If the Empress Dowager knew why his voice had gone hoarse, she’d probably faint on the spot.
As Fu Ye sipped the loquat syrup, shame washed over him at the thought.
Then he began to recall—what exactly had he cried out last night?
Things like, “Give me everything,” and, “I’m dying…”
Truly, when passion takes over, it’s terrifying what can come out of one’s mouth.
Today, wrapped tightly in the quilt, hiding behind the bed’s flowered canopy, he felt too embarrassed to even face Shuangfu and the others.
Who knew how much they had overheard?
And yet when he glanced at the Emperor, there he was, seated cross-legged on the warm kang bed, calmly reading reports, the pale paper glinting in the cold light, while outside, the north wind sent tiny snow pellets rattling against the paper windows.
Looking at him like this, Fu Huang seemed all the more commanding and mighty.
And why—why was it that he could be so silent and self-possessed, just burying himself in his work?
Why could he manage that?
— Little Ai: “Maybe it’s because the roles are so clear—he’s the top!”
— Fu Ye: “Ahhhh ahhhh ahhhh!”
Flushed with embarrassment, Fu Ye passed the medicine bowl over. Shuangfu took it, bowed slightly, and handed it off to the maid behind him.
Sun Palace Attendant said gently, “Then please rest well, Your Highness. I shall take my leave.”
She gave Fu Huang a respectful bow before stepping out of the Spring Morning Hall.
When Fu Ye noticed Fu Huang looking over at him, their gazes met—and instantly Fu Ye’s face turned crimson. He quickly rolled over, pulling the quilt over himself, facing inward.
Today, he couldn’t pretend to be strong.
Today, he truly couldn’t even sit up.
On this third day after the Emperor’s return, the Duke of Huan spent the entire day in bed.
Since he’d begun serving as Regent, save for days of genuine illness, it was rare to see him so lax.
The Emperor, on the other hand, took up the full burden of governance, working tirelessly through the day.
When Fu Ye awoke from a nap near dusk, he cautiously lifted a corner of the canopy to steal a glance at Fu Huang.
Fu Huang was leaning back against the soft couch, arms folded, eyes half-closed in rest.
He had truly beautiful eyes—phoenix eyes.
And those eyes could be terrifying, for they loved to fixate on him.
When Fu Huang made love to him, there weren’t many flourishes or tricks—he always preferred face-to-face, which left Fu Ye feeling intensely self-conscious.
At such moments, he could hardly control his tears, his drool, his expression—and would often try to hide his face with his hands.
But that was when Fu Huang would seize his wrists, cross them over his head, and press harder.
So later, Fu Ye didn’t dare cover his face at all.
Fu Huang’s pupils turned even blacker then, and the way he stared at him sometimes filled him with a strange, shivering fear—a fear that mingled with the overwhelming physical pleasure, pushing his mind and body to the brink.
In those moments, Fu Huang’s eyes glowed with a wild excitement, though his face showed little emotion—looking almost cruel.
Sometimes, when it was all over and Fu Ye drifted back from the haze, he’d realize Fu Huang was cleaning him, his gaze lingering over him, or gently parting him there for a long time, until Fu Ye trembled and begged.
Or he’d feel Fu Huang’s fingers stroking his skin, over and over, as if he could never get enough.
He watched Fu Huang with a mix of fear and longing, his gaze soft and hidden behind the folds of the quilt.
But then—suddenly—Fu Huang’s eyes opened.
Those phoenix eyes shimmered instantly, glinting with a radiant, piercing light.
Startled, Fu Ye hastily let the flowered canopy fall back down, cutting off their line of sight.
The embroidered canopy, patterned with precious floral motifs, swayed gently, betraying his flustered movement.
The lock of hair he had tied in a lover’s knot the night before was still curled, draping softly beneath his hand.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed outside. Fu Ye, ever alert, immediately rose. He saw Shuangfu rush to the doorway, lifting the felt curtain and announcing, “Your Majesty, Your Highness—the Empress Dowager has come to see Your Highness.”
Fu Ye was startled. Flustered, he fumbled to dress himself.
Fu Huang said calmly, “Lie down.”
But Fu Ye knew he couldn’t let the Empress Dowager see him like this—his long hair loose, his strength sapped to the point that even speaking was tiring. He hastily donned his outer robe, wrapped his scattered hair beneath it, and then lay back down.
The Empress Dowager rarely visited the Chun Chao Hall. When she arrived and saw the emperor, the air turned a bit awkward.
Fu Ye sat upright, conversing politely with her for quite some time.
The Empress Dowager was truly kind to Fu Ye—far more affectionate than she had been in the past. She asked what he wanted to eat so she could have it prepared, and she summoned the imperial physician to check his pulse.
When the physician examined him, Fu Huang could see Fu Ye’s tension clear as day.
