For this evening, Jiang Wu had prepared moon-white robes for Yin Wuzhi—wide-sleeved, exuding elegance.
Unlike Jiang Wu, who liked his hair down, Yin Wuzhi preferred to keep his neat. He intended to dry it carefully in the bathhouse, but the emperor had already sent a command: “His Majesty orders the Shizi to come to the Taiji Hall immediately after bathing.”
Yin Wuzhi had no choice but to return to Taiji Hall with his hair still half-wet.
Jiang Wu’s hair was completely dry by then, and he laid lazily on a soft couch. His pale face, framed by his loose black hair, looked like an exquisitely crafted jade statue—delicate, yet devoid of life.
He looked up at Yin Wuzhi.
Yin Wuzhi, uncomfortable with his own disheveled appearance, stiffened slightly and asked, “When can I go home?”
“Come here.”
Yin Wuzhi approached, catching a faint, sweet fragrance.
The lazy emperor had surprisingly switched to using cassia-scented hair cream.
The scent was natural, subtly mingling with the breeze outside. It was so light that it seemed almost elusive, only lingering at the edge of the senses when least expected.
Jiang Wu gazed at him for a moment.
Yin Wuzhi’s features were striking. Though his beauty could have appeared delicate, his sharp brows added an air of toughness, making him look imposing and difficult to approach.
But his restrained nature made him seem more gentlemanly, his sharpness subdued, giving the impression that he was easier to deal with.
“Carry.”
“…Where are we going now?”
After the trials of the past two days, Yin Wuzhi could now lift him without batting an eye. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but now he realized that Jiang Wu was indeed thin and light.
How could an emperor, starving himself out of laziness, grow so frail? Who would believe such a thing?
It was like a fable.
“To bed.”
Yin Wuzhi carried the lazy emperor to the dragon bed and instinctively reached for the blanket to cover him.
“Don’t cover me.”
Yin Wuzhi paused, withdrew his hand, and asked in a much gentler tone, now that he was so close to going home, “Does Your Majesty have any other orders?”
“Undress me.”
Yin Wuzhi looked at the one garment Jiang Wu wore.
It was just a thick inner robe. What more was there to undress?
He said, “Let the maids do it.”
“You do it.”
“…”
Yin Wuzhi sensed something was off but couldn’t quite figure out what. After all, Jiang Wu had always been lazy. If not for delivering commands, he probably wouldn’t even bother to speak.
Yin Wuzhi’s neatly trimmed fingers reached for the round collar, loosening the fabric buttons.
One, two, three…
Yin Wuzhi paused and asked, “Does Your Majesty wish to change into something else?”
“Mm.”
The opened collar revealed delicate collarbones, standing out sharply.
Yin Wuzhi avoided looking, quickly fulfilling the command. Before Jiang Wu could say anything else, he grabbed the blanket and covered him up, leaving only his head exposed. “Which clothes would Your Majesty like to change into? I’ll fetch them.”
“Not changing,” Jiang Wu said, “Come closer.”
Yin Wuzhi leaned in, “Your Majesty…”
“Closer.”
His voice remained calm, and his expression stayed composed, but that face—it was truly beautiful. He had perfectly inherited all of Empress Dowager Yao’s finest features, yet he lacked her sultry charm. Instead, his appearance was clear and ethereal.
Like the water in a heavenly pool, it was evidently pure and serene, yet seemed to have the weight of a thousand years behind it, having witnessed countless lives.
“Your Majesty, what exactly do you want…?”
“Closer.”
“…”
Yin Wuzhi could already feel his breath, and his lips were less than three fingers away from Jiang Wu’s. “No, I can’t get any closer.”
He stared wide-eyed, locking his gaze with Jiang Wu. “Your Majesty, what exactly are your orders? I still need to return home.”
“Kiss me.”
Yin Wuzhi felt as if he had been struck by lightning.
A tingling sensation spread from the top of his head down to his feet.
“W-What?”
“Do your duty,” Jiang Wu said softly, his breath warm on Yin Wuzhi’s face, “Serve in bed.”
