He retrieved an ink stick from the war spoils’ storage. Sitting on the bed, Meng Xizhao began sketching on the canvas, with Cui Ye watching and occasionally offering suggestions.
“Her eyebrows should be finer.”
“The space between her eyes seems too wide.”
“No, her face wasn’t that pointed.”
After nearly an hour of adjustments, Meng Xizhao finally stopped. He presented the finished portrait to Cui Ye, who did not reach for it, merely lowering his gaze. His eyes lingered on the familiar face, and he remained silent for a long while.
Meng Xizhao, anxious, asked: “Your Highness?”
Cui Ye stirred slightly, then looked up. His expression seemed unchanged, but there was a hint of feeling behind it: “It’s nothing. I’m just… moved.”
“I didn’t expect to see Consort Gan again, thanks to your exquisite brushwork.”
Meng Xizhao: “…You’re smiling, but it feels like your eyes are saying you want to burn this painting.”
He paused, then asked: “In your opinion, how close is my portrait to her real appearance?”
Cui Ye looked once more at the figure on the canvas. “Seventy percent. Your style is unique, Erlang, but compared to a master, it still falls short. The likeness is there, but the spirit is not. Gan Jingyue was even more beautiful and proud than your depiction.”
Meng Xizhao blinked, examining the painting himself.
He hummed: “I think I understand now.”
The woman in the painting radiated a formidable presence. Clearly born to a highly distinguished family, with generations of elite ancestry—much like his own mother, daughter of a Duke. Beautiful, talented, proud, adept at household management and poetry, she had lived a life of privilege, judging ordinary matters beneath her notice. Arrogant in appearance, and genuinely so.
…This could be tricky.
Meng Xizhao had intended to capitalize on Consort Gan’s renown, but with her actual appearance known, he needed a new approach.
Shaking his head, he rolled up the canvas, held it over the candlelight, and set it alight. Watching it burn to ashes, he returned to Cui Ye.
Cui Ye: “…It took so long to finish—why burn it?”
Meng Xizhao: “It’s useless now, so it should be burned. Besides, I don’t want an image of such a woman in the room. I’d fear nightmares at night.”
Cui Ye knew it was just a joke, yet he still smiled out of habit. “I thought, Erlang, that when you painted her portrait, you had some other purpose in mind.”
Meng Xizhao’s curiosity piqued. “You think I had some purpose?”
Cui Ye pressed his lips, choosing to voice his guess rather than feign ignorance: “On the second day after the Nanzhao royal palace fell, you specifically separated the ordinary palace staff from those who came from Qi. You even instructed two Qi women to take special care of them. Anyone wishing to see them had to report to you first. With such precautions, I couldn’t help but wonder—perhaps you had some… plans regarding them?”
Meng Xizhao looked at him. “Be clear—strategic plans, not personal intentions.”
Cui Ye smiled gently. “I know. I haven’t misunderstood.”
Meng Xizhao: “…I’m not worried about you misunderstanding either.”
Cui Ye’s smile softened further. “Exactly. Erlang is right.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
In terms of sheer cheek, he could never outmatch Cui Ye. After a pause, Meng Xizhao removed his boots, sat cross-legged on the bed, and explained the matter of the two women.
“I did indeed plan to bring them back to Yingtian Prefecture. Their names are Su Ruocun and Guan Cuimin. The former is not yet eighteen; the latter had lost all her family and spent ten years as labor for the Nanzhao people, bearing a child for them to gain a small measure of freedom. They are both now effectively homeless. After all they’ve suffered, I couldn’t bear to leave them in this place of sorrow, so I thought to help them as much as I could.”
Cui Ye: “……”
He didn’t comment, merely asked, “And then?”
Meng Xizhao continued: “Su Ruocun is quite notable. Do you recall the case involving the embezzlement of disaster relief grain that led to the house of Governor Su being investigated? Su Ruocun was his only daughter. She was extraordinarily beautiful—her appearance alone preserved her life despite being a convict. A year ago, when Longxing Prefecture fell, she lived at the Jiangzhou quarry. Being too close to the conflict, she was captured by the Nanzhao. The moment they saw her, they sent her directly to the Nanzhao royal palace. Luo Mailong, seeing her, was astonished. Such a rare beauty—how could he let her go? He brought her to his eastern palace immediately.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He couldn’t hold back any longer.