The physician said only, “His Highness’s pulse is thin and rapid.”
He glanced knowingly at Fu Ye.
Fu Ye’s face flushed faintly.
Since Fu Ye understood medicine and was familiar with the physician, and the physician himself was tactful, he merely remarked, “Likely from overexertion, leading to some physical weakness. Nothing else of concern.”
At once, the Empress Dowager ordered nourishing medicinal soup to be prescribed and sent over by Sun Gongzheng personally.
Once she left, Fu Ye broke into a sweat. He turned to Fu Huang and said, “I don’t know if the physician could tell I’m suffering from yin deficiency and exhaustion.”
Fu Huang asked, “Can that even be detected?”
Fu Ye replied, “A thin, rapid pulse—that’s a sign of yin deficiency.” His face reddened further as he added, “Good thing he was discreet. If he’d said in front of the Empress Dowager that I’ve overindulged in the bedchamber and depleted my essence, I’d have wanted to bash my head against the ground.”
Fu Huang studied him and said, “You really are yin-deficient and exhausted? Could it harm your health?”
Fu Ye, blushing, didn’t answer.
Fu Huang leaned closer, watching him.
Fu Ye muttered, “So if it’s true… you won’t do it anymore?”
Fu Huang’s gaze deepened.
Flustered, Fu Ye turned his back to him.
After a pause, Fu Huang said, “Seems like I’m not the only one who needs tonics. I should take some too.”
Fu Ye burst out, “You must not take any more!”
If Fu Huang supplemented himself any further, how could Fu Ye survive?
How could anyone be born so innately… tireless? When Fu Huang released once, Fu Ye was already beyond his limit, yet Fu Huang could go three times.
And then he’d still mock Fu Ye for being “useless.”
Who in the world takes half an hour just to start?
At this rate, he’d have calluses!
But not all imperial physicians were as tactful—especially those elderly doctors who served the Empress Dowager and took their diagnoses very seriously, fearing any misstep. After each examination, they’d draft a thorough and severe pulse report.
Fu Ye dreaded one of them declaring that somehow, a single, unattached prince had drained himself of yin and essence.
And so he and Fu Huang made a pact: only once every three days.
But the Empress Dowager had begun visiting Qingyuan Palace frequently—every two or three days she would come by.
Fu Ye guessed she was making an effort to show goodwill.
This was, of course, a good thing.
But with the Empress Dowager coming so often, Fu Ye felt increasingly pressured. He begged Fu Huang not to leave any marks above the collar, and while Fu Huang preferred kissing, Fu Ye worried even that—because Fu Huang always kissed deeply, never gently—might leave his lips swollen.
Fu Ye suggested they save kissing for nighttime.
He never lazed in bed anymore and kept Chun Chao Hall spotless, as if he were still living there alone.
Fu Huang, on the other hand, wasn’t particularly pleased by the Empress Dowager’s frequent visits. Now that he ruled all under heaven, he found it a great regret that even within his own palace he couldn’t openly share his life with the one he loved.
As the end of the year approached, court affairs grew ever busier. This year was unlike those before. The Spring Festival ancestral rites would be grander than ever; there was the New Year’s Eve palace banquet, and before year’s end, the emperor had to receive regional officials and foreign envoys paying tribute.
By the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the palace was already bustling with preparations.
On New Year’s Eve, snow fell thick and fast. Inside the palace, it was a scene of carriages and sedan chairs coming and going without pause.
From Heavenly Street all the way to Fengchun Palace—a stretch of nearly ten li—the route was packed with the carriages and warm sedan chairs of nobles.
Because of the bitter cold and heavy snow, His Majesty had granted the special favor of allowing the ladies attending the palace banquet to ride in warm sedan chairs all the way to Fengchun Hall.
Such grace was a rare honor indeed.
Unlike last year’s tense and dreary New Year’s Eve banquet, today the nobles came dressed in splendid finery, every detail of their appearance carefully attended to.
At last, the palace banquet had been restored to what it was meant to be: a sign of imperial favor, not a nightmare that left people unable to eat or sleep for half a month beforehand.
Joyful and festive, people exchanged greetings outside the palace gates. The ladies climbed into their sedan chairs, while the men accompanied on foot, passing through layer upon layer of palace gates to enter Fengchun Hall.
This year, more people than ever attended the banquet. In the courtyard of Fengchun Palace, a golden felt canopy had been erected. The closest relatives of the imperial family were seated inside the hall; others took their places beneath the canopy outside. Everywhere, elegantly dressed palace maids and officials moved about in perfect order.
Wei Simei was thrilled.
When he spotted Xiao Yichen and the others, his excitement only grew.
After the new year, Xiao Yichen and his friends would be heading out to take up official posts in distant provinces.
These past days, they’d gathered often in the capital.
Wei Simei, newly inspired, had set himself a fresh goal. With the court eager for talented officials, he’d thrown himself into study, determined to sit for the imperial examinations.
One day, he vowed, he too would become a pillar of the state—serving the emperor and Prince Huan, helping to usher in a golden age of peace and prosperity!
Xiao Yichen said dryly, “Try passing the provincial exam first.”
Wei Simei protested, “There you go, dashing my hopes again!”
Xiao Yichen’s gaze drifted over his lovely, glowing face. He said, “I’m teaching you to take things one step at a time.”
During the recent campaign, Xiao Yichen had received more letters from Wei Simei than from his own family.
The man fussed like an old woman—probably worrying he’d die on the battlefield.
When Langguo and Daliang conspired to launch a surprise attack, and Xiao Yichen barely escaped with his life, it was Wei Simei’s letters that touched him most when they reached him.
But upon returning to the capital, he learned that Wei Simei hadn’t just written to him—he’d sent a flood of letters to Xie Liangbi and the others as well.
It had exasperated him beyond measure.
But that was just the kind of person Wei Simei was.
So soft-hearted, always so kind-hearted—Wei Simei really was too much that way.
But where were His Majesty and Prince Huan? Wei Simei itched for a drink.
Inside Fengchun Palace, the atmosphere was lively and warm. People gathered in small groups, chatting about family matters.
“Has Xie Xiang heard the news?” asked the Minister of Rites. “I heard that a few days ago the Ministry of Works submitted a memorial proposing to enlarge His Majesty’s mausoleum, but the Emperor wrote back in red ink that he only wanted a double coffin.”
The Minister of Personnel frowned. “But the Emperor has no harem. Could this mean he plans to take a consort?”
The Minister of Revenue added, “Even if His Majesty names an Empress, after a hundred years the Emperor’s and Empress’s coffins would rest in separate chambers of the same tomb. The imperial family isn’t like common folk—when have you ever heard of them sharing the same coffin?”
The Minister of Works asked, “Xie Xiang, surely you’ve heard something more?”
Xie Xiang shook his head furiously.
Don’t ask him!
Ever since he’d heard of this double coffin business, he’d been so spooked he couldn’t sleep at night.
What did it mean—the Emperor requesting a double coffin?
Could it be he intended for Prince Huan to be buried with him?!
The thought was terrifying!
Enough, enough—by then he’d be retired and living far from the capital. It wouldn’t be his concern!
Meanwhile, the ministers continued to marvel:
“His Majesty certainly looks healthier these days.”
“More than that—His Majesty’s temper is greatly improved too. He’s been back for so long, and hasn’t punished a single official!”
“His Majesty’s complexion is fairer now, and he looks so young and handsome.”
“Now that the realm is at peace and His Majesty is becoming more like other men, surely it’s time for him to take a consort.”
“I’ve heard that after the Langguo harem was brought to the capital, the Empress Dowager treated them generously. There’s a certain princess among them, said to be stunningly beautiful—she’s been seen at Cien Palace more than once.”
“Which one?”
“There—that one in the violet robes.”
As they spoke, a group of eunuchs in red robes entered the hall.
Instantly, the entire assembly fell silent and stood.
A moment later, the Emperor appeared.
“His Majesty arrives!”
Tall and lean, His Majesty was as imposing as ever, clad in a great cloak embroidered with golden dragons—a figure to inspire awe at a glance.
And following him, Prince Huan entered.
“Prince Huan arrives!”
Prince Huan was draped in white sable, graceful and radiant, casting a glow over the entire hall.
Xiao Yichen couldn’t help glancing at Wei Simei.
Wei Simei’s gaze had gone utterly transfixed.
Prince Huan, walking just behind His Majesty, smiled gently, his manner like a spring breeze. His many-layered robes, thick and splendid, only added to his air of noble elegance.
The Empress Dowager had arrived earlier and was already seated.
This year’s palace banquet was grander and more festive than any in recent memory—and it was the first banquet His Majesty had attended since returning triumphant.
With Prince Huan present, everyone seemed to find fresh courage. One by one, they came forward to prostrate themselves, offering New Year’s greetings and congratulating the Emperor. Among them were rising stars like Zhang Gui, who recited poetry and sang of His Majesty’s great deeds.
Once they had finished paying respects to the Emperor, the crowd surged toward Prince Huan to offer their greetings as well.
Prince Huan was the Great Zhou’s bringer of fortune, the very jewel of the imperial court. With his peerless beauty, he set the fashion for the entire capital. Wherever he was, that place became the center of all attention.
After a while, the Empress Dowager beckoned Fu Ye over, instructing him to personally offer wine to the various royal kinsmen.
Sun Gongzheng filled the cups; Prince Huan took each goblet in turn, offering toasts one by one to the elders of the imperial clan, then proceeding to the grand ministers—Xie Xiang and the rest.
Just then, Fu Huang’s gaze fell upon a group of women in the distinctive dress of Langguo, approaching the Empress Dowager alongside Consort Fang.
Back when the king of Langguo had conspired with Daliang, Fu Huang had put that king to death, and the Langguo royal family had been brought captive to the capital. But the Empress Dowager, kind-hearted as ever, had shown them mercy—none had been harmed, and they’d all been provided residences in the city.
As for Consort Fang—Langguo had abandoned her to her fate when the kingdom fell. From every perspective, she was a victim. Fu Huang had not treated her harshly; he had left her to reside quietly at Lihua Palace.
Langguo had always been famed for its elegance. This evening, at the New Year’s banquet, their ladies came adorned in splendid finery—their nation’s style of dress and hairdressing quite distinct. They wore high-waisted skirts and narrow sashes, their flowered coronets and hairpieces piled high as mountains. Moving beneath such weight, they seemed like boats burdened upon a river. Amid tonight’s gathering, they drew every eye: the gleam of their jewelry, the harmony of their voices and bearing—striking beauty at a single glance.
Eunuch Qin drew close and murmured at Fu Huang’s ear, “Your Majesty, the lady in violet is Princess Jinhua of Langguo—Consort Fang’s half-sister. Since she came to the capital, it’s said her beauty has astonished the city. Lately she’s been serving in the palace as a lady-in-waiting to the Empress Dowager. Though she is attached to Cien Palace, the Empress Dowager permits her to wear her native Langguo dress within the palace walls…”
Fu Huang glanced over and indeed saw a slender, graceful beauty, at that moment lowering her head slightly as she spoke with Fu Ye.
Fu Ye thrived on being the center of attention, especially at grand occasions like this. Now with his extraordinary bearing and gentle, easy smiles, he was the very embodiment of “elegance and grace.”
Fu Huang let his gaze sweep across the hall. Indeed, nearly half of those present had their eyes fixed on Fu Ye. Many noble young ladies looked at him with eyes full of admiration.
The people of Great Zhou were not particularly conservative. Noblewomen had considerable freedom in choosing a husband. And from their vantage, outside the inner palace, they had no inkling of Fu Ye’s preference for men. A prince who was handsome, kind in temperament, and of noble status—it was only natural he’d inspire affection.
The heart loves beauty, whether in men or women—it was the same for all.
Eunuch Qin could vaguely guess at the Empress Dowager’s intentions.
She likely meant to probe the emperor’s mind with this subtle move.
Her actions weren’t wrong—she had her own position to consider. Besides, human desires were endless. From her perspective, with all going so well now, only the emperor’s hidden affections remained a lingering concern.
After all, an emperor coveting his own brother? In anyone’s eyes, that was a grave matter, a potential disaster.
With the emperor and the prince now so illustrious—soon to be a wise king and virtuous prince—the Empress Dowager’s hopes for them would be higher than ever. She would naturally worry about any scandal that might stain the imperial family’s honor.
Fu Huang’s gaze swept over the hall again. The crowd’s enthusiasm for the prince was plain.
Even if the Empress Dowager hadn’t thought of this, the capital’s nobility surely had long since begun plotting.
Prince Huan had become the most sought-after prize in the realm—power and beauty combined.
Fu Huang now faced enemies no fewer than in wartime!
He disliked wine, disliked socializing—merely showing up to receive greetings was enough for him.
Fu Ye willingly shouldered the social duties.
As a pair, they were invincible.
On this day of universal celebration, countless people came to flatter Fu Huang. But what pleased him most was hearing them heap praise on Fu Ye.
People lined up to offer Fu Huang their respects and wine. Fu Ye drank every cup offered, until by the end he was tipsy and unsteady.
Eunuch Qin personally helped him into the warm sedan chair, then followed in another small blue-lacquered chair.
This was a mark of the emperor’s favor—granting him the privilege of riding within the palace as he pleased.
Though it felt strange to do so before the Empress Dowager and the others, he sat with dignity. This was not only his honor, but also a reflection of the emperor’s majesty.
As the northern wind howled and snow fell thick, red lanterns lined the path from Fengchun Palace, casting a warm glow against vermilion palace walls. The Empress Dowager too entered her sedan, feeling warm and a little tipsy from all the wine.
She was leaning against a soft pillow when suddenly she heard Sun Gongzheng hurrying up, calling outside her chair, “Your Majesty.”
The Empress Dowager lifted the curtain and saw Sun Gongzheng’s face a little tense.
“Your Majesty, His Majesty’s sedan has been following behind.”
Startled, the Empress Dowager peered out. Through the blowing snow, she saw in that winding river of red lantern light a grand black-lacquered sedan carried by nine men, its roof adorned with golden sun-and-moon emblems that glimmered faintly in the storm—like a moving palace in the night.
