When the midday sun finally shone through the carved window lattices into the hall, His Majesty awoke.
In all these years, this was the first time he’d slept so late, with the sun already high in the sky.
Eunuch Qin clapped softly, and the palace attendants entered in an orderly line, carrying His Majesty’s robes and warm towels.
Fu Huang ordered them to open the main hall’s doors and windows. A gentle spring breeze swept in with the light, filling the hall. The sunlight sparkled on the water in the copper basin, casting rippling reflections that danced across the room. As the light shifted, it brushed over His Majesty’s face, brightening his expression, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like the spirited young man he’d once been.
Lately he’d taken to wearing lighter-colored robes—probably because he didn’t want Huan Wang to think his clothes were too old-fashioned.
Eunuch Qin thought to himself: If only days like this could last another hundred years.
“In a few days, the prince will stand in for the Empress Dowager to preside over the spring prayer assembly at Fuhua Temple. Would Your Majesty care to go as well?”
Fu Huang asked, “It’s been moved to Fuhua Temple?”
“Yes,” Eunuch Qin replied. “There’s a hot spring on Little Tang Mountain next to it. This season is perfect for bathing there—especially the Hundred Flowers Pool. The area is ringed with blossoms, and from there you can gaze down on Goddess Lake. It’s said to be stunning. The prince will surely love it.”
The prince loved all things beautiful.
The emperor thought for a moment, then said, “Summon Sun Kui.”
Eunuch Qin thought His Majesty must have had some pressing matter, so he quickly summoned Sun Kui, the Minister of War.
But as it turned out, the emperor simply wanted to go spring hunting.
Fu Huang wasn’t interested in the prayer assembly, nor was he drawn to the idea of soaking in the hot springs.
What he thought suited the season best was a spring hunt.
He figured that, compared to lounging in a hot spring, Fu Ye would probably enjoy a hunt much more.
Just twenty miles north of Fuhua Temple was the imperial hunting ground, the Deer Chase Preserve.
Lately, Fu Ye had been so thoughtful and attentive that the emperor felt reluctant to let him down. There was hardly any reward left he hadn’t given—so he could only try to please him by catering to his tastes.
Once the decision for the spring hunt was made, ministers from various departments sprang into action. The Ministry of War immediately deployed a large force to the hunting grounds, sealing off the area and clearing it. They selected strong, skilled horsemen and archers from the capital’s garrison to form the hunting party. The Ministry of Rites began preparations for offerings to heaven and earth and coordinated with the palace departments of attire and ceremony to ready the required banners, uniforms, and regalia. The Ministry of Works rushed to the site to build temporary palaces and camps, clear the roads, and set up the route. In no time, the palace was a hive of activity—livelier even than during the New Year festivities.
Spring hunting was more than just a royal pastime. It was a political and social ritual. Among the emperors of the Great Zhou, Emperor Wuzong had been the most devoted to the hunt. Every time he went, he was accompanied by his princes and consorts, thousands strong. The imperial steeds, the fragrant carriages, the banners blotting out the sun—it was a grand spectacle. He delighted in sharing his prey with his ministers, and those who received such gifts would proudly host feasts for friends and kin. There was even a tale of him, during his flight from the capital, passing through a valley teeming with pheasants and bitterly lamenting that he hadn’t brought his falcons, weeping with frustration.
But under the current emperor, troubled as he was by his headaches, spring hunts had become a thing of the past.
Truth be told, royal events had been far too few. His Majesty spent his adult years shut away in the bare, desolate Qingyuan Palace, like a dragon lurking in a cave, lost in a haze, unaware of how the world bloomed each spring. That he now wished to venture out at all was thanks to the prince’s influence.
And indeed, compared to hot springs, spring hunting was far more to Fu Ye’s liking.
When he heard the news at supper, Fu Ye came bounding in, full of excitement.
He pleaded with the emperor to take him along.
The emperor, who had chosen the hunt precisely to delight the prince, how could he possibly refuse? But still, he said with a straight face, “Let’s see how your riding and archery practice has been these past few days.”
