Chapter 73: Heart in Troubled
On the day Han Min had his coming-of-age ceremony, he received countless gifts.
Gifts came from the Han family, his friends, and even the palace.
Those present rarely received rewards from the palace, so the items were all carefully arranged on tables.
Fu Xun, however, feared Han Min wouldn’t use them. He even had a messenger bring word: the paper, ink, and brush boxes he sent were meant to be used the next day when Han Min entered the palace.
The Han family gathered in the courtyard to receive the imperial edict. After offering thanks, Wei Gui, the messenger, had palace attendants deliver all the gifts to Han Min’s room.
All the Han family members were present, including Han Li.
He stood behind Han Min, watching the endless flow of rewards. Seeing Han Min chatting and laughing with Chu Yu, the top scholar, Eunuch Yang, and Censor Wen Yan, Han Li was suddenly reminded of his own coming-of-age ceremony years ago.
Their family in Tongzhou was moderately wealthy. Of four brothers, he was the only scholar. His coming-of-age ceremony had been grand.
At the time, his grandfather hadn’t returned to Tongzhou yet. A respected elder from the clan conducted the ceremony for him. Although honorable, he could not compare to the late Han historian, praised by the previous emperor as “fit to lead all civil officials.”
His family didn’t understand much of the refined arts, and the gifts he received were ordinary at best. They couldn’t compete with Han Min’s precious coral ornaments or rare, single-edition books.
The elder told him he had the talent of a top scholar and would achieve great things in the future. He believed it too; his teachers had said he was gifted, far ahead of his peers in the private academy.
Later, he passed the imperial exams and became a scholar—an exceptional achievement in impoverished Tongzhou.
He had always thought highly of himself… until he came to Yong’an.
Master Liu criticized his writing, and he accepted it, making careful revisions.
But how could Han Min’s writing be criticized?
Han Min simply had more opportunities and favors from others.
His grandfather had been the top civil official, and his teacher was Master Liu.
Several friends, from Chancellors to fallen top scholars, were close to him.
Even the emperor liked him, yet he remained unaware.
Han Li stood there, lost in thought.
By the time he snapped out of it, palace attendants had delivered all the gifts to Han Min’s room. Han Min saw off Wei Gui and the eunuchs who delivered the edict and happily went out to stroll with his friends.
Han Li suppressed his envy and prepared to return to his studies, when a young servant called after him.
“Young master.”
He turned, and the servant handed him a folded piece of paper: “We heard you lost your poem. We found it while cleaning the courtyard.”
He paused for a moment before taking it: “Thank you.”
This was deliberately left in the inner quarters for Liu Yu to see.
He had assumed that, lacking Han Min’s opportunities, he should create his own connections—but Liu Yu had treated him coldly.
The servant added, “Be more careful in the future.”
Being overly sensitive, he took it as mockery.
Han Li brushed off his sleeve to leave. Near the corridor, he heard a knock at the door.
He hurried over and frowned: “What is it?”
Two maidservants stood outside, holding a gift box. In soft voices, they said, “We are the attendants of the Princess of Song, Princess Rongning. The princess heard that today Han Min had his coming-of-age ceremony. She could not come personally, so we bring this small gift on her behalf.”
Even the princess favored him.
Han Li sneered: “He’s out.”
The maids glanced at each other. One asked, “Could you please…”
Han Li turned, planning to call over Little Jizi, then changed his mind. He took the box from them: “I’ll put this in his room so he can see it when he returns.”
After thanking them, he went to Han Min’s room.
The palace attendants had only closed the door when delivering the gifts, not locked it.
The room was piled with all of Han Min’s gifts, the desks barely able to hold them.
Han Li set down the gift box and looked around at the room filled with items, thinking about himself.
He ran his hand slowly over things that weren’t his and walked around the room.
Finally, he stopped at Han Min’s usual writing desk, where the papers were scattered, with ink stains left from the last sheet he wrote on.
