After finishing the acupuncture, Chen Shiyu took his leave, leaving behind instructions: Yu Wang must relax his mind, and try not to dwell on the past, lest emotional knots deepen his insomnia. It’d be best to change environments, get some fresh air.
Fresh air? Where would I go? The border stone of the capital? Yu Wang laughed coldly at himself, then rose and ordered Changshi Cui: “Tell them to clean up the Wutong Waterside Pavilion. I’ll go stay there for a while.”
Changshi Cui advised, “The pavilion is open on all sides—it’s pleasant in summer, but now it’s deep winter. The lake’s frozen, the north wind cuts like knives—it’s not fit for living. Perhaps my lord would prefer the Warm Pavilion by the red plums?”
Yu Wang waved him off, signaling him to withdraw.
Changshi Cui had no choice but to send servants to clean the pavilion, while the maids packed clothing, food, and supplies to be loaded onto the carriage.
Yu Wang only brought a coachman and did not let any guards accompany him.
As the carriage departed from the palace gates, a group of officials and guards watched it leave. Yin Fu whispered to Han Ben, “Commander, are we really not supposed to follow and protect His Highness?”
Han Ben replied, “You’re new, so you don’t know — the Wutong Waterside Pavilion is a forbidden place. Without Wangye’s explicit permission, no one is allowed to approach it.”
“But what about the Wangye’s safety…”
“Don’t worry. You’re not familiar with Wangye’s martial skills? Besides, the waterside pavilion is in the middle of a large lake, surrounded by misty waters and open grasslands. Everything is visible at a glance. Even if someone had ill intentions, it would be nearly impossible to sneak close.”
“…Well, then I feel reassured.” Yin Fu responded.
Han Ben glanced at him sideways. “You’ve just arrived and you’re already so loyal to His Highness. Not bad. Loyalty is fine, but any other thoughts—forget them.”
“What other thoughts?” Yin Fu lifted his eyelids, looked up at him from beneath his lashes, and smiled faintly. A sweet dimple appeared on his left cheek.
Han Ben resisted the urge to rub his itchy fingers, forced a stern face, and said, “I overheard you asking the servants why the palace has no female mistress. It’s true Wangye doesn’t fancy women — only men — but you’re not his type. So, if you’re having any inappropriate thoughts, best snuff them out early, or you’ll regret it.”
“You think I’m interested in Wangye? Hmph, what a shallow judgment.” Yin Fu withdrew his smile and turned to leave.
“Little brat, got a temper too.” Han Ben muttered, watching his back, feeling a faint flame flicker in his belly, burning his dantian with a dull ache.
Walking back into the residence, Yin Fu’s expression turned slightly cold, his amber eyes like a still, icy pond.
In the wintry, leafless Wutong grove, Yu Wang dismissed the coachman and walked alone through the forest and along a winding wooden path to the waterside pavilion.
At that moment, he felt dizzy, his ears buzzing and chest tight. He leaned over the railing and dry heaved. The cold wind, carrying moisture from the lake, hit him in the face like ice water. The chill helped clear his head a bit.
He remembered someone had once sat right there, half-reclining against the rail with the shimmering waves behind them, squinting at him with a relaxed smile and saying, “The forest beneath the water looks like snowy clouds, the grass along the walkway like mist. Seems I was right — Wangye loves rustic charm.”
Now there were no shimmering waves, only a frozen lake like a mirror. Yu Wang sat there in a daze, absentmindedly rubbing the red lacquered railing.
He stood and walked to the tea room. The yellow glazed bamboo mat had been replaced with a warm Tibetan carpet, dyed with saffron — bright and long-lasting. As always, he had received his share of all the tributes from the vassal states. The court all said the Emperor loved his brother dearly, and even though Yu Wang was indulgent and dissolute, the Emperor still treated him with great kindness.
Yu Wang gave a low chuckle.
He stepped onto the carpet and looked down at the tea table. It had been replaced. The old one he had flung into the lake in a fit of rage. It was here that he had torn off Su Yan’s clothes, and the lingering marks of their intimacy had stabbed at his eyes, leading to a chain of uncontrollable events.
Everywhere still held traces of the other man — beneath the beams, on the bed, before the mirror… The waterside pavilion was like a hidden sanctuary, preserving a passionate and intense period that had belonged to only him and Su Yan.
