“Your son pays respects to Father Emperor. I wish Father Emperor good health and longevity.”
Only when this youth—who was the recently recovered Second Prince Jing Mu—walked up to him and performed the bow did Qianning Emperor finally react.
“No need for such formalities. Rise,” he said slowly. Then he lowered his eyes to examine this son whom he had not once properly looked at since bringing him back to the palace.
That fleeting glance earlier—this boy’s deep and cold demeanor—now seemed like an illusion. The youth now stood properly before him, stammering through his greeting, then falling silent, hands clasped tightly and fidgeting, visibly uneasy under scrutiny.
…Indeed, he had a fine appearance. Between his brows there was the bearing of the former emperor, and his features carried the shadow of that favored consort from years past. Though only around ten years old, he already had a striking, jade-like appearance. It was a pity he had grown up outside the palace; his whole demeanor was awkward and restrained, like a stray puppy just brought back home.
This realization instead stirred a trace of pity in Qianning Emperor’s heart. For decades, he had rarely seen someone so easily readable. As an emperor long used to weighing people, such individuals were the easiest to control—and therefore made him feel safest.
Thus, unusually, he even considered things for the child. His mother had died early, he had been lost among commoners, and now that he had suddenly returned to the palace without the emperor’s favor, life must surely be difficult.
Thinking this, Qianning Emperor’s voice softened slightly: “What are you doing here?”
Jing Mu trembled at the question and knelt again: “Father Emperor, forgive me! Your son… your son merely…”
Qianning Emperor felt a strange swelling of ease and satisfaction. Looking at him like this, he became even more sympathetic, even bending down to help him up: “No need to be afraid. Rise and speak properly.”
Jing Mu obeyed, lowering his gaze: “Your son came to listen to my brothers read.”
“Oh?” Qianning Emperor found this novel. “The texts they are reading—the Di Zi Gui—you have never studied them before?”
“This son… in the past, my status was low, I could barely afford food and clothing, let alone a teacher. I only learned a few characters in the military. I have not properly studied before,” Jing Mu said, head lowered. His voice carried shame and self-reproach.
Qianning Emperor fell silent for a moment.
He vaguely recalled his past with Consort Yun. Back then, he truly seemed to have loved her deeply—so much that he might have abandoned the realm for her. But time had been too long; emperors were heartless, and he could no longer tell whether it had been real affection or illusion. Only on Consort Yun’s death anniversary did he occasionally revisit the past like a story.
But if it had been his younger self, he would never have allowed that woman’s child to end up like this.
“What do you think you are studying for?” he asked after a pause.
Jing Mu seemed stunned by the question. After a long hesitation, he flushed red and said softly: “Father Emperor’s sons can all read and compose… Jing Mu does not wish to be the odd one out.”
“Oh?” Qianning Emperor was used to hearing sons speak of serving the throne or aiding the realm. This answer surprised him. “Only this? And after you can read and write, what will you do then? Have you thought about it?”
“…No.”
Jing Mu lowered his head as if truly thinking. After a moment, he said shyly: “I do not know. My childhood wish was only to have food and shelter, and a roof over my head. Now Father Emperor has already granted me all of this. I have nothing else to repay you with, only to try to keep up with my brothers and not bring shame to you.”
Qianning Emperor paused, then burst into laughter.
“I promise you,” he said after a moment, smiling as he grew serious. “In three days at the Qionglin Banquet, I will find you the most learned teacher.”
Jing Mu paused, then lowered his head in thanks.
Soon after, Qianning Emperor grew tired. A spring wind blew in, making him feel slightly cold. He summoned his palanquin and returned to the Zhenyuan Palace.
Sitting within the palanquin, he thought he had found again the reason he once loved Consort Yun.
In this palace, only that woman had once been alive in spirit. She looked at him with unmistakable devotion, different from everyone else. Only when he was with her did he feel the world brighten, everything vivid with color.
Thinking of this, he spoke: “Go to Qihe Palace.”
Qihe Palace was where Consort Yun once lived.
Behind him, Jing Mu slowly rose. He looked toward the emperor’s departing figure. At that moment, he seemed entirely different—his posture straight as a pine, carrying the aura of one born to rule. The earlier timidity had vanished completely.
His expression was unreadable. Only his eyes, like a cold abyss, churned with emotion like the freezing winds of the northern land.
—
Shu Changyu’s leg injury was not serious to begin with. After being forcibly made to rest at home for two or three days, he was already fully recovered.
