That night, as always, Fu Huang rested on the couch next to Fu Ye’s bed, separated only by a long screen.
His sleep was as poor as ever. His mind was in turmoil tonight, thoughts churning endlessly, making sleep even harder to come by. Still, he didn’t get up—just lay there, fully clothed, until dawn broke.
Those who served him had long since adjusted to his irregular routine. When he rose, they rose with him. Outside, the rain had stopped, but heavy mist still blanketed the base of the mountain. Eunuch Qin followed him on his usual morning walk through the hazy grounds of the spring palace.
Fu Huang liked to walk without a destination—inside the palace, outside of it, it didn’t matter. He was always silent as he walked, rarely speaking, just roaming from place to place. Even Eunuch Qin had no idea what went through his mind.
The retreat, though lush with spring’s touch, felt lonely and abandoned. Amid that stillness, Fu Huang came to a stop before a stretch of crumbling ruins.
Eunuch Qin recognized the place at once: it was the remains of Xiangrui Hall.
After the death of Lady Zhaoyang, the late emperor, heartbroken, had never returned to this place. Nor had he ordered a new hall built over the ruins. Now, wild growth had overtaken the site, making it more desolate than anywhere else in the palace grounds.
Years ago, when fire engulfed the Lihua Palace, Fu Huang—only twelve at the time—had rushed into the burning Xiangrui Hall alongside others to save Lady Zhaoyang and the Sixth Prince. But the palace was in chaos. Lady Zhaoyang had fainted, unresponsive. After rescuing the Sixth Prince, they’d hastily entrusted him to a court lady. No one expected what would happen next: amid the confusion, the Sixth Prince vanished.
By the time anyone realized he was missing, they were already fleeing the palace.
Lady Zhaoyang had been gravely wounded, barely clinging to life. She had lived in the palace for years without a child, and when she finally bore the Sixth Prince, she loved him with every ounce of her being. Now, with his fate unknown, she was nearly driven mad with grief. Fu Huang had to remain in the capital, and their farewell might as well have been their last. As he knelt and bowed his head in parting, Lady Zhaoyang, overwhelmed by sorrow and resentment, covered her face with her sleeve—and never looked at him again, not even at the end.
The late emperor had been desperate to flee to Lianzhou, while Fu Huang, as the prince left behind to guard the capital, had to return to the city at once. At just twelve years old, he mounted his horse under the protection of generals like Li Weiming, and parted hastily from the imperial kin before galloping back toward the capital.
Halfway there, he suddenly choked up, unable to hold back his sobs.
Eunuch Qin, who had cared for Fu Huang since childhood and now rode alongside him, could only try to comfort him: the Sixth Prince was likely just temporarily lost, and once he was found, Lady Zhaoyang would surely soften. The twelve-year-old Fu Huang said nothing, merely wiped away his tears and spurred his horse forward, leading the entourage toward the city.
That was the last time Eunuch Qin ever saw Fu Huang cry. No matter what he faced afterward—through every upheaval—he never shed another tear.
Come to think of it, His Majesty has endured being rejected by his mother not once, but three times in his life.
In the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed. Looking back now, Eunuch Qin felt both sorrow and relief. He said, “If the lady knew that the Sixth Prince has returned safely, she would surely be comforted. If Your Majesty hadn’t risked your life back then to save him, this reunion would never have been possible. In this old servant’s eyes, all of this must be fate. Heaven has pity on Your Majesty’s loneliness—that’s why it brought His Highness Prince Huan back to you.”
Fu Huang stood lost in thought amid the ruins. Normally, he would have simply listened to such words without any reaction. But today, he spoke: “Is that so?”
Eunuch Qin was startled, then nodded quickly. “Of course it is!”
Spring sunlight filtered through the thinning mist, falling across Fu Huang’s figure. Though the shadows under his eyes were dark and he looked utterly exhausted, his slender frame and gaunt features gave him a fragile, skeletal grace. Usually, he gave off a cold, almost spectral presence—but today, he seemed quietly gentle.
The morning breeze scattered the mist. Green growth sprouted from cracks in the broken walls. As Fu Huang passed through the ruins, he suddenly gave an order: “Bring him a few more sets of my usual clothes.”
Eunuch Qin paused in surprise, then smiled. “To be granted the emperor’s own garments—truly the highest favor.”
