“If Yu Wang is too ill to rise, lying down to reply will suffice. I won’t punish you for breaching courtly decorum,” Emperor Jinglong said, not angered by Yu Wang’s irreverent posture. He picked up a toppled rosewood chair nearby, placed it before the bed, and sat down. “I’ve brought two imperial physicians. Let them take a look at you.”
The two chief physicians from the Imperial Medical Bureau entered per the emperor’s command. Yu Wang casually extended his hand for them to check his pulse.
After a thorough examination, the two physicians discussed among themselves and reached the same conclusion as Chen Shiyu had before: sleeplessness caused by excessive inner fire and unresolved emotional tension.
They left to prepare the prescription and brew the medicine. The emperor ordered the hall doors shut and instructed the guards outside not to enter without express permission.
Then he asked Yu Wang, “What exactly is this inner fire in your heart? Where does this resentment lie?”
Yu Wang replied brazenly, “Why does Royal Brother ask when you already know the answer?”
The emperor’s expression darkened. “Have you left the capital recently?”
Yu Wang retorted, “What if I didn’t leave the capital? What if I did?”
“If you didn’t, then there’s no issue. But if you did,” the Emperor said calmly, “I’ll move that boundary marker stone to the gates of the capital—no, to right outside your Yu Wang’s residence. You broke the agreement first, so don’t blame me for discarding all brotherly courtesy.”
Yu Wang let out a cold laugh. “If Royal Brother wants to drive me to my death, one cup of poisoned wine or a single dagger would suffice. Why speak of brotherly affection?”
The Emperor slammed the armrest and shouted, “Zhu Xujing! I’ve tolerated your repeated offenses out of consideration for your illness, but even I have limits. If you won’t speak properly lying down, then go kneel at the Ancestral Temple and speak there!”
Yu Wang knew full well that his words were irreverent and highly disrespectful to the sovereign—an incredibly unwise move. Yet at this moment, the stifled rage in his chest churned violently, the “evil fire” raging within made his thoughts chaotic. All he wanted was to vent, consequences be d*mned.
Seeing his brother remain silent, face pale with anger, the Emperor’s tone softened a little. “I just want one honest answer from you. I didn’t have the Embroidered Uniform Guard investigate because I wanted to spare you the shame. On the night of the twentieth of the twelfth month—where were you?”
Yu Wang seemed to hear the ghostly flute sounds again. The agitated blood coursing through his veins crashed around madly, causing the veins on his forehead to pulse. His expression twisted with pain and fury.
“Wherever Royal Brother wants me to be, that’s where I’ll be. A brothel? A government official’s bed? Or perhaps at some secret meeting with a rebel? Whatever you say, I’ll admit to it all!”
The Emperor nearly ordered the Embroidered Uniform Guard in to drag him to the Ancestral Temple. He forcibly restrained himself at the last second, drawing a deep breath. It felt like all the self-restraint he’d cultivated over years was about to be undone by this reckless brother.
He grabbed Yu Wang’s disheveled collar, yanked him halfway off the bed, and splashed the remaining wine from a nearby jar right onto his face.
The icy liquid made Yu Wang shiver. His dazed gaze cleared a little. He wiped his face and groaned, “Royal Brother…”
Now that they were close, the Emperor noticed a faint bite mark at the base of his neck—healed over, likely several days old, but clearly once bitten hard. He looked closer and saw another bite mark on the webbing of his right hand.
“Who bit you?” the Emperor’s voice turned to a frozen blade, trembling with suppressed, ominous fury.
Yu Wang laughed, mocking and smug. “Who else could it be? Looks all charming and sweet, but full of sharp teeth and guts. Such fun to tease. In my arms, like a wild cat—clawing and biting, begging me to stop while clinging on tight. On all fours—biting my hand just to keep from cursing. There was more… filth than tears—”
A burning pain bloomed across his thigh, as if scalded by tears. The Emperor lost all composure, no longer caring about royal dignity, and slapped him hard across the face, drawing blood from his mouth.
Yu Wang coughed a few times, then laughed low and bitterly, like someone resigned to ruin. “My mistake—I forgot Royal Brother had already sampled his flavor, and here I was, trying to show off.”
“Zhu Xujing, you… have truly disappointed me!” the Emperor said coldly. “You’ve held onto resentment for years, broken all decorum, shown no respect for the sovereign, and used seduction and manipulation of officials as revenge against me. I tolerated it all, only reprimanding you because I still considered you my brother—the same brother who once risked his life to save mine. But I never imagined you would continue down this path, becoming a vile and despicable wretch!”
