The doors of the Southern Study were tightly shut. Emperor Jinglong and the Crown Prince, having just finished morning court, summoned Censorate Official Su Yan for a private discussion.
A quarter-hour later, the Crown Prince emerged with a dark face and left on his own. The study’s doors remained shut. For the next full half hour, no one came out.
Lan Xi stood outside, ears perked, trying to listen. He heard faint sounds of crying and a few distinct slapping noises. His heart sank—what exactly was going on in there?
If it were an imperial favor being bestowed… His Majesty never acted so rough. And in the Southern Study during broad daylight, where privacy was lacking? That wasn’t His Majesty’s style. But if it was corporal punishment… that didn’t make sense either. The last time Su Yan cured His Majesty’s recurring head pains, he hadn’t even been rewarded yet—why would he be punished?
The court diarist, who had followed from morning court, was also standing outside. He held a brush and rapidly jotted down notes on a thick stack of paper. A young eunuch stood beside him, holding an inkstone.
The Imperial Diary system had originated in the Western Zhou dynasty and had been passed down for thousands of years. Its purpose was to record every word and deed of the emperor, faithfully and completely.
As the emperor represented the embodiment of national power, his speech and actions became law. Thus, his every movement affected the state’s safety, and the record-keepers were essential.
The official court histories compiled later would rely heavily on these records, beginning with the Veritable Records, then compiled into national histories.
The current diarist’s surname was Ling, given name Hu. He was a slim, middle-aged man with the demeanor of a scholar. A former imperial examinee, he had worked in the Hanlin Academy for years. His family had been court historians for generations—one could call them a historiographer clan.
Lan Xi glanced at the densely scribbled cursive script on the pages and felt a bit dizzy. “Lord Ling, court’s already over—you’re still recording?”
Ling Hu didn’t even look up. “If His Majesty returns to the harem after court, the eunuchs in the document room will record the inner court proceedings. But this is still the front court. His Majesty summoned both the Crown Prince and a censor for discussion. It is my duty to faithfully record every imperial action and word.”
Lan Xi frowned slightly and leaned in to see what was being written. The final line read:
“On the morning of the sixteenth year’s New Year’s Day, at the hour of Si, His Majesty entered the Southern Study with the Crown Prince and summoned Censor Su Yan for a private audience. The Crown Prince withdrew midway; His Majesty and Su remained alone in the room. No palace staff were allowed to approach…”
Lan Xi, feeling guilty himself, grew increasingly uneasy the more he read. This entry in the Imperial Diary seemed rather pointed. If His Majesty really had taken Su Yan in the hall… wouldn’t this entry become solid evidence of the Emperor’s favoritism toward a common official, and his improper conduct?
Matters of such private nature—how could they be openly recorded in official archives? What of His Majesty’s dignity? This Ling Hu really had no sense of discretion. No wonder he’d spent over a decade in the Hanlin Academy without advancement.
Lan Gonggong was growing anxious for the Emperor but had no authority to intervene. His horsetail whisk flicked back and forth. After a while, he thought of something and said with borrowed authority, “Lord Ling, today’s Imperial Diary shouldn’t be submitted to the Historiography Bureau just yet. His Majesty has instructed me to hold onto it as he wishes to review it later.”
Ling Hu, the diarist, looked up at the powerful head eunuch who served directly beside the Emperor, and responded firmly, “Forgive me, but I cannot comply.”
Lan Xi’s voice grew sharp. “This is a direct command from His Majesty!”
Ling Hu responded righteously, “Even if His Majesty himself demanded the diary, I cannot give it to him. ‘Since ancient times, no monarch has ever personally reviewed the historical record.’ This unwritten rule exists to ensure that historians may write with integrity, free from interference.”
Lan Xi grew angry at his obstinacy. “Lord Ling! We are both officials—we ought to ease the Emperor’s burdens, not add to them. If His Majesty sees what you’ve written and becomes angry, have you thought of the consequences?”
Ling Hu set his brush aside and straightened his posture, his expression solemn. “I am but a minor official, yet I will always uphold the duty of a historian: to record truthfully and without fear. Long ago, when Cui Zhu assassinated his monarch, the court historian documented it truthfully. Cui Zhu killed him. The historian’s younger brothers succeeded him one after another, each writing the truth, each being killed in turn. The youngest was asked, ‘Do you not fear death?’ He replied, ‘Recording the truth is my duty. To survive by failing my duty is worse than death.’ I will answer Your Grace with these same words, and pass them along to His Majesty.”
Lan Xi was speechless.
Censorial officials might be rigid, but they could still be pressured. However, once a court historian stood his ground, any emperor with dignity would be forced to respect him—else risk being forever shamed in the annals of history.
While the two were at an impasse, the palace doors opened. Su Yan came out sneezing, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.
