Fu Ye realized that the favor he was receiving had taken a serious leap in intensity.
After the Flower Festival, the days grew warmer, and flowers began to bloom everywhere. To his astonishment, Fu Huang had someone deliver fresh flowers into the palace every single day—each day different from the last.
Every kind of flower that bloomed in the capital was brought in—cartload after cartload—just for him to pick through.
Such extravagance.
But Fu Ye still didn’t think it was enough.
He realized that, in this vast imperial palace, aside from the Imperial Garden and the Empress Dowager’s quarters, there were no flowers to be seen anywhere else!
So he had Shuangfu plant a row of climbing roses along the eastern wall of Qingyuan Palace’s side courtyard. Then he crossed over to the next courtyard, folded his arms, and scrutinized the scene.
“Looks so bare. Feels dead and lifeless.”
He was firmly convinced that birdsong and blooming flowers were essential for physical and mental health. Fu Huang lived too bleakly—every single day the same dull gray.
Eunuch Qin had wanted to say that His Majesty had never cared for flowers or plants. But then he remembered—lately, His Majesty had been sending all sorts of fresh flowers to the Eastern Wing every day. Maybe he had changed.
So Qin reported this to Fu Huang: “His Highness is hoping to plant a few flowers in our courtyard, too.”
Fu Huang, of course, had no objections.
At this point, if the Prince of Huan asked for the moon, His Majesty would probably have someone build a tower to fetch it.
And sure enough, within just a couple of days, large porcelain tubs of peonies were arranged all around the main courtyard of Qingyuan Palace.
Since peony season was just around the corner, Fu Ye had picked the ones still in bud. He had a way with coaxing flowers into bloom—in just two days, some of them were already opening.
Eunuch Qin stood beneath the veranda, hands tucked into his sleeves, staring at the flash of crimson in the courtyard. For a moment, he regretted ever reporting the prince’s wishes to the Emperor.
It didn’t exactly… match the palace’s usual solemn atmosphere.
Fu Huang wasn’t a man who liked flowers. He had only done this to make the prince happy. Even now, walking past those peonies each day, he never spared them a second glance.
But the fact that bright red peonies were blooming in Qingyuan Palace startled the ministers like Xie Xiang into near disbelief.
They’d already heard that His Majesty had recently become much more cooperative with his treatments—taking his medicine more regularly, eating more than before, never skipping his acupuncture sessions. His headaches had lessened—now only happening every four or five days. And whenever they did, the Prince of Huan was always there to accompany him through the night.
His Majesty no longer seemed as brooding as before. Sometimes, when handling affairs of state, he would even go to the Zhizhong Hall and let them rest there between meetings.
They could even grab a bite to eat there!
But today was stranger still. While presiding over court matters in the Zhizhong Hall, the Emperor actually summoned the Prince of Huan.
The ministers assumed His Majesty had something private to discuss with the prince and paused their reports, intending to continue once the prince left.
But the Emperor said, “Go on. Keep talking.”
The Prince of Huan was tactful and said, “Then this subject-brother will take his leave.”
But the emperor glanced at Xie Xiang and the others. “You stay and listen.”
“You may continue,” he said to the ministers.
Xie Xiang exchanged a glance with Minister Liu of the Ministry of Appointments and continued discussing the spring’s round of civil service selections.
When they exited the Zhizhong Hall, Liu asked, “Is His Majesty… planning to involve the Prince of Huan in state affairs?”
Xie Xiang, ever the sly fox, replied, “His Majesty’s intentions are the hardest to guess. You’ve been in the capital long enough—surely you know that by now?”
As they walked, he glanced back—only to see Fu Huang standing by the window, quietly watching Fu Ye read.
It felt utterly strange. As if the emperor had been replaced by someone else!
The Empress Dowager had been staying at the Lihua Palace for half a month. When she returned and saw the processional road lined with carts and carts of fresh flowers, she was just as stunned.
The palace maids who had remained behind rushed to tell her:
“His Highness the Prince of Huan loves spring flowers, so His Majesty has been sending carts of them into the palace every day!”
“The prince’s residence gets visits from the Shangqin Bureau three times a day—they’ve even opened up several treasure vaults to pick out gifts for him!”
“His Majesty is now personally teaching the prince to ride and shoot!”
Archery wasn’t hard to grasp in theory—the real challenge was in strength.
Fu Huang could draw the bowstring to full with ease, and the arrow would pierce through the target with a clean thunk.
Fu Ye, on the other hand, couldn’t manage it at all.
“Sink your shoulders. Elbow up.” Fu Huang stood behind him, lean chest pressed flush to his back. Being nearly a head taller, his arms enclosed Fu Ye entirely. He covered Fu Ye’s pale fingers with his own and murmured, “Don’t worry about where the arrow will land. First, fix your foundation.”
Fu Ye’s arm was shaking from the effort.
He felt a little defeated. No one could be good at everything. He already knew medicine, had studied traditional painting for ten years, played the flute for three, practiced some taekwondo, had a college-level education, and now read the classics. He knew plenty.