“Let me go…” A faint moan echoed in his ears.
That seemingly gentle yet strong-willed young man who had once smashed a chessboard in his face had indeed once begged him. But at the time, he hadn’t cared — instead, he had pushed things even further.
On the side table by the bed, a colored-glass hourglass from a foreign land still stood. The fifteen-minute limit — was it a bet, or some cruel game of physical domination?
Yu Wang rubbed his face hard with his palm and sighed.
He opened a cabinet and found a torn yet neatly folded green robe — the one Su Yan had worn that day.
Lying on the couch without undressing, he spread the green robe over himself, inhaling the faint scent that no longer remained. After tossing and turning for a long while, he finally fell asleep.
He dreamt of the banquet of imperial honors. The new scholars raised cups, sang praises to the Emperor, and offered poems and paintings to win favor. Amidst the crowd, a youthful face peeked through — elegant, striking, and carefree — reaching his chopsticks boldly across the table to grab food, eating with great delight. The Crown Prince had glared, and the youth had returned a nonchalant glance.
In that moment, he thought: What an extraordinary person. I must have him.
Yu Wang slowly opened his eyes… Morning?
That night, he hadn’t dreamed of warhorses or bloody battlefields, nor corpses or weeping flutes.
He sat up and found his dizziness, tight chest, and nausea had eased, and the restlessness inside him had calmed significantly.
So he stayed another full day in the pavilion. It wasn’t until nightfall, when fireworks erupted and thundered across the sky for over half an hour, that he suddenly remembered — it was New Year’s Eve.
A night of reunion for ten thousands of households.
The palace was surely hosting its traditional grand feast. As a prince claiming illness to skip the event, the only one who might truly worry would be his mother.
His own residence would be decorated with lanterns and joy, hosting endless banquets and opera performances. Officials and sycophants, whether talented or simply good-looking, known or unknown, would stream in to offer greetings. None of them would expect that they wouldn’t even glimpse a corner of the crown prince’s robe.
Yu Wang suddenly laughed.
He removed his ornate dragon robe and golden crown, symbols of his princely status, and took out a plain brown robe from the wardrobe to change into before leaving the pavilion.
Riding fast along the desolate outer city streets, he looked toward the brilliantly lit inner city, unable to wait another second to see one person.
—
At the Su residence, the young attendants had set up a specially designed charcoal table and placed a newly made nine-compartment hotpot on top.
A triple-flavored broth simmered in the pot. The table was covered with an array of ingredients for dipping — fish slices, beef and lamb, deer heart, rabbit fillet, ginseng, abalone, shrimp, crab, mushrooms, and vegetables — a lavish spread.
Su Yan was pondering — since chili peppers hadn’t been introduced yet, should he use zanthoxylum sauce or yellow mustard to spice the broth? In the end, he added a compartment for each.
Then, in a third compartment, he mixed both sauces and added chili oil for a bold and fiery Overlord Spice. It might be too hot to eat, but it would be perfect for pranking someone.
Jinghong Zhui brought out the final plate of sliced sashimi and said to Su Yan, “My lord, everything is ready.”
Su Yan replied, “Wait, there’s one more person coming.”
Seeing Jinghong Zhui’s expression darken, Master Su raised an eyebrow and put on an air of authority. “What? Trying to back out of what was agreed upon?”
Jinghong Zhui clenched his jaw and said nothing.
A knock sounded at the door. Su Xiaobei went to open it, and in came Shen Qi, arms full with bags of food. Su Xiaojing leaned in to take a good look, his face filled with curiosity and a more complicated, strange expression.
Shen Qi asked, “What are you staring at? Didn’t we already meet a few days ago?”
Su Xiaojing replied, “A few days ago I thought you were just a visitor, so I didn’t look closely. Now I realize… you’re that little flirt from the quiet alley—”
Before he could finish, Su Xiaobei gave him a hard kick under the table. The word “flirt” turned into a string of garbled sounds as Su Xiaojing clutched his leg and hopped around the courtyard like a frog.
“Apologies,” Su Xiaobei bowed formally to Shen Qi, his tone calm and steady, carrying the air of a steward from a prestigious household. “Lord Tongzhi, please come in. My master has been expecting you.”
Shen Qi nodded slightly and handed over the food.
