The little lord, having acted indecently, earned himself another round of solid knocks on the head.
Su Yan pulled a Western-style mirror from the wall cabinet in the carriage and inspected his neck from all angles. He tugged his collar up tightly, barely managing to cover the clearly visible kiss mark. He decided that once they disembarked, he’d throw on a fur-collared cloak—then no one would notice. Only then did he feel at ease.
The crown prince’s carriage was heading toward Baizhifang, so Su Yan simply tagged along to inspect the explosion site.
The blast had originated at the gunpowder bureau’s warehouse. The explosion had left a massive crater over a hundred zhang wide. It was impossible to tell whether it was a dust explosion that had ignited the black powder. The shockwave radiated outward, with buildings within a two-li radius suffering increasing damage the closer they were to the epicenter. Outer areas only needed some repairs, but the entire inner district of Baizhifang would have to be rebuilt from scratch.
Under the direction of officials from the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Works, soldiers were digging through the rubble of collapsed homes, searching for survivors and shoveling broken bricks and timbers into the crater nonstop.
There were ruins everywhere—scorched walls, smoke-blackened debris—and cries, screams, and groans echoed all around.
Zhu Helin, raised in the depths of the palace and only having snuck out to see the capital’s splendor and glory, had never witnessed such devastation. He looked deeply shaken.
Su Yan patted his arm in comfort and said, “Compared to natural disasters like floods, locusts, earthquakes, or the Little Ice Age, this kind of man-made catastrophe is relatively mild. Handle the relief efforts well, and Baizhifang can be rebuilt in a year or two. There’s no need to be too worried.”
Earthquakes had been rare in recent years. The Yellow River, however, had breached its banks multiple times in Shandong and Southern Zhili. All previous attempts to control it had failed. Ministry of Works officials were still arguing in court over how to proceed, leaving the emperor with a persistent headache.
Thinking of the challenges his father had to deal with, Zhu Helin suddenly felt his own task didn’t seem so overwhelming.
“What do you mean by… ‘Little Ice Age’?” he asked Su Yan.
Su Yan stuffed his hands into his sleeves, carefully picking his way across the rubble-strewn road as he explained, “It refers to a prolonged period—several decades, even a hundred years—of extreme climate change. Summers will swing between drought and flood, while winters become unbearably harsh, with even the usually warm Lingnan region seeing violent snowstorms.”
Zhu Helin, quick-witted, immediately grasped the implications. “If the seasons are disrupted like that, wouldn’t that cause famine?”
“Exactly. A sharp drop in temperature leads to drought in the north, massive crop failures, and consequently widespread famine. And it’s long-term famine that truly tears the country apart—no dynasty or emperor can reverse that.”
“…What makes you say that?”
Su Yan stopped and turned to look at the crown prince. “There have been three Little Ice Ages in history. The first was during the end of the Shang dynasty, which had lasted over 500 years. It collapsed. The second came at the end of the Eastern Han, leading to the Three Kingdoms and then the Five Barbarians’ invasion. The third was at the end of the Tang, which resulted in the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms. Every time famine struck during a Little Ice Age, four-fifths of the Central Plains population would perish.”
Zhu Helin was horrified. He blurted, “Will there be a fourth time? When?”
Then he realized how silly his question sounded—Qinghe wasn’t a prophet. How would he know when a natural disaster would happen?
Yes, there would be. It would strike this very dynasty, less than two hundred years from now—and directly bring about the fall of Great Ming.
But that was in the world before Su Yan crossed over. Just because it happened in that history didn’t mean it would happen here. Su Yan consoled himself with that thought.
Whether or not this was a parallel world, the moment he was placed here, the course of history had already shifted slightly. His own power might be negligible, but he would still do all he could to push the wheel forward—even just a little—toward a brighter path.
Natural disasters couldn’t be stopped, but their deadly impact on the people could be lessened. The population could be preserved.
Raise productivity, increase state grain reserves, boost commerce and material circulation, lift the maritime trade ban and engage in overseas trade, introduce and widely plant high-yield, drought-resistant crops from the Americas—potatoes, corn, and sweet potatoes…
Su Yan could list many countermeasures in one breath. But he knew how hard it would be to turn any of them into reality.
