just around the corner was his own residence—Yongning Pavilion.
Fu Ye could wait no longer. After giving the brick wall a token glance, he said to Eunuch Qin, “I’ll take my Royal Brother upstairs to have a look. You all wait here.”
So Qin and the others halted where they stood.
Qin stole a glance at Fu Huang and lowered his head, hiding a smile at the corners of his mouth.
As expected—the Prince of Huan has guts!
Fu Ye headed straight for the stairs, glancing back at Fu Huang as he went.
And Fu Huang followed him up.
After holding himself back all day, Fu Ye’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest.
Stealing a taste. A stolen taste is always sweeter.
He stole a peek through the carved wooden window down below. There stood Qin and the others, among the flowers. That young court diarist was standing there too, hands at his sides, tilting his head up toward them.
Even more thrilling now.
Yongning Pavilion sat at the heart of the second floor of the rear tower. Fu Ye pushed the door open and leaned casually against the doorframe, looking back at Fu Huang.
Inside—it was like stepping into the Celestial Palace itself, lavish beyond words, more splendid even than the Spring Dawn Hall.
Right past the doorway stood twelve panels of purple sandalwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, their flowers and trees set with coral beads and fine jade—gifts from the Empress Dowager to Fu Ye. From the corners of the room hung palace lanterns draped in rosy gauze. The gilded daybed, carved with curling peonies, was cloaked in a canopy embroidered with jeweled blossoms that fell like a cascade of light. Just looking at that daybed, one could almost feel its rich, inviting softness. The Portrait of Lady Li Wearing Flowers by Zhang Mi—gifted to him by Fu Huang—hung on the wall, with a jade vase below brimming with the freshest blooms of the season.
The place was immaculate.
Fu Huang stepped inside. And right away, Fu Ye shut the door behind him.
Fu Huang said, “I’m still not over this cough. You’d better rein in your wicked thoughts.”
Fu Ye: “…”
Fu Ye hadn’t expected Fu Huang to speak so bluntly, and it made him blush.
Fu Huang let his gaze sweep over the room. By the window, he spotted the pot of green orchids he’d given Fu Ye. It was thriving—taller now than it had been a month ago. Bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, it looked fresh and full of life.
He walked over to Fu Ye’s writing desk. On it sat a brightly colored sweet melon-shaped teapot, along with a small water dropper shaped like two red persimmons, glazed in a deep cinnabar red. Both pieces were delicate and charming.
The sight of them made Fu Huang’s heart swell with affection.
They suited Fu Ye perfectly. He always did have a fondness for these bright, beautiful little things.
His gaze drifted to the papers on the desk.
The scent of fresh ink lingered—Fu Ye must’ve been writing just recently. His calligraphy had improved a great deal. Lately, he’d taken to imitating the style of Master Liu Gong’s script—bold and free-flowing, like startled swans taking flight. It matched his unrestrained, spirited nature perfectly.
Beside the desk stood a small bookshelf he’d set up, neatly lined with books.
Fu Huang glanced over everything one by one and asked, “No improper books?”
Fu Ye replied, “What improper books?”
Fu Huang said plainly, “Erotic paintings.”
Fu Ye: “…No.”
“You’re not in good health—stay away from them.”
“Didn’t you used to get them for me?”
“That was back then—because I was afraid you’d go chasing after anyone who caught your eye.”
Fu Ye pressed his lips together, tilted his head slightly, and asked with a hint of a smile, “And now?”
Fu Huang caught the subtle, teasing note in his voice, but still answered, “Now you have me.”
Fu Ye: “…”
His cheeks flushed. “Having you is no different from not having you.”
Fu Huang looked at him for a long moment before saying, “I’ve told you—I have this cough.”
“Let me take a look.”
As he spoke, he stepped forward, reaching out to feel Fu Huang’s pulse.
Fu Huang raised his hand, letting him check.
His pulse was indeed a little irregular.
His wrist wasn’t exactly slender—his sinews and bones were well defined. That large hand of his was striking: pale with a touch of sickness, but long-fingered and clean, and the marks left by archery stood out starkly against his skin.
Fu Ye didn’t let go of his wrist, and looked up. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”
Truly reckless.
Fu Huang stepped closer.
Fu Ye tilted his head back to meet his gaze—Fu Huang was so tall, he had to look up to see his eyes. And in those eyes, spring had bloomed; his feelings, so strong now, he didn’t even bother to hide them—they spilled over completely.
“I’m wearing your clothes underneath,” Fu Ye said softly.
Fu Huang’s brow twitched faintly. After a pause, he reached out, hooked two fingers—his index and middle—into Fu Ye’s collar, and pulled it open.
Beneath was an inner shirt embroidered with a golden dragon.