“I like seeing him in my clothes,” Fu Huang said to him.
As he spoke, he glanced at Eunuch Qin, his eyes unreadable.
Prince Fu Ye had just woken when Eunuch Qin arrived, holding several neatly folded robes. The black brocade, faintly gleaming with hidden dragon patterns, was unmistakably Fu Huang’s.
“I’m already wearing one,” Fu Ye said.
Eunuch Qin beamed. “His Majesty said he’ll be returning to the palace today, and since he expects Your Highness to stay here a while with the Empress Dowager, he had me bring you a few more—so you can change.”
Fu Huang’s clothes were either plain or pitch black—definitely not Fu Ye’s style. But when a king bestows a gift, it’s a rare honor indeed. No one else in the empire received this kind of favor. Fu Ye obediently changed into the new robe. It was even bigger than the one he’d worn yesterday.
Eunuch Qin personally helped him dress, tightening his belt as he whispered, “His Majesty summoned Lord Zhou from the Ministry of Justice this morning.”
Fu Ye turned his head toward him, meeting the smile crinkling the corners of the eunuch’s eyes.
“His Majesty listens to you quite willingly, doesn’t he?” said Qin softly.
Fu Ye blinked in surprise, then the corners of his lips curved faintly. He looked again at the robe he now wore—its craftsmanship was exquisite. It carried a faint bitter fragrance, like it had just been worn by Fu Huang himself.
When Eunuch Qin returned to Fu Huang, Grand Chancellor Xie and the others were still in the hall. Qin stood quietly to one side. After the officials left, Fu Huang looked over and asked, “Well?”
Eunuch Qin grinned. “This old servant just delivered the clothes. His Highness liked them very much—he changed into one immediately.”
Fu Huang replied, “As if he dares not like them.”
Qin chuckled. “Indeed—whether it’s thunder or rain, it’s all a blessing from the emperor. No matter what Your Majesty bestows, he’s bound to be overjoyed.”
But upon hearing this, Fu Huang’s earlier imposing presence seemed to dissolve. He lowered his head slightly and silently wiped his hands with a warm towel, as if already contemplating what rare treasures he might grant the prince next.
Fu Huang was returning to the palace today, but since the Imperial Physician had said that Madam Zhang was unfit for travel, Fu Ye stayed behind at Lihua Palace with the Empress Dowager.
Fu Ye personally escorted Fu Huang to the palace gates. Grand Chancellor Xie and the others stood by with hands respectfully at their sides.
Today, everyone was extra cautious—more watchful than usual.
Early this morning, Fu Huang had suddenly rescinded his decree to hang someone’s head at the temple. It should’ve been good news—but instead, Xie and the rest grew even more uneasy. No one could understand why the imperial command had changed so abruptly.
Did His Majesty feel that a mere hanging wasn’t satisfying enough—was he planning something even worse?
So much worry. So much dread.
It was maddening—none of them dared speak up or offer counsel.
Past experience had taught them that whenever the Emperor acted out of character, it was almost always a prelude to bloodshed. At moments like this, whatever the Emperor said was law. Obedience was survival.
Only Xie Liangbi, among the crowd, lifted his head slightly to look at Fu Ye, who was seeing them off.
The spring rain had just stopped. As if overnight, the grass and trees outside the palace had begun to sprout fresh green shoots. Fu Ye wore a dark silk cloak embroidered with golden dragons. Compared to the one he’d worn yesterday, this one was even more luxurious. The golden dragon curled around the fabric, subtle yet imposing, and the hem was embroidered with silver auspicious clouds. When he moved, the dragon seemed to ripple, the clouds shifting in turn. It was a robe everyone at court recognized as one frequently worn by the Emperor.
On Fu Huang, this robe exuded authority—an untouchable majesty.
But on Fu Ye, it gave off a completely different impression.
The robe hung long on his body, nearly brushing the ground, making him look even more slender, ethereal almost—like a figure carved from white jade.
He looked radiant in bright robes, but even dressed in somber hues like this, he outshone the finest jewels.
The others might not have known why His Majesty suddenly rescinded his decree, but Xie Liangbi did.
It was all because of Prince Huan’s quiet intervention. And shockingly, the Emperor had actually listened.
Now, looking at Fu Ye, every move he made seemed to shimmer with light.
He was like a beam of light heaven had gifted to Great Zhou.
