Chapter 34: Haunted Heart
Han Min pushed away Fu Xun’s hand that was holding him, pressed his forehead, and stepped back.
Fu Xun closed his eyes, expressionless, and placed his hand on Han Min’s waist again.
Han Min pushed it away once more, and Fu Xun put it back.
Finally, with no other choice, Han Min let him be, turned over, and slept with his back to him.
Fu Xun suppressed the curve of a smile and pinched his fingers.
The next morning, in the side hall, Eunuch Yang got up to wash. He didn’t hear any movement inside, so he assumed Han Min was still asleep.
Later, sensing an unusual quiet, he quietly peeked in.
The sight shocked him—Han Min was gone!
His precious little darling had disappeared!
Fearing Han Min had snuck out in the night and might be captured by the guards, Eunuch Yang hurried to the main hall to find Wei Huan.
Wei Huan, holding his sword, stood outside the hall. When told that Han Min was missing, he wasn’t anxious; he just glanced lightly toward the hall.
“Second Brother Han is inside, sleeping with His Majesty.”
Relieved, Eunuch Yang nodded repeatedly, “Oh, that’s good, that’s good.”
Wei Huan, however, looked gloomy.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was supposed to accompany His Majesty for sword practice this morning. I just went in, but before I could see properly, His Majesty told me to leave. He’s so fierce.”
Eunuch Yang stifled a laugh, put an arm around him, and Wei Huan leaned his head on his shoulder.
“Black Piggy, don’t cry. I’ll take care of you.”
Black Piggy pouted and cried even harder.
After a while, someone called from inside the hall.
When Eunuch Yang led the little eunuch in, Fu Xun was dressing, and Han Min was still sitting on the couch, yawning.
Fu Xun looked back at him. “Sleep a bit more.”
Han Min shook his head. Fu Xun added, “We only go to the Duke of Gong’s residence this afternoon. Sleep if you want; they’ll call you.”
Han Min glanced at him, tugged the blanket, and laid back down.
Eunuch Yang instructed the eunuch holding hot water to step aside. Fu Xun fastened his robe and helped Han Min lower the curtain at the foot of the couch.
Seeing the faint dark circles under Fu Xun’s eyes, Eunuch Yang personally brought a clean towel. “This little rascal has always had this problem—sleepless nights, disturbing His Majesty.”
Fu Xun paused, took the towel, keeping his expression neutral. “It’s no matter.”
By noon, Han Min lazily woke up.
As long as Fu Xun was around, he could sleep three days and nights.
Han Min sat up with the blanket, still unwilling to leave the bed, lazily running his fingers through his hair. “System, is it possible to have an official position in the court just for testing beds?”
The system sighed helplessly: “You could be the first.”
Han Min scratched his head. “Any other positions where I can sleep here long-term?”
The system coldly replied in two words: “Empress.”
Han Min fell silent. “That… probably won’t work. Fu Xun probably wouldn’t agree either.”
The system’s electronic voice remained icy: “Male Empress.”
Han Min exclaimed: “System, you’re wild.”
“Anyway, your compensation is a series of storylines as Fu Xun’s spouse. I could ask the control center whether his spouse is male or female.”
“This…”
Han Min thought seriously. “Seems okay. As long as it’s Fu Xun’s spouse, it doesn’t matter the gender; Fu Xun’s approval is enough.”
The system said flatly: “Then I’ll apply to the control center for a love plugin, upgrading me from a scholar system to a male Empress system.”
Han Min pursed his lips, nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm, works.”
Eventually, the system couldn’t hold back, nearly banging on the floor in rage.
“You have time to think about all this nonsense here? Go see the Duke of Gong and beat him up! That dog is insane—why is he always targeting you? Ah? I just went to check on things for a while; why did he still punish you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t even know it was him at first. Besides, I was going to deal with him today anyway.”
“Go quickly. When you were a child, I should’ve stopped you from meddling and giving him plums—then you wouldn’t have gotten into such trouble.”
Han Min smiled, dressed, and reassured the system: “Alright, alright, we’ll settle it with him this afternoon.”