Even ants might shake a tree, but only with unshakable resolve, precisely targeted effort, immense patience, and countless companions willing to forge ahead.
And even that was just one issue. Just increasing the state reserves alone would require reforming the tax system—raising commercial taxes, lowering agricultural ones, solving land annexation problems, and more.
But in a feudal system, land annexation could never be solved. It would only cycle endlessly—bursting forth to destroy a dynasty, reshuffling everything, redistributing land, accumulating tension over centuries, then bursting forth again to destroy another.
That’s why no dynasty could last forever.
And why every founding emperor seemed wise and powerful, while every final ruler ended up struggling alone.
Su Yan stared intently at the future emperor, then finally shook his head and said nothing.
Zhu Helin mulled over all this for a long time before deciding to leave this eternal mystery to fate. For now, if he could successfully manage disaster relief and resettle the people, that was enough.
Su Yan greatly approved of the crown prince’s focus on the present. After all, the boy was only going to be fifteen after New Year. Long-term strategy could be left to him—or Emperor Jinglong.
Besides, Su Yan had more pressing matters right now—like the mysterious and elusive “Player.” If this poisonous tumor wasn’t excised, Great Ming might not even last long enough to worry about distant natural disasters—it could collapse right now.
After bidding farewell to the crown prince, Su Yan, full of concern, headed to Dali Temple. He summoned a group of capable officers and had them go around the capital’s flour and grain shops to investigate whether anyone had recently been buying up flour in large quantities—and who these people were.
By evening, the officers returned one after another to report their findings to the Lord Shaoqing.
Su Yan compared the intel and found that the bulk flour purchases had occurred a little over a month ago. The buyers all claimed to be grain merchants from other regions. He copied down the entire list, intending to take it to the Northern Surveillance Bureau the next day, and have the Embroidered Uniform Guard agents track them down one by one to see if they could uncover the financier behind it—this person was definitely connected to the “Player.”
A little over a month ago was the end of last year—right around the time he had returned from Shaanxi.
In other words, his return to the capital had alarmed the commander of the Seven Kill Camp, and perhaps even the “Player” himself. To prevent him from uncovering more secrets, they had preemptively set the stage to blow up the secret tunnel.
What did that imply? Su Yan fell into deep thought:
His aid to Aletan at Qingshui Camp in Shaanxi had thwarted Heiduo’s scheme to have Aletan die within Ming territory, temporarily suppressing the tension between the Oirats and the Ming. That had, to some extent, disrupted the “Player’s” plans.
Shen Qi had captured the Blood-Eye assassin who tried to kill the crown prince. And on the court floor, Su Yan had maneuvered politically to save the crown prince’s dangerously declining reputation amidst public uproar. These, too, had undermined the “Player’s” efforts to destabilize the nation.
Then, with Shen Qi and Jinghong Zhui, he cracked the Court of Diplomatic Rites case and neutralized the infiltrator Fuyin, which further aggravated the “Player.”
So, those explosive flour supplies, which had been stored just in case, were finally used as a desperate escape tactic.
Did this not also indirectly prove that although they’d never met, the “Player” already saw him as a serious threat?
That would explain why the other party had taken control of Jinghong Zhui and gravely injured Shen Qi—cutting off his left and right arms in one strike. What would be next? Would they try to kill him outright, like the assassination attempt on the crown prince?
…That seemed rather doable.
Su Yan pinched his thin arms and legs and gave a bitter laugh. He wasn’t even sure if the “Four Vajras” sent by the emperor could protect him properly.
After court duties ended, he detoured to Shen Manor to visit Shen Qi, and was dragged into staying for dinner. Out of consideration for the gravely wounded, he declined Shen Qi’s invitation to stay the night and returned home after dark.
Before bed, Su Yan was especially cautious. He checked every bolt and latch and tied strings with bells to every window and door, just in case.
He tossed and turned in bed for a long while. Just as sleep was starting to take him, the bells suddenly jingled twice, snapping him awake.
It was the window facing the rear garden—the one Jinghong Zhui often used to climb in and out.
Had Ah Zhui escaped and returned?
