He didn’t know when they’d actually succeed — and deep down, he knew the path ahead would be rough, nothing like the innocent, almost playful plans they were tossing around now.
But because he loved Fu Huang so much, even this—this simple, naïve plotting with his little ghost friend—was enough to make his heart race as he welcomed the break of dawn.
“The sun’s coming up,” Xiao Ai said softly.
Fu Ye pulled aside the screen and peered through the crack, catching a faint glow spreading across the window.
Seeing how excited he was, Xiao Ai couldn’t help feeling a twinge of worry.
She sobered up a bit. “Come on—let’s do some real scheming before we screw this up.”
And so the two of them huddled together again, whispering conspiratorially.
Truthfully, Fu Ye was still scared. Even though Fu Huang clearly couldn’t bear to be without him, that tiny, one-in-a-million chance haunted him—the fear that if he pushed too far, he wouldn’t just lose Fu Huang’s love… he’d lose even that last shred of brotherhood between them.
And if that happened, both of them would be beyond saving.
He didn’t care if he fell into hell—but he couldn’t drag Fu Huang down with him.
That’s why he and Xiao Ai agreed on one thing: they couldn’t take the next step unless Fu Huang himself started wanting something more than brotherly love.
They had to make Fu Huang see that who Fu Ye was mattered more than what he was. They had to make him hope — hope with all his heart — that Fu Ye wasn’t really his brother at all.
He was determined to use every trick he had to seduce him.
But when it came to Fu Huang, physical temptation alone probably wouldn’t work.
There was no guarantee Fu Huang even had that kind of interest in his body.
In fact, maybe it’d just disgust him.
“No way it’d disgust him,” Fu Ye muttered. “I’m too damn pretty for that.”
All that straight-man-slayer stuff wasn’t just talk — plenty of so-called straight guys had gotten dizzy looking at him.
Still, when it came to Fu Huang, that kind of shallow seduction could only be a side tactic.
Sure, he’d use it when the moment called for it.
But what would truly trap him would be their feelings.
The twisted, painful bond they already shared — that was what he had to deepen. Twisted until it deformed everything. Twisted until even a crime like deceiving the emperor no longer felt like a crime. Twisted until there wasn’t a single emperor, empress, favored minister, or prince in all the world who could compare to what they had.
Just thinking about how sick, tight, and inescapable their future bond might become made Fu Ye’s heart race with excitement.
Xiao Ai muttered, “You two really are a match made in hell.”
He didn’t even want to imagine how intense they’d be together, how destructive, how consumed they’d be by each other.
It’d be… interlocked like the perfect mortise and tenon joint. Seamless.
Fu Huang rarely slept much. Usually, he was up before dawn. But today, Qin Neijian and the others waited outside for what felt like forever, and still there was no sign of movement. Finally, he waved off the eunuchs holding the warm towels and water.
“Maybe, with the prince here, His Majesty can finally get a decent night’s sleep,” he thought, standing watch as the sky gradually brightened.
It was a good morning — soft, early sunlight gleamed off the red eaves and green tiles. When he finally heard movement inside, he stepped in.
Fu Huang was still lying on the bed, but Fu Ye was already up.
“You’re up early, Your Highness,” he whispered.
“I need to head back,” Fu Ye said. “Morning lessons.”
There was duty beyond desire.
Because loving Fu Huang wasn’t enough. He had to become the man Fu Huang could rely on — his strength, his partner in all things.
That mattered more than his private yearning.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d prepare a sedan for me,” he said quietly.
Qin Neijian noticed the emperor stirring and lowered his voice even more. “Right away, Your Highness.”
He added, “His Majesty hasn’t slept this long in ages.”
Fu Ye glanced at Fu Huang and murmured, “Have them bring in water.”
Lying on the bed, Fu Huang thought bitterly: Of course he’s leaving.
This night had been fleeting, like a dream too sweet to last. Poison in a cup — drinking it might soothe for a moment, but the ruin it brought was certain. This fake brotherhood of theirs — it was only a matter of time before it shattered.
Fu Huang sat up, silent as the eunuchs entered, barely rustling the air.
And then he saw it.
Fu Ye, behind the screen, sliding off his undershirt.
The white fabric fell away, and somehow his skin beneath was even whiter — like a fresh lychee just peeled, glistening, fragrant. And that slim waist, that pale curve of hip, even half-glimpsed through the haze of morning, was enough to make Fu Huang’s heart clench.
He froze, watching as Fu Ye lowered his head, slipping into a rich, dark-lychee-colored robe. He fastened at his waist the black jade dragon pendant — the one Fu Huang had given him.
He’d kept it all this time.
