After Su Yan left, Emperor Jinglong remained alone in the imperial study.
He leaned back against the intricately carved chair, closing his eyes to breathe in the lingering trace of fragrance in the air.
“Lan Xi,” he called.
Lan Xi entered, bowing, then cleansed his hands in a basin on a side table before gently removing the emperor’s ceremonial crown. With practiced care, he began massaging the emperor’s temples.
“Is Your Majesty’s headache troubling you again?” Lan Xi asked gently. “This time, is it the left side or the right side?”
“Hmm… both sides.”
“Shall I summon Imperial Physician Wang at once?”
“No need. It’s just overthinking. Resting for a while will suffice. Whenever Wang Chunfu comes, it’s all decoctions and acupuncture, but it hardly makes much difference—just a lot of fuss.”
Lan Xi advised tactfully, “Your Majesty has reigned for nineteen years, attending every court meeting without fail and reviewing memorials late into the night. The nation is truly blessed to have such a wise and diligent ruler. However, it’s important to take care of your health and strike a balance between work and rest.”
The emperor opened his eyes, his voice not loud but imbued with stern authority. “By ‘rest,’ do you mean sending drunken officials to my chambers and burning Tianshui incense? I didn’t realize you had such impressive capabilities—manipulating both the harem and the court as if they were at your fingertips. Truly, you are a grand eunuch!”
Lan Xi broke into a cold sweat and prostrated himself in fear. “This servant acted presumptuously and deserves to die a thousand deaths. But it was out of sincere loyalty, only wishing to ease Your Majesty’s burdens. I beg for Your Majesty’s mercy to forgive this servant’s mistake.”
“You weren’t just well-intentioned but clumsy,” the emperor retorted. “You placed a secret bet, hoping to strike it big. You think that serving me day and night means you’ve seen through many of my thoughts. Whatever I glance at, you rush to offer, eager to please—truly perceptive and considerate.”
Lan Xi kowtowed repeatedly. “This servant’s loyalty is clear to heaven and earth. Out of fear of not serving Your Majesty adequately, I thought more and acted further in all things. I never intended to presume upon Your Majesty’s thoughts. Please discern the truth, Your Majesty.”
The emperor said coldly, “I’ve warned you before not to act clever. Now I warn you again—don’t even think about him!”
Lan Xi pressed his forehead to the ground, trembling as he repeatedly promised obedience, swearing he would never dare again.
The emperor’s anger finally subsided a bit, and he instructed, “Stand up. Continue.”
Lan Xi washed his hands again and resumed massaging the crown of the emperor’s head, though his fingers still trembled slightly.
“There’s no need to be so scared,” the emperor said, his words half reassuring, half threatening. “As long as you keep this skill of yours, I won’t kill you so easily. You’re someone I’ve grown used to having around. If I were to replace you with someone new, it’d take time to train them—quite troublesome.”
… Just “quite troublesome.”
Both inside and outside the court, people said that Lan Gonggong was the emperor’s most favored attendant, that Emperor Jinglong relied on him and treated him generously. But the favor Lan Xi enjoyed was nothing compared to that of Su Qinghe—it wasn’t worth a fart. Repeatedly touching the emperor’s reverse scale might very well lead to death.
At this moment, Lan Xi completely abandoned the idea of using Su Yan to curry favor with the emperor by indulging his desires. Instead, he was left fretting over how to mend his relationship with Su Yan.
The emperor, whose headache had eased somewhat, asked, “Was it you who arranged for him to leave the palace that day? Where was he sent?”
Lan Xi quickly replied, “Fearing he’d feel unwell from the alcohol, I instructed that he be sent to the South Study Room, thinking it’d be convenient to summon the imperial physician if needed. But halfway there, the sedan chair was stopped by an Embroidered Uniform Guard officer, claiming to have Your Majesty’s verbal order to escort Lord Su out of the palace. The attendants didn’t dare interfere. As for where he was ultimately sent, only that person would know.”
The emperor frowned. “An Embroidered Uniform Guard? Who dared to fake my command?”
“The sedan chair carriers reported it was Shen Qi, the Vice Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.”
The emperor was silent for a moment before saying, “I see.”
***
In the afternoon, Su Yan, dressed in plain clothing, arrived at the gates of Shen residence in a carriage and was smoothly escorted into the rear courtyard’s main house.
Shen Qi was in his study, dressed in a loose, crab-shell green robe. He reclined lazily on a spacious luohan couch, leaning against layers of soft cushions, flipping through case files from the imperial prison. Having been informed of Su Yan’s arrival beforehand, Shen Qi showed little overt surprise when they met. Instead, he casually patted the spot beside him on the couch and invited, “Come up. Sit.”
