Elite soldiers followed behind.
Xiao Yun held the reins, riding toward the palace, but in his mind, the scene from earlier kept replaying…
—
Xiao Yun had jumped down from the carriage. The loyal guards from Nanruo drew their blades and edged in, eyes fierce and bloodshot, tightening their encirclement.
They were clearly elite, trained for years, all skilled in combat, showing no fear toward him. They only advanced, not retreating, their eyes burning with madness.
As if convinced their master had already been harmed and they must take revenge.
Tension crackled. Weapons gleamed on all sides.
Xiao Yun held a dagger in hand, smiling lazily. Alone among enemies, he remained calm, ready to fight at any moment.
After all, they were now enemies. He had kept his word to let Xie Caiqing go. Xie Caiqing might not return the favor.
It didn’t matter. It’s not like he couldn’t escape.
He kept his promise because he wanted to—not because of Xie Caiqing.
From inside the carriage, Xie Caiqing spoke: “It’s fine. Let him go.”
Xiao Yun looked back at the carriage.
The guards, hearing their master’s voice, finally relaxed. Still wary, they stepped aside, some shielding the carriage, others surrounding Xiao Yun at a distance, blades still drawn, watching closely as he moved away.
One of his own men brought him a horse. Xiao Yun vaulted onto it and said coolly, “Let’s go.”
He didn’t look back. Riding on horseback, the tips of his hair flying, he appeared free and unrestrained.
In his entire life, he had never lingered anywhere for long.
From the day he was born, he was the crown prince. He thought that under the protection of that title, he could live a life of ease and idleness, never needing to accomplish anything. Maybe one day, when his old man passed away, he could rise even higher and become emperor, continuing to run amok under a loftier title, bringing chaos and calamity to the nation.
But just as he began to form memories—barely able to remember his mother’s face—she died, gone like a snuffed-out lamp. And the father who had once doted on him changed overnight, becoming a stranger.
All because of an utterly absurd rumor.
The grand, opulent palace with everything one could desire turned into a bleak, cold, and dark little room. The gentle, beautiful palace maids became harsh and sharp-tongued old eunuchs.
He remembered being taken to see his royal mother one last time. She held his hand; once graceful, dignified, and regal—now wrapped in death’s pallor. She clutched him weakly and whispered, “Yun Er, I was wrong. Everyone said your royal mother was kind, but now I understand: kindness that cannot distinguish right from wrong is nothing but cruelty. If I hadn’t followed your royal father so blindly, listening to no one else, I wouldn’t have dragged you down with me. It was I who ruined your life.”
She wept.
“In the future, you must be someone who is clear-eyed and cautious. Be stingy with your emotions. Play with those who offer you false affections, and risk everything only for the few who truly care for you.”
“Don’t let your kindness become their burden.”
Xiao Yun couldn’t understand much, only nodded tearfully.
His mother smiled faintly. “Your royal father is heartless, but don’t be like him. He met someone who truly loved him—me—so of course you will meet someone too. Don’t lose faith in this world. No matter how hard it gets, when you find her, treat her well. Don’t let her down. Don’t make her suffer like your royal mother did. But also, don’t let anyone lead you by the nose. I am selfish—I just want you to be free, unbound by love and sorrow, and always true to yourself, free and happy.”
Xiao Yun cried and nodded solemnly.
Then she was gone.
He understood very early in life: the world is fickle, and change is the only constant.
Nothing lasts forever.
So he adopted a careless, cynical attitude toward everything—treating life like a game, turning suffering into stepping stones for promotion.
Maybe he truly didn’t care. Maybe, as his mother said, he stood half-in and half-out, maintaining a rare clarity. Somewhere along the way, he won the game. And he watched others—entrenched, consumed—lose everything, sobbing in defeat.
That’s why he never cherished anything he had.
Food—no matter how delicious, he wasn’t impressed; if it wasn’t, he didn’t complain. Lodging—he’d lived in worse places for years and still enjoyed himself, so what was there to be picky about? People around him—if they were fake but entertaining, he treated them like business transactions. After all, he had a bad temper, and it wasn’t easy to please him. He gave rewards freely when amused and discarded people without hesitation when bored. There was no sentimentality—just out with the old and in with the new.
He used to tell Xie Zhe that he didn’t particularly care about being emperor—it was just what he was best at and found the easiest to do.
Xie Zhe would twitch at the corners of his mouth, barely restraining himself from cursing.
But it was true.
And slowly, he earned a reputation for being cold-hearted and ruthless.
When Xie Zhe teased him, he just laughed. “These people have nothing better to do than gossip.”
