At first, Zhuchu Huijue refused to believe the rumor. He couldn’t imagine that a weak woman like the Princess of Chu could be so bold, knowingly committing an act that could ignite a bloody war between two nations.
But the rumor was detailed and persuasive, and it spread rapidly.
Gradually, Zhuchu Huijue became like Zuo Xianwang: unable to fully believe it, yet unable to dismiss it entirely.
The more serious the matter, the more cautious one had to be.
To clarify, Zhuchu Huijue even invited Meng Xizhao to a meal. During the liveliest part of the gathering, he asked if the rumor were true. Meng Xizhao, slightly tipsy, suddenly became sharp and alert, his gaze piercing.
Yet he only blinked once before returning to his usual cheerful demeanor.
“Of course it’s not true! Uncle Shuye, don’t listen to what people say. Our princess wouldn’t even dare to kill a chicken, much less a person! The Xiongnu themselves have said that the late Chanyu’s death had nothing to do with our princess. Uncle Shuye, if you don’t believe me, would you not believe Anu Wei Chanyu of the Xiongnu or Zuo Xianwang?”
Zhuchu Huijue chuckled, assuring himself that he also thought along the same lines, only that the rumor had frightened him.
But as soon as Meng Xizhao left, Zhuchu Huijue’s smile vanished, replaced by a solemn expression.
He hurried to his study to write a letter to the King of the Yuezhis, using a secret code only Yuezhi insiders could understand.
Originally, he estimated a fifty percent chance that the Princess of Chu could have acted. But after seeing Meng Xizhao’s reaction, he immediately raised that probability to seventy percent.
Seventy percent… rounded up, it practically confirmed that the late Chanyu’s death was caused by the Princess of Chu.
Such significant news had to be reported to the King immediately.
Though telling him might change nothing—the matter concerned the Xiongnu and Da Qi, and the Xiongnu, as victims, had no intention of pursuing it—it was still worth noting. At most, one should remain cautious in the future and avoid offending the Da Qi princess.
Da Qi’s people were weak and ineffectual, yet their princess was bold and decisive. A national leader slain on a whim, and then she returned home openly to live in comfort.
If a future Yuezhi princess were to marry into Da Qi, she might take lessons from the Princess of Chu’s actions…
Zhuchu Huijue shook his head frantically at the thought.
Currently, the Yuezhi King was middle-aged, with a favored consort from the Xia kingdom and a noble consort from Yuezhi commoners. These two women constantly quarreled, leaving the King exhausted. He likely would have no intention of requesting a princess from Da Qi for the next ten years.
But the Crown Prince of Yuezhi was only sixteen, at the right age to marry. The King, seeking favor with Da Qi due to resentment toward the Xiongnu, might negotiate before the Crown Prince reached adulthood to marry a Da Qi princess.
Zhuchu Huijue had once looked forward to this, as he would have overseen the marriage and possibly returned to see his own family.
Now… he thought better of it, fearing the Crown Prince would not have the fortune to experience it.
＊
Though the rumor began along the courier inn street, the street was open above, and it didn’t take long before the gossip spread throughout Ying Tianfu.
But because it involved the royal family and was highly sensitive, the citizens of Ying Tianfu did not treat it like a joke as in other kingdoms. They shared it quietly, avoiding public discussion.
Yet even with such caution, the more people who knew, it ceased to be a secret. Even the Emperor of Tianshou learned of it.
Frowning, the Emperor, upon hearing the news, was furious. “Nonsense!”
He waved dismissively, sending the messenger out, then sat on the dragon throne, looking increasingly annoyed. “How could Yongshan possibly do such a thing? These fools, always meddling with royal affairs instead of minding their own business!”
Qin Feimang bowed slightly. “Your Majesty is correct. Since returning to Da Qi, the Princess of Chu’s spirit deteriorates day by day. The palace staff report she eats only one meal a day, and her mental distress grows heavier.”
