Eunuch Qin didn’t go on, but Fu Ye already knew the rest of the story.
Blood had flowed like a river in Qingtai Hall. The former emperor fell to his death. Of the five princes present, four died. Every single black-armored guard in the hall was wiped out.
There was no turning back after that. The princes who had been sent to govern distant lands all raised troops in rebellion—but His Majesty crushed them and executed all surviving royal sons.
And so, an emperor was born. One who stood alone, surrounded by betrayal, ruling with blood and iron.
Eunuch Qin paused for a moment, then said softly, “The spring after His Majesty ascended the throne, he once rode alone to the gates of Chonghua Temple and sat there all night before leaving at dawn. He said he knew the lady within would not want to see him.”
He bowed his head to the floor, voice choked with emotion. “Before returning to the capital, His Majesty’s investigation uncovered that the letter—the one that drove a blade straight into his heart—was written by that very woman in Chonghua Temple. She had once borne a son by the late Crown Prince Mingyi. The former emperor had threatened her with the child’s life to force her into silence, and then… had the boy killed anyway. That letter was her revenge: to turn the ‘bastard son’ into a patricidal blade, and avenge both husband and child.”
Fu Ye placed his hand gently on Qin’s. For a long while, he couldn’t speak. He thought to himself—at least he still had this old servant by his side.
He didn’t sleep at all that night.
But what filled his mind wasn’t palace intrigue, or the bloodbath of Qingtai Hall.
It was the image of Fu Huang, sitting silently through the night beneath Yongchang Mountain.
Fu Ye’s wounds weren’t severe, but he’d been cut in many places by shrapnel. His clothes were too torn to wear, so he rested and recovered in a side hall. Fu Huang began to visit more and more frequently.
The decorative gate between the main residence and the side wing was never closed again.
Though Fu Ye had lived abroad for many years, his skin was absurdly delicate—and honestly, so was he. Every time they applied medicine, he howled like he was dying. Sometimes Fu Huang could hear it all the way across the palace.
Fu Huang had picked up a sword and gone to war at twelve, defending the capital. He’d taken more wounds than he could count, and his body bore countless scars. One year in the barracks, they ran out of painkillers—his wound was deep enough to show bone, and he didn’t make a single sound while it was stitched. As a prince, he believed he should lead by example. The only time he ever lost control was during his bouts of madness, when the poison attacked his mind. He considered any sign of weakness a disgrace, and had come to loathe such frailty with a bitter hatred.
But strangely, this time… Fu Ye didn’t seem pretentious or weak.
Maybe because this person truly was fragile. And now, all of this—his suffering—was for him.
Fu Huang hated owing anyone anything. And every time he heard those cries of pain, it felt like the sting of the medicine was landing on his own skin.
To make things worse, Eunuch Qin kept updating him on just how pitiful Fu Ye was.
“His Highness said his skin is more sensitive than most people’s—something about nerve endings, I didn’t really understand. But I suppose it’s just how delicate nobles are born.”
“His Highness says lying on his back hurts too much. He can’t stay in one position for long, so he’s not sleeping well. Seems like he’s lost more weight again.”
That evening, Fu Huang came to check on him. Sure enough, up close, Fu Ye did seem thinner. He was already frail to begin with, and now, lying on his stomach in just a light robe, his waist was slender as a willow branch, and his shoulder blades stuck out sharply. He looked downright pitiful.
Fu Huang was still gazing at him when Fu Ye tugged the blanket up over his lower half.
Fu Huang looked away. “Bring the meal.”
Shuangfu and the others brought in the food.
Fu Ye noticed Fu Huang was going to eat here too. “I’m not hungry,” he said. “And with all this medicine smell on me, it’s probably better if Your Majesty dines next door.”
Fu Huang said flatly, “All this fuss over surface wounds. So delicate.”
Fu Ye looked back at him, but didn’t dare talk back.
Yes, he was afraid of pain. So what?
It was the reason he was still a virgin, damn it!
And right now, his whole nervous system was hypersensitive!
He sat up from the bed, and Xingxi quickly helped him into an outer robe. Fu Ye murmured, “It’s improper of me to appear like this in front of Your Majesty.”
