Chapter 66: Teasing the Emperor
Silence instantly fell inside Heqing Hall.
Fu Xun sat on the high seat. The twelve strings of jade beads hanging from his crown obscured his face, making it impossible to read his expression. He remained silent for a long, long time.
All the officials cautiously set down their silver cups and jade chopsticks, straightened themselves, and sat properly.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes that His Majesty had no intention of taking Princess Rongning as a consort. They originally thought that once the Duke of Guangning was rejected, he would back off. Unexpectedly, he brought out a marriage contract left by the late emperor.
He had planned to use the late emperor as an excuse to refuse. But if he refused now, it would mean going against the late emperor’s supposed wishes.
Except… all these years, Fu Xun had gone against the late emperor so many times that it seemed he had never followed his will even once.
The thing he hated most was being threatened. Back then, the late emperor had used the throne to coerce him, yet he never compromised—he even mobilized troops, ready to force his way into the palace.
Fu Xun merely looked mild. Toward Han Min, he still had remnants of childishness from their younger days.
He had battled in the northwest for years, fought in court for years, and finally climbed step by step onto the throne above ten thousand. His hands were stained with the blood of enemies, the blood of the Song people, his own brothers… and had nearly been stained with his father’s.
Now Fu Xun sat silently on the high seat, and every official tightened the invisible string in his chest, ready to kneel at any moment to pacify imperial fury.
Even Princess Rongning sensed something was wrong; the hand concealed in her sleeve clenched tightly.
Only that Duke of Guangning from the Song, Zhao Cun—having gained a bit of power—had forgotten the height of the heavens and the thickness of the earth. He thought that holding this marriage contract would force compliance, and so he stood there in the middle of the hall, arms raised stiffly.
Only the young eunuch serving beside the emperor knew—
Lord Han’s hand had been squeezed red by His Majesty!
Hidden by the table, Fu Xun’s hand was covering Han Min’s, consciously or not squeezing tightly. It hurt a little, but Han Min didn’t dare disturb him at such a moment. He could only endure it silently.
The eunuch felt distressed just watching.
After a while, Fu Xun looked toward Duke of Xin, Li Shu, seated below, and motioned him forward.
Li Shu understood and stepped ahead, taking the silk document from Zhao Cun and giving it a quick glance.
It was simple—not any sort of formal imperial decree—just a few lines written on silk.
Li Shu, as a prince of another surname, had been trusted by Emperor Dezong and the late emperor. Naturally, he could recognize the late emperor’s handwriting and seals.
After his reading, he presented the silk to Fu Xun with both hands.
“Your Majesty.”
He nodded. It was genuine, not forged by the Song.
Fu Xun took the silk, glanced at it, and tossed it to Han Min.
The Record Officer was supposed to record this matter. But his hand was still trapped in Fu Xun’s grasp—he couldn’t pull it free.
He could only use his right hand to straighten the document and read it carefully, going over each sentence twice.
After a moment of pondering, Fu Xun finally said, “This matter was arranged privately by the late emperor and the Song ruler. I was unaware. And there is one thing I must tell the Duke of Guangning—years ago when I was campaigning in the northwest, my body…”
Han Min’s head shot up, his round eyes widening in shock.
This emperor… could say anything to avoid a marriage.
He coughed hurriedly, placing his other hand over Fu Xun’s, patting lightly to calm him.
Fu Xun had intended to get past this first, then talk to Han Min later. He didn’t expect Han Min to be so worried that he pat his hand in return, whispering, “It’s fine. I’ll explain to you later.”
Han Min snatched his hand back and glared fiercely at him.
He stood, moved before Fu Xun, sleeves flowing, and bowed.
“Regarding this marriage contract, this minister has three points unclear, which I wish to ask the Duke of Guangning.”
Fu Xun knew his tongue was sharp and assumed he’d found something useful in the silk. Playing along, he said, “Speak. Let us hear it.”
Han Min bowed again. “Yes.”
He picked up the silk, walked down the steps, and stopped three paces before the Duke of Guangning.
Lowering his head, he asked: “First: May I ask the prince—was this marriage contract ever conveyed to our emperor?”
Zhao Cun said, “The contract was drafted by the late Qi emperor and my father. At that time, the new Qi emperor was not in Yong’an. It seems the late emperor did not inform him afterward. That is the late emperor’s oversight and unrelated to the Song.”
“I understand. Then for the second point: how was this marriage contract drafted? The Song ruler did not visit during the late emperor’s reign. Who acted as intermediary?”
Zhao Cun cupped his hands. “My aunt, Princess Yuanzhen, entered the Qi harem and became Consort Yuan. One day, the late emperor was troubled over the Emperor’s marriage, so my aunt recommended her own niece, and the contract was made.”
Clearly, the Song ruler had coached him.