The emperor was truly a master of the act.
He clearly enjoyed watching the prince beg him like this.
Fu Ye said, “If Your Majesty takes me along, I can at least clap and cheer for you! Or I can go fetch the game you bring down.”
Just imagining it conjured a heartwarming picture of brotherly harmony.
Eunuch Qin glanced at the emperor and, sure enough, saw that His Majesty looked pleased. The emperor said, “You can ride a small horse.”
The prince refused at once: “No way! That would be way too embarrassing!”
“I told you before—you should have practiced your riding and archery properly.”
“I didn’t know we’d be going on a spring hunt! No one told me.”
Eunuch Qin withdrew with a smile, lingering just outside the window, listening as Fu Ye pleaded, “My lord brother, dear brother, aren’t you the one who loves me most?”
Indeed, indeed—His Majesty truly doted on the prince. Not even back when he was a prince himself had he shown such kindness to any of his brothers.
People often spoke of emperors courting favor with their beloved consorts—but here was their sovereign doing everything to win over his little brother.
Such extraordinary favor was unmatched in all the realm.
Then Qin heard the emperor reply, in his usual calm and unruffled voice, “If you go on a spring hunt, you won’t get to wear such pretty clothes.”
At that, Shuangfu couldn’t help but burst out laughing, hurriedly clapping a hand over his mouth.
The emperor truly knew how to handle the prince. In his eagerness to join the hunt, Fu Ye even applied himself to his studies these past few days. The night before their departure for Fuhua Temple, while the emperor worked late, Fu Ye sat nearby, sleeves rolled up, grinding ink.
What was going through the emperor’s mind, Fu Ye couldn’t guess. All he knew was that deep into the night, the emperor was still lying on the couch, propping his head on his arm, staring into space. He tossed and turned until the latter half of the night before finally falling into a light sleep. Yet when he awoke the next morning, he seemed refreshed and clear-headed—he even looked as if he’d shed a few years.
If one were to speak irreverently, the prince, delicate and almost too beautiful, looked younger than his actual age, while His Majesty, with his stern, somber air, appeared not like the prince’s elder brother, but as if he were a whole generation older.
But now, standing side by side—even dressed again in his black dragon robe—the emperor looked far more handsome than before.
The prince was headed to Fuhua Temple, and the emperor bestowed upon him the use of the imperial dragon carriage.
The imperial carriage, with its ebony wheels polished to a mirror finish, had always been a symbol of sovereign majesty rather than mere splendor. But this time, the emperor ordered it to be lavishly adorned: tassels hanging from the canopy, banners of dragons, phoenixes, the sun, and moon, the carriage inlaid with pearls and gemstones—so dazzling that Eunuch Qin could only gape in astonishment.
“Wow!” Fu Ye exclaimed.
Eunuch Qin studied the emperor’s expression and saw the clear pride there. The scene reminded him of the late Emperor Wuzong crafting golden-threaded shoes for Lady Zhaoyang, who had loved them so much she danced for him in them. At that time, Emperor Wuzong had worn that very same look on his face.
But even Emperor Wuzong had never permitted anyone else to don the dragon robe or ride in the imperial carriage.
Not even Empress Zhanghou had ever set foot in that carriage. Wuzong had fiercely guarded the uniqueness of his status.
Eunuch Qin personally escorted Fu Ye out of the palace.
The dragon carriage exited through the main Heavenly Gate—something entirely against protocol, yet no one dared utter a word. After seeing Fu Ye through the gate, Qin turned back, only to find His Majesty had ascended the city tower, watching as the carriage disappeared into the distance.
Qin climbed the tower and stood beside Fu Huang.
Fu Huang said, “There he goes again—setting him loose.”
Qin offered comfort: “The Spring Prayer Assembly requires fasting and bathing, strict adherence to the rules, and three full days of scripture recitation. He won’t be able to leave the temple during that time.”
