Chapter 77: Boundless Romance
The moment Han Min finished speaking, Fu Xun’s pen slipped from his hand.
The tip hit the terrazzo floor, leaving a streak of vermilion.
Reacting quickly, Fu Xun frowned. “Han Min, my hand hurts.”
Han Min held his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But it wasn’t like this when you were writing just now.”
Fu Xun pouted, lowering his gaze. “It really hurts.”
A bit like a little puppy.
Han Min paused, carefully looking at the hand wrapped in coarse cloth—it seemed it hadn’t fully healed.
Fu Xun picked up a new pen with his left hand, dipped it in vermilion, and handed it to him. “You should write instead.”
Han Min glanced at him suspiciously but eventually took the memorials and began writing.
All the petitions for Duke of Xin were just for show.
The real goal was to push Zhao Cun toward the path of treason, to literally put the weapons of rebellion into his hands.
Therefore, all the petitions submitted by ministers begging for Duke of Xin’s sake had to be carefully countered by Fu Xun.
Han Min imagined what a suspicious emperor would look like—perhaps like the late years of the previous emperor.
He pondered his responses carefully. Fu Xun sat beside him, watching every stroke, scrutinizing every character.
Fu Xun didn’t hold back praise: “Just answer these for now. Not bad—you even know how to do this.”
“Of course,” Han Min replied. “I have written…”
He had written “His Majesty and Some Matters of the Court”, as the ink-and-wash scholar Pine Smoke Ink Guest.
Whether the emperor was charming and romantic or cold and ruthless, he had written them all. How hard could it be to write the emperor’s words?
Han Min fell silent, changing the topic. “But Zhao Cun seems to be making no moves yet.”
“It’s only been a few days.”
“True. He’s not that foolish,” Han Min said, stroking his chin. “It’s just hard on Little Uncle, having to stay in the mansion all the time.”
“How do you know I’m not using this act to reclaim military power from his hands?”
Fu Xun’s words were soft, almost like a joke, brushing past his ear like a fleeting breeze.
Han Min blinked, looked up, eyes wide.
Fu Xun, half-smiling, patted his head. “Silly.”
Han Min hesitated. “So… you really are… or not?”
Fu Xun countered: “What do you think?”
Han Min tried to read his meaning, then shook his head honestly. “I don’t know.”
Fu Xun gave a low laugh, brushed his temple, but didn’t answer.
Han Min thought about it for a long time but never figured it out.
No matter how clever Han Min was, it didn’t matter much to someone he cared about.
Fu Xun, with the mind of an emperor, coldly analyzed everyone, silently calculating gains and losses.
He should have remained forever outside the chessboard.
In the afternoon, Jiang Huan and his party entered the palace.
The encroachment on Song and the new reforms proceeded simultaneously.
Regarding the reforms, they had held several small meetings since early June, submitting proposals, discussing every method repeatedly.
Today’s agenda: Han Min proposed first, adding four categories: governance, agriculture, industry, and commerce; second, implementing the educational system from top to bottom; third, initiating pilot programs.
“Song eyes us greedily. If envoys do nothing, the reforms will spread unchecked, causing trouble. Better to select a few Magistrateures as pilot areas, monitor them closely, and advance step by step. The rest focus on agriculture, industry, and commerce to lay a foundation for reforms.”
The scholars agreed. Fu Xun nodded and produced maps to designate the Magistrateures.
After lengthy discussion, they finally selected three neighboring Magistrateures.
For personnel, Xie Yan stood and bowed. “I volunteer to go.”
“Good. Go back and draft a…”
Fu Xun glanced at Han Min and thought: “Strategic plan. At the mid-month court meeting, you’ll go.”
“Yes.”
Unconsciously, it was already late at night. The group prepared to leave.
Before leaving, Jiang Huan asked cautiously: “Your Majesty, regarding the Duke of Xin…”
Fu Xun replied lightly: “No need to mention him.”
Some matters were best kept hidden. None knew Fu Xun’s intentions—they only assumed he distrusted the Duke of Xin, that the emperor and prince were suspicious, and that trouble might arise later.
Jiang Huan wanted to continue, but Fu Xun ignored him, turning to Han Min, who was packing: “Leaving?”
Han Min nodded. “Yes.”
“Come tomorrow to review more memorials.”
“Your hand is already healed, and I haven’t been home in ages. According to the upcoming labor law, I can request a day off.”
As the others finished packing, Han Min called back: “Zhuoshi, wait for me, we’ll go together.”
Chu Yu teased: “You can leave? We’ve only been waiting a moment; hurry.”
“Coming soon.”
Han Min turned back to see Fu Xun, the feudal landlord and emperor at the top of the hierarchy, holding onto his sleeve.
He tugged hard, lowering his voice. “Let go.”
Fu Xun looked pitiful. “You’re really leaving?”
“I’m just going home once, not forever.”
Unable to pull him, Han Min sat irritably on the floor.
Fu Xun tugged his sleeve, pulling him close—close enough to feel each other’s breath.
“Earlier I said I’m scheming Zhao Cun while reclaiming Duke of Xin’s military power. Are you afraid?”
Han Min blinked, then shook his head. “No.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Han Min patted his shoulder. “But in court, the most important thing isn’t meticulous plans or ruthless methods, but noble political ideals.”
He pressed his lips, hugged Fu Xun briefly, patting his back. “It’s enough that Your Majesty has such ideals.”
While Fu Xun hadn’t reacted, Han Min yanked back his sleeve, grabbed his satchel, and ran off.
Leaving only: “I’ll take my leave now.”
Fu Xun watched him dash out, his sleeves fluttering in the night wind.
Fu Xun had no lofty ideals; the reforms were just to subdue Song.
Yet every time he worked with Han Min, Han Min’s eyes shone brightly.
Through that light, Fu Xun glimpsed the prosperous prelude Han Min drew with ink, not the desolate ruins after war.
Han Min exited Funing Palace; friends were waiting at the steps.
Seeing him, Chu Yu exclaimed: “The emperor actually let him out! Truly strange.”
Han Min bounded down the steps, covering his mouth. “Shut up!”
The sky darkened; a crescent moon hung above the palace walls. Robes and sleeves billowed in the evening breeze.
Moonlight shimmered on the walls, romantic and elegant.
In high spirits, Chu Yