When Xiao Yun was led in, he saw Jiang Huaiyi sitting to the side, looking up at him.
He glanced around. No one else was present in the hall.
The two emperors of two nations silently faced each other—one ruling the vast lands of Great Ning, the other from the ancient kingdom of Nanruo.
One was a rising power, the other a steadfast presence of the past. One destined for unmatched glory, the other rooted in history and resilience.
By all rights, they should have been lifelong enemies, wary of each other. But because of one person, they now sat under the same roof.
Xiao Yun knew when to be brash and when to be solemn. He didn’t speak—just quietly looked at him.
Jiang Huaiyi studied him—his expression was not cold, but neither was it warm. Calm and distant, as though all emotions were buried deep below the surface.
After a long silence, Jiang Huaiyi finally stood up and said, “Come with me.”
Xiao Yun blinked, then followed immediately.
Jiang Huaiyi walked past several bookshelves, stopped, and twisted a misty-colored vase set into a groove in the wall. A hidden mechanism slowly turned the shelf aside.
Behind it was not a wall, but an entrance.
Without turning back, Jiang Huaiyi stepped through, lighting a nearby candlestick to illuminate the room.
Xiao Yun looked around. It wasn’t quite a secret chamber—more like a collection room. It was full of carefully arranged and preserved items, displayed neatly on row after row of shelves.
“What is this place?” Xiao Yun asked.
Jiang Huaiyi didn’t answer right away, but his expression subtly shifted. Xiao Yun, who had been casually observing, was struck by how much he looked like a shy young woman experiencing motherhood for the first time.
After a long silence, Jiang Huaiyi finally said, “Everything in here belongs to Huaichu.”
“All of this is Chu Chu’s?!” Xiao Yun, who had looked a bit disinterested before, suddenly lit up with excitement.
“Yes.”
“Can I look around?!”
Jiang Huaiyi’s handsome face darkened slightly. Xiao Yun, reading his mood, was about to take it back when Jiang Huaiyi reluctantly said, “Go ahead.”
Xiao Yun pretended not to notice the unwilling tone masquerading as permission and eagerly pounced on the shelves.
Jiang Huaiyi watched him touch each item, his face growing darker with each one.
Xiao Yun picked up a rattle, eyes full of wonder. “This too?!”
He shook it. Thump, thump. It still worked.
It had been kept in perfect condition—looked almost brand new.
“…Yes.”
“How old was he then?” Xiao Yun shook it again.
“About seven or eight months.”
Xiao Yun was thrilled and reluctant to let go. After finally putting it down, he immediately grabbed a pair of red-and-white fluffy mittens. “What about these?”
Jiang Huaiyi ignored him.
Xiao Yun, oblivious to the irritation on his face, shouted, “These? What about these?!”
Jiang Huaiyi’s temple twitched. “…A year and a half.”
Xiao Yun tried putting his fingers into the little gloves, but could only fit two. He held one glove up and compared it to his own large hand. The glove was only half the size of his palm, and his heart instantly melted.
“His hands were that small back then? He must’ve been so, so adorable.”
“Of course,” Jiang Huaiyi responded without thinking. Realizing what he said, his expression froze, and he turned around and walked ahead without looking back.
“This one? How old was he when he used this?”
“Don’t walk away! Wait!”
“This one’s so cute.”
“Was this… was this the first time Chuchu ever wrote something? His handwriting was already this neat?”
“Why are there so many worn-out little shoes? Was Chuchu super active as a child?”
…
No one responded to Xiao Yun, yet he kept chattering on. Jiang Huaiyi’s face darkened further and further. So noisy, he thought. How does Huaichu even put up with him?
He walked faster and faster.
No one was watching Xiao Yun, so he played his way down the aisle. By the time Jiang Huaiyi turned around to look at him again, Xiao Yun’s arms were full of little Huai Chu’s things—his fetal hair, his snow-white baby clothes, the first wolf-hair brush he broke while learning to write…
Everything Xiao Yun didn’t take off the shelves was now crooked and out of place from him touching it all.
