Chapter 72

On the twelfth day of the second month, during the Flower Festival, Jiantai City was filled with blossoms tucked into hair. They called it: “On this birthday of a hundred flowers, all heads are crowned with spring’s bloom.”

And since this day was also his husband’s birthday, how could Fu Ye not join in when he heard that the whole city was wearing flowers in their hair?

Today he was leaving the palace to offer the golden dragon talisman—a fact known throughout the capital. When he set out, surely tens of thousands would be watching.

After all, he wasn’t the only one praying for blessings for Fu Huang anymore.

If he took the lead, even more people would offer their prayers for Fu Huang. The prayers of all the people together would be more powerful than ten thousand golden talismans.

So today, he wore a gold-threaded coronet, and on it, a single sprig of yellow jasmine, the flower of spring.

He prayed that Fu Huang would thrive, as vigorous and full of life as the blossoms.

And the jasmine, golden like spring sunlight, was Fu Huang’s favorite.

Because last year during the Flower Festival, what he had given Fu Huang was also a sprig of yellow jasmine.

The golden jasmine tucked into the gold-threaded coronet wasn’t ostentatious at all; instead, it blended perfectly with the crown, appearing all the more elegant and dignified.

Originally, he wanted Fu Huang to wear one too. It wasn’t gaudy at all—how beautiful it would be!

But Fu Huang refused, saying that in Jiantai City, it wasn’t customary for men to wear flowers.

Fu Huang still held onto some of those old-fashioned, patriarchal ideas.

Not customary?

Then this year, Fu Ye would make wearing flowers as a man the new fashion!

By mid-morning, the two of them rode together in the imperial carriage, drawing crowds of commoners along the Heavenly Avenue who showered the procession with tens of thousands of spring blossoms.

The grand avenue became a road of flowers, fragrant and dazzling like a rainbow.

Fu Huang, who had once wandered through the colorless corridors of the deep palace, now had his beloved at his side, with the people casting flowers to celebrate his birthday. He felt that his life was now complete—this was the second most unforgettable birthday of his twenty-seven years.

The first, naturally, was last year—the one that had left him restless for days, his heart filled with yellow jasmine.

In the crowd, Wei Simei excitedly flung flowers onto the Heavenly Avenue, while behind him Xiao Yichen, looking like he’d lost the will to live, carried a massive basket for him.

Xiao Yichen felt that Wei Simei’s feelings for the Prince of Huan had long surpassed mere admiration.

It was more like he’d been bewitched.

That was a saying from the opera circles of Jiantai City—used to describe someone acting as if under a spell, utterly irrational.

And wasn’t that exactly Wei Simei?

He was about to leave for his post in another province, so before he went, he figured he might as well indulge Wei Simei in one last bit of madness.

There were quite a few young officials like him who had just received their appointments. Among them was Xie Liangbi.

Funny enough, he hadn’t seen Xie Liangbi at all today.

Xie Liangbi was a strange one. That New Year’s Eve palace banquet, he still had that hungry look in his eyes, staring at the Prince. A few days ago, when the Prince went to the medical academy to lecture, they had all gone too—not for any official reason, just wanting to see the Prince one last time before leaving the capital. But from beginning to end, Xie Liangbi never showed up.

Yesterday at the Ministry of Personnel to sign paperwork, he did see him. The man looked completely emaciated, serious-faced, barely saying a word.

Still, Xie Liangbi had earned great merit at Shuangluan City. Now, being appointed alongside the top scholar Zhang Gui to that bustling former capital showed how highly he was valued. With his family background, and a father like Prime Minister Xie, among their group, Xie Liangbi was likely to go the furthest.

Back to the matter at hand: he felt that Wei Simei should spend more time reading books, take the exams, earn a title. Who knows—maybe one day they’d all stand beside the Emperor and Prince, upholding a prosperous, just age.

The three golden talismans had to be placed in distant locations, and Fu Ye, in all sincerity, went to each site personally. Because the ritual was secret, they only brought their closest attendants. First, they climbed Mount Yongchang, then went to the Ding River, and finally buried the last golden talisman at Tongyun Monastery on the outskirts of the capital.

By the time they were done, the day had passed. There wasn’t enough time to return to the palace, so they stayed at Fuhua Temple for the night.

The Empress Dowager was still at the temple in retreat. Since they were already there, it would’ve been improper not to visit her.

Fu Ye said, “I’ll go see the Empress Dowager.”

Perhaps because he was in such a good mood, Fu Huang said, “I’ll come with you.”

And so, as nightfall gently settled, they went together to see the Empress Dowager.

A eunuch had already run ahead to announce their arrival, so Chief Attendant Sun was waiting at the courtyard gate. Through the soft dusk, she saw the Prince in his crimson spring robes, walking slowly beside the Emperor, surrounded by black-armored guards and palace attendants.

She hadn’t expected the Emperor to come too, and hurried inside to inform the Empress Dowager. The Empress Dowager, still kneeling in prayer, rose at once when she heard, and stepped out of the Buddha hall to greet them.