When the Emperor of Tianshou heard Qin Feimang’s suggestion, he didn’t worry at all; instead, he felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. “Yongshan is a good child. With the Chanyu’s sudden death, she must have been the one most grieved. It’s a pity the people outside can’t see her like this—otherwise, all these messy rumors wouldn’t exist in the first place.”
Qin Feimang smiled. “Your Majesty is truly wise.”
After a brief pause, he added casually, “Your Majesty, if you wish to quash these rumors, it’s actually quite simple.”
The Emperor hummed. “Oh? And what do you propose?”
Qin Feimang lowered his gaze respectfully. “I dare not propose anything grand, only to help lighten Your Majesty’s burden. You yourself said, if the people could see the Princess of Chu in her weakened state, the rumors would naturally collapse. So why not have Your Majesty build a residence for the Princess within the city? Even if she leads a simple, secluded life, over time, everyone would understand the truth.”
The Emperor of Tianshou paused.
Build a residence and the rumors would vanish? The Princess couldn’t appear publicly—how would ordinary people see her face?
Qin Feimang continued patiently, “In this way, not only are the rumors quelled, but Your Majesty’s kindness toward a widowed princess would surely earn universal praise. Moreover, Your Majesty may not have noticed that the main halls of the palace have recently become insufficient. Next year, when new candidates enter the palace, a princess of high rank might have to live in a secondary hall. Would it not be better to have the Princess reside outside the palace?”
The Emperor reflected for a moment.
Every three years there was a selection of new palace ladies, and next year he would be choosing another batch. Thinking of this, he felt a slight weariness: first, the candidates were selected by eunuchs according to strict rules. Few were exceptionally beautiful, but all were virtuous and talented—predictable and lacking novelty.
Second, no matter how many women entered the palace, none of them were his Yue Niang.
But Qin Feimang was right: he couldn’t place her in the palace without giving her a proper residence. With Lin Xianfei assigned to the Ning Prince’s mansion in the western Jiangnan region, her position was vacated. He planned to select another next year. It wouldn’t do if a daughter already widowed had an independent palace while his newly chosen Xianfei could only occupy a corner.
With this reasoning, the Emperor gave his approval.
Qin Feimang’s heart leapt with joy—another major project landed in his hands. Yet before he could celebrate, the Emperor added, “I see no need for new construction. The Ning Prince’s mansion is empty. Just modify it and make it the Princess’s residence.”
Qin Feimang blinked. “…………You can just modify it???”
But indeed, it could be done.
The Ning Prince’s mansion was built to princely standards, and the Princess of Chu’s rank equaled that of a prince. Normally, a princess’s residence was slightly smaller, so assigning it to her might seem excessive.
Considering both cost and propriety, the Emperor elevated the Princess’s rank by one step, officially granting her the title of Senior Princess.
He thought to himself, now the people outside would understand that the Princess of Chu hadn’t killed anyone. After all, how could a wise and just emperor shield a murderer while granting her an even higher title?
Yet interpretations vary. Foreign envoys saw this act and suspected something sinister. Everyone knew how little the Emperor cared for his daughters; it was unprecedented for a princess to be granted a higher rank simply because her husband had died. So naturally, they assumed the Princess of Chu must have accomplished something extraordinary—even killing the Xiongnu Chanyu—to earn such favor.
……
At this point, Meng Xizhao was no longer involved. The Princess of Chu—or rather, now the Senior Princess of Chu, since it was a temporary elevation—completed the formalities quietly in the inner palace, without inviting officials. She moved in with all her belongings, along with those who had accompanied her to the Xiongnu.
Once settled, her first action was to summon Meng Xizhao. After dismissing attendants, she bowed deeply.
“Many thanks, Minister Meng, for saving my life.”
Meng Xizhao quickly returned the gesture. “Your Highness needn’t say such things. I merely served the ruler faithfully and did my duty.”
The Senior Princess smiled wryly. Few could truly risk themselves to save someone already trapped in danger. Meng Xizhao’s advice had placed her life in peril, but he himself had faced equal risk—from distracting the Xiongnu soldiers to ensuring she could not be taken away.
