At that moment, the bright moon overhead was hidden behind clouds, but the night sky blazed with stars. With two lanterns snuffed out, it felt as if two fires had been lit within his heart.
Fu Ye’s pulse quickened.
Maybe it was the swirling heat all around, or maybe it was the fact that it was just him and the Emperor here—and that the Emperor had asked him to call him that.
It was so strange, suddenly asking him to call him that.
And Fu Ye wasn’t even sure what Fu Huang meant by that—was he supposed to say “Fu Huang”? Or “big brother”?
But he didn’t dare ask again.
If he really had to keep saying big brother, it would be too embarrassing.
To end up with such an odd Emperor—he truly didn’t know what to make of it. That conflicted, bewildered feeling welled up in him again. Everything felt off.
This strange Fu Huang seemed to have infected him too, making him feel a little off-balance himself.
That unsettled, uncertain feeling left him at a loss for his usual quick wit. He became cautious, wary.
Fu Huang’s hands stretched out before him, fingers curling and uncurling. The muscles in his forearms tensed, two veins standing out.
Fu Ye thought the Emperor’s aura had truly changed. Now it felt even stronger, more unyielding. He seemed like a tree—a pine or cypress—one that had weathered countless storms, steeped in bitterness, its trunk straight and gaunt, reaching toward the heavens.
And Fu Ye, standing beneath it, felt as if he were gazing up at a black net of branches, waiting for it to fall and ensnare him at any moment—but not knowing when. That uncertainty kept him on edge.
And somewhere, deep down, there was the faintest flicker of anticipation.
He thought back to the first time he’d met Fu Huang—how his heart had pounded with dread, his life hanging by a thread. He must have already branded Fu Huang a merciless tyrant in his heart. Walking into that medicine-scented Qingyuan Palace had felt like stepping into the underworld. He’d lain there on the ground, staring at Fu Huang’s bare feet, sure that at any moment they would step on his neck.
A breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of peonies from the flower beds, pushing aside the white mist. Above the water, Fu Ye felt as if even the fine hairs on his body were standing on end.
He thought he needed to say something—anything—to break this stifling mood.
Without much thought, he began to speak. “When I was at Fuhua Temple, I chatted with the Prince of Ankang. He’s truly refined—knows how to enjoy life better than I do. That day, while we were talking, his old servant came in to report that the fresh lychees he’d ordered had arrived, and asked what color flowers to pair them with. I asked more and found out that lately, among the nobility in the capital, it’s become fashionable to hang fresh lychees and peony buds inside the bed curtains—shut all the doors, lower the curtains, and after a while, when you open the room, the whole place is filled with the mingled scent of lychees and peonies. The fragrance is said to be intoxicating—far better than any incense.”
He continued, “His youngest son is remarkable too—just over ten, still with a child’s innocence, but already able to compose chants in praise of the Buddha. Father and son, holding flowers, chanting together as they circled the shrine—the verses were beautiful, and they sang them so sweetly. I heard the Prince once served as an assistant in the imperial music bureau?”
Fu Huang gave a soft “Mm” in reply. But then, unexpectedly, he asked, “Isn’t that wet, clammy clothing uncomfortable?”
“Huh?”
Truthfully, it was uncomfortable.
“No one else can see—but your own brother, what’s there to be afraid of?” Fu Huang said quietly, voice low and coaxing.
He’d always prided himself on his self-control. But now his head felt foggy, his mind clawed at by restlessness. So he asked, “Or are you saving it—so someone else can see?”
Fu Ye: “……”
The Emperor was really something—how could he be this jealous?
Just how starved for affection was Fu Huang, that even toward his own brother, he longed for this kind of complete, unguarded intimacy?
But as the words left his mouth, Fu Huang seemed to find himself again—that brooding, domineering part of him that only cared about what he wanted, with no thought for anyone else’s fate. His voice was firm, commanding:
“Take it off.”
In the dark of night, Fu Ye’s face flushed, carrying a kind of unwilling allure that made him look like he was being humiliated.
He seemed like someone meant to be dominated, someone who could be controlled, who could be ensnared.