Su Yan felt somewhat uneasy, especially when he noticed Shen Qi’s slender fingers flipping through the pages, which brought back memories of that night. The effects of the medicine had driven him to madness, and those hands had skillfully unleashed a storm that left him utterly undone…
His ears flushed red, and he felt an urge to turn and leave.
However, Shen Qi’s natural demeanor eased the tension. Su Yan thought to himself: Maybe he didn’t take that incident seriously, treating it as nothing more than helping me counteract the drug. Why should I dwell on it and seem more affected than him?
So, he took off his black boots, picked up the curved-leg kang table with scrollwork beside the couch, climbed up, and placed the table between them, subtly marking a boundary.
“Qilang, I’d like to trouble you by staying here for a day or two,” Su Yan said, propping one arm on the kang table and leaning slightly forward.
Shen Qi tossed the files onto the table, stretched his feet out from under the low table, and nudged them beneath Su Yan’s knees.
Su Yan asked warily, “What are you doing?”
Shen Qi replied, “My legs are long. Curling them is uncomfortable. Let me stretch them out.”
Su Yan let out an “oh” and moved back a little.
Shen Qi added, “Don’t leave so much space. The wind comes in, and it’s cold. Don’t move your legs—let me warm them for a bit.”
Cold? Su Yan glanced outside at the scorching summer sun, the cicadas chirping noisily in the willows. Then he looked at the cooling ice bucket on the floor in front of the luohan couch, filled with chilled grapes, waxberries, loquats, and honeydew melon slices—nothing about the scene suggested “cold.”
Pointing at the ice bucket, he asked, “Cooling off with icy fruits in this heat—your body is still weak from your injury, and you dare eat this?”
Shen Qi lifted his eyes lazily, the corners of his mouth curling in a faint, ambiguous smile. “I’m burning up inside, and seeing you only makes it worse. What’s cold is here.” He tapped his chest. “It’s been frozen by a certain ‘good brother’—someone who turned his back on me the moment he left the bed, vanished for eight whole days without even a word of inquiry.”
The way he drawled out “good brother” was soaked in teasing insinuation, making Su Yan shiver involuntarily. Awkwardly, he laughed and said, “That was my neglect. Something came up these past few days, and I got held up.”
Shen Qi snorted coldly. “The Lingguang Temple incident? With both Yu Wang and the Crown Prince present, they couldn’t even protect you? Worse, they let the Wei family grab hold of your weakness. A pair of useless dimwits!”
Su Yan almost lunged forward to cover his mouth, but then reminded himself that this was Shen Qi’s own estate, tightly secured like a fortress. Since they were speaking privately in the inner chambers, there shouldn’t be any risk of their words leaking. Relieved, he sighed and said, “That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think? Treason aside, if Yu Wang hadn’t blocked that arrow with his bare hands that day, I’d already be dead.”
Shen Qi’s face darkened. “That hero complex of his is his business. You’re not allowed to feel grateful, let alone repay him with your body. Understood?”
“What do you mean by ‘repay with my body’? Your words are getting more and more ridiculous!” Su Yan angrily slapped the kang table. “You’re so overbearing! You even want to control who I feel grateful to? And why do you think you have the right to control me?”
With a sweep of his arm, Shen Qi knocked the kang table and its scrolls off the couch with a crash. In the next instant, like a tiger pouncing on prey, he threw himself onto Su Yan, pinning him down and biting the side of his neck.
The impact left Su Yan momentarily dizzy. The sensitive skin on his neck was grazed and nipped, the slight pain giving way to a tingling numbness. He let out a soft hiss.
That sound seemed to spur Shen Qi on, as if it were a signal to advance further. He trailed kisses and nips down Su Yan’s neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. When the fabric of Su Yan’s collar impeded his progress, he tore it open with a hint of roughness, exposing a pale patch of skin on Su Yan’s chest.
Su Yan reached up to push Shen Qi’s head away, stopping him from going any lower. “What’s gotten into you this time? I’m not even drugged!” he muttered in a low voice.
Shen Qi grabbed his wrist and pinned it above his head. Raising his face, he kissed Su Yan’s jaw. “But you’ve drugged me. Just thinking about you makes me restless, haunting my dreams and tormenting my mind. If you don’t quench my thirst soon, I’m going to burn up from the fire you’ve ignited!”
Su Yan opened his mouth to respond, but Shen Qi seized the moment to press their lips together, his tongue invading aggressively. The kiss was fierce and relentless, a storm of passion. Their mingling breaths left no room for pause, and thin trails of saliva slid from the corners of their mouths, glistening like silver threads.
Su Yan was kissed until his head spun, like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, tossed and swayed beyond his control. It was as if he were under the weight of a towering mountain, unable to escape its shadow.
Only when his lungs began to ache from the lack of fresh air did Shen Qi finally let go. He gazed at Su Yan’s misty, tear-brimmed eyes and his flushed cheeks.
“Been so many days—did you miss your husband?” Shen Qi asked hoarsely.