Yin Wuzhi’s throat bobbed, and even without listening, he could feel the sound of swallowing resonating inside him.
“What…what did you say?”
“Do me.”
Yin Wuzhi’s pupils dilated sharply, his eyes trembling silently.
His hand, propped up beside Jiang Wu, slowly clenched, his lips trembling, and his breathing quickened. “You…you can’t…push me this far.”
To Yin Wuzhi, this was humiliating.
Jiang Wu understood. “Isn’t that what you came to the palace for? To serve in bed?”
“I came to save my brother Chen.”
Yin Wuzhi’s gaze uncontrollably swept over Jiang Wu’s close face, unable to find a single flaw in the smooth, perfect skin.
The pale complexion somehow drew more attention, making one wonder what it would look like with marks on it.
His fingers, which had been tensed, accidentally brushed against Jiang Wu’s hair—cool and smooth.
The sweet fragrance played with his senses.
Something seemed to pull at his fingers, running them through the spread-out strands until they touched something soft.
Jiang Wu noticed his ear being touched, and then, someone was rubbing his earlobe between their fingers.
“Yin Wuzhi,” he said, “Kiss me.”
Yin Wuzhi’s dark lashes trembled, and beneath them, his eyes reddened.
He was being forced.
Forced to kiss this incapable emperor.
The moment their lips touched, Yin Wuzhi’s eyelashes became damp.
None of this was what he wanted.
Jiang Wu’s expression remained calm.
Yin Wuzhi seemed like he was crying—so upset? Even when he was hit before, he didn’t make a sound, but now, at this moment, he was crying.
It seemed that the psychological humiliation was more unbearable for him than physical punishment.
“…” Bit.
It wasn’t very painful, as if Yin Wuzhi had mistaken him for chewing gum, constantly gnawing at him.
But it didn’t matter—he could bear it.
A cool breeze touched his shoulder as Yin Wuzhi’s chin slid down, pushing the blanket off Jiang Wu’s body.
Jiang Wu pressed his slightly swollen lips together, still offering praise: “Good job.”
His voice was lazy and indifferent, like a splash of ice-cold water, drenching Yin Wuzhi’s boiling mind.
Yin Wuzhi abruptly sat up straight.
The incapable emperor laid there motionless, staring up at him. The fallen blanket revealed his thin, bony shoulders—so narrow and frail.
Jiang Wu’s lips had become very red.
They weren’t that red before.
Yin Wuzhi’s mind was in complete chaos, his eyes darting around the room. What had he done? How had things come to this?
“You…you drugged me.”
Jiang Wu: “?”
That statement seemed to give Yin Wuzhi some kind of reassurance. He stared at Jiang Wu with a feral, terrifying gaze. “You drugged me.”
Sensing the hostility, Jiang Wu’s heart shifted. “And if I did? What could you possibly do to me?”
“Despicable, shameless.” Yin Wuzhi’s eyes reddened even more.
He wants to kill me.
A surge of death desire washed over Jiang Wu as he slowly sat up. The blanket slid off as his long hair cascaded down his shoulders. He seriously asked Yin Wuzhi, “What will you do?”
“…” What would he do? What could he do?
Jiang Wu mocked him, degraded him, tormented him, flogged him, framed him, and even had him slapped for no reason.
Now, he had drugged him, trying to turn him into nothing more than a lapdog.
But even with all this humiliation, what could Yin Wuzhi do?
Jiang Wu was the emperor. Yin Wuzhi was just a mere shizi, and his father was only a distant noble.
He could do nothing.
Yin Wuzhi’s long lashes lowered, and a glimmer of tears appeared in his eyes.
Jiang Wu asked, “Yin Wuzhi, do you want to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Jiang Wu sighed, disappointed. “You really are useless.”
Without a word, Yin Wuzhi knelt down, saying, “I have been disrespectful before my emperor, please punish me.”
Jiang Wu slumped back down, completely uninterested. “Go to the study and review the memorials while reflecting on your behavior.”
Yin Wuzhi stood, walking out without looking back.
He wiped his lips hard, avoiding the eyes of those outside, and slammed the door to the study behind him.