“Your brother won’t do anything to you.” Fu Huang’s voice was low, his thin face serious, detached, as if he meant nothing untoward.
Fu Ye, dazed and confused, couldn’t say how it happened—he just obeyed, as if something had possessed him. In the night’s hush, he took off his inner robe.
Though at least it was underwater.
The dimmer the light, the whiter his skin seemed—his jade-like back seemed to glow faintly, like a pearl. His inner robe floated on the water’s surface, half concealing, half revealing him.
That hazy, teasing sight made Fu Huang tip his head back, feeling the veins in his neck throb.
In that instant, all his tenderness, all his protective feelings toward Fu Ye, vanished. His phoenix-like eyes narrowed, and though his arms stayed hooked over the edge of the pool, no longer sinking beneath the water, his presence felt heavier.
“So obedient,” he murmured.
Down below, Qin Neijian stood, heart filled with unease.
Part of him hoped something would happen up there. Part of him feared it.
All they could hear was the rush of water splashing down, nothing else. The waiting was endless. Seeing how long the attendants had been standing, Qin Neijian took pity on them and ordered them back to the hall, leaving only Li Dun, Qingxi, and Shuangfu—their most trusted men.
The night breeze was warm, thick with the mingled scent of sulfur and flowers. Shuangfu noticed that Qingxi seemed on the verge of collapse.
“What’s wrong?” He reached out to steady him.
Qin Neijian glanced over too.
Qingxi bit his lip and shook his head, his face pale.
Qin Neijian asked, “Feeling unwell?”
Shuangfu said, “He hasn’t really rested these past couple of days.”
Qin Neijian said, “If you’re unwell, go back inside.”
But Qingxi shook his head, his green robe swaying slightly. “I’m fine.”
Qin Neijian studied him for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”
He walked a few steps ahead, then turned to make sure Qingxi followed. Qingxi hesitated, then caught up, lips pressed tightly together.
They rounded a rock garden, and Qin Neijian stopped.
Only then did Qingxi whisper, “Master…”
Qin Neijian said, “What’s going on?”
Qingxi opened his mouth as if to speak, hesitated, then finally summoned his courage. His eyes trembled in the moonlight. “The Prince and His Majesty…”
Qin Neijian thought, No wonder—he is, after all, the student I trained.
But his face was grave. “I told you—your only duty is to serve the Prince. Focus on that. Don’t look too much, don’t ask too much, and don’t say too much. What I taught you before—you remember it now. Do what’s yours to do. Leave the rest alone.”
Qingxi’s face went completely bloodless. After a long moment, he said, “But the Prince is His Majesty’s brother. And publicly—they’re said to be born of the same mother.”
“Qingxi!” Qin Neijian snapped.
Qingxi’s voice rose, anxious. “Master, can you really stand by and do nothing?”
“In His Majesty’s service, minding your own business is the only way to survive.” Qin Neijian’s eyes were cold. “I see now—you’re not suited to serve at the Prince’s side. Tomorrow you’ll return to the palace. Tell the Prince you’re ill.”
“Master!” Qingxi lowered his head, seeming utterly flustered and at a loss.
Qin Neijian saw that the boy was genuinely shaken, and his heart softened. Of course he’s shocked—who wouldn’t be in his position?
If he pulled Qingxi out now and sent someone new in, wouldn’t that make the Prince suspicious? And if that happened, he’d end up harming His Majesty! Harming His Majesty meant harming the Prince too. No one knew the Emperor’s temper better than he did—if things ever fell apart, the Emperor wouldn’t hesitate. He’d force his way through, like an unrestrained tyrant.
This Emperor was no longer the naive crown prince of his teenage years.
So Qin Neijian’s voice gentled:
“Of all my students, you’re the youngest, but you’ve always been my favorite. You’ve always handled yourself with composure, never lost your head, and carried out your duties skillfully. That’s why I placed you at the Prince’s side. I’ll speak plainly—His Highness doesn’t yet see what’s in His Majesty’s heart. This is the crucial moment, when the great work is unfinished, and His Majesty needs you. If you assist him well now, your reward will come.”
A devil persuading a lesser devil.
The sins I’ve piled up in this life—what’s one more?
As long as His Majesty is satisfied.