Fu Huang was sure no one else in the world would dare speak to him like this—and certainly not in that faintly disobedient tone he caught under the polite words.
He didn’t bother arguing. Once the servants finished setting the table, he sat down to eat.
His appetite wasn’t great. Oddly enough, Fu Ye ate less than usual too.
After the meal, Fu Huang asked, “Who made today’s food?”
Fu Ye had just rinsed his mouth when he heard him say: “It didn’t taste good. Tell Huan Wang to give the kitchen staff twenty lashes.”
Fu Ye: “!!”
Eunuch Qin was about to leave after receiving his orders, but Fu Ye called out to him, saying, “I just don’t have an appetite right now.”
“Weren’t you eating plenty before?” Qin asked.
Fu Ye replied, “…Lately, I don’t want to eat meat.”
Fu Huang vaguely guessed why—he thought Fu Ye was just being delicate, and seeing all that blood had made him turn this way.
He glanced at Qin and said, “Did you hear that?”
Eunuch Qin nodded and took his leave.
By dinner time, all the dishes had been switched to vegetarian.
Fu Ye was worried that the imperial kitchen might get punished, so he ate a lot—but eating so much only made him look even more pitiful.
The next day, the portions were cut way down. The large dining table was replaced with a smaller one.
The head of the imperial kitchen was walking on eggshells lately, trying his hardest to create delicious dishes that looked like meat but weren’t. For example, a “vegetarian roast goose” made from tofu rolls, using only plant-based ingredients but poured with rich meat broth; or “peony pastries,” where the floral centers were stuffed with shrimp paste; also “jade rolls” made from fish paste; and “emerald noodles” made from chicken breast and spinach juice—everything Fu Ye loved to eat.
Fu Ye finally returned to a normal diet.
But he noticed Fu Huang still seemed to eat very little.
Fu Huang was taller and leaner, with a sturdy frame forged from years of campaigning since youth. Even though he was thin, his muscles looked strong and well-defined. His unhealthy condition showed through pale, slightly darkened skin, giving him a rough, coarse appearance.
Eunuch Qin said that was always the case. Since Fu Huang fell ill, he had been eating less and less. The imperial kitchen tried to prepare delicacies from all over the realm, but even the emperor found them tasteless and dull.
Eating little, sleeping little, plagued by his headaches, without any pleasures or consorts around him—his life seemed truly bleak and painful.
Eunuch Qin told Fu Ye, “The case of Consort Li has been resolved. Those imprisoned before have all been released.”
He patiently explained further, “A treason case can’t be decided by just one person’s word. If the emperor didn’t show decisive wrath, others might try to imitate. His Majesty is always ruthless in punishment. Sometimes his methods are harsh, but since ascending the throne amid constant danger, it’s the only way to command respect.”
Fu Ye said, “I understand that.”
He just hadn’t fully adjusted yet.
“Actually, His Majesty takes your words seriously. These past few days, no one in Qingyuan Palace has been punished.”
Fu Ye asked, “Did people get punished often before?”
Eunuch Qin hesitated and said, “…His Majesty… has a somewhat fierce temper.”
Fu Ye saw from his expression that it was more than just a bad temper.
He had a reputation for violence, and it probably wasn’t all slander.
But recently, he had toned down quite a bit.
During the whole New Year, Fu Ye was nursing his injuries. Fu Huang came by nearly every evening to eat with him. Sometimes after the meal, he wouldn’t leave but would lean against the window, reading reports.
Fu Huang was sure he had truly cracked open a little crack in the cold emperor’s heart.
The red-lacquered carved long window was covered with rice paper. Fu Ye, who always loved beauty, had chosen a turquoise elephant-foot vase and placed some white plum blossoms in front of the window—bright and delicate, much like himself.
Qingyuan Palace wasn’t like this. Fu Huang, long used to the military, wasn’t fond of such elegant colors.
The room was warmed by the dragon-shaped stove. The plum blossoms would wilt in a day, so Fu Huang ordered fresh blossoms daily—not only white plum but also red plum. Fu Ye borrowed this flower offering as a pretext, claiming the emperor had ordered them picked to send to the Empress Dowager. The visiting palace maids had brought the flowers to her several times, but the Empress Dowager surely knew the truth and just chose not to expose it.
