Chapter 26

Night had already fallen.

Eunuch Qin stood at the gate of Qingyuan Palace, watching the palace maids holding crimson crane-beak lanterns as they lit the palace lamps.

He remembered how, in the past, these girls had all looked half-dead—silent as ghosts, save for the occasional clink of their jade name tags as they walked.

Back in Emperor Wuzong’s time, there were tens of thousands of concubines, palace maids, and eunuchs crowding the inner palace. It was packed to the brim. But ever since the current emperor took the throne, in just a few short years, over half the palace had emptied out. Many of the old halls now sat abandoned and cold.

In their place, there were more crows now. Every evening they’d start cawing. The imperial court felt more like a ghost town than the seat of an empire.

To be fair, His Majesty rarely mistreated the palace women. It’s just… he was terrifying to look at. Everyone knew he hated noise. And so, bit by bit, the palace grew quieter and quieter.

He remembered a few years back—it must’ve been around dusk. The scent of blood still lingered in Qingtai Hall. Ghost stories were spreading like wildfire. That day, snow was expected, and the sky turned dark early. Qin had just left Qingyuan Palace when he spotted two motionless figures standing in the cold northern wind along the covered walkway. It was too dark to see clearly. He honestly thought they were paper effigies and nearly jumped out of his skin.

Turned out they were just two maids come to light the lamps. They’d seen someone emerging from Qingyuan Palace and been too terrified to move.

Now, the girls walked in small groups, whispering quietly to each other. Ever since word spread that Prince Huan was returning, even this place seemed to have a bit of warmth again.

When the palace lanterns along the walkway were all lit, an elegant carriage rolled in with the soft rattle of its wheels. The curtains swayed gently, and pearls and golden bells clinked melodically with the motion.

This was the kind of entrance worthy of the imperial family!

The emperor, for once, had shown a bit of taste—bestowing such a luxurious carriage upon the prince!

Even before the carriage came to a full stop, Eunuch Qin was already smiling.

The curtain lifted. The first face to appear was Qingxi, cold and pretty as ever. Then came the round-cheeked Shuangfu. Between them emerged Fu Ye—Prince Huan—whose radiance seemed even brighter after just a few days apart.

Before Qingxi or the others could help him down, Fu Ye had already leapt from the carriage.

“How’s my royal brother?” he asked.

“You’ve finally come back,” Eunuch Qin said with a smile. “His Majesty just took his medicine and is resting.”

Fu Ye strode quickly into Qingyuan Palace, and Eunuch Qin hurried after him.

The prince turned back briefly. “Is your leg fully healed?”

“Thanks to Your Highness, yes,” Eunuch Qin replied warmly.

Fu Ye gave a small smile and stepped into the main hall. He moved fast, weaving past screen after screen and layer after layer of sheer drapes. Seeing his urgency, Eunuch Qin felt even more pleased. He gave a subtle wave to the attendants outside the sleeping chambers, and a few eunuchs in red silently withdrew.

Inside, Emperor Fu Huang lay sideways on a soft couch. The room was warm. He wore only a thin robe, his body still gaunt, hair loose, and collar hanging open to reveal a lean chest. His skin had that same faint grayish cast.

The image of the late crown prince still haunted Fu Ye’s mind. Shaking off the memory, he stepped closer and gently felt Fu Huang’s pulse.

It was irregular. Judging by the emperor’s face, he looked extremely worn down.

Fu Ye turned to Qin. “He hasn’t been taking his medicine on time?”

“He has, every dose,” Eunuch Qin said softly. “He likely caught a chill these past couple days. Lots of affairs to deal with, not enough sleep.”

All their noise woke Fu Huang. He frowned, eyes still closed. “So, you finally came back?”

Fu Ye only smiled. “Brother.”

“Massage my head,” Fu Huang muttered.

Fu Ye shrugged off his outer robe. Qin stepped forward and personally held out warm water for him to wash his hands.

Once clean, Fu Ye sat and began gently massaging Fu Huang’s head. “Honestly, I missed you a lot, brother. Even though it’s only been a few days.”

Fu Huang said nothing.

It was Eunuch Qin who spoke up with a grin: “His Majesty missed you too, Your Highness.”

Fu Huang opened his eyes to glance at him. Eunuch Qin quickly lowered his head and left the room, quietly motioning for the other attendants to retreat even farther.

Fu Ye caught the familiar herbal scent on Fu Huang. Maybe because it had been so long, even that scent brought him comfort tonight.

Eyes closed, Fu Huang said, “Don’t get too sentimental just because the Empress Dowager is treating you well. Pouring your heart out and calling it filial piety—do you even realize you’re being used?”

Fu Ye paused, surprised. He didn’t argue, only pressed more attentively at his brother’s temples. “Got it.”

That caught Fu Huang off guard.