Knowing Meng Xizhao’s cautious nature, she understood that once the matter passed, he would not acknowledge his involvement, nor would he expect repayment. Likely, over time, their paths would diverge: she as the Senior Princess, living safely, he continuing to navigate the treacherous court alone.
Unsure how to repay him, she said, “Minister Meng, I shall never forget your kindness. Should I be of any use to you in the future, speak freely, and I will not refuse.”
As expected, Meng Xizhao only shook his head. “Your Highness, I require nothing. Please take care of your health and live a long, contented life. This is the least you deserve after all you have endured.”
The Senior Princess smiled softly.
“Rest assured, Minister Meng. I will live well, setting an example for all princesses in the realm.”
After all, why should only princes enjoy freedom and mobility within the royal family?
Life is something one lives for oneself; it shouldn’t be dictated by what others say. She was still a princess, but from now on, she would no longer liken herself to wild grass. She would live fully, freely, letting everyone see that a princess’s path wasn’t limited to marriage or political unions. A princess could be extraordinary, exalted in her own right.
＊
After leaving the Senior Princess’s residence, Meng Xizhao returned home to see the Zhang household directing a dozen or so people to carry New Year supplies into the rear kitchen.
With the New Year just a few days away, Yangtian Prefecture had reached an unprecedented level of bustle. Even the normally quiet halls of the Hanlin Academy were livelier than usual, with everyone discussing what to buy for the New Year and what gifts to give.
It was Meng Xizhao’s first time celebrating the New Year as an official, and naturally, he needed to present gifts.
He planned to offer some charcoal, along with a few scholarly supplies—a complete and appropriate set.
But giving charcoal wasn’t as simple as handing over a few pounds. In official circles, the term tan jing encompassed “charcoal, ice, and paper” as ceremonial gifts. Everyone gave them, some more lavishly if they could afford it, some more modestly. But it was absolutely mandatory—over the years, it had become a customary gesture rather than a form of bribery.
Since Meng Xizhao hadn’t yet assumed a formal post, he had no direct superior. He could only send gifts to Right Chancellor Yan Shunying. Thinking it through, he split a gift prepared by Madam Meng into two: one sent to the Right Chancellor’s residence, the other to the Left Chancellor’s.
At Right Chancellor Yan’s residence, the New Year crowds at the gate were thicker than at Wangjiang Tower, a testament to the benefits of having many disciples—he could collect tributes endlessly.
Left Chancellor Situ Huan had fewer visitors, but his most devoted followers were fiercely loyal. In court, it might appear that Right Chancellor Yan overshadowed Left Chancellor Situ, but in reality, the two were evenly matched, neither able to dominate the other. Between them was Meng Jiuyu, exercising his own influence and vying for power.
Because so many presented gifts to Yan Shunying, he didn’t notice Meng Xizhao’s tan jing. But at the Left Chancellor’s, the moment the gifts arrived, Situ Huan immediately recognized them.
Looking at the accompanying note, Situ Huan smiled faintly. “Meng Xizhao is quite clever, isn’t he?”
One of his subordinates frowned. “I think he’s indecisive, trying to please both sides, currying favor with everyone.”
Situ Huan merely chuckled. “Who’s to say? Perhaps he’s just perfunctory with both and cares little for either.”
The subordinate: “…………”
Not possible!
One would have to be extraordinarily audacious to even consider such a thing.
Situ Huan smiled. “Just my guess.”
Hearing this, the subordinate’s expression softened slightly.
This man was Jiang Fang, now serving as Censor-in-Chief. Meng Xizhao didn’t know him well, but his late father never forgot him—Jiang Fang had impeached him more than anyone over the years.
Jiang Fang disliked Meng Jiuyu, and by extension, he disdained Meng Xizhao. Especially now, Meng Xizhao had barely entered officialdom yet already charmed the Emperor of Tianshou. Jiang Fang even heard rumors that Meng Xizhao had presented courtesans to please the Emperor.
Just the thought made Jiang Fang’s face go dark.
