The next morning, when Fu Ye woke up, he reached out to shift the screen at the edge of his bed and peeked toward the adjoining room—Fu Huang’s sleeping mat was already empty.
Qingxi stood quietly behind the screen, holding a copper basin. She approached on light feet and whispered, “His Majesty returned to the main palace at daybreak.”
Fu Ye let out a soft “Oh,” and lay back down, staring into space for a while.
Whether Fu Huang was around or not… even the air felt different.
Now that the emperor was gone, security at the temporary palace had gotten even tighter. Coming and going required permission—even he wasn’t allowed to leave freely anymore. Everything had to be reported and approved.
Fu Huang could be really high-handed sometimes.
Still, now that he was gone, the entire palace pretty much belonged to Fu Ye.
From the high-ranking consorts down to the maids, even the armored palace guards—all of them seemed to breathe easier.
Now that the ice-cold sovereign had departed… it was like spring had arrived.
Even the empress dowager’s health had clearly improved.
It was honestly so miraculous that Fu Ye almost felt bad for Fu Huang.
Since the empress dowager was recovering and the weather was warming up, Fu Ye spent most of his days wandering around the palace, only dropping by her residence for a short while each day.
But no matter how big the palace was, after a few laps around, it got boring.
So, he decided to do something more productive.
Although the Red Lotus Society was no longer an immediate threat, the male lead, Huang Tianyi, had declared himself emperor in the neighboring state—and he carried the mandate of heaven. He was clearly set on unifying the world, so Fu Ye couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
While Huang Tianyi’s footing was still unstable, Great Zhou needed to cultivate more young, capable officials and generals.
The current court was lifeless—it was time to inject some fresh blood.
Fu Ye had only half-unlocked his “Heaven’s Eye,” but Xiao Ai had already given him a list of loyal officials from the original story. Many of them were still scattered across provincial posts. Li Dun didn’t count—he was already one of Fu Huang’s personal guards—but aside from him, Fu Ye only recognized one name: Xie Liangbi.
The court could use more upright and loyal young officials like Xie Liangbi.
He’d seen Xie Liangbi around the palace a few days ago. Every time they crossed paths, the man would greet him with polite deference—exuding both a soldier’s strength and a scholar’s grace. Being around him felt like basking in the spring breeze.
Having someone like that nearby was pleasing to the eye and soothing to the soul.
But now, Fu Ye hadn’t seen him in days.
It was odd. Before, he’d run into him constantly—now that he wanted to see him, he’d completely vanished.
There was also that Liu Jiahui, who had a real knack for entertaining him and was quite good-looking to boot—but he was nowhere to be seen either.
And then there was that handsome guy surnamed Xiao…
So he asked the commander of the Golden Armor Guards how the duty roster was arranged.
The commander told him all the missing guards had followed the emperor back to the capital.
Seriously? He really took them all with him?
With all the eye candy gone, Fu Ye felt like his time at the palace had instantly lost half its charm.
He knew Fu Huang didn’t want him getting involved with men—he’d already given up on anything real and just wanted to enjoy some good scenery. But even that got taken away!
The empress dowager, still recovering from her illness, had grown visibly thinner and seemed a bit down. With the lingering chill of early spring, she had stayed in the warm chamber and hadn’t stepped outside in days.
The peach and plum blossoms in the courtyard were starting to bud—soft pink buds everywhere, looking almost like plum blossoms at first glance. Hoping to cheer her up, Fu Ye picked a few branches to bring to her.
The empress dowager lay back against her cushioned couch, her mind now clear again. She wasn’t nearly as strong as before, her illness having taken its toll. She turned to the elder noblewoman beside her and said with a faint smile,
“Never thought I’d live to this age and still get to enjoy the happiness of having my children pick flowers for me.”
The noblewoman beamed and replied,
“His Highness the Prince of Huan is so loving and devoted—Your Majesty’s blessings are only just beginning!”
The noble lady and the gathered consorts all began lavishing Fu Ye with praise, to the point he was starting to feel a little embarrassed.
The room was filled with laughter and warmth—honestly livelier than the spring sunshine outside.