Leaning against the door, he glanced down at his abdomen, his pale fingers digging into the wood.
Jiang Wu, you’ve gone too far.
One day, I will take your life with my own hands.
A faint sniffle echoed, short and soft.
The young general stepped forward and sat amidst the towering piles of memorials.
Only those with power could act as they pleased. Otherwise, they would always be humiliated.
Back in the palace, a shadow fell beside the bed. Someone pulled the blanket up and covered Jiang Wu tightly once more.
They stood silently for a moment longer before vanishing into the night.
Yin Wuzhi spent several consecutive days in the imperial study, close enough to see Jiang Wu at any time, yet he never once sought him out.
Meanwhile, Jiang Wu continued to indulge in a routine of eating and sleeping, drifting through his days in a lazy, lethargic haze. His life had become decadent, yet oddly calm.
One day, the sun was shining brilliantly. Yin Wuzhi stepped out of the study, bathed and tidied himself up before heading back to the emperor’s bedchamber.
It wasn’t yet noon, and Jiang Wu was still asleep. Yin Wuzhi parted the bed curtains and saw Jiang Wu’s pale face.
…Has he lost weight again? His face seemed even smaller, his chin sharper, and his lips were completely bloodless.
Yin Wuzhi pursed his lips, recalling the past days when he had been forced to share Jiang Wu’s diet of plain congee.
Perhaps it was because the congee was so light that, despite eating several bowls at each meal, he still felt hungry soon after.
For someone young like him, it wasn’t such a big deal. But for the elder officials who had to join the emperor in “praying for blessings,” the toll was evident—they all appeared visibly drained and weary.
Moving away from the bedside, Yin Wuzhi asked, “Has His Majesty eaten anything else lately?”
Qi Hanmiao sighed, “Eat? He barely manages to finish half a bowl of that congee.”
If it weren’t for knowing just how lazy Jiang Wu was, one might think he was on the brink of death.
Yin Wuzhi considered this for a moment before saying, “Tell the imperial kitchen to prepare something else this time.”
“It’s no use. We’ve tried all sorts of things, but nothing gets him to eat more,” Qi Hanmiao replied.
“Make the meat into a paste,” Yin Wuzhi suggested. “And grind red beans, millet, and other grains into powder to make a porridge.”
Qi Hanmiao looked at Jiang Wu and said hesitantly, “But His Majesty has insisted on only eating plain congee…”
“You’ve been by His Majesty’s side long enough to know that it’s not because he dislikes other food. He’s just lazy,” Yin Wuzhi responded bluntly.
Qi Hanmiao was momentarily speechless. “…”
You didn’t have to say it out loud.
Fidgeting nervously, Qi Hanmiao whispered, “It’s not that I haven’t thought of this, but if we grind everything into powder, it could harm His Majesty’s reputation if word gets out.”
Yin Wuzhi understood immediately.
Qi Hanmiao was waiting—waiting for Jiang Wu to get tired of the plain congee on his own and eventually ask for something else. After all, a dignified emperor who was too lazy even to eat properly would surely be ridiculed if people found out.
In fact, Yin Wuzhi had thought the same when he first arrived. But…
After not seeing Jiang Wu for a few days, he noticed that the emperor had grown even thinner.
That wasn’t the main issue, though.
With a stern expression, Yin Wuzhi declared, “I don’t want to eat congee with him anymore.”
“But… but…” Qi Hanmiao hesitated, lowering his voice to speak more seriously. “This must be handled carefully. No one must ever find out His Majesty’s secret.”
Yin Wuzhi hadn’t expected such loyalty. “What do you suggest?”
“Your Highness, we must work together,” Qi Hanmiao said, leaning closer to whisper, “to handle this matter discreetly.”
An hour later, in a secluded corner, the tools borrowed from the imperial pharmacy laid scattered about. Qi Hanmiao diligently poured red beans into the grinder, saying, “For the sake of His Majesty’s honor, I appreciate your hard work, Your Highness.”
Yin Wuzhi pushed the grinding stone mechanically, feeling numb. The so-called “plotting together” was really just “grinding together.”
