Shuang Fu saw His Majesty enter and quickly bowed low to pay his respects.
Fu Ye turned and saw Fu Huang. His face flushed red.
That morning, he had still been wrapped in Fu Huang’s arms beneath the red canopy, lingering in tender closeness for quite a while. Now, perhaps because the daylight was too bright, he felt unexpectedly shy at the sight of Fu Huang.
Fu Huang sat down across from him and ordered Eunuch Qin to bring the meal.
Even now, it was as if traces of each other’s scent and warmth still lingered on their bodies. The intimacy they had shared seemed to shimmer between them, unspoken, in their gaze.
Fu Huang asked, “Are you feeling better?”
Fu Ye nodded.
In truth, he wasn’t. He was still in pain.
But he accepted it sweetly, without complaint.
He wasn’t as composed as Fu Huang. When Eunuch Qin had come to bring water the night before, Fu Ye had hidden under the covers. And now, seeing him again in the daylight, he still felt too embarrassed to meet Eunuch Qin’s eyes.
Fu Huang turned to Shuang Fu and said, “You may leave. I have something to say to your lord.”
Shuang Fu hurried out, keeping his head low.
Earlier, while helping Fu Ye dress, he had seen the marks on his lord’s neck—one after another.
No doubt about it, they were bite marks.
His lord was so noble and precious; why did the Emperor always treat him like this?
Poor lord! As fair and delicate as a flower, and yet—it felt as if he’d been… wronged!
After Shuang Fu left, Fu Huang rose and gathered Fu Ye into his arms.
Fu Ye nestled against him obediently.
He didn’t say a word or make a move, but Fu Ye’s ears turned completely red.
It was as if, having shared a night together, he had given himself over, heart and soul, like a little wife.
Fu Huang’s heart swelled with tender affection, but also with a stirring pride—as if he had truly conquered him through his strength as a man. It filled him with a sense of heroic satisfaction. His voice softened as he said, “When I leave the city later, don’t bother seeing me off. No need for more tears—it pains me too.”
Fu Ye said, “Even if you asked me to, I couldn’t see you off. If the Empress Dowager saw me limping, she’d surely ask what happened.”
Fu Huang chuckled lightly. “I held back enough last night, didn’t I? You’re far too delicate.”
Fu Ye had no reply to that.
Because Fu Huang really had been restrained.
Fu Ye could feel that Fu Huang hadn’t let himself go fully.
And even so, it had nearly cost him half his life.
Fu Huang spoke without the slightest trace of embarrassment. “I won’t always hold back like that. While I’m away from the capital, you should eat more, exercise more—ride, shoot. Build yourself up a bit. When I return—understand?”
He wasn’t a reckless man. He only said these things because he didn’t want Fu Ye to be too heartbroken at their parting. But to leave for battle so soon after their wedding—any man, no matter how hardened, would feel reluctant to go.
He held Fu Ye close for a while longer, savoring the moment, until Eunuch Qin and the others came in to lay out the meal.
The Empress Dowager had also sent Palace Steward Sun with two bowls of fish soup.
“Her Majesty was up before dawn,” Sun said, “and made this fish soup with her own hands.”
Because of the campaign and because the Emperor treated Prince Huan so well, even the Empress Dowager now felt a touch of sorrow at the thought of parting with His Majesty.
The Emperor used to drink this soup often.
But in the past few years, surely, he hadn’t tasted it at all.
The Emperor and the Empress Dowager were both stubborn by nature. For their relationship to ever return to how it once was—well, that was simply impossible. The Emperor, in particular, was cold-hearted. Palace Steward Sun had thought he wouldn’t drink the soup. But today, the Emperor seemed in good spirits and took a couple of sips.
By the time they finished their breakfast, it was already the hour of Chen. Fu Huang then departed once more.
Eunuch Qin, seeing Fu Ye walking with a limp, felt sorry for him. He quietly asked, “My lord, everyone in this palace is here to serve His Majesty, the Empress Dowager, and yourself. There’s no need for you to be so polite or feel embarrassed.”
Fu Ye looked at him.
