Chapter 18: Emperor and Minister Sharing the Couch
Han Min’s fever was severe. Fu Xun didn’t dare let him sleep on the desk for long. Once Han Min was asleep, Fu Xun quietly lifted him and placed him back on the couch.
In Funing Hall, there were dragon-shaped heating elements, and to help Han Min sweat out the fever, Fu Xun added a few more charcoal braziers.
He wrapped Han Min in a blanket and held him through the night.
Han Min woke a couple of times during the night, sometimes thirsty, sometimes from nightmares, but Fu Xun soothed him each time.
Knowing Fu Xun was there with him, Han Min finally relaxed. It was as if he was making up for the lost sleep of the past two years—he slept a full day and night.
This time, he didn’t dream of being locked in the dark chamber.
He only had fragmented dreams of childhood.
He dreamt of sitting on an artificial rock, and chubby little Fu Xun asking him to call him “Third Brother.”
Later, when they studied together at the academy, they competed fiercely. Fu Xun would pull his hair ribbon, Han Min would pull back, until they both fell to the ground, punished by the teacher to stand outside, keeping as far away from each other as possible, each annoyed with the other.
Later, Fu Xun suddenly grew taller, often bringing new trinkets from the palace to the academy, gathering friends. Han Min covered his ears and read, not wanting to pay attention at all.
At fifteen, Fu Xun didn’t want to remain at the academy, so he petitioned to lead troops in the northwest; Han Min stayed behind, preparing for the imperial exams two years later.
During festivals, Fu Xun returned to the capital. Wearing armor, he nodded to Han Min, who carried a scroll in hand, greeting each other as they passed.
As they brushed past, Fu Xun grabbed his hair ribbon, yanking it off and running, prompting Han Min to chase him.
In dreams, amid gentle winds and light clouds, he leapt over the difficult, misfortune-laden two years.
—
Han Min woke once during the day.
He wiped off the sweat, ate a little, and took some medicine. The medicine quickly made him drowsy, and he fell asleep again.
When he woke, Fu Xun wasn’t there. When Fu Xun returned, he had fallen asleep again.
They kept missing each other.
When he woke again, it was already late at night.
He wanted water, but his throat was hoarse, and he couldn’t call out.
Weak and unable to sit up, he lay back on the couch to recover.
“System, report the time.”
“It is now the first year of Dingyuan, the 27th day of the first month.”
“Dingyuan… whose era name is that? It should be Fu Xun’s, right?”
“Probably. I don’t know. When you sleep, I shut down. This is just the automatic time display.”
Han Min muttered: “The control center still hasn’t replied to you? Their efficiency is awful.”
The system complained: “You’re in Yong’an anyway; figure out who the emperor is yourself! Always asking me, always asking me. I’m a system, not a god.”
Han Min whispered back: “That’s your duty, isn’t it? Even the plot direction you can’t control.”
“I’m already a good system. The neighboring system is worse—just sends tasks. If the host can’t finish, they get struck by lightning. Their plotlines are chaotic—rebirths, no rebirths, dreams, reality, all over the place. The control center is urgently repairing their system, so they can’t manage us right now.”
Han Min suddenly understood: “No wonder you said ‘uncertain.’ You’re having problems yourselves.”
The system said: “I won’t have problems. Don’t you want water? Go ahead.”
After talking with the system a while, Han Min felt slightly revived.
He dressed, got off the couch, and called for tea with a hoarse, tiny-cat-like voice.
No one outside heard, so he dragged his slippers and took a few steps out.
Looking at the hall’s arrangement, Han Min realized he must be in the palace.
That meant Fu Xun had become emperor.
If the Duke of Gong had ascended, he would never have been brought into the palace.
He didn’t know which palace it was, but it was huge.
Han Min lifted the curtain to go out. There were no attendants outside, only a man sitting on a couch.
Fu Xun had his back to him, half-unbuttoned, revealing an arrow wound on his shoulder.
