Yu Wang didn’t understand the odd reference, but Su Yan’s expression made it clear it wasn’t a compliment.
Clearly, Su Yan held deep resentment toward him—no wonder he’d taken the love letter he sent and presented it to the emperor like a formal accusation.
Thinking back on it now, Yu Wang realized it was all his own doing. He knew that logically. But seeing Su Yan so heartless still filled him with a kind of unspeakable humiliation and pain.
Was it truly beyond redemption?
It was the first time Yu Wang had tasted defeat in the realm of love. He’d thought himself a general with a million soldiers—only to be utterly routed by one man, alone and unarmed.
But he wasn’t going to give up.
He had risen countless times from smoke-choked battlefields, from piles of corpses soaked in blood. Even if he were the last man standing, spear in hand, he would keep fighting. That determination was etched into his very bones—and no decade of luxury could ever erase it.
If Su Yan hated his attitude, he would change it. If he loathed his methods, he would find new ones. If he was still bitter over the incident at the waterside pavilion, Yu Wang would set aside his princely pride and offer a sincere apology, even accept punishment.
Even if Su Yan wouldn’t forgive him now—stone can be worn down by dripping water. His heart was softer than stone; given time, it could be won.
Taking a deep breath, Yu Wang said solemnly, “I want to apologize to you, Qinghe.”
Su Yan rolled his eyes. “Wangye has already apologized four times. Each one meant about as much as a dog fart. Afterwards, you go back to your old ways like nothing happened.”
…that many times? Yu Wang thought back. Two in the South Courtyard, one on the grassy slope, and once more in a letter. He had apologized, but each time with a different mindset—sometimes coaxing, saying what Su Yan wanted to hear; sometimes as a tactic to retreat and regroup. Only the letter was sincere, but even then, it hadn’t hit the right note. In fact, it had only made Su Yan angrier.
Yu Wang opened his mouth, wanting to explain, to swear he was truly remorseful this time. But in the end, he couldn’t say the words.
Su Yan let out a sigh—tired, weary. He looked at him and said with genuine sincerity, “Zhu Xujing, I really don’t want to keep entangling with you anymore. I used to think I had to get justice, that even if you got away unpunished because of your royal blood, I’d at least force an apology out of you. But now I realize it doesn’t matter.”
“Because whether or not you apologize, nothing changes. You’re still a high and mighty prince, and I’m still a lowly official running around like a beast of burden. I know how you see me deep down: a good-looking scholar, pleasant company for moonlit chats, maybe a somewhat capable and ambitious official—but none of that means as much to you as how well I can twist in bed. Just like how a courtesan’s talent adds flair—but what matters is still the ‘courtesan’ part.”
Yu Wang’s face darkened. Through clenched teeth, he said, “You—”
Su Yan calmly interrupted, “Yes, my words are harsh. But they’re the truth. Every time we’re alone, you either can’t keep your hands to yourself or try to get me into bed. Sure, you’re gifted, skilled—I won’t deny that what happened at the pavilion, though utterly humiliating mentally, was also physically… overwhelming. But that only made me more afraid and disgusted—”
“I’m terrified that my own desires can be so easily manipulated, and I loathe the helplessness of having my body give in while my mind screams no.”
“Zhu Xujing, what you take the most pride in, is exactly what I most want to avoid.”
“I used to regret that you wasted your time and talent, I understood your resentment and frustration at being constrained and losing your freedom. I was grateful for the time you saved my life, and I hoped we could be friends in earnest. But now I see—you were right from the start. You don’t need a friend like me, and we were never going to be friends. It’s better we settle things once and for all. From this day forward, let’s only interact for official duties, without any personal entanglements.”
“That’s all I have to say.” Su Yan raised his sleeve and cupped his hands in a proper, formal bow. “This humble official—Right Shaoqing of the Dali Temple, Censorate Inspector, Touring Censor of Shaanxi, and Crown Prince’s Shidu, Su Yan—takes his leave of Your Highness, Yu Wang.”
Watching Su Yan’s back retreating without a glance, Yu Wang stood like a long spear long coated in dust—silent and straight. After a long while, he murmured to himself, “My greatest pride lies not in the bedroom, nor in affairs of love—someday, you’ll understand.”
As Su Yan rounded the corner, his leg gave out and he nearly tripped in a dip between stone tiles. He quickly braced himself on the vermilion palace wall and let out a long breath.
He hadn’t expected to run into Yu Wang here and now. Nor had he expected all those words to come spilling out—unplanned, unscripted, not even deeply thought out. Yet the moment he saw the man, they poured from his subconscious in an unstoppable flood.
Along with those words flowed out months of bitterness, resentment, and unspeakable shame. And with that, they dispersed into the cold winter wind.
At some point, a light snow had begun to fall. Su Yan tilted his head back to look at the sky, letting the misty flakes fall on his face. He smiled softly, released.
—Time to go home.
—
Su Yan was just about to blow out the candle and go to bed when there came three soft knocks—knock knock, knock—on the tightly closed window.
He quickly walked over and undid the latch. Jinghong Zhui slipped in through the window, trailing snowflakes and cold air.
“Ah Zhui!” Su Yan greeted him warmly, brushing snow from his shoulders. He picked up a pot of red date tea warming on the brazier, poured a cup, and handed it to him.
Jinghong Zhui downed it in one go, wiped his mouth, and said, “My lord, I’ve returned to report.”
“You were gone five days. Was it that difficult?”