The system snorted heavily.
He had slept late, and when he woke, it was already noon, lunchtime with Fu Xun.
Afterward, the palace attendants harnessed the carriage. Han Min glanced at it, then at Fu Xun, cautiously asking, “Your Majesty, can I borrow that sword for the afternoon?”
Fu Xun didn’t reply, implying consent.
Wei Huan quickly said, “Then I’ll—”
Fu Xun bypassed him: “I’ll take him; you don’t come.”
The long sword rested on Fu Xun’s desk. When he handed it to Han Min, he deliberately reminded him: “No sleeping with it.”
“Yes.”
Han Min held the sword, unconsciously stroking the engraved handle, even though he hadn’t noticed the inscription before.
—
The sound of bronze bells under the eaves; after traveling a while, they exited the palace gates and soon arrived at the Duke of Gong’s residence.
Today, Wei Gui didn’t seem to be around; if he were, he would have welcomed them immediately.
Han Min followed Fu Xun down from the carriage, tightening his grip on the sword.
Fu Xun noticed that he was feeling unwell, so he said, “I will handle Fu Quan’s matter. If you are not feeling well, you should not go in.”
Han Min stood still and firmly refused: “I want to go and see for myself.”
Fu Xun watched him for a moment, then instructed: “If it’s too much, tell me.”
“Okay.”
Han Min lowered his head, touched his nose.
He remembered being carried out yesterday.
Walking in, being carried out—he felt a little embarrassed.
They passed through the Moon Gate to the northwest corner garden near the artificial rockery.
Wei Huan lifted his robe, grabbed the iron rings on the ground, and pulled the stone slab aside.
A loud crash.
The underground corridor was deep and dark, barely wide enough for one person.
They lit the candles on both walls, giving off a faint glow.
Han Min held the sword, following Fu Xun.
After stepping down three stone steps, Fu Xun, still concerned, grabbed his hand, pulling him closer.
Han Min focused on the path below.
Three dark rooms lined the corridor. At the innermost room, Fu Xun pushed open the iron door.
“He’s inside.”
The room was narrow; candles hung along the walls, casting dim light. Jiang Huan was inside.
The faint smell of rust lingered. Jiang Huan was removing blood-stained white gloves, then tucked them into his belt.
Looking up, his expression was normal, then he bowed: “Your Majesty, Lord Han.”
Han Min returned the greeting: “Lord Jiang.”
Hearing them speak, the person in the corner finally lifted his head, eyes cold, lifeless.
Their gaze met Han Min’s.
It took some time, but he recognized Han Min.
Fu Quan twisted his lips into a sinister smile: “You’re here too? What, revisiting old places?”
Han Min steadied himself, meeting his gaze without fear: “Yes. Let’s see if there’s someone else to help you burn the Prince’s residence and take you out of here.”
Fu Quan’s tone was strange: “Nothing can compare to the depth of friendship between you two.”
Han Min stared at him, thumb unconsciously rubbing the sword’s engraved handle.
Before coming, he had thought this place terrifyingly dark, far worse than in dreams.
Now, with Fu Xun by his side, sword in hand, it was still eerie but no longer unbearable.
He thought a moment, whispered a few words to Fu Xun.
Fu Xun, still worried, glanced at him and finally had Wei Huan bring a chair, knowing Han Min feared the dark, and also a candleholder for him to carry.
Fu Xun stroked Han Min’s head: “I’ll be outside.”
Han Min, holding the candle with one hand, sword in the other, nodded: “I know.”
Alone, the iron door half-closed. He lifted his robe and sat on the chair.
The flickering candlelight revealed his face.
He greeted Fu Quan in a neutral tone: “Long time no see.”
Fu Quan sneered: “I thought you were favored; wouldn’t come.”
Han Min raised his right hand, shading the candlelight, calmly stating a fact: “My right hand can no longer hold a brush.”
“You’re here to settle accounts with me.”
“Yes.”
His frank admission left Fu Quan momentarily stunned.