“I regret it deeply. That first time in the Eastern Garden, when you molested Su Yan, I chose not to punish you severely to preserve the royal family’s dignity. Because of that, you grew bolder—harassing him repeatedly. Until, on the eve of his departure from the capital, you r*ped him, then had the audacity to send him a letter of mockery!”
“Look at what you’ve done—do you even qualify as human? You’re worse than a beast!”
Yu Wang widened his eyes. Under the weight of such harsh rebuke, a trace of childlike confusion and grievance flickered across his face. “He reported it? Molestation, harassment, r*pe, humiliation… is that what he told you?”
The Emperor barely restrained himself from striking again. “What, you thought it was mutual? Zhu Xujing, are you truly this naive—or just completely shameless? Do you not understand how much he loathes you, how much he endured for the greater good and his own safety?”
A ringing filled Yu Wang’s ears, making him dizzy and nauseous. He leaned over the bed’s edge, dry-heaving, gasping like a dying man. No amount of imperial rage or punishment could compare to the devastation of that one word from Su Yan—“hate.”
After that night at the lakeside pavilion, Su Yan hadn’t killed himself. Though his mouth was sharp, he didn’t pull a knife on him, he even seemed jealous of him and Shen Qi on the carriage ride home. It had all given Zhu Xujing the illusion that Su Yan had relented….
But thinking back—was it really jealousy? No, Su Yan had simply been trying to mislead him, distract him from the truth, to protect Shen Qi.
After returning to the capital, Su Yan had spoken to him calmly, making him believe the other had accepted it all, and the resistance during intimacy was merely playful. But then he’d gone straight to the Emperor with evidence, delivering a brutal, soul-crushing blow when he was already at his lowest.
Su Yan… really did hate him. Never once had he cared.
Yu Wang wanted to laugh.
Half-draped over the bed in utter disarray, his hair unbound, his hairpin fallen to the floor, he laughed—a sound uglier than weeping.
He, Zhu Jintang—how was he so much worse than Zhu Jintang? Where had he gone so wrong, that everything meant to be his was taken away again and again—his name, his command, his lands, his freedom… and the only person he ever truly cared about. And now, his elder brother was ripping away the last shred of his dignity.
Maybe he had been wrong. Ten years in the treacherous court had blinded him. He had treated Su Yan—this boy wrapped in silk but armed with blades—the way he treated all his fleeting lovers. Of course he’d end up bleeding for it.
Toward Su Yan, it was his own fault. But toward his royal brother Zhu Jintang… he had no shame in his heart. Only ten years of irrepressible frustration—and resentment.
This long-held resentment, suppressed for ten years by brotherhood and the principle of sovereign and subject, now erupted like a wildfire that could no longer be contained, burning fiercely through his internal organs.
Yu Wang laughed heartily, then suddenly lifted his head. His hawk-like eyes glinted coldly through the curtain of dark hair that fell over his face, staring at the Emperor without the slightest attempt to conceal his contempt.
“I don’t regret risking my life to save Royal Brother back then,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I do regret surviving.”
The Emperor’s fingers twitched sharply, like they had been pricked by needles. “You want to die?”
“I wanted to die then—die in your place—so that you’d owe me forever, owe our royal mother, live a whole lifetime burdened with guilt. Then, in your eyes, I’d always be that loyal and devoted fourth brother. And in mine, you’d always be the affectionate second brother. Wouldn’t that be better?”
“…You’re accusing me of being cold and heartless now?”
“You’re not heartless, Royal Brother. You’re just a master of imperial strategy. Fifteen years on the Dragon Throne have shaped you into a statue of divine reason, free of human desire. Governing the nation and managing court affairs have always been your top priorities. You guard against the feudal lords and powerful clans, against civil and military officials, against eunuchs and the Embroidered Guards—you even guard against our royal mother and your own bedside person. You’ve never truly trusted anyone.”
Yu Wang let out a mocking chuckle. “Even your favorite Crown Prince is under your constant watch. And Su Qinghe, with whom you’ve crossed the boundaries of sovereign and subject—you admire his character and talent, let him pursue his ambitions freely, and sent imperial guards across thousands of miles for his safety. But do you truly trust him with no reservations?”
“If you did, you wouldn’t be asking where I was on the night of the 20th of the twelfth month. I was at Cining Palace, having dinner with Royal Mother—have you forgotten?”
