Chapter 13: Happy Birthday
Lady Yuan continued, “You sleep on that small couch, and let the Duke of Ding sleep in your bed.”
Han Min nodded in agreement.
Lady Yuan turned and left.
Han Min carried the bedding with both hands, stepped in, closed the door, gave Fu Xun a glance, and threw the bedding onto the couch.
While kneeling on the couch to make the bed, he said, “Your Highness, if it gets cold tonight, wake me up.”
Fu Xun slightly raised an eyebrow, deliberately asking, “Wake you up for what?”
“To add two more blankets.”
“Oh, I see.”
Why did the prince seem a little disappointed?
Just as they were talking, there was another knock on the door.
Han Min got off the couch and went to open it.
Han Pei ran in and hugged him. “Second brother.”
“What’s the matter?”
Han Pe’s eyes were watery. “I had a nightmare and want to sleep with second brother.”
“Alright…”
Han Min looked at Fu Xun. “Your Highness, the child might be restless tonight, how do you—”
Fu Xun magnanimously agreed, “No problem.”
So that night, Fu Xun lay on the couch.
Through the dim candlelight filtering through the screen, he could see Han Min quietly telling stories to Han Pei on the small couch outside, while Han Pei whispered to his brother, occasionally letting out a little laugh.
Fu Xun rested his head on his hand, looking resentfully toward the screen. The lively scene was theirs—he had nothing.
Feeling a little gloomy, Fu Xun took a roll of silver notes from the stack in front of the couch, slipped them one by one into the books Han Min had placed at the foot of the couch, and tucked some into the gap of his bed.
Han Min usually didn’t sleep much at night. Tonight, with Fu Xun present, he felt embarrassed leaving him alone to write his stories.
So, with a faint candle lit, he endured the night.
At dawn, he felt as if someone had lightly touched his forehead. He felt his body sink and finally drifted into a deep sleep.
He woke to the sun already high in the sky.
Opening his eyes, he saw the topmost layer covering him was a large cloak—Fu Xun’s cloak.
Han Pei was also not beside him.
Han Min sat up and saw Fu Xun and Han Pei sitting face to face behind the screen, talking.
Fu Xun announced, “Your second brother and I were childhood sweethearts.”
Han Pei’s curiosity was piqued. “Really?”
“Of course it’s true.”
“Hmm… Last time second brother took me riding, he said he’d brought many friends along. Did he ever bring you?”
Fu Xun’s expression darkened. “No.”
“Then you still say—”
He emphasized, “We were childhood sweethearts.”
Han Pei jumped slightly, retreating a bit, nodding repeatedly. “Yes, yes.”
Fu Xun patted his head approvingly.
Han Min looked on, puzzled.
What are they doing?
And what nonsense is Fu Xun saying now?
The one speaking nonsense glanced at him and said to Han Pei, “Your second brother is awake.”
Han Min, holding the bedding, said, “Your Highness, the child must be difficult to manage?”
“Your younger brother is quite adorable.”
Fu Xun smiled, though in terms of cuteness, Han Min’s second brother was still cuter.
It was very cold; Han Min wrapped himself in the blanket, moved to the foot of the couch, pulled over clothes to change, and slowly returned, swapping inside the blanket.
He said, “Your Highness, when will you go back? Today is New Year’s Eve. Shall I take you for a walk around Tongzhou?”
Fu Xun said, “First, repair your roof.”
Han Min was slightly stunned. “…Thank you.”
After breakfast and a short rest, Fu Xun carried the ladder while Han Min brought the tools, following him.
Fu Xun repaired the roof while Han Min squatted nearby, observing.
“So that’s how it is.”
Han Min said with conviction, “Sure enough, the system gave me the wrong diagram.”
The system said, “Bullshit.”
Han Min silently huffed, glancing at Fu Xun. “When did Your Highness learn this?”
Fu Xun, laying tiles, said, “A few days ago in Liuzhou, I watched the craftsmen.”