Glancing casually, he thought he saw the words “Your Majesty” faintly.
He froze, hand suspended, and hesitated before rifling through the desk.
Why would Han Min write those words for no reason?
At the bottom of a pile of books, he found a stack of manuscripts.
Scanning them quickly, his heart raced.
Han Min was writing obscene material… starring the emperor.
For a minister, reputation was paramount. If anyone found out, and the emperor were enraged… Han Min’s fate would be grim.
Clutching the manuscripts, Han Li wondered what to do when a faint noise came from outside.
Already feeling guilty, he hastily returned the manuscripts and went to see—it was Han Min’s white cat.
Han Min had let it roam freely after familiarizing it with the house.
Wiping sweat from his face, Han Li realized he had been covered in cold sweat.
He thought: if Han Min’s writings were exposed, it might implicate his own family. Better to wait and see.
But as for the gifts—
Han Li glanced back, quickly grabbed the cat, and tossed it into Han Min’s room, shutting the door.
He wished he could smash the red coral ornament, ruin all of Han Min’s belongings.
The Pine Smoke Ink Guest Scholar storybooks were released monthly, each edition attracting large crowds.
Han Min always felt satisfied and gratified seeing this.
But this time was different.
He had planned to use his own storybook to overshadow Chu Yu and the others. If his storybook sold poorly, Chu Yu’s group would stop writing.
But Chu Yu was a wealthy young man who didn’t care about money. He spent freely, giving away hundreds of copies of storybooks just because he felt like it.
The more people came, the more copies of Chancellor were bought, and the more copies of Imperial Record Officer were gifted.
Watching the crowd outside the bookstore, Han Min quietly shed tears of poverty and regret.
Chu Yu patted his shoulder: “It’s okay. This is only the first volume.”
“How many more?”
“More…”
Before he could answer, the clanging of a gong rang nearby.
It was the same man who rang a gong every time Pine Smoke Ink Guest changed roles in the story. Han Min had seen him two or three times and was familiar with him.
But the story hadn’t changed this time. Why ring the gong?
The man called loudly: “‘Imperial Record Officer’ rides the tailwind of ‘Chancellor’ and Pine Smoke Ink Guest Scholar! Baishi Bookstore promotes other authors using Pine Smoke Ink Guest Scholar—shameless!”
Han Min was moved to tears again. “Divine justice has arrived,” he whispered.
The other three authors were not pleased. Chu Yu pinched Han Min’s cheek: “Wait and see. He’ll realize Imperial Record Officer is good and switch sides.”
The bookstore staff also feared the gong-ringer. His love was fierce, his anger relentless. Whenever a Pine Smoke Ink Guest Scholar volume sold, he was always first in line, scanning it quickly.
If the roles changed, he would ring the gong to protest, then be calmed down, sitting on the steps to cry. Afterward, he would continue reading.
People had grown accustomed to it. His gong signals meant a new revision.
A bookstore clerk tried to advise him kindly:
“Sir, you might not know, this edition of Imperial Record Officer was known to Pine Smoke Ink Guest Scholar before release…”
Han Min told Chu Yu: “Let’s wait and see.”
Regaining his usual confidence, he snorted at Chu Yu, walked into the bookstore, and patted the gong-ringer’s shoulder: “Good job. Keep it up.”
The clerk recognized Han Min and sighed helplessly: “Master Han, don’t cause trouble.”
Han Min smiled: “Fine, fine, I’m going.”
He entered through the back door, probably to talk with Mr. Ge. Chu Yu’s group followed, asking the clerk for another copy of Imperial Record Officer, which he delivered promptly.
Chu Yu selected the best pages and handed them to the man.
The man refused: “I only read Pine Smoke Ink Guest Scholar.”
Chu Yu returned the book to the clerk: “Read it to him.”
The man still refused.
The clerk reluctantly read aloud the funniest part—when the emperor bullied the young clerk in childhood, teasing him in school.
