PM - 27

That night, as expected, was far from peaceful.

Even the Chancellor occasionally grew drowsy. With the bed occupied, he had no choice but to make do on the thick mat behind the desk. Pushing aside the armrest, he replaced it with a cushion. Fortunately, the weather wasn’t cold, so the lack of blankets didn’t bother him.

He slept fitfully, only able to snatch brief moments of rest due to the presence of the empire’s most troublesome patient in the inner chamber. Just as he was about to drift off, a faint voice called out, “Uncle... Aru, I’m thirsty.”

The Chancellor quickly rose, his head spinning as he went to pour water from the table. The water had been kept warm in a thermos, and even late into the night, it was just right. He stumbled over with the cup, crouching by the bed to hold it up. “Your Majesty, drink.”

The person on the bed propped herself up to take it, her fingers brushing his hand intentionally—or perhaps unintentionally. A jolt ran through him, dispelling much of his drowsiness.

“I had a nightmare,” she murmured softly, half her face resting against the bedframe, looking pitifully small and lonely, evoking a deep sense of sympathy.

The Chancellor, unfamiliar with tenderness, merely hummed in response. “Knowing it’s a dream makes it less frightening. Drink more water and sleep well.”

Fu Wei felt a pang of disappointment. Shouldn’t he have asked what the dream was about and comforted her with “I’m here for you”? She had exerted great self-control to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling somewhat dizzy herself. Hadn’t Jianye said that one’s mind was at its weakest at night? It seemed he was referring to himself—applying that logic to the Chancellor clearly didn’t work.

She gritted her teeth, turning away to sob quietly. After a long pause, he finally remembered to ask what was wrong. In a plaintive tone, she replied, “I dreamed of my mother. She held me and cried, saying how unfortunate her life had been. Never did she imagine that her daughter would become an emperor, only to suffer similar marital hardships.”

The Chancellor remained silent for a while. Lady Lou, the late emperor’s consort, was indeed pitiable. Born into a modest family, she had been spotted on the street by then-Chancellor Cao Xuan and sent to the palace. At seventeen, she served the emperor; at eighteen, she became pregnant; at nineteen, she bore the young emperor; at twenty, she was forced to take her own life. Her four years in the palace were marked by favor, but she was not a flamboyant personality—quietly coming and going, leaving behind nothing but a child as evidence of her existence.

Each generation had its own stories. He had always thought the young emperor resembled her mother in temperament, but recently, as she revealed her fangs, he realized she was another version of the late emperor—strategic, far-sighted, meticulous in planning, and ruthless when necessary.

Still, the Chancellor was puzzled. “Doesn’t Your Majesty no longer remember Lady Lou?”

Her feigned sobs were interrupted again. “Would you forget your own mother? Though I don’t recall her face, I know she was my mother. Anyway, she held me and cried, lamenting my unhappy marriage—it broke my heart.”

The Chancellor’s legs, numb from squatting, straightened as he stood. “What does Your Majesty think about it?”

She didn’t answer, instead asking him, “I’m about to marry someone else—aren’t you upset? Though it may seem like a farce, it can still happen. Lingjun is fourteen now—I’ve noticed he’s quite sturdy and skilled… If I were to truly become his wife, what would you do?”

The Chancellor’s brows furrowed slightly, his eyes lowered, their lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His gaze was clouded, unreadable.

The upcoming wedding brought one downside: he would have to relinquish power. He needed to figure out how to retain his authority. Throughout history, powerful ministers rarely met good ends, especially those who had governed during a regency. Even if he lived to a ripe old age, there was no guarantee his corpse wouldn’t be exhumed and whipped by some future emperor. Of course, he couldn’t worry about such things now—his goal was to live to eighty. Having barely reached the halfway point of his life, losing power could bring fatal consequences, which he wished to avoid.

Her marriage was unavoidable—it had to happen. Ordinary people could remain bachelors until thirty, but an emperor couldn’t. Lingjun was his contingency plan, planted over a decade ago, now ready to bear fruit. His burden had lightened considerably—wasn’t this good? Yet a faint sense of melancholy lingered, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Your Majesty’s marriage will allow me to console the late emperor.” This answer satisfied him.

“Liar,” she scoffed softly, lifting her head from her elbow, her eyes glinting with golden sparks. “In truth, Uncle has feelings for me too, but they’re obscured by power—you see me as an adversary, not kin.”