“…What husband? Who the h*ll is your wife!”
Shen Qi leaned down and claimed his lips again.
Su Yan, nearly suffocating, had no choice but to relent. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Three times is too perfunctory. Say it sincerely, just once is enough.”
D*mn it, this man was shamelessly pushing his limits! Held down and unable to resist, Su Yan swallowed his pride and muttered, “Yes.”
Satisfied, Shen Qi kissed his lips, now bitten red like blood. “Your husband missed you too. Staying for a day or two isn’t enough—you’ll have to stay for a lifetime.”
Su Yan thought bitterly: A lifetime of being hunted by the Wei family? He felt Shen Qi’s hand sliding down his waist toward unspeakable places. Immediately, he clamped his legs together and grabbed Shen Qi’s sleeve, hurriedly finding an excuse. “Did you forget the doctor’s orders? Abstinence!”
Shen Qi froze, then growled, “Let’s deal with the fire now. Who cares if I live or die later?”
Su Yan’s expression turned cold. “Wonderful. If your wounds reopen, and you really die on top of me, I’ll pull myself off, head straight out, and find someone to repay their life-saving kindness.”
Though he knew Su Yan was speaking out of spite, Shen Qi’s jealousy flared wildly. With gritted teeth, he slapped Su Yan’s firm, rounded rear with a loud “smack,” nearly bringing tears to his eyes.
“If you dare put a green hat on your husband, I’ll—I’ll screw you to death, for real!”
This maniacal spymaster cared for no one when he lost it. Su Yan was furious but didn’t dare speak up, cursing Shen Qi as a deranged lunatic in his heart ten thousand times over.
Suddenly, Shen Qi broke into a bright smile, as if the storm had cleared. “Just kidding. Even if I die, I’d never let anything happen to you.”
Through the fabric of Shen Qi’s clothes, Su Yan’s hand brushed over the uneven scars on his back. He knew there was likely truth in those words.
But he still didn’t know how to respond to such profound devotion.
To accept it would mean betraying over twenty years of his identity and beliefs. To reject it would be to betray and feel guilty for the sacrifices Shen Qi had made for him. At times, he wavered, thinking Shen Qi was charming enough to make bending the rules worth it. Other times, he blamed the current situation and body for messing with his head. If he ever returned to his original body, wouldn’t they end up fighting to the death in bed?
Round and round his thoughts went, yielding no answers. In the end, he escaped the chaos in his mind, silently chanting “I’m straight” three times to regain his composure.
“Don’t jinx it! Enough fooling around—let me up. I still have plenty of memorials to draft.”
On the eve of leaving the capital, Su Yan indeed had numerous unfinished matters to handle one by one. There were the administrative handovers at the Dali Temple and the establishment of the new academy. Since he had proposed the idea and had some thoughts about its direction, he couldn’t simply toss the entire responsibility to Yu Wang. He felt obliged to offer as much help as he could.
Locking himself in the study, Su Yan spent a full six hours drafting the Charter for the Founding of the Heavenly Works Academy. It covered the institution’s educational philosophy, school rules, five-year development plan, proposed subjects, initial enrollment policies, teaching regulations for instructors, and evaluation methods for students. He included everything he could think of, though it was still only a rough outline. The details of how to expand and implement it would ultimately fall to Yu Wang to work out.
The result was a thick stack of documents, leaving Su Yan with a sore back and an aching wrist too stiff to lift.
Shen Qi personally brought him meals, refilled his lamp oil, and tenderly massaged his stiff hands to promote blood circulation. He urged Su Yan to sleep early and not overexert himself, reminding him that official work was endless and didn’t need to be rushed.
Feeling guilty, Su Yan finally revealed that the emperor intended to appoint him as a Censor, sending him to Shaanxi to lie low for a while. The official decree was expected to arrive the next morning.
Shen Qi’s face turned cold as frost. He understood that the Wei family now saw Su Yan as a thorn in their side and would stop at nothing to eliminate him. Leaving the capital to avoid the storm was indeed the most rational choice, yet the thought of it left Shen Qi with unbearable reluctance.
After just eight days apart, he had already been driven to madness with longing. A trip to Shaanxi could take three to five months. Wouldn’t that drive him completely insane?
Su Yan tried to comfort him, saying, “Don’t give me that icy, murderous look—it’s terrifying. How about I think of you while I’m away and write you letters?”
Shen Qi, sitting on the edge of the bed, forcibly pulled Su Yan onto his lap for a kiss, grumbling, “That’s just basic decency, and now you’re trying to use it to appease me? Do I look so easy to fool? No way. What real compensation do you have?”
Feeling the hard object pressed against him, Su Yan silently lamented his bruised backside—now decorated with both teeth marks and handprints. With a sigh, he said, “Qilang, stop fooling around. Follow the doctor’s orders and don’t court death.”