Recovering, he let out a low laugh to provoke: “Is your brother still in a wheelchair? That eagle dead now?”
Han Min withdrew his hand, brushing his sleeve.
A deathly silence ensued, only the popping of candle flames breaking it.
Fu Quan suddenly slowed, anguished: “Han Min, why? How did it come to this? You were clearly on my side at first.”
“That’s for you to ask yourself,” Han Min said, pausing. “Besides, at first, I never intended to stand on anyone’s side.”
“I thought earlier, Wen Yan to Fu Xun, you to me, was the same.”
“Not the same…” Han Min suddenly understood. “So you’ve always thought I ‘betrayed’ you?”
“You should have been on my side.”
So that’s what he had thought all along.
Han Min had never understood why Fu Quan would go to such lengths to kill him and the Han family.
Han Min now finally understood.
Fu Quan regarded the Han family and Han Min as his own.
From the moment Han Min gave him a plum, he regarded it as an object of surrender and goodwill.
In Fu Quan’s view, it was only natural to punish subjects who were disobedient, who saved Fu Xun but ruined his plans.
Only after being punished will Han Min obediently listen to orders.
That’s what he thought.
Han Min finaly understood and sighed, “So that’s how it is.”
Fu Quan continued: “I never intended to wipe you out.”
Han Min retorted: “And yet you did? Should I thank you for showing mercy?”
“When your family fell, if someone gave you a slight helping hand, you would follow them wholeheartedly from then on.”
“What kind of logic is that…”
Fu Quan’s hair disheveled like a demon, he snapped: “Fu Xun pulled you over; I was just a step late!”
Han Min gripped his sword, leaning forward, almost standing: “He didn’t!”
“He just beat me to it. If I hadn’t locked you up, how could he have saved you? How else would he trap you?”
He couldn’t reason with him; anger spoiled his mood.
Han Min took a deep breath. He had been a sickly minister, always facing death, dragging the Han family behind him—hardly of use.
Besides, Fu Xun had risked disobeying the emperor to save him.
He wouldn’t falter just from Fu Quan’s words.
Finally, Han Min lightly said: “Fu Xun isn’t you.”
Fu Quan ignored him, continuing: “I just lost because Fu Xun was first. Your loyalty to him proves my method works.”
“You’re too stubborn; I need to temper your nature more.”
Han Min shivered recalling the days locked in the dark room, slowing his speech: “You locked me here just to temper me?”
“Those eunuchs only scared you; I’d come in eventually to take you out.”
Han Min had nothing to say—these words were hardly disputable.
“Eradicate the Han family, everyone associated, so you’d rely on me, focusing on planning for me.”
Han Min realized: this man was obsessed.
“So that’s why the Han family? My brother?”
“If you had obeyed, I wouldn’t have…”
“Does my brother’s leg have anything to do with you?”
Fu Quan paused, self-mocking: “I only meant to eliminate Fu Lin; he happened to be nearby…”
Han Min didn’t want to hear more. “And my eagle?”
Fu Quan: “I knew you’d come if you didn’t get the letter—that was an opportunity I was giving you.”
“See whether I’d come for you or Fu Xun?”
“Not entirely.”
“Oh?”
“I also wanted to bury you near Fu Xun, as a secret operative.”
Han Min laughed angrily at his self-righteousness.
He glanced at the black ceiling, calming himself.
“So, that day you ‘rewarded’ me with a chance to surrender?”
Fu Quan didn’t reply but said: “If that day you had helped me instead of Fu Xun, things wouldn’t be like this.”
He murmured: “If you had helped me, things wouldn’t be like this.”
Han Min stayed silent, calming down.
Fu Quan continued: “These days I’ve thought a lot; maybe I lost to Fu Xun from the start.”
“The late emperor trained Fu Lin as heir; after his death, he promoted me, having me compete with Fu Xun and Fu Rang.”
“But how could I forget? The emperor valued lineage—He himself was born to the empress, and Fu Lin was also born to the empress. How could he possibly favor someone like me with such a background?”