It had been many days since she last saw them. Now, seeing the two of them together again, her feelings were complicated.

Fu Ye seemed even more strikingly beautiful now. The hem of his robe bloomed with a hundred flowers, and in the twilight, he shone like the blazing sun. As always, he was so well-behaved and respectful, bowing deeply to the Empress Dowager.

Perhaps it was the effect of these recent days spent in prayer and meditation—her heart felt even softer than before. She thought, no matter what, Fu Ye had always been deeply filial. As on past visits, he’d thoughtfully had an attendant present her with early-spring yellow jasmine.

Chubby Shuangfu, dressed in a green robe, held the golden-yellow flowers in his arms—they were truly lovely.

The Empress Dowager called Fu Ye into the Buddha hall.

She first had him bow to the Buddha, then had him offer a sprig of yellow jasmine at the altar.

Chief Attendant Sun stood by the door in plain dark robes, the door left ajar. Outside in the corridor, Fu Huang waited in his dark robe, nearly swallowed by the night. He seemed taller than before, still as silent as ever. The men behind him stood in respectful formation. He looked like some dark dragon prowling the temple.

As they left the Empress Dowager’s courtyard, Fu Ye whispered to Fu Huang, “I think the Empress Dowager has finally accepted us.”

Fu Huang thought to himself: a son like Fu Ye—dutiful, kind, and respectful—if she didn’t accept him, it would be her loss.

By now night had fully fallen. Fuhua Temple was silent; aside from the wind, only the soft hum of chanting monks filled the air. Because the courtyard was so dark, the slope where the nuns of Chonghua Monastery lived seemed ablaze with light—like fire flickering in the forest.

Seeing that, Fu Ye suddenly thought of the Lady of Chu who lived on that slope—perhaps because today was Fu Huang’s birthday.

But Fu Huang didn’t look that way at all.

Fuhua Temple was a famous temple often visited by the imperial family, and the palace within for the emperor had long been prepared.

Fu Ye thought: this was sacred ground. They must stay pure and restrained—not give in to any carnal impulses.

So he turned to Fu Huang and said, “Don’t let my dragon talisman offering today go to waste.”

Fu Huang replied, “Just worry about controlling yourself.”

The temple had prepared a vegetarian meal for them. As Eunuch Qin and the others busied themselves setting the table, a young monk came hurrying up.

Eunuch Qin went over. When he returned, his face was pale.

Fu Ye asked, “What’s happened?”

Eunuch Qin glanced at Fu Huang and said, “A nun from the Lady of Chu’s household came to report that she is gravely ill and wishes to see His Majesty one last time.”

Fu Ye was startled and turned toward Fu Huang.

Fu Huang, too, looked momentarily stunned.

The room fell utterly silent, the soft chants from the temple drifting through the door, wrapping around them like the night.

By now, the night was deep and moonless. The women’s quarters of Chonghua Monastery, part of Fuhua Temple, lay beyond a locked gate. To reach it, they’d have to exit through a side door and wind their way up a mountain path.

Palace attendants carried lanterns in front; the black-armored guards followed with drawn swords. Suddenly feeling nervous, Fu Ye reached out and held Fu Huang’s hand.

Nuns knelt outside the Lady of Chu’s chamber, chanting prayers. As the two approached, the nuns merely bowed lower without stopping their prayers. They passed through and entered the room.

The Lady of Chu lay on her bed in a snow-white gown.

Fu Ye stepped forward and took her pulse.

Her pulse was faint—barely there.

Though her face was gaunt, her hair was still thick and smooth, not a strand out of place. Her skin was pale as ice, as if she no longer belonged to this mortal world.

She turned her head to look at the emperor, her gaze distant—perhaps affectionate, perhaps empty. She said softly, “The debt of this sin is repaid. Now I may go in peace.”

She had summoned the emperor not to acknowledge him as her son, but as a devotee seeking to cut the karmic bond before death and find release.

Fu Ye glanced at Fu Huang, and in the flickering candlelight, saw a flicker of emotion cross his face.

In all these years, this was the first time Fu Huang had truly seen his birth mother.

And she was here only to sever what bound them.

The temple bells rang out, their sound drifting through the night. At Fuhua Temple, the Empress Dowager and others stepped outside when they heard.

News of the Lady of Chu’s passing spread swiftly.

Though she had never been officially named Empress Mother, many in the temple knew of her connection to the emperor. Monks and nuns from across the temple came through the night to recite prayers for her soul. Soon, the mountain was filled with their chanting.

Fu Ye accompanied Fu Huang back to their quarters. Along the way, they passed monks and nuns who knelt at the roadside when they saw Fu Huang, as if mourning for him.

In the midst of those prayers, Fu Ye looked at Fu Huang.

She had brought him the joy of his birthday and left him this sorrow—the sorrow of a mother who would not acknowledge him—before taking it all away, leaving him pure, unburdened.

How merciful—and how cruel.

Fu Huang sat quietly for a long time before finally saying, “It’s just as well. At least now she’s free.”