You’re just like the feudal lords, Fu Wei thought silently. She hadn’t forgotten that the Chancellor’s title was originally Marquis. The “Long Strategy Marquis”—an apt name bestowed by Emperor Wen. She had once resented her grandfather for leaving her such a thorny legacy, but then reasoned that if not him, it would have been someone else. If it were an ambitious uncle, she wouldn’t have known where to begin.

Fortunately, he was young, handsome, and unmarried. What kind of regent was this? Clearly, a groom chosen long ago.

The Chancellor didn’t know what she was scheming. Regardless of whether he agreed internally, outwardly he could only deflect.

Bowing his hands, he said, “Is Your Majesty confused from sleep? Minister and emperor share one heart—always have, always will.”

She chuckled softly. “Bound forever, eh? That’s not bad—I feel the same way. Unfortunately, tonight isn’t convenient; otherwise, consummating our union wouldn’t be out of the question.” She gazed at him, her eyes sharp. “You don’t know how much I’ve yearned for you—it’s been agony holding back.”

Verbal sparring was her little game. Making bold threats? Who couldn’t do that? The Chancellor, his mind foggy from the late hour, didn’t think deeply before blurting, “Don’t blame me for not warning you—too much karma, and you’ll have to pay for it later.”

Fu Wei froze, seemingly uncomprehending. Once she processed his words, she sprang upright, energized. “Really? No need to wait—let’s settle it now!”

Why was the young emperor so different tonight? Was it the toxic night, or had he grown old enough to let his thoughts wander?

The Chancellor was utterly bewildered. Normally, he wasn’t like this. Over the years, no matter how many crises arose, none had left him so lost. The flickering lamplight blurred his vision. She faced the light, and squinting, he noticed something surprising—a slight curve, something called femininity.

He started. “Your Majesty shouldn’t have removed the binding.”

“But I couldn’t breathe!” she pleaded. “It seems the tighter I bind, the more blood flows. All my blood is pooling downward—I’ll die like this.” As she spoke, she twisted her body, intending to strike a seductive pose to shatter the Chancellor’s defenses. However, upon lifting the quilt, a large red stain greeted them, and her face turned pale.

“Ah!” She blinked at him. “Did it leak?”

The Chancellor, surprisingly calm, remarked, “Not changing it in time caused it.”

Thus, all romantic fantasies dissipated like smoke from a brazier, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of awkwardness. But ten years as emperor hadn’t been wasted—unlike other girls, Fu Wei didn’t panic. Gracefully, she straightened and smiled at him. “Excuse me, Father Chancellor, please make yourself comfortable.” Under his watchful eye, clad in silk trousers stained red, she slowly moved behind the screen.

Now the awkward one was the Chancellor. Facing the blood-soaked bedding, he couldn’t call for help to clean it. What should he do? He was at a loss.

The young emperor’s voice came from behind the screen: “Father Chancellor, don’t worry—I’ll handle it myself.”

Only then did the Chancellor remember she couldn’t use cold water. Hurriedly stepping outside, the quiet residence greeted him—the distant lanterns casting light on rows of elite guards standing like nails.

The steward, naturally, hadn’t dared sleep, waiting anxiously in the corridor. Seeing the Chancellor emerge, he rushed forward. “My lord, any orders?”

The Chancellor maintained a composed demeanor. “Bring hot water.”

The steward nodded, stealing a meaningful glance amidst his haste.

Hot water in the middle of the night… It seemed the Chancellor couldn’t clear his name even if he jumped into the Yellow River. Though the steward knew his master’s character, given the rampant rumors about him and the young emperor, disbelief eventually gave way to belief. And after witnessing earlier events, their innocence was questionable! The steward sighed inwardly—his master’s unwed status at twenty-eight suddenly made sense. So what about his relationship with Lord Jin Yi? Everything seemed increasingly intriguing…

The steward scurried off, and the Chancellor, reconsidering, added, “Prepare another clean quilt.”

This time, the steward’s “Yes” echoed from one end of the corridor to the other, his speed unmatched in his lifetime.

He knew that from now on, he’d likely never hold his head high in this residence again. The murky night, the ambiguous circumstances—he was in deep trouble.

The Chancellor sighed, entering the inner chamber to fetch a set of undergarments. “Your Majesty, change your clothes.”

A slender, pale hand hesitantly emerged from behind the screen. “Father Chancellor… truly the pillar of the nation.”

No more “Aru”? Perhaps she felt embarrassed too. Suppressing a grimace, the Chancellor handed her the clothes. Turning back, he stood in the room, utterly bewildered. Amidst the disarray of bedding and clothing, he still couldn’t understand why he was enduring this torment.