“No, you haven’t forgotten. You just didn’t want to believe Su Yan might have hidden something from you, and you were more willing to let me take the blame to preserve that illusion. It disrupted your order and rattled your heart, but wasn’t that also a kind of spoiled indulgence? Royal Brother, what are you suspicious of? What are you guarding against?”
The Emperor’s expression was as cold as frost, and his voice sharp: “Zhu Xujing, are you asking me for trust?”
“You think I stripped you of your military command because I always suspected you of disloyalty? That I feared you’d rise in rebellion?”
At this point, Yu Wang no longer held back. He got out of bed and, using his height to his advantage, deliberately stepped closer to the Emperor. With a cold sneer, he asked, “Isn’t that the truth?”
“If it were,” the Emperor said evenly, “I would’ve taken your command the moment I ascended the throne. Why would I let you keep sixty thousand elite troops for three whole years?”
“Because I was the last on your list,” Yu Wang retorted with thinly veiled sarcasm. “Liao Wang, Wei Wang, Gu Wang, Ning Wang over those three years, you stripped each border crown prince of their troops and confined them to their fiefs. Finally, it was my turn. And I should be grateful for your mercy, right? After all, we share the same mother—surely I’m different from the others?”
The Emperor swallowed his anger and said, “Did I show you the late Emperor’s edict?”
“You did.”
“And did Xin Wang’s treason not fulfill the condition stated therein: ‘If any crown prince holds arms and shows disloyalty, the system of feudal lords guarding the borders shall be abolished, and all their troops returned to the court’?”
“…It did. But it was only Xin Wang who rebelled. No matter how suspicious you are of the others, you should at least believe in me!”
Zhu Jintang was seven years older than him. Since childhood, he had loved chasing after his second brother’s footsteps. In Qin Wang’s residence, their royal father was constantly away on military campaigns and barely had time for them. Their mother had to manage the household and spent years locked in conflict with Side Consort Mo. The mysterious early death of their third brother had left her heartbroken, and it was impossible for her to devote all her energy to the two sons who remained.
He and Zhu Jintang had grown up supporting one another. As they got older, they followed their royal father and imperial grandfather on northern expeditions, continuing to watch each other’s backs on the battlefield.
After all these years of deep affection, how could it all be dismissed as a thing of the past just because one of them had ascended the throne and now saw the stability of the empire as weightier than Mount Tai?
Perhaps in Zhu Jintang’s eyes, he was an emperor first — and only after that, a father, son, elder brother, and husband.
But in Zhu Jincheng’s eyes, Zhu Jintang was first and foremost his brother — only then his emperor.
— It was precisely because of this that his mother had long told him: “Cheng Er, back then I went through great effort to have your father name Jintang as heir. After your royal father ascended the throne, I again insisted on establishing him as crown prince — not just because of birth order. It was also because he is more suited to be emperor than you.”
“You are a man of emotion, carefree in your comings and goings, driven by instinct and feeling — easily swayed by sentiment. But your second brother is different. From a young age, he knew how to choose between duty and desire. He understands that only by wielding both punishment and virtue to rule over his ministers, by caring for all the people rather than loving just one, can he become a wise and just ruler of the world.”
“I know you think I favored him, and he thinks I favored you — but a mother’s heart is the same for both of you.”
—Even a bowl of water can’t be held perfectly level — how could parents possibly avoid favoritism among their children?
If his mother truly cared for him, how could she have silently watched as his royal brother kept him trapped in the capital for ten years, without saying a word in his defense?
Yu Wang’s eyes were bloodshot as he stared at his brother, clad in an imperial ochre twelve-dragon robe. Emotion surged in his chest like a volcano, like a flood threatening to break loose — but in the end, it all condensed into one burning cry: “We came from the same womb — we are brothers by blood!”
The emperor stood still with his hands behind his back, looking at him — reminding him of the solemn, dignified portraits of former emperors shrouded in temple incense. He thought he caught a flicker of sorrow and helplessness in the emperor’s slightly reddened eyes and moist gaze — but it vanished in an instant, as if it had never been.
“All the princes have relinquished their military power — only you remain. What will the world think? That the emperor favors his brother so much he defies the late emperor’s will and bends the law for kin?”
And then how can any law issued in the future be enforced?”
“Furthermore, even if I trust you, how can I trust the sixty thousand Jingbei troops under your command? In their eyes, there is only their commander, only military orders — no emperor, no imperial law.”
