The sky was overcast, and thick snowflakes began to fall. Snow fluttered through the air, obscuring one’s vision.
The carriage stopped outside the main gates of the Ancestral Temple. Cloaked and hooded, Su Yan stepped down. Snow immediately settled on his head and shoulders, turning them pure white.
Fu Bao raised an umbrella to shield him from the snow.
Su Yan brushed the snow from his shoulders and took the oil-paper umbrella, saying regretfully, “This snow came too late. If it had fallen last night, it might’ve slowed the fire at Kunning Palace.”
Fu Bao nodded and sighed. “Yes. Things in this world are always filled with missed chances.”
After showing the Eastern Palace token to the guards, Fu Bao grabbed another umbrella and walked with Su Yan through the glazed-tile gates, across the Yudai Bridge, past the Ji Gate and the plaza in front of the hall, straight to the central hall where the ancestral tablets of past emperors and empresses were enshrined.
The Ancestral Temple was under the management of the Department of Divine Worship within the inner court, with one chief eunuch and a dozen other attendants. Because the snow was so heavy, most of them had hidden away in the warming chambers, leaving only two on duty at the main hall doors to deliver meals to the Crown Prince who was there by imperial punishment.
Fu Bao discreetly handed them some silver and sent them away, then pushed open the hall doors and gestured for Su Yan to enter.
Inside the grand hall, only a single brazier burned before the spirit tablets. Zhu Helin knelt on a cushion beside the fire, staring blankly at the ancestral tablet of Empress Xiao Hui Ci.
Su Yan shook off the snow from his cloak and handed it to Fu Bao, then stepped forward and softly called, “Young Master.”
Zhu Helin came back to himself but didn’t turn around. He wiped his face messily with his sleeve, clearing away the traces of tears. “You came.”
Su Yan dragged over a cushion and knelt beside him. “Fu Bao told me everything.”
Zhu Helin took a deep breath, trying to suppress the tremble in his voice after crying. “Those lanterns we picked out last night… there’s nowhere to hang them anymore.”
Su Yan sighed and wrapped an arm around the Crown Prince’s shoulder, saying nothing.
Zhu Helin turned and clung to Su Yan, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Qinghe, my heart hurts…”
“I know,” Su Yan said, gently patting his back.
“My heart hurts not just because I lost the palace my royal mother lived in, and all her belongings… but because I’ve failed as a Crown Prince. I’ve disappointed the spirit of my royal mother in heaven.”
Zhu Helin’s body trembled violently. Su Yan embraced the fifteen-year-old boy and, for the first time, truly felt the deep loneliness and fear hidden in his heart.
He hated studying, loved to play, was willful and unruly—Zhu Helin was well aware of all these flaws. But he had no desire to change, unwilling to be bound by the rigid expectations of etiquette and propriety, and not interested in becoming like his Royal Father, disciplined and self-restrained. Though he had matured in both thought and action after surviving an assassination attempt, his nature remained bold and unrestrained.
He knew full well that as Crown Prince, every word and action reflected on the imperial family’s dignity. And yet, he didn’t want to suppress his true self beneath that dignified facade. The internal conflict and frustration born from this were buried under his flamboyant, arrogant personality and rarely shown to others.
Now, in Su Yan’s arms, he cast off the strength and pride expected of a royal heir and, like an ordinary boy, poured out his pain.
Su Yan gently touched the increasingly firm muscles of the youth’s back and shoulders and sincerely said, “If being the Crown Prince were simply a job, then yes, you’re not perfect—perhaps not even virtuous by traditional standards. But you’re more real, more alive, than any crown prince who tries to cultivate a perfect image.
“As for what the late Empress thought—I can’t say. But I can tell you this, Zhu Helin: I have never been disappointed in you. I chose to board your ship not just out of personal friendship, but because I believe you will be the enlightened ruler who leads Great Ming into another golden era. You have vision, talent, and courage. What you lack is refinement of character and more experience handling affairs.
“I’ve staked my life and future on you—not because I’m a reckless gambler, but because I trust my judgment. And if I may boast a little, my judgment of people has always been spot-on.”
Zhu Helin’s eyes welled up. His whole body tensed, burning with heat. His heart beat so fast and hard it felt like it might leap out of his chest and land inside the one pressed against him. “Qinghe…” he choked. “Do you really believe I can build the peaceful and prosperous world you dream of?”
“Of course!” Su Yan answered without hesitation.
