The Crown Prince accompanied the imperial entourage as it departed the East Garden in the afternoon, returning to Duanben Palace by the Shen Hour. He skipped most of his evening meal, sulking with a scowling face.
The young attendant Fubao had served the Crown Prince since the age of six, growing up alongside him like a companion. Clever and observant, he could often guess the Crown Prince’s mood. Seeing the Crown Prince brooding, he suggested, “Tomorrow, how about I accompany Your Highness out of the palace for a visit to Lord Su’s residence?”
The Crown Prince glowered. “Tomorrow is the midterm exam, and Tutor Li is strict. If I skip it, he’ll go straight to Royal Father and complain. Tell me—such a massive Eastern Palace, with so many empty halls, and I can’t even use one bed? It’s such a trivial matter! Why is Royal Father so insistent, always prattling about rules and decorum? The older he gets, the more nagging he becomes.”
Fubao gasped. “Your Highness, hush! His Majesty is only thirty-five, in the prime of his years. If he hears such words, he’ll surely be angry. If that happens, there’ll be no good outcome for you!”
The Crown Prince snorted twice. “If he truly believes he’s young, then he should brush off my nonsense as idle talk. Why get upset? Besides, isn’t he proving his youth by fathering another son recently? Spring in his step, feeling ten years younger, I’m sure.”
Fu Bao, knowing the Crown Prince’s resentment but unable to comment, shifted the topic to one that might cheer him up. “How about this: tomorrow, I’ll sneak out of the palace to visit Su Shidu on your behalf? Anything you’d like to say or send, just leave it to me.”
The Crown Prince reluctantly agreed. “Fine. Take some premium ginseng, deer antler, and purple lingzhi from the Imperial Pharmacy. Pick only the best for him to replenish his strength. Oh, and bring some floral dew—Lingling incense, the finest kind. Also, those snacks he likes… Forget it, just send a chef to his house! Someone skilled in medicinal cuisine from the inner kitchens, not the ones from Guanglu Temple—they cook terribly.”
Fubao smiled and quickly agreed.
The Crown Prince couldn’t help but feel that Fubao’s smile carried some subtle ambiguity. Flustered and annoyed, he kicked him lightly: “What are you laughing at? Go get it ready already!”
The kick wasn’t much harder than a playful nudge. Fubao bowed and left with a cheeky grin.
After bathing, the Crown Prince followed his nightly routine: he drank a bowl of milk, used a toothbrush with a jade handle made of horsehair, and cleaned his teeth with a paste made of sandalwood, saltpeter, and cooked honey. He climbed onto his canopy bed, but no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep eluded him.
Earlier, he had stopped the maids from extinguishing the candles, so now the room was brightly lit. The golden dragon patterns on the canopy curtains were clearly visible, shimmering in the candlelight.
Zhu Helin reached into a hidden compartment at the foot of the bed and retrieved a stack of storybook pamphlets he’d secretly bought from the marketplace. He flipped through a few pages of one, tossed it aside, then did the same with another.
It wasn’t that the book was dull, but rather that his emotions were unsettled. A restless heat churned within him, like a surging river trapped in a narrow gorge, desperate to burst free but finding no outlet. He simply couldn’t calm his mind.
In the corner of the hall stood a luohan couch made of purple sandalwood with rattan backing—the very one Su Yan had slept on when he stayed in the Eastern Palace after catching a cold. Zhu Helin stared at the empty couch, his mind swirling like a kaleidoscope. One moment, he envisioned Su Yan’s long lashes as he slept, delicate and fan-like; the next, he recalled the softness of Su Yan’s lips, petal-pink and tender, as the gold spoon brushed against them during feeding. Then came the memory of Su Yan’s hand beneath his own, reddened from the pressure, the vivid marks standing out against his pale skin, startlingly intense…
The Crown Prince was momentarily lost in thought before snapping back to himself. He picked up the nearest book and began flipping through it absentmindedly.