The young clerk would endure, the emperor playful, until one day, the emperor’s trick was discovered and they fought.
It was based on true events written by Wen Yan, who had witnessed them. He had found the antics frustrating, especially when Han Min’s writing kept winning first place.
After listening, the man smiled like a father and said slowly: “Bring me a copy.”
Chu Yu nodded: “Good eye, brother.”
Wen Yan never expected that the scenes he had found annoying as a child could be entertaining to others.
Finally, Chu Yu raised Xie Yan’s hand and shouted: “Imperial Record Officer is the best!”
In Baishi Bookstore’s backyard, Han Min pouted while sitting next to Mr. Ge on the steps.
“Did you find out?” Ge asked quietly.
“I agreed my storybook would sell alongside theirs…”
Ge reminded him: “But they aren’t selling theirs.”
Han Min stomped: “They can’t bundle it with mine! I quit.”
“You chose the same release day.”
Han Min turned away, speechless.
The three storybook authors entered and greeted Ge, sitting next to Han Min.
Seeing him upset, Chu Yu handed him a book: “Want to see? Your fan started reading it.”
Han Min returned it firmly: “I don’t want to.”
“The writing is excellent. Just one look.”
He glanced at Wen Yan. Wen Yan was nervous writing for the first time, avoiding his gaze.
“It’s just things I saw in childhood, casually written,” he said.
Han Min retorted: “Nonsense! I fought with Fu Xun daily as a kid—there’s nothing for a storybook!”
Fuming, he opened it, read two pages, then tossed the book back into Wen Yan’s arms.
“Bian Zhang was my childhood friend, main lady. Now he’s twisting the story about me?”
Wen Yan, not wanting to be associated with Fu Xun, said: “How can you say that? I was behind you, and how many times did you drag me into your scuffles with the emperor?”
Han Min stiffened: “If he had even a bit of… friendliness toward me, he wouldn’t have missed coming today.”
Wen Yan understood: “So it’s not the storybook he’s mad about; he’s upset the emperor didn’t come to see him.”
Others laughed; only Han Min turned away silently.
That evening, after dinner at home, Han Min sent off his friends and lingered outside. He used the excuse of a walk to wait with Han Pei for a while.
Han Pei asked: “Second brother, are you waiting for someone?”
Han Min answered simply: “No one.”
Hooves sounded behind them. They slowed as they approached, then vanished.
Han Min didn’t look back; he had seen this many times. Han Pei tugged his sleeve: “Second brother, the emperor is here.”
Han Min turned to see Fu Xun.
Dusk fell, stars faint, all the scenery behind him dissolving into nothing, leaving only Fu Xun before him.
Blinking rapidly, Han Min greeted: “Your Majesty.”
Fu Xun asked: “What are you doing out here?”
“Taking a walk, after dinner.”
“Shall we go for a ride?”
“Okay.”
Fu Xun looked at Han Pei: “Your home is nearby; you should go back.”
Han Pei hesitated but listened when Han Min said: “I’ll see you home.”
Han Min held his hand, walking back. Fu Xun followed through the alley.
Han Min opened the wooden gate: “Go home and sleep early.”
Han Pei returned, meeting Han Shi, who asked: “Weren’t you out with your brother? Where is he?”
“He was going to return, but the emperor came, so he left with him.”
Han Shi called him over: “Come, I’ll teach you the Emei stab technique.”
After safely seeing Han Pei home, Han Min closed the gate and looked at Fu Xun.
“Where shall we go, Your Majesty?”
“I had them prepare the horses. Just ride around.”
“Okay.”
Han Min noticed Fu Xun’s hand wound, not fully healed.
“Re-wrap it at home.”
Han Min examined it; the bandage was soaked with faint blood.
“Must we ride?”
“I have something to show you.”
Outside, palace guards held the horses waiting.