The nobles and officials followed the imperial carriage away. Fu Ye gave Xie Liangbi a faint smile and nod before turning to walk back inside.
Behind him, Qingxi glanced back at Xie Liangbi. Seeing that he’d mounted his horse but was still looking back repeatedly, Qingxi’s gaze lingered for a moment longer.
Later that day, the Grand Dowager Madam finally showed some signs of recovery, managing to take in a bit of soup. The Empress Dowager was deeply worried. Since Lihua Palace wasn’t far from Chonghua Temple, she decided to spend the night there praying for Madam’s recovery.
The last time Fu Ye had been to Chonghua Temple was on New Year’s Eve, during the ancestral rites. Back then, he’d only marveled at the temple’s grandeur. As a royal monastery, it was famed for its impressive architecture and finely crafted statues. Since the temple was run by nuns and he was cautious by nature, he hadn’t wandered much.
But now… things were different.
He knew that the Emperor’s birth mother, Lady Chu, was also residing in this very temple.
After lighting incense with the Empress Dowager and kneeling by her side for a while, he quietly slipped away. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of that woman, and he strolled through the grounds with that very purpose.
Though it was already early spring, the mountain air remained cold, and none of the plants had yet bloomed. The temple grounds were filled mostly with evergreens—pines, cypresses, and cedars—creating a somber and desolate atmosphere. The only sound was the soft ringing of bronze wind bells in the morning mist.
Following the chimes, his gaze landed on the highest building at the rear of the temple—a towering golden pagoda.
His first impression: it was tall.
Back when he stood at the palace’s highest point and looked toward Yongchang Mountain, that golden pagoda had taken his breath away. Now, seeing it up close, it was even more overwhelming. Every detail was exquisitely made. Gilded copper bells hung from its eaves, clinking melodiously in the wind like divine music.
“Maybe it’s colder up here, but the plum blossoms behind the pagoda are blooming beautifully,” said Shuangfu.
Fu Ye spotted them too—several young nuns gathering plum branches in the courtyard. Their robes were different from the temple’s ordinary attire. They wore Guanyin hoods that draped over their ears, with their dark hair barely visible underneath.
The nuns spotted him and quickly scurried away.
His curiosity piqued, he followed their movement with his eyes and saw them enter a nearby courtyard, plum blossoms in hand.
For the briefest moment, the courtyard gates opened.
Inside stood a nun in white robes, cloaked in a snow-white hood. Not a trace of color or adornment marked her figure. Before he could get a clear look at her face, the gates shut again.
It was a glimpse—fleeting, like catching a glimpse of a phoenix in flight.
He hadn’t seen her face, only caught the faintest whiff of plum blossoms in the evening air. Yet that brief moment left the impression of a woman far removed from the mortal world—a noble, ethereal presence.
He stood frozen for a long while.
The evening temple drums began to echo through the forest—deep and sonorous, expanding across the stillness of the mountains. Shuangfu, having noticed the woman too, whispered:
“That might be Lady Chu. I’ve heard she lives here at Chonghua Temple. So that was her…”
He seemed to recall a certain taboo rumor about the Emperor, and quickly clapped his hand over his mouth.
As night fell, Fu Ye’s heart grew heavier. He remembered the conversation he had with Eunuch Qin late that night. On the walk back, he was lost in thought.
When he finally returned to the Empress Dowager’s side to continue the prayers, he held the scripture in his hands, but had no idea what he was even reciting.
All he could see in his mind was Fu Huang’s pale, solemn face.
Looking up at the serene face of the Buddha, surrounded by the scent of incense, he could only sit in stunned silence.
In a daze, Fu Ye was startled by a sudden commotion outside. Snapping back to awareness, he turned his head. Shuangfu had already rushed out, and Qingxi stepped back quickly to shield him with his own body—looking every bit like a miniature version of Eunuch Qin.
The Empress Dowager opened her eyes. “What’s happening?” she asked.
A palace maid hurried in. “Your Majesty, there’s a fire in the temple!”
The Empress Dowager immediately tried to rise, but she had been kneeling too long. The moment she stood, her legs gave out beneath her. Fu Ye caught her just in time, holding her up in his arms. Just then, Shuangfu came running back in, panic on his face.
“Your Highness! It’s bad—there’s a huge fire outside!”