A vein bulged on Jiang Huaiyi’s forehead. Remembering he was the one who told Xiao Yun he could look around freely, he had to take several deep breaths to suppress his anger.
“Are you done playing?”
“No wonder Chuchu is so cute now—he was adorable even as a baby—” Xiao Yun turned toward Jiang Huaiyi, and the wonder and excitement on his face vanished instantly. Without changing expression, he began putting everything back on the shelves one by one. Still, he couldn’t help saying,
“How is this so complete? Even his fetal hair…”
Before he could finish, he sensed something and looked at Jiang Huaiyi, who had already sat down. Xiao Yun’s gaze gradually filled with disbelief.
Don’t tell me Jiang Huaiyi… kept all of this himself?
That odd moment of blushing.
Jiang Huaiyi noticed Xiao Yun’s stare and thought how improper, but his eyes slowly dropped, and he turned his face away.
What’s so surprising? Hasn’t he seen the world?
A strange silence hung in the air. After a long while, Xiao Yun finally said, sincerely, “I get now why you’re so angry. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t know. I thought you were just an ordinary older brother—I didn’t know you raised him all by yourself.”
He had always resented Jiang Huaiyi for meddling too much, but he’d been wrong. Jiang Huaiyi wasn’t just a brother; he was more like a father. And even most fathers wouldn’t go to such lengths. No wonder he was so strict with Jiang Huaichu—it wasn’t just protective affection, but the unquestionable authority of a guardian.
This was Nanruo, where propriety and family structure were paramount. In an ordinary noble clan, Jiang Huaiyi would’ve been like the patriarch—responsible for raising and guiding the younger generation.
And Xiao Yun… really wasn’t much of a proper person.
Jiang Huaiyi was a little surprised that an emperor like Xiao Yun could apologize so easily, with no regard for his pride. He just said it—sincerely, without hesitation.
Honestly speaking, Jiang Huaiyi didn’t think he could’ve done the same.
His expression eased slightly.
“You’re twenty-five, and Chuchu’s only eighteen…” Xiao Yun paused, surprised. “So you started raising him when you were only seven or eight?”
Jiang Huaiyi replied calmly, “Two years later than that.”
Silence fell again. Xiao Yun recalled some vague rumors he’d heard before and suddenly went quiet. This man who was usually so glib didn’t know what to say for a moment. After a long pause, he finally asked, “Then Chuchu’s parents…”
“Dead,” Jiang Huaiyi said.
Even though he had already guessed, hearing the words still made Xiao Yun’s heart drop.
The beautiful illusion of brotherly harmony hid a much darker truth.
The emperor of Nanruo and Duan Wang were not born of the same mother. Jiang Huaiyi’s mother was the empress; Jiang Huaichu’s mother was a noble consort from a prestigious family.
Xiao Yun didn’t respond.
Jiang Huaiyi continued blandly, “The late emperor was licentious. He died on his own bed. Huaichu’s mother fell out of favor because of Huaichu and died of sorrow when he was just two.”
Xiao Yun’s eyes widened in shock.
These were secrets from the Nanruo royal family. All he knew was that the late emperor was a rare debauched tyrant in the country’s long history, who died young in the arms of women. As for Duan Wang’s mother, he only knew she died of illness when Wangye was two. The cause and effect had never been clear.
Xiao Yun asked, “She fell out of favor… because of Huaichu?”
Jiang Huaiyi looked at him steadily.
“Did you know Huaichu couldn’t walk until he was three?”
Xiao Yun was stunned, unable to believe what he was hearing. “What?!”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Xiao Yun shook his head.
“I figured,” Jiang Huaiyi said. “He only ever tells people the good things.”
He looked toward the rows of shelves.
“All those worn-out little shoes you saw—those were from when he secretly taught himself how to walk.”
“He was born fond of water, could swim, white as jade and unbelievably cute. He could talk by seven or eight months. Everyone said he was Nanruo’s little lucky star. But a few months later, his father and mother realized that although his body was clearly healthy, he still couldn’t walk. His legs were weak. He couldn’t even stand. At one year old, nothing. One and a half—still the same. By two…”
Jiang Huaiyi recited the timeline with a flat tone, and Xiao Yun’s brows furrowed deeper and deeper.
“The late emperor was superstitious. Coupled with some rumors, he saw it as an ominous sign. From then on, he ignored both the consort and the child. For a whole year, they never saw him once. The consort, seeing her child crawling alone on the bed day after day, couldn’t bear it anymore and… lost her mind. She jumped into a well.”
A sharp ache bloomed in Xiao Yun’s chest.
Jiang Huaiyi said, “The first time I met him alone, it left a deep impression. He was all alone, no one cared for him. In a gray, dusty palace, he was holding onto a railing, taking steps by himself. He fell, got up again, fell, and got up again. His knees were scr*ped, his feet bloody. But he didn’t cry, didn’t make a sound. Just kept going, over and over again.”
“Can you imagine a child just over one year old like that?” Jiang Huaiyi’s eyes carried hidden pain. He took a deep breath. “It was because of that moment that I decided to raise him.”
In Jiang Huaiyi’s understated description, Xiao Yun could almost picture the scene.
A child as exquisitely adorable and naturally gifted as jade and snow, had lost something even more important than looks or intelligence—healthy legs and parental love.
What kind of loneliness and despair must that have been?
Maybe Jiang Huaichu didn’t understand it at the time, but he had already felt it.
Xiao Yun was silent.
Suddenly, he understood why he loved Jiang Huaichu.
He loved everything about him—but the true origin was their kindred souls.
Both had awakened their sense of self through solitude, had defeated their inner shadows through hardship, and had taken charge of their lives out of necessity—becoming the masters of their own fate.
Jiang Huaiyi said: “Do you know how the late emperor really died?”
Xiao Yun looked at him.
So it wasn’t like the rumors said—dying in a woman’s arms?
Jiang Huaiyi said: “Do you remember the woman who let you into the city?”
Xiao Yun nodded.
He meant the woman who had stayed by Jiang Huaichu’s side in Northern Ning.
Jiang Huaiyi said: “She was one of the late emperor’s favored consorts. She poisoned him.”
Xiao Yun’s face showed utter shock. “Why?”
That explained how she could secretly let him into the city. She had done far more astonishing things.
Jiang Huaiyi said: “She was a pipa musician from Jiangzhou. She never cared for imperial favor. She was taken by force by the late emperor and only lived for her own freedom. Wealth and luxury meant nothing to her. She saw how hard Huaichu and I were living and took pity on us. That’s why she poisoned the emperor. Once I ascended the throne, life became easier for us. That’s why, before her death, my royal mother told me: no matter what happens in the future, protect Taifei.”
“She’s that kind of person. It’s not surprising she liked you.”
Xiao Yun listened quietly.
Jiang Huaiyi then explained everything about Jiang Huaichu’s body.
Even though Xiao Yun had already guessed most of it, hearing it laid out so plainly still left him with a lump in his throat.
Everything that made Jiang Huaichu so moving came at the price of pain and blood.
“So he couldn’t stand at first because of his bloodline?”
Jiang Huaiyi gave a low “Mm.” “But he used his own effort to stand up. Even when everyone else either mocked him, pitied him, or told him to give up—including me. I told him: your older brother will take care of you. He just smiled, kissed me, and continued training the next day.”
“Later, the old master of Miluo Manor—your great-grandfather—searched through ancient texts and said: if he hadn’t learned to walk in those early years, once his bones set, he’d never stand for life. Do you understand what that means?”
Jiang Huaiyi’s words were sharp, stabbing Xiao Yun straight through the heart. Alongside the heaviness rose overwhelming pride.
It was Jiang Huaichu who didn’t give up on himself.
It was Jiang Huaichu who saved himself.
This kind of person—he would be his, always.
Jiang Huaiyi said: “So now, when he does things that seem rebellious, I think back, and I’m not surprised. He only looks obedient on the surface. He’s always been stubborn. He doesn’t care what others say. Once he’s decided on something, he’s relentless, willing to give anything.”
“Xiao Yun,” Jiang Huaiyi looked at him, eyes filled with a complex, indescribable envy, then let out a breath, “you are what he’s relentless about.”