In truth, he had not even wanted to rest those three days. He knew his body well. In his previous life as a minister, he had survived countless assassination attempts, suffering injuries both minor and severe without issue. This small fall meant nothing in comparison.
Moreover, his right leg had been crippled for years, constantly tormented by pain—he was already used to it. This minor injury was insignificant.
All he could think about was the white willow banks of Yuan Lake outside the city, the most beautiful spring scenery in the capital of Zhaojing. In his youth, he had gone there every spring. But after imprisonment and years of state affairs as prime minister, he had not seen it for over a decade.
Now that spring was perfect, those new willow shoots must be at their most beautiful. The thought lingered in his mind, impossible to dismiss.
“You still want to go to Yuan Lake to see the willows?” Kongqing said as he placed medicine beside him. “The old madam won’t even let you step outside the courtyard, and said if you do, she’ll break my legs. If you really go to Yuan Lake, I won’t have enough heads to survive her anger!”
He pushed the medicine closer. “Please drink it while it’s hot, young master, so I can report back to the madam.”
Shu Changyu glanced at him and gave up helplessly, finally picking up the bitter medicinal soup.
Thus, it was not until the third day—the Qionglin Banquet—that Shu Changyu could finally leave the house openly.
While Kongqing helped him fasten his robes, Shu Changyu stretched his body and thought that, setting aside everything from his previous life, at least in this life the emperor holding the Qionglin Banquet had done him a great favor by letting him go out.
After dressing, Kongqing brought him a dark blue outer robe. Shu Changyu originally found it cumbersome, but since the banquet would end late at night, the cold dew would make it necessary.
His carriage was already waiting at the gate. The driver quickly brought a stepping stool when he saw him approaching in a cloak.
Shu Changyu paused slightly, then stepped onto the stool with Kongqing’s help. The familiar yet unfamiliar sensation under his feet made him briefly daze.
In his previous life as prime minister, attendants would lie down to serve as stepping stools. He would step on their backs when boarding the carriage. Human backs were warm, tense with bone and muscle—unstable to step on, yet they brought a strange satisfaction to someone’s otherwise cold heart.
Back then, he only knew how to trample people beneath him. But standing on solid ground now felt far more steady and peaceful.
He let out a faint laugh, then entered the carriage and wrapped his cloak tighter.
Kongqing and the driver sat on the outer edge. With a whip crack, the carriage swayed forward.
The Qionglin Banquet this year was held in an imperial garden at the foot of Mount Yan outside Zhaojing. The emperor suffered from heat in summer, so a resort palace had been built there for seasonal retreat.
The journey was not long. Shu Changyu, no longer the ambitious young graduate he once was, soon dozed off from the carriage’s rocking and only woke when Kongqing lifted the curtain.
“We arrived,” Kongqing said.
Shu Changyu, slightly embarrassed, stepped down.
The air outside was fresh and expansive. Before him stood the grand gates of the imperial garden, guarded by imperial soldiers like standing pines in black armor. Inside stretched halls and pavilions like embroidered silk climbing halfway up the mountain.
Spring blossoms covered Mount Yan in full bloom, surrounding the glazed rooftops like colorful clouds.
Many newly appointed scholars had already arrived, gathering in groups at the gate. Some were young and spirited, others already gray-haired. They mingled and exchanged greetings, speaking of essays, teachers, and family backgrounds. The atmosphere already carried the air of an official banquet.
Everyone recognized the carriage of the Duke-protecting General’s residence, and they also knew that its third young master had become top scholar before reaching adulthood—an exceptional talent destined for greatness.
So when Shu Changyu dismounted, several people immediately gathered around him, smiling in greeting.
Shu Changyu glanced over them. One would later be executed for corruption, another died young, another was exiled for decades, and another would be disgraced in a scandal involving a favored concubine.
To him, their carefully concealed ambitions and probing looks felt like children’s games. He had little interest in entertaining them.
He smiled politely, exchanged greetings, then coughed lightly into his sleeve as if overcome by the mountain wind, tightening his cloak.
Just as he was about to excuse himself and leave, a carriage approached from the distance, kicking up dust and entering his view.
Shu Changyu’s smile did not change.
But his gaze turned cold in an instant.
Author’s Note:
Jing Mu: I think you wrote me too timidly, Liu Gouhua.
Liu Gouhua: Do you even understand what it means to endure humiliation and carry a heavy burden?
Jing Mu: I don’t. But I know Shu Changyu has been reborn—and someone has to be used as a sacrifice.
Liu Gouhua: ?????