Chapter 67: Willing to Come Back
His sleeve was dampened by spilled wine, so Han Min leaned against the railing of the tall pavilion, letting the evening breeze dry it.
He rested against the wooden balustrade and stretched out one hand. His wide sleeve drooped like the wings of a bird or butterfly.
The cold moonlight layered a faint veil over his crimson robe—so light it seemed almost unreal.
He didn’t often wear red, but pure scarlet suited him extraordinarily well.
Fu Xun stood beside him, one hand on the railing. From this angle, it looked as if he were gazing toward the green mountains in the north—but in truth, Han Min was within his line of sight the whole time.
After standing in the breeze for a while longer, the sleeve dried. Han Min coughed twice.
“It’s getting late. I should return now.”
By this time, the palace gates were already locked. Earlier, when Fu Xun had asked him to stay, he said he would arrange someone to escort Han Min home later. That was why Han Min had stayed with peace of mind.
So now he looked at Fu Xun, waiting for him to speak.
But Fu Xun only watched him—whether deliberately or because he had truly forgotten, Han Min couldn’t tell.
“What is it?”
“I can’t get out, Your Majesty.”
“Then I’ll send someone to take you out.”
“Thank you…”
Before Han Min finished thanking him, Fu Xun added, “But can you really go home like this?”
Han Min blinked. “Hm? Like what?”
Fu Xun stepped closer and lifted his sleeve. “You reek of wine, and your cheeks are completely red.”
Hearing this, Han Min hurriedly sniffed his sleeve, then touched his own face with the back of his hand.
…it did seem a little warm.
“Your birthday is on the twenty-seventh of the sixth month, isn’t it? Today is only the eleventh. You haven’t reached your coming-of-age ceremony yet. If you go home like this, won’t your grandfather say something?”
Not only his grandfather—his elder brother too.
Han Min thought for a moment, then looked tentatively at Fu Xun. “Then… Your Majesty…”
Fu Xun said, “I’ll send someone to inform your family. You’ll stay at Funing Hall tonight?”
Perfect. They were both thinking exactly that.
The carriage of the Song delegation had long since returned to the post station.
The candle flame trembled slightly. Princess Rongning and Duke of Guangning, Zhao Cun, sat facing each other in silence. The marriage contract lay tossed carelessly on the table.
After a long pause, Zhao Cun spoke. “If it weren’t for that Han Min…”
Princess Rongning shot him a cold look, “This matter has nothing to do with Han Min. It is you who are incompetent, allowing others to catch hold of your weak point.”
Zhao Cun slammed a hand onto the table, hard enough that the silk document bounced, “If not for Han Min, by now you would already be the queen of Qi—!”
Princess Rongning cut him off again, “I never agreed to a political marriage. You made the decision without telling me beforehand, then expected me to clean it up afterward. Isn’t that too much?”
“If not for you, why would I go this far?”
“For me?” Princess Rongning laughed coldly. “More likely for your own ambitions.”
Zhao Cun choked, unable to form a coherent sentence, “H-how could you say that? If I married you to the Emperor of Qi… wouldn’t that make me—the emperor’s brother-in-law? What benefit is that to me? I… I was planning for your sake!”
Princess Rongning said indifferently, “Must I spell it out? That marriage contract was signed between the late Emperor of Qi and Father. Why is it in your possession? Obviously Father summoned you before your mission and instructed you to deliver me to Qi, giving you the document for that purpose. And these past few days, you’ve been going out constantly—likely meeting Father’s spies in Yong’an, weren’t you?”
She exhaled a long breath, calming herself, though her tone remained flat, “The new Emperor of Qi is not easy to deal with. Our aunt, Princess Yuanzhen—the late emperor’s consort—was the warning example. Do you want me to end up like her, buried in the imperial tomb?”
“Would you really send me to die for the sake of power Father promised you?”
Zhao Cun’s face turned pale, then flushed, then pale again. Sweat beaded on his forehead, veins standing out.
Unable to win against his sister in argument, he hardened his heart and resorted to unreasonable deflection. “Don’t make it sound so dramatic. I know you didn’t want to marry the Emperor of Qi. You like Han Min.”
Princess Rongning drew a sharp breath. “Shut your mouth.”
But Zhao Cun refused to stop. “That day at the temple, you fell for him. You asked me to buy that eagle so you could play the good person and help him out. Too bad he doesn’t care for a princess of an enemy nation. He seems to get along better with the Emperor of Qi than with you—”
Princess Rongning suddenly stood up, sweeping the teapot and cups off the table.
They clattered loudly onto the floor. Outside, the attendants heard the noise, unsure whether to intervene. In the end, one stepped forward and knocked.
“Your Highness? Duke?”
The siblings ignored him—standing face-to-face, separated by what seemed like countless palace walls.
Princess Rongning lifted her chin. “Don’t forget—your title of Duke of Guangning, who secured it for you?”
With that, she swept her sleeves and left, leaving Zhao Cun alone to smash things in the room.
“I remember! Of course I remember! My dear sister presented treasures at the Empress Dowager’s birthday, so I got to be made a duke! Otherwise why do they always greet you as ‘Princess’ before calling me ‘Prince’? Why am I always behind you?”
After smashing nearly everything he could, Zhao Cun finally stormed out of the room.
Two attendants hurried after him.
“Please don’t be angry, my lord. We heard there’s a place in Yong’an called Tianxiang House—it’s said to soothe the heart. Shall we take you there?”
As they stepped out the front door, a maid approached Princess Rongning to report.