Su Xiaobei added, “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but a friendly reminder—on New Year’s Eve, harmony is most precious. Regardless of who it is, if anyone displeases my master tonight, they’ll be shown out. And those outside won’t be allowed back in.”
Shen Qi’s face darkened. He clenched his teeth and said nothing.
Upon entering the main hall, he exchanged a glance with Jinghong Zhui.
The red copper chimney in the center of the hot pot crackled with burning charcoal, sending up sparks.
Su Yan stood leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, looking every bit the strict referee, ready to eject any player who broke the rules.
Shen Qi and Jinghong Zhui stared each other down for a while, then both looked away as if they hadn’t seen each other.
Su Yan, somewhat satisfied, gestured for everyone to take their seats.
The square Eight Immortals table was spacious. Lord Su sat at the main seat across from the door. The Embroidered Uniform Guard brother took the seats on his left, while his personal guard sat to his right without hesitation. Two young servants sat opposite.
Steam and the rich aroma of the hot pot filled the air. On the surface, this New Year’s Eve dinner was calm and peaceful, but beneath it, a silent battle raged.
When Su Yan wanted to cook meat, someone on the left handed him venison, and someone on the right handed him rabbit. When he wanted fish, one gave him the back, and the other the belly.
No matter which side he accepted first, the other didn’t show displeasure openly—but under the table, their feet, charged with internal energy, poked and jabbed at each other’s legs, competing in secret.
Su Yan could control people but not their hearts, so he had no choice but to accept both offerings, turning into a chipmunk with puffed-out cheeks.
Xiaojing chuckled with his head down.
Xiaobei tapped his head with chopsticks and scolded in a low voice, “Hurry up and eat. Then go back to your room to sleep!”
Xiaojing: “Why do I have to go to sleep? Isn’t New Year’s Eve supposed to be for staying up?”
Xiaobei: “If I say sleep, you sleep. No more backtalk, or I’ll dip your brain in the hot pot!”
“You’re always scaring me with that brain-eating stuff…” Xiaojing grumbled resentfully, but still slurped down his food, wiped his mouth, and left the table.
Xiaobei soon followed, leaving only three people at the table.
As Su Yan ate, he felt something brushing against his thigh. First on the left, then the right refused to be outdone and joined in. Embarrassed and annoyed, he slapped his chopsticks on the table. “Eat properly, all of you!”
The two feet behaved briefly before starting up again.
Furious, Su Yan stomped hard on both offending feet, determined to stamp the mischief out of them.
Afraid of hurting the delicate Su Yan, the two culprits withdrew their internal energy and took the stomps, grimacing as they sucked in a sharp breath.
That improved Su Yan’s mood a bit, and in a moment of boldness, he tried the extra spicy broth—only to choke on it. His face flushed red, eyes watered, and he coughed uncontrollably.
The two men had to work together—one patting his back, the other pouring cold water—before resuming their unspoken competition to care for Master Su.
Outside, fireworks lit up the night sky.
Yu Wang stood silently beneath the old peach tree, watching the scene in the hall—
Su Yan leaned into Shen Qi’s arm, gasping through tears. Shen Qi gently rubbed his back. Jinghong Zhui picked up an empty cup, and while doing so, wiped the water from Su Yan’s lips with his fingertip.
Yu Wang stood still for a moment, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
—
The Court of Diplomatic Ceremonies was in charge of foreign affairs, and the four visiting envoys from Oirat were staying in the guest quarters of the official residence.
By the third watch (midnight), the noise outside had not abated. Firecrackers and fireworks lit up the capital.
The Oirat envoys sat around a table, drinking wine and eating roasted meat, complaining in their own language:
“It’s so noisy—how’s anyone supposed to sleep?”
“When are we going to get the official letter so we can head home? Keeping us locked in this dump like we’re criminals!”
“I say we just go to war. What’s the point of all this back-and-forth nonsense?”
“People from the Central Plains are so indecisive. Even their emperor is the same—makes you sick.”
“Hey, keep your voice down. I heard they’ve got this secret spy agency called the ‘Embroidered Uniform Guard.’ They’re really good. If they eavesdrop and report us to the emperor, it won’t end well.”
One envoy drained his wine, set down the bowl, then suddenly pricked up his ears and frowned. “Hey… do you guys hear that? A strange flute sound?”