Then Fu Huang said, “You don’t need to be so loyal to me, either. I’ve been thinking… if I ever die one day, maybe I’ll take you with me.”

Fu Ye: “…”

There was something haunting in Fu Huang’s tone—half-serious, half not. Enough to put anyone on edge.

Fu Ye chuckled.

But then Fu Huang asked, “Would you want that?”

And now—how was he supposed to answer that?

Fu Ye rested his chin on his brother’s shoulder and said softly,
“Then may Royal Brother live to ten thousand years old, and I’ll live to nine thousand nine hundred ninety-five. Once you’ve had enough, take me with you.”

He was so close, his breath was practically burning Fu Huang’s ear.

Fu Huang reached up and gently touched his cheek.

The Empress Dowager was ill—Fu Ye had every reason to stay behind and care for her. What else could he do? Follow Fu Huang’s example and abandon all propriety, ruin his own name?

That wouldn’t do.

Fu Huang never cared what people said about him. But Fu Ye? Let others slander him? Absolutely not.

In his heart, Fu Huang wished for him to live a life as untouched by hardship as a flower in bloom.

But Fu Ye hadn’t come back for days. The migraines had returned, worse than before. For some reason, that absence filled Fu Huang with resentment. While lying there in a daze, he’d seriously considered whether, if he were to die, he ought to take Fu Ye with him.

But now… now that thought didn’t seem quite so appealing.

Now, like this, he didn’t feel so eager to die.

He figured Fu Ye didn’t understand what he’d said. Probably thought he was just joking.

And in that moment, Fu Huang felt sorry for him—for being tangled up with someone like himself.

Affection stirred in his heart. He waved Fu Ye’s hands away and asked,
“Have you eaten?”

“I rushed back the second I heard your headaches flared up! How could I think about food?” Fu Ye declared with a loyal tone. “If you weren’t well, why didn’t someone tell me sooner?”

Fu Huang was clearly pleased. He called Eunuch Qin in to prepare dinner.

Tonight’s meal was clearly arranged in advance—everything on the table was Fu Ye’s favorite.

It had been so long since he’d eaten with someone else. Watching Fu Ye eat was a delight in itself—he had quite the appetite.

And yet, despite eating so much, he never gained a pound. Still so skinny it hurt to look at.

Fu Huang couldn’t stop thinking how pitiful he looked now. Everything about him stirred tenderness.

After dinner, Fu Ye returned to his quarters to bathe.

Bathing at the temporary palace had been a hassle—he hadn’t had a proper bath in days. But now, back at the main palace, he treated it like home. Stepping into the East Wing, everything felt familiar.

And yet… it looked completely different from how he left it.

The changes were dramatic.

It was far more luxurious now.

The most eye-catching change was a new curtain made of pearls, strung together with golden silkworm thread and pearls from the South Sea. In the candlelight, it shimmered like a haloed moon. There was a delicate golden finch perched on the window frame holding a blossom in its beak, beside a water clock with tiny red fish dancing at the base. A candle burned at the bottom, illuminating the whole clock in sparkling light—it was breathtaking.

There were subtler touches too—numerous small items had been replaced. The lanterns, for instance, were now shaped like jade figurines offering flowers. No two figures were alike, and the flowers they held varied—peonies, orchids, each carved and colored differently. Alone, each lamp might seem plain, but together they formed a dazzling array: a hundred jade maidens offering a hundred blooms.

There was even a luminous treasure sword, its scabbard encrusted with rubies.

And the most ridiculous thing? A handful of finely carved wooden animal puppets.

It was obvious: while he’d been gone, Fu Huang had sent people to bring out all the palace’s treasures for his room.

Now, Fu Ye thought, the places he and Fu Huang lived were the two most extreme opposites in the entire palace—his, lavish beyond reason; his brother’s, stark and bare.

He really was being spoiled.

To see whether the prince was satisfied, Eunuch Qin came by in person to check on the East Wing. He didn’t dwell too much on all the treasures, but he did specially point out the Longhua Sword.

That sword had originally been presented by Concubine Fang’s family as a tribute when she married into the palace. It had been gifted to the emperor back when he was still crown prince. During the height of his glory, he’d always worn it at his side. It was one of his most cherished possessions—priceless.

After hearing this, Fu Ye couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sword. He held it close, gently running his fingers along its surface for a long time.

In that moment, the image of sixteen-year-old Fu Huang reappeared in his mind, vivid and brilliant.

That elegance… he could never compare.

Eunuch Qin was quite pleased with His Highness the Prince of Huan’s reaction.

The prince must’ve been truly moved—he’d only just finished bathing and was already practicing calligraphy.

When he came back from checking in, Eunuch Qin remarked with admiration,
“His Highness is truly diligent. He’s barely returned and already at the writing desk.”

Fu Huang assumed he was just putting on a show.

After all, Fu Ye had never cared much for books—and Fu Huang knew that perfectly well.