Zhu Helin sniffled and then pushed him gently away, wiping his face with his sleeve. He solemnly said, “Kneel straight. Face my royal mother.”
Su Yan was confused but obeyed, kneeling respectfully before the Empress’s spirit tablet.
Zhu Helin straightened his crown and robes, knelt beside him, and sincerely prayed to the tablet: “Royal Mother, do you see the person beside me? His name is Su Yan. Aside from Royal Father, he is the most important person in my life. He trusts me, cares for me, and is willing to entrust his life and future to me. And I trust him, like him, and want to do everything I can to fulfill his dreams. I vow to be with him for life, never to betray him, never to leave his side until our hair turns white. Please bear witness to this.”
Then he turned to Su Yan and ordered, “Bow to my Royal mother. Three times.”
Su Yan felt the vow was fine, except for the line “never to leave each other until old age,” which sounded more like a lovers’ oath.
Zhu Helin, seeing his hesitation, glared. “Hurry up. Bow!”
Su Yan gave in and kowtowed to the spirit tablet.
Zhu Helin, solemn-faced, bowed along with him, three times in sync. Then he took Su Yan’s hand and gazed straight into his eyes. “Qinghe, from now on, our lives and fates are one. I will never hide anything from you, and you must speak to me openly, without reservation.”
Su Yan nodded. “Then I’ll speak plainly. Last night, you personally killed three palace servants at the scene of the fire. It wasn’t a wise move, but it’s understandable. What’s done is done—regret is useless now. What we must consider is the potential consequences of that act. We need to prepare for the worst in order to come up with the best response.”
Zhu Helin said, “Last night, Royal Father said the same thing. Killing a few servants who made mistakes is a small matter. The greater danger is if it damages my character. If someone uses this incident to stir up trouble, saying I’m cruel and unfit to be crown prince, public opinion could turn against the Eastern Palace.”
“Three feet of ice isn’t formed in a single day,” Su Yan replied. “If they want to bring you down, using just this incident won’t be enough. They know that too—what they’re more likely trying to do is create momentum.”
“Create momentum?”
Su Yan’s knees were aching from kneeling on the cushion and he couldn’t help shifting position. Zhu Helin quickly urged him to sit cross-legged and continued listening.
“Yes,” Su Yan said. “Young Master, think about it. The civil officials—especially the Grand Tutors—have long had complaints about you. They say you’re unruly and uninterested in your studies, and they worry you won’t be able to bear the responsibilities of rule. Isn’t that so?”
Zhu Helin nodded, though not without some annoyance. “Those Grand Tutors are incredibly dull. You can’t blame me entirely.”
“The issue isn’t about who’s to blame,” Su Yan said. “It’s about the fact that they’re worried you won’t be able to carry the burden. In other words, they’ve already accepted that you will inherit the throne someday, and they’re trying to correct and reform you. Especially the Crown Prince’s Grand Tutors—His Majesty chose Li Chengfeng from the Ministry of Personnel, Yan Xing from the Court of Diplomatic Rites, and Yang Ting from the Grand Secretariat. That was no coincidence.”
“What’s so special about them?”
“The Ministry of Personnel holds real power, the Court of Diplomatic Rites is the most prestigious, and Scholar Yang is a key figure in the Grand Secretariat—and he’s close with Li Chengfeng. Together, they represent half the weight of the imperial court. These men are your tutors now, and when you ascend the throne, they’ll become Grand Preceptors, ranking among the Three Dukes. Even just for the sake of their own futures, they’ll do all they can to protect your position.”
Zhu Helin considered this and nodded again. “That’s true. Li and Yan scold me harshly, but I can tell it’s because they expect better of me. Not like some of those censors who sound polite, but their words are full of venom.”
“Exactly. So, what you should be more concerned about is public opinion outside the court. Since returning to the capital, I’ve heard a lot of rumors in the streets. It seems like someone is deliberately spreading them to erode your support among the people. If last night’s incident is taken up by the wrong people, distorted and exaggerated, it might go from ‘killed three palace servants’ to ‘killed thirty, or even three hundred,’ with added claims of torture or worse. The more sensational, the better.”
Zhu Helin was shocked. “The common folk aren’t idiots—would they really believe such absurd rumors?”
Su Yan smiled. “Young Master, you’re overestimating the people’s discernment and underestimating their love for gossip.”
It’s the same in future generations—people might have received nine years of compulsory education, some even highly educated, but they still jump to conclusions, lack independent thinking, and follow the herd.