Presenting courtesans!
This wasn’t something a treacherous minister would do, but something only a scheming eunuch might attempt.
Thus, even though Meng Xizhao returned with merit this time, Jiang Fang could not conceal his contempt. Adding to that, Zang He subtly showed interest in Meng Xizhao, which only worsened Jiang Fang’s mood.
Among the new imperial scholars, Zang He was a rare talent. He showed admiration for Situ Huan, potentially becoming an ally against the veteran Yan Shunying. Yet after the Xiongnu mission with Meng Xizhao, Zang He seemed invigorated—no longer hiding his talents, he frequented Meng Xizhao’s side to drink and converse.
Jiang Fang doubted Meng Xizhao had the skill to cultivate such allies. He had just become a fourth-rank official; no one could develop a faction so quickly. He simply disliked Meng Xizhao, sensing a subtle, corrupting influence that could sway those around him.
Situ Huan knew Jiang Fang’s dislike and said no more. After setting down the gift list, he added, “After the New Year, the Left Censor will be promoted. In my view, Meng Xizhao would be well suited for the post.”
Jiang Fang frowned. “But he isn’t close to you.”
The Left Censor belongs to the Secretariat, with the Left Chancellor as his superior. Appointing him would effectively align Meng Xizhao with the Left Chancellor.
Situ Huan smirked. “An official is an official. Why fuss about personal ties? I’ve seen Meng Xizhao speak once, and even then I recognized his eloquence. If he assumes the role of Left Censor, the court will become lively indeed.”
Jiang Fang said nothing.
As Situ Huan’s student, he always obeyed his master. Still, he wondered, “Should I inform Meng Xizhao beforehand?”
Situ Huan shook his head. “No—don’t give him the advantage. We’ll observe for now.”
Jiang Fang nodded, sighing inwardly.
The court was no longer dominated by the Left or Right Chancellor. Instead, it was the domain of Grand Tutor Gan, a man who refused retirement, held a titular position, and constantly influenced the emperor.
Whatever policies the Left or Right Chancellor proposed, if Grand Tutor Gan opposed, most would be abandoned.
In recent years, this had improved somewhat. Grand Tutor Gan’s energy had waned, and his manipulations had lessened.
But on second thought, Jiang Fang shook his head inwardly. Meng Xizhao had nothing to do with Grand Tutor Gan, so it was unlikely Gan would interfere with whatever Meng Xizhao planned. If anyone required concern, it was Right Chancellor Yan.
Situ Huan noticed Jiang Fang’s thoughtful expression and understood his train of thought, yet said nothing to guide him. Some old court history was only known to the noble families of Yangtian Prefecture. People like Jiang Fang, who had risen through the local examinations and spent several years away from the capital, wouldn’t be familiar with such long-forgotten affairs.
Meng Xizhao and Grand Tutor Gan did, in fact, have a grudge against each other. Previously it hadn’t been apparent because Meng Jiuyu was too formidable—he could advance unassisted while earning the emperor’s deep trust. Even if Grand Tutor Gan sought revenge, he had to weigh whether it was worth it.
But with Meng Xizhao, Gan didn’t need to bother with such considerations. After all, he was just a boy; a few pointed words, a bit of intimidation, and Meng Xizhao would already feel the pressure.
And everyone knew Madam Meng treated her three children like precious jewels. To harm her son would be far more painful than harming herself.
＊
At that moment, Madam Meng’s “three precious jewels” were sitting together for afternoon tea.
As Meng Xizhao put it, he occasionally concocted some unusual treats, and naturally, his family served as willing guinea pigs.
Meng Jiaojiao sipped the so-called milk tea and puckered her lips. “A bit too sweet… but the taste is okay.”
On the other side, Meng Xisang’s face scrunched up entirely. “What is this? People actually drink this?”
Meng Xizhao kept his head down, staring at the full cup of milk tea, muttering softly, “Finally, milk tea freedom… but unfortunately, I have no idea how to make the pearls…”
Meng Xisang frowned. “Second Brother, what are you talking about?”
