PM - 66

“An auspicious number, indeed!” He was quite skilled at self-consolation. Who was it that earlier looked down on the leopards? In the end, he fared little better than they did.

A capable man should possess unyielding endurance—so the books said. The chancellor who commanded the court like a storm was disappointingly inept in the bedroom, a truly pitiful state of affairs.

However, for Fu Wei, who was experiencing intimacy for the first time, the timing was just right. It ended abruptly when the pain became unbearable, sparing her the need to dwell on the experience. Reflecting on it, she felt as though it had been a back-and-forth motion—coming and going, coming and going… She suspected she might have been injured, as she hadn’t felt any pleasure. Yet emotionally, she was deeply satisfied. Her first time with the chancellor was complete; henceforth, they would be one, their hearts bound closer together.

He was still catching his breath when she gently stroked his sweat-drenched back. “Did you enjoy it? Was it pleasurable?”

Though somewhat disheartened, he firmly hummed an affirmation.

She smiled faintly. “I’m glad you liked it.” Pulling over the embroidered quilt, she tenderly covered him.

Intending to rest and recover, she was interrupted by his mournful lament: “This subject cannot accept…”

Fu Wei was astonished. “I can accept it; why can’t you?” She chuckled teasingly. “Don’t worry, I won’t laugh at you for being inferior to a leopard, my Sixth Lord.”

Sixth Lord? As if struck by lightning, the chancellor bolted upright. “You see, you do look down on me!” His voice brimmed with despair.

She quickly consoled him, “That’s not what I meant. I think it was fine. Earlier, I mentioned—the Peng bird is vast…”

He felt slightly reassured. True, with certain advantages, experience could accumulate over time. He exhaled slowly, contemplating suggesting another attempt, only to be pierced by her sharp words. “Though large, alas, it was short.” Then, laughing freely, she rolled to the side.

The chancellor glared at her indignantly. “Allow this subject to try again!”

She faltered, laughter dying instantly. “Since the retreat has sounded, let’s postpone the battle.” After all, having already suffered significant losses, blindly engaging would only lead to further misfortune.

She shifted slightly. “Husband, come here.”

At that single word from her, all sense of humiliation vanished. Swiftly, he leaned over, pulling her into his arms. Gently touching her face, he asked softly, “Did I hurt you just now?”

She moved her waist slightly, feeling something trickle out, blushing as she replied, “I can bear it.”

He was filled with remorse for his poor performance. “But every time I touch you, I lose control…”

“It’s said that every man’s first time is like this,” she murmured against his chest. “Didn’t anyone tell you? The last time Beigong sent me a female attendant, there was a matron who taught me beforehand not to judge a hero by his first encounter. Those six thrusts of yours were already quite impressive.”

Mentioning those six thrusts made him want to die. He had imagined countless times how valiant he would be, even at his worst, surely lasting longer than that. Yet reality was cruel—he had tried his utmost to bring her pleasure, only to crumble like a defeated army, too ashamed to face her.

The chancellor was deeply shaken, utterly dispirited. But Fu Wei was radiant. “Actually, I love those six thrusts of yours—solid and powerful, moving mountains and rivers!”

The chancellor sighed repeatedly. Seeing her now, so lively and vigorous, only highlighted his failure. As she lightly caressed his paperweight, his hand rested on her breast. “This unworthy subject fails you, Your Majesty.”

One moment apologizing to the late emperor, the next to her—the chancellor bore such burdens. She kissed his lightly stubbled chin. “Let me tell you, if you had acted like a seasoned lover, I would have doubted you. Yesterday, Yuan Han came to the palace requesting marriage, claiming you had consummated relations with her. Did you know?”

He immediately denied it. “I am completely innocent with her; don’t misunderstand.”

Seeing his earlier flustered state, even if he claimed otherwise, she wouldn’t believe him. Still, yesterday had upset her greatly. Softly, she complained, “She went to such lengths, sacrificing even her own reputation. Fortunately, I was wise enough not to fall for her scheme. Had I believed her, we might have quarreled fiercely and become irreconcilable foes.”

For an emperor, being too easily swayed spelled disaster for the nation. He knew she possessed a maturity beyond her years, yet didn’t young girls often worry about betrayal?

“Do you trust me so much? What if it were true?”

Her response was sorrowful. “Even if it were true, I wouldn’t regret it. As repayment to you, I’d no longer owe you anything.”