He himself wasn’t sleepy tonight. His mind was calm and unhurried. Draped in a robe, he sat down to review the memorials that had piled up over the past couple of days. While he was in the middle of reading, an inner attendant came in to report that Shuangfu from the neighboring courtyard had arrived.

Shuangfu had a naturally cheerful appearance—round head, round face, sturdy like a little tiger. Even without smiling, he had twin dimples like he was carved from joy. In this, the Empress Dowager’s judgment had been spot on. One look, and anyone could tell: this was Fu Ye’s servant through and through.

Shuangfu held out a scroll and said, “His Highness has just finished a new piece of calligraphy and wishes for Your Majesty to take a look.”

The Emperor had always been a strict teacher and held high expectations for the prince’s studies—this gesture from the prince was quite proper!

Eunuch Qin was overjoyed and hurriedly accepted the scroll to present it to the Emperor. Fu Huang unrolled it—and inside was not only calligraphy, but also a single sprig of wintersweet.

The calligraphy wasn’t exactly elegant, but it was neat enough, and it contained a couplet:

“Now the worldly wind and snow have passed;
Tomorrow we’ll greet the spring at last.”

Shuangfu lowered his head and said, “When His Highness returned and saw the wintersweet blooming, he was suddenly inspired and wrote these lines. But he couldn’t come up with the next two, so he said, ‘I’ll just use a flower to fill in the rest.’”

The way he recited it—lively and animated—made it easy to imagine exactly how Fu Ye must’ve told him to say it.

Eunuch Qin, beaming, chimed in from the side:
“What fine lines! A beautiful ode to spring!”

Fu Huang said nothing, only stared at that little branch of wintersweet for a long time.

Eunuch Qin wasn’t highly educated, but he thought the poem quite good. He even wondered aloud if the Emperor might reward the prince.
“His Highness’s writing has really come a long way.”

But the Emperor said nothing. Instead, he went and stood outside the East Courtyard for half the night—for reasons Eunuch Qin couldn’t guess.

That reaction was… surprising.

By all logic, His Majesty favored the prince deeply these days.

Qin set the wintersweet in a celadon vase from Ge kiln and placed it on the desk. As he looked at it, he thought, If the wintersweet is blooming, it really must be getting warmer.

The palace had no other flowers, but this one branch from the Prince of Huan—surely it outshone a whole garden in the Emperor’s eyes.

The prince was thoughtful indeed.

And then it struck him—Wasn’t today a special day?

He stared at the flower, searching his memory. Suddenly, his heart gave a jolt.

Today is the twelfth of the second lunar month. The Flower Festival.

He was stunned. In recent years, the Emperor had never celebrated his own birthday, and in all the busyness, he had nearly forgotten as well.

Looking again at the couplet, emotion welled in his chest until he was nearly speechless. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to see Fu Huang returning.

It was, after all, just a simple wish. As Emperor, he’d heard all the finest poems, all the most auspicious phrases.

Qin thought His Majesty probably felt nothing—perhaps even annoyance—but his own eyes were brimming with tears. Not wanting Fu Huang to see, he quickly lowered his head.

Fu Huang studied the scroll again and at last gave his verdict:
“The calligraphy still needs work.”

Normally, Eunuch Qin would’ve jumped in to explain on the prince’s behalf. But this time, he said nothing—because he knew Fu Huang already understood.

The winds and snows of this world have passed—
From here on, it’s spring.

The prince likely understood everything—said nothing—and yet had said it all. With his kind nature, those words had been a genuine blessing.

That night, Fu Huang never closed his eyes. As dawn neared, he heard Eunuch Qin quietly weeping.

He stepped out of his chambers and walked to the East Wing.

Fu Ye was still asleep. Fu Huang gently shook him awake.

Fu Ye stirred.
“Mm… good morning, Royal Brother…”

Fu Huang sat down on the edge of the bed.

“…Don’t tell me I have to get up and study already?” Fu Ye mumbled, eyes barely open.

He’d been sleeping in these days—it was hard to go back to frugality once you got used to comfort.

“No need. Tomorrow will be early enough,” Fu Huang said.

Fu Ye blinked awake and looked at him. Fu Huang was watching him closely.

“…Then what brings Royal Brother here?”

“Nothing,” Fu Huang replied.
“Go back to sleep.”

He had only come… to see his “spring morning.”

He wanted his spring morning to see him, too.

From that moment on, in his heart, Fu Ye would forever come first—unshakably so.

He had spent the whole night thinking, asking himself over and over what he could give, what more he could possibly give.

All the treasures of the palace were already offered up, and still it felt insufficient. Nowhere near enough.

So he could only give everything—his entire life, his entire world. To provide for him, to offer him, to love him.

And still he wanted to give more… though he feared the other might not accept it.

But he wanted it all the same.