In that future, the chaos of online information clouds the truth. But in this era, while it’s easy to spread rumors and destroy someone’s reputation, clearing one’s name isn’t impossible either. If they have whisper campaigns, we have voices too.
Su Yan asked, “If the rumors continue to spread, and even some court officials start to be swayed or bribed to submit petitions against you, calling for His Majesty to choose a more virtuous successor—what would you do?”
Zhu Helin slammed his hand on the floor in anger. “They’d dare?! Do they not fear I’ll retaliate? Or that they’ll anger Royal Father and be beaten to death with a hundred court rods?”
“But some of those officials would gladly endure a beating if it meant being remembered in the history books.”
“…Tradition favors the eldest legitimate son. That’s not something that can be easily changed!”
“True. It can’t be changed easily—but it’s not impossible either. If they can’t bring you down all at once, they’ll keep seizing on your flaws. Stirring up trouble every few days—won’t His Majesty get weary of it? Won’t he feel overwhelmed? And if the Empress Dowager gets involved, who do you think she’ll support—her disliked first grandson, born of her disliked former daughter-in-law, or her cherished second grandson, born of her own niece?”
Fubao, listening in the corner, was terrified. He wanted to run over and cover Su Yan’s mouth. Lord Su! The Young Master said you could speak freely, but you really have no filter! These kinds of things shouldn’t be said! Not only might it upset the Young Master, but if this reaches the Empress Dowager, you’ll lose your head!
The Empress Dowager’s favoritism was a sore spot for Zhu Helin. His face flushed red and he nearly lost his temper, but in the end, he just leaned in, covered Su Yan’s mouth, and whispered, “I understand how serious this is, Qinghe. My good Qinghe, please don’t risk your life trying to enlighten me again. I’m really scared for you!”
Su Yan grabbed his hand and pulled it away, panting slightly. “As long as you understand.”
Zhu Helin was panting too, tense on Su Yan’s behalf. “Tell me what I should do. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“I was just mapping out the worst-case scenario,” Su Yan said, a plan forming in his mind. He smiled faintly. “They want to make a fuss about ‘violence’? Then we’ll work with another word. Let’s see whose narrative is more dazzling and moving.”
He leaned in and whispered something into Zhu Helin’s ear…
Zhu Helin’s eyes widened as he listened, nodding repeatedly.
Finally, Su Yan said, “We’ll deal with this first. But later, when the chance comes—we strike back hard and make them pay!”
Zhu Helin was so close to him, breathing in the subtle scent from his collar, feeling the warmth on his cheek and ear. A sudden heat flushed his face, spreading through his body like a jolt of electricity down to his abdomen.
And just as Su Yan delivered that line—“strike back hard and make them pay”—he emphasized his words by slapping Zhu Helin’s thigh.
Smack!
Zhu Helin jolted, yanked his robe down over his lap, bunching up the fabric to hide a very real problem.
He quickly glanced down, saw that Su Yan hadn’t noticed, and finally let out a quiet breath of relief, sitting stiffly as he waited for the “tide to retreat.”
Su Yan, displeased by his lack of response, asked, “What do you think?”
“Huh?” Zhu Helin looked flustered.
“Taking the initiative to strike!”
“Strike… Of course, this young master wants to strike. I’m just afraid you’ll refuse, and then you’ll hit me and scold me again…”
Su Yan frowned at him. “It was my idea. Why would I refuse? Were you spacing out? You didn’t hear what I said at all, did you?”
“I heard, I heard,” Zhu Helin quickly replied. “I know what to do next. Don’t worry, this young master can be both scholarly and martial, can charge head-on, or play the pitiful victim.”
Only then was Su Yan satisfied. He stood up and rubbed his knees. “Then I’ll be going. You stay kneeling.”
He walked to the corner of the hall and took the cloak from Fubao, putting it back on.
Zhu Helin stared at the cloak. The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed—wasn’t that the very same cloak the Emperor wrapped around him from head to toe last night on the city tower? The one they twisted and tangled in while doing who-knows-what under it? He still hadn’t gotten a straight answer!
He immediately sprang to his feet and stormed over. “Su Qinghe! What were you and the Emperor doing last night on the city tower?!”
Su Yan faltered slightly, then replied, “His Majesty summoned me to accompany him and watch the fireworks.”