Without even putting on a robe, Su Yan leapt barefoot from the bed, rushed to the window, and shouted in a low voice, “Who’s there?”
There was no response from outside.
He called again, “Ah Zhui?”
A familiar deep voice answered, “It’s me.”
—Yu Wang? Su Yan was a bit stunned.
Given this prince’s usual shamelessness, sneaking into someone’s bedroom at night was exactly the kind of thing he’d do. But at a time like this, with tensions mounting, did he really have the leisure to get flirty? They’d only just met again recently, and Su Yan had only just started showing him a better attitude—and he was already pushing it? Had he learned nothing?
Su Yan cracked his knuckles loudly and said coldly, “Wangye, paying a private visit at this hour is improper. Whatever you have to say, bring it to the Dali Temple offices in the morning.”
Through the window, Yu Wang replied, “You misunderstand, Qinghe. I didn’t come to harass you.”
“But Wangye has already disturbed my sleep.”
A pause. Then the prince’s voice lowered: “Today I saw off Han Ben on his final journey. On the way back, I saw you and the crown prince walking out from the ruins of Baizhifang, your expression heavy. I figured your mood must be equally so. So I came tonight—to drink with you.”
Su Yan was momentarily stunned. “Drinking drowns sorrow, but sorrow floats… better not.”
“A thousand cups for a thousand sorrows. Unfortunately, I can’t get drunk no matter how much I drink. I only wish I could. If you don’t trust me, then just sip. Pour as much as you like for me—I’ll thank you if you manage to get me drunk.”
Hearing the heaviness and bitterness in his words, Su Yan recalled what he had said earlier that day in the medical tent: that Han Ben had followed him for fifteen years. That wasn’t just a retainer—it was a brother-in-arms from their army days, bound by shared hardship. No wonder his death hit so hard.
Su Yan sighed, untied the bell, and opened the window.
A gust of cold wind swept in. He was only wearing a thin underrobe and was barefoot, so he turned and sneezed.
Yu Wang nimbly climbed in and shut the window behind him. “Put on more clothes—where’s the brazier? I’ll light it.”
Su Yan had briefly regretted his moment of softness, but hearing the man urge him to put on clothes rather than take them off gave him partial relief. He quickly bundled up in layers and sat by the newly lit brazier to warm himself.
“It’s already February and still this cold,” Su Yan said.
The last time they were alone like this was in that ill-fated Wutong Pavilion. Though he had let go of past grudges, and the Wangye had shown sincere regret through action, the situation was still awkward. The safest topic, naturally, was the weather.
“Spring chill,” Yu Wang replied casually, setting two heavy jars of strong liquor on the table. “Come—get me drunk.”
Su Yan poured a bowl, and Yu Wang downed it in one go, faster than water.
Su Yan watched him drink over half a jar in silence, then poured himself a bowl and drank it slowly.
“Come on, let’s trade our bitterness,” he said.
“…I have no bitterness to share. A prince living in luxury—what bitterness could I possibly have?” Yu Wang downed another bowl.
Su Yan lifted his bowl. “I’ve made an observation about you.”
“What kind of observation?”
“You usually refer to yourself as ben wang (‘this prince’). But when you’re putting on airs or speaking in veiled tones, you call yourself gu wang (‘the lonely king’).”
Yu Wang paused mid-swig and looked at him. “I do?”
Su Yan nodded. “Only when you don’t have the energy to pretend, do you say ‘I.’”
“You missed one thing—”
“What’s that?”
“Also, when defenses are lowered—for example, in front of someone close,” Yu Wang said, expression earnest.
Su Yan felt a tangle of emotions hard to describe, but definitely not pleasant. He turned his face away and replied while drinking, “The relationship between Your Highness and me is, at most, a bit more complicated than passing strangers—hardly intimate.”
Yu Wang sighed. “As expected.”
He pushed aside his wine bowl and directly picked up the wine jar to drink, looking like he wished he could get drunk to death on the spot.
The wine was strong. After just two bowls, Su Yan felt like fire was burning in his gut. Meanwhile, Yu Wang had already downed one whole jar and was reaching to unseal a second.
Worried he’d drink himself to death, Su Yan reached out to press down on the jar’s mouth.