On such a formal day, and he was wearing his clothes underneath.
Fu Huang lowered his eyes, and his expression shifted at once.
The air around them changed too—everything fell silent. Even the summer breeze drifting through the carved window felt heavy with heat.
Fu Ye kept looking up at him. That face, a little pale and thin from illness, looked almost unbearably handsome in this moment. He felt an urge to lean in and breathe some life into him.
“Your lips are so dry,” Fu Ye murmured.
Fu Huang could resist no longer. “Then shut your mouth.”
Fu Ye froze—then his face turned red all over. But obediently, he closed his lips.
He looked so beautiful, standing there as if ready to receive grace.
Fu Huang had always known he could drive a man mad.
Slowly, Fu Huang reached out and brushed his lips with his fingers, his gaze lingering over him.
“You know, back in the army, we’d see fresh recruits who liked to bluster—but when the blood started flowing on the battlefield, they’d be the first to run. The quiet ones… they might turn out to be the bravest.”
Hearing this, Fu Ye parted his lips ever so slightly, as if inviting him to reach inside.
Unlike Fu Huang’s dry lips, Fu Ye’s were soft—so soft they felt like rose petals beneath his fingers, so red, so tender. He rubbed them gently, then let his fingers slip between them. Fu Ye bit down lightly on his finger.
“A boy like you, still untouched… I think you’re more like the man who talks of loving the dragon but would be terrified to see the real thing. Even if I let you have it, you might not like the taste.”
Fu Ye felt that was just too unfair.
That cold, sharp face of his, saying such things while his fingers traced his lips.
To show his defiance, he let his white teeth lightly graze and nibble at Fu Huang’s finger.
He was more alluring sober than he ever was drunk.
Fu Huang wondered—how could someone this young… be like this?
And then he lowered his head, and kissed Fu Ye’s lips.
Fu Ye had just been thinking that kissing his fingers didn’t count as a real kiss. He was about to protest when Fu Huang’s fingers pressed into the corners of his mouth.
Then, all at once, Fu Huang cupped his face and kissed him hard.
His tongue forced its way inside, tangling with Fu Ye’s without any restraint or order—wild and overwhelming.
Fu Ye’s knees went weak, and Fu Huang’s arm slid around his waist, holding him up.
A bitter, masculine scent swept over him, filling every breath. Fu Huang’s large hand gripped his chin, relentless as it moved inch by inch, like conquering an enemy’s stronghold.
Fu Ye started gasping for air, his face showing his struggle. He slapped at Fu Huang’s neck in protest, but there was no mercy. By the time Fu Huang finally let him go, his lips were a complete mess, wet and swollen.
His stunning face looked like a crabapple blossom, drenched in the sun and rain.
Fu Huang’s fingers slipped into his mouth again. Fu Ye’s eyes filled with tears as he stared up at him.
Fu Huang’s gaze was deep and dark. His pupils, already pitch-black, seemed even larger now, shadowed with something brooding. His dry lips were now flushed red. Pinching Fu Ye’s tongue tip, he spoke like he was tempting him, his voice low: “Do you want to marry me? Make me your husband, let me ruin you. Isn’t that what you want—to have me ruin you?”
Fu Ye couldn’t answer—his eyes were unfocused, dazed.
And he didn’t dare bite down on those fingers anymore.
He thought Fu Huang looked a little crazed right then. Fu Huang saw his expression but didn’t say anything. His face darkened, and he said, “How about I pass this sickness in my heart to you too?”
As he spoke, he lifted Fu Ye and pressed him down onto the bed, kissing him again.
Fu Ye felt as if he’d been caught in the coils of a black dragon. He was so slender and slight, and the black robes of Fu Huang seemed to block out everything else. It was only then he realized: Fu Huang might look thin, but his strength was immense. Once he pinned him down, there was no escaping—he couldn’t even move.
Usually so arrogant, now Fu Ye was soft as a vine clinging to its tree, powerless to do anything else.
After a long while, Fu Huang finally asked him, “Are you alright?”
Fu Ye let out a faint “Mm,” still a little dazed.
It had only been… a kiss.
And yet, he felt as if he’d been soaked through.
“Good boy.”
Fu Huang hooked a finger into his collar, peeking inside, and said, “From now on, how about you just wear the clothes I’ve worn?”
Fu Ye whispered, “Okay.”
“Why are you crying?”
“I… I’m not crying. It’s just—what you did just now…”
“Too much for you?”
“A little.”
“You’ll have to get used to it,” Fu Huang said. “I’m not very good at kissing.”
After a moment, Fu Huang asked again, “Was that your first kiss?”
Fu Ye nodded quickly.
Fu Huang said, “Did you like it?”
Fu Ye’s whole body was flushed red.