“He doesn’t like Fu Xun’s disobedience and wants to use me to suppress Fu Xun’s arrogance. Actually, you all know that the throne will eventually be passed to Fu Xun, the son of the empress. You’re so smart, you must have guessed it long ago, which is why you refuse to help me.”
Han Min coldly: “I didn’t know. I never knew who would be emperor. Even when the late emperor died, I feared Fu Xun would die.”
Fu Quan seemed deaf to him, repeating: “You knew Fu Xun would be emperor, and you refused to help me.”
“You thought that was the reason?”
Han Min laughed in anger, stood up, smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes, and stepped forward with the candlestick in his hand.
He stood before Fu Quan, his expression indifferent, looking down at him, and asked, “How long have you been here?”
Fu Quan paused for a moment: “I can’t count them all, but it’s been more than ten days.”
“There are a few small scratches on the wall to your right. I made them with my fingernail back then. I used this method to keep track of the number of times people outside brought me food. I recommend you try it.”
Fu Quan, almost instinctively, touched the wall—indeed ten or so small parallel indentations.
Han Min tilted his head: “Do you think it’s dark here?”
Han Min had never spoken to him like this before. Fu Quan swallowed, his dry throat making a strange sound.
He did not answer.
Suddenly, the candlestick in Han Min’s hand swayed and fell straight down, landing on his lap.
The dungeon was cold and damp, and before the fire could even start, Fu Quan hurriedly extinguished it.
Han Min asked again, “Is it hot?”
He turned around, dragged the chair he had just been sitting on over, and with a flick of his wrist, slammed the chair hard onto his legs.
Fu Quan gritted his teeth and didn’t cry out, but Han Min asked sternly, “Does it hurt?”
He remained silent, looking back at him.
Han Min pursed his lips tightly and continued, “I’m afraid of the dark too, and my brother is afraid of being burned and hurt too!”
Not wanting to say more, he bent down, grabbed the chair, and smashed it on his legs again.
Fu Quan’s eyes showed terror.
Han Min continued: “So, am I a thing to you?”
“You were supposed to be on my side.”
“I was never on anyone’s side. I never intended to be.”
Indeed.
As a child, the system told him the Duke of Ding would be emperor; he had whimsically considered currying favor—but that thought was quickly discarded.
He didn’t know who would be the Duke of Ding or emperor.
More importantly, he could live well on his own, needing no one.
He didn’t need to know who’s main or supporting; he could live well anyway.
The Han family was wealthy enough; his elders and brothers treated him well; he had childhood friends—including Fu Quan, merely a friend.
Han Min wanted to stand on no one’s side, seek no one’s favor.
He exhaled, firm: “I have always stood on my own side.”
Fu Quan persisted: “You’re on Fu Xun’s side.”
Han Min, “I stand with Fu Xun, not behind him. We used to fight and bicker when we were young, but I never schemed against him, and he never tried to take advantage of me. We are really different from each other. I stood with him probably because he walked towards me, and I walked towards him, and then we stood together.”
Han Min looked up: “Since you said it, I’ll answer. Future wise ruler, loyal ministers, recorded in history, perfectly complete. You—just keep your eyes open and watch.”
With nothing more to say, Han Min rubbed his temples. Fu Xun, who had been standing outside the door, sensed that something was wrong with him, so he strode forward, pulled him into his arms from behind, and rubbed his face.
Han Min’s face was cool, not flushed with anger like others.
“Out?”
“Yes.”
All said, Han Min felt unburdened, a fog lifted.
The two walked outside, and Fu Xun carefully rubbed his face, trying to warm it up.
Fu Quan shouted from the darkness: “What wise rulers? Just like Emperor Ai and Dong Xian [1]. Han Min, you probably don’t know, he has a guilty conscience, he…”
Han Min couldn’t bear it, but Fu Xun covered his ears.
Fu Xun whispered: “Don’t listen. Let’s go.”
He turned around, glanced at Fu Quan, his gaze icy and extremely intimidating.