Qingxi kept his head lowered, silent for a long time.
“Qingxi?”
“I understand, Master.” Qingxi finally said. “The Prince… truly… but…”
Qin Neijian sighed.
“I know. It’s hard. But His Majesty’s feelings run deep. There’s no turning back now.”
Qingxi silently repeated to himself: No turning back…
High on the terrace, Fu Ye’s figure glowed like white jade in the faint light.
He was slender, naturally narrow-waisted, delicate enough to fit perfectly in someone’s tight embrace.
Fu Huang felt himself sinking into a terrifying madness. All rules, all propriety, were gone. His soul felt hollow, like a monstrous dragon’s gaping maw, hungry for Fu Ye’s breaking cries. He wanted to crush him until even his bones bent.
So he closed his eyes.
In that splitting, almost unbearable ache of his own body, he realized he didn’t just want Fu Ye’s body and heart—he wanted him to give himself over, completely, with nothing held back.
Like a demon in the dark, he whispered,
“See? Nothing bad happens, right? From now on, when you’re with me, you don’t need to hide anything—your body or your heart. I like it that way.”
Fu Ye felt an uncontrollable shiver run through him. He shrank down into the water, thinking: The kind of brotherhood Fu Huang wants… it’s terrifying.
He didn’t think he could give it.
He couldn’t find the line, couldn’t hold to it. If he tried, he might end up giving far more than brotherly affection.
But he also knew—if Fu Huang realized he couldn’t give it… he might not survive.
“I understand,” he said quietly.
Fu Huang fell silent. Fu Ye, embarrassed by undressing in the water earlier, had moved far away. Now, in the dark, neither could see the other clearly.
Before, they’d been too close—Fu Huang hadn’t dared move too much beneath the water. But now, alone in the shadows, he gripped himself tightly, tipped his head back, and stared up at the sea of stars in the sky, trapped in a frenzy of pain that felt like it would tear him apart.
He rarely let himself go like this. Now, his slender body felt like a bow drawn to its limit, his mouth set tight, tendons standing out along his neck and forehead.
A rain of arrows seemed to fall across the heavens—sharp enough to kill, but in the end, just scattered reflections floating on the water. His vision blurred, then slowly cleared. He saw Fu Ye already stepping out of the pool, still talking.
Fu Ye must have been speaking for a while—but Fu Huang hadn’t heard a word.
At that moment, Fu Huang finally heard him clearly. Through the faint glow, he could see the pale white of Fu Ye’s back. His own eyes were wet—everything blurred. He reached up and wiped them, the motion making his eyes sting slightly.
When his vision cleared, he saw that Fu Ye had already draped the cloak over himself, standing in the Peony Pavilion. Inside, two tall twelve-branch lanterns flanked him, the lights blooming like trees of flame. The brightness revealed his figure more clearly. It seemed Fu Ye thought Fu Huang had glimpsed his bare back just now, and his expression was visibly uneasy, though his mouth kept rambling on:
“…Your Majesty really shouldn’t soak too long. The Essential Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold warns: ‘Do not overexert yourself beyond what the body can bear.’ Soaking too long can cause dizziness or faintness, especially in those with a weaker constitution. I myself am feeling a bit lightheaded.”
Fu Huang sat for a moment longer in the hot spring, then rose and began walking toward him.
Fu Ye immediately turned his head away.
He had thrown on a crimson outer robe and was using a towel to dry his hair, his body slightly angled as if too shy to face Fu Huang directly. His posture, graceful and ethereal, was like that of a being from legend.
Fu Huang’s legs still felt a little numb. He had never in his life felt quite like this—like returning from some celestial dream, his whole being light and unmoored. Maybe it really was from soaking too long, or maybe it was the strange, profound sense of release that filled both his body and mind.
He stepped out of the water. Beneath the peony-shaped lanterns, his figure was solid, glistening, and powerful—like a black dragon that had shed its scales to take human form. Barefoot, he stood behind Fu Ye, making the younger man seem all the paler, all the more slender and delicate by contrast.