Even knowing that Meng Xizhao’s treatment of the two women wasn’t romantic in nine out of ten cases, that one remaining tenth was a gamble he couldn’t risk. He had secretly gone to see them. Having seen them, he could no longer listen calmly.
“Erlang… perhaps you should choose another term. ‘Peerless beauty’… isn’t quite fitting for that girl.”
Skin-and-bone, hardly a model of beauty, yet described as a “peerless beauty”?
Although they say true beauty lies in the bones, not the skin, at this point, her bones made her hardly attractive.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He indignantly retorted: “She hasn’t recovered yet! Once she’s nourished back to health, with some makeup, she’ll certainly be a peerless beauty!”
Cui Ye surrendered. “Fine, fine, continue.”
Meng Xizhao, suppressing an eye-roll, continued with passion:
“Miss Su fared poorly in the Eastern Palace. She is a proud, resolute young woman. Forced to submit to the Nanzhao, she would never do it willingly, often threatening suicide. Luo Mailong couldn’t compel her. But because of her beauty, he ordered his subordinates not to harm her, and so she survived. Every day, she would stand on the high terrace of the Eastern Palace, gazing north toward Yingtian Prefecture, her home and only hope. She wept daily, hoping that Great Qi would come to rescue her. Even Luo Mailong’s best efforts to amuse her were in vain.”
Cui Ye, listening, sensed something amiss. He asked: “Next, Luo Mailong would surely stir up trouble among the princes?”
Meng Xizhao, caught off guard, paused. “…Isn’t that a bit exaggerated?”
Cui Ye nodded firmly: “Nanzhao also has Qi spies, but none could penetrate the palace. Luo Mailong and his father, Zhen Anluo, are closely watched by the Emperor. If your claim were true—that Luo Mailong is deeply in love with Su Ruocun—it would have reached the outside. Yet Great Qi has heard nothing. It’s implausible.”
Meng Xizhao made an “oh” sound, pondering. “Then let’s adjust it: let’s call it the ‘Golden Chamber Concealment.’ Miss Su inspired Luo Mailong’s possessiveness. Fearing her father would reclaim her, he hid her in the Eastern Palace—in a… secret chamber. Only Luo Mailong and two inconspicuous attendants could see her. Most believed she was dead, but in reality, she lived unseen.”
At this, Meng Xizhao’s eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands in excitement. “This explanation works! Luo Mailong has no witnesses—no chance of exposure.”
This time Cui Ye remained silent. Meng Xizhao reflected on further details, then excitedly looked up at him: “So, what do you think—will this backstory capture the Emperor’s attention?”
Cui Ye nodded: “It will.”
Zhen Anluo was Emperor Tianshou’s arch-enemy, and Luo Mailong was his son—the favorite of that enemy. Seeing him so deeply in love with a woman, even unrequited, without anger or force, would certainly pique the Emperor’s curiosity. How beautiful must this woman be to make Luo Mailong lose his composure?
Emperor Tianshou had principles. Unlike some barbarian tribes who, upon conquering another state, would seize the defeated ruler’s harem into their own, he maintained restraint. Such indiscriminate acts would have been utterly scandalous.
But restraint is something shown to others, whereas desire is something revealed to oneself.
A man, by nature, has a beastly side—fighting, seizing, flaunting, marking his conquest with his body—these are all expressions of that instinct. And Su Ruocun was Meng Xizhao’s tailor-made substitute for that instinct.
Consider it: a pure, beautiful woman whose heart leaned toward Great Qi, one no Nanzhao man could ever claim, loyal and unyielding to others, yet gentle as a lamb with him—who wouldn’t be mesmerized?
…
Meng Xizhao had firmly grasped Emperor Tianshou’s psychology, so Cui Ye responded readily: the Emperor would certainly want to meet Miss Su. The question was what would happen afterward.
Cui Ye carefully advised Meng Xizhao, “Father is old. He has no peculiar desires. Regarding young women of moderate beauty, his interest won’t be especially strong.”
Perhaps, due to Luo Mailong, Su Ruocun might be placed in the harem—but that would be it. Once inside, the Emperor would likely forget her almost immediately.
Meng Xizhao simply smiled.
“Your Highness, what do you think men value most in a woman?”
As a Crown Prince who had endured years under Emperor Tianshou’s oppressive oversight, Cui Ye answered without hesitation: “Beauty.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He paused, shaking his head. “It’s personality.”