Three days of such constraint—and when His Majesty arrived for the hunt, the prince would likely look at him as if a god had descended from the heavens.
His Majesty is playing quite the game, Qin thought admiringly.
Back at Cien Palace, after hearing the report, the Empress Dowager’s heart, too, was uneasy.
Allowing the prince to ride in the imperial carriage, to pass through the main gate—such overwhelming favor was enough to make one nervous.
True, His Majesty had always been willful, unbound by ritual or convention. But this level of indulgence toward Huan Wang… this imperial favor was so heavy it might just crush that delicate waist of his.
Clutching her prayer beads, the Empress Dowager anxiously asked, “Where is the emperor now?”
“His Majesty is on the city tower, watching the prince cross the heavenly street.”
“!!”
The road to Fuhua Temple was long. They’d set out in the morning but wouldn’t arrive until dusk. The mountain paths along the way were rough, so the imperial carriage moved slowly to avoid jostling.
The journey stretched on. Ancient trees interlaced their boughs overhead, gnarled branches reached skyward, and among the rocks, wild cherry blossoms had just begun to bloom. Fu Ye ordered the curtains rolled up so he could savor the spring scenery at leisure, while Shuangfu regaled him with tales of His Majesty’s prowess in past hunts.
“When His Majesty was still a prince, he was top of the hunt every single year,” Shuangfu, the court’s walking encyclopedia, began proudly. “Once, when His Majesty was campaigning with the army and they reached Misty Sea Mountain, the troops ran out of provisions. His Majesty led the best archers into the mountains to hunt. The fog was so thick that most brought back little—but His Majesty could shoot by sound alone. He single-handedly bagged over a hundred animals, even bringing down a black bear. He presented the bear’s paw to the late emperor, who rewarded him with the Golden Crow Bow.”
Fu Ye pictured a sixteen-year-old Fu Huang, riding and shooting, his youthful heroism matching the image Shuangfu painted—no wonder they called him a true dragon among men.
He wondered whether this hunt might let him glimpse even half of that glory. His heart pounded at the thought.
He pestered Shuangfu, “Any more stories? Even ones not about hunting are fine.”
“About His Majesty? There’s no end to those,” Shuangfu said.
So Fu Ye lounged on the couch, listening as Shuangfu told tale after tale of Fu Huang’s campaigns, his victories, his battles in the north and south.
Shuangfu was a master storyteller—his words vivid and animated, his voice rising and falling at just the right moments. Even Qingxi, usually as expressionless as a machine, was drawn in, her face alight with longing.
The more Fu Ye listened, the more he thought: If it weren’t for the poisoning, His Majesty would have gone down in history as one of the greatest sovereigns of all time.
Back then, when he was first afflicted by that poisonous curse, Fu Huang had already pushed his forces all the way to Zouzou in Great Liang. At the time, Great Yong and Great Liang had joined forces, with troops that far outnumbered those of Great Zhou. Yet Fu Huang, outnumbered as he was, won three battles in a row, claiming victory after victory. After taking Great Liang, he set his sights directly on Great Yong. The ruler of Great Yong, Chen Yu, was a fool of a king who cared only for writing flowery poems and indulging in idle pleasures. He doted on Hu Xi, a treacherous eunuch famed for his beauty, and oppressed the people with heavy taxes and cruel levies. By then, the people of Great Yong were already seething with resentment. After Fu Huang secured Zouzou, the citizens of the Yong border towns opened their gates of their own accord, begging the Great Zhou army to enter and deliver them.
Had he pressed forward without pause, the dream of unifying the realm might have truly become reality.
Shuangfu sighed and said, “But alas, just then an epidemic broke out in His Majesty’s army. The late emperor issued three imperial edicts in quick succession, summoning him back to the capital for treatment. After striking an alliance with the Hu tribes, His Majesty returned.”
Hearing this, Fu Ye itched to dig up Emperor Wuzong’s remains and give him a good thrashing.