Using the word “owe” made the situation grave. Love was mutual—if betrayed, why would one feel indebted? Was it because she loved him too deeply?

He tightened his embrace, unsure how to express his boundless affection. Closing his eyes, he sighed. “There’s no room for another in my heart—you must understand.”

“I understand,” she said, her delicate toes lightly brushing against his calf, causing him to lose focus entirely.

Once the proud imperial uncle and revered mentor, he now found himself utterly unable to maintain composure. Though lacking an official wedding proclamation, they were undeniably husband and wife.

His hand traced her exquisite curves, his mind wandering. Eager to prove himself yet fearing her discomfort, he was caught in a dilemma. After much deliberation, he cautiously hovered above her, pleading softly, “A Ying, may I…?”

Craving more after the initial taste? Perhaps regaining lost pride required reclaiming it where it was lost. He was a stubborn man—court officials trembled at the mention of the chancellor. Yet in her eyes, when not discussing politics, he resembled a child—proud, arrogant, unwilling to admit defeat. What could she do? Despite being older, she pitied him.

“Shall we try once more?”

Overjoyed, he showered her with a long kiss, sinking into her. Fu Wei’s pain exceeded before, like adding another cut to a fresh wound, nearly bringing tears to her eyes.

In the dim glow of the pearls, he studied her expression—brows tightly furrowed, teeth clenched. In truth, he wasn’t faring well either. Too afraid to exert force, each movement was torment. Finally reaching warmth, he barely caught his breath when her sudden spasm nearly ended him again.

Meeting an equal opponent, the chancellor felt uncertain for the first time. Adjusting, he faced the challenge—six was a hurdle, which he surpassed joyfully. Yet at fourteen, he collapsed again. Clearly, he could never hold his head high before her.

Fu Wei didn’t know how to comfort him anymore, finding nothing but amusement in the situation.

He covered his face with both hands, leaning dejectedly against the carriage wall. After a pause, she patted his shoulder. “It’s alright; there’s always tomorrow.”

Silently, he dressed. Once so elegant, he now appeared utterly despondent. Exiting the carriage, he sat under the empty sky, holding a horsewhip, even driving losing its appeal.

Through the carved door, Fu Wei still sought ways to salvage his pride. “You’ve improved—it’s unrealistic to expect too much. Next time might be twenty, then over a hundred.”

He rubbed his forehead, gazing into the distance. “In my humble opinion, not counting might be better.”

Counting unnerved him, making him anxious, hastening his demise. Was intimacy truly so dull that she timed his movements? Staring at the stars, dark clouds gathered in his heart. Ultimately, he blamed himself—had he been more skilled, her mind wouldn’t have wandered.

Sighing heavily, he muttered, “Shall we stay at my residence tonight? I’ll order medicinal broth prepared.”

Her body ached severely. After consideration, she declined. “Too many prying eyes might cause trouble. Take me directly back to the palace; Azhao will meet me at the San Chu Que.”

Silence fell between them, both awkward, unsure what to say.

Feeling inadequate, Fu Wei leaned over, embracing him from behind. Nibbling his earlobe, she whispered sweetly, “What’s wrong? Still unhappy? Such a beautiful night, marred by such trivial imperfection?”

He forced a smile, strained and weak.

Seeing his troubled expression, she nibbled him gently. “It’s not that you can’t—it’s youthful vigor. We’re both beginners, and the carriage setting naturally induces anxiety.” Turning his face toward hers, she pressed her forehead against his. “Husband, remember—I am forever yours, bound in life and death.”

He gripped her hand tightly. Regardless of everything, the matter was settled—a bond unbreakable, even to the ends of the earth. He understood and vowed to cherish it deeply.

Under his command were the palace guards, thus entering and exiting the palace posed no difficulty. However, at the Eastern Palace, overseen entirely by the Imperial Household Department, inquiries about such a large carriage were inevitable.

The Chief of the Palace Guards stood with drawn sword in the middle of the road, raising his hand to signal the approaching lantern-lit carriage to stop. “The palace gates are closed—who dares enter?” A faint voice responded, “It is I.” Approaching, he recognized the chancellor and hastily bowed. “My lord, why so late today…” He paused, realizing further questioning was futile.

The chancellor’s expression remained solemn, offering no reply. At that moment, several figures approached from the San Chu Que, respectfully bowing. Shangguan Zhao addressed the Chief of the Palace Guards, “Commander Sun, please allow passage. This person was summoned by our lord.”