Fu Huang looked at him for a long moment, his gaze dark and intense as ink. “Did I ever tell you… you’re truly beautiful.”
And with that, he kissed him again.
This time, the kiss was fiercer, deeper—like he meant to devour him, like he wanted to use this kiss to bind his very soul, so he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life.
Down below, Eunuch Qin stood waiting.
The prince loved flowers; the courtyard was filled with them. Standing beneath the tower, it felt as if he were adrift in a sea of blooms. The golden sunset bathed the entire garden in a soft, shimmering light, like it had been dusted in fine gold.
But he wasn’t in the mood to admire the scenery. All he could think was—maybe he should’ve shown His Majesty some of those paintings from the palace after all.
His Majesty had been overly cautious. Truth be told, his cold had long since cleared up.
The Emperor was just too proper sometimes. Too restrained.
Compared to him, the prince was certainly more skillful. The way he’d addressed the Emperor earlier—calling him “royal brother” this, “your humble brother” that—smiling so pleasantly, speaking so smoothly… with just the right hint of meaning, or maybe not. Either way, he clearly knew what he was doing.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, he saw the prince and the Emperor coming down from the tower.
The golden light streamed over them, and oddly enough, their robes didn’t look the least bit rumpled.
But… what was this? Was the prince… crying?
The prince’s skin was so fair, so delicate. Now, at the corners of his eyes, a faint blush lingered, along with a subtle glimmer of tears.
Heavens above—what had just happened?
Qin didn’t dare ask. He simply followed as they passed through the ornamental gate. More and more attendants and retainers gathered around to see them off.
Qin heard the Emperor say, “Be sure to come to the palace tomorrow to give thanks.”
It was proper, since His Majesty had graced the prince’s residence today—the prince should go thank him at court.
A clever excuse. Even the Empress Dowager couldn’t object.
The prince answered softly, “Mm.”
There was something unusually docile about him now. In his narrow-waisted crimson robes, he was as breathtaking as a peony in full bloom.
The Emperor’s carriage, its golden phoenix emblem gleaming, was already waiting at the gates.
Outside the gates, a crowd had gathered, calling out to the prince and to His Majesty. The place was bustling with voices. The Emperor paid them no mind, climbing straight into the carriage.
Qin stole a glance at the prince and asked quietly, “Your Highness… are you alright?”
The prince shook his head quickly. “It’s nothing.”
But his voice—his voice had changed from crying.
And he looked a little dazed, as if something had sucked the very life out of him.
What in the world had happened?
Qin had no choice but to accompany the Emperor back to the palace. After they’d ridden a short distance, he glanced back at the prince once more. The prince was still standing at the gate, quiet and obedient. His crimson robes fluttered in the sunset, dazzling as if he were a flame burning within the clouds.
A man like that—only a sovereign was worthy of him.
Back at the palace, Qin dismounted. The sky had darkened by then. He asked, “Would Your Majesty like a bath now?”
Fu Huang said, “Not tonight. Have them prepare my medicine.”
Qin passed on the order, then followed him into Spring Dawn Hall. Fu Huang reclined on the couch, not bothering with the memorials waiting for him. He simply lay there, lost in thought.
Qin ventured, “Did Your Majesty and the prince have a disagreement?”
Fu Huang said, “No.”
Then after a pause, he added, “He told me before that he liked it rough.”
Qin blinked. “Ah?”
After a moment, he swallowed and asked, “Your Majesty… weren’t rough enough?”
Fu Huang said, “I think… maybe he’s one of those people who talk about loving the dragon, but are terrified when they actually see it.”
Qin: “Ah…”
So… too rough, then?
My poor, delicate, beautiful Prince Huan!
Fu Huang folded his legs. “But at this point, he has no choice anymore.”
After a moment, he said again, “Send two imperial physicians to Prince Huan’s residence. I’m worried I might’ve passed something to him.”
He had gone in deep.
Qin hurried off to see it done.
He almost wanted to go himself—to check on Prince Huan and offer some comfort.
Fu Huang lay down on the heated couch. Outside, the roses in the courtyard blazed like clouds and brocade, their fragrance drifting in through the window, settling onto his dark dragon robe. The robe, touched by the glow of the evening sky, seemed to come alive—the dragon embroidered in gold thread now looked tinged with red, rippling in the twilight breeze as if it had drawn breath.
As the memories played through his mind, a haze settled over him, his face growing warm.
At last, the sun’s final rays faded completely. Qin came in to light the lamps. He saw Fu Huang, cloaked in black, stretched out there—tall, lean, his frame like that of a black dragon caught between sleep and wakefulness. The last traces of illness seemed to have fallen away, leaving behind a dangerous, predatory air.