Lan Xi was startled. “Lord Su, what’s happened to you?”
Su Yan waved him off. His eyes were red and watery. “Please, don’t mention it, Gonggong. I’ve caught a sudden chill. Behaved poorly before His Majesty and was punished—quite shameful.”
Lan Xi felt a mix of relief and disappointment. He quickly ordered a young eunuch to bring a hot bowl of red date and ginger soup. Meanwhile, he said purposefully, “His Majesty is merciful. I’m sure it was nothing more than a few scoldings. Lord Su needn’t take it to heart. After all, didn’t His Majesty still assign the task to you?”
Su Yan sighed. “Yes. His Majesty has reinstated me as the Right Shaoqing of the Dali Temple. I’ll also be accompanying the Crown Prince to the Court of State Ceremonials to investigate a case. Oh, and Lan Gonggong—His Majesty asked me to tell you, once I left the hall, to have the Directorate of Ceremonies draft the decree and apply the seal.”
Lan Xi smiled. “Then allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Su Shaoqing.” He flicked his whisk and returned to the hall.
The ginger soup had been prepared in advance and arrived quickly. Su Yan offered some to Ling Hu. “Lord Ling, you should have a bowl too—warm yourself up.”
Ling Hu was finishing the final line of the diary:
“A discussion was held regarding the case of the envoy from the Oirat State. By imperial edict, Su Yan is reinstated to his former post.”
He set down his brush, rubbed his hands, and came forward to take the bowl.
Su Yan sighed, “It’s not easy being a minister.”
Ling Hu agreed, “Indeed.”
After finishing the soup, Su Yan bid farewell. The sedan chair that had been prepared by the Crown Prince earlier was already waiting outside the palace gates. It carried him directly to the Meridian Gate.
Outside the gate, Zhu Helin was growing impatient in his carriage. Lifting the curtain, he looked around and noticed a carriage parked along the south end of the plaza near the wall. Judging by the style, it seemed to belong to an official’s household.
With nothing better to do, he ordered Fu Bao to find out whose carriage it was and why it was parked there.
Fu Bao returned quickly: “Young Master, that’s Lord Su’s carriage, waiting for him to exit the palace. But it’s not his usual two young attendants driving—it’s a stranger. A cold-faced man I don’t recognize, looks like a bodyguard. He’s armed, and the way he looks at people… colder than the winter wind.”
Qinghe wasn’t fond of having many attendants fussing around. He’d only ever kept two household servants. When did he suddenly acquire a personal guard?
Zhu Helin suddenly remembered what Chu Yuan had said: that Su Yan had taken in a martial arts expert from the jianghu as a personal bodyguard, and that their relationship was… ambiguous. Could it be the man on the carriage?
Zhu Helin immediately sprang out of his carriage, startling Fu Bao.
Seeing the Crown Prince striding toward the carriage, Fu Bao had no choice but to hurry after him. As they approached, they saw the guard still standing stiffly at the side of the carriage, sword in hand, not even blinking—like a stone statue staring toward the palace.
Zhu Helin stopped in front of him and cleared his throat. The man didn’t even flinch.
Fu Bao scolded, “This is His Highness the Crown Prince. Why aren’t you kneeling?”
Jinghong Zhui had no desire to respond. But thinking it would reflect poorly on his lord if he offended royalty, he finally bowed with fists cupped and said, “This humble commoner greets Your Highness.”
Zhu Helin frowned. “A commoner meeting the heir apparent—hasn’t Qinghe taught you the proper etiquette?”
Jinghong Zhui replied flatly, “He did. But this commoner is dull-witted and failed to learn it. I beg Your Highness for forgiveness.”
“…So you really are some back-alley thug from the jianghu. No sense of decorum, but quite bold,” Zhu Helin sneered. The thought that even a rough sort like this dared take liberties with Su Yan only fanned his anger. “What if I don’t pardon you? Unless you kneel and kowtow seven or eight times today, don’t even dream of walking out of Chengtian Gate upright!”
Jinghong Zhui cast a sidelong glance at the Crown Prince of Great Ming standing before him. Though only fourteen or fifteen, he already resembled a young lion or tiger—arrogant and reckless, yet carrying the aura of command.
So this arrogant brat was the one Lord Su had to serve day in and day out? That must’ve been a real chore.
Zhu Helin looked down on Jinghong Zhui’s plain appearance at first, but the other man’s single glance felt like a flash of lightning tearing through the sky, a freezing torrent rushing upstream. A chill sword aura struck Zhu Helin head-on, and he couldn’t help but grow wary, setting aside his initial contempt.