One was the chancellor, the other a close confidant of the emperor—naturally, the Chief of the Palace Guards dared not inquire further. The chancellor handed the carriage over to Shangguan Zhao, lightly tapping the carved carriage rail twice as a farewell gesture. The carriage was then driven into the watchtower, silk curtains fluttering and iron chimes softly ringing. He stood there, waiting until the palace gates closed before retreating from the Eastern Palace.

The escorts had dispersed upon his entry into the city. Slowly, he returned to the chancellor’s residence, reflecting on what she had said earlier about Yuan Han requesting marriage. Alone by the lamp, he pondered deeply.

“To have consummated relations”—what audacity! It seemed his previous attempt to turn the tables had failed. After issuing the Decree of Extended Grace, he had been observing coldly. She had briefly lain low, making no moves before the New Year. He had assumed those behind her would be too preoccupied to act, yet no sooner had the New Year begun than they started stirring again. A marriage decree? It should indeed be granted. If he and the young emperor did not clash, how could they lure these conspirators into revealing themselves?

Still, it was strange—if she were acting under orders, he should have been able to uncover her weaknesses. Yet neither the undercover riders nor the spies planted in the princess’s residence had found any flaws. She lived quietly, never meeting outsiders or exchanging letters. Her daily routine consisted only of reading, embroidery, playing the zither, and making shoes.

He had never believed in resurrection. The six days of rest provided ample time to untangle some doubts. On the seventh day, he entered the princess’s residence and dismissed all the attendants who served her closely.

Yuan Han greeted him warmly when he arrived, personally brewing tea and presenting it to him with both hands. He knelt at the table, cutting straight to the point: “Princess, during the New Year’s Day visit to the palace, did you request His Majesty to grant our marriage?”

Yuan Han affirmed, “I have no one to rely on in the capital; you are my support. I’ve heard that His Majesty inquired about us in court, and you said it depended on my wishes. I assumed you wouldn’t object to marrying me, so why not seek an imperial decree? I’ve waited for you for eleven years, and now we’re finally together. Aren’t you happy?”

He had always disliked entanglements with women, and Fu Wei was already his limit—there was no energy left to deal with this supposed old acquaintance.

His expression remained aloof and distant. Placing the lacquered cup gently on the table, he drawled, “I’ve asked you many times, Princess, and you’ve refused to answer, which has troubled me greatly. If you truly are Yuan Han, you should know my temperament—I dislike cunning tricks before me. So, I ask you once more: who has been funding you all these years?”

Yuan Han raised her eyes, which were filled with desolation. “Why must you insist on finding out who this person is?”

He smiled faintly. “Naturally, to repay their kindness. If you become my wife, how could I fail to acknowledge such a debt?”

She pressed her lips tightly, remaining silent for a while before replying, “My father and brother committed grave crimes, which you handled yourself. If I disclose this person to you, it may seem minor, but if His Majesty investigates later, wouldn’t it appear ungrateful? Therefore, please forgive me, but I cannot reveal their identity.”

He didn’t press further, nodding slightly. “Very well, if you refuse to speak, so be it. Tomorrow in court, I will formally request the emperor to grant our marriage. However, from now on, you will sever all contact with the outside world. I believe that waiting patiently will eventually bring that person to light. To be candid, granting marriage is, in my view, merely an unenforced edict. For instance, if the princess were to lose her hands or feet—or even die suddenly—before the wedding, it would render the decree meaningless. So what exactly are you plotting? Tell me the truth, and I’ll ensure your safe retreat in the future. How does that sound?” His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, each knock unsettling.

Her face turned deathly pale. “I’ve already died once. Do you intend to kill me again?”

His response was direct. “You shouldn’t have come back to life in the first place. But rest assured, I’m not entirely heartless. At most, I’ll imprison you in Yunyang Jail, where you’ll never see daylight again. Yunyang holds countless people of unknown origins—one more like you won’t raise any questions. You can pray to the gods that nothing happens within the next two years; otherwise, your days will grow unbearable.”

After hearing this, she staggered backward several steps. “Yan Xiangru, are you truly so ruthless?”

He sneered coldly. “The hundreds of members of the Changsha royal family were wiped out without hesitation. Whether I am ruthless or not, Princess, you should already know.”

She lost control, screaming hysterically, “You’ve never believed I am truly Yuan Han, have you?”

He rose, brushing off his robes as he walked away. “From today onward, the princess is to close her doors to visitors and claim illness publicly.”

