Meng Xizhao removed his coronet and outer robe, preparing to blow out the candle, when he heard Qingfu’s voice outside: “My lord, rest now. If there’s anything, come tomorrow.”
The sound of Qingfu’s listless footsteps followed. After a while, the door opened.
Meng Xizhao had been listening carefully, trying to discern who it was. But now Qingfu fell silent.
Sensing something amiss, Meng Xizhao redonned his coat and was about to step out to investigate when the door to his room suddenly opened.
Cui Ye stood there, dressed in practical riding clothes, with only a black cloak over his shoulders. The fatigue and chill from traveling day and night clung to him.
Meng Xizhao barely took in the “black-cloaked hero” appearance, stunned into staring. After a long moment, he rubbed his eyes hard.
Lowering his hands, he confirmed it—Cui Ye, not a hallucination.
Outside, Qingfu: “…………”
He, too, had reacted similarly.
Seeing the reunion succeed, Zhang Shuogong lifted Qingfu by the collar and dragged him out. Qingfu shouted, “Hey?! What are you doing?!”
The door closed, and Meng Xizhao had no way of knowing if the guard answered him. With no onlookers or interruptions, Meng Xizhao stared back at Cui Ye, dazed.
For him, the month apart had felt like a year. Time, slipping away quietly, had left him restless.
In those days of emptiness, boredom seemed endless. Knowing that change loomed ahead, he had refused to engage. Life, death—what did they matter? Life was merely equal to death, greater than death, or even less than death.
When Yu Fulan’s father was alive, he had seen this mindset and simply smiled. He told Cui Ye that youth blinded one to worry and to the weight of life. He mocked Cui Ye’s ignorance and fearless attitude, warning that one day, arrogance like this would lead to regret.
For nineteen years, Cui Ye had not understood regret. He thought himself clever and different from others.
Until now.
Regret was like bitter herbs stuck in the throat—impossible to swallow, impossible to spit out. Every breath brought its bitterness; every thought was a knife piercing the heart. He dared not imagine it, yet each time he did, he could not help but ponder: if only he had acted sooner… what might have been?
His cynical ways had finally been punished by time. No longer a fearless youth, he knew this battle could not be won.
After ten seconds of stunned silence, Meng Xizhao finally came to his senses.
He whispered, “Your Highness… how did you get here?”
Cui Ye blinked. “By horse.”
Meng Xizhao: “…How long did you ride?”
Cui Ye: “A day and a night.”
Meng Xizhao counted with his fingers. From Yingtian Prefecture to Longxing Prefecture was eight hundred li. The fastest horse in Da Qi, used for urgent military dispatches, could manage this only with continuous riding and no rest.
Meaning Cui Ye had not rested once since setting out.
Meng Xizhao was astounded. “Your Highness, when did you last sleep?”
Cui Ye thought for a moment. “About two days ago.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He marveled at him, taking Cui Ye’s hand and guiding him to the bed. “Enough. Whatever needs to be done can wait until tomorrow. Your body isn’t strong—ignoring rest only prevents your organs from recovering.”
“Here, sleep here. Longxing Prefecture is in a tight spot; I only prepared three or four rooms, all now occupied. You’ll have to make do for one night.”
Meng Xizhao muttered as he moved ahead. Cui Ye didn’t resist; he obediently followed. Meng Xizhao helped him sit on the bed, then turned to the cupboard and brought out fresh bedding.
Turning back, he habitually glanced at Cui Ye, only to find him still staring intently.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He pursed his lips. “It’s still very cold tonight. The prefecture is short on funds, and since the start of Jingzhe, I haven’t even lit charcoal stoves…”
He spoke while glancing at Cui Ye, his feet slowly pivoting—from facing the door to facing the bed.
Cui Ye listened, expression unchanged, but his words betrayed his thoughts: “Er Lang wants to sleep with me?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He answered with all the apparent reason in the world: “If I sleep on the floor, I’ll get sick. I’m the pillar of Longxing Mansion now—if I fall ill, so many things will be delayed. I can’t sleep outside. And if I wake late and the officers see me, they’ll think I’m hiding a beauty in this golden chamber, and that she even threw me out.”
As he spoke, he edged two steps closer to Cui Ye. The quilt was so large it covered his entire body; his chin rested on the satin edge of the coverlet, making his already youthful face appear even more boyish.
At the same time, he kept sneaking glances at Cui Ye.
“This mansion is my territory. No outsider dares enter my room. Your Highness came all this way to see me—why fear such a small rule?”