He had been fond of martial arts since young and had natural talent. But due to his noble status, the palace guards and instructors never dared to go all out during practice, and by imperial order, they were forbidden from teaching him advanced techniques to avoid him being “misled by martial might.” As a result, even when sparring with a dozen guards, he felt perpetually unsatisfied, like some inner force was forever stifled.
Now, just one look from Jinghong Zhui felt like a glimpse into a whole other realm, as if from a frozen, desolate peak. It shook him to the core, and he stood there dumbstruck.
Fubao, alarmed by the crown prince’s strange expression, called out “Young Master” several times to no response. He panicked and snapped at Jinghong Zhui, “What kind of sorcery did you cast on His Highness? Undo it right now! If anything happens to him, even your lord won’t be able to save you!”
Jinghong Zhui said coolly, “I didn’t do anything.”
Fubao stamped his foot. Zhu Helin suddenly snapped out of it, yanked Fubao aside, and eyed Jinghong Zhui warily, competitiveness flaring. “How skilled are you in martial arts?”
“Very skilled,” said Jinghong Zhui.
“You’ve got no sense of modesty,” Fubao muttered.
Zhu Helin asked, “Where did you learn your martial arts?”
“I can’t say,” Jinghong Zhui replied.
Zhu Helin snorted, “Just some brutish brawn. I’m not impressed.”
“Oh,” said Jinghong Zhui.
Oh…? OH MY *SS! What kind of d*mned attitude is that?! And Qinghe puts up with it?! Even lets him kiss him—aren’t you worried your lips’ll rot off?! Zhu Helin was just about to lose his temper when Jinghong Zhui suddenly looked toward the palace and said, “My lord is coming out.”
Zhu Helin reflexively turned to look. The far end of the square was empty, no movement from either side gate. Just as he was about to mock him, the Right Side Gate slowly opened and a small sedan chair emerged—it was the one he’d ordered to wait outside the South Study.
He instantly forgot about the troublesome bodyguard and went to greet the sedan.
Jinghong Zhui used qinggong to glide past Zhu Helin like smoke. Zhu Helin was stunned for a moment, then furious. “You dare get ahead of me?! Know your place, you lowborn wretch—back off!”
Hearing the Crown Prince’s shout, the surrounding Imperial Guards drew their blades at once, ready to act on command.
Su Yan lifted the curtain of the sedan and nearly tumbled out in alarm. These two together were like blades and gunpowder—put them near each other, and they’d blow everything sky-high!
Ah Zhui had a rogue’s soul and no respect for power. There was no way he’d bow and scrape to the crown prince. Zhu Helin, meanwhile, was a tempestuous little tyrant who only tolerated praise and pampering—and now that he knew about Su Yan’s “relationship” with the guard… if he exploded and ordered the guards to attack, Su Yan wouldn’t be able to put out the fire fast enough.
What a mess. If he’d known it’d come to this, he never would’ve had Ah Zhui wait at the Meridian Gate—it just stirred up trouble for no reason.
Su Yan quickly ordered the sedan to stop, leapt out, lifted his robes and ran toward Zhu Helin, casting a warning glance at Jinghong Zhui to not come over and instead return to the carriage—to save the crown prince’s face.
Jinghong Zhui understood. Though his face darkened, he followed orders and returned to wait by the carriage.
Zhu Helin grinned smugly and slowed down, waiting for Su Yan to run into his arms. When Su Yan got close, he grabbed his arms and said, “Slow down, it’s slippery with all this snow. What if you fell?”
Su Yan panted, “I didn’t want to keep Your Highness waiting, I had to hurry.”
Seeing Su Yan emerge from his Royal Father’s study unscathed, Zhu Helin’s fury melted away. He took Su Yan’s cold hands and rubbed them between his palms. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s talk in the carriage.”
Su Yan acted as if nothing had happened. “Then let me say a few words to my bodyguard and send him home.”
Zhu Helin couldn’t bear to hear the word “bodyguard” right now. He twisted Su Yan’s wrist and grumbled, “Is it him?”
Su Yan yelped and slapped his hand, “What do you mean him? Enough with the nonsense—get in the carriage.”
Zhu Helin still wanted to press the issue, but Su Yan dragged him by the sleeve.
As they passed his carriage, Su Yan told Jinghong Zhui, “His Majesty ordered me to investigate the Oirat envoy case at the Court of State Ceremonial. The Crown Prince is overseeing it. It’s urgent, so you head back. I’ll come home once I’m done.”
Jinghong Zhui said, “I’m worried about the Lord’s safety.”
Su Yan saw the crown prince glaring at the bodyguard and quickly added, “His Majesty has assigned a team of elite Embroidered Uniform Guard as escorts. There’s no danger. I’ll be back before nightfall.”
Jinghong Zhui finally nodded and added, “Be careful, my lord. Better to let a criminal escape than to risk your own safety.” Then he got up on the driver’s bench and steered the carriage away.