It was obvious: back then, as the deposed crown prince, Fu Huang’s military achievements had already grown too great. Before he could carve out immortal glory, Wuzong was determined to bring him down.
To rule the world takes the right time, the right place, and the right people—miss any one of those, and the chance is lost. Fu Huang had missed his moment. That kind of epic legacy might never come his way again.
The more Fu Ye thought about it, the more bitter and angry he felt.
By now the daylight had faded, and the Divine Lady Lake lay just ahead. Mist curled across the water; countless ever-burning lamps dotted the island in the lake, like a silver river floating in a jade-green cup. He could faintly see the vast forest of Buddha statues on the island, monks everywhere among them. This was a sacred place of cultivation. The ancient temple bells and the drone of chanting filled the air, the voices of the monks merging into a deep, endless hum. Their procession of carriages and ceremonial banners passed along the lake’s causeway, their reflection shimmering on the water’s surface, like immortals passing through the mortal world.
Fu Ye thought, What a shame Fu Huang wasn’t here to see this. Such beauty—he should witness it too.
By dusk, they finally arrived at Fuhua Temple.
Where Chonghua Temple flaunted royal grandeur and splendid ornamentation, Fuhua Temple, hidden deep in the mountains, embodied the beauty of desolation and simplicity. Though the temple was large, its black-tiled roofs and earthen walls were plain. In the night, the lamps gave off a dim, muted glow. The imperial guards surrounded the grounds, their protection tight and thorough.
Fu Ye was happy to take this as a sign of the emperor’s care for his safety!
Once settled into his quarters, the first thing he did was write a letter to Fu Huang. Inside, he enclosed a wisteria blossom he’d plucked from the temple grounds, and sent it off by messenger.
Xiao Ai remarked, “I’m impressed. You really are skilled at winning hearts!”
Hehe.
Fu Ye thought himself rather good at reading Fu Huang’s mind.
The emperor wanted his little brother’s heart undivided—and here he was, just arrived at the temple, already writing to him. Surely Fu Huang would be very pleased.
And besides, it wasn’t as if his feelings were false.
He was utterly sincere!
Xiao Ai warned, “The emperor already has some odd tendencies. If you keep indulging him like this, watch out—he might grow more and more unhinged, and end up locking you away somewhere.”
Fu Ye said, “Did you pick up some forced-love drama lately or something?”
Xiao Ai replied, “It’s super thrilling—want to hear it?”
And so Xiao Ai began telling him about a new drama script he’d just gotten.
It sounded a lot like The Tale of the Jade Hairpin, except set in modern times. Fu Ye’s face flushed red as he listened—stories like that weren’t so common these days.
By the time it ended, his mind had strayed back to Fu Huang.
That man, with his brooding, shadowed air, really did seem like the type for some forced-love storyline.
When Fu Ye had first met him, he’d thought: This is the kind of guy who’d pin you down with his boot on your throat.
But now, having seen that image of Fu Huang at sixteen—so valiant and striking—and having heard of all the victories that had won him the people’s devotion, he couldn’t help but feel that this dark, love-starved man seemed more suited to being held close, comforted and cherished.
Back at the palace, the emperor was in council, meeting with the archers handpicked by the Ministry of War.
He sat at the head of the chamber, draped in his resplendent black dragon robe, radiating imperial authority.
Qin Neijian stood silently at his side, watching. The moment Prince Fu Ye had left, it was as if the emperor had transformed back into that absolute monarch, commanding and supreme, whose word was law.
The imperial hunt involved many participants, each with their duties: the imperial guards handled security, the beaters were responsible for driving the game toward the hunting party so the emperor could shoot at close range… but Fu Huang was a master rider and archer. He loved to charge through the forest, loosing arrows from horseback. The idea of waiting for beaters to herd game into range—that was the kind of thing Emperor Wuzong used to do.
But today, what the emperor was planning wasn’t for himself at all.
It was to make sure even a novice could come back with a fine catch.
All of this, of course, was for Prince Fu Ye.