Anyone who lives as they please will always look heartless.
He knew who he was—that was enough.
He thought he’d never fall. Others fell for him, pledged their lives to him. But then he met this little thing and fell—hard, humiliatingly so.
He never believed in safe harbors. He was his own shelter.
A fleeting moment of happiness—and then he’d move on, his path still radiant. The journey was long, only now it no longer included Xie Caiqing.
He was still that Xiao Yun—dismissive of everything and everyone.
How could the Emperor of Great Ning be so pathetic over a mere trifle?
Part ways gracefully, preserve dignity, and give his past self some closure.
Xiao Yun made up his mind: he would never look back.
And as he rode on horseback, he indeed didn’t. Not once did he glance back at the road he had traveled.
Until a hair-thin poisoned needle shot toward his back.
Xiao Yun sneered. With a flick of his finger, the spring-loaded dart mechanism on his right sleeve clicked into place. He didn’t turn around. He casually pointed the arrow at the person inside the carriage.
His poisoned arrow would reach faster than Xie Caiqing’s needle.
Though his heart ached faintly, his hand was steady. Xiao Yun’s expression was icy. His finger tightened slightly—ready to fire.
But then, a scream rang out behind him.
Two poisoned needles shot out from the carriage. One knocked the incoming needle away from his back. The other struck a nearby trusted aide in the wrist.
The man’s previously normal right hand swelled and turned black in an instant. Screaming in pain, he fell to the ground, writhing. The needles clutched in his hand scattered on the ground.
It had been a betrayal—his own aide had tried to poison him. Not Xie Caiqing.
Xie Caiqing had saved him?
Stunned, Xiao Yun turned and looked at the carriage.
From within, a cool voice spoke: “Let’s go.”
Holding the reins, Xiao Yun stared after the receding carriage. He smacked his lips, not quite sure what he was feeling. His handsome face darkened for a moment before he laughed freely: “Let’s go.”
…
Back at the palace, after furiously berating the commander, Xiao Yun finally felt better.
Kneeling below, Xie Zhe looked downcast. “Your Majesty, I deserve death. Even if Your Majesty were to kill me, I would have no complaints.”
“Alright, alright, stop pretending,” Xiao Yun waved him off impatiently. “Go take your fifty lashes, then go home and rest. Don’t hover around me—annoying.”
Suppressing a smile, Xie Zhe bowed respectfully: “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your grace.”
The ones doing the flogging were all Changling guards—his own men. The fifty strikes were more of a performance, meant to show the court officials that His Majesty had delivered a heavy punishment.
After Xie Zhe left, Xiao Yun sat at his desk and suddenly felt at a loss.
“Yin Xian!”
Yin Xian, holding a cup of tea, quickly entered and asked obsequiously, “What are Your Majesty’s orders?”
Xiao Yun frowned. “At this time of day, what do I usually do?”
“…Sleeping with Xie Caiqing.”
“….” Xiao Yun’s face darkened. “I meant before that!”
Yin Xian wanted to slap himself. It was almost time for morning court. He thought hard and said, “Usually, Your Majesty would wake early. If you couldn’t sleep, you’d get up to feed the birds for a while.”
Since he couldn’t fall asleep anyway, Xiao Yun said, “Let’s go. I’ll check on my birds.”
“At once!” Yin Xian replied with a smile.
When they arrived at the corridor where the palace attendants used to let him play with his birds, Xiao Yun stood with hands on hips, frowning. “Why are there only a few left?”
The bird cages hanging under the eaves, once numbering thirty or forty, were now down to a mere three or four. The birds, once colorful and varied, were now uniformly snow white.
Yin Xian stayed silent.
“I asked you a question!” Xiao Yun said impatiently.
When the emperor shouted, his voice carried immense pressure. Yin Xian shuddered and had no choice but to answer with trepidation, “Your… Your Majesty is busy with important matters. About ten days ago, you were worried the birds would disturb Xie Caiqing’s rest in the morning, so you had this humble servant send most of them to the Commander’s Residence. Only a few favorites were left behind—”
Seeing the emperor’s face darken, Yin Xian wisely shut his mouth.
Xiao Yun stared at the few lonely, snow-white birds. A vein on his forehead twitched. After a moment of silence, he said, “Send these ones to the Commander’s Residence too.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
Xiao Yun flung his sleeves and turned back toward the bedchamber. At the far end of the corridor, a young eunuch came walking over with a birdcage in hand. Upon seeing the emperor, he bowed immediately. “Peace and blessings to Your Majesty.”
Yin Xian gave him a look.