Cui Ye thought to himself: I’m not afraid of rules—I’m afraid I won’t be able to follow them.
He didn’t say this aloud, just quietly met Meng Xizhao’s gaze. Tonight, Meng Xizhao seemed unusually bold, practically saying that if Cui Ye refused, he would simply not allow him to sleep elsewhere.
Cui Ye lowered his head and removed his boots, then carefully took off his cloak and outerwear piece by piece.
Meng Xizhao instinctively turned his head aside, though he wasn’t sure why—after all, they were both men. Even if fully undressed, given their relationship, there was no need for such restraint.
He recalled stories from past dynasties: emperors bathing alongside ministers, the emperor luxuriating in the pool while ministers scrubbed him, earning praise for their strength and loyalty afterward.
His thoughts spiraled: from crown princes undressing to the famed Mid-Reign Ruler of the Yue Dynasty, bathing with generals, playing cards with chancellors, accompanying the empress in disguise, even rewarding a dumpling stall owner with a gold ingot—life for emperors was absurdly comfortable.
Meng Xizhao fell silent, marveling at how splendid the emperor’s life must have been.
Meanwhile, Cui Ye had finished preparing himself and lay down properly, leaning against the wall, casually watching Meng Xizhao who seemed lost in thought. “Not sleeping?” he asked, resigned.
Meng Xizhao turned his head and saw him reclining in white undergarments, eyes lazily following him. He blinked. “Sleeping… just a moment.”
He placed the quilt on the bed, returned the mattress to the cupboard, then ran to the table and blew out the candle. Only then did he cautiously return to the bed in the dark.
Winter had just passed, fresh vegetables were scarce, and Meng Xizhao disliked offal, so he suffered slight night-blindness.
He was used to navigating the bed blindly, but today he couldn’t simply flop onto it. Even upon reaching the bed, he moved carefully, testing in small increments like a blind man.
Cui Ye watched him closely. Meng Xizhao’s movements were careful; his hands stayed about two feet away from Cui Ye, never touching him.
Then, just as he was about to lie down, Cui Ye leaned forward, grasping Meng Xizhao’s hand. Feeling the momentary stiffening beneath his palm, he did not let go but decisively pulled him to lie in the middle of the bed.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
I could’ve just slept at the edge.
As darkness settled, Meng Xizhao’s eyes adjusted. Habitually, he pulled the quilt over himself, lifting it to cover his lower face. He noticed Cui Ye still leaning against the wall, watching his movements.
They shared a quiet moment before Meng Xizhao lowered the quilt. “Your Highness, are you in a bad mood?”
Cui Ye nodded.
Meng Xizhao asked, “Why are you upset?”
Cui Ye: “I wanted to go on the mission to the Xiongnu, but Father sent someone else.”
Meng Xizhao, puzzled, asked: “Who did he send?”
“The Minister of Rites and the Chief of the Honglu Temple.”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “That’s fine. One has experience, the other holds a high post, and both can handle the Xiongnu. Don’t worry—Lu Fengqiu and I are on good terms. As long as the Xiongnu don’t act aggressively, Lu Fengqiu can manage it perfectly.”
Cui Ye: “I thought you’d want me to go.”
Meng Xizhao, confused: “Why would I think that?”
Cui Ye hesitated, then said, “You always want me to take on more responsibilities, don’t you?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Feeling awkward speaking in that position, he sat up, placed a pillow behind him, and pulled the quilt up thickly over himself. Seeing Cui Ye uncovered, he spread the adjacent quilt and covered him as well.
Cui Ye: “……”
Feeling warmth on his legs, he didn’t know what to say. Meng Xizhao, lively as ever, spoke: “I do wish that, but it depends on the task. Last time we went to the Xiongnu, everything that needed doing was done. Everyone knew the real credit went to the bride escort team. Going again now would only be icing on the cake. Even I don’t care about that credit, so of course I don’t want Your Highness going. You are the Crown Prince—too noble to run off elsewhere repeatedly.”
Cui Ye nodded. “Fine, then I won’t go.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
You wouldn’t have been able to go anyway—didn’t the Tian Shou Emperor already refuse you?
After a pause, Meng Xizhao added, “Besides, beginnings are always the hardest. Your Highness should understand this—one failure doesn’t matter. Try several times, and eventually, success will come.”
Cui Ye suddenly turned to him. “But some things can only be tried once.”