Zhu Helin, sour as vinegar, muttered, “Such touching loyalty between master and servant.”
Su Yan thickened his skin and pretended nothing happened. “It’s nothing special. What noble doesn’t have guards? Surely Your Highness wouldn’t want me going about unprotected?”
“Then get another one. Get a dozen. Just not that ugly b*stard!”
“He’s loyal, skilled in martial arts, and works well with me. But since Your Highness insists, I’ll go hire a few dashing young men to please the eye.”
“…Forget it!” Zhu Helin snapped, biting back his frustration. He leaned close and growled in Su Yan’s ear, “He’s not allowed to kiss you anymore. Hear me? If he does, I’ll chop off both heads—top and bottom!”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever Your Highness says,” Su Yan replied obediently.
Zhu Helin still felt his attitude wasn’t sincere enough. Once they were inside the carriage, he pinned Su Yan down and forcibly scrubbed his lips.
Su Yan flailed his arms as if swatting away flies and snapped angrily, “So young and already learning all these shameless flirtations! Where did you pick up this debauched behavior?!”
Zhu Helin retorted, “Who’s young! Once the New Year passes, they’ll start sending portraits of noble ladies to my palace, expecting me to choose a crown princess!”
Su Yan was stunned. “Crown princess… so soon?”
“It’ll be the fifteenth of the New Year,” Zhu Helin said with a frown. “Royal Father said we’ll pick a candidate first, so the palace women can train her properly for a year. Then I’ll be married at sixteen. I said I don’t want to marry any woman, not even if a goddess descended from the heavens—but Royal Father scolded me harshly.” He looked discouraged. “Just thinking about it gives me a headache.”
Su Yan still thought it was too early. Zhu Helin was just a child—how could he possibly understand love or manage a marriage? He told himself he should accept the customs of this era and not judge by modern standards, but he still felt uneasy.
Zhu Helin asked, “What about you? You’ll be eighteen by traditional age after the New Year. Aren’t your parents pushing you to marry?”
Su Yan answered absentmindedly, “They are. They want to arrange a match for me, but I refused. I said a real man should establish a career before starting a family—wait until after I’m twenty. I don’t even know if they’ll agree.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Too bad. I’ve got my own legs; it’s not like they can drag me back and force my head down at the wedding altar.”
Zhu Helin laughed. “Fair enough.”
Su Yan felt annoyed just talking about the topic. Since it wasn’t urgent yet, he decided not to dwell on it.
Then Zhu Helin hooked an arm around his shoulder and, swaying with the motion of the carriage, leaned close and said, “What if, the next time Royal Father brings up the crown princess, I tell him I’ve already chosen someone I like, and I won’t marry anyone else—is that okay?”
Su Yan’s heart skipped a beat. He had a terrible premonition and immediately asked, “Which lady do you plan to use as a decoy?”
Zhu Helin muttered, clearly unhappy, “It’s not a decoy! And it’s not a woman either. I’m serious—”
“If you’re serious, that’s even worse!” Su Yan snapped, his voice sharp. “You haven’t even grown all your d*mn hair yet and you want to… to be with a man?! Aren’t you afraid of your Royal Father beating you to death? What about the court officials, the people? When the whole world hears that the crown prince prefers men—do you still want to be emperor?!”
Zhu Helin pouted. “Plenty of noble families keep boy companions. Some commoners even marry male wives.”
“That’s not the same! You are the heir apparent, the cornerstone of the empire. You are meant to continue the royal bloodline! Do you remember what I told you in the Eastern Garden? Do you remember your promise—to become a good emperor, to lead a golden age? You must never, ever say anything that could be seen as treasonous, understand?!”
Zhu Helin stared at him in a daze. “I understand…”
But understanding isn’t enough, Su Yan thought, panicked. You’re throwing your future away—and mine with it!
He gripped Zhu Helin’s hand tightly. “Then do what you must. Zhu Helin, you don’t have the right to choose right now. There’s no way back for you. Some things—until you reach the very summit—must never be spoken. Do you hear me?!”
A shadow of solemnity passed over the crown prince’s face. In that moment, he seemed to age, tasting the bitterness that must be endured before one can savor the fruits of glory.
Zhu Helin let out a long breath, his expression firming. He gripped Su Yan’s hand in return and said, “I understand. Don’t worry.”
—
Inside the Southern Study, Lan Xi had just been ordered to draft an edict and was about to take his leave when the Emperor suddenly asked, “How many days has Yu Wang been claiming illness?”
Lan Xi respectfully replied, “Five days.”
The Emperor rose, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Then as his elder brother, I suppose I should pay a visit and see whether it’s his body or his heart that’s truly unwell.”
