Halfway through the meal, Xiao Yun called Xie Caiqing to take the memorials from the Imperial Study back to the bedchamber.
As soon as the others left, Xiao Yun threw down his chopsticks, looked around, and dumped his rice out the window. When he returned, his bowl was completely empty. He lounged back in his chair and pointed to the table full of food. “Commander, I invited you to eat. You better eat it all for me!”
“…” Xie Zhe’s expression froze.
Xiao Yun, stuffed full of greasy food, felt sick. He took a few sips of lukewarm tea from Fu An, which helped a bit.
He set the teacup down and, seeing that Xie Zhe still hadn’t moved, clapped his hands to urge him on. “Come on, come on! He’ll be back any moment! You can do it, Commander!”
Under Xiao Yun’s supervision, the Commander ate bite after painful bite, finally finishing just before Xie Caiqing returned.
When Xie Caiqing came back, most of the dishes on the table were gone, and Xiao Yun’s bowl was completely empty.
“You’re back?” Xiao Yun scooped a ladle of the thick, rich meat soup into his bowl and took a large sip. Satisfied, he said, “This soup is great too. Try it, Commander.”
Xie Zhe: “…”
He looked down at his now round, bloated belly and felt too greasy to even speak. It seemed like if he opened his mouth, oil would pour out. He barely managed to wave his hand, indicating that he was full and satisfied.
Xie Caiqing smiled. “As long as Your Majesty and the Commander enjoyed it.”
Xiao Yun said, “No need to make these again. I like them, but they’re too much trouble—”
Xie Caiqing insisted, “This humble subject doesn’t mind the trouble.”
Xiao Yun said firmly, “A top scholar wasting time cooking for me like a kitchen servant—it’s beneath you. If others hear about it, they’ll say I’m like a cow chewing on peonies, wasting talent. It’s not that I dislike your food. I want you to do more meaningful work, use your talents properly.”
Xie Caiqing finally relaxed, though he still looked a little nervous. “I’ll follow Your Majesty’s orders in all things.”
Xiao Yun secretly let out a breath of relief.
So did Xie Zhe.
Xiao Yun said, “I’ll return to the bedchamber to review the memorials. Top Scholar, come later.”
When Xie Caiqing heard “bedchamber,” and thought of the phrase use one’s talents properly, he froze for a second, then replied calmly, “Yes.”
In truth, he wished Xiao Yun would hurry up. He was just curious—how would Xiao Yun manage to “send himself over” so naturally, like he had once forced Xie Caiqing to do?
Back then, Xiao Yun had made things difficult and nearly had him killed. Now that the roles were reversed, Xie Caiqing planned to make him work for it.
He wanted to see exactly what kind of scheming, manipulative heart the Emperor of Great Ning possessed when it came to romance—and figure out exactly where he’d lost the last time.
Once the Emperor slipped away, Xie Zhe remained in his seat, letting out greasy burps. He felt like the oil was about to seep out of his pores and gnashed his teeth in anger.
Xie Caiqing exchanged a few polite words with him and left. Once alone, he burst out laughing, unable to hold it back.
I knew there was no way Xiao Yun would eat that himself.
….
In the bedchamber, Xiao Yun was lazily playing with a bird while a young eunuch read memorials aloud. He flipped one open, then suddenly stopped, blushing furiously.
“Why aren’t you reading?” Xiao Yun said impatiently.
“Your Majesty, you’d better read this one yourself,” the eunuch stammered. “I’ll move on to the next, shall I?”
Xiao Yun paused, then chuckled knowingly. “Qian Sisheng’s memorial?”
“Yes,” the eunuch replied with a red face. “He even slipped in a picture album…”
Xiao Yun laughed, his expression calm. “All right, leave it there. I’ll look at it myself later.”
The eunuch let out a sigh of relief.
Nearby, the palace maids, hearing who the memorial was from, all blushed.