Yu Wang was about to protest, but the emperor raised a hand to stop him and continued:
“There is something I originally had no intention of saying — I had planned to act as if it never happened. But if I don’t say it now, you will never be at peace in your heart—”
“Ten years ago, I had only just issued the order for you to return to the capital to care for Royal Mother during her illness. The military reform was still under discussion when rumors had already reached Great Tong—saying that the Son of Heaven suspected Dai Wang of treason, and was luring him back to the capital to charge him with rebellion. By then, the entire Jingbei Army would be implicated as traitors, with no one spared.”
“The commander was absent, rumors spread wildly, and under the instigation of several misinformed officers, the Jingbei Army nearly mutinied in your defense. Had you not caught wind of it and turned back midway to suppress the unrest, another rebellion might have erupted in Great Tong, following the one in Ganzhou!”
Yu Wang froze, his expression shifting.
“The difference is—Ganzhou’s troops were disorganized and easy to suppress. But your Great Tong troops are elite cavalry, loyal to their commander above all! If you hadn’t been able to contain them, if they raised their banners in revolt under your name, draped the imperial robes on you by force—how could you have backed down? And how would I, as emperor, have resolved such a dilemma?”
Yu Wang’s face turned pale. He had never imagined that the spark he smothered before it could ignite, ten years ago in the army, was never truly hidden—the emperor had known everything.
“If this had happened with any other prince, I would have ridden the wave of public opinion, handed him a dream of glory, then sent him and his ambition to the execution block. But because it was you, Zhu Xujing, I suppressed the matter, secretly ordered the few officials who knew to stay silent, and found another excuse to execute those officers who stirred unrest in the ranks.”
“You still say I don’t trust you? That I don’t show favoritism? I don’t guard against a particular man—I guard against the human heart.”
Yu Wang staggered back and fell onto the edge of the bed.
“So, in the end, you still guard against me, still suspect me. Even knowing I have no desire for the throne, you still want to strip me of power. Then why, all those years ago, did you make such a grandiose lie as ‘we shall govern the world together’? Were you not ashamed of your hypocrisy?”
The emperor took a deep breath and reached out to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Yu Wang flinched, as if the warmth burned him, and heard his brother say, “At that time… I truly meant it.”
And now? Yu Wang didn’t ask. He understood what it meant for things to change, for people to be shaped by circumstance—he knew what it meant to be at the top, where the cold is bitterest. He had never wanted the throne. What he yearned for wasn’t the Nine Tripod Cauldrons of rulership—it was freedom.
But as a prince, he was destined either to be caged in his fiefdom or imprisoned in the capital. The vast, boundless world—where was his freedom in it?
“So I hope that even in the capital, you can assist me in governing the state, and put your talents to use off the battlefield. All these years, in every court assembly and political discussion, have I ever left you off the list of participants? But how many times have you actually shown up?”
“I wanted you to take on responsibilities, but you sulked. You refused any post, indulged in pleasures, lived recklessly, thinking that by self-degradation and self-destruction you could make me lower my guard. Do you know how many denunciation reports I’ve received like falling snowflakes—how many times I’ve been disappointed and vexed because of you?”
“To share the burdens of rule, to serve the country, to plead for the people—is that not another form of ‘governing the world together’?”
Yu Wang sat like a piece of ebony, charred and burned, silent under the emperor’s hand.
Emperor Jinglong sighed. “Fortunately, there’s the Heavenly Works Academy. You were willing to take that role, and did it well. Though I never publicly praised you, I was comforted in my heart. I hoped it marked a turn for the better, that it would ease the resentment in you. I also hoped you would turn over a new leaf and stop venting your anger on innocent officials. And I want you to truly repent, to go and apologize to Su Yan, accept whatever punishment he gives—until he forgives you.”
Yu Wang suddenly looked up, his expression both desperate and sharp, like the spear that once pierced through his chest. “—And after the apology?”
“Go your separate ways. No further entanglements.”
Yu Wang gripped the bed covers so tightly his knuckles turned white, veins bulging. He ground out each word: “I. Refuse. To. Obey!”
The emperor’s brows shot up in anger. “You’re still not giving up? He holds a deep grudge, sees you as a monster. You keep pestering him—what about your dignity, your pride?”
“If he resents me, I’ll make him let go. If he fears me, I’ll change his view. But if you, Royal Brother, use imperial power to force me to let go—then I have no choice but to defy your decree!”
“Insolence! Zhu Xujing, do you know the consequences of defying a decree? Defying the emperor—even as a royal prince—it won’t shield you!”