Fu Ye’s long hair was half hidden beneath his robe. Fu Huang reached out and gently pulled the strands free from where they’d gotten caught in the collar. His fingers, the same ones that moments ago had gripped his own palm so tightly, brushed against the smooth whiteness of Fu Ye’s nape.
Fu Ye flinched ever so slightly, sensitive to the touch, and turned his head to look at him.
So sensitive, Fu Huang thought.
He took up a robe and draped it over himself.
“Today I finally see—you do know how to be shy.”
Fu Ye, usually so quick-witted and sharp-tongued, had nothing to say in reply. All he could think was that he never wanted to bathe in a hot spring with Fu Huang ever again.
When a man who loves men shares a bath with a straight man, it’s impossible to be entirely at ease—especially when guilty thoughts are involved.
And if before today he’d had one guilty thought, now he had at least two.
“Did I scare you today?” Fu Huang asked.
Fu Ye shook his head. “No… I just… I’m not used to it.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Fu Huang said softly. “We’re brothers. We’ll be together month after month, year after year. I care for you, I cherish you—that’s why I want you to be open with me. No masks, no walls.”
Ahhhhhh!
Inside, Fu Ye felt like a thousand chickens were shrieking in panic.
I’m overthinking this! I must be!
He didn’t know what to say. His fingers fumbled with the robe’s fastenings and he buttoned them wrong, too flustered to glance back at the Emperor.
He’s awful, Fu Ye thought. Why did I ever feel sorry for him? I should feel sorry for myself.
Down below, Qin Neijian and the others stood silently. The sea of peonies rippled like waves, separating them from the pavilion above. Through the brilliant flowers, they could just make out the shadows of the two figures.
Qin Neijian lowered his voice.
“Stay here. Wait.”
Shuangfu rose on tiptoe to peer up at the terrace, whispering to Qingxi,
“Looks like they’re done soaking.”
Qin Neijian moved quietly up the steps, stopping beneath the pavilion, and called respectfully through the carved stone screen:
“Your Majesty? Your Highness? Do you require our service?”
Fu Ye felt as if he’d been pardoned. He steadied his voice and replied,
“Come up.”
Only then did Qin Neijian glance back and give the faintest gesture.
Without a sound, Qingxi and the others came up the steps to attend them.
Fu Ye peered down through the screen. Below, a dozen or so eunuchs and palace maids were slowly making their way up the steps, weaving through the sea of peonies. Qin Neijian had already reached the pavilion. Head bowed, he didn’t so much as glance at Fu Ye—he went straight to serve Fu Huang.
Fu Ye was wearing only his outer robe. Qingxi brought out his inner garments and the rest of his attire, but Fu Ye said,
“I’ll go back to change.”
With that, he pulled on his boots and headed down the steps.
His stride was long and swift, sleeves billowing like a crane spreading its wings.
Like this, his manner was actually quite dashing—noble-boned by nature, with an air of free-spirited ease. Gone was the shy, hesitant demeanor from moments before; he seemed like a different man entirely.
Fu Huang thought of how, before Xie Xiang and the other ministers, Fu Ye had always been composed and courteous. In front of Xie Liangbi and his peers, he carried himself with the boldness and poise befitting a prince—every word and gesture marked by princely bearing. It was true: only when alone with him had Fu Huang ever seen that softer, almost bashful side of him.
And so it should be, he thought. A prince should be subject to no one’s teasing—no one’s, save the Emperor’s.
His gaze swept over the scene again, seeing Qingxi, Shuangfu, the other eunuchs, the guards, and the palace maids trailing behind Fu Ye. And still, it felt like nowhere near enough.
Fu Ye’s retinue should surpass even mine, Fu Huang thought. He should be treated as the most exalted man in this empire.
Today, his mind and body felt utterly unburdened. Qin Neijian helped him dress—black robes embroidered with a crimson-scaled dragon, the twelve emblems of imperial authority flowing in elegant patterns.
Qin Neijian stole a glance upward. Clad in the splendid garments, the Emperor stood with his phoenix eyes half-lidded, looking down at him. The outer corners of those eyes tilted upward, tinged faintly red at the edges; when they opened and closed, light seemed to glimmer like rippling water.
So noble. So beautiful. And beneath it all, a dangerous, almost sinister air.
