Su Yan held him tight, unmoving.
“What is this?” The Emperor rubbed his chin lightly against Su Yan’s temple. Though pleased with the voluntary embrace, he also worried whether the other had been wronged. “Is it that you disagree with the handling of the Wei clan, that it wasn’t satisfying enough?”
“No. This minister knows Your Majesty’s decree must balance all sides. It was already the best that could be done.”
The Emperor sighed softly: “It is good that you understand.”
Su Yan lifted his face to him: “Of late, how is Your Majesty’s health? Has the head ailment recurred?”
The Emperor said: “With the prescription you presented, the attacks come less often than before.”
“Your Majesty is not deceiving this minister?” Su Yan gazed directly into his eyes.
The Emperor’s eyes were long and deep, his pupils dark as ink. The corners of his eyes lifted slightly upward, noble and imposing, carrying a natural authority when he looked upon others. They matched the verse: ‘Ground ink yields phoenix feathers, a half ladle of cold spring forms dragon eyes’—in physiognomy, the rarest and most exalted “phoenix-tail, dragon-eyes.”
Su Yan stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly raised two fingers: “How many is this?”
“…What’s the meaning? Do you want me to play games with you?” The Emperor chuckled, catching his hand. “I came incognito tonight to see you because there is something I must discuss with you—”
Su Yan, unusually stubborn, interrupted him: “A few nights ago, did Your Majesty visit Master Yingxu’s medical hut in secret? For what reason?”
The Emperor froze, frowning as he countered: “What did Chen Shiyu tell you?”
“It has nothing to do with Master Yingxu. I learned it myself.” Su Yan felt a pang of disappointment. He let go and stepped back. “Your Majesty hides it deliberately—do you not trust me? I can understand that for the stability of court and realm, you wish no word of this to spread. But even in private, you will not speak the truth…”
“You!” The Emperor gave a helpless smile, pulled him to sit on a round stool. “Very well, I will tell you the truth. Lately the head ailment has recurred more frequently—perhaps from overwork. With more rest, it should ease. As for my sight… I am growing old. Naturally not as sharp-eyed as a young man. A little dimness, some clouding, is inevitable. Do not worry too much.”
At that, Su Yan grew unhappy.
Earlier he had teased that the Emperor scolded him like a father with a son, secretly mocking: Old man—why so touchy about a thoughtless remark? Yet now it was he who brooded—he could not endure any disparagement directed at the Emperor, not even self-mockery.
“You’re not old at all!” Su Yan leapt up, his tone brash enough to be called insolent. Leaning close, he touched the Emperor’s brows and hair at the temples. “Your hair is blacker and thicker than mine. Not a wrinkle at your eyes—what kind of ‘old’ is that!”
Whether it was heartfelt or merely the gaze of a lover, the words delighted the Emperor. On purpose, he said again: “But age cannot be denied. At times I truly cannot see clearly.”
Su Yan muttered in defiance: “What clouding? Which quack is spouting nonsense! Eyes this bright, how could it be cataracts? At most it’s floaters—from reading too many characters, eye strain. Just rest your eyes. Stay for a time in the eastern or western gardens, or some scenic retreat, look at trees and flowers every day—it will naturally improve.”
The emperor shook his head: “Qinghe, you don’t need to waste your breath comforting me. I know very well what state my body is in.”
“What body? Chest muscles, abs, a cut waistline—switching left and right hands back and forth. I haven’t even complained of sore hands yet, but you’re already being dramatic!” Sure enough, Su Yan was truly provoked now. He pulled his hand back, ready to sit back down on his stool.
The emperor’s eyes glimmered with a strange light, half-smiling as he seized Su Yan’s wrist. “How are your hands sore? I don’t understand.”
Su Yan suddenly realized he had slipped, his ears instantly flushing red. He dodged by changing the subject: “My hands… are sore from writing memorials! Anyway, just now, what was it Your Majesty said you wanted to discuss with me?”
But the emperor wasn’t in any rush to discuss anything. Seizing the advantage, he pressed on: “Since your hands are sore, why not put them to use somewhere else?”
Su Yan cursed himself for digging his own grave and immediately softened his stance, pleading: “I was talking nonsense—please, Your Majesty, just pretend you never heard.”
“Too late. Not only did I hear it, it reminded me of something. Since my beloved Su tends to get sore hands, perhaps being a gentleman isn’t so bad.”
Gentleman… A gentleman doesn’t use his hands, only his mouth. Cold sweat slid down Su Yan’s temple; instinctively, he tried to pull away, retreating back into his mental safe zone.
But the emperor held fast to his wrist: “I once gifted you a red jade flute, as a return present for the birthday composition you dedicated to me. Would my beloved be willing to play it for me now?”