Mobilizing so many resources just to make one person happy—this was a favor more precious, more attentive, than any rare treasure or title.
Qin Neijian stood listening carefully, when suddenly his apprentice slipped in quietly, giving him a meaningful look.
He stepped out without a sound and asked, “What is it?”
“A letter from His Highness for His Majesty.”
The apprentice held it out with both hands.
The envelope was tied with a delicate crimson thread, a fresh wisteria bud tucked into the knot, still tightly furled, freshly picked.
Such refinement—only the prince could have thought of it.
Delighted, Qin Neijian took the letter in at once. “Your Majesty, a message from Prince Fu Ye.”
Fu Huang froze for a moment, then waved everyone out and took the letter. He untied the thread.
The handwriting wasn’t especially neat, and the letter spoke of nothing momentous. It simply said:
“Your loyal brother passed by Divine Lady Lake just now. The scenery was truly beautiful. Such a pity you weren’t there to see it. Along the way, all the flowers were in bloom. You, burdened with affairs of state, work so hard. I’ve arrived safely at Fuhua Temple, and I send you a blossom from the temple gardens. I hope, when you see the flower, it will be as if you see me—and please, don’t miss me too much.”
Qin Neijian stole a glance at him.
Fu Huang tucked the letter away and said, “Such glib talk.”
And yet Qin Neijian thought: Since when has His Majesty become so dishonest with himself? His lips were practically twitching into a smile.
“Your Majesty misses the prince here in the palace, and the prince is out there thinking of Your Majesty too.”
Fu Huang said, “At least he has a conscience.”
And that very thought, that he truly cared, pulled at Fu Huang’s soul. As if maybe, just maybe, Fu Ye’s feelings weren’t entirely brotherly either. Maybe, just maybe, in some small way, Fu Ye’s heart belonged to him too.
After all, for all his dark reputation, Fu Huang was still the emperor—unrivaled in power, generous in his love. He wasn’t without his merits.
And with that thought, his heart swelled and his blood stirred, as if drunk on the mere possibility.
Unable to wait for the official day of the spring hunt, the emperor set out in plain clothes, riding light and fast, with only Qin Neijian and a few attendants, heading straight for Fuhua Temple.
It was already the third day—the final day of the ceremonial prayer assembly. As tradition dictated, tonight they would release the precious lotus lanterns to pray for blessings.
The lotus lanterns were a form of heavenly lamp, but crafted in the shape of lotus flowers and dusted in gold powder. Commoners were not permitted to light them, so crowds had gathered just to watch. Along the road, throngs filled every path; from the mountain’s base it looked like a river of stars spilling forth, lights blazing like a pond of lotus blossoms rising into the sky. The hills echoed with the sound of chanting monks.
The emperor had not sent word ahead. He simply rode on, determined to find Fu Ye.
Three days apart, and already his mind felt unmoored.
He couldn’t bear to be without him anymore.
His head illness was far from healed—and now he had the ailment of the heart to go with it.
Fuhua Temple was packed with people. Fu Ye mingled among the crowd. The abbot himself led them to the back garden, where, amid a gathering of devotees and monks, they found Fu Ye. He was dressed in his eight-treasure ceremonial robes, smiling as he helped Xie Liangbi light a heavenly lantern.
Xie Liangbi held the lantern carefully, its glow casting him in a soft, jade-like light. Though his looks didn’t hold a candle to Fu Ye’s, he was still a striking figure.
Fu Ye had always loved beautiful things; facing that wretchedly good-looking face, how could he not feel something?
The emperor’s face darkened at once. After riding hard and fast, his heart had been burning with longing—and now it felt like he’d plunged into an ice-cold abyss. In that moment, he wanted to lop off Xie Liangbi’s head and offer it up as a sky lantern.
He saw himself as a dried-up husk—not the sort of man Fu Ye could ever desire. And as he thought of Fu Ye’s heartlessness, the sweetness of his efforts to please him felt suddenly foolish. A wild urge surged up—he felt ready to tear away this mask of restraint and become a truly lawless tyrant.