“… After drinking heavily, Dongbin retired to bed, and Wei Sheng laid down beside him, still clothed. Dongbin said: ‘When human flesh and blood meet, the energies naturally flow between them. If we sleep clothed and apart, I cannot benefit you.’ He then embraced Wei Sheng, helped him undress, and laid beside him. Dongbin caressed him gently, gradually escalating to greater intimacy. Though Wei Sheng wanted to absorb Dongbin’s immortal essence, he endured silently.”
—What on earth? Zhu Helin was startled. Isn’t Lu Dongbin a male immortal? And isn’t Wei Sheng also a man, no matter how good-looking? What kind of “gradually escalating intimacy” is this?
He glanced at the title of the story: The Impostor Immortal Causes Chaos at Huaguang Temple. Ah, so it’s fake. That explains it.
He continued reading.
“At the break of dawn, Dongbin said to Wei Sheng, ‘The mysteries of immortality cannot be revealed. For now, let us part, but I shall return tonight.’ With that, he leapt out the window and vanished without a trace… Yet the lingering scent on the bedding remained. Wei Sheng couldn’t stop thinking about him. That night, Dongbin returned, and they shared the same bed again. For over ten nights in a row, their bond grew ever closer, and they could hardly bear to part.”
Zhu Helin’s face turned crimson. A sudden thought struck him: If this so-called immortal was impersonating Lu Dongbin, then he would have taken a male form, right? So how could their “bond grow closer”? And… didn’t I also share a hall with Su Yan once? Does that count as “growing closer”?
His thoughts spiraled wildly, and he nervously turned another page. Now the fake Dongbin had invited a fake immortal maiden to join them. “The three shared a bed. Wei Sheng first approached the maiden, then Dongbin joined in. Yin and yang intertwined, and they reveled in joy all night…” Zhu Helin flushed furiously, muttering “shameless debauchery” under his breath as he stuffed the book back into its hidden compartment. He flopped onto the pillow and shut his eyes.
But even with his eyes closed, he found no peace. His mind raced with scattered, intoxicating images: the curling fragrance from a censer, disheveled garments on a bed, the vermilion lacquer on painted toenails, and a cascade of black hair spilling across a pillow like a waterfall. These fleeting, sensual visions flitted through his thoughts like wind scattering fallen petals, leaving him parched and restless.
Zhu Helin jumped out of bed, poured himself a full cup of cold tea, and drank it in one gulp. The chill spread through his body, jolting him awake, and the simmering heat within him seemed to subside. He returned to bed, tossing and turning until, at some point, he drifted off into a fitful sleep—and dreamed.
In the dream, he was Wei Sheng, cradled in the arms of a remarkably elegant and handsome male immortal who coaxed him to undress and lie down.
Though unwilling deep down, there was an inexplicable hint of anticipation. Dazed and bewildered, he let the immortal guide him. But when the immortal’s jade-like body leaned closer, Zhu Helin suddenly felt something amiss—this isn’t right; the roles are reversed—I should be on top! He flipped over and pinned the immortal beneath him.
The immortal didn’t resist, only let out a soft laugh. “Life is short, but bliss is boundless. Why not join me in heavenly ecstasy?”
Zhu Helin fumbled awkwardly, unable to find his way. Then, he suddenly saw the immortal’s face clearly: those affectionate lips, those phoenix eyes shimmering with light, as radiant as peach blossoms dusted with snow…
It was Su Yan!
The Crown Prince woke abruptly, panting heavily, his forehead damp with beads of sweat. He felt a sticky wetness in his undergarments. Lifting the quilt to look, he discovered, to his shock, that he had experienced a nocturnal emission.
“…Fubao! Fubao!” he called out loudly, flustered and at a loss.
The palace maids standing watch outside rushed in with hurried, light steps and knelt on the floor. “What are your orders, young master?”
Zhu Helin grabbed his pillow and hurled it through the curtains of the bed canopy. “Did I call for you? Get out!”
The maids scrambled to retreat. Fubao entered the hall to find the carved canopy bed adorned with inlaid hawthorn blossoms swaying slightly. The jade hooks on the bed curtains were still swinging. The Crown Prince sat wrapped in his quilt, cocooned tightly like a silkworm chrysalis.
