Fu Huang thought to himself: Since Fu Ye fancies handsome men, so-called “handsome men” should surely be more than just a pretty face. A man’s allure—maybe I don’t measure up in looks, but in other ways, I have plenty to offer.
Now, seeing Fu Ye’s cheeks slightly flushed, he couldn’t tell if it was truly from the heat.
He himself was hot too—best not to ask.
That black jade dragon token he had given Fu Ye—he’d assumed Fu Ye left it behind when leaving the palace. But as he’d helped Fu Ye dress just now, he found it tucked into the hidden seam of his sash. Likely, Fu Ye felt it improper for public display but knew Fu Huang liked seeing him wear it close. So, he compromised.
Just now, Fu Huang had hung it openly on Fu Ye’s belt. Fu Ye had even smiled at him for it.
How could I have been so angry yesterday, thinking him heartless?
Fu Ye really was… so obedient.
Fu Ye was good, loyal at heart.
It was those scoundrels who were at fault.
Even the princes dare covet him—what makes them think they’re worthy?
Fu Huang’s gaze swept past the people outside the tent.
Xie Liangbi and the others had been waiting beyond the grand pavilion for some time. First, they saw the inner servants come out and stand respectfully by the tent. Though there were soldiers and horses everywhere, order prevailed; the only sound was the wind brushing the open plain. No one could guess what the Emperor and the Prince were doing inside.
Xie Liangbi suddenly recalled his youth, the first time he’d accompanied his father on the spring hunt. The late Emperor Wuzong had been notoriously lecherous, always bringing concubines along. When Wuzong would indulge himself with his concubines in the hunting grounds, the servants would stand just like this outside the imperial tent. His father would always warn him not to go near.
For a moment, Xie Liangbi felt dazed. At length, the Emperor and Prince emerged, now both clad in hunting garb.
The Prince was dazzling—perhaps it was the tailored fit of his hunting attire, but he appeared even more refined and striking than when they’d left Fuhua Temple. The imperial dragon-etched black jade token hung at his waist, its austere elegance tempering the vivid splendor of his robes.
And the Emperor—under the sun’s glare—seemed all the leaner. Though expressionless, the weight of his imperial majesty lent him an undeniable air of pride.
Fu Huang had handpicked seasoned hunters to accompany Fu Ye.
The horse chosen for Fu Ye was well-fed and strong, pure white with a small head and slender limbs—the very image of a fine steed in ancient times.
The hunters and attendants all rode horses of similar build, but only Fu Ye’s mount had its mane and tail left loose, giving it a lively, spirited air. Fu Huang himself led the horse over for Fu Ye to mount. Sitting astride, with an army arrayed before him and the Emperor holding his reins—Fu Ye couldn’t deny it felt… glorious.
Fu Huang truly knew how to spoil someone.
It made Fu Ye look at him with fresh eyes. Today, Fu Huang really did seem to radiate more kingly grace than usual.
Fu Huang wasn’t blessed with a princely face, but in this attire, he appeared strikingly heroic. Compared to the generals of the hunt, his lean, tall frame gave him a touch of imperial refinement.
He spoke in a low, steady voice: “This is your first hunt—your safety is what matters most. Think of this as practice. Once your riding and archery improve, I’ll bring you again. Then, we’ll ride and hunt together.”
Fu Ye clutched the reins and nodded eagerly—he was more than ready.
Qingxi pressed his lips together and presented Fu Ye’s bow and quiver before silently stepping back behind the Emperor.
The imperial golden crow bow gleamed with gold filigree, its tips carved into dragon heads clutching red agate in their jaws. The quiver, stitched from crimson deerskin, had a gold-and-silver inlaid mouth embossed with the Fu clan’s sun, moon, and star motifs. To protect Fu Ye’s fingers, Fu Huang even fitted a black jade thumb ring on him.
A prince’s nobility lay not only in his looks and rank, but in the wealth of gold and silver adorning him—and in the sight of the Emperor himself holding his reins, with palace attendants standing by with refreshments and towels, the imperial majesty on full display.
And the Prince’s glory stood above all.
It made Xie Liangbi feel that although the Prince was but a few steps away, he might as well have been a thousand miles out of reach.
Such a treasure of the imperial blood… someone like me could never hope to keep him.
Lost in thought, Xie Liangbi watched as the Prince urged his horse into the hunting enclosure.
Fu Ye’s aim at stationary targets was excellent, but shooting while galloping—he only hit one in ten. Still, he kept his spirits high, more focused on enjoying the experience than winning, and he had a blast.