After the New Year, a heavy snow fell, making the weather even colder than before.
“It’s strange,” said Eunuch Qin, “It’s never been this cold before.”
Fu Ye didn’t participate in politics and dared not get involved rashly. When a freeze disaster struck the south, Fu Huang once looked so lost in reports that he stayed in Fu Ye’s chamber until late at night.
Fu Ye lay on the couch watching him, thinking his choice was right. Though Fu Huang’s personality was dark and unpredictable, he wasn’t exactly a wise ruler, but not a tyrant either.
He wasn’t lustful or prone to harming concubines like some cruel emperors in history. He wasn’t one to waste the people’s resources in indulgence. Although feared for his ruthlessness, he didn’t kill indiscriminately—his targets were mainly corrupt officials and nobles.
He was extremely picky and hard to flatter—everything he used or ate had to be the best. Even if his tea was just a little cooler than he liked, he wouldn’t drink it. But for someone of noble blood, these quirks were hardly surprising.
Xiao Ai said, “So, I’d say you’re lucky—you caught him at a time when he was barely holding on.”
Fu Huang’s headaches had improved a lot. Though he still frowned every day, it wasn’t as terrifying as before. Fu Ye tried to massage or apply acupuncture, but Fu Huang refused.
Still, it was clear he had many worries lately, and his whole demeanor was gloomy.
When Fu Huang was feeling gloomy, he liked to stare at Fu Ye absentmindedly, making Fu Ye’s back go cold, as if Fu Huang had spotted some secret.
Fu Ye actually hoped Fu Huang would go back to the West Office to work. The East Office where they were had always been harmonious—no loud laughter, but everyone was relaxed at work. With Fu Huang there, not only the servants but even Fu Ye himself became tense and quiet.
Imagine working face-to-face with your boss!
The emperor’s authority wasn’t something everyone could handle!
Fu Ye had already finished reading all the medical books. Without the internet or phones, and unable to leave the palace, the emperor didn’t enjoy music or dance, so there was none in the palace.
Most of the time, Fu Ye passed time by playing chess or occasionally tossing arrows into a pot, a simple game.
But even those ways to kill time were limited. After all, he was really bored.
At first, he restrained himself—after all, he was now following the path of a prince with little culture. He tried to play chess carefully. When Empress Dowager Zhang visited him, she said that when spring came, she would arrange for him a teacher, since princes must know music, chess, calligraphy, painting, horseback riding, archery, and so on.
Fu Huang didn’t say much in response.
The palace servant Qingxi was very skilled at chess. When Fu Ye played against him, his competitive spirit was ignited, and he accidentally beat Qingxi.
Before this, Fu Ye had only played chess against software on his phone, never against a real person. He had no idea how ancient players’ skills compared to modern ones. He knew Qingxi was considered quite good among palace servants but didn’t know exactly how good.
One evening after dinner, Fu Huang suddenly said, “I heard you beat Qingxi. Let’s play a game.”
The emperor wanted to play chess, so Fu Ye could only accompany him.
The first game, Fu Ye deliberately held back.
But Fu Huang’s eyes were sharp: “No need to go easy on me.”
The second game, Fu Ye tried a little harder.
Fu Huang said, “Loser eats vegetarian for a month.”
Fu Ye: “…”
So in the third game, Fu Ye beat Fu Huang.
Eunuch Qin and the others watching were shocked and silent.
Fu Ye himself was uneasy, calling it a “small stroke of luck.”
He didn’t realize Fu Huang’s skill was even better than the palace’s chess master.
Fu Huang studied the board for a long time and then rewarded Fu Ye with a priceless gold-and-jade Go set.
From then on, Fu Huang would come every day to play one game with him.
Just one game—never lingering for more.
But each time, their games grew longer.
Chess reveals a person’s character. Fu Ye played fast—he placed his pieces immediately on his turn. Fu Huang played very slowly, thinking ten moves ahead.
Their styles were completely different.
At first, Fu Ye found it hard to get used to the slow pace—he was used to playing against software.