A round hole had pierced through, scabbed over; just looking at it made Han Min wince.
Fu Xun used bamboo tweezers to pick up some cotton, dipped it in ointment, and carefully applied it to the wound.
He was meticulous. Han Min moved quietly, spoke softly, so he didn’t notice him arrive.
Han Min touched his nose, wanting to call out: “Fu…”
But no sound came out.
It was more like a soft “meow.”
Fu Xun immediately noticed, turning: “You’re up?”
Han Min nodded, pointing at his throat.
Fu Xun gestured for Han Min to sit across from him, buttoned his clothes, and called in attendants.
The palace attendants entered silently, each carrying items.
Yang, the senior eunuch who had served two generations of emperors, stood beside Han Min, shaking out a thick camel-wool blanket to wrap him, then brought tea and water, helping him wash and drink.
Han Min recovered slightly: “Thank you.”
Eunuch Yang recognized him—having watched him grow up—and squeezed his hand when Fu Xun wasn’t looking.
Fu Xun glanced over; Eunuch Yang quickly released Han Min’s hand.
“It’s late. Tomorrow morning, let Physician Liang come for a checkup. Have the kitchen prepare some food, and bring the warmed medicine as well—”
Fu Xun paused, meaningfully: “Taking medicine upon waking shouldn’t make you vomit again, right?”
Pretending not to know who he meant, Han Min lowered his head: “I’m dizzy again.”
Eunuch Yang obeyed, quickly placing the items before Han Min.
As they were about to leave, Fu Xun remembered something.
“Send someone to the Marquis of Wenyuan’s residence. I recall Wen Yan brought two boxes of candied fruit from the northwest. Give him two gold ingots, and exchange them for the candied fruit.”
Han Min tried to dissuade him: “It’s late; Wen Yan is already asleep.”
Fu Xun added: “Ah, after bringing the candied fruit, wish him sweet dreams.”
Han Min said nothing, shivering under the blanket.
Did I offend Wen Yan today? Yes, I did.
Fu Xun tapped the desk; Han Min looked up, stunned: “What is it?”
He pushed a bowl of porridge toward Han Min: “Eat something.”
The attendants had left, the hall doors closed.
Han Min stirred the rice porridge with a ceramic spoon.
He looked up at Fu Xun, who wore only a thin shirt, the arrow wound on his right shoulder bleeding slightly through the dark fabric.
He stared, and Fu Xun noticed, turning to meet his gaze.
“It’s nothing.”
“Ah…” Han Min looked away: “I meant… aren’t you going to apply more medicine?”
“It’s almost healed.”
Han Min sipped the porridge. Where? He just saw blood still trickling.
But it was better than rumors.
Fu Xun explained: “When I returned, Yong’an City was sealed by Fu Quan. I planned to move troops, and that’s when I got the arrow wound. Later, the young prince brought the late emperor’s edict, so I entered. The late emperor passed after a few days of illness; both sides faced off, but in the end, the young prince revealed the late emperor’s final will—he had passed the throne to me.”
So he ascended.
Not dramatic, no major struggle.
Han Min felt foolish in comparison.
“I… overthought it.”
“I received your letter and replied, thinking you got it.”
Han Min shook his head: “I didn’t.”
“I sent someone to check for Yanzhi a few days ago; couldn’t find it.”
“Is that so?”
Fu Xun comforted him awkwardly: “It’s smart, no need to worry too much.”
“And Tongzhou?”
“I sent letters to my family; it should have arrived. I also asked the Tongzhou magistrate and your Han family cousins to look after your home. All settled.”
Han Min felt even more foolish, whispering: “Thank you.”
Fu Xun seemed to know what he was thinking and smiled silently.
The candied fruit from Wenyuan’s residence soon arrived: two eight-treasure agate boxes, filled with assorted candied fruit, placed before Han Min.