Han Min nodded. “Very well. Then third—did this contract clearly and explicitly mention our emperor?”
Zhao Cun lifted his chin. “Naturally. It states ‘The New Emperor of Qi’ clearly.”
“Yes, ‘New Emperor of Qi,’ yet nowhere is our emperor’s personal name.”
“Who else is the New Emperor of Qi but the one sitting on that throne now?”
“This ‘New Emperor of Qi’ is certainly not our emperor.”
Han Min flipped the silk over and pointed to the date written at the bottom left.
“This contract was drafted in the first year of Jingcheng. Jingcheng was the late emperor’s era name. In the first year of Jingcheng—who was the new emperor of Qi? Surely not our emperor.”
“This…”
“The contract merely says the New Emperor of Qi will marry the Song princess. If it refers to our emperor, why not state his name clearly?”
This was due to differing intentions between the late emperor and the Song ruler.
The late emperor favored lineage and wanted Fu Xun to accept the throne. Adding a marriage contract was to coerce him.
But the Song ruler wanted to secure a future marriage for his princess without knowing which prince would ultimately become emperor, so he used the ambiguous “New Emperor of Qi.”
Now Han Min seized this and flipped the meaning entirely—making the “New Emperor of Qi” refer to the late emperor.
The courtiers began to think: Perhaps Consort Yuan wanted her niece in the palace to compete for favor, so she concocted this plan—and now they were trying to push this marriage onto the new emperor.
Zhao Cun was stunned and at a loss.
Han Min continued, “And third—your Song state prides itself as the orthodox center of the realm. Why then have you learned the customs of the northwest tribes, chasing after alliance marriages and forcing them upon us?”
Before Fu Xun expelled the northwest tribes, the Song frequently sought marriage alliances with them.
The poverty wasn’t the key point—
The key was their marriage customs.
A father may inherit his son’s wife. A brother may inherit his brother’s.
By redirecting “New Emperor of Qi” to the late emperor, then invoking the Song’s claim of orthodoxy, if the Song insisted on this marriage—it would be equivalent to giving a woman originally meant for the late emperor… to the new emperor.
Would that not stain their precious orthodoxy?
“You—you—!” Zhao Cun pointed at him, speechless.
Han Min, dressed in scarlet, glowed under candlelight. A hint of mockery curled at his lips.
Soft and gentle as he usually appeared—he wheezed after running two steps—yet when battling with words, he showed his claws.
Just as Zhao Cun seemed ready to erupt, Fu Xun said at the perfect moment:
“Lord Han speaks reasonably. It is what I intended to say.”
Han Min secretly pouted— Nonsense. As if you could come up with this. You were clearly planning to spout something absurd.
“Please take the contract back and re-examine it, Duke.”
Princess Rongning stepped forward then, bowing. “I truly knew nothing of this. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”
They hadn’t consulted her beforehand. Now that things had gone poorly at the hands of a sharp-tongued scholar, she had to clean up after them.
Suddenly she felt fed up with everything related to her homeland—especially her brother, who was growing increasingly distant.
After a few polite words, she led Zhao Cun back. As she passed Han Min, she murmured, “Thank you.”
Han Min merely looked at Fu Xun.
With this matter brought up, no one had the mood to continue the banquet.
Fu Xun rose, descended the steps, gripped Han Min’s shoulder, and patted it in praise. “Well said.”
Then, in a gesture like a reward, he drew Han Min along.
The ministers bowed deeply behind them, calling long live.
As the feast dispersed, Chu Yu whispered a thumbs-up to Wen Yan.
“Han Min’s tongue—wow.”
Wen Yan asked, “Was he like this last time when he scolded the Duke of Gong in Fengqian Hall?”
“Yes.”
As long as Fu Xun was behind him, Han Min wielded words like blades, sweeping all before him.
—
On the night of the full moon, Fu Xun held Han Min’s arm as they stepped out of Heqing Hall.
Fu Xun lowered his gaze to look at him. Han Min had just finished a long monologue, his cheeks slightly flushed. Moonlight fell on him, casting shadows from his long lashes onto his face.
Fu Xun asked, “Have you eaten enough? Shall we go back and have another meal?”
“No need, Your Majesty. I am going out of the palace with the others.”
Han Min turned to glance at the hand resting on his shoulder. Clearly, Fu Xun had no intention of letting go.
After a moment, Han Min lifted his own hand, tiptoed slightly, and hooked it over Fu Xun’s shoulder—Shoulder to shoulder with the emperor.
Han Min laughed and patted his shoulder, speaking politely but with a small hint of pride: “It’s fine. I just acted on impulse, no need to be too grateful.”
Fu Xun seemed slightly troubled, rubbing his head, when he suddenly noticed a tall building not far away. “Let’s go there for some wind. I’ll have you eat again, then send someone to take you back.”