But he had always been frail. Becoming an expert archer or horseman just wasn’t in the cards.
He was about to let go—when Fu Huang’s hand suddenly tightened.
With a gentle pull, the string bent into a perfect arc. The tendons on his wrist and the back of his hand stood out sharp and defined. In a split second, the arrow was loosed, slicing through the air and thunk—it tore straight through the center of the target.
!!!
Fu Ye was overwhelmed with awe.
This wasn’t archery instruction—this was straight-up seduction by skill.
He was halfway to becoming Fu Huang’s little fanboy!
He’d already used up all his usual compliments. Now he could only clap softly and turn to look at the emperor, eyes sparkling with admiration.
Fu Huang, however, remained serious. “Again.”
The weather was warming, but since her recent illness, the Empress Dowager had been especially sensitive to the cold. Even outdoors, she wore a cloak. Standing beneath the red-lacquered eaves with Chief Physician Sun at her side, she gazed across the courtyard at the emperor and prince in the archery pavilion.
Even when Fu Huang had been in his teens, he’d never shown this much patience.
In fact, back when he lived in Lady Zhaoyang’s palace, he’d never been particularly close with the Sixth Prince, Fu Ye. He was closer to the Third Prince, Fu Hui.
Partly, it was the age gap—they were more than five years apart.
And partly, it was because Lady Zhaoyang doted excessively on her youngest. By the time Fu Ye was four or five, he was quite the little terror. Sometimes when Fu Huang visited, Fu Ye would throw mud at him.
But now, more than a decade had passed.
The once-wild child had become a virtuous prince of unmatched beauty in the imperial court.
And the bright-eyed young Fu Huang of yesteryear… had become the emperor cloaked in black, imposing even in stillness, commanding respect without a word.
It felt like they had taken a detour for more than ten years, only to finally return to how things were always meant to be.
Around the archery pavilion, several palace maids and eunuchs gathered, sneaking glances at the Emperor and the prince practicing. Every time Prince Fu Ye missed the target, even Qin the chief eunuch, who always stayed close to the Emperor, would smile. Fu Ye would hang his head in defeat, and the onlookers would cover their mouths, giggling quietly.
This would have been unthinkable in the past.
Back when the Emperor used to conduct state affairs outside the Qingyuan Palace, everyone avoided being seen when he walked about. Unless it was absolutely necessary, palace staff rarely stepped outside.
But now, the Emperor actually had the demeanor of an older brother—patiently and tirelessly teaching the prince archery hand-in-hand. The wind lifted his black twelve-symbol ceremonial robe, blending with the bright red robe of Fu Ye. It made the Emperor seem a little less intimidating.
“My lady, it’s chilly under the eaves. Let’s head back,” said Grand Physician Sun gently.
The Empress Dowager coughed twice, then wrapped her cloak tightly around her and turned to leave, her eyes lingering on the brilliant spring flowers along the way.
Once she and her attendants had walked far off, Qin turned and looked back.
Surely His Majesty had seen her as well—but he acted like he hadn’t.
Our Emperor now stands tall—he no longer bends for anyone.
It no longer mattered what others thought of him.
He no longer craved their love or pity—because the prince cherished him enough.
Fu Ye’s arms began to tremble more and more as he continued shooting. Fu Huang, however, seemed to enjoy watching him “suffer”—his expression slowly lightened, and the corners of his long-pressed lips even lifted into a rare smile. He grew even more patient in his guidance.
Truly, all men love to show off.
And being a man himself, Fu Ye understood that psychology well.
“I really can’t go on anymore,” he said. “Please have mercy on me, Brother.”
He thought those words would please Fu Huang and make him laugh—he wanted to see that smile.
Even though the Emperor no longer looked like his sixteen-year-old self, Fu Ye believed that his smile must still be striking in its own way.
But instead of laughing, Fu Huang’s smile disappeared. His eyes swept across Fu Ye’s face, and a moment later, he actually became more stern.
He no longer guided him hand-in-hand, but stepped back and watched from a distance.
With that oppressive aura of his, even the slightest hint of seriousness made him feel more like a father than a brother.
Qin the eunuch suspected His Majesty, having been alone for too long, did care deeply for the prince—he just didn’t know how to show it properly.
He had grown too used to severity and didn’t understand gentleness.
Ever since the Flower Festival, Qin had started to see Fu Ye as someone on equal footing with the Emperor—and that made him ache for the boy.
So Qin suggested carefully, “Your Majesty is in your prime. Even if you wish to guide His Highness, there’s no need to rush.”
“If I don’t push him a little, just look at how lazy he can be,” Fu Huang replied.
Qin cautiously added, “But His Highness didn’t grow up in the palace. His temperament is already formed. As the saying goes, ‘Mountains may shift, but a man’s nature is hard to change.’ If you press too hard, I worry it may damage your bond as brothers.”
Fu Huang turned to look at him.
His demeanor immediately grew serious.
But the very next day, he issued an imperial decree: Prince Fu Ye no longer needed to rise at three or four in the morning to study.
Six or seven o’clock would do.