So Eunuch Qin spoke plainly: “Would my lord like to summon the imperial physician for a look? They are tight-lipped. This old servant gives you his word.”
Fu Ye’s face flushed red. “No need! I… I have medicine myself.”
He was too embarrassed to admit it. The clove balm, the salve he applied later—he had prepared them himself long ago.
At the time, when he was still outside the palace, he had no real hope of ever being with Fu Huang. But for some reason, when he had studied those medicinal recipes, he had made them anyway.
Xiao Ai clicked its tongue. “Tsk tsk.”
Fu Ye groaned, “Ahhh!”
“You’re grown up now. You’re no longer a boy—you’re a man.”
“Ahhhhhh!”
Xiao Ai laughed. “Congratulations.”
Fu Ye muttered, “…Thank you.”
“I hardly even dare read your memories from these past two days.”
“You’re not allowed!” Fu Ye cried at once.
“What do you take me for?” Xiao Ai said. “Still, seeing you like this—you’re satisfied, aren’t you?”
Fu Ye said quietly, “…He’s perfect.”
Xiao Ai clicked its tongue again.
And Fu Ye wasn’t lying.
Fu Huang’s performance really had been perfect—so gentle, no wild abandon—just a slow, steady rhythm, pressing deeper and deeper, until Fu Ye, tormented by that slow, unrelenting pleasure, finally reached his peak.
And it really had been long—so long that even now, Fu Ye felt as if something inside him was still out of place.
He personally went to inspect the medicine chest of the accompanying physicians.
The physicians all declared their loyalty: “Your Highness, rest assured—we will take good care of His Majesty!”
“I leave it to you, gentlemen. Thank you.”
Fu Ye then went to check the clothes Fu Huang would wear on the journey.
Many of them were his undergarments.
The physicians watched from the side and couldn’t help but whisper to each other:
“The Emperor has left the harem empty—no Empress, no concubines. If he did, His Highness wouldn’t have to trouble himself with these tasks.”
“True enough. But I must say, His Highness seems truly virtuous.”
“Imagine His Majesty looking at such beauty every day. What sort of stunning woman could possibly catch his eye in the future?”
“It’s incredible, isn’t it? I swear, His Highness grows more beautiful by the day. Just look at him today—such a glow, so fair with a rosy flush.”
Fu Ye hurried off—afraid they might figure something out.
“Your Highness!” one physician called after him. “Is there something wrong with your leg?”
“Ah, I twisted it a little. It’s nothing. Thank you, gentlemen. I leave my brother in your care. When he returns in triumph, I’ll host a banquet in your honor.”
The physicians bowed deeply. “Of course, of course. Thank you, Your Highness!”
Fu Ye made his way back to the Chun Chao Hall, feeling awkward.
His steps were unsteady—hard to describe. It was as if his mind had been shaken loose. Everything felt hazy and dazed.
He had barely crossed the threshold of the hall when he heard someone announce: “Her Majesty the Empress Dowager has arrived!”
Fu Ye froze and quickly straightened up.
The Empress Dowager had thought long and hard before deciding to come in person.
With the Emperor setting off for war, as his mother, it was only right that she make an appearance.
Besides, who could say what fate awaited him on this campaign?
She was not like the Emperor, so cold and heartless!
She had personally inspected the Emperor’s belongings once more. Most of it was fine—but then she noticed several robes among his garments that clearly belonged to Prince Huan.
The Empress Dowager fell silent. “….”
Forget it. If the Emperor just wanted to wear one of Prince Huan’s robes, she would simply turn a blind eye and let him be.
As long as he wasn’t sleeping with him.
She turned and looked at Fu Ye. “What happened to your lip?”
Fu Ye answered gently, “Your son accidentally bumped it while preparing my brother’s things.”
He truly felt guilty toward the Empress Dowager.
In truth, it had happened the night before—during their lovemaking, when they were kissing, his lip had knocked against Fu Huang’s teeth.
They were both inexperienced, unpracticed.
Inside, he felt deeply ashamed. But outwardly, he appeared surprisingly composed. It wasn’t that he wasn’t embarrassed—it was just that his mind kept wondering when the Empress Dowager would finally take her leave.