Those who usually saw Fu Ye at the palace were used to his gentle, refined manner. He was always proper and polite, calm and reserved, often appearing delicate. But now—he moved like a hare freed from a snare, charging on horseback, drawing his bow again and again despite frequent misses. His harvest might’ve been modest, but his energy was electric. His hair was tousled, draping messily over his crimson hunting coat; this blend of fragile beauty and fiery vigor was a sight like no other—utterly captivating.
Qin Neijian kept a close watch on the Emperor’s expression and saw that His Majesty’s gaze never strayed for even a moment.
When the prince shot down his first wild pheasant, the Emperor led the cheer.
The Emperor, who usually seemed bored with everything, rarely showed such enthusiasm.
Fu Ye returned brimming with joy—one pheasant, two rabbits—he was completely satisfied.
The Emperor immediately ordered, “Tonight, We will dine on what the Prince has hunted.”
Qin Neijian handed over a damp towel, but Fu Huang took it himself.
In all his years of service, Qin Neijian had never seen Fu Huang so attentive to another.
In the past, the Emperor’s affection for the prince might have seemed excessive at times, but Qin Neijian always chalked it up to brotherly love. Yet now, in these small, tender gestures, he suddenly sensed something far gentler, far deeper.
His gaze swept the other handsome young nobles in the hunting party, and in that instant, he understood why the Emperor had summoned them along.
A chill ran down his spine. The cold wind bit into him, leaving his hands and feet stiff with dread.
Fu Huang said to Fu Ye, “You’re sweating. Don’t stand in the wind. Go wait in the main tent.”
Fu Ye protested, “But I want to see my brother hunt! Why not let me come along?”
Fu Huang still refused: “The forest is full of fierce beasts. Your riding skills aren’t up to it. It’s too dangerous.”
“Then let someone ride with me. That way, I can watch you in action without getting in the way!”
Fu Huang would never allow anyone else to share a horse with him. His refusal was even firmer: “Stay put in the tent. Your brother will bring you a golden stag to enjoy with your wine.”
In Great Zhou, horseback archery had won them the world. The golden stag hunt was the centerpiece of the spring hunt. These stags—strongest and fastest among their kind—were handpicked and trained. On the day of the hunt, their antlers were brushed with gold powder, they were fed medicated wine to make their eyes blaze red, and they ran like wildfire through the mountains. Since the founding emperor, bringing down a golden stag was a badge of honor. And since the hunt was open to all, it was rare for the emperor himself to take the prize. No one feared outshining the sovereign; it was a true contest of champions. During Emperor Wuzong’s reign, more than one man had earned promotion and title thanks to a golden stag—Double Blessing had made sure to emphasize that those hunts happened while Fu Huang was away from the capital.
Because in a hundred years of Zhou history, Fu Huang was the undisputed king of the golden stag.
What made the hunt so hard was the stag’s training. Once released into the wild, hunting it meant archery from horseback in rugged mountains—a test of skill and nerve. Many had died in pursuit, including Crown Prince Mingyi, who fell to his death during such a hunt.
But today, Fu Huang clearly meant to shine.
He summoned Xie Liangbi and the others, chose no imperial bow, rode no imperial steed—he took up the same bows and mounts as the rest.
On horseback, he declared: “Whoever brings down the golden stag before Us today will earn a thousand gold coins, a purple fitted coat, and a dragon-blooded steed from the imperial stables.”
In Great Zhou, the fitted coat was a special honor for military men—like a yellow jacket in the Qing—and the dragon-blooded steed was a royal mount. Such honors were rare and glorious.
Sure enough, the moment he spoke, the warriors were fired up, eager for the challenge. These were men unafraid of outdoing their emperor. Fu Ye had never seen such a charged, free atmosphere, and he couldn’t help but laugh: “I want in, too. Whoever takes down the golden stag will have a prize from me as well.”
Another round of cheers broke out.
“What will you give?” Fu Huang asked.
Fu Ye looked around, caught up in the moment, and hadn’t thought it through. His hand fell to his waist. “This gold belt of mine!”
Xie Liangbi, Xiao Yichen, and the others lit up with excitement.
Twelve arrows with whistling tips flew skyward, drums thundered—the golden stag hunt had begun.
Qin Neijian stood outside the tent, nerves frayed. The mountains were treacherous, the hunt hastily arranged—who knew if riffraff had slipped into the woods? For the Emperor to risk so much for a show of grandeur felt reckless.
He waited outside, heart pounding.
Fu Ye emerged, already changed, draped in the Emperor’s great cloak. Qin Neijian, seeing that, felt his suspicions twist his heart to pieces.