Han Min observed carefully. “I understand now. Once you finish, the roof will be fine. Since it’s New Year, shall I take you to Tongzhou city this afternoon?”
“Very well.”
But they still prioritized finishing all the roof repairs first.
In the afternoon, the three of them—Han Min, Han Pei, and Fu Xun—went out.
Han Min and Han Pei wore rabbit-fur hats and held hands. Fu Xun reached out toward Han Min.
Han Min tentatively extended his hand. “Your Highness, is it what I think it is?”
Fu Xun didn’t speak, patted him lightly, then withdrew his hand.
Han Min playfully hit him back. “What are you doing?”
Fu Xun had intended to retaliate but stopped halfway.
It wasn’t like childhood anymore—they couldn’t fight.
Today was New Year’s Eve; usually, by afternoon, street vendors would close up even if they sold goods that morning. So the streets were not crowded, just a few selling snacks and firecrackers.
Luckily, the old malt sugar vendor was still there.
Han Pei pulled Han Min straight to the vendor.
Han Min rubbed his sleeve while glancing at Fu Xun. “Your Highness, do you want some?”
Fu Xun shook his head. “No need.”
So Han Min bought two, and the three sat on the steps of a nearby Taoist temple.
Han Min sat in the middle, holding the two bamboo sticks, twisting the malt sugar around them.
The golden malt sugar turned white.
After playing with it, they ate it.
Han Min glanced at Fu Xun. “Your Highness, I remember you used to love the malt sugar from our front gate.”
Fu Xun lightly coughed. “Back then, I rarely left the palace and rarely ate outside things, so it felt novel.”
Han Min snapped the sugar in half with both sticks.
“Want a little more?”
“Thank you.”
Fu Xun took the sugar and nibbled it.
Han Min focused on eating. At that moment, Mr. Ge, who ran a stall with him, passed by holding a banner.
“Han Min!” he waved.
Han Min immediately straightened and waved. “Mr. Ge!”
Seeing Fu Xun beside him, Han Min put his arm around the prince’s shoulder, boasting, “My friend came all the way from Yong’an City to see me.”
Fu Xun glanced at him, leaning close. Han Min’s side profile, like the white malt sugar in his hand, made one want to nibble.
Fu Xun restrained himself, exchanging polite greetings with Mr. Ge.
After Mr. Ge left, Han Min released his arm. “He always said I didn’t have real friends. I’ve been in Tongzhou for two years, and none came to see me. Today, he finally witnessed it.”
Fu Xun smiled lightly.
Han Min crunched on the malt sugar. “But you’re the first friend to visit me in Tongzhou. I’m quite happy.”
Fu Xun looked at him. Han Min returned the gaze earnestly. “Really. Though just now we nearly fought.”
After wandering in Tongzhou city and buying snacks for Han Pei, they returned home.
Fu Xun had dinner with the Han family.
The simple meal, though far from a palace feast in Yong’an City, embarrassed no one.
Fu Xun had come south for disaster relief, and it was New Year. Grandfather Han, pleased and concerned, happily asked Han Min to bring out his treasured wine.
Worried it would harm Grandfather, Han Min said, “Your Highness hasn’t come of age yet, so by tradition, no alcohol.”
Fu Xun agreed, pretending to comply.
Grandfather Han paused, then realized: “Yes, yes. Your Highness is the same age as you; you haven’t come of age either.”
A while later, he remembered something: “No, Your Highness’s birthday is on the first day of the lunar year, yours in June. Today, after the celebration…”
Han Min choked—why was Fu Xun’s birthday exactly the first day of the lunar year?
Fu Xun smiled, serving Grandfather. “Han Min cannot drink yet; I’ll wait six months.”
“Very well.”
Grandfather Han looked at Han Min, then reminisced: “When he was born, I buried a jar of Huadiao wine under the plum tree at home. When Your Highness has time, return to Yong’an City and have someone dig it out—it should taste excellent.”