Zhu Helin’s heart soured and turned bitter. He glared fiercely. “What kind of fireworks need the two of you wrapped in the same cloak? What fish were swimming in there? What waves were splashing?”
Su Yan had assumed that since the tower was high and dark, the square below couldn’t see them, and the tower opposite was dozens of meters away, no one could clearly see what was going on. Who would’ve guessed Zhu Helin had used one of the newly imported Galileo telescopes from Great Ming and saw everything clearly? Su Yan cursed inwardly: had I known, I wouldn’t have gone for that cloak just because it had a hood—it was warm and snow-proof, but now look what it’s caused.
That brand-new cloak had never been worn by the Emperor before and had no dragon embroidery. Su Yan had thought no one would recognize it. He underestimated the Crown Prince’s sharp eyes and sensitive nose. Miscalculation!
Seeing Su Yan guilty, Zhu Helin grew even more jealous. He rushed forward and yanked at the cloak ties around Su Yan’s neck. “Take it off! You’re not allowed to wear it! Use it to cushion the kneeling mat—my knees are about to sprout thorns!”
Su Yan clutched the ties. “This is an imperial gift—if it’s damaged or lost, it’s a capital offense! If the kneeling mat’s too hard, I’ll have the eunuchs bring you two thick quilts.”
Zhu Helin saw how stubbornly he defended the cloak and practically exploded. “Pah! You don’t care about me—you’re just reluctant to give up the cloak! Shameless scoundrel! Heartless rogue! I wasted my affection, promising you a lifetime together, and you—you turn down fresh, tender bok choy and go licking old cured meat!”
Fubao stomped his foot in a panic. “Young master! You can’t repeat filthy gossip from the streets! And you must never speak so rudely about His Majesty…”
But Zhu Helin wouldn’t let it go, insisting on yanking the cloak.
Su Yan’s head throbbed. Suddenly, he remembered when he first returned to the capital and went to the Eastern Palace. The Crown Prince had clung to him for kisses and insisted they sleep in the same hall. Su Yan finally gave in and kissed him a bit, after which the Crown Prince had melted, grinning foolishly and forgetting to stop him from leaving.
Helplessly, Su Yan turned to Fubao and said, “Fubao Gonggong, please—could you turn around and look over there—”
Fubao followed his gaze. Was there something suspicious on the wall?
Su Yan seized the chance, leaned in, and gave the Crown Prince a quick peck on the lips.
Zhu Helin froze, blinking in place, face instantly flushed red. By the time he came to his senses and tried to pounce on Su Yan for a deeper kiss, the man had already pulled up his hood and was halfway across the square with an umbrella.
Meanwhile, Fubao was still staring at the wall, muttering, “Lord Su is so smart—he couldn’t have been mistaken. There must be something fishy there…”
Zhu Helin, caught between anger and amusement, clapped a hand over his mouth, tamping down the wild fluttering in his chest. Fine! I’ll let you go this time. But next time? No leaving without a full quarter hour of kisses!
He returned to the altar, knelt on the cushion, and prayed before the former Empress: “Royal Mother, if your spirit can hear me in heaven, please work a miracle. Give Royal Father a dream—say… yes, say that you’ve chosen a wife for me, and he, as the Royal Father-in-law, needs to have some shame and stop getting handsy with my people.”
Fubao turned around, stunned, his face looking like he’d been struck by lightning. His eyeballs nearly popped out. After a long silence, he wailed, “Young master! My ancestor! You cannot let anyone hear that—”
Zhu Helin’s face darkened. “Didn’t you think I’d have made preparations when I summoned Su Yan? I already ordered the Eastern Palace guards to clear the entire Central Hall under the pretense of anti-assassination measures—not even a mouse could hide in here.”
Fubao let out a small breath of relief.
“As soon as he entered, the guards sealed off the area. No one can eavesdrop,” Zhu Helin continued. “And me acting like a fool like this—next time he gets too close to Royal Father, he’ll have to think twice. If I behave like this in front of Royal Father too, can he bear it? If he can’t, he’ll have to rein himself in and consider my reaction.”
Only then did Fubao realize that half of the Crown Prince’s tantrum had been genuine, and half had been a strategic warning to Su Yan.
He had been serving the Crown Prince since the age of six—eight years now—and for the first time, he felt like he didn’t fully understand him anymore. Or rather, the Crown Prince had grown up too fast and already left him behind.
….I’ve got to keep up with his thinking, Fubao told himself, or someday he’ll stop needing me and find someone better to serve by his side.
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