Fu Quan stopped talking. Fu Xun smiled faintly, and as he turned back, he seemingly casually rubbed Han Min’s ear twice.
So what if I have a guilty conscience?
—
Outside, sunlight dazzled.
Han Min shielded his eyes.
Fu Xun wrapped his arm around Han Min’s shoulder, rubbed his arm: “It’s fine now.”
Han Min smiled wryly: “I should’ve hit him a few more times.”
The system quickly sent a medical manual: “Here, follow this. Painful but not deadly.”
He had been ready, waiting for Han Min’s words.
If the system were tangible, it would act immediately.
Fu Xun noticed Han Min still gripping the sword, recalling his words, and about to ask him something, when a casually dressed figure approached.
Wei Gui came forward, cupping his fists: “Why didn’t you announce yourselves? I wasn’t ready.”
He mainly addressed Han Min, fearing trouble.
Han Min glanced at Fu Xun: “Just came to see. Why did you make a special trip back?”
“Worried about you, a weak scholar. Afraid Fu Quan would bite you; he’s gone mad. Didn’t scare you, right?”
Fu Xun frowned, interrupting: “Wei Gui, where’s Jiang Huan?”
Wei Gui, unaware: “Lord Jiang forgot lunch while judging, now eating—well, late lunch.”
He instinctively asked Han Min: “Just finished judging, can he eat?”
Han Min gave a thumbs-up: “Cool guy.”
Wei Gui laughed: “Hungry? Want some?”
“No, no mood now.”
Fu Xun coldly: “Return.”
Outside the Duke of Gong’s residence, Wei Huan said: “Wait, I’ll fetch the carriage.” They waited under the eaves, Han Min chatting with Wei Gui. Fu Xun, arms crossed, flicked Han Min’s hair.
Han Min turned: “Hm?”
Fu Xun turned away lazily.
Wei Gui, seeing this many times, recalled their childhood fights. He instinctively held Han Min, trying to mediate: “Enough, calm down.”
Han Min turned again, seeing a carriage approaching around the corner.
The lantern bore the character “Liu.”
He stepped forward; the person inside lifted the curtain, saw Han Min, and smiled gently, a touch of cinnabar on the brow softening the expression.
The carriage stopped; Liu Ting got out, bowed: “Your Majesty, General Wei, Han…”
He winked at Han Min, sighing softly: “Jiaojiao.”
“Senior Brother Liu.”
Han Min stepped forward, but Fu Xun grabbed his sleeve, deliberately holding tight.
Han Min tugged back: “Why are you here, Senior Brother Liu?”
Liu Ting replied gently: “Your Jiang senior brother has been staying with me recently. School’s out, I came to fetch him home.”
In childhood, they studied together—two older senior brothers: Liu Ting, eldest grandson of Liu the scholar; Jiang Huan, eldest son of Chancellor Jiang.
Jiang Huan stayed at Liu Ting’s to avoid his father.
Han Min had heard about this.
His thoughts interrupted, Han Min still tugged by Fu Xun; Wei Gui, like in childhood, mediated: “Enough, stop, don’t spoil harmony.”
Han Min, annoyed, looked at Fu Xun: “What are you doing?”
Speaking loudly to the emperor.
Han Min stiffened his neck: no regrets, would do it again.
Fu Xun released him, and when Han Min wasn’t paying attention, grabbed his arm.
Jiang Huan emerged from the Duke of Gong’s residence; Liu Ting saw him and called: “Shi Bing.”
Jiang Huan approached, whispering: “Xi Zhou, what’s this?”
Liu Ting clasped his hands: “Just like childhood. One teasing, one angry, one trying to mediate.”
Author’s note: “Tom and Jerry”
Tom presses Jerry’s tail, watching him run.
“His Majesty and the Attendant”
Old Fu (holding): My wife can only be closest to me.
Footnotes:
[1] Emperor Ai and Dong Xian were a historical male couple from China’s Han Dynasty known for their romantic relationship, which has been immortalized in the Chinese idiom “the passion of the cut sleeve”.
Nothing wrong with having a guilt conscious for bae.