The Empress Dowager was even beginning to think that… maybe staying here and not returning to the main palace wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, a palace maid entered and bowed with her hands folded:
“Your Majesty, a eunuch from Qingyuan Palace has arrived.”
The Dowager’s smile instantly faded. She leaned back on the couch with a chill in her eyes. Everyone else in the hall stood up as the atmosphere abruptly turned solemn.
When the Ice-Cold Emperor sends someone, you can expect a Mini Ice-Cold Emperor in his place.
Soon, a very familiar-looking eunuch stepped into the hall. He didn’t dare lift his head. He bowed deeply to the Dowager first, then said softly:
“I come bearing an oral decree from His Majesty, for Prince Huan.”
Fu Ye moved to kneel and salute, but the eunuch quickly stopped him:
“His Majesty said there’s no need for formalities—His Highness only needs to listen.”
Then, standing straight, he delivered the message:
‘We know the Prince is enjoying himself so much out there that he’s forgotten all about returning home. We wouldn’t disturb you… except We’ve been having terrible headaches, and must trouble Our dear brother to come back, just this once.’
Fu Ye: “…”
Yup. That sarcastic, passive-aggressive tone? Classic Fu Huang.
He didn’t know how everyone else felt, but he personally was a little mortified. The consorts all politely pressed their lips together, pretending not to have heard a thing.
Fu Ye asked, “Has His Majesty’s old condition flared up again?”
The eunuch quickly replied, “Yes, for the past two days. His Majesty hopes the Prince can return as soon as possible.”
Honestly, it was strange. All the imperial physicians had been treating him using the exact methods Fu Ye had taught them—why weren’t they working?
Seems like the Prince’s own medical skills still outshone the rest.
Hearing this, Fu Ye immediately looked toward the Empress Dowager, visibly concerned. Her expression was complicated, but she eventually nodded and said,
“Go on, then. I’ll be well taken care of—there are enough physicians here.”
Fu Ye took his leave and made his way to the inner courtyard of Zhengyang Palace—only to find an absolutely stunning carriage waiting for him.
It was made of fragrant rosewood, draped in silk and strings of pearls. Even the horses were decked out in golden bells, looking every bit as regal and showy as their owner.
!!!
The classic “luxury carriage and prized steed” had manifested in real life!
Twelve golden-armored guards in front, twelve black-armored ones behind—gold for show, black for security.
The emperor had really gone all-out!
Fu Ye practically ran toward it, his sleeves fluttering in the wind. Shuangfu and the others followed behind, just as delighted.
They all knew—the emperor wasn’t one for extravagance. This kind of elaborate fanfare? It was clearly tailored just for their prince.
Things had been a little dull the past couple of days, so Shuangfu had scrounged up a few gossip-filled storybooks passed around by the palace maids. Fu Ye had found them very entertaining and told the attendants to make sure to pack them.
He also had a box of sweets from Consort Fang’s homeland, a specialty from her country. He’d only had one bite before thinking of Fu Huang, and had saved the rest ever since. They weren’t anything fancy, but what mattered was the thought behind it—he remembered the emperor when he tasted something good.
Yes, he was totally buttering up his royal brother—but he had to give himself credit: sometimes being a little clever and shameless paid off.
As the eunuchs bustled about loading his things, Jingxi walked up, cradling a brocade box in her arms.
Fu Ye asked, “What’s this?”
As he lifted the lid of the brocade box, he froze.
Inside was a dark cloak.
He knew that cloak well. It was the one he had given to the Lady of Chu on the day of the Chonghua Temple fire.
The cloak had been scorched in the blaze—torn and burnt in several places. Now, it had been folded neatly in the box, so precisely and rigidly that it felt… cold, almost lifeless.
Jingxi said softly, “It was delivered by a nun from the Lady of Chu’s retinue. They didn’t come in, just left it with Commander Zhou at the gate.”
She didn’t even keep a piece of clothing.
But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Of course she wouldn’t.
Still, he couldn’t help wondering—if Fu Huang found out, would he be hurt?
Then again, maybe not. Maybe he’d just gotten used to this kind of thing by now.
