Not long after, their group arrived at the residence Fu Huang had prepared for Eunuch Qin.
The house wasn’t particularly large—honestly, it didn’t quite match the status of Qin, who was the emperor’s most trusted attendant. But nestled against the mountains and near the water, the setting was serene and refined. The furnishings inside were thoughtfully arranged, and if one looked closely, they bore a striking resemblance to the “ideal home” Qin had once described in casual conversation.
Fu Huang remarked, “Look at those other officials, living in grand mansions, surrounded by attendants—it’s all so flashy. And you, my old servant, still need me to handle things for you.”
Eunuch Qin smiled, “In all the realm, who else but this old servant could have the honor of His Majesty personally preparing a courtyard home?”
Fu Huang lay on a rocking chair for a while before sitting up. “So? Are you satisfied?”
“Very much so,” Qin replied. “When the time comes, this old servant wants to die right here.”
Fu Huang chuckled. “I’ve already picked out your burial spot. A geomancer said it’s a place that guarantees a rich and leisurely life in your next one.”
Qin let out a warm laugh.
While Fu Huang dozed in his rocking chair, Qin simply sat beside him in silence.
The house was located at the base of Yongchang Mountain. From the courtyard, one could see the Chonghua Temple on the mountainside. Fu Ye and the Empress Dowager had likely just finished the ancestral ceremony and were making their way to the temple to offer incense. Faintly visible on the mountain path were ceremonial canopies and banners, and the distant sound of drums and music drifted down through the trees. The scene stirred memories in Qin of a certain lady who once lived at the temple, and his heart filled with emotion.
After offering incense at Chonghua Temple, the Empress Dowager took a short rest at the Lihua Palace at the foot of the mountain.
Lihua Palace had once been grander than even the main palace—originally part of the royal gardens—but most of it was destroyed by fire. Though it had been rebuilt, the late emperor rarely visited afterward. When Fu Huang ascended the throne, unwilling to see some of the familiar faces from the previous reign, he had all the former emperor’s concubines relocated there.
The late emperor had a strong appetite for women, and thus many of his concubines lived in the Lihua Palace. During the ancestral rites, the imperial consorts were allowed to accompany the procession, though not all of them had the rank to participate.
There were simply too many of them.
Fu Ye only recognized a few of the higher-ranking ladies—Concubine Li, Concubine Ning, and four or five others.
Their titles matched their personas quite well. For instance, Concubine Li was strikingly beautiful, appearing no older than her early forties. She wore her hair in an elaborate high bun. According to Shuangfu, she had once been greatly favored—second only to Lady Zhaoyang—and was the mother of the fourth prince, Fu Ying.
Concubine Ning, by contrast, looked like someone who had devoted her life to Buddhist practice—serene and dignified, with snow-white hair but a graceful bearing. Shuangfu explained that she hadn’t been favored during Emperor Wuzong’s reign, but she had served in the palace for many years. Hailing from the prestigious Zhang clan of Hedong, she was a distant cousin of the current Empress Dowager, and thus her status was equal to that of Concubine Li.
She did indeed carry the aura of a daughter from a military family—elegant, but with a certain sternness in her composure. It was she who had accompanied the magistrate back then to verify Fu Ye’s identity.
In addition to those more prominent consorts, there were two lesser-known ones: Consort Liu and Consort Feng. Neither had children nor had ever been favored, and both were older than the Empress herself. Perhaps it was precisely because of this that they had remained far removed from palace intrigue. They were the only two among the former consorts who still lived in the palace, long-term residents of the Golden Buddha Pavilion. From time to time, they would chat with the Empress Dowager in the Cien Palace, making them familiar faces. Both women had kind expressions and treated Fu Ye with nothing but warmth and gentleness.
Shuangfu also made a point of mentioning Consort Fang—the youngest of the consorts, a princess from a small vassal state sent as tribute. She was known for her talents—an accomplished singer and dancer. Unfortunately, Fu Ye didn’t get the chance to see her during this visit.
While the Empress Dowager rested, Fu Ye was far too excited to sleep. With the help of palace attendants, he changed out of his ceremonial attire and went out for a stroll. He removed all his formal headgear and changed into a crimson robe. The robe he wore during the ancestral rites had also been a shade of red, but it was overly formal and stately, meant for grand occasions. This new robe was far more ornate and beautiful—embroidered with golden threads into patterns of blooming flowers and auspicious beasts. It looked both regal and elegant, and of all the garments the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau had made for him, this was his favorite. Wearing it instantly lifted his spirits.
Seeing the stunned looks from the palace servants and handmaids along the way only made him feel even better.
For the moment, all his worries were forgotten.
He wandered leisurely through the Lihua Palace, with Shuangfu and Qingxi trailing behind.
Shuangfu told him that this was where he had gone missing all those years ago.
When Shuangfu first came into his service, he had been cautious in his speech. But after following Fu Ye for some time, he had grown truly loyal.
And one way loyalty showed itself was in the fact that he now dared to say things he never would have said before.