Qian Sisheng was famously sycophantic and obsequious. His original name was Qian Yi, but to express his admiration for the Emperor—despite disgracing his ancestors—he changed it to “Qian Sisheng” (“Qian Thinks of the Sage”).
The Emperor didn’t dislike ambitious or self-serving men. In his words, knowing what one wants and taking action is a hundred times better than those who are timid, fear judgment, and always follow the crowd. So he tolerated Qian and judged him by his talents.
And Qian Sisheng did have some real skills.
He wasn’t a good official—corrupt, lecherous, and constantly denounced—but his talent for erotic poetry was unparalleled. Every brothel in the capital paid handsomely for his lyrics and compositions, and he was more than happy to oblige. Not only could he sing, play instruments, and compose, but he also wrote steamy stories and painted risqué pictures—handsome men, beautiful women, never repeating a pose, with endless variety and eye-popping creativity.
It was said that Qian Sisheng had been dismissed from office and stayed at home for several years, during which he devoted himself to the study of bedroom arts—and this claim was no exaggeration.
He even provided enlightenment to young men and women, composing a number of manuals on bedroom matters that catered to different stages and levels of experience. These became widely popular in the capital.
When sons and daughters were about to get married, parents would discreetly slip them a copy of Qian Sisheng’s books, thus sparing themselves the awkwardness of offering personal advice.
The decadent, indulgent atmosphere that pervaded the capital could almost be said to have originated with Qian Sisheng.
The newly initiated all respectfully addressed him as “Master.”
Each month, Qian Sisheng submitted a memorial to the Emperor as a routine practice.
Since His Majesty disliked reading text—complaining that it was tiring—Qian Sisheng drew instead.
His memorials were vividly illustrated, unlike anything else in the realm. The content was far more refined, novel, and exquisite than anything circulating among the common folk. The Emperor always accepted them without comment, treating them as entertainment.
“Keep reading, and read faster,” Xiao Yun said impatiently.
The young eunuch began to read two more memorials. As Xiao Yun played with his bird, he noticed Xie Caiqing entering through the hall doors. His hand paused mid-motion, and his eyes flicked to the memorial the eunuch had just set down. The corners of his mouth curved upward silently.
As soon as Xie Caiqing entered, Xiao Yun glanced at him and said casually, “Let the top scholar read. This eunuch doesn’t understand it and stumbles over the words.”
Xie Caiqing was momentarily taken aback, but replied gently, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The young eunuch let out a sigh of relief. If he read too slowly or made mistakes, the Emperor would scold him harshly. Yet many military officials, in an effort to appear more brawn than brain, deliberately wrote memorials full of obscure characters and convoluted phrasing—taking a simple point and burying it in ambiguity, as if afraid people might actually understand and realize how simple-minded they were.
Reading these memorials was truly a miserable task.
The eunuch quickly stepped aside, and Xie Caiqing casually picked up a memorial from one of the two stacks.
Xiao Yun’s brush, which he had been using to tease his bird, accidentally poked it in the face.
The bird flapped its wings in protest.
The brush stayed there, unmoving.
Xiao Yun, leaning by the window, turned to look.
It was a memorial from a military official. After glancing at it, Xie Caiqing’s expression changed subtly, and the corners of his lips stiffened slightly.
Xiao Yun, slightly regretful that he hadn’t picked up “that one,” asked patiently, “Are there words you don’t recognize? Just skip them. They only put those in to show off their vocabulary anyway.”
Xie Caiqing stared silently at the pages, filled top to bottom with obscure characters, for a long while without speaking.
The eunuch he had replaced watched gleefully—had he hesitated that long, the Emperor would’ve torn into him already. But now, no matter how long he waited, the Emperor was all warmth and grace toward the top scholar, as if he were a different person.
The eunuch was utterly bewildered.
Then Xie Caiqing began to read. His voice was elegant and clear, his pronunciation precise and articulate.