Yu Wang chuckled. “Relax, I won’t die from it.”
People who die from drinking always say that while drinking. If he suddenly drops dead here, I’ll be in big trouble. Su Yan snatched the wine jar over, poured himself another bowl, and drank as much as he could to divert some of it.
One gulping down, the other sipping slowly, they finished both jars. Su Yan felt flushed and hot, his head a bit dizzy. Realizing he was close to his limit, he asked, “Are you drunk? If so, go home… even if not, you should still go.”
Yu Wang stood up. His movements were steady, but his gaze seemed hazy—drunk but not fully. He was caught in that strange state between intoxication and sobriety.
He thumped the empty jar down. “Go where? The princely manor is a steel cage, and the capital a bigger one. You want me to crawl back into the cage?”
Su Yan said, “Whether the capital is a cage or not depends on your own mindset—”
“—Shhh, don’t preach. Don’t start sounding like my holier-than-thou imperial brother.” Yu Wang pressed a finger to Su Yan’s lips. “Come. I’ll take you to see the cage door.”
Longmen? As in Longmen Grottoes? Isn’t that far away…? Su Yan’s overheated, fuzzy brain struggled to keep up. He saw Yu Wang grab a hooded cloak from the rack, wrap it around him from head to toe, and go open the door.
“Going out at midnight will alert the front courtyard guards—” Before he could finish, Su Yan realized he’d already been carried over the wall, flying through the air.
Feet off the ground, he panicked and clung to Yu Wang. Yu Wang held him by the waist and laughed, “Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”
Su Yan snapped, “Put me down! You’re drunk!”
“I’m not. Look, I can still do aerial flips.”
As he spoke, he spun midair like a swift hawk. Su Yan covered his mouth. “I’m gonna puke!”
Only then did Yu Wang steady his movement, landing on the roof of a tavern. He leaned down, grabbed a wine jar, picked Su Yan up again, and continued flying.
Su Yan was terrified of these martial arts types who flit about like that. He turned his face into Yu Wang’s chest to avoid the cold wind and muttered, “Where are we going…? The city gates are closed.”
With one hand around Su Yan and the other holding the wine jar, Yu Wang reeked of wine and spice. He answered carelessly, “Don’t worry. No gate or wall can stop me. My imperial brother knows that, which is why he uses more invisible, soul-crushing means.”
They landed on the city wall. Yu Wang tossed a token to the approaching guards to identify himself, grabbed a rope they let down, and slid to the other side.
The guards seemed used to this prince sneaking out at night to blow off steam—he never went far and always returned before dawn. So they cooperated smoothly. Though tonight, Yu Wang brought someone wrapped in a cloak, no one dared to question it.
When the rush of air finally ceased and Su Yan’s feet hit solid ground, he shoved Yu Wang away and braced himself against some big, cold, hard thing, trying not to vomit.
For the first time, he realized a person could get motion sick not just from boats or carriages, but also from qinggong martial arts.
When Ah Zhui carried him, he never got dizzy… this d*mn Yu Wang didn’t care if he lived or died—b*stard!
Yu Wang patted his back and handed over the wine jar. “Drink a bit, and you’ll feel steady.”
Su Yan took a few swigs to calm his churning stomach and panted, “One day I’ll twist your head off and kick it around like a ball!”
Yu Wang laughed heartily. “Good thing you’re not my enemy, and this isn’t a battlefield. The last person who said that was a northern tribe chief, Wild Weasel. Guess what—I knocked his head off, hung it on a pole, and let my guards practice throwing knives at it.”
Su Yan snapped, “What’s so good about that! If we were enemies on the battlefield, you’d just whack my head off—I can’t beat you anyway!”
Yu Wang grew serious. “I’m afraid that when facing you, I’d hesitate and get killed by your counterstrike. Then I’m finished, the border’s finished, and Great Ming is finished.”
Su Yan found this dead-serious attitude more annoying than his usual nonsense. He shoved the wine jar back into his arms. “You really are drunk! Talking nonsense again… where’s this cage door? Let me see it, then I’m going home to sleep.”
“It’s under your hand,” said Yu Wang.