Had that been the initial arrangement, Fu Ye might have still thought it tough. But now, compared to the previous schedule, it felt like a gift from the heavens. He was practically moved to tears and deeply grateful for the imperial grace.
Even better—Fu Huang promised him that for every goal he completed, he could request a reward.
Anything he wanted!
Finally, he didn’t feel like a dad—he was starting to act like a proper brother.
And Fu Ye happened to have a very specific reward in mind.
When they’d returned from the spring palace, he had brought back several short storybooks that were wonderfully entertaining. Classics and histories were all too familiar, but these light-hearted stories were rare in the palace.
Shuangfu told him that when he was stationed at Cien Palace, he’d seen the eunuchs reading similar storybooks—some even came with little illustrations.
“There should be plenty in the Library Pavilion,” Shuangfu said.
“The Library Pavilion?”
“Right behind Longqing Palace. That tower.”
Apparently, Emperor Wuzong had been a lustful man. With his many concubines, boredom was common in the harem. There were few amusements allowed in the inner court, but a certain Concubine Fang, a princess from a foreign vassal state, had been well-versed in both literature and the arts. She loved to write and had authored a popular memoir titled Notes from the Palace, which chronicled court gossip from her homeland. It became quite the hit, even Emperor Wuzong enjoyed hearing her tales.
After that, other concubines started hiring well-read lady officials and collected various folk stories from the outside world. It started as a tactic for gaining favor, but eventually became a trend. Palace women used the stories to pass the time and stave off loneliness.
After Wuzong’s death and Fu Huang’s ascension, that trend vanished.
Fu Huang himself had no interest in such frivolities. Many of the books and treasures in the harem were locked away in a disused palace hall, which later came to be known as the Library Pavilion.
But to enter the Library Pavilion, he needed Fu Huang’s permission.
Fu Huang clearly didn’t understand the appeal of little storybooks. “Aren’t the classics in the Hall of Governance enough for you?” he asked.
“They’re different,” Fu Ye replied. “I heard the Library Pavilion has all sorts of folk tales. I’d really like to read them.”
He even eagerly helped Fu Huang organize his memorials. “I promise it won’t distract me from studying. If you don’t believe me, you can quiz me every day.”
Maybe Fu Huang had simply been spoiling him more than usual lately—almost to the point of indulgence—or maybe he just liked the idea of testing Fu Ye daily. In any case, he immediately ordered Qin the eunuch to take care of it.
“Happy now?”
Fu Ye nodded enthusiastically and showered him with flattery: “You’re so good to me, Brother!”
Fu Huang couldn’t help but find him utterly endearing. If it weren’t for his own incurable illness, he wouldn’t even want Fu Ye to waste time studying.
But for the sake of the future, Fu Ye had to.
He was either going to be a prince under his protection—or an emperor.
And if there came a day when a new emperor took the throne, Fu Huang worried Fu Ye might be bullied.
He didn’t mind Fu Ye bullying others—but being bullied? That, he would never allow. He’d claw his way out of hell if he had to.
And if Fu Ye were to be emperor one day, he couldn’t be like him. He had to be a wise and brilliant sovereign—admired by all, praised across the realm.
That very evening, Qin handed the keys to the Library Pavilion over to Qingxi.
The next day, Fu Ye visited the pavilion, only to discover that it held far more than he had imagined.
There were printed books, hand-copied manuscripts, and illustrated volumes of all kinds. Among them were Buddhist jatakas, court scandals, folktales, even unresolved mysteries and secret archives.
The books and picture scrolls were neatly categorized. Some even included handwritten manuscripts by palace staff, stored separately in locked cabinets.
Fu Ye had no idea where to begin.
This was a treasure trove—and even in modern times, it would be nearly impossible to find a collection of inner-palace literature so complete and well-preserved!
He considered them all valuable cultural relics. He immediately asked Shuangfu and the others to help him, planning to spend a full month sorting, cataloging, and organizing the collection to create a proper royal library.
He was so excited, he skipped dinner and read deep into the night. Shuangfu eventually passed out beside the desk, exhausted.
Only Qingxi remained tireless—like a machine.
He was literate and sharp, and proved immensely helpful.
As Fu Ye rose from the floor, about to head back to rest, his eye caught on a camphorwood cabinet containing a large picture book.
He reached in, moved aside some scattered poetry manuscripts, and pulled out the album—only to find it wasn’t just one book.
There was a thick stack, including two volumes made with engraved woodblock prints.
The illustrations were beautifully rendered—just the covers alone were stunning. But when he casually flipped one open, it felt like his eyes had been scorched by fire. He slammed it shut with a loud snap.
The gold-stamped title on the cover—“Night Tales from Jinxue Temple”—was already faded, and the scent of camphorwood mingled with the dust in the air.
Qingxi turned around and looked at him.
Fu Ye’s heart was pounding wildly. The poetry pages he’d been holding spilled across the floor.
Because in just that brief glance—
He had seen two men tangled together beside a bonfire in a crumbling temple.
It was a spring painting.
And not just any spring painting—a male-male one.