Meng Xizhao was momentarily taken aback, then said, “Then we wait in concealment, bide the best moment, and use that single chance when it comes.”
Cui Ye let out a faint smile. “Good.”
“It’s late now—let’s sleep.”
Meng Xizhao didn’t say anything further. They lay down together, each under a separate quilt, half an elbow apart. Cui Ye lay properly and quickly closed his eyes. Meng Xizhao, however, wasn’t so straightforward; he closed his eyes at first, then reopened them after a while.
Turning his head, he listened to Cui Ye’s steady breathing, frowning as he stared at him for a long time.
Finally, whatever thoughts ran through his mind, he turned over, back facing Cui Ye, and sighed softly.
Hearing that short sigh, Cui Ye slowly opened his eyes.
Meng Xizhao was right beside him, within reach.
Yet his hands remained neatly on his own body. Despite two sleepless nights, he still felt no drowsiness. Eventually, he even forgot when he finally fell asleep.
＊
The next day, Meng Xizhao used Cui Ye’s usual tactic, claiming he was ill and needed a day of rest, directing anyone with business to see Xie Yuan instead.
He also warned that anyone disturbing his recuperation would face dismissal.
Xie Yuan: “…………”
He had a head full of questions for Meng Xizhao, but in the end, he could only keep them to himself, clutching his chest as if nursing an internal wound from a sleepless night, and returned to the office.
Meanwhile, Meng Xizhao, after arranging for guards at the gates, leisurely took Cui Ye for a tour of Longxing Mansion.
Of course, it was a discreet tour from the carriage. The citizens didn’t recognize the Crown Prince but knew the new magistrate, Meng, and any public appearance would cause a traffic jam.
Longxing Mansion was Meng Xizhao’s first official domain in every sense. From the carriage, he excitedly pointed out details to the Crown Prince: which taverns had been operating for years, which construction crews were repairing structures, the planned scale of the new city gate, and the commemorative stele he intended to have inscribed by a renowned scholar.
Finally, they left the city. Inside and outside the walls were two different worlds. The outskirts, nearer the mountains, were almost deserted.
At a scenic spot, Meng Xizhao had the escort stop. They got out, and he pointed to a shimmering river nearby. “From here, you can see the Xunyang River.”
He had visited before and particularly loved the view. Smiling, he said, “How beautiful. Now I understand why past officials, even when exiled, could compose endless poems. Seeing such scenery daily—even someone like me, lacking scholarly refinement—feels inspired to write poetry.”
Cui Ye nodded. “The view here is indeed more beautiful than in Yingtian Prefecture.”
Meng Xizhao replied, “Yingtian is beautiful too… but crowded, complicated. Such bustling places are only suitable for youth, for striving. In old age, if one seeks peace, it’s better to live somewhere like this—plucking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, quietly enjoying the southern mountains.”
Cui Ye realized then that Meng Xizhao wasn’t merely taking him out for leisure; he was using the stroll to convey his thoughts.
Turning to him with a vague expression, Cui Ye asked, “Do you intend to leave Yingtian Prefecture in the future?”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “I don’t want to be an official forever. My efforts now are to live freely later. Since that freedom will come, I’ll act according to my true desires.”
He gazed at the distant mountains and rivers, his voice tinged with longing. “My ideal is to serve as an official until thirty-five. By then, domestic and foreign troubles will have ended, the world at peace. I will petition to retire, buy a large estate in a scenic, temperate place, build only one residence, and my maids and servants, if they wish, may come with me. If not, I’ll hire locals to manage the estate. I’ll spend my days eating, drinking, fishing, reading, and sleeping until the sun is high—without anyone to answer to.”
He paused, sighing sincerely. “What a wonderful life that would be…”
Cui Ye, however, was startled.
When Meng Xizhao was thirty-five, he would be thirty-seven.
Exactly the span the miraculous physician had called “over ten years.”
The timing was perfect. Cui Ye should have smiled with relief, yet he could not.
His expression stiffened further.
Knowing he could never accompany Meng Xizhao to the end was one thing, but hearing Meng Xizhao describe such a serene and enjoyable future—and realizing he had no place in it—stirred only rising anger.
And a deep sense of resentment.
Even his steady breathing wavered. Cui Ye quickly lowered his gaze, unclenching his fists, and spoke as calmly as possible: “When that day comes, the ideal me you imagine… where will I be?”
Meng Xizhao turned to look at him, studying him for a moment, then rotated his entire body to face him.