Fu Xun said: “Take the medicine first, shouldn’t vomit on me this time, right?”
Han Min denied: “I definitely didn’t…”
Fu Xun chuckled: “Like last time.”
Han Min protested: “I don’t care, I don’t remember, so I didn’t.”
After some porridge, he felt better and took up the medicine bowl.
“I’m going to take medicine now.”
“Hm?”
Han Min pointed at Fu Xun’s shoulder: “Aren’t you going to apply more?”
Fu Xun teased: “I’ll wait for you to do it.”
“Hm…”
Han Min lowered his head.
Now he regretted it—deeply regretted asking.
He held the medicine bowl, turned his head, pinched his nose, and drank the decoction in several sips.
Fearing the bitterness, he chewed some candied fruit afterward, eating several pieces in a row.
Fu Xun pretended to wait for Han Min to apply medicine. Once he was done, Fu Xun pushed the ointment box to him.
Han Min considered moving closer to the couch to help.
Fu Xun said: “You sit, I’ll come over.”
Han Min scooted onto the couch. Fu Xun sat opposite, back to him, half-unbuttoned.
Han Min replaced the cotton and applied medicine while asking: “Your birthday on the first day of the first month passed—did you choose a courtesy name?”
Unexpected, Fu Xun paused: “The late emperor was seriously ill. I didn’t dare trouble him.”
“Do you have one you like?”
Fu Xun answered with two characters: “‘Yi Xuan’.”
Han Min misheard: “Which ‘Xian’?”
Fu Xun wrote the characters on the table for him.
? (Yi) – shooting arrows.
? (Xuan) – sharp, powerful.
They sounded formidable; in plain terms, powerful bows and arrows.
Han Min pondered: “Not gentle at all. If you say it, the officials will advise against it. Not related to your name either.”
Fu Xun said lightly: “The name wasn’t my choice. No one will know in the future.”
Indeed, as emperor, no one would use his courtesy name or ask about it.
After a while, Han Min wrapped a cloth over him: “the Duke of Gong governed for years; most civil officials are his people. You…”
“I have it handled. Don’t worry. By next month at the latest, the Duke of Gong will be dealt with.”
“His subordinates…”
“Wen Yan will manage it.”
“True, Wen Yan is formidable.”
Fu Xun turned to him: “Jealous?”
Han Min immediately denied: “Not at all.”
As Han Min tied the cloth, his fingers brushed Fu Xun’s skin.
Fu Xun suddenly heard him whisper: “Don’t believe rumors, don’t spread rumors.”
“What are you saying?”
“When I arrived, I heard someone said you were pricked like a hedgehog.”
Fu Xun laughed: “You came just because you thought I turned into a hedgehog?”
Actually, when he came, Han Min had considered it—even a one-in-ten-thousand chance, Fu Xun wouldn’t be in danger.
But perhaps, that tiny chance, he came.
Han Min’s throat was still uncomfortable; he didn’t want to speak much: “Mm-hm.”
He pulled Fu Xun’s clothes back over the wound, helping cover him, then got down from the other side of the couch.
“That’s enough, I’ll go sleep.”
Fu Xun tied his clothes and followed him into the inner room.
Noticing him following, Han Min yawned: “What are you doing?”
Fu Xun thought to ask: “Can you sleep without me?” but decided it was too flippant and might anger Han Min.
Also, Han Min hadn’t mentioned his bad sleep, probably embarrassed. Fu Xun, aware of his feelings, didn’t bring it up.
Fu Xun said: “This is my sleeping hall; that inner one is my bed.”
Han Min was stunned: “Ah?”
The system gleefully announced: “Oh! Han Min, the ‘Emperor and Minister Sharing the Couch’ mission icon is now lit!”
Han Min, feeling overwhelmed by favor, huddled his clothes: “But I’m not ready yet.”
Author’s note:
Han Min: “I’m not ready yet.”
Old Fu: “I’m ready, I’m ready.”