Before long, Chancellor Xie and the others came out from the imperial study.
The hour had passed to Si. It was time for the Emperor to depart.
The Empress Dowager called Xie Xiang and several of the young officers who would escort the Emperor, giving them a few final instructions. Fu Ye stood at her side, watching as Fu Huang entered the Chun Chao Hall.
With so many people present, he realized he had no more chance for a private word with Fu Huang.
If only he’d said more that morning.
But really, there wasn’t anything in particular left to say—just that he couldn’t bear the thought of parting.
A little while later, Fu Huang emerged from the hall, now clad in full armor.
The moment Fu Ye saw him in that armor, his heart gave a sharp pang.
So, the time had finally come.
Fu Huang was tall and powerfully built; the armor suited him perfectly. Even the sharp angles of his lean face seemed more heroic.
Fu Ye thought to himself—he still wanted to see Fu Huang off outside the city gates.
To look at him, just a little longer.
So Fu Ye said to Shuang Fu, “Prepare the carriage for me.”
Fu Huang said, “Ride with me.”
Fu Ye glanced at the Empress Dowager.
To his surprise, she didn’t object.
They’d been living under the same roof—what was one carriage ride at this point? Soon enough, the court officials would follow, the common folk would line the roads, and she herself would be in an escorting carriage. The Emperor surely wouldn’t suddenly lose his mind and do anything improper.
She was at ease.
Her heart softened as she thought of Fu Huang’s deep affection for Fu Ye. Such devotion—unheard of through the ages. Though their bond was a doomed one, the more she considered it, the more she felt sorry for Fu Huang.
In this life, when it came to matters of love, he would end up with nothing.
The thought made her heart ache. Perhaps it was the nearness of parting—or perhaps she had truly grown old at last. The hard resolve she’d once had was gone. As she boarded her carriage, she began to turn the prayer beads in her hand. When the curtains were lifted, she saw Fu Ye climbing into the carriage with Fu Huang’s help.
No sooner had Fu Ye settled in than Fu Huang followed him up.
Eunuch Qin immediately let down the curtain.
The imperial carriage was spacious, but Fu Ye felt more nervous now than sorrowful.
The carriage set off, its wheels creaking and rattling. Fu Huang said, “You’re not going to come here? When I’m truly gone, you’ll regret it so much you’ll cry.”
Fu Ye couldn’t hold back any longer and threw himself into Fu Huang’s arms.
The armor was hard, pressing through the thin summer robe so that it hurt a little—but he welcomed that pain, clinging to Fu Huang even tighter. The armor was cold, but Fu Huang’s neck and cheeks were warm. Fu Huang simply lifted him onto his lap and held him there.
Fu Huang liked that feeling of strength, of having the upper hand over him.
That was just who he was—strong and dominant.
Fu Ye recalled how, last night, when Fu Huang had entered him, he’d brought the candle close and ordered him to look down at that moment, saying, “Watch how I take you, how I make you mine.”
His gaze had turned dazed then, tinged with sorrow. The intimacy of marriage—the true, boundless closeness between them—was beyond anything words could express.
“Stay here, wait for me to return. If you miss me, write to me,” Fu Huang said.
Fu Ye murmured, “Mm,” and added, “You don’t have to worry about me. Just focus on what you need to do.”
The carriage rumbled along the stone road, the clatter of hooves, wheels, and the footfalls of their escort filling the air. Unlike the seclusion of the Chun Chao Hall, they were now surrounded by the gaze of countless people—yet, in that very moment, they kissed.
And this kiss was deeper than any before. So deep that saliva trickled from the corner of Fu Ye’s mouth, making him think of last night, of how Fu Huang had kissed him the same way—not like their first, fierce kiss, but slow and lasting, a kiss that seemed to reach into his very soul. He longed for that feeling again—of their bodies joined as one, of their souls meeting through those twin gates of union. The ache of parting surged to its peak, and he wished Fu Huang would draw his soul out and take it with him.
From behind came the voice of a palace attendant: “Your Majesty, we’ve reached the Heavenly Gate.”
