The feel of that gluteus maximus was… really quite good. So good that it stirred memories of the man’s broader, fuller chest muscles—stirring envy and jealousy—then memories of his own past life, when he had a body praised everywhere for its build—then, inevitably, a comparison to his present shell: muscle only beginning to show some definition with age, still nowhere near the same level…
In the space of ten seconds Su Yan’s mood plummeted and soared, without even realizing his paw was still resting on another man’s *ss.
Yu Wang was inwardly delighted. Whatever Su Yan’s reaction—shock, daze, or a trace of relaxation—the fact was he hadn’t recoiled or lashed out immediately. That meant there was still hope.
He dared not force things further, yet couldn’t be content with mere “friendship.” Like an army trapped in siege, he probed constantly, testing for any crack in the walls that might let him break through.
But just as he tried to press the advance, Su Yan woke as if from a dream, wrenching free his wrist, retreating back to his seat, face burning with embarrassment and anger: “What are you doing, shoving your butt into my hand? Shameless!”
Yu Wang roared with laughter again, wishing he could tuck this treasure into his robes—no, into his chest—where no one could ever steal him away.
—
The luncheon was arranged in a private garden, dishes prepared by the finest chefs in the capital. Though he called it “sharing a meal,” all the dishes were ones Su Yan favored.
The place was secluded and perfect for conversation. After the food was served, no servants remained. Before sitting, Yu Wang had even changed into a loose, slouchy Daoist robe, hat set aside, a hairpin shoved in at a slant. At the table he cared nothing for etiquette, the casual ease of it all putting Su Yan at ease too—almost like old friends meeting to share a meal.
On a low wooden platform laid with felt mats, a long table was set with dishes and wine. They sat cross-legged on the ground, three feet apart across the table.
After three rounds of wine, Yu Wang had abandoned even the pretense of proper posture, long frame sprawled on the felt, elbow braced on the table’s corner, chin propped in one hand, the other dangling a slim-necked wine flask.
Su Yan too had shifted from proper kneeling to a more irreverent sprawl—one leg tucked beneath, the other bent up, elbow on his knee.
As he toyed with the flask, Yu Wang asked: “My imperial brother, the Crown Prince, Shen Qi—whose news do you want first?”
Su Yan thought, then said: “In the order you named them. I’ll hear it all.”
Yu Wang, denied the chance to probe for Su Yan’s priorities, chuckled: “My imperial brother is still the same tiresome man, buried in state affairs. A few matters lately have stirred great waves at court—he’s busy setting policy.”
Su Yan guessed: “Oirat and Tatar troubles? I heard Tuohuotai pulled troops back from Great Tong.”
“Correct. At this morning’s audience, the Ministry of War reported more: Kunle, the Oirat crown prince, seeking vengeance for his father, led troops to strike the Tatar royal court. Tuohuotai rushed back to defend. Kunle avoided a head-on clash—raided cattle and horses, slaughtered three Tatar tribes, then withdrew to Oirat.” Yu Wang chuckled, tone half-mocking, half-appreciative. “That Kunle is interesting. Call him savage, and he is—raising an army in fury, killing without restraint. But call him cunning, and he is—righteous pretext, feints and maneuvers—he knows his military art. I almost want to meet him on the battlefield, trade a few blows.”
“…Aletan.”
“What?”
“Kunle’s given name. It’s Aletan.” Su Yan lowered his eyes to his wine cup, where a chrysanthemum petal drifted on the surface. “He wasn’t like this before…”
“You knew him before?” Yu Wang shot back.
Su Yan did not answer. After a pause, he asked: “What else troubles His Majesty?”
Yu Wang clicked his tongue in annoyance, then answered curtly: “Border raiders, bandits, floods—the old three. The last is up to Heaven, nothing to be done. But for the first two, he keeps a death grip, refusing to let me leave the capital to sweep them clean. Tell me, isn’t that narrow-minded—”
“Your Highness, mind your words!” Su Yan cut him off.
Yu Wang laughed: “Are you defending him, or worrying for me?”
Su Yan wanted nothing more than to splash his chrysanthemum wine in that deliberately teasingly handsome face.
Yu Wang stretched his arm long, touched cups with him cheerfully: “Then I’ll take it as the latter. Let me comfort myself with a bit of false sweetness—at least let me have that, eh?”
Su Yan started, an odd pang of pity rising. He downed his wine in one go and asked: “How is His Majesty’s health?”
Yu Wang said: “He attends court daily, never falls behind in reviewing memorials—so it seems nothing’s wrong… Tch, no, wait! I just recalled.”
Su Yan set down his cup, tense, waiting.