Su Yan turned to look—it was the large granite marker stone at Wuli Post. In the deep night, the inscription “Capital Territory Boundary” was hard to read, but the broken corner was clear. His hand rested on that jagged edge.
He murmured, “Still not repaired? The postmaster’s really lazy.”
Yu Wang said, “Not lazy. Just afraid.”
“On the way back to the capital, Ah Zhui told me—this break was made by a soft whip. One lash split the stone, but only chipped a corner. It shows the wielder had immense inner power but also held back.” Su Yan traced the rough fracture.
Yu Wang was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I did it.”
“Huh? Oh…” Su Yan immediately understood the meaning of the cage door. “This stone marks your boundary?”
Yu Wang nodded, sat down with his back to the monument on the faintly green grass, pulled his knees up, and set the wine jar between them.
“Ten years ago, my imperial brother raised this stone. I was forced to swear never to step beyond it for the rest of my life.
“Ten years now. Looking back, it feels like a hazy dream—a dream filled with luxury and debauchery, as if I could muddle through life that way. Until one day, I suddenly realized the face in the mirror wasn’t mine but a hateful mask. The more I tried to tear it off, the more it hurt like skin and flesh being ripped away… Qinghe, that pain—you brought it to me.”
Su Yan listened quietly. When he heard the last sentence, he blurted out without thinking, “I’m not taking the fall for that!”
Yu Wang tilted his head and gave him a sideways glance from below, “But you do have to take the fall for it. Otherwise, why else would I be out here in the cold tonight instead of finding a charming little scholar to cuddle and sleep with?”
Su Yan’s just-quelled anger flared up again. “What the h*ll does that have to do with me?! Sleep with whoever you like, as long as it’s not me—why should I care?”
Yu Wang chuckled, “Actually, after sleeping with you, I tried others too. But none of them felt right. I couldn’t let it go, so I tried one more time. That was even worse. He was a handsome man, but once he took off his clothes, his skin wasn’t as fair as yours, his waist wasn’t as slim, his legs weren’t as straight, and his butt wasn’t as perky. He didn’t even feel good to hold. In the end, I lost all interest and just had him put his clothes back on and leave. After that, I’ve been keeping myself chaste for your sake.”
Su Yan was livid—this man had no shame whatsoever, saying the filthiest nonsense without blinking. Enraged, he kicked out hard. “Who the h*ll wants to hear about your d*mn sex life?! Sleep with whoever you want—what’s it got to do with me?! What, now I have to apologize to you too?!”
Even after being kicked, Yu Wang didn’t get angry. Instead, he spoke with an earnest face: “Didn’t you say I was always posturing and speaking in riddles? Well, every word I just said is true. Don’t believe me?”
It wasn’t a matter of truth or lies—those things just shouldn’t be said! Su Yan gave one last furious kick—this time at the wine jar—then let out a pained cry and crouched down holding his foot. Tears of pain welled up uncontrollably.
Yu Wang pulled him to sit down next to him, took off his boot, and felt his toes. “No broken bones. The pain’ll pass soon. Next time you kick someone, aim better. Don’t end up hurting yourself.”
Su Yan was sure he was mocking him, and got even angrier. “Dragging me out in the middle of the night just to piss me off till I drop dead, then what—dig a hole on the spot and bury me?”
Yu Wang stretched his arm over Su Yan’s shoulders, pulling him in with a posture that was sincere, almost brotherly. “How could I? If one day I get pushed too far, lose my mind, and do something stupid, I’d still need you to speak on my behalf. Beg the emperor not to bury me in the imperial mausoleum. I don’t want to be trapped by him even after death. Send my ashes to Great Tong. Bury them under the Great Wall. Even if I become a restless ghost, I’ll still wear armor and guard the border.”
It was like a bucket of cold water dousing all his anger. In those words, Su Yan heard deep weariness and a kind of determination to break before bending. He frowned. “Why go that far? Even if you loathe the capital that much, it’s not like there’s no chance of leaving in the future. The key is to win the emperor’s trust.”
“It’s not the capital I hate—it’s the life of always being watched, always caged. As for my brother’s trust…” Yu Wang gave a light laugh. “Maybe one day. Ten, twenty years from now. When my hair turns white and my thighs grow fat, when I can’t lift a spear or ride a horse anymore—maybe then I’ll be allowed back to my fief.”