Like sharing details about the Hu invasion and how the emperor had fled the capital. Fu Ye had always imagined it happened in a rush—word of the enemy breaching the city, and the emperor bolting from the palace in panic. But according to Shuangfu, the reality was much more calculated: the emperor had quietly appointed officials and generals to hold the city, made secret preparations with carriages and supplies, and loaded up wagons of gold and treasure—then slipped out of the palace under the cover of night.
Because it was all done so secretly, many palace staff didn’t even know. Even court officials who showed up at dawn for court found the palace protocols proceeding normally—until the gates opened, revealing scattered, fleeing servants. That was when they realized the emperor had fled.
The entire capital plunged into chaos.
“I was only three or four at the time,” Shuangfu said, “but I vaguely remember it. Most people fled toward the city outskirts, but some rushed toward the nobles’ estates or even the palace. Thieves took advantage of the chaos to loot, burn, and kill. The Hu hadn’t even arrived yet, and the capital was already in flames. I think we hadn’t even made it out of the city when we saw thick smoke rising at the foot of Yongchang Mountain—fire blazing into the sky.”
Fu Ye listened, completely absorbed.
At that time, the emperor had reached Lihua Palace. For reasons unknown, he lingered there briefly. When commoners attempted to force their way into the palace, the golden-armored guards killed dozens. By the time dawn approached, Lihua Palace was engulfed in flames. It was the then twelve-year-old Fu Huang who, along with his attendants, charged into the burning palace and rescued Lady Zhaoyang and the sixth prince.
Sadly, the sixth prince still went missing during the escape.
Although Shuangfu hadn’t personally witnessed the fire, the way he described it made it feel vividly real—tense and dramatic, as if he’d lived it himself.
“And then?” Fu Ye asked.
“Then,” Shuangfu said, “the commander of the golden-armored guards, Li Weiming, rebelled. He demanded Emperor Wuzong stay in the capital, arguing that someone of noble birth had to remain. Honestly, the officials and generals left to defend the capital couldn’t hold the people together. In the end, it was His Majesty—just twelve at the time and the eldest of the princes—who volunteered to stay.”
Fu Ye: “!!”
Big bro… that’s a man right there!
“Third Prince Fu Hui was always close to His Majesty and stayed behind with him. That was also the year His Majesty began following the army.”
Fu Ye hadn’t known Fu Huang had any close brothers.
“He and the Third Prince got along well?” he asked.
Shuangfu said, “The Third Prince was the son of Consort Ning—she was the Empress Dowager’s cousin. So the Third Prince often spent time in her palace. He was only half a year younger than His Majesty, and of all the princes, they were the closest.”
“So how did the Third Prince die in the end?” Fu Ye asked.
Shuangfu hesitated briefly, but in the end he still answered in a hushed voice, “The Third Prince also died in the Qingtai Palace.”
Fu Ye: “!!! Was it the Emperor who killed him?”
Shuangfu replied, “Those kinds of secrets behind palace walls… we humble servants don’t really know.”
After a pause, he added quietly, “But… I heard the Third Prince presented a poisoned cup of wine to His Majesty. The Emperor forced him to drink it himself…”
Shuangfu folded his hands in front of him and lowered his head. Qingxi pressed her lips together and said nothing. A cold wind swept through, sending a shiver down Fu Ye’s spine—it chilled him to the bone.
If Fu Huang realized the wine was poisoned, what must he have thought while staring at that cup? And what did he feel as he watched Fu Hui drink it and die?
After years away from the capital, returning triumphant in war, only to be met with suspicion from his father and jealousy from his brothers—sick and weakened, and all he got in return was a poisoned drink.
If it had been him, he might’ve gone mad too.
Fu Ye had always been emotional, and hearing this story filled him with sorrow and rage. He felt on the verge of tears, deeply indignant on Fu Huang’s behalf.
That night in Qingtai Palace must have been brutal. He remembered how the Empress Dowager had once seemed close to Fu Huang, and now the two stood on opposite sides like bitter enemies. Could this incident have driven the wedge between them?
Xiao Ai suddenly said, “After going through so much… is it even possible for him to truly trust anyone anymore?”
Ten or so miles away, in a secluded courtyard, Fu Huang was speaking:
“There’s something I know you don’t want to hear, but I’m going to say it anyway. Now that Sixth Brother has returned, the court and the capital will be shaken. The west and south are already unstable, and the Hu tribes up north are stirring. I don’t have the kind of fate for a long life—you need to start making preparations early.”
Eunuch Qin protested, “Your Majesty!”
Fu Huang said coldly, “If I die someday, then just make sure this courtyard gets plenty of incense offerings. That’s better than all your nonsense. Do you really think I can count on anyone else?”
Eunuch Qin stayed silent, but his emotions surged—tears welling behind his eyes.
Fu Huang disliked the look on his face. Mounting his horse, he grabbed the reins and glanced toward the Lihua Palace. “It’s still early. Let’s go see what kind of ‘heavenly immortal’ has descended.”
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