Fu Ye gave a quiet “Mm,” then closed the box lid and personally carried it up into the carriage. He had no intention of telling Fu Huang about it. But it felt meaningful, somehow—worth keeping. So he would.
The carriage’s interior was even more luxurious than the outside—soft goose-feather cushions, silver-threaded lanterns, and a golden incense burner shaped like a colorful bird. Wisps of fragrant smoke curled from beneath its wings. The scent? Snowy Cypress—his favorite.
The refreshments had all been specially prepared—delicate pastries, exactly the kind he usually ate in his own palace.
See? The emperor wasn’t really some cold-hearted brute after all.
Outside, the deep beat of the evening drum echoed through the misty hills. Fu Ye sat with the brocade box in his lap, and all of a sudden… he felt inexplicably sad.
Xiao Ai piped up,
“Hey now, don’t be sad! I’ve got a surprise for you!”
“You scared me!”
She giggled, “Your application got approved! Want to see it now? I can let you view past memories of Fu Huang—like a dream! Oh, and I even pulled some bonus content for you: past scenes of Lady Zhaoyang and Emperor Wuzong!”
Fu Ye: “!!”
He immediately shut his eyes. “Do it!”
Xiao Ai chuckled again, “I peeked a little ahead. Not gonna lie—Fu Huang used to be really handsome. Like, seriously. He still has the same features, so how does he look so awful now?”
Fu Ye said, “He’s not that bad!”
“Well, that depends who you’re comparing him to. Next to you? Not even close.”
They bantered back and forth, and Fu Ye felt his mood lighten.
“Your standards are way too high. Come on—bring on the eye candy.”
Time to shake off that gloomy mood.
Xiao Ai sighed dramatically, “You’re just too soft-hearted. Fu Huang himself probably isn’t even this upset.”
“Enough chatter.”
She grinned, “The clips are pulled at random, so it could be any perspective, any moment. But I picked from the sixteenth year of Heavenly Mandate—it was peak glam of Wuzong’s reign! Look how considerate I am… You’re not even in it yet, and your heart’s already racing.”
Fu Ye replied, “Just a little excited.”
Xiao Ai let out a low laugh, her voice turning gentle,
“Okay… It’s starting now. Get ready for the immersive dream experience. Five-star realism guaranteed.”
With that, she activated her hypnosis function.
And very soon, Fu Ye drifted off into sleep.
The system’s newly developed function was still a bit unstable, so at first all he saw were disjointed fragments.
But even those glimpses surprised him—many people were nothing like he’d imagined.
Take Emperor Wuzong, for instance. He’d always pictured him as a burly, bearded, battle-hardened man, but the real Wuzong looked more like a delicate pretty boy—tall, slim, and strikingly refined. That only made him more infuriating. A good-looking scumbag.
Then there was Empress Dowager Zhang. He’d only known her as a gaunt, steely figure in her old age. He never expected her younger self to be so… beautiful. Full-figured, dignified—every inch the natural-born mother of the nation.
And Lady Zhaoyang—she was downright breathtaking. Her long hair flowed to the floor, and her beauty was enough to leave him stunned.
There were others, too: Consort Li, Consort Ning, and the entire harem of Wuzong’s reign. The experience was surreal. He’d walked these same palace corridors himself before—empty and echoing—but now they were alive, bursting with color and elegance. Gorgeous ladies in full court regalia strolled through the courtyards, a dazzling sea of luxury and charm.
He seemed to be standing in the middle of it all when suddenly someone announced,
“The Crown Prince has arrived!”
He spun around eagerly—and saw Fu Huang at sixteen.
It was the most radiant, brilliant time in Fu Huang’s life. Even Eunuch Qin still got teary-eyed recalling it. Fu Huang approached, surrounded by attendants.
Fu Ye was completely stunned.
Sixteen-year-old Fu Huang wore the apricot-colored robes of a crown prince. The snowy-white collar framed a face more refined and noble than he could have imagined—like the first ray of light on a spring dawn.
He didn’t know whose memory this was, but the Fu Huang in this vision made his heart race and his breath catch.
He stood frozen, watching him walk closer. His heart surged with the same awe and admiration as the memory’s original owner—he could almost smell the scent from the prince’s robes.