She stiffly took a few steps after him. “I’ve reached the age of marriage, and I present this message solemnly: ‘Lángān sends greetings to Lord Yan.’ Recall past words, and do not betray them lightly…” She stopped abruptly, seeing him glance back in astonishment. With a sorrowful smile, she added, “Yuan Han exists, but does Lángān still?”

A chill ran through him, but at this point, whether she was real or fake no longer mattered.

He stepped out of the princess’s residence, and the heavy gates slammed shut behind him, sealing off all worldly affairs.

The first court session after the holiday was particularly grand. The change of era name, coupled with the emperor’s personal rule, heralded a fresh beginning. The black-lacquered screen adorned with silver hooks behind the throne accentuated the emperor’s solemn countenance, enhancing her regal aura distinct from before.

The young emperor sat upright, speaking in a measured tone: “Before the New Year, we discussed the decree to extend private favors, allowing princes to enfeoff their descendants as marquises. This has now been fully implemented. During the festivities, officials such as the Grand Minister of Agriculture, the Minister of Imperial Clan Affairs, and the Grand Master of Ceremonies submitted reports stating that newly established fiefs require naming by the court—an unprecedented task due to the sheer number.” She paused, her gaze piercing through the twelve strands of jade beads hanging before the crown, resting on the chancellor at the forefront of the ministers. “…For instance, in Hanzhong, the King of Han has ‘six’ sons…”

She emphasized the word “six” heavily, causing the hairs on the chancellor’s neck to stand on end. Embarrassed, he touched his nose awkwardly.

“Thus, we must enfeoff ‘six’ marquises…”

Before he could blush, the chancellor pressed both temples firmly.

With the upper half of his face obscured, his expression hidden, it didn’t matter—the young emperor still felt pleased. She placed the document in her hand onto the long table, smiling faintly: “Marquisates are subordinate to commanderies, equal in status to counties but directly overseen by the central government. Any lapses in governance reflect poorly on the court. I wish to dispatch officials bearing imperial authority to inspect provinces and commanderies. This matter…” She leaned slightly forward. “…still requires Father Chancellor’s handling.”

The chancellor had no choice but to pick up his tablet and bow deeply. “Yes.”

She settled back, leaning against the armrest, continuing, “I recall last autumn discussing the establishment of a new commandery in the northern territories. The Wuhuan have been causing disturbances along our borders year-round. Another skirmish broke out recently, though swiftly quelled, resulted in nearly four thousand casualties, leaving me restless. Northern defenses urgently need strengthening. Now that the ice and snow have melted, the Censorate Minister shall be dispatched to oversee this mission. Additionally, Lieutenant General Wei Guang will accompany him, taking orders from the Censorate Minister to ensure success.”

The Censorate Minister understood well—the subtle demotion disguised as promotion had begun. Throughout history, ministers opposing the emperor rarely fared well. Being sent to desolate places might allow survival until old age, but what of the chancellor? Such a thorn under the emperor’s eyelids—it couldn’t remain unpulled.

Rising to accept the mission, the Censorate Minister replied resolutely and willingly, “I’ll dedicate myself utterly, ensuring no dishonor to Your Majesty’s mission.”

The young emperor nodded. Having addressed the main matters of the day, she relaxed, lightly patting the armrest. “Does anyone else have matters to report?”

The chancellor timely rose and bowed deeply. “This subject has one matter. The emperor graciously inquired about my marriage intentions with Princess Chaisang. Yesterday, I asked the princess, and she agreed. Thus, I humbly request the emperor’s gracious decree to grant our marriage.”

The young emperor paused momentarily, showing no great surprise, then turned to the chancellor: “Father Chancellor, when do you think would be appropriate? We can issue the decree accordingly.”

The chancellor bowed his head thoughtfully. “Marriage is a significant life event; I need time to prepare properly. Let’s set a period of six months, and I humbly request Your Majesty’s approval.”

The young emperor agreed, “As Father Chancellor desires, let’s set the period at six months.”

The chancellor bowed deeply in gratitude. Meanwhile, Fu Wei internally grumbled incessantly—her own man, being officially bestowed upon another by her own decree, tasted bitter indeed. Yet soon she felt relieved; this engagement came just at the right time, as rumors began circulating outside—rumors she least wished to hear: “The phoenix enters Deyang.”

What was bound to come eventually confronted her. Previously walking on thin ice, uncertainty had caused anxiety. Now facing it directly, she found calmness, knowing precisely what actions to take next.