But Fu Huang’s skill improved incredibly fast, and Fu Ye felt like a training dummy feeding him moves.
His own speed of play started to slow down.
Sometimes they could only finish half a game in a day; the board would stay set up and they’d continue the next day.
Fu Ye gradually immersed himself in the joy of playing chess.
Sometimes when he was bored in the palace and Fu Huang wasn’t around, he even looked forward to his return.
Playing chess, like playing ball, is boring if your opponent is too weak or too strong. Evenly matched rivals made the contest thrilling and addictive.
Once Fu Ye got absorbed in the game, he completely forgot about the difference between ruler and subject. If he managed to narrowly win after a fierce battle, he would suddenly jump up, grinding his teeth and raising his arms as he paced around the hall, radiating a triumphant, intense energy.
At first, Eunuch Qin had been worried, but later he could only smile quietly to himself. One day, his eyes casually glanced at the emperor and saw him watching Fu Ye. The emperor slowly wiped his hands with a handkerchief, looking surprisingly relaxed. The decoration of Prince Huan’s chamber was lavish and elegant; the emperor sitting there looked just like a wealthy nobleman.
Eunuch Qin thought to himself: outside it was snowing heavily, but inside this warm hall, these two brothers were competing with joy—both the winner and loser happy. Isn’t this exactly what brotherly friendship and respect look like?
Fu Huang was in a great mood and said, “One more game.”
Fu Ye rolled up his sleeves, sat cross-legged, took a sip of tea, and sneered.
This game became even more intense and thrilling, blood-pumping stuff. The spectators held their breath, and Fu Ye himself was sweating heavily. He got so worked up he took off his outer robe, but he still lost.
He was very dissatisfied and maybe a bit carried away, complaining, “You’re being distracting—flirting with me—I can’t concentrate.”
Fu Huang clearly felt good and replied, “Flirting with you?”
Fu Ye pointed at his lower half: “I don’t even know where to look.”
The chess table in the palace was a bit low, and the hall was warm. Fu Huang was casual about clothing and easily got hot, so he usually wore thin, loose robes. Sitting cross-legged in those ancient robes, they hung loosely, not constricting. Maybe it was just the style of those robes, or maybe Fu Huang was just exceptionally gifted, but the bulge was very obvious.
Fu Ye snapped back to reality and realized he had crossed a line joking around.
In modern times, teasing friends like that would be normal, but Fu Huang was no ordinary person—he was the emperor.
“I’m so thirsty,” Fu Ye quickly changed the subject. “Qingxi, where’s the tea?”
Qingxi and the others went to prepare the tea. Fu Ye ignored Eunuch Qin’s barely suppressed smile but felt his ears flush bright red.
Ahhhh!
Luckily, Fu Huang didn’t push the conversation further.
After leaving the East Office, Fu Huang went to the West Office.
They had played longer than usual today, spending an extra hour.
Fu Ye felt very nervous and increasingly regretted it. These past few days, wrapped up in the warm brotherly atmosphere, he had completely forgotten his true position.
During dinner, he quietly asked Eunuch Qin, “Did His Majesty get angry?”
Qin smiled and said, “Brothers joking around—how could the emperor get mad?”
Fu Huang slept very little and usually very late.
Eunuch Qin attended him while resting and said, “Prince Huan is upset with himself for speaking carelessly and worries the emperor might be angry.”
Fu Huang remained silent.
Only then did Eunuch Qin become cautious.
Logically, the emperor had spent a long time in the army, seen plenty of rough soldiers who couldn’t read many characters, cursed like sailors, and were a mess. The emperor himself wasn’t exactly a by-the-book ruler.
Then he heard Fu Huang say, “I’m not angry.”
After saying that, he lay down.
He just thought—does he really like men? Then he wondered, did he stare at that part of him while playing chess? How long was he looking?
He actually likes… that thing?
His thoughts grew tangled, and suddenly a violent impulse rose up—surprisingly, it was aimed at Fu Ye himself.
Outside, Eunuch Qin stood guard, listening to the emperor unable to sleep all night.