Fu Ye teased, “Worried my brother won’t win?”
Qin Neijian replied, “Your Highness, no man alive could best the Emperor in this. Even blindfolded, His Majesty outshoots them all.”
Fu Ye felt a surge of longing and said, “It’s such a shame I can’t see my brother riding and shooting with my own eyes.”
Qin Neijian turned to look at him. Even he, a eunuch who’d long since resigned himself to his lot, was struck speechless by the prince’s beauty in the sunlight. He’d seen countless beauties in his years at court, but none could compare to Fu Ye in the flesh. It wasn’t just his flawless features—his thick, dark hair, his luminous skin, so close in the sunlight that not a blemish could be seen. He truly looked like a living pearl, a jewel of a man. Qin thought to himself, A person like this… only a sovereign is worthy of possessing him.
If Fu Ye weren’t a prince, he might have tried to matchmake them on the spot!
But Fu Ye was a prince, the pride of the empress dowager’s heart and hopes…
It was one thing for nobles to have favored companions or beloved generals—but between brothers?
Heavens above!
The thought filled him with dread. Maybe he was overthinking.
The emperor wasn’t like normal men. You couldn’t judge him by ordinary standards.
Maybe… he just likes serving people!
The hunt dragged on, and Fu Ye grew bored. He decided to take a ride around the perimeter. As he neared the forest’s edge, he suddenly heard someone sobbing.
The face looked familiar, so he rode over and asked, “Why are you crying?”
The young man startled and jumped up, his face flushing deep red. “I—I’m Wei… Wei Sime. Greetings, Your Highness!”
Fu Ye remembered now.
He’d been a member of the Golden Guards.
Every time Fu Ye saw him, the boy would blush furiously.
Fu Ye found his shyness endearing and teased, “There’s hardly any wind out here. Did something blow into your eyes?”
Wei Sime’s face turned an even deeper red, like it might start bleeding, and he stammered, unable to get out a single word.
Fu Ye laughed, clearly in fine spirits today. Sitting tall in the saddle, his red hunting robes snapping in the breeze, he said, “I’ve lost my sense of direction a bit. Would you mind leading my horse?”
Wei Sime froze, then nodded so quickly he nearly fell over trying to get up.
Fu Ye asked, “Why didn’t you go along on the hunt?”
Wei Sime said, “I… I’m no good on horseback.”
Truth was, terror had gripped him. The moment they entered the woods, he’d fallen off his horse, nearly tripping up Xiao Yichen, and earned a thorough scolding. Already shaken, that had left him feeling utterly useless.
But Fu Ye said with a smile, “I’m worse on horseback than you. But all those fine riders had to train to get there. Let’s both practice hard and aim to ride with my brother next year.”
Wei Sime’s heart surged with emotion. The prince was so kind and gracious. Could I really ride beside him next year?
His face flushed again, and he said, “I… I’ll do my best!”
Just then, from deep in the forest, the blast of a hunting horn reached them.
Wei Sime looked up. “Someone’s brought down the golden stag.”
Fu Ye urged, “Let’s hurry back!”
Qin Neijian, hearing the horn too, rushed out—only to see a pretty youth leading the prince’s horse.
“Your Highness!” he called, alarmed.
Fu Ye dismounted and came over. Qin Neijian was beside himself. “Your Highness, didn’t I warn you!”
No wonder the emperor’s so strict with him—His Highness really does have an eye for beauty! Gone such a short while, and already he’s found himself a lovely young man!
Looking closer at the boy’s face, he seemed delicate, gentle—so very different from the emperor.
And then there’s that Xie family boy… So this is what the prince fancies—delicate, pretty young men?
Even though Qin Neijian regarded the emperor as unmatched in talent, he had to admit—His Majesty wasn’t what you’d call handsome.
What on earth are we to do now?!
Is His Majesty really pining after him all alone?!
Seeing the eunuch’s face clouded with worry, Fu Ye tried to reassure him. “I just saw him crying. He looked so pitiful I had to say a few words to him. And the view here is so clear—when my brother rides back, I’ll spot him from afar!”
But to Qin Neijian’s ears, this sounded way too much like… a secret tryst!
Though he deeply cared for the prince, at heart he was loyal to the emperor. This won’t do at all. “Your Highness, even if His Majesty can’t see you, you should still act with caution!”
He shivered inwardly at the thought. The prince had no idea how terrifying His Majesty could be when consumed by jealousy. Last night, I swear His Majesty looked ready to render that Xie boy into lamp oil!