Then they heard Sun Gongzheng call out, “Raise the curtains.”
That voice, so near, snapped Fu Ye out of his haze of longing. He remembered—the Empress Dowager was just behind them, only a few yards away. And here he was, in the carriage, locked in a kiss with Fu Huang…
Shame and a thrill mingled in him.
Outside, the ceremonial music began to play—they had reached the Heavenly Gate.
Fu Huang fed him one last breath of that kiss before finally letting him go.
Fu Ye’s gaze was already dreamy, unfocused.
He loved Fu Huang even more than before.
And Fu Huang, hardening his heart at this moment of farewell, let darker thoughts rise in him—he wanted Fu Ye to yearn for him day and night, to miss him so much it would be like torment. So he released him, offering no more tenderness.
Once they passed through the Heavenly Gate, Fu Huang dismounted the carriage and mounted a tall, fine steed.
Fu Ye sat a moment longer, then decided to do the same. He took a horse and rode close behind Fu Huang.
The sun shone down, and though his body still ached—his backside still sore from last night, making riding painful—he didn’t care. What he wanted was for the world to see him riding at Fu Huang’s side.
Fu Huang, clad in armor, astride his mighty steed—his slender frame transformed by the armor into one of strength and power—led at the front, majestic and imposing. Fu Ye, still lost in the emotions of parting and the daze of that deep kiss, followed on horseback, his gaze fixed on Fu Huang. Around them, the people filled the streets, cheering and bowing, their voices rising like waves and swallowing them whole.
At the third quarter of the Si hour, the Emperor rode through the Heavenly Gate.
Prince Huan rode at his side.
The Empress Dowager followed in her carriage.
The three most noble figures of Great Zhou led the civil and military officials out of the city. The army had long since gathered beyond the gates.
The people lined the route, cheering and bowing, shouting their blessings for Fu Huang.
In her carriage, the Empress Dowager looked out at the teeming crowds, their cheers shaking the heavens. For a fleeting moment, she felt dizzy. Then her eyes fell on Fu Ye, riding close behind Fu Huang, and she was filled with bittersweet emotion.
If only things could always be this way, she thought. Wouldn’t that be good?
If only Fu Huang could be as he once was… If only—if only one day he might truly become the wise and celebrated sovereign that all the nation cheered for…
He could be.
He was meant to be.
She leaned back inside the carriage, her heart heavy with sorrow. She thought of how, when Fu Huang had first become Crown Prince, he’d ridden out with her and the late Emperor Wu Zong to honor their ancestors—how spirited and full of promise he’d been, riding his fine horse at their side.
Back then, he’d been the perfect balance—the Fu Huang of today and the Fu Ye of today rolled into one. Neither too severe nor too gentle. A prince groomed to be the ideal ruler of tomorrow.
Now, at this moment, her grief reached its peak.
Outside the city, they all offered rites to Heaven and Earth. The Empress Dowager and Fu Ye went no farther.
She turned to Fu Ye and said, “The Emperor rides far, and who knows when he’ll return. Go—ask him if there’s anything he wishes to tell you before he leaves.”
With that, she led Chancellor Xie and the others back to the carriage.
Fu Ye stepped forward toward Fu Huang.
Parting had come at last. Before thousands of soldiers and officials, he said, “Brother, go without worry. I will guard the capital in your place.”
Eunuch Qin stood at his side, tears welling in his eyes as he gazed at Fu Huang.
Fu Huang nodded and mounted his horse.
They exchanged no further words. There was no final embrace. Fu Ye simply stood where he was, watching the great army fade into the distance.
The sun blazed overhead, banners bearing sun, stars, and moon motifs snapping in the wind. The silver armor of the soldiers gleamed brilliantly, dust swirling over it, the scene at once majestic and chaotic.
Not until the army had vanished entirely from sight did Fu Ye return to the carriage.
Dozens of carriages rolled back into the city. The crowds lining the Heavenly Street had not fully dispersed. Fu Ye heard countless voices calling out, “Prince Huan! His Highness Prince Huan!” and so he instructed Shuang Fu to roll up the curtains.
He wanted the gaze of the masses, the weight of their attention, to help suppress the fear and grief rising in his heart. When Fu Huang was by his side, he could cry freely; but now that Fu Huang was gone, he was the prince guarding the capital. He must be noble, resolute—someone who brought the people peace of mind.
The sun shone from the south, streaming into the carriage. The golden dragon embroidered on his robes shimmered in the light, making him look dazzling, radiant, and noble. Among the crowd, someone followed the carriage with their eyes. A few attendants behind them whispered, “That’s Prince Huan.”
“He truly looks like an immortal.”
At the palace gates, the guards were twice as many as usual. As the carriage entered, the sight of those vermilion eaves and green tiles stirred Fu Ye’s longing for Fu Huang all over again.
This was the first time he had returned to the palace, but Fu Huang was no longer in it.
With the Emperor just departed, most memorials and reports would be sent directly to him on campaign. For the moment, Qingyuan Palace had fallen unusually quiet.
Fu Ye wasn’t used to it. Nor was Eunuch Qin, nor any of the others.
That first day of separation, Fu Ye spent entirely in yearning.
Only last night they had lain together on this very bed as newlyweds. The traces of their sweat and tears seemed still present. The clean, fresh scent of clove clung to the red silk canopy, lingering and refusing to fade.
He buried his face in the pillow and drew a deep breath. There was still a faint scent of medicine mixed with the smell of Fu Huang.
His hand brushed against something.
He drew it out from beneath the pillow and saw it was a letter, tied with a lock of dark hair.
At once he untied it and brought the red candle close to read by its light.
It was a letter from Fu Huang.
To my beloved wife:
Yesterday, at that blessed hour, I shared supreme joy with you. Today, as we part, there are a thousand things I wish to say, but I don’t know where to begin. I leave you this lock of my hair, that we may be husband and wife in both heart and bond.
Written by your husband, Huang.
That signature…
Ahhhhhh!
Why did he find that signature so swoon-worthy?
On impulse, he cut a lock of his own hair and tied it together with Fu Huang’s, weaving the strands into a lover’s knot. Then he climbed out of bed and began writing a letter to Fu Huang.
He thought, If I can hook his soul with my words, wouldn’t that give him even more strength on the battlefield?
As Fu Huang had arranged beforehand, couriers would regularly travel between the capital and the army, carrying memorials and reports. He had told Fu Ye he could send his letters along with the official dispatches—efficient and no waste of manpower.
In the command tent, Fu Huang received Fu Ye’s letter.
My love:
It’s only the first day, and I already miss you. Love you love you love you love you love you love you.
At the end, Fu Ye had been shy—he didn’t dare sign it as “your wife,” and simply put: Ye.
But after that, apparently feeling it wasn’t enough, he’d added:
When you come back, can we tie our hair into a lover’s knot and sleep that way? That way we won’t be apart, even for a moment.
Fu Huang found that more effective than any words of encouragement.
Just imagining it filled him with energy.
The march was grueling, but with these letters to accompany him, he hardly noticed the hardships until they reached Tiger Gorge Pass.
Every day, Fu Ye would write a report, summarizing key matters of state for him, and then, alongside the report, include a personal letter.
Without realizing it, Fu Huang’s desk had grown two piles—one of official memorials, one of private letters.
And these private letters—those could never be seen by anyone else.
Because they were just too full of longing.
They said a short separation rekindles the newlywed’s passion.
But their marriage was so new… and this separation already felt so long.
When he returned triumphant, he would have Fu Ye read his own letters aloud.
And see if he still had that same fiery yearning—so fiery that Fu Huang imagined when they finally met again, just pulling Fu Ye into his arms would make him go soft and pliant, ready for him to do as he pleased.
Fu Huang put the letter away, his armor gleaming, seated tall in the command tent—a figure of heroic bearing, sharp as a drawn blade.
Now a husband, with the weight of the nation on his shoulders, he found himself wanting—truly wanting—to be a sovereign of greatness.
Once, he only wanted to show off before Fu Ye, like a peacock fanning its tail.
All men felt that, surely.
But now? He wanted to show Fu Ye something far greater.