Meng Xizhao looked up, blinking. “Nothing, Big Brother. It’s just a matter of taste. You don’t like sweet things, so you find it unappealing. But for young ladies, this pairs perfectly with desserts.”
Meng Jiaojiao perked up. “Second Brother, can I take some to the Zhan family? So Ah Hu can try it too?”
Meng Xizhao generously nodded. “Take it all—bring a whole vat over.”
He had asked the kitchen to prepare plenty; if he couldn’t drink it himself, it could at least be distributed or sold.
Meng Jiaojiao happily thanked him and rushed off to fetch the milk tea. Since her friendship with Zhan Hu had become public, she visited him every two or three days without any prompting from Meng Xizhao.
Once the little sister left in her usual spirited manner, the two brothers were accustomed to her habits. Meng Xizhao then asked, “Big Brother, aren’t you going to send some to the County Prince’s residence?”
Meng Xisang blushed at the mention of the county lord—an old habit that still persisted. Flushed, he said, “Since you mention it… then I’ll send some too.”
The marriage between the Meng family and the Liang County Prince’s family was set for the eighth day of the second lunar month, just after the New Year. All preliminary arrangements had been completed, and Madam Meng had long prepared the items for Meng Xisang’s wedding. She had even sent a betrothal gift once, intending to send another before the wedding to compensate for the years that Meng Jiaojiao had waited.
Though the delay wasn’t Meng Xisang’s fault—misfortune had struck with the deaths of two elders—Madam Meng’s gesture was less about compensation than displaying her grace and generosity. She wanted everyone to recognize her as a magnanimous, judicious, and kind-hearted mother-in-law:
Marry into our family and you won’t lose; take our daughter as your wife and you’ll gain immensely!
Indeed, Madam Meng went to great lengths to secure a good match for Meng Jiaojiao.
Since Meng Xizhao planned to travel, he also paid attention to Meng Jiaojiao’s marital prospects. He had confided in Meng Jiuyu about her private liaison with the Prince of Linjiang, expecting that he and Madam Meng would immediately lock Meng Jiaojiao away and give her a proper scolding. Surprisingly, the household remained calm.
Later, when Meng Xizhao asked, Meng Jiuyu quietly revealed the truth: Madam Meng had already noticed this situation. At that time, few asked after Meng Jiaojiao, and the Prince of Linjiang seemed decent enough. Madam Meng thought perhaps it was acceptable to let Meng Jiaojiao marry him, only issuing a few verbal reminders without confronting the matter.
It was only later, when Meng Xizhao was outmaneuvered by Prince Ning and the Prince of Linjiang refused to help, that Madam Meng grew angry. She intended to confront Meng Jiaojiao immediately to dissuade her, but upon reaching her courtyard, she heard her daughter quietly sobbing.
Knowing Meng Jiaojiao had regained her senses, Madam Meng breathed a sigh of relief and left quietly.
Young ladies care about their dignity; even when parents know of such matters, it can be extremely embarrassing. Fortunately, Meng Jiaojiao had reformed. Madam Meng discreetly followed her for a time, noting that she only visited familiar places or went to the outer city to see a destitute acquaintance—any contact with the Prince of Linjiang was avoided.
Later, she discovered that this destitute acquaintance was actually a remnant of Zhan Shenyu’s household.
In short, the matter resolved itself quietly. Meng Xizhao felt a mix of emotions upon learning this but ultimately nodded inwardly.
Indeed, letting it fade naturally without disclosure was the best outcome. Otherwise, if the matter became public, even if a lack of face was the least of concerns, Meng Jiaojiao would have a much harder time finding a suitable husband.
At the age of coming-of-age, a young lady without a proper match was already embarrassing enough. Add a reputation of illicit interactions or an eagerness to marry, and she might never marry well in her lifetime.
But if you asked Meng Xizhao, he actually thought that not marrying wasn’t so bad.