Su Yan wanted to cry without tears. “Your Majesty, I truly don’t know how to play the flute…”
“I told you before, if you don’t know, I can teach you. Go fetch it.”
“I really can’t… What? Fetch what?”
“The flute.”
Su Yan’s face flared crimson in an instant.
So the emperor had meant the actual jade flute after all, whereas he had thought— cough, cough—forget it.
Lowering his head to cover his embarrassment, he failed to notice the emperor’s deep and meaningful gaze as he went to the desk, unlocked a drawer, and opened it.
Inside the box lay the red jade flute.
Right beside it was the emperor’s personal seal carved from mutton-fat jade, inscribed with “Jintang.” The last time, after that seal had been stamped on his thigh, Su Yan couldn’t look at it without feeling mortified. He hadn’t dared wear it on a cord anymore, and had stashed it away in the drawer instead.
Under the emperor’s watchful eyes, Su Yan stiffly took the flute from its box, holding it awkwardly in his hand.
“Flute crosswise, xiao upright,” the emperor instructed.
Forcing himself, Su Yan brought one end of the flute to his lips, pursed them, and blew—nothing. Not a sound. Unwilling to give up, he blew harder, and this time the xiao gave off a sputtering, “hiss hiss” sound like someone relieving themselves—worse than silence.
The emperor’s lips curved into that half-smile again. He lifted the flute with one finger, steadying it, and commanded softly: “Open your mouth.”
Obediently, Su Yan parted his lips, still puzzling over whether the problem lay in tongue position or breath. He never expected the emperor to guide the flute’s mouthpiece first across his lips in a slow caress, then push it gently into his mouth.
The red jade shimmered translucent, set against pink lips and pale skin—an intoxicating, indecent beauty.
Caught off guard, Su Yan could only gape with the flute forced between his lips. The emperor’s voice came from right beside his ear, low and tender: “First, lick it lightly. Don’t bite with your teeth.”
Enchanted by the coaxing tone, Su Yan’s tongue slipped unconsciously against the flute’s mouthpiece: smooth, hard jade, cool to the taste.
“Good boy.” The emperor praised softly. “Besides licking, you can also suck. Try to swallow it as deep into your throat as you can. If you can’t, let some out, then take it back in again.”
Dizzily, Su Yan mimicked a swallow. The flute was too thick—he gagged, his face flooding red as he fought the urge to cough.
The flute’s head slid out slightly, as if alive, then pressed back in when he caught his breath. His whole mouth was stuffed full, and he gave muffled protests of “mmm, mmm.”
“Tighten your cheeks around it. Use your tongue—circle around, or else…”
At last, Su Yan snapped back to his senses. His face was burning red as blood. In a panic, he grabbed at the flute to yank it out.
The emperor didn’t resist, loosening his fingers. As the flute slid free, faint filaments of clear saliva trailed between its tip and Su Yan’s lips, glistening like blossoms dripping with nectar—scandalously beautiful, wanton.
Once again, the emperor brushed the flute against his lips, husky-voiced: “Now, have you learned?”
Su Yan couldn’t utter a single word. All he wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow him whole—better yet, let him bury himself on the spot.
“If you haven’t learned, it doesn’t matter. I have plenty of patience. I’ll teach you slowly, until you’ve mastered it. Come, try again.”
Su Yan hurriedly blurted out: “No need, I’ve learned, I really have.”
“Truly?” The emperor smiled faintly. “Good. Then let me test you.”
Test? With what? Su Yan immediately remembered the emperor’s unfinished words last time—“Since it’s imperial favor, next time, just swallow it.”
So it really was about swallowing!
Su Yan’s face turned half crimson, half pale. Thinking fast, he clapped a hand over his mouth and began coughing violently.
The emperor set aside the jade flute and pulled him into his arms, rubbing his chest and patting his back to ease his breath.
“My injuries aren’t healed yet—I couldn’t hold back the cough. Please forgive me, Your Majesty…” Su Yan gasped out.
Of course the emperor saw through the excuse. His heart softened, but he also understood this beloved minister’s nature—waiting for him to take initiative in such matters was almost impossible. Wait patiently, and he’d wander off another way. Try to beckon him, he’d inch forward so slowly you’d never meet. Move him emotionally? Easy—but once moved, he’d lavish loyalty, friendship, brotherhood… everything except desire. That part he kept locked up tight.
For someone like this, one had to press.
Too much pressure, he’d snap back. Too much lenience, all progress would evaporate. The only way was three steps forward, one back—wear him down bit by bit, grind away the resistance, and eventually coax out a heart both rare and precious.
And now—now was the time to peel that heart open.
“Qinghe.” The emperor’s tone suddenly went still. “I may not live to see the day you finally make up your mind.”