Fu Xun knew this was a Tongzhou custom. That wine was called “Zhuangyuan Red.”
“But how dare I touch his wine casually?”
Grandfather Han sighed, “It’s buried anyway; I won’t get to taste it.”
After the meal, they stayed up for the New Year.
After tidying up, everyone sat in front of the hall, warming by the fire and chatting.
Time passed without notice.
Late at night, no street patrol drums sounded. A completely black hawk fluttered into the courtyard, stopping beside Fu Xun.
Fu Xun excused himself, untied the bamboo tube on the hawk’s leg, and glanced at it.
His expression darkened as he hid the note inside. He didn’t know how to speak.
Han Min noticed and asked, “Something happened?”
“Mm.”
Han Min didn’t question further. He stood. “If Your Highness is in a hurry, shall I see you off?”
Fu Xun rose and bowed to the family in the hall.
After bidding farewell, Han Min led the horse out of the stable.
Surrounded by darkness, he tied the lantern to Fu Xun’s horse, secured it, and mounted his own.
The candlelight shone brightly.
Han Min asked, “Your Highness, do you have guards?”
“Wei Huan brought people; they’re ahead.”
“That’s good.”
The wind howled.
After some time, faint firelight appeared ahead in the woods.
Wei Huan, in armor, heard the movement and led a small group out from the trees. “Your Highness.”
Han Min tugged the reins. “I’ll head back now.”
Fu Xun nodded. “Safe travels.”
Han Min looked at the moon. No one was on patrol; it was likely past midnight.
He pursed his lips and softly said, “Then… happy birthday?”
Fu Xun was slightly startled; the night hid his expression. He nodded. “Mm. You may go back. Don’t worry.”
“I know.”
Han Min turned his horse. The hooves splashed through the snow.
After some distance, the system clicked its tongue three times. “So you know how to please him now?”
“Bullshit. If I wanted to make him like me, I’d do what previous time travelers did—make a cake, light candles, sing a ‘Wishing you longevity and happiness’ song that only I know. Saying ‘happy birthday’ is just casual.”
Han Min couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image.
Returning home, he tied up the horse. Everyone was already asleep.
Han Min tiptoed to his room, not expecting his elder brother to already be there.
Han Shi looked at him deeply. “Finally willing to come back?”
Han Min thought for a moment. “Brother, the horse is good.”
Two days later, Han Min wrote a note to Fu Xun, asking about matters.
Fu Xun didn’t reply, probably busy.
Worried, Han Min also wrote to Fu Xun’s fifth younger brother, Prince Fu Rang. Fu Rang didn’t reply either.
After the Lantern Festival, Han Min carried his small stool to the city to run his stall again—writing letters for people, and in his free time, working on his storybooks.
That day, sitting under a willow tree after sending off an elderly man’s letter, Han Min picked up his manuscript again.
Mr. Ge asked, “Hey, the friend you met on the street the other day—is he from a noble family?”
Han Min was surprised. “How do you know?”
Mr. Ge stroked his beard. “Looking at his face, his royal aura is growing strong.”
Han Min was amazed. He leaned closer. “Impressive. Can Master Zhuge Half-Immortal take a look at me too?”
“I already said, you are a literary star.”
Han Min muttered quietly, “I’d rather be the God of Wealth.”
“By the way, a few days ago I met the manager of Baishi Bookstore. He said your storybooks are going to be printed and asked what title you want.”
Writers of storybooks usually didn’t use real names to avoid trouble.
“I’ll call it…”
Before he could say, the system awoke, eyes wide as if copper bells—if it had eyes.
It shouted at Han Min: “If you dare call it ‘Pure Beauty White Rose,’ I’ll beat you up first and then self-destruct—format myself!”
Author’s note:
Prince: Flick your sleeve and take nothing away, yet leave behind a roll of silver notes.