Han Min suggested: “If you trust my riding skills, perhaps we can ride together?”
Fu Xun agreed calmly: “Alright.”
Han Min mounted, holding the black horse’s mane, bracing himself. Fu Xun held him around the waist.
Riding together, Fu Xun didn’t need to hold the reins.
But Han Min felt itchy—Fu Xun’s arms around his waist, breath against his neck… it all tickled. His hair tied up exposed his neck. Everywhere felt ticklish.
“Where are we going?” Han Min asked.
“To the palace.”
Perhaps from the cold wind, Fu Xun’s voice was slightly hoarse.
Han Min loosened the reins, letting the horse walk slowly.
“Keep your distance,” he warned.
“I’ll fall otherwise.”
He tilted his head to avoid Fu Xun’s breath: “Just don’t speak into my ear.”
Fu Xun said: “I’m afraid you won’t hear me.”
“I can hear.”
Fu Xun let him be. The horse picked up speed—Han Min couldn’t go fast.
“Wrong way,” Fu Xun said.
“Ah? Oh, sorry.”
They corrected course, lucky that the streets were empty.
To ease the awkwardness, Han Min chatted about his childhood in the modern era, watching others ride horses and sing songs while riding.
“I liked riding then, but the first time at the stables, the horse threw me off, and I never wanted to ride again. I still don’t like it—riding means traveling alone, like going to Liuzhou or coming from Tongzhou to Yong’an.”
Fu Xun said nothing.
At Xuanwu Avenue, approaching the palace gate, Han Min tapped Fu Xun’s arm to dismount, but Fu Xun stayed seated.
“No problem. There’s a bit more to Zichen Hall. Ride in.”
Palace guards opened the gate. Fu Xun whistled. The horse bolted. Han Min, startled, called out.
Fu Xun grabbed the reins, pulling Han Min close.
The horse ran straight down the palace path. Han Min, small and thin, leaned in, unable to move.
Fu Xun even stepped back slightly to accommodate him.
Their heartbeats aligned.
Han Min patted his chest: “Why did it bolt suddenly?”
Fu Xun calmly replied, “Perhaps it’s troubled.”
Stopping near Zichen Hall, Fu Xun dismounted, reaching out his hand.
Han Min, still weak-legged from fear, jumped off himself.
“This horse is too wild.”
“It often runs like this.”
“It needs training.”
“Yes,” Fu Xun said, pointing to the nearby tall building: “Here.”
“Good.”
Leaning on the railing, the July night breeze was cool. Eunuchs set fruit wine, filled cups, and discreetly withdrew. Han Min sipped, feeling warmer and braver.
“Did Your Majesty have business today? That’s why you didn’t come earlier.”
Fu Xun: “No, just reviewing memorials all day.”
“So…”
“I left the daytime for your ceremony, with your friends. If I visit at night, I insist on bringing you along.”
Han Min swirled his cup.
Fu Xun asked: “Did you see the gifts sent to you?”
“Not yet. I’ll see them later.”
“They suit you well.”
“Of course.”
Han Min blushed awkwardly.
Suddenly, fireworks exploded in the sky. Han Min looked up, eyes sparkling: “Did You arrange this?”
Fu Xun nodded: “A good day deserves celebration.”
Han Min exclaimed, about to thank him, but Fu Xun teased: “Today is—”
“The third anniversary of my pacifying the twelve northwestern tribes. A good day indeed.”
Han Min’s excitement vanished, frowning: “Then don’t. Pollution.”
Fu Xun smiled, covering Han Min’s clenched hand: “What are you thinking?”
Han Min pouted: “I feel guilty celebrating my birthday while Your Majesty fights on the frontlines.”
Fu Xun relaxed his hand, squeezed his fingers, and asked again: “What else?”
Author’s Note:
Min Min (starry-eyed): Thank you…
Fu Dog: Wife, today marks the third anniversary of my twelve consecutive victories. Am I awesome?