Meng Xizhao surely knew that Gu Pingting’s appearance was only moderately attractive; even with her body restored, she would never reach the realm of a peerless beauty.
Even if Meng Xizhao planned to experiment with makeup, it wasn’t the cosmetics but the skill that mattered. Without talent, even the finest products couldn’t achieve much.
But Meng Xizhao didn’t care. In his view, makeup and body restoration were merely embellishments—the true priority was cultivating the right atmosphere.
Emperor Tianshou, having seen and experienced much, already had numerous beauties in his harem. None maintained permanent favor. While Consort Gan had captivated him completely, she was not as stunning as Meng Jiaojiao. This showed that his need for beauty was already satiated; what he now sought was a spiritual stimulus.
What would a wealthy, aging man, materially satisfied in every way, truly desire?
That was what Meng Xizhao had to consider.
Six days passed, and on the seventh, Zhang Shuogong prepared the medicinal bath. Meng Xizhao hid behind a screen, waiting as Zhang Shuogong assisted Cui Ye into the bath.
Listening to the water splashing behind the screen, Meng Xizhao pursed his lips. Zhang Shuogong soon stepped out, bowed slightly to Meng Xizhao, and then left the hall.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He hesitated, then approached the screen. The Nanzhao climate was far warmer than Yingtian Prefecture. Aside from the two days when Cui Ye broke out in cold sweat, Meng Xizhao had been using ice almost daily. Since the palace would no longer be in use, he generously emptied the ice cellar, allowing nearly everyone to take some.
Now a basin of ice sat in the hall, giving off a chill, and the medicinal bath itself, for some reason, was cold as well. Luckily, the weather was warm; even soaking in well water wouldn’t pose a problem.
Meng Xizhao paused, then stepped forward, approaching Cui Ye.
Cui Ye leaned against the edge of the bath, back to him, quietly waiting, lost in thought.
Meng Xizhao stepped lightly, unnoticed, until a stool was dragged close, and two arms rested on the rim of the bath. Only then did Cui Ye look over in surprise.
Meng Xizhao half-leaned on the bath, staring at the reddish-black water. “What does this feel like when you soak in it?”
Cui Ye: “……”
He was silent for a while, then said, “Nothing.”
Meng Xizhao: “It doesn’t hurt?”
Cui Ye shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Meng Xizhao was astonished. “But usually, you feel some pain—now even that’s gone?”
Cui Ye hesitated, then focused on the sensation before answering: “It seems… yes, it’s gone.”
Meng Xizhao’s mouth opened slightly. After a moment, he laughed joyfully: “So effective! No pain after the medicinal bath, just as promised! Wonderful, absolutely wonderful…”
Cui Ye watched him, delightedly splashing his hands like a child. After a while, Cui Ye smiled faintly and grasped his hand, still busy stirring the water.
“You’ve worried about me all this time.”
Meng Xizhao looked at him, blinking. “You worried about me for a month—this evens it out.”
Cui Ye disagreed. “A month and six days are hardly comparable. Besides, you only worried I couldn’t withstand the bath, whereas I was worried about…”
He trailed off, letting the thought remain unspoken, lowering his gaze. Meng Xizhao, seeing this, couldn’t sit still. “Then what do you want? Surely you don’t want me worrying in return?”
That was out of the question—six days were already torture enough. If it went any further, Meng Xizhao feared he might go mad.
Cui Ye’s hair, wet and sticking in strands across his forehead, took on a slight curl, giving him an exotic, handsome appearance. Tilting his head, he smiled at Meng Xizhao: “No need. You’re here; I have no strength to rise.”
Meng Xizhao, hearing this, leaned closer, asking, “It’s barely been a while—why lie there?”
In response, a sudden splash sounded: Cui Ye’s hand emerged from the water, pressing against Meng Xizhao’s neck, drawing him ever closer.
The reddish-black medicinal water splashed up, forming a surface almost amber in color, before falling back with countless droplets—some returning to the bath, some scattering across the floor, and some landing on them.
Meng Xizhao tasted a drop of the water—it was bitter, yet slightly sweet, perhaps sweetened with licorice.
The last kiss had been brief and rough; Cui Ye hadn’t remembered the feeling, and Meng Xizhao had left afterward. Over the following days, Cui Ye had been listless, and now, finally, Meng Xizhao could savor the moment properly, making up for the restraint of that day.
He trusted that Cui Ye truly felt no pain anymore.