Startled, Su Yan exclaimed: “Nonsense! What’s this about not living to see—Your Majesty will live a hundred years!”
“Unrequited love—what joy is there in living a hundred years?”
“Enough, let’s not speak of this.
“I once told you: if you only wish for our bond to remain at the level of sovereign and minister, I will not force you. An emperor’s word is no jest.”
Su Yan gazed at the emperor’s unusually calm face, unease rising in waves within his chest: “Your Majesty truly… I… I…”
“If the feelings between us are still not enough for you to entrust me with your body and heart, then it is I—it is my failing, not yours.” The emperor suddenly smiled. “Look, you’ve stopped coughing. That proves the wound is not in your body, but in me.”
A surge of guilt nearly drowned Su Yan in that instant. Forcing down his turmoil and the secret longing he dared not name, he lowered his head and said softly: “No… Your Majesty is good, truly good. It is I… I who, out of selfish fears and worries of every kind, cannot let go completely.”
The emperor sighed: “If a heart set on saving the realm counts as selfishness, then where in this world could there still be selflessness? I know, of course, that you are not entirely without feeling toward me. But this identity—this role of mine as ruler—cuts off our path. If that is Heaven’s will… so be it. So be it.
“Today is the first day of the third month. In two days’ time, on the third, you will set out for Shaanxi.”
The reforms there were still unsteady; the innovator was needed to reinforce them. Leaving in March, he would remain until matters settled, then yield to the censors dispatched to oversee horse administration, before returning to the capital.
It was something they had agreed upon before the New Year. Yet hearing it spoken now, realizing departure was imminent, Su Yan was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sense of loss.
Especially when he understood that this parting meant not only separation by east and west, but that all feelings beyond the bond of sovereign and subject would likely be severed as well—his heart felt strangely pained.
Unconsciously, he gripped the emperor’s hand.
The emperor did not reject him, nor did he answer with greater warmth. Their hands simply rested together in quiet clasp.
“This sudden departure—there is another reason. Even if I do not say it, you should already know.”
Su Yan’s heart was in chaos. He nodded blindly, forcing out a reply: “Your Majesty’s care—I am deeply grateful.”
“Border skirmishes have flared up often of late. Do not approach the Great Wall region.”
“I understand.”
“The northwest people are fierce, plagued by horse bandits. Take particular care with your safety. If Chu Yuan and the others are useful, keep them with you. I will also lend you a thousand of the Tengxiang Guard as escort.”
“Your servant… thanks Your Majesty for the grace.”
“That edict from last year—you still keep it, yes? It remains valid. As for the Imperial sword you returned, I did not order it stored away; it is still here in Yangxin Hall. I’ll have a guard send it to you later.”
“…Your servant obeys.”
“Two days from now, set out with your men. I will not see you off.”
Tears suddenly welled in Su Yan’s eyes: “Your Majesty…”
“Last year I said, ‘When autumn moon shines on a cold river, seeing it is as seeing you.’” The emperor leaned forward, as though he meant to rub Su Yan’s ear, but at the last moment restrained himself, eyes faintly moist. “Now, with spring flowers blooming along the paths, I fear that once I watch you go, from then on—through all four seasons—there will be no time of year when I can avoid thinking of you.”
In that moment, Su Yan felt as though even his breath had ceased.
The emperor looked at him with unwavering focus, a faint, thin smile on his lips. Rising to his feet, he said: “I should return to the palace.”
He took a few steps, when behind him came a sharp, hurried intake of breath—yet almost immediately, it was suppressed into silence.
A thousand voices urged the emperor to turn back. At last, he endured.
—Perhaps, this truly was Heaven’s decree.
No matter how painstaking the effort, no matter how many stratagems, in the end, some things could not be forced.
Behind him, Su Yan wept in silence, lips moving as if to call “Your Majesty,” yet unable to make the sound.
Just as the emperor lifted the carriage curtain, he heard a faint, halting, almost sobbing note of flute music. Fragile and strained, yet wrung forth with all his strength.
His fingers twisted tight in the curtain. In the rush of sudden ecstasy and the terror of disappointment, he turned back.
Su Yan’s face was streaked with tears. He lowered the red jade flute, bowed low in a deep salute, and choked out: “This servant, Su Yan… has received boundless grace from my lord, yet has no way to repay it. I… beg to offer myself to your pillow, and pray Your Majesty’s… compassion.”
The emperor closed his eyes, then slowly shook his head: “This is not what I want.”
Su Yan rose, took the mutton-fat jade seal from the desk drawer, and hung it back around his neck. Tears glimmered in his eyes as he forced a smile: “Then… what of Qinghe’s heart? Does Jintang want it?”