It was kynam, the rarest of aloeswood. When the palace perfumer had once let him sample it, he’d been told: “An inch of kynam is worth an inch of gold.” Exquisite and impossibly expensive.
Fu Huang’s entire being exuded nobility. Every step was grace incarnate. This—this was what it meant to be “born exceptional, and dazzling from youth.”
He followed the prince with dazed eyes, watching the swirling crowd, the rustle of silk, the wafting perfume. A group of young princes stood nearby—handsome, all of them. People often said the Fu clan didn’t produce ugly children. Seeing them now, he believed it.
Someone called out, “Your Highness!”
Fu Huang turned—and smiled at him.
He said something, but Fu Ye couldn’t hear it. He only saw the smile—and was completely stunned.
So this was what the old books meant by “a jade tree in the imperial court.” No blooming flower in the capital could hope to compare.
It took him a long moment to come back to himself. He couldn’t even link this dazzling young man to the Fu Huang he knew. It felt like staring at a stranger—strangely familiar, but still a stranger.
Then a flood of emotion rose in his chest. He thought of a much leaner face, frown lines etched faintly between the brows, dark shadows under tired eyes—like a tall pine tree on the verge of withering.
The Crown Prince was led away by his entourage, leaving him standing alone in the courtyard.
The experience felt too real, and that realism brought with it an aching sense of unreality. And that unreality hurt in a way he couldn’t soothe.
Maybe because it really was like a dream.
Maybe because the scent of aloeswood had long since been replaced by the bitterness of medicinal herbs.
Maybe because the scorched cloak he held in his arms couldn’t ever be mended—no matter how hard he tried.
In that dream, he cried his heart out.
“Your Grace, Your Grace.” He heard someone calling him.
Startled, Fu Ye woke with a jolt to find Shuangfu and Qingxi staring at him, concerned.
“Are you alright, Your Grace?”
Fu Ye shook his head and glanced down—there were tear stains on the brocade box he still held in his arms.
“I had a dream,” he said quietly.
From within, Xiao Ai’s voice murmured, “I deliberately picked his most glorious moment… I thought it would make you happy.”
But Fu Ye couldn’t quite shake off the lingering emotions of that dream. Dusk had fallen softly around them. It felt as though only a moment had passed, yet outside, the clatter of hooves echoed unevenly. The wind from the mountain swept over the fields, and along the roadside, clusters of wintersweet had bloomed into golden waves—like clouds of light, like a sea of gold.
Suddenly, something stirred in Fu Ye’s memory. He called for the carriage to stop and leapt out without another word.
Shuangfu, alarmed, pushed aside the carriage curtain. “Your Grace, what’s wrong?”
All twenty mounted guards paused, their eyes on him, confused.
But Fu Ye had already walked toward the sea of blooming wintersweet.
Qingxi, realizing his intention, quickly gathered up her robes and scrambled off the carriage after him—he was going to pick the flowers.
Before Qingxi could reach him, Fu Ye had already picked a branch of wintersweet himself. He turned back and said to her, “Bring me the brocade box from the carriage.”
Qingxi didn’t understand what he meant, but Shuangfu had already retrieved the box and handed it over. Fu Ye opened it, stared at its contents in silence for a moment, then—without hesitation—threw the scorched cloak aside.
Qingxi gasped. “Your Grace, that’s—”
“It’s just a ruined piece of clothing,” Fu Ye said softly, eyes downcast. Then, with great care, he placed the freshly plucked wintersweet branch inside the box.
He had always been too soft-hearted—couldn’t bear to let go of this, couldn’t bear to throw away that. Everything seemed laden with meaning and memory to him.
But truly, what was the use of keeping a burnt, broken cloak?
All those heavy emotions… were they ever real? Or just projections of his own?
If something is beyond mending, then it should simply be discarded.
Let it all go. Let everything go.
Even if it left him empty—so what? He could fill it all back up again himself.
With the brocade box now cradling the first bloom of spring, Fu Ye climbed back into the carriage. As the night deepened, they entered the city gates, passing down the grand avenue of the capital, carrying with him not grief, but tenderness for the Emperor—and in his arms, the light of the coming spring—into the heart of the imperial palace.