The eunuch was confused.
“His Majesty is wise and mighty, his merits shine for all eternity!”
Xiao Yun halted, his gaze dropping to the only brightly colored bird in the corridor—inside the cage the eunuch was carrying.
The bird hadn’t seen Xiao Yun in a long time. Now that it finally had, its beady black eyes sparkled and it bobbed its head enthusiastically. “His Majesty is wise and mighty, his merits shine for all eternity!”
Xiao Yun’s face darkened. “Send it to the Commander’s Residence too!”
Wiping the sweat off his brow, Yin Xian nodded vigorously.
The bird, unaware of human words, was thrilled to finally see its master and kept bobbing its head with all its might: “His Majesty is wise and mighty, his glory eternal!”
“His Majesty is wise and mighty, his glory eternal!”
Yin Xian wished he could shove his hand into the cage and cover the bird’s mouth.
…
The top scholar had vanished into thin air. The Emperor of Nanruo had returned to his kingdom. Xie Zhe had been flogged fifty times and was now bedridden at home. Old Master Liu’s expression grew increasingly unreadable. Over the past three days, the Emperor had moved up court times earlier and earlier, to the point that they were now nearly held at dawn. Just a month ago, he’d still been showing up barely before noon.
The ministers didn’t question it. After all, being a court official meant mastering the art of turning a deaf ear and a blind eye. Curiosity and inquisitiveness in this place were tantamount to courting death.
Outside the imperial bedchamber, Yin Xian sighed.
His Majesty’s mood over the past three days had been like a collapsing avalanche—getting worse by the day. On the first day, he had still been carefree and jubilant, like a fish back in water, like a horse freed from reins, gleefully trying out all the hobbies he had abandoned over the past month. But things quickly took a turn for the worse. Each time he went out excitedly, he came back with a stormy face.
Yin Xian didn’t even need to guess. He probably saw those two lively black-and-white ponies while out riding, remembered how he used to spar with the top scholar at the training grounds, or glimpsed a sword and thought of how he once taught the scholar to wield it.
Any whiff of incense reminded him of the sachet gifted by the scholar. Anything white brought to mind the scholar’s robes. Any belt ornament recalled the jade he had once given him.
During meals, he remembered how the scholar used to sit across and eat with quiet precision. In the inner chamber, he remembered how he had once kept the scholar hidden like a treasured jewel. Discussing the autumn taxes with the Ministry of Revenue reminded him how he had once handed over the key to his private treasury to the scholar.
Yin Xian shook his head.
He’d spent the past three days carting items to the Commander’s Residence—everything that might remind His Majesty of the top scholar, like the birds, had been moved there.
That place must be overflowing by now.
Yesterday, the Emperor had attended the funeral of an official’s 90-year-old mother and came back just as gloomy.
Yin Xian was puzzled. They had clearly instructed everyone beforehand not to wear white and to switch to black. Why was His Majesty still upset? After some subtle probing, the Emperor had said: seeing black felt odd, and when he thought about why—it was because mourning attire should be white. White…
Yin Xian was at his wits’ end.
Just as he was sighing about when this torment would end, the door suddenly opened. Xiao Yun stood there in his underclothes, bare-chested, eyes shadowed with sleeplessness, expression gloomy, like a storm was brewing. The little maid next to him trembled in fear.
Yin Xian said awkwardly, “Your Majesty, it’s too early now. The court officials are probably just falling asleep. Perhaps you could wait another two hours before holding court?”
“Who said I was going to court!”
His voice cracked like thunder. The young eunuch flinched like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Only Yin Xian had the nerve to ask, “Then… does Your Majesty wish to do something for fun?”
Xiao Yun fell silent for a long moment, then said, “I’ll go sleep at the Commander’s Residence.”
Yin Xian’s heart skipped a beat. Before he could stop him, the Emperor had already grabbed his robe and stormed out.
Cursing his luck, Yin Xian quickly followed.
When they arrived at the Commander’s Residence, the place was brightly lit. Shadows moved about inside—no one had gone to sleep. Xiao Yun was delighted, thinking, so Xie Zhe really is two-faced. Looks all peaceful and quiet, but he’s still awake this late? Place must be buzzing, probably hosting some feast with flutes and dancing girls.
He stepped inside—and Xie Zhe came out to greet him, fully dressed and proper.
Xiao Yun thought to himself, As expected, and said with a smile, “Still not asleep this late? Commander, you must be in good health.”
Xie Zhe replied, “If Your Majesty keeps thinking about the top scholar, this humble official’s health will be the one to suffer.”
Yin Xian was shocked.