Yu Wang crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. Su Yan leaned in, offering an ear. Yu Wang exhaled hot breath against his ear rim, and whispered: “Servants gossip that ever since Noble Consort Wei was confined, my imperial brother doesn’t even keep up appearances anymore. The harem’s gone barren. The three consorts, even if they don’t complain, wear worried looks. My guess? He’s getting on in years, can’t rise to the occasion—mind willing, body failing.”
“Utter nonsense!” Su Yan snapped in fury. “I won’t listen to your babbling— I’m leaving!”
He rose to go, but Yu Wang seized his wrist and yanked him back down. Yu Wang raised his brows: “What’s got you so angry? If you and my imperial brother are so ‘pure and spotless,’ then how would you know whether he’s soft or not? On what grounds do you accuse me of talking nonsense?”
Su Yan choked on his breath, unwilling to look guilty by running, and gritted his teeth as he sat back down: “If Your Highness spouts more filthy talk like that, I really will leave!”
“Fine, fine, I won’t. Let’s just say the ministers couldn’t stand it anymore. They memorialized that a thriving imperial line is the true blessing of the realm, begging His Majesty to fill the harem. The Empress Dowager, following public opinion, was even making arrangements for a draft.”
Su Yan’s heart sank. “And? Was it held?”
“No. My brother suppressed the matter, saying it was a waste of manpower and resources, better instead to properly find a Crown Princess for the Crown Prince.”
Su Yan exhaled in relief. “And? Was one chosen?”
“Also no. That brat has steadied somewhat of late, but on this matter he was stubborn, clashing with my brother and Royal Mother. So, they packed him off to Nanjing.”
“‘Packed off’? Wasn’t it said he was deputizing for the Son of Heaven to perform ancestral rites?”
Yu Wang sneered: “Every year the Ministry of Rites sends officials to offer sacrifices—why trouble the Crown Prince? What I heard is this: the Crown Prince flatly refused to take a wife, burned every portrait of the girls they sent, and quarreled with my brother in the Eastern Palace. In the scuffle, he knocked over a grand cloisonné vase. He’d been stuffing it with all kinds of odds and ends for months, and now it all spilled out.”
—What “odds and ends”? Su Yan bit his tongue. He could already imagine the dog’s mouth before him turning it into some lewd jest.
“If only my imperial brother had seen, that would’ve been one thing. But somehow some of it reached my Royal Mother’s hands. She was so enraged she pulled out the golden mace our late royal father left her, ready to beat the Crown Prince. My brother stopped her, and they quarreled. …Royal Mother fasted in protest.”
Su Yan sucked in a breath.
Not only because Zhu Helin had nearly been beaten—that mace, he had seen it himself, one strike could snap bones, no joke!
But also because the Empress Dowager was at it again with the fasting.
This wasn’t the later ages, where when parents acted out or made themselves half-dead with dramatics, public opinion might split and frame it as “the tragedy of the original family” for debate.
This was an age where filial piety outweighed heaven. Even an emperor, if unfilial—especially to his birth Royal Mother—would be torn apart by the scholars of the world.
The feudal order rested on Confucian morality; rulers themselves were bound by that same system. Break the rules, and reputation would collapse like an avalanche.
Back in the Spring and Autumn era, Duke Zhuang of Zheng—his Mother favored his younger brother and even joined him in rebellion to kill her elder son. After quelling the revolt, Duke Zhuang banished his Mother and swore, “Until the Yellow Springs, we will not meet.” But barely a year later, driven by conscience and public pressure, he dug a tunnel to see her again, fulfilling the letter of his oath, and reconciled.
If even with a knife at his throat from his Mother he still had to forgive, what of today’s Empress Dowager, known for her loving devotion to both sons? If she starved herself to death merely after a quarrel, how would the ministers judge? How would the people speak? How would the historians write it? What of the emperor’s reputation then?
“What should be done?” Su Yan anxiously clutched Yu Wang’s arm.
Yu Wang soothed him, rubbing the back of his hand: “My brother knelt half an hour at her doors. I too pleaded with Royal Mother. Only then did she relent.”
“Don’t give me that look. This can’t all be blamed on her. That brat Zhu Helin too is just—” Yu Wang shook his head, smiling wryly. “Couldn’t he just do as I did—lower his head, take a princess consort, beget a son? Fulfill his duty to continue the line. After that, he could be himself.”
Su Yan’s chest felt jammed with a sharp, jagged stone, and also as though he’d swallowed bitter herbs; even his hands and feet went cold. He was genuinely heartsick and remorseful. Hoarsely, he said: “This is my fault… The Crown Prince once told me he didn’t want a consort. I thought it was only the rebelliousness of a youth, that after a tantrum he’d eventually accept it. Who knew he truly rejected it, to the point of angering both His Majesty and the Empress Dowager, fighting tooth and nail? If only I had taken it seriously sooner, guided him properly, perhaps it wouldn’t have come to this head-on clash…”
Yu Wang took advantage of his daze, pulling him into his arms and gently stroking his back: “You’re his Shidu, not his Grand Tutor. Even if you were, would he listen? That brat’s been spoiled since birth by my brother. He’s willful by nature. You can’t blame yourself.”