Heavy footsteps approached beneath the eaves—it was servants carrying hot water. He quickly covered the bedding and directed them to place it outside, then brought in a basin. “Your Majesty, shall I assist with cleaning?”

Behind the screen, silence reigned for a moment before a muffled sound emerged: “Father Chancellor… truly worthy of my trust.”

He understood. This blow must have been heavy—her dignity shattered, the young emperor finally succumbed.

“Your Majesty, no need to blame yourself. Everyone makes mistakes—even horses stumble. You’re still inexperienced; over time, you’ll improve.” As he consoled her, he rolled up the soiled bedding and replaced it with clean sheets. Then, bowing deeply toward the screen, he slowly retreated to the outer chamber.

After a night of chaos, the Chancellor felt physically and mentally drained. Their current dynamic was neither adversarial nor friendly. Could it be called deep affection? She plotted daily to overthrow him. Or opposition? Yet she shared even this embarrassing situation with him. He no longer knew how to describe this acrid, stinging relationship.

Rubbing his temples, he picked up a scroll. Glancing casually, he discovered it accused Prince Jing’s mercenaries of secretly supplying arms and armor. Such a report was significant. Unrolling it, he checked the signature at the end—it came anonymously from the common folk.

In the Great Yin Dynasty, to encourage open communication, the emperor allowed not only officials but also commoners to submit petitions. These anonymous reports from the populace needed careful screening so that the grievances of the people could reach the emperor’s ears, enabling him to better understand the state of his realm. However, such unsigned documents often carried the risk of slander and could be suppressed without being reported. The Chancellor rolled up the bamboo scroll and placed it on the desk designated for disputed matters.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” he mused, sitting cross-legged by the candlelight in deep thought. He had long ceased contact with the Yan clan, fearing that if he fell from power, his entire family would be implicated. Yet, despite his caution, malicious intentions from others persisted. If something were to happen to the Yan clan, he would undoubtedly share the blame... It seemed someone had grown impatient and was finally making a move against him.

He turned his head toward the inner chamber, veiled by light gauze curtains, his eyes reflecting desolation. Who in the empire couldn’t tolerate him? Perhaps it was the feudal lords—or perhaps the person behind the screen. With the empire’s power divided into three factions, any alliance between two could tilt the balance of court politics. Was she willing to take that risk?

The carpet emitted faint rustling sounds as a figure peeked out from behind the curtain. “Uncle?”

Her titles for him shifted freely depending on the situation: “Aru” when she aimed for intimacy, “Uncle” to show closeness, and “Father Chancellor” to assert authority.

He rose to greet her. She wore his undergarment, appearing mature as usual, but when his clothes draped over her, the disparity in their sizes became glaringly obvious. The sleeves were too long, almost reaching her knees, and the trousers, rolled several times, kept slipping down because of the slippery silk. She had to hold them up, shuffling awkwardly toward him, her movements childlike and her face radiating innocence.

“Today I’ve caused you much trouble. I didn’t expect it to turn out like this.”

He smiled in response. “As I said, Your Majesty lacks experience. Most girls probably go through similar situations in the beginning—it will get better with time.”

A blush slowly crept up her cheeks as she lowered her head, her toes absently scuffing the mat. “If others saw me, I’d probably die of embarrassment, but in front of you, I feel at ease. This is my first time with you—you’re used to it, so you won’t laugh at me, right?”

She tilted her face up, her eyes shining like stars and moon. He looked down at her, subtly retreating half a step. “No, there are many laughable things in the world. Your Majesty’s situation is quite normal, nothing for me to ridicule.”

She was perceptive; his slightest movements were already detected. As he stepped back, she advanced. “Are you afraid of me, Uncle?”

The Chancellor’s smile was ambiguous. “I only hold reverence for Your Majesty, not fear.”

“Really?” Her smile was exceedingly gentle, as if she poured all the sweetness accumulated over fifteen years into tonight. “I know you’re not afraid of me at all. My boldness relies solely on your indulgence.”

“Indulgence” was an exaggeration, but the Chancellor couldn’t deny it—denying it would be disrespectful, and angering the emperor might lead to bloodshed. He could only sigh. “Your Majesty, haven’t we always gotten along well as sovereign and minister? I wish for this to continue. You trust and employ me, and I’ll dedicate myself wholeheartedly to the nation. Let us… each follow our destinies and find joy accordingly.”