“The consequence… is death, right? I don’t fear death.” Yu Wang laughed bitterly, tearing open his robe to reveal old scars on his chest—the one over his heart most striking. “You ask me to give up someone I love. How is that any different from tearing my heart out? You might as well strike me down right now, save yourself the effort of a formal decree or a public arrest.”
He pulled a short sword, the fish intestine sword, from under the pillow and shoved the hilt into the emperor’s hand.
The emperor’s face turned ashen. “You’re asking for death? This is using past merit to coerce your sovereign. Have you no conscience as a subject, as a brother?!”
Yu Wang gripped the emperor’s hand and the hilt tightly, thrusting the blade toward his own heart. “Conscience? Then cut it out and see for yourself. Su Qinghe is lodged right in my heart—unless you cut it out, how could I possibly let go?”
The blade pierced flesh, blood flowing freely. The emperor’s hand trembled in fury at his reckless brother. “Look at you—what part of you still looks like a prince? You’re nothing but a thug!”
In the pain of cutting into his own flesh, Yu Wang felt a strange freedom, as if the anger inside him flowed out with the blood. He laughed loudly. “To live in this world—if one can’t love as they wish, if they must become a god without feelings or desires just to rule—then what’s the point of holding the world in your hands? Don’t you think so, Royal Brother?”
—
In a remote corner of Yu Wang’s residence, shrouded in night’s shadow, Yin Fu suddenly coughed and spat a mouthful of dark blood, stumbling forward two steps and catching himself against a jagged rock.
The bone flute he held in his hand was flecked with blood.
He struggled to regulate his breath and internal energy. After a moment, he finally stood steady.
These past nights, unless Yu Wang was out, the sound of the flute had never ceased—carrying messages by a secret transmission technique, delivered only to a single person’s ears.
Last night, on New Year’s Eve at the Office of State Ceremonial, manipulating the soul-bewitching melody to control four people at once had consumed far too much of his internal energy. Before he had time to recover, he encountered another rare opportunity tonight. Though he knew it was forcing it, he still couldn’t help but act, leading to a backlash in his vital energy, injuring his heart and lung meridians.
Yu Wang came from the military and had a strong will—this had to be approached gradually. Acting rashly would only arouse suspicion and cause everything to fail at the last step… Yin Fu warned himself so.
He carefully tucked away the crane-bone flute, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, took a deep breath, and emerged from the shadows, returning to the dimly lit path.
He had only taken a few steps when a voice behind him asked, “What are you doing here?”
Yin Fu tensed slightly inside but turned around without showing anything on his face and softly replied, “Commander Han.”
Han Ben approached with a hand on his sword hilt, looking him up and down. “You’ve looked pale for days now. Still not over your stomach troubles?”
Yin Fu smiled. “Thank you for your concern, Commander. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Han Ben said. “On New Year’s Eve, the guards on duty all had their reunion dinner together. Why were you the only one missing? You left your post without permission—where did you go?”
Yin Fu lowered his head and didn’t answer, trying to slip past Han Ben.
Han Ben blocked his way. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain. Either you tell me, or I take you straight to Wangye.”
Yin Fu tried to dart left and right but was blocked at every turn. He finally dropped his head and muttered with a thick nasal voice, “It’s none of your business!”
“It is my business—it’s my duty.” Han Ben’s voice softened a little, feeling a twinge of sympathy at his whiny tone, but he still pressed, “Tell me! Where did you go last night? What were you doing?”
Pushed to the point of tears, Yin Fu had no choice but to say, “I went to offer sacrifices to my parents! My entire family was massacred on New Year’s Eve years ago. Their bodies were never buried, and I don’t even know where their remains are. All I can do is go to the temple and pray from afar, to fulfill a son’s duty. There. Is that enough? Can I go now?”
Han Ben was silent for a moment before saying, “Sorry. I overstepped.”
Yin Fu lowered his head, tears still in his eyes, and tried to leave—but accidentally bumped into him. Han Ben instinctively reached out to steady him, and as they got close, he smelled a faint scent of blood.
“You’re hurt?” Han Ben asked.
Yin Fu replied, “I’m not.”
“Then this blood scent on you… is it… menstrual blood?”
Yin Fu froze—then swung a fist. “You’re the woman!”
Han Ben caught his fist and chuckled. “The dead are gone. Don’t be sad. Come on, let’s have a few drinks.”
Yin Fu was slung over the shoulder and dragged away. He allowed it, lips slightly curved.
NOOOOOOOOOO YIN FU, I HAD HOPES FOR YOU; HOW COULD IT BE YOU?!? BASTARD😭😭