The princess was seated before a bronze mirror, removing her gold and silver hair ornaments. After a moment’s thought, she said: “When they return, give some silver and ask the duke’s attendants what happened. Tell them the prince and I quarreled, I want to make peace but am too embarrassed to ask directly.”
After removing all her ornaments, she held a gold hairpin. Unconsciously, she gripped it so tightly it left a deep mark in her palm.
Recently, Tianxiang House and the neighboring Songzhu Pavilion had been loudly overhauled as a “labor reform project.” Many of the girls and young men with good records had left. The place was now rather quiet.
Zhao Cun stood in front of the building, smacking his attendant on the head. “This? This is what you brought me to?”
He turned to leave—when suddenly, he saw someone drunkenly staggering toward the entrance.
Predictably, he was blocked. But the man was clearly drunk and tried to force his way in. “How dare you stop me? Do you know who I am?”
“Please don’t make things difficult, Young Master Ji. Duke Xin has already instructed—”
Zhao Cun vaguely caught this sentence. Frowning, he asked his attendant, “Who is that?”
“Seems to be Ji Heng, nephew of the Duke of Xin, Li Shu.”
“Li Shu—the one who snatched the marriage contract first at today’s banquet?”
“Yes.”
Zhao Cun’s eyes flickered. He strode forward with large steps, stood beside Ji Heng, and smiled as he cupped his fists. “Young Master Ji, greetings.”
Late at night, a hawk sliced through the darkness and glided over the palace walls.
The handler at the eagle house received the secret message, changed clothes, and hurried to Funing Hall.
Fu Xun stood under the eaves, reading the note in the lantern light.
—Zhao Cun has begun associating with Ji Heng.
Fu Xun glanced once and asked, “Which hawk sent this back?”
Then immediately added, “Speak softly.”
Don’t wake the person inside.
“Yes.” The man lowered his voice.
“Your Majesty, it was Cotton from Songzhu Pavilion.”
That was the white-robed young man who played the zither in Songzhu Pavilion.
Tianxiang House and Songzhu Pavilion had always been messy places, filled with spies. A few months ago, they were “reorganized” under the guise of sewing summer clothes and making straw raincoats.
The young zither player had once been assigned by Fu Xun to fluff cotton. Later, Fu Xun recruited him for his own use and placed him back in Songzhu Pavilion under the codename “Cotton.”
Fu Xun nodded. “Send word to Li Shu—whatever Ji Heng intends to do next, let him handle it.”
The man bowed and left.
Inside the hall, Han Min had drunk some wine. The warmth was still in his head, though he had taken sobering soup already. He lay on the couch with a soft pillow in his arms, eyes closed, dozing—uncertain if he was truly asleep.
Fu Xun approached and patted his cheek. “Don’t sleep here.”
Han Min opened his eyes groggily. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
Fu Xun sat before him. “Rest a bit. When you feel better, go bathe.”
Han Min nodded. “Mm.”
Hugging the pillow, he thought for a moment. “Your Majesty, what do you plan to do with the envoys from Song?”
“Princess Rongning can be won over.”
“Having her betray her own family won’t be easy.”
“The Duke of Guangning is stupid enough. A rift has already formed between them. She will come on her own.”
“That’s true. She seems intelligent.”
Fu Xun’s face darkened. “You’ve barely met her a few times, yet you praise her intelligence?”
“She really is…”
Seeing his displeasure, Han Min cut himself off.
“And Your Majesty—what about Song as a whole?”
“When the reforms achieve some results, I’ll consider it.”
“That’s wise.”
Han Min spent the night in Funing Hall. The next morning, after breakfast, Fu Xun finally sent a carriage to take him home.
When Han Min returned, his family was already awake. Han Shi was in the courtyard, handling a dagger.
His legs were being treated by Physician Liang. He still relied on a wheelchair, but his martial-arts companions, the Wei brothers, had given him many lightweight weapons to practice with.
Hearing the door open, Han Shi slapped the wheel of his chair and turned toward him.
“So you’re finally willing to come back?”
“Brother, what do you mean?”
“Everyone else leaves the palace before the gates close for the night. Only you wait for them to close and open again before coming out.”
Han Min walked over, sat on the steps of the courtyard. “You don’t know the situation. It was urgent—the envoy from Song—”
Han Shi waved a hand. “No need. I already know.”
Han Min blinked. “How? Don’t tell me the matter of me questioning the Duke of Guangning three times at the banquet spread so fast outside the palace?”
“Your two friends came earlier. They told me.”
“Which two?”
“One called Wen Yan, the other… claimed to be Chu Yu.”
“Oh, those two. Then I’ll go—”
Han Shi interrupted: “When they heard you were still in the palace and hadn’t returned, they didn’t seem surprised. I suppose you sleep there often. I asked them why, and Chu Yu said I’d understand after reading the storybooks. What storybooks?”
Han Min gritted his teeth, wishing he could drag Chu Yu back and beat him.
Writers exchanging manuscripts was one thing—dragging his older brother into it was another!
Thank heavens his brother was still in a wheelchair. Otherwise, he might actually stand up and hit him.
Han Shi asked again, “Why aren’t you talking? What storybooks?”
Han Min lowered his head and picked at his fingers, “It’s just… His Majesty…”
A shadow suddenly fell over him. He looked up—and almost fell off the step.
“Eh? Brother? How did you stand up?!”
Author’s Note:
Crisis · Min Min · Crisis
Crisis · Fu Dog · Crisis