Fu Huang thought grimly, I’ve corrupted him this far. God knows how much of his so-called brotherly devotion is really just twisted submission now.
And somehow he knew — if he pushed aside that screen, stepped close, Fu Ye wouldn’t resist him.
Fu Ye, head bowed, tied the pendant to his sash. Seeing Fu Huang sit up, he dropped his hands and let the jade sway at his hip. Gripping the edge of the screen, he called softly, “Good morning, brother.”
Qin Neijian, seeing the emperor awake, summoned more eunuchs to help him dress. The attendants rolled up the bed drapes and folded back parts of the screen. Now that it was warmer, the palace doors had been thrown open, letting in the breeze and flooding the hall with morning light.
Unlike Fu Ye, who had dressed himself quietly behind a screen, Fu Huang was waited on hand and foot. His face showed no emotion. His frame was so tall the screen barely reached his chest — and Fu Ye could just glimpse that broad shoulder, strong beneath the layers of silk.
His heart sank, but he stepped forward anyway.
Fu Huang turned his head to look at him.
Qin Neijian looked too.
Fu Ye’s cheeks were burning.
Xiao Ai whispered in his mind, “Bold and decisive — I’m impressed!”
“I’ll do it,” Fu Ye said calmly.
Qin Neijian froze for a moment and glanced at Fu Huang.
Fu Huang said, “Weren’t you in such a hurry to leave the palace?”
“Didn’t I used to help dress you before?” Fu Ye replied. “It’s rare for me to visit the palace — of course I want to seize the chance to serve my brother well.”
Even as he spoke, he took the snow-white inner robe from Qin Neijian’s hands.
Fu Huang was already wearing his silk trousers, his upper body bare. He was clearly thinner than before. His frame, once striking in its sculpted strength, now looked gaunt to the point of harshness. The scent of medicine clung to him, rising warm and bitter from his skin. Fu Ye’s heart ached for him — and at the same time, he felt guilty for his own impure motives. He pressed his lips together as he helped Fu Huang into the robe, then crouched to fasten the clasps at the front.
He knelt on one knee, and that put him right at Fu Huang’s lower abdomen. His face flushed even hotter as he fumbled with the clasps, struggling to get them fastened. He couldn’t help noticing that Fu Huang’s groin seemed slightly… swollen, the heat of the medicine thick in the air between them.
It felt, for a moment, like he could see it swelling even more.
Like… there was a reaction.
Then he heard Fu Huang say, “I can do it myself.”
Fu Huang’s fingers brushed his hand, and Fu Ye quickly stood up.
Off to the side, Qin Neijian discreetly slipped behind a screen to give them privacy.
Fu Huang grabbed his outer robe and put it on himself. But Fu Ye stepped forward again to help, so close that their robes brushed together. Fu Huang lowered his gaze, thinking bitterly, This kid is going to drive me insane.
Qin Neijian promptly offered up a black-gold obsidian belt.
Fu Ye took it in his hands.
On impulse, he stepped right up to Fu Huang, reached out, and wrapped his arms all the way around his waist as he fastened the belt.
This time the clasp went on smoothly. And without looking at Fu Huang, he turned to Qin Neijian and said, “My lessons end at dusk. I’ll be at the Gate of Heaven before the next watch — I’d appreciate it if you’d have someone ready to fetch me.”
Qin Neijian kept his voice soft but couldn’t hide his delight. “Understood, Your Highness.”
Then he glanced at Fu Huang.
Fu Huang didn’t show any expression.
And with him, no expression meant consent.
So, Fu Huang did want him around after all.
The thought that his brother could tolerate even these dark, tangled feelings gave Fu Ye an even greater sense of confidence. Face burning, heart racing, he took his leave and strode out.
In that moment, he truly looked the part of a noble prince — only now with an added edge of ambition, his robes billowing as he walked.
Fu Huang, left standing there, felt his whole body burning with the fire Fu Ye’s “service” had stoked. After days of feeling sick and weak, he actually felt alive again. When he saw the eunuchs preparing to take away the clothes Fu Ye had worn the night before, he said in a low voice, “Leave them.”
Qin Neijian understood at once and waved the servants away.
Looking up and seeing Fu Huang rub at his temples, he asked anxiously, “Your Majesty, do you feel unwell?”
Fu Huang muttered, “I’m going to die at his hands one day.”
Love and desire, with nowhere to go, only stretched on endlessly. And Fu Ye — he’d already been corrupted by Fu Huang’s sickness. It was nothing but karma coming back around.
The carriage was already waiting at the palace gates. Fu Ye instructed, “Let’s stop by the Imperial Medical Bureau first.”