Fu Ye quickly helped the Empress Dowager out of the shrine hall, only to be met with a towering wall of flames lighting up the night sky.
Shuangfu shouted, “It looks like the fire started from the side halls at the front courtyard!”
“Both sides caught fire?” Fu Ye asked, his voice sharp with urgency.
Even as he spoke, a chorus of frightened screams rose from outside. Following Shuangfu’s gaze, Fu Ye turned and saw that the great pagoda in the rear was now engulfed in roaring flames.
He realized at once—this was no accident. Someone had set this fire on purpose.
Without hesitation, he shielded the Empress Dowager and began leading her toward the front courtyard. But Chonghua Temple was enormous and built along a steep slope. The stone steps were narrow and treacherous. Supporting the Empress Dowager as they moved, Fu Ye called out urgently:
“Where are the guards?!”
“The guards aren’t allowed inside—they’re all waiting out front!” someone replied.
Normally, the Empress Dowager’s attendants were armed, but because they were in a temple, they had all surrendered their weapons out of respect for the gods and buddhas. Now, unarmed, they could only form a protective circle around the Empress Dowager and Fu Ye, hurrying toward the front courtyard. The temple had already fallen into chaos—shouts, cries, and panicked screams echoed everywhere. People were running, yelling, hauling water—utter bedlam.
By the time they reached the front courtyard, they found the main gates had been locked from the outside. Guards were slamming against them, trying to break through, while a few more impatient ones had already begun climbing the walls to get in.
“Protect the Empress Dowager!” Fu Ye ordered.
He grabbed a sword from one of the guards and turned toward the back of the temple. The Yongfu Pagoda was already engulfed up to the fourth or fifth level.
The pagoda was made entirely of wood, and once the arsonist set it alight, the flames took off—fueled by the night winds blowing through the mountain. Fire climbed the tower like a coiling dragon. And then—Fu Ye remembered: Madam Chu lived just behind that pagoda.
“Stay with the Empress Dowager!” he shouted to Qingxi and the others. Sword in hand, he broke into a run toward the back.
“Fu Ye! Where are you going?!” the Empress Dowager called after him.
“I need to check the fire!” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Go with him!” she immediately instructed her guards. “Make sure he stays safe!”
Shuangfu and Qingxi followed close behind. They raced through courtyard after courtyard. The side halls where the fire had started were now under control, with monks and nuns lugging water buckets toward the pagoda.
Fu Ye grabbed a bucket from one of them and crossed through another gate into the courtyard beneath the Yongfu Pagoda. The air was choked with smoke and ash; flames were already licking up to the seventh tier of the tower. The blazing structure lit up the entire night sky.
No matter how hard the crowd below tried to douse the flames, it was hopeless—a drop in the ocean. A few young nuns dropped to their knees, wailing as they watched the sacred pagoda burn.
Breathing heavily, Fu Ye stared up at the inferno.
There’s no saving it.
The firelight bathed his face in a bright red glow. With the tower in full blaze, the heated wind swept stronger through the courtyard. He began ordering the crowd to evacuate.
Fiery embers shot out from the pagoda like a storm of burning rain.
“Have all the noble residents been evacuated from this courtyard?” he asked the senior monk overseeing the firefighting.
The monk, eyes full of tears, choked out, “I’ve already sent people to check!”
Without waiting, Fu Ye ran straight toward the courtyard where Madam Chu lived. Behind him, the towering pagoda—dozens of feet high—was now a pillar of fire. One by one, the golden wind chimes melted and fell, crashing around him with deafening booms.
The entire tower was swallowed by flames, roaring like a fiery column reaching the heavens.
Yongchang Mountain was the only peak near the capital. With flames soaring sky-high, the burning pagoda could be seen from miles away, illuminating the entire night—and within moments, the entire city was in an uproar.
Inside the palace, Fu Huang was enduring another painful headache as he tried to read memorials. Suddenly, panicked voices rose from outside. Eunuch Qin burst in:
“Your Majesty, it’s terrible—Chonghua Temple is on fire!”
Fu Huang sprang to his feet and rushed out of Qingyuan Palace. Outside, a few young palace eunuchs were already kneeling with hands pressed together in prayer, their faces pale as they looked skyward.
Through the maze of majestic palace buildings, a ribbon of fire from the Yongfu Pagoda was visible—raging, twisting like a golden dragon leaping into the night sky.