After all, the Secretariat could support her. And if it couldn’t in the future, Meng Xizhao could. Meng Jiaojiao was only fifteen now—what harm was there in keeping her at home a few more years?
Sitting together, Meng Xizhao and Meng Xisang somehow drifted onto this topic. Meng Xisang listened and could barely hide his disbelief. “She’s fifteen now, sixteen next year. From betrothal to wedding, even with a grand ceremony, it takes at least a year or two. By the time Jiaojiao actually marries, she’ll be seventeen or eighteen. You still think that’s not late?”
Meng Xizhao sipped his milk tea casually. “Not late at all. If anything, it’s a bit early. I think the county lady’s marriage age is perfect—nineteen, almost twenty. That’s the right age for marriage.”
Meng Xisang: “…………”
He considered scolding him, but then, with a turn of his eye, he asked in a leading way, “Second Brother, you mean older ladies are better?”
Meng Xizhao, oblivious to the trap, nodded earnestly. “Yes, older girls have stronger bodies. After marriage, the risks of childbirth are much lower.”
Meng Xisang nearly couldn’t contain his delight. “So you… you’ve already thought about starting a family?”
Meng Xizhao froze, looking utterly bewildered. “Huh? Starting a family?”
Meng Xisang pressed: “Didn’t you just say you wanted to start a family, have children?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
“I was talking about someone else!”
Instantly flustered, Meng Xizhao sprang up and fired a rapid volley at Meng Xisang. “Big Brother, don’t you know my situation? Forcing me to start a family—how is that a marriage and not a disaster? If you want to ruin some poor girl, at least see if I’m willing to be the villain! Besides, I’m at a crucial stage in my career. I want to rise a few more ranks first; marriage can wait until I advance three more ranks!”
Meng Xisang paused, calculating in his mind what rank Meng Xizhao would reach after three promotions. His expression darkened.
“So you plan to wait until Father’s position before marrying? By then, my child could already have entered officialdom!”
Meng Xizhao said earnestly, “Big Brother, you trust me too little. I can reach fourth rank in a year; two or three more years, and I can be second rank. What’s the problem with that?”
“Let me try first; if I fail, we’ll talk then!”
With that, Meng Xizhao bolted, leaving Meng Xisang staring after him in disbelief. After a long while, he slowly relaxed and sighed.
He stood and went out, not to his own courtyard, but to Madam Meng’s.
Madam Meng was reviewing ledgers. Seeing her eldest son entering with a troubled expression, she set the book aside and asked with concern, “Well? Did you try probing him?”
Meng Xisang nodded and grimaced. “Mother, I told you before—Second Brother has no intention of marrying. He… he has other matters on his mind. How could he think of marriage?”
Madam Meng frowned. “Having something on his mind has nothing to do with marriage. When you were preparing for the imperial exams, you lost half your hair—yet that didn’t stop you from continuing your betrothal with the county lady.”
Meng Xisang: “…………”
True, that was the logic.
But Second Brother’s concerns were no ordinary matters.
Meng Xisang felt at a loss. He couldn’t betray his brother, so he vaguely urged Madam Meng, “Mother, just leave it for now. Perhaps after a few years, Second Brother will come to terms and tell you himself.”
Madam Meng: “……”
She was nearly enraged. “A few years?! How old will he be then? What will the situation be? You, who are closest to him, now won’t plan for him?”
Meng Xisang wanted to tear his hair out.
It’s precisely because I want to plan for him that I’m stopping you, Mother! If you find him a virtuous, graceful bride now, and the Crown Prince finds out… do you think he’d consent? Wouldn’t he take it out on Second Brother?
Thinking this, Meng Xisang felt anxious. The Crown Prince’s temperament—he still couldn’t figure out if he was good, bad, gentle, or violent. To know whether his brother would suffer, he had no way of judging.
Meng Xisang fell silent, but Madam Meng’s fury persisted. “No, we can’t let everything follow his whims. Fine, eldest son, leave this to me. Men at this age should marry and establish a family. Previously, Second Brother had a poor reputation and no official rank; few would want to marry him. But now it’s different. Rest assured, I will find the best match for Second Brother.”