Fu Ye sighed. “My brother is blessed indeed, to have someone as loyal as you at his side.”
Just then, a drumroll echoed through the woods. They turned to see a hunting party galloping out of the forest.
Fu Huang led the charge, riding at full speed, a massive stag trailing behind him. The soldiers burst into cheers, congratulating him. He cut a striking figure—his hair mussed, a few locks falling over his brow, his cheeks faintly flushed from the thrill of the chase. Bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, he looked every inch the triumphant king returning from battle.
Fu Ye hurried forward, stopping at the front of the crowd. Fu Huang reined in his horse right before him, gazing down from atop his steed.
Maybe it was the blinding sunlight, but for a split second, Fu Ye thought he saw the figure from his dreams—faint, fleeting, gone in a heartbeat. And when he focused again, it was just Fu Huang, as he was now: strong, brilliant, every trace of frailty swept away, so dazzling it stirred awe deep in Fu Ye’s chest. He opened his mouth, ready to heap praise on him, but then saw Fu Huang pull a small flower from his robes.
“I spotted this on the way. Never seen one like it before—thought I’d show you.”
It was a rare green Cypripedium orchid.
Truly uncommon.
Fu Ye had only ever seen pictures of it in his beloved Flora Compendium.
So even while chasing down the stag, the emperor dismounted just to pick a rare flower for me…
The whole business about the golden stag? That hardly seemed to matter anymore.
Qin Neijian’s heart pounded in his chest. There’s no point holding onto any illusions now, he thought. For an emperor who clawed his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood—if this isn’t love, then what is?
Fu Ye stood there, momentarily stunned, at a complete loss for words.
Of all the honors Fu Huang had bestowed on him—the unrivaled status, the countless treasures—none shook him like this single green blossom. As he’d been ready to offer his congratulations for Fu Huang’s triumph in the hunt, the emperor had instead handed him this delicate, rare orchid.
All around them, people were still celebrating the emperor’s victory. Fu Huang, as if nothing at all had happened, casually gave instructions to tally up the rest of the day’s spoils. Soon, Xie Liangbi and hundreds of other hunters returned, the camp alive with noise and excitement.
Fu Ye, still dazed, drifted back into the grand tent. Outside, he could hear Fu Huang ordering the venison to be roasted, the air filled with the din of voices. Inside, Shuangfu and the others crowded around him, marveling at the flower.
“What kind of flower is that?”
“Looks a bit like an orchid, doesn’t it?”
“First time I’ve ever seen a green one!”
“It’s a green Cypripedium,” Fu Ye told them.
Even Qingxi, usually so aloof, seemed entranced, staring at it like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
The flower was indeed striking. After being tucked in Fu Huang’s robes for so long, the stem was a little scuffed, the petals faintly bruised, their deep green hue tinged with a somber shadow—but to Fu Ye, that only made it more breathtaking.
Before long, Fu Huang summoned him outside.
Fu Ye hurried from the tent. “Brother, did you call for me?”
Everyone was gathered there: the generals, Xie Liangbi, all of them. And in front of them all, Fu Huang said, “The prince promised a golden belt as a prize. I’ve been waiting—are you planning to go back on your word?”
In that moment, Fu Ye saw in him a flash of the bright, unburdened spirit that hadn’t been crushed out of Fu Huang in his youth.
Fu Ye smiled, his cheeks tinged pink, and unfastened the belt from his waist.
“Put it on me,” Fu Huang said.
So Fu Ye buckled it around him.
Fu Huang’s waist was lean—just two notches larger than his own. The fine gold belt stood out starkly against the emperor’s dark hunting attire, almost too ornate, too brilliant. But Fu Huang seemed more than pleased. From that evening’s feast through the night’s rest, and all through the next day’s hunt, though he changed his robes several times, he never once changed that belt.
It was always the emperor bestowing gifts on others; this was the first time he’d accepted a gift himself. And it seemed the rarity of it only made him treasure it all the more.
As for Fu Ye, that single belt, that single flower, left his heart in turmoil.
He thought: Fu Huang truly does favor me, his false little brother. The exclusive devotion of an emperor—it was hard for anyone to resist. Maybe I’m just an ordinary man after all, foolishly basking in the glow of that favor.
Especially knowing that, in the eyes of the world, Fu Huang was the kind of ruler to kill without blinking—so fearsome that children didn’t dare cry at night. And yet, that terrifying emperor showed only tenderness to him.
The temptation was so great that Fu Ye almost fooled himself into believing it: that Fu Huang, perhaps, did love him.