It was as if his very life had demonstrated what it meant to “heal a wound and forget the pain.”
A man tasting love for the first time, full of vigor, clings to even a hint of sweetness and instinctively masters deeper kissing techniques. With everything settled, Meng Xizhao no longer hesitated; he kissed freely—after all, both were men, and no one would lose out.
But inexperience showed: when his legs went weak and he nearly fell into the bath, Meng Xizhao snapped back to reality, hastily gripping the bath and standing wetly.
Wiping the flushed corners of his lips, he said angrily, “Just soak in your medicinal bath properly!”
Cui Ye glanced at his lip color, feeling slightly unsatisfied, but seeing Meng Xizhao so insistent, he complied, sinking back slightly into the bath. He pressed his lips together, lifting his gaze silently toward Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
They looked at each other for a long while. Finally, Meng Xizhao bent down, cupped Cui Ye’s head, and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.
“Is that enough?”
Cui Ye, with eyes gentle as water, looked back at him. Somehow, he had noticed that Meng Xizhao loved looking into his eyes, often staring until he averted his gaze shyly.
This time, he sought out Meng Xizhao’s eyes deliberately and said in a playful, spoiled tone, “Not enough.”
Meng Xizhao laughed, partly in exasperation, then, resigned, bent down again, giving him another kiss before letting go.
Cui Ye, understanding the need for moderation, didn’t push further. He leaned against the bath, savoring the closeness, and whispered, “I wish every day could be like this.”
Meng Xizhao grabbed a towel, wiping his hands, pausing briefly, and feigning misunderstanding: “Do you mean you want to soak in this cold medicinal bath every day?”
Cui Ye, realizing the teasing, didn’t contradict him. He smiled softly and gazed at the water, though a trace of melancholy lingered in his expression: “As you said, just letting things be is enough.”
Meng Xizhao watched him, a complex emotion rising. Though they had felt so close before, now there seemed to be distance again. Not in heart, but obstacles keeping them apart.
He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
After the medicinal bath, the Crown Prince was well enough to publicly announce his recovery. Preparations began for their return.
All the spoils that could be taken were gathered. Zhen Anluo and his children—every one—were to be brought back to Yingtian Prefecture. Wang Sili and others followed.
Notably, when Meng Xizhao went to fetch Su Ruocun, Lady Guan opened the door. Seeing him, she immediately bowed, then went to call Su Ruocun and helped pack her belongings.
Their interactions had grown closer over just a few days. Whenever Su Ruocun tried to handle something, Lady Guan intervened, taking care of it herself and staying close to her side.
Meng Xizhao glanced at Su Ruocun and gave her an understanding smile, saying nothing, then allowed them to join the returning convoy.
Once everyone was ready, Zhan Buxiu ordered the troops to move.
Zhan Buxiu had been summoned back by Meng Xizhao.
Ding Chun was the main general and couldn’t return casually, but Zhan Buxiu, holding a lower rank, had achieved far more in the campaign against Nanzhao.
It was he who unhorsed the Nanzhao city commander at Jizhou, causing chaos that allowed the city to fall. He had waited for the opportune moment against Crown Prince Luo Mailong, striking decisively to eliminate him. He had infiltrated Ningren Mansion, opened the gates, led troops against Yu Yi’s forces, captured more cities, and seized the royal treasures from fleeing Nanzhao princes.
Having accomplished so much, would it be right not to ask for a reward? Meng Xizhao felt compelled to ensure the Emperor would promote Zhan Buxiu.
He whispered with Zhan Buxiu for a long while before returning to the Crown Prince’s carriage. Their shared life-saving efforts and the victory over Nanzhao had forged an unspoken bond—they no longer needed to pretend unfamiliarity. Even strangers would acknowledge their unity after such experiences.
Once back, Meng Xizhao’s first act was to reach for some snacks. Just as he was about to eat, he realized the Crown Prince was watching him.
Setting the food down, he asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong?”
Cui Ye glanced at him, then toward Zhan Buxiu riding a tall, imposing horse outside. The general, clad in heavy armor, still retained the grace of a heroic youth.
Turning back to Meng Xizhao, Cui Ye smiled faintly—slightly forced, but noticeable: “Nothing. Seeing you converse so well with General Zhan comforts me. Enemies turned allies… like a clever tale from a storyteller. Speaking of which, you’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Even though he was eating a snack, why did it feel like the taste of jealousy he usually only got when eating buns?