“Not too bad. The Prince’s manor is heavily guarded, but it’s the holiday season, so security wasn’t tight. Besides, Yu Wang’s been clearly distracted lately—troubled by something. He didn’t notice I was hiding in the manor, keeping watch.”
Su Yan hesitated. “I ran into Yu Wang at the palace gate today. He looked unwell—was it because of Fuyin?”
Jinghong Zhui nodded. “Fuyin did use the Bewitching Sound Technique with the Crane-bone flute, clouding Yu Wang’s mind and emotions. But the Prince is a seasoned soldier, his willpower is strong. He quickly sensed something was wrong and started investigating suspicious people in the manor. Fuyin’s been nursing injuries in hiding, too scared to act again. I waited five days before finally following him when he left the manor tonight.”
“Where did he go?”
“He lingered in a remote alley for a while, then went to a brothel. I climbed over the wall and searched thoroughly but couldn’t find him. I suspect there’s more than meets the eye inside—possibly a hidden chamber or secret tunnel. I didn’t want to alert anyone, so I went back to the alley and searched more carefully. That’s when I found this marking at the base of the wall—”
Jinghong Zhui dipped a wolf-hair brush in cinnabar ink and drew eight long red marks on white paper. The marks were oval-shaped, arranged in a fan pattern, like a lotus flower of blood.
Su Yan studied the paper. “There must be meaning here, but just from the design, I can’t tell.”
“I can’t decipher it either,” Jinghong Zhui admitted. “But there’s still the strange brothel to investigate. Next time, I’ll sneak in again and capture someone in the know to interrogate.”
Su Yan nodded. “Be careful. If things go wrong, protect yourself first. Retreat if you must.”
Feeling touched by the concern, Jinghong Zhui was momentarily dazzled and reached out to hold Su Yan’s hand—only for Su Yan to casually turn and let him grab air.
Su Yan folded the paper and walked to the wardrobe, tucked it into a silk pouch, and placed it atop his official robe. “The Northern Surveillance Bureau gathers intel from across the court and common circles. I’ll ask Shen Qi later—maybe he knows this symbol.”
Even though he’d had to sit through New Year’s dinner with the guy, Jinghong Zhui still couldn’t stand the name “Shen Qi,” especially coming from Su Yan’s mouth. It was like a vinegar jar exploded in his heart—sour and painful. But this was official business, so no matter how bitter he felt, he did his best not to show it.
After closing the wardrobe, Su Yan added, “For the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth, I was supposed to go with you, Xiaobei, and Xiaojing. But I’ve just received an imperial edict—fourth-rank officials and above must accompany His Majesty to the festival. I’ll have to break my promise. Ah Zhui, take the boys and enjoy the lanterns without me. If it gets too noisy, feel free to split up.”
Another jar of vinegar burst in his chest—this was the second blow. Jinghong Zhui’s plan to release river lanterns and make wishes with Su Yan had been crushed. His face turned stiff, and his heart sank.
After Su Yan got into bed, he added again, “Keep an eye on Fuyin. If Yu Wang finds clues before we do, let me know right away. I’ll try to sound him out myself—we can’t let anything about your Hidden Sword Sect background get exposed. It’d just complicate things.”
His loyal bodyguard, touched by this concern, thought if he were so useless as to need his lord to flirt with the dog Wangye for intel, he might as well just end it all with one sword strike—or better yet, end the dog Wangye and solve everything for good.
He went to add coal to the brazier. Seeing that Su Yan had wrapped himself like a silkworm cocoon, he reached into the bed and felt his toes—ice cold.
Su Yan said, “One warming stone isn’t enough. Ah Zhui, go heat another.”
Jinghong Zhui seriously considered how to wash himself as fast as possible. There wasn’t time to heat water, but the garden well wasn’t frozen—he could rinse with that and use internal energy to warm himself after.
So he said, “Please wait a moment, my lord—I’ll fetch water.”
Su Yan, thinking he was going to fill another warming stone, instructed, “Go out the window again. If we open the door, those four guards in the front courtyard will get suspicious.”
Jinghong Zhui frowned. “Aren’t they supposed to be imperial bodyguards assigned to protect you? Why are they so nosy about who’s coming out of your room in the middle of the night?”
Su Yan smiled helplessly. “They can’t actually control anything, they’re just there to file tattling reports—and someone just has to care about those. Your master here is in for a long haul.”
Jinghong Zhui scoffed, “There are three things in this world that not even the Emperor can control.”
“Oh? And what are they?”
“The rain falling from the sky, a woman choosing to marry—”
“And?”
Jinghong Zhui leaned down and whispered shyly in Su Yan’s ear, “And… a concubine wanting to warm their master’s bed.”
Su Yan froze, his face flushing red. “Get lost! Last time you almost tormented me to death—you’re like a beast! Don’t ever think I’ll agree to that again in this lifetime.”
Jinghong Zhui blinked, surprised. “I only meant to literally warm the bed this time…”
Suddenly, realization dawned, and joy crept into his tone. “So it’s you who thought something else! Don’t tell me, my lord actually—”
“—Shut up!” Su Yan’s face turned scarlet like the evening glow, and he burrowed completely under the blanket, muffled and flustered. “Just go fill the bed warmer!”
Jinghong Zhui, at this point, was like that brass bed warmer—hard and heated inside. He patted the blanket with a bold grin and said daringly, “No warmer needed. You’ve got a man. Wait for me, my lord.”