Under that harsh morning light, Fu Huang’s face had looked even paler — as if all color had drained from it. From now on, he’d have to personally see to his brother’s care. The first step was to review Fu Huang’s pulse records from the past month.
Xiao Ai quipped in his mind, “Nurse him back to being vigorous as a dragon, sleepless and restless. I’m impressed!”
“Would you quit with the filthy nonsense,” Fu Ye muttered. “I just…”
He just… ached for him.
Xiao Ai clicked his tongue. “Tsk.”
What could he say? All he could think was — Dear boy, you’re in deeper trouble than you know.
The palace grounds were unusually quiet — no one seemed to be out and about. Clearly, in this past month, with the emperor’s poor health and foul mood, no one had dared stir unless necessary.
Fu Ye had come to the palace in the dead of night — he didn’t know if the Empress Dowager had gotten word of it.
Best if she didn’t know, he thought.
So he told the eunuch driving the carriage to go slow, keep the wheels quiet.
Qin Neijian, mindful of Fu Ye’s class schedule, had arranged a carriage instead of a sedan chair to get him back to the princely estate faster. Fast, yes — but in the eerie silence of the palace, even the softest carriage wheels were hard to miss.
And as fate would have it, just as they neared the Imperial Medical Bureau, a lady-in-waiting from the Empress Dowager’s household appeared and stopped them. “Her Majesty requests that the Prince of Huan come to the Cien Palace.”
He had no choice but to follow.
The ladies of the Cien Palace all came out to greet him, adding to his sense of pressure.
The Empress Dowager was still at her dressing table, her voice coming from behind the beaded curtain: “I heard you entered the palace last night?”
“Yes,” Fu Ye replied. “I heard the emperor wasn’t well and came to check on him.”
The Empress Dowager wasn’t in a hurry to scold him. After all, no one had expected the emperor to hold out an entire month without summoning Fu Ye. Part of her was deeply uneasy — the emperor was actually so afraid of letting Fu Ye see through his feelings? That was nothing like the willful, headstrong ruler they were used to. But part of her was relieved too. So, this is the emperor’s fatal weakness. Maybe it’s of no use for anything else — but at least it can protect the Prince of Huan from harm.
The ancestors must be watching over us.
The Buddha must have shown mercy.
My month of prayers and fasting wasn’t for nothing.
“Has the emperor improved?” the Empress Dowager asked.
Fu Ye hesitated a second.
He wasn’t sure how much the Empress Dowager actually knew — and he didn’t dare ask. He’d prepared for all kinds of questions along the way here, but hadn’t expected her tone to be so calm, so free of anger at his presence in the palace.
“He’s much better,” Fu Ye said quickly. “Just a lingering cough.”
The Empress Dowager asked again, “And now you’re returning to your estate?”
“Yes, Mother.”
She felt even more at ease. “Then I won’t keep you for breakfast. Go on back — don’t let your tutors be kept waiting.”
Fu Ye bowed deeply once more and left Cien Palace.
As he made his way out, he thought things over. It seemed the Empress Dowager probably didn’t know too much — otherwise, she would’ve strictly forbidden him from entering the palace.
Most likely, she’d simply seen him that time when he’d gotten drunk and ended up sobbing in Fu Huang’s arms. And given that the two of them had always acted in ways that weren’t exactly what you’d call normal for brothers, of course it had stirred her suspicions — that’s why she’d insisted he move out of the palace.
Looking back, as harsh as she could be, she hadn’t been wrong about this.
She loved him so much — it was he who’d let her down.
Sinful, he thought. It really is.
He’d let down far too many people.
“I knew you’d go soft,” Xiao Ai muttered. “Where’s that wicked little minx I was rooting for?”
Fu Ye sighed.
It wasn’t that he was soft. He’d made up his mind a long time ago.
It was just… he wasn’t used to wronging the people who loved him.
Fu Huang had treated him so well, yet he wanted to sleep with him. The Empress Dowager had treated him so well, and here he was betraying her.
I really am rotten to the core.
I’m a villain. A scumbag villain.
Xiao Ai: “Is this self-hypnosis actually helping?”
A little. But not much.
Ashamed, Fu Ye entered the Imperial Medical Bureau.
Only three or four imperial physicians were on duty at this early hour — all familiar faces. The moment they saw him, they lit up with excitement. And when they heard he wanted to see the medical records, they scrambled to present them.
The emperor’s medical records were classified — ordinary people wouldn’t have the right to see them.
But the prince was no ordinary person. The prince often discussed the emperor’s condition with them; the prince… well, the prince was the emperor’s most treasured person.
Even when His Majesty was feverish and delirious, he still called out the prince’s name.
The record-keepers had documented it all — it wasn’t just idle gossip.