If I forced him, what could he do?
He already did as he pleased. His name was blackened with infamy—parricide, fratricide—what would seizing his own brother matter, in the grand scheme of things?
Qin Neijian’s voice rang out, anxious: “Your Highness! Your Highness!”
Fu Ye was just about to release his lantern when he heard the call. He turned and spotted the emperor among the crowd—tall, lean, and imposing, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Li Dun and the others flanked him. The bustling crowd seemed to fall silent at his arrival; soon, only the wind could be heard.
The king of ice had come.
“Brother!” Fu Ye exclaimed.
Xie Liangbi’s face stiffened; he quickly dropped to his knees along with the others.
“Brother, what brings you here?” Fu Ye asked.
The emperor ignored the sea of kneeling courtiers. He simply said, “Seems I came at a bad time—interrupted your fun.”
“I was just about to release a lantern,” Fu Ye said, feeling a twinge of guilt.
He’d only just run into Xie Liangbi. Ever since Xie Liangbi had left the palace, they hadn’t crossed paths. And given Xie’s noble lineage and future as a pillar of the state, how could Fu Ye refuse him when he stepped forward to help? Who would’ve thought his brother would appear just then?
The emperor, surprisingly, showed no sign of anger. “What wish did you make?”
Fu Ye hurried to show him the slip of paper.
He’d kept it proper and official, given the occasion: Peace to the nation, safety to the people.
The emperor took the lantern from him and held it up himself.
Qin Neijian, watching nervously, thought: The emperor really does guard him jealously from any handsome young men. It’s strange, but perhaps after so many years of loneliness, he’s afraid his brother will find someone he loves and forget him entirely. And yet, here was Xie Liangbi, and the emperor had shown no outward displeasure—calmly lighting the lantern with Fu Ye, accepting the bows of nobles and ministers alike.
Throughout, the emperor’s bearing was majestic, his authority palpable without a word of anger.
When they were back inside, Qin Neijian helped him change. “Your Majesty, I inquired—Xie Liangbi is here accompanying his grandmother to the ceremony. She’s from the Fu clan, a county princess by birth.”
The emperor said nothing.
But the air in the room was thick with his rage.
Now that they were alone, the emperor gave off a chill so fierce even Qin Neijian struggled to find words of comfort. Unless we lock His Highness away, he thought, how can we ever prevent this kind of thing?
The emperor didn’t ask for help dressing. He fastened his belt himself, his robe half open, exposing his strong chest, face stormy as thunderclouds.
Suddenly, the emperor asked, “Tell me—how do I compare to that Xie boy?”
Qin Neijian froze for a beat, then said at once, “How could he possibly compare to Your Majesty? You are the true dragon, sovereign of all, unmatched in both letters and arms—a phoenix among men! To even mention him alongside Your Majesty is to give him far too much credit!”
Isn’t that right?
Fu Huang said coldly, “That pretty-faced brat—nothing but a shallow charmer.”
After a while, his voice grew darker, more brooding. “Tomorrow at the hunt, bring him along. And summon those Golden Guards I had driven out of the palace before—every last one of them.”
He’d never been one to show off before Fu Ye. But now? Now he wanted to spread his feathers like a peacock in full display. Fu Ye had always looked up to him, admired him. This time, he would make sure Fu Ye’s eyes had no room for anyone else.
Those pretty-boy dandies… thinking they can measure up to the emperor? Ridiculous.
He was determined to crush their overconfidence, to put them in their place once and for all.
The thought lit a rare spark of excitement in him—something he hadn’t felt since his days of charging across battlefields on horseback.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror. In this world, there was only one man he fell short of by even a tenth—and that was Fu Ye. As for the rest? Every last one of them belonged beneath his feet.
And after tomorrow’s hunt?
He would take Fu Ye to soak in the hot springs.
If that’s what it took—he’d seduce him with his own body.