But Su Yan still felt derelict. Remembering Zhu Helin’s occasional streetwise, wanton airs, a secret unease gnawed at him. He wondered if it wasn’t cheap tales from the common market that had spoiled the prince, but rather his own mistake: always seeing him through the lens of “fourteen, fifteen” in the later age, thinking him still just a brat, thus underestimating his psychological maturity and unconsciously indulging his emotions.
—In this era, plenty of people at fourteen or fifteen already had children!
Su Yan let out a long sigh, drooping like a frost-beaten cockscomb, guilty and dispirited. If Zhu Helin’s path to succession suffered setbacks because of him, if some great change befell, he would never forgive himself.
Yu Wang, pained, held him tighter:
“It truly isn’t your fault. And this outcome isn’t all bad. Sending the Crown Prince to Nanjing gives Royal Mother time to cool down, silences court gossip, and serves as experience for him. When he returns, perhaps he’ll be more mature, ready to shoulder the duties of heir apparent.”
Su Yan’s thoughts were a mess. He mumbled half-coherently: “If that little brat really is bent, then his future Crown Princess is pitiful… Is sodomy some hereditary quirk in your Zhu clan? One emperor after another… And you! Just how much did Yu Wangfei despise you, that she wouldn’t even put on the façade of being your consort, wouldn’t even play the name in name only, abandoning even her own son to go off and become a Daoist… Did you also r*pe her?”
Yu Wang’s face turned green, almost spitting up old blood!
He lowered his head to Su Yan’s ear, gritting his teeth as he said: “That night it wasn’t me r*ping her—it was she who r*ped me!”
Leaning against Yu Wang’s chest, Su Yan’s eyes widened in shock.
Yu Wang bit down on his molars in humiliation: “She drugged me, rode me the whole night…”
Su Yan suddenly understood, sympathy rising. He patted the man’s chest consolingly: “Brother, now I truly and sincerely forgive you… In this life, who can guarantee not to suffer r*pe once or twice? Best to look past it.”
Yu Wang squeezed his waist, breathing in deep, deep, deep breaths.
Su Yan was pinched painfully, and suddenly realized how ambiguous their position looked. He hurriedly struggled out of Yu Wang’s embrace, poured him a drink to calm his nerves, and said: “The past is unbearable to recall—dwelling on it brings no good. Let’s talk about Shen Qi. Where has he gone?”
Yu Wang no longer had any leisure mood. He swallowed the wine Su Yan handed over and said listlessly: “Shen Qi has gone to Kaifeng Prefecture. That bandit Liao has raised the banner of ‘acting for Heaven, reopening chaos.’ My imperial brother suspects the shadow of the Void Sect behind it and sent him to investigate.”
Su Yan thought hard: “Liao bandit?”
“The bandit army entrenched in Henan, their chief called ‘Madman Liao.’ Shanxi’s bandit horse-thieves Wang Wu and Wang Chen, two brothers, also drifted into Henan late last year and joined hands with him. This year the bandit army shows signs of expansion—north lies the capital, east lies the auxiliary capital Nanjing, both key to the dynasty. Shandong, caught between the capital and Nanjing, must also be guarded.”
Hearing Wang Wu and Wang Chen’s names, Su Yan instantly recalled those two bandit brothers whose kin had been butchered by a corrupt censor. He sighed at how they had ultimately fallen into the wrong path, never to turn back. If they were truly tangled with the deadly poison that was the Void Sect, not even ashes would remain in the end.
Qilang’s martial skill was good, his wits sharp and decisive, his methods ruthless enough—so even near the bandit lair, he should be safe. Su Yan prayed silently.
Yu Wang tossed aside the empty wine flask, suddenly pushing Su Yan down onto the felt carpet, hot wine breath spilling over his neck. Su Yan shivered, goosebumps rising all over—not from cold, not from disgust—but from something he couldn’t name.
Half drunk, half sober, Yu Wang murmured: “After the Crown Prince made such a scene, I fear my imperial brother has grown weary of you. Best not to go seek him in private, lest you bring humiliation on yourself. If you’re hurt, angry and can’t vent it… why not come and vent it on me?”
Su Yan, both angry and amused, in the end didn’t kick him hard. While pushing him away, he said: “Stop spouting that cr*p. My affairs don’t concern you… What exactly was hidden inside the Crown Prince’s vases?”
Yu Wang rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand, and sneered: “He drew spring palace pictures of you.”
Su Yan’s vision went black, and in his heart he let out a tragic howl: Zhu Helin—you d*mned little b*stard ahhh!