Fubao crawled onto the narrow ledge surrounding the bed, knelt on the wooden footboard, and asked nervously, “What’s troubling you, young master?”
Zhu Helin turned his head, his eyes tinged with a faint redness, and lifted a corner of the quilt. “Look at this. What’s the meaning of this?”
Fubao leaned closer, sniffing the air. A faint salty-sweet scent lingered, reminiscent of the Chinese viburnum blossoms in the courtyard during April. He was momentarily stunned. “This… I wouldn’t know… Someone like me doesn’t even have the parts to compare with, young master…”
Hearing the maids’ report, Cheng Sheng entered the hall to offer his greetings. Though he was also a eunuch, having been castrated in childhood, he was nearly fifty and well-versed in the affairs of the palace. One glance at the situation and he smiled knowingly. “Congratulations, young master! This is the opening of the ‘Essence Gate.’ From now on, you are capable of fulfilling marital duties.”
Zhu Helin looked baffled. “What?”
Cheng Sheng explained with a grin, “You’ve become a man, young master. Back in the day, His Majesty had his official consort selected at fourteen and was married at sixteen. Once this news is reported, the Rites Bureau will arrange for palace women to come and teach you. Besides studying spring paintings, before the wedding, they will also take you to the secret chamber of the Buddha of Joy to observe the mechanisms of the statues and learn the methods of intimacy.”
Zhu Helin’s ears burned with embarrassment. He barked, his voice rough, “I don’t need any palace women teaching me! I can figure it out myself!”
***
As night fell, two red lanterns were lit in front of the doors of the concubine quarters, resembling soft, seductive red hands beckoning for the Emperor’s favor.
The chief eunuch bowed and asked, “Your Majesty, which palace’s lanterns shall be extinguished tonight?”
“None of the palaces. Tonight, I will sleep alone in the Hall of Mental Cultivation,” Emperor Jinglong waved his hand, dismissing the eunuch.
Palace maids moved delicately, assisting the emperor with his washing and bathing. Once he changed into his sleeping robe, they dimmed the bright lights, leaving the hall bathed in soft, warm candlelight.
The emperor walked toward his dragon bed but stopped in his tracks.
Kneeling on the golden brick floor before the bed was a figure clad in frost-white inner robes. The contrast against the deep green floor tiles made him look like a drifting cloud, captivatingly elegant.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, the figure pressed his forehead lower, almost touching the cold, hard surface of the floor. In a soft voice, he said, “By Lan Gonggong’s orders, this humble servant is here to attend to Your Majesty.”
The emperor raised an eyebrow. “You’re an inner attendant in the palace?”
The figure answered respectfully, “Your Majesty, I am not.”
“Since you are neither an attendant nor a woman, why do you refer to yourself as ‘this humble servant’?”
The emperor’s tone was laced with mockery. The youth flinched, lowering himself further as he answered, “I… a humble commoner…”
“Sit up and answer properly.”
Obeying the order, the youth sat up straight. The emperor extended a hand, hooking the youth’s chin to lift his face.
A pale-skinned boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen, with hair dark as ink and brows shaped like willow leaves. His lips were delicate and pink like flower petals, fresh and lovely. Most striking of all were his naturally alluring almond-shaped eyes, brimming with a gentle charm.
The emperor studied his features, a faint smile crossing his lips. “There is a certain resemblance… That old eunuch deserves a beating.”
Seeing the emperor’s faint smile, the boy gathered his courage, clinging to the hem of the emperor’s golden robe and pressing it gently against his cheek. His tone was meek and pleading. “I beg Your Majesty for mercy.”
“What is your name?”
“Humble servant’s lowly name is Xiyan. Xi for the west, Yan for the swallow.”
“Have you read the classics?”
Xiyan looked a bit embarrassed. “I have not formally studied, but I can recognize some characters.”
“Then what are you skilled in?”
“I can play the yangqin, pipa, and dongxiao. I can perform the Guanyin Dance, the Jinghong Dance… Ah, and I can sing Kunqu opera, such as The Jade Hairpin and The Tale of the Hibiscus. My best performance is The Peony Pavilion.”