Because even seated, he was taller than Su Yan, Yu Wang tilted his head sideways, leaning it on Su Yan’s shoulder in an awkward, drunken gesture. He closed his eyes and murmured, “The flute has stopped… I feel much better… but the dreams won’t go away.”
“Last night I dreamed of meeting Han Ben for the first time. Of the first time he followed me to battle, almost dying with me at the foot of Wulan Mountain, never to return.”
“Wulan Mountain…” Su Yan found the name familiar, like he’d heard it before.
“Yes. Wulan Mountain.” Yu Wang’s voice was calm and succinct as he spoke of the Black Cloud Cavalry he once led.
The more Su Yan listened, the more familiar it sounded. Suddenly, it hit him—wasn’t that the famous ‘Wulan Mountain Encounter’?! A textbook example of outnumbered victory, legendary for its battlefield decisions and tactical brilliance. It was widely discussed on military forums, though the commander had remained unnamed—lost to history. There had been several more brilliant battles on the northern border that seemed to share the same style, but the records remained vague.
He’d once wondered if that commander had committed some political error, his achievements erased by the powers that be. But never—never—had he imagined that the commander was Yu Wang—Zhu Xujing. No—he should be called Dai Wang, Zhu Jincheng!
Holy sh*t. The half-drunk, sleazy-mouthed b*stard beside him, full of lewd nonsense, was the very war god he’d once admired from afar!
Su Yan’s worldview trembled. He let Yu Wang rest on his shoulder, unable to speak, awash in emotion.
Yu Wang murmured like a man in a dream: “At night, I lie in bed, listening to the wind and rain…”
“…and armored steeds and frozen rivers ride into my dreams,” Su Yan completed the line, finally accepting the truth buried in the dust of history. He gently patted the prince’s shoulder. “I take back what I said earlier. It’s not that ‘you might have a chance to leave one day,’ but rather, ‘you’ll never have the chance to leave.’”
Because you are a god of war—yet also a nameless shadow, someone history forbids from naming.
Yu Wang let out a sharp laugh, half mocking, half despondent. “Even you think that? Then I suppose it really is fate.”
Su Yan grabbed the wine jar with one hand—realized it was too heavy—switched to both arms, took a few gulps, then held it to Yu Wang’s mouth. “Here, finish this jar. Older brother will show you what it means to say, ‘My fate is mine, not heaven’s.’”
“You’re calling yourself ‘older brother’? Shouldn’t you be calling me that?” Yu Wang snorted but drank the whole jar anyway, then lazily kicked it away.
Su Yan burped. “Even if a flowerpot crushes your head, you can still create a miracle and start a new life.”
“Who are you talking about?” Yu Wang asked, the drunkenness finally washing over him.
Su Yan giggled hazily. “Just an ordinary person who didn’t want to die… Zhu Xujing—do you really want to die? Whether it’s perishing gloriously or hopelessly battering a wall with an egg?”
Yu Wang was silent for a moment. Then answered, “No. I want to go back to the border.”
“There’ll be a chance. Just wait a bit longer… don’t wear your big brother out—he’s got enough to worry about…” His words devolved into a drunken mumble. But just as he was about to pass out, Su Yan snapped awake and shouted, “I don’t want to sleep in the wilderness, and I especially don’t want to sleep with you…..send me back to my room!”
Yu Wang hesitated, then stood up and pulled him up as well.
The cloak had slipped to one side, the collar tugged askew, exposing a fresh hickey on his collarbone.
Shen Qi was severely injured, Jinghong Zhui was missing—only that old one in the palace could’ve done this… or maybe the younger one… Yu Wang silently cursed, his expression icy cold.
Su Yan, hovering between sobriety and drunkenness, was still wary of this repeat offender. Seeing the other’s unfriendly expression, he quickly adjusted his clothes, wrapping the cloak tightly around himself, and began walking toward the city gate along the main road.
He’d have to walk until dawn to make it home. Yu Wang quickly caught up and scooped him up.
Before the leap, Su Yan shouted, “Drive steady, old pro—I get motion sickness!”
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