With that, Madam Meng stood resolutely, ready to tidy up and then visit several acquaintance wives to spread the word.
Meng Xisang could only stare numbly at her departing figure.
He could no longer control his brother, nor could Mother…
Oh, how he longed for the county lady! Why wasn’t it already the eighth day of the second lunar month? Then she could marry, and he wouldn’t have to fight alone anymore…
＊
Meng Xizhao left the Secretariat, carrying two still-warm vats of milk tea, heading to visit Cui Ye at his separate residence.
Previously, arriving here, he’d only sit a while, and Cui Ye would appear smiling.
Today was different. Just as Meng Xizhao arrived, the guard on duty informed him that His Highness the Crown Prince was unwell and would not leave the palace.
The Crown Prince often pretended to be ill, and Meng Xizhao couldn’t tell if it was real. Shrugging, he handed the milk tea to the guard, offered a few polite words wishing the prince a speedy recovery, and left.
Inside the Crown Prince’s residence, the milk tea was delivered without delay. Despite waiting in the biting cold, it was still pleasantly warm.
Cui Ye’s complexion was as always—slightly unhealthy—but his spirit was intact. He lifted the lid, inhaled the tea’s unique aroma, poured himself a cup, and took a slow sip.
Sweet.
That was his first impression.
It must have just come off the stove today.
That was his second impression.
He had never been to the Xiongnu before, and Meng Xizhao rarely brought him anything. Now that he had, his boldness had grown slightly. Though still discreet and careful, Meng Xizhao would occasionally bring him things unavailable elsewhere, keeping one for himself and sending another for Cui Ye.
This kind of intimate sharing, previously so enjoyable to Cui Ye, now stirred confusion in his heart.
Lately, Meng Xizhao’s words replayed in his mind like a curse. Especially that line: “The antidote is right in front of you, so you can’t leave him even for a moment.”
Cui Ye couldn’t help but compare himself to that phrase.
Meng Xizhao was indeed his antidote. There was no doubt about it. The pain within him eased only when he saw Meng Xizhao. But that wasn’t the same as affection—he enjoyed seeing Meng Xizhao because he made him feel good. Meng Xizhao was witty, never looked at him strangely, and being with him was simply pleasant.
As for being unable to leave his side for a moment… well, sometimes he did wish Meng Xizhao could always be with him.
But he didn’t think about it every single moment! At most—at most—he might think of it two or three times a day.
Even admitting this to himself, Cui Ye realized he sounded utterly unconvincing.
For a moment, he felt thoroughly dejected.
These past days had gone on like this: affirm, then deny, then fall into deep doubt, over and over. If nothing disrupted it, he could have gone on cycling like this for months.
But disruption came today—
Yu Fulan entered, catching the scent of tea and pausing. “Your Highness, what tea has such a strong fragrance?”
Cui Ye replied listlessly, “A milk tea… sent by Second Brother.”
Yu Fulan uttered a soft “oh” and came closer, noticing Cui Ye’s lingering gloom. Thinking for a moment, he decided to share news in line with Cui Ye’s usual interests—specifically, Meng Xizhao’s recent news.
He smiled. “Your Highness, did you know Meng Xiuzhuan is getting married?”
Cui Ye blinked and lifted his head. “You mean the eldest son of the Meng family?”
“No, no,” Yu Fulan shook his head. “Not the eldest. It’s Meng Xizhao himself. Madam of the Secretariat announced she intends to find a well-born lady of matching status for him. The public is talking about it everywhere.”
Yu Fulan laughed. “Had this been suggested six months ago, it would have drawn complaints. But now, it’s the opposite. It shows how completely Meng Xiuzhao’s image has transformed among the people. Your Highness should be pleased, right?”
After speaking, he didn’t hear a response from Cui Ye. And whether it was his imagination or not, Cui Ye’s expression seemed to darken.
Yu Fulan was confused. “Your Highness?”
What’s wrong? I was delivering good news… why is he upset now?