The emperor understood immediately: this was a performer trained specifically to serve, likely still a virgin if he had been sent by Lan Xi.
Without saying a word, the emperor walked to the bedside and sat down.
Recalling Lan Gonggong’s instructions that the emperor was reserved and self-contained by nature, Xiyan knew he had to take the initiative. He crawled forward on his knees, climbing onto the step at the foot of the bed and gently resting his face against the emperor’s knee.
This act stirred a faint trace of emotion within the emperor. His gaze drifted into the distance, as if he were momentarily lost in remembrance.
Xiyan boldly caressed the firm muscles of the emperor’s leg, feeling the warmth and vitality radiating from it. His mind grew hazy, and his fingertips slowly moved toward the emperor’s lower abdomen.
Suddenly, Emperor Jinglong caught his hand and pressed him face down against his thigh. Playing with the smooth black strands of Xiyan’s hair, he said in a low voice, “Was this move also taught to you by Lan Xi?”
Pinned down, Xiyan dared not lift his face to speak and could only nod.
“Heh.” The emperor let out a faint, derisive chuckle. “He thinks he knows my thoughts so well.”
“As the Son of Heaven, supreme above all, is there anyone I cannot have? Why would I settle for a mere substitute? The reason I do not touch him is that I cannot bear to brand him with the stigma of favoritism, ruining his future and ambitions. Once labeled as one who ‘serves through beauty,’ no matter what great achievements akin to those of Huo Qubing or Wei Qing he might accomplish, history would still record him under the Biographies of Favoritism. He comes from a noble and upright lineage, talented and capable, destined for great things. Should I, for a moment of selfish desire, reduce him to a mere plaything, whispered about and ridiculed in secret by the entire court?”
Xiyan was utterly bewildered, lost in a cloud of confusion. He had no knowledge of Huo Qubing, Wei Qing, or the meaning of “favoritism” and “plaything,” nor could he comprehend who this “he” was that the emperor spoke of.
Though the words were spoken to Xiyan, it was clear they were directed at Lan Xi waiting outside—or perhaps at someone who wasn’t even present.
Yet beneath this carefully constructed restraint was a roiling sea of desire, boiling and churning, known only to the emperor himself. Perhaps these righteous words were as much for his own ears as anyone else’s.
The emperor released Xiyan and said indifferently, “Leave. There is no need for you to come again. On your way out, tell Lan Xi that if I want something, I will decide for myself. He doesn’t need to meddle.”
Fear gripped Xiyan’s heart. He stole a glance at the emperor’s handsome and dignified face, feeling both forlorn and regretful, before kowtowing and withdrawing.
As soon as he left the hall, he ran into Lan Xi, who had been waiting outside. The chief eunuch’s expression remained composed, as if he had heard none of the commotion inside. Only the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared deeper under the candlelight.
Xiyan immediately apologized, “Lan Gonggong, this humble one…”
Lan Xi cut him off. “I understand. You’ll receive fifty taels of silver before leaving the palace. Consider this incident as though it never happened. If even half a word escapes your lips that shouldn’t—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Xiyan reacted as if stung by a scorpion or bee. His eyes filled with fear as he bowed his head. “I understand, Lan Gonggong. Please rest assured.”
Lan Xi nodded and watched Xiyan’s retreating figure disappear before sighing inwardly. Why must the emperor restrain himself so much? If Su Qinghe had the privilege of serving His Majesty in this way, it would be a blessing earned over eight lifetimes. The Su family’s ancestors would rejoice, and the entire clan should celebrate.
As for the opinions of the court and public, do they matter? Once someone climbs high enough, all they see are bowed heads and lowered backsides. Whether power is gained through scholarly success, martial prowess, or by serving through beauty—what difference does it make?
Since the emperor cannot bring himself to touch him, yet seems to still harbor feelings, I must pave the way with Su Yan. I’ll make sure he obediently climbs into the dragon’s bed. That way, not only will it ease the emperor’s frustrations, but it will also tie him to me. Once the pillow talk begins, everything else will fall into place.