The emperor didn’t toss and turn. After years of insomnia and pain, he just lay there lifeless, his breathing so faint it was almost imperceptible. Qin judged his sleep by the sound of his breathing.
When he slept, the breath was noticeably stronger.
Qin thought he should warn Fu Ye a bit. The emperor probably assumed that Prince Huan, with his delicate, beautiful appearance, should be a proper gentleman.
The next day, Fu Huang came again to Fu Ye’s chamber, but they didn’t play chess—he ate lunch and left.
Fu Huang seemed rather sullen, his eyes dark. Fu Ye was cautious and careful.
In the royal family, there was no true brotherly affection and respect. To Fu Ye, no matter how much Fu Huang favored him, he would always be an emperor who controlled his life, death, honor, and disgrace.
In the afternoon, Eunuch Qin came with an imperial edict: “His Majesty said Prince Huan’s injury has mostly healed. From now on, you don’t need to stay in Qingyuan Palace every day.”
The supreme ruler could control a person’s happiness so easily!
Finally, he had been waiting for this day.
On the first day Fu Ye was freed from confinement, he toured the entire palace.
The palace was huge—three main palaces, six courts, plus a massive imperial garden. In the garden was a small mountain, not very tall, but from the Moon Gazing Pavilion on the mountain, you could see the entire capital city.
The view was breathtaking, far more stunning than any ancient city in TV dramas or movies. The difference was that this was real—no dazzling CGI or exaggerated grandeur. Most common houses were low-rise, so the imperial buildings looked even more majestic and sacred.
For example, the Golden Pagoda of Chonghua Temple on Yongchang Mountain soared into the clouds, incredibly spectacular.
Shuangfu said it was built by Emperor Mingzong for his mother, called the Yongfu Pagoda, a holy tower revered by the people of Jiantai City and all of Great Zhou. No tower in the world was taller.
It was forty-nine zhang tall, and from the top, you could “ask the heavens.”
That day, Fu Huang held court in Qingyuan Palace, with several senior ministers reporting in turns.
The main topic was the Red Lotus Society.
Since Emperor Wuzong’s time, there had been many such cults. Fu Huang didn’t understand how those frauds, relying on ghosts and gods to deceive, could gain so many followers. Recently, following a “better safe than sorry” policy, he had arrested a batch of Red Lotus members, which led some followers to start causing disturbances as the New Year approached.
In recent years, the ministers had adopted a low-key, cautious style of reporting, like emotionless reading machines.
But that day, they mentioned two things unrelated to state affairs.
The first was Fu Ye’s studies and martial training.
Fu Ye had been a wanderer abroad for many years. According to himself, he’d done some minor work in a noble household and could recognize a few characters, but had little education. He was physically weak and likely not skilled in horseback riding or archery. Yet princes and grandsons of the emperor were traditionally required to be proficient in both arts and letters. As the emperor’s own younger brother, he couldn’t avoid these.
The second topic was his marriage.
Fu Ye was past twenty, already titled prince, so it was time to establish a household and arrange a marriage.
Fu Huang asked, “Is this the Empress Dowager’s wish?”
Minister Xie respectfully replied, “Her request is reasonable.”
Fu Huang smiled wryly.
After court ended, Fu Huang summoned Fu Ye to dine with him.
Probably because he’d spent too long with Minister Xie and others, Fu Huang was surprised when he saw Fu Ye—his skin was fairer, his face fuller, and he looked even more youthful and vibrant.
Fu Ye immediately asked if he could leave the palace.
“I haven’t toured the capital yet,” he said. “I heard from Shuangfu that the city has the Mingyue Thirteen Bridges, an East Market and a West Market. The West Market has many foreign merchants?! The Tonggu Night Market has all kinds of acrobatics shows, and the cherries at the Lotus Pavilion are a must-try.”
He rattled on nonstop, his excitement barely contained in his tone. Fu Huang just watched his little mouth open and close, looking even rosier than cherries. After a moment, he said, “Once imperial princes reach adulthood in our dynasty, they usually have two options. One is to stay in the palace, assisting the emperor with state affairs, always on call and ready to be reprimanded. The other is to establish their own household outside the palace or even leave the capital for their fiefs. Which do you prefer?”
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