“That’s fine.”
At the tall building next to Zichen Hall, the two sat where the breeze blew. A small square table stood between them, holding a wine pot, cups, and several delicate dishes.
Han Min, usually too cautious to drink in public, finally relaxed in Fu Xun’s company and had a couple of cups. The palace servants had prepared fruit wine, sweet and tempting, and he indulged a little.
Bathed in soft moonlight, Han Min held a cup in one hand, propped his head with the other, and yawned, his cheeks flushed. With a few more cups under his belt, and only Fu Xun present, he grew somewhat uninhibited.
He set down his cup, picked up the wine pot, and poured himself another cup. “The Song state is really irritating.”
Fu Xun smiled. “Didn’t you just scold them? Not enough?”
“Not just that. They always think their etiquette, their governance, their scholars are the orthodox way. That’s also annoying.”
“Is that so?”
Han Min tilted his head back and drank the sweet wine to the bottom, then sat upright. “Earlier, with Senior Brother Liu, Zhuoshi, and Xie Yan present, I didn’t dare speak freely. But fundamentally, the Song people still monopolize orthodox knowledge.”
“How so?”
Han Min considered a moment. “I don’t mean to criticize them personally. I just think that after nearly a hundred years since the founding of Great Qi, in terms of scholarship and education, we still fall far short.”
He spoke softly, fearing it might anger Fu Xun. Fu Xun, however, didn’t mind and encouraged him: “Go ahead. Speak freely.”
Han Min continued slowly, “The older generation—take my teacher, Liu Laoxueguan, for example. He was from Jiangbei, once served as Grand Tutor in Song, then crossed the Wei River at night to come to Qi. The Dezong Emperor recognized him and appointed him to teach in the academy.”
“As for the current generation, take Xie Yan and Chu Zhuoshi. Xie Yan was originally from Jiangbei, expelled from Song, and came to Qi. His calligraphy and paintings are highly valued here, and he later became the top scorer in the imperial exams. Zhuoshi, also from Jiangbei, became a third-place scholar in Qi. They both studied in Song in their early years—our Qi’s top scorers and third-rank scholar were Song people.”
“I’m not trying to divide people into Jiangnan or Jiangbei, nor demean Jiangbei. But over these years, though our Qi military surpasses Song, from my teacher to Xie and Chu, it’s clear that Song still monopolizes scholarship. Qi is still lacking.”
Fu Xun asked, “If it were you, could you break this deadlock?”
Han Min rubbed his face. “Perhaps, but just me alone is far from enough.”
Fu Xun took his hand. “I understand. You needn’t worry.”
Han Min still looked troubled. As he withdrew his hand, he accidentally knocked over the cups on the table; a full cup of fruit wine spilled onto Fu Xun’s sleeve.
The scarlet fabric darkened from the wet. Fu Xun was about to call for help, but Han Min, bracing himself with a hand, stood up.
“It’s fine. The wind will dry it.”
He leaned against the balcony railing, standing at a slant. The wind lifted his robe, making him seem like a slightly tipsy scholar-god riding the breeze away.
Fu Xun stood beside him, holding his hand. “Look north. All you see there will one day be Qi territory.”
Han Min looked toward the distant lights. “Even with boundless territory, without a foundation of scholarship, it will be hard to sustain. A flourishing era requires deep foresight. I may spend my life on this and still fall short.”
The northern lights shone bright, connecting the mountains. Beyond them lay the Wei River; crossing the Wei River was Song territory. Beyond Song, there were even greater lands.
They said nothing for a long moment, standing quietly.
After a while, Han Min said, “I’m not yet twenty. I still have decades. Perhaps the eve of a golden age is already in my hands.”
He nudged Fu Xun with his elbow. “And, of course, in your hands too.”
Fu Xun smiled, saying only, “Don’t worry.”
Han Min draped an arm over his shoulder, replying firmly, “I know.”
Countless times, the two of them had, in these few words, stabilized the chaos of the world and their own hearts.
The cold wind blew. Han Min coughed twice, drawing Fu Xun closer. “Your Majesty, aside from this, I have one more question.”
“Hmm?”
“In Heqing Hall just now, what reason would you have used to refuse the marriage proposal?”
Recalling this, Fu Xun coughed twice. “There was none.”
Han Min teased, watching his composed face, then slowly lowered his gaze. “Don’t pretend—I heard you. You said in your earlier years in the northwest campaign, your body…”
—Teasing the emperor.
If this got out, Songyan Ink Fan’s story scripts might not sell well.
Fu Xun pressed a hand to his waist, holding the scholar-god attempting to ride the wind, and said seriously: “So you want me to prove it to you?”
—Counter-tease.
Author’s note:
After spiritual intimacy, it is only natural for physical intimacy to follow.