Xiao Yun’s face darkened abruptly. “Why bring him up? What do you mean by that?”
Xie Zhe had heavy dark circles under his eyes. “Your Majesty, my residence is only so big. Since Xie Caiqing moved into your outer residence, you sent all twenty-some birds from there to my place for me to care for. About ten days ago, another thirty-some birds were sent from the palace. Three days ago, another five or six arrived. In the past three days, the Imperial Horse Bureau sent two large horses and two ponies. They were too delicate to tolerate my humble home. Not to mention your snow-white dogs, cats, and little foxes—those were all sent to me too. Your Majesty enjoys the bustle, but I prefer peace and quiet. These animals are far too noisy. At night, they keep calling and barking, no one in my whole household can sleep.”
Yin Xian turned away, his shoulders shaking.
“Neigh—”
Just then, a loud whinny echoed skyward.
“…” Xiao Yun’s face turned green then pale. “You dare complain about a favor bestowed by your emperor?”
Xie Zhe looked exhausted. “How would I dare? But my house is small and truly can’t support such beloved pets. I fear neglecting them. Your Majesty, it would be best to take them back soon. Or perhaps, distribute the royal favor more evenly—share them with other officials, so I can at least catch my breath.”
Xiao Yun’s face turned black. “…We’ll speak again tomorrow.”
He turned and walked into the inner room. Xie Zhe followed. Perhaps he had truly had enough these days, for he dared say anything: “Your Majesty, please hear me. Thinking of Xie Caiqing and moving things around won’t help—because he’s in your heart.”
“Shut up,” Xiao Yun’s anger flared. He sneered, “Me? Miss him? He’s in my heart? Since when did you become so nauseatingly sentimental? Who doesn’t need a little time to get over someone after breaking up? It’s just a habit. Who knew he’d cling like a ghost?”
“Yes, yes.” Xie Zhe replied weakly.
His Majesty was full of energy, but those around him were probably being tormented half to death over this breakup. Xie Zhe and Yin Xian exchanged glances for the first time, feeling genuine mutual sympathy.
The servants finished tidying up, and Xiao Yun and Xie Zhe laid on the same bed.
Back in their youth at the border, they often slept on the grass, listening to the synchronized “shua-shua” of armor when the army mobilized, looking up at the starry sky and chatting about their life goals.
One was a deposed crown prince, the other a criminal’s son. Though they had much in common, they never once complained—only talked about the present, not the past or the future.
Later, one became emperor, the other a high-ranking official. People always said emperors were heartless—this one especially—but all these years, their friendship had endured.
Xie Zhe slept on the outer side. With no one else in the room, after a while, he quietly asked, “Your Majesty, is there something on your mind you want to share?”
After waiting for a long while with no reply, Xie Zhe laughed softly: “Your Majesty, I know. He doesn’t miss you, but you’re still thinking about him. Isn’t that kind of pathetic?”
“Your Majesty, you’ve already let him go. It’s normal to take time to move on.”
His tone softened, taking the role of a friend as he gently said, “If it really doesn’t work, maybe it’s time to marry and have children. Once you start a family, your heart will settle. I’m being honest—you’re too idle. That’s why you keep dwelling on it. You’re not even the clingy type.”
Trying to persuade him to choose an empress and have heirs was something that would please everyone. If the emperor stayed so obsessed, the empire would probably never see a crown prince.
Xiao Yun had no heir, and the court was already in an uproar. In a few days, he’d be twenty-five.
After waiting in silence and hearing no response, Xie Zhe asked, “Your Majesty?”
What replied was a faint snore.
“…”
Xie Zhe felt he had overthought everything.
At this rate, he’d be fine in a few days.
Xiao Yun must have been truly exhausted—he was sound asleep, not even the barking or meowing could wake him.
“…” Xie Zhe sighed silently, closed his eyes, and soon drifted into a light sleep.
Half-asleep, half-awake, a heavy arm suddenly draped over his waist.
Xie Zhe was a light sleeper. He opened his eyes abruptly, face filled with shock.
“Caiqing…”
A husky, lazy voice behind him, with a puppy-like affectionate tone, followed by Xiao Yun expertly beginning to unfasten his clothes. Xie Zhe was so startled he fell off the bed, climbed up in pain, and stared at the emperor talking in his sleep.
The man was astonishingly handsome but completely disheveled and undignified.
His eyes dropped lower, resting on a very distinguished place.
Xie Zhe: “…”
With no one in front of him, Xiao Yun began to hump the bed frame, chuckling lowly: “Caiqing, I miss you. It misses you too.”