Among themselves, the physicians had whispered: This prince, truly favored.
If he weren’t His Majesty’s own brother, they might have suspected the prince was the emperor’s beloved.
But then again — who was to say a beloved couldn’t be a brother?
The prince stood right at the center of the emperor’s heart.
It had been so long since they’d seen him — now that he was here, they couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty. A natural noble’s face — seeing such a face every day could probably extend one’s life.
His Majesty surely needed to see more of him — maybe it would even help his recovery.
That wasn’t just empty talk. Back when the prince had lived in the palace, His Majesty’s health had been far better. But ever since he’d left, the emperor had eaten less, slept less, and his health had gone downhill — until a chill finally laid him low, dangerously so.
Fu Ye showed them great respect. “I’m grateful to all of you for your tireless care.”
“His Majesty is mostly recovered from his cold,” one said. “But with the weight of state affairs and so little rest, his strength is still fragile. We’re doing our utmost, but we hope the prince will urge His Majesty to take better care of himself.”
“I will,” Fu Ye promised.
After exchanging a few words, he took the records. “I’ll return these once I’ve reviewed them, and we’ll discuss next steps together.”
Leaving the medical bureau, Fu Ye climbed into his carriage.
The physicians watched as it rolled away.
During the emperor’s recent illness, they’d lived in fear of blame — so they’d recorded everything in meticulous detail, as thoroughly as the court chroniclers. In their judgment, the emperor’s real affliction lay in his heart. They weren’t equipped to cure that — but maybe the prince could.
Fu Ye couldn’t wait until he got home — he opened the records right there in the carriage. Shuangfu lifted the curtain, and sunlight streamed through, reflecting off the red palace walls, casting a warm glow on Fu Ye’s robes, the golden dragon embroidery seeming to take flight, making his beauty shine all the more.
Shuangfu thought, His Highness is so striking — no wonder His Majesty chose such deep, rich colors for him to wear. It tempers that dazzling beauty.
The imperial physicians’ records were thorough — from prescription requests, to formulations, to post-treatment observations.
Fu Ye started reading from the day he’d left the palace.
At first, it had just been recurring headaches — restless sleep — then loss of appetite, sores in the mouth… the records painted a picture of growing melancholy.
As he read, his heart ached — and he almost laughed.
Of course Fu Huang was this despondent. Who else could be the cause but himself?
That man, so fiercely possessive — he’d sent him away, and this was what he got. Served him right.
A perfect portrait of love and hate tangled up together.
Shuangfu asked, “Your Highness — what’s His Majesty suffering from?”
Fu Ye smiled faintly. “Lovesickness.”
Turns out… he wasn’t the only one who was sick.
Shuangfu blinked, puzzled. “Huh?”
Fu Ye turned another page, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Or maybe it scared him half to death,” he said.
He tried to imagine what Fu Huang must have felt when he’d ordered him out of the palace.
Probably torn between love and hate, shocked and furious all at once.
All of this is my sin, Fu Ye thought.
But when he turned further and saw where Fu Huang had fallen ill with typhoid, he couldn’t smile anymore.
He hadn’t known Fu Huang had been that gravely ill.
The record said that in the beginning it was just signs of a floating, tight pulse, so the physicians prescribed a warming formula to release the exterior. But soon after: the cold pathogen invaded the interior and transformed into heat, the heat stagnated in the lungs.
Fu Ye’s hands clenched tightly in his lap, gripping his robe as he turned the pages faster. He saw: the illness rapidly turned severe, the situation critical, high fever lingering, the condition extremely dangerous, and finally occasional delirium, unresponsive when called, pulse thin and rapid, nearly gone.
His eyes filled with tears. How could I not have known?
The imperial physicians’ wording had been cautious, but Fu Ye knew the reality must’ve been even more terrifying. Just imagining what might’ve happened — what if Fu Huang hadn’t pulled through? — made him shudder from head to toe, his hands trembling.
Shuangfu panicked. “Your Highness — what’s wrong?”
Fu Ye turned his head, wiped his tears, and shook it. The later entries, things like gradual recovery of spirit, we are overjoyed to see His Majesty’s health restored, long may he reign — he could barely see them through his tears.
And still, the tears kept falling, splashing onto the medical records.
By now, the carriage had passed through layer upon layer of palace gates; the towering red walls loomed on either side, and the main road beyond the palace was already in sight.
Fu Ye wiped his face and ordered the attendant at the reins: “Turn back to Qingyuan Palace.”
Shuangfu froze in surprise. “Your Highness… it’s getting late.”
Fu Ye’s eyes still glistened, the corners reddened with tears, but his voice and expression were firm, unshakable. “Turn back. Now!”