“Do you mean in terms of the ideal circumstances?”
Cui Ye nodded.
Meng Xizhao chuckled lightly, lowering his head slightly. “In my ideal world, my father remains robust, my mother still formidable, even with graying hair, able to lift a hand to strike. My elder brother and sister-in-law are thriving in Yingtian, children visiting me every year. My younger sister and her husband are happily married; whenever they have free time, she brings the children to stay briefly with me.”
“Even if I leave the court, people there will not forget me. The government will have capable successors, and my absence will cause no issues. By then, I will be like a legend—everyone will speak of me, yet no one will ever see me.”
He paused briefly, lifting his head to look at the Crown Prince, whose expression was unreadable, the corners of his mouth drooping slightly.
“Everyone will be praising my deeds, but my greatest achievement will not be the high office I held, nor the political feats I accomplished. It will be that I, alongside my sovereign, have always understood and supported each other—an intimacy envied by many. In the future, when people speak of the ideal ruler and minister, it will not be Li Shimin and Wei Zheng at the top, but Your Highness and me.”
Cui Ye pressed his lips into a thin line, unease churning in his heart.
“But you still haven’t said where you hope I’ll be at that time.”
Meng Xizhao paused for a moment, then said, “I hope by then you have abdicated.”
Cui Ye froze.
There was no one around, and now that the conversation had begun, everything should be spoken—later, such an opportunity and courage might never come again.
“I know… you do not truly desire power. Not everyone is born to be an emperor. Perhaps the first emperor truly erred, or perhaps your Cui family was simply… suited for a life of freedom. Watching flowers bloom and fall in the courtyard, clouds roll across the sky—that is the life that belongs to you. How we’ve come this far is partly my coercion, partly my temptation. I know it, yet I cannot, in this moment, let go and allow you to leave.”
Cui Ye stared at him, stunned. Meng Xizhao pursed his lips and offered a slightly guilty smile. “So in my ideal world, I hope the realm is peaceful, no one needs me, and no one needs you. While I fish, you read beside me. I’ll sleep until the sun is high, and you’ll open my door so I don’t sleep until dusk.”
He emphasized again: “In my ideal, that’s how it is.”
Yet, how many ideals in this world truly come to pass?
Dreams are ethereal; ideals leave traces to follow. They may seem easier to attain, but the probability of fulfillment is the same—both are difficult.
Meng Xizhao’s right hand held his left fingers, his head bowed as he pinched his own fingertips, hesitant to meet Cui Ye’s gaze.
Even though it was only his ideal, he had already planned not just his own life, but Cui Ye’s as well.
Why?
They were neither kin nor bound by duty. Even the closest friends would not act with such disregard for propriety.
Meng Xizhao realized, for the first time, how controlling he truly was—even if it was only imagined control, not yet actualized.
After a long wait with no response from Cui Ye, the anxiety became unbearable. He lifted his head, hoping Cui Ye would speak, to end this silent torment.
But just as he did, Cui Ye stepped forward, arms wrapping tightly around him, pressing so strongly Meng Xizhao nearly lost his breath.
Meng Xizhao froze.
This… this was unmistakably an embrace.
In an instant, Cui Ye let go. Meng Xizhao stared blankly, and Cui Ye lifted a hand, letting his fingers hover an inch from Meng Xizhao’s temple before lowering them again.
Meng Xizhao’s eyes widened, dazed, tracking that single hand.
Then Cui Ye spoke, returning him to the moment: “No one can force me to do anything. If I do it, it will only be of my own will.”
“Your ideal is a good one. Perhaps it can even become mine. The two of us together—maybe one day, it will come true.”
He smiled, and before leaving, paused, unable to resist, gently touching Meng Xizhao’s temple once more.
Then he turned and strode away. Behind him, Zhang Shogong followed immediately.
…
Cui Ye, intending to return to the capital at dusk, suddenly decided to go earlier. Meng Xizhao had no objections, still reeling from the shock.
After seeing Meng Xizhao safely to the mansion, Cui Ye and Zhang Shogong departed.
Zhang Shogong did not understand the urgency until they were well out of the city, assured no one was following or nearby. Then he asked, “Your Highness, has something happened?”
Cui Ye shook his head.
Zhang Shogong assumed that was the answer and looked away, but then he heard Cui Ye speak:
“When we return, have your men search everywhere. Find every renowned physician in the realm.”
If one fails, find another.
As long as the page in the Book of Life that concerns him remains unbroken, he will never surrender.