He looked at Fu Ye. Fu Ye tilted his head up to meet his gaze, then leaned forward, resting against Fu Huang’s knees. After a while, he straightened and knelt at Fu Huang’s side, drawing Fu Huang’s head to his chest.

His heart ached so much that he felt overwhelmed by sorrow, unable to find any words.

Outside, Eunuch Qin knocked softly at the door and said in a low voice, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, the Empress Dowager is here.”

Fu Huang gently patted Fu Ye, then rose and went out to meet the Empress Dowager.

Her face was filled with grief. When she saw Fu Huang, she didn’t even know how to comfort him.

The emperor showed little emotion. He simply instructed Eunuch Qin, “The Lady of Chu has passed. Summon the officials from the Ministry of Rites.”

The courtyard grew busy at once. The Empress Dowager’s expression was heavy as she and Fu Huang discussed arrangements for the Lady of Chu’s burial.

Fu Huang didn’t appear deeply sorrowful, but Fu Ye slipped away and wept his heart out. Perhaps he wasn’t mourning a single death—but rather the bitter, lonely hardships that had marked Fu Huang’s life.

They stayed at Fuhua Temple for several days because of the Lady of Chu. The Empress Dowager came several times to visit the emperor and personally led the temple’s people in prayer.

The Lady of Chu was buried as the Crown Prince’s widow, laid to rest in the tomb of Crown Prince Mingyi, beside her husband and child.

Two more days passed before they set out for the palace.

As they rode, Fu Huang gazed into the distance and suddenly said, “The tomb they built for me isn’t far from here. Shall we go see it?”

Fu Ye nodded.

Fu Huang took Fu Ye to visit the nearby imperial tombs.

The path was scattered with remnants of burnt paper offerings, and spring flowers bloomed everywhere.

When they reached the royal mausoleum, Fu Huang didn’t allow anyone else to follow.

Shuangfu quietly slipped off to visit Qingxi, the keeper of the tomb.

They switched to a tall, strong horse, riding together.

This was the imperial burial ground of the Great Zhou. The tomb built for Fu Huang stood alone in the northeastern corner, far from the other imperial graves.

These past few days, whenever Fu Ye looked at Fu Huang, he always felt as if there was a boundless emptiness surrounding him, and his heart felt heavy with sorrow.

But at this moment, standing before Fu Huang’s tomb-in-progress, a sense of peace washed over him.

He thought, so this is where we’ll one day rest together.

This world, to him, had always felt rootless, as if he had no true ties. This place too felt desolate in its own way. But because it would be where they’d sleep side by side for all eternity, it no longer seemed frightening or grim. Instead, he gazed at the endless green mountains and wondered whether, hundreds or thousands of years from now, this place would be bustling with visitors, or whether it would’ve long since been leveled to the ground.

If it was the former, maybe a few legends would remain—stories of the emperor and his prince sharing one tomb, a tale unmatched in all of history.

If it was the latter, that would be fine too. Peaceful. Undisturbed. A place where they could rest together forever.

He would be there.

He truly longed to always be there.

They stood together atop a grassy slope, fresh spring growth beneath their horse’s hooves. The early spring breeze was still sharp, brushing against their faces. Fu Huang pulled his cloak tighter around Fu Ye, holding him close within its folds.

“Looking at this, do you feel sad?” Fu Huang asked. “When I see it, I actually feel calm. Because I have you—whether in life or death, I have something to look forward to. And so, I’m not afraid.”

The pleasures of the bed are just the joining of two bodies, like mortise and tenon. But true love—true love is sharing joys and hardships, growing old together, sharing a bed in life and a tomb in death, resting side by side for all of eternity.

And with that thought, Fu Ye felt there was no need to grieve over the past, nor fear what was to come.

He would cherish every moment by Fu Huang’s side in this life—born to be together, resting together in death. And if there was another life, he prayed they would meet again.

At that moment, the sun broke free of the heavy clouds, and its rays poured down on them. On the slope stood a massive white magnolia tree, over a hundred years old. Its blossoms seemed to form a sea of fragrant snow, spreading wide as if to cover the sky.

From horseback, it felt as if they could reach out and touch it. Fu Ye stretched out his hand, but came up just short. Fu Huang chuckled softly and broke off a magnolia bloom for him.

Fu Ye said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He lifted the flower to Fu Huang, offering its fragrance.

With the dignity of an emperor, Fu Huang said, “Someday, we can have them plant flowers all over this place.”

A sea of blooms across every hill.

Imperial tombs had always been planted with pines and cypresses. But they could be different.

They were different.

Fu Ye pictured it—a tomb embraced by endless flowers. It would be beautiful.

And if a few of those trees lasted for a thousand years, maybe some future soul would look at those spring blossoms and catch a glimpse of an emperor’s love for his prince.

What a romantic thought.

It was better to think of the good things—to think of the world’s fleeting beauty, and hope for tomorrow’s spring dawn.

The chill of early spring was like the world itself—still cold despite signs of warmth. But holding that magnolia bloom felt like holding all of spring in his arms. And with Fu Huang’s arms around him, it felt like they held all of spring together, riding forth into this world, becoming part of the season’s glory.