She didn’t bother listening closely, muttering, “All this beating around the bush, just to make me leave you alone. Unfortunately, since the day I made up my mind, I never considered giving up. You should know my nature—I’m petty and vengeful. Even if I were to die one day, I’d take what I like with me to the grave. Being too straightforward makes me seem immodest. Sometimes I wonder, do you enjoy my persistence even as you repeatedly reject me?”

What nonsense! Before this, the Chancellor had resolved not to retreat. A mere teenager, he had lived longer and experienced more than her—why should he fear her? His dignity and pride wouldn’t allow him to back down, especially with the anonymous report still troubling his mind. Yet, like someone destined to lose, no matter how he tried, he was already defeated the moment she appeared.

Outside, the crescent moon had vanished. He clasped his hands. “It’s almost dawn, Your Majesty. Please rest a little longer. I’ve changed the bedding for you, and I’ll send orders to the Eunuch Director to prepare fresh clothes for your return to the palace.”

“But I think your clothes fit me perfectly.” She shook her sleeves, striking a graceful pose. “Uncle, don’t I look like that Hu dancer who performed ‘Spring Orioles Singing’ last time?”

He felt irritated, wanting only to send her off quickly. “That dancer was merely entertainment—how can she compare to the Son of Heaven? Please rest, Your Majesty. This old minister cannot endure staying up all night. There are people involved in the assassination case to interrogate at dawn. Show mercy to this old servant and let me rest a while.”

She seemed displeased, frowning at him. “I rarely come here, and you’re already impatient with me? I’ll grant you leave today, alright?” Suddenly softening, she cooed sweetly, “During the day, I must maintain my imperial demeanor. Now, with no one else around, won’t you let me act spoiled?”

As she coaxed, she nestled into his arms. Intending to push her away, the Chancellor found himself encircled tightly by her arms.

“Does the young maiden frighten you?” she teased. “Especially an emperor’s clinging maiden—you’re truly blessed, Uncle.”

The Chancellor was utterly defeated, tragically murmuring, “Forgive me, forgive me… I’ve wronged Emperor Wen and the late emperor.”

What wrong had he done? Just a hug, yet he acted as though he betrayed his country. Nevertheless, she was in high spirits now, savoring even the fleeting intimacy forcefully taken. Dawn approached—after sunrise, they’d return to their respective roles, and she couldn’t be so unrestrained anymore. Sometimes being an emperor disgusted her—if only she could be his wife, managing the household and bearing children... But those who tasted power found it hard to relinquish. She and he were alike.

Finally, the horizon began to brighten. Though reluctant to leave the tender embrace, duty called.

Under the rising sun, she donned her ceremonial attire, fastened her sash, and the eunuchs knelt to adjust her golden hooks and jade rings. Turning to him, she smiled softly, “Thank you, Father Chancellor, for taking care of me last night. I’m feeling much better. After your hard work last night, take today off—let the Grand Censor and Attendant Shangguan handle affairs. Investigate Han Yan’s case thoroughly, but I’m also concerned about implicating too many, which might destabilize the Great Yin. Please help me weigh the situation carefully—balance remains key. Regarding the Empress Dowager…” She paused briefly, “The gates of Yong’an Palace have been sealed for too long, and I cannot bear it. With the empress selection ceremony just over a month away, I don’t want her confined then. Everything depends on you, Father Chancellor.”

So this was her plan—to promote Shangguan Zhao. How painstakingly thoughtful. The Chancellor bowed deeply, “Understood.”

She didn’t linger further, striding out confidently. The Chancellor escorted her to the wooden steps. As she boarded the carriage, she lightly pressed his hand—a gesture reminiscent of bidding farewell after a night of intimacy.

The Chancellor kept his head lowered, never raising it.

After seeing off the imperial carriage and returning to the bedroom, traces of her brief stay lingered—the faint scent of sweet flag still hung in the air. The Chancellor sighed, sitting on the bed’s edge, intending to stretch his muscles. Suddenly, he noticed a red ribbon snaking out from the pristine pillow. What was it? Reaching out, he gently pulled, revealing a crimson object. Unfolding it, he recognized it—her belly band.

In the world, few could rival her boldness. A child’s heart—stubborn and cruel.

From outside, the Chief Secretary’s voice solemnly announced, “My Lord, the Deputy Historian from Jing State requests an audience.”

The Chancellor chuckled softly, tucking the belly band into his sleeve before standing and heading out. “Let him in.”