Though the memorial’s arguments were shallow, overly idealistic, and emotionally driven—of no practical use—they were at least well-organized and easy to understand.
Xiao Yun, grasping the points with no effort at all, asked curiously, “Whose memorial is this? So thoughtfully written?”
“…It’s from Lord Zhang Kui.”
“….” Xiao Yun’s face darkened the moment he heard the name.
Zhang Kui was a crude brute, originally a blacksmith, now a battlefield brawler. He was illiterate and had spent years struggling to learn. He became obsessed with rare characters and complex phrases. His memorials were utterly incomprehensible. After Xiao Yun cursed him out several times, he ordered Zhang Kui to stop writing memorials and speak to him directly instead. But Zhang Kui was stubborn—he increased his submissions and seemed determined to walk this path of literary darkness to the end.
Xiao Yun glanced lazily at Xie Caiqing and chuckled, “So it was the top scholar looking out for me.”
Xie Caiqing blushed slightly. “It is my duty, Your Majesty.”
Xiao Yun continued, “You must find it funny. I can’t understand his writing, but you explain it so clearly.”
Xie Caiqing replied, “Your Majesty flatters me. I am but humbly educated, merely capable of basic interpretation. My skills are no match for Lord Zhang or Your Majesty’s ability to gain true understanding through action.”
The palace maids thought to themselves: the top scholar truly is humble and respectful, his speech flawless. Stealing glances at him, their faces turned pink.
Though the Emperor seemed easy to approach, he was actually distant and detached. With a harem full of beauties and a cold nature, he was nothing like the top scholar—dignified and disciplined. If he were to marry, he would surely be attentive and respectful. Even with multiple wives, he would never neglect the old for the new.
By comparison, the top scholar seemed the better choice.
Especially now that he was favored by the Emperor and rising quickly—success was only a matter of time.
Xie Caiqing read a few more memorials.
When he opened a new one, he would pause briefly, skim it quickly, mentally organize the content, and then explain it aloud.
Though this process took a little extra time upfront, the result was a clear, concise summary with excellent structure—far more efficient than the eunuch reading word-for-word.
Xiao Yun could even amuse himself with his bird or sip tea while he prepared.
He glanced at the focused Xie Caiqing and clicked his tongue softly in appreciation.
His judgment really was sharp—he served multiple roles: a capable official by day, a beloved companion by night.
But why hadn’t he picked up that memorial yet?
He needed to get through these faster.
As Xie Caiqing continued reading, he was quietly amazed by how swiftly and decisively Xiao Yun replied, rarely pausing.
Xiao Yun’s approach to governance was utterly different from his imperial brother’s. He focused only on the essentials, discarding the minutiae. He didn’t strive for perfection—only for feasibility. Thus, he consistently hit the mark, grasping the core of each issue in just a few words, solving problems at their root.
His perspective was unique, never a mere echo of others. Though his ideas could seem outrageous at first, they often revealed surprising insight upon deeper thought. Though seemingly without order, his methods were the most effective—ruthless yet balanced, cutting through excess with clean precision.
He had none of his brother’s constant weighing of consequences.
And he was unlike Xie Caiqing himself.
Xie Caiqing preferred careful deliberation, thorough research, and perfectionism. He avoided uncertain ventures and strove for flawless execution. As a result, his work was often thorough and polished—but slow and exhausting, with low efficiency.
Xie Caiqing’s heart sank with gravity as he fixed his gaze ahead.
Such a person—regardless of whether he would become an enemy in the future—must be thoroughly understood. He needed to search for flaws in his thinking, for fatal weaknesses. Only then might he be able to protect Nanruo from future threats.
Know your enemy and know yourself, and you will never be defeated.
Xie Caiqing could be endangered—but Nanruo could not. And most of all, neither could his imperial brother.
He absentmindedly opened a memorial at his side. His face, which had cooled slightly, flushed bright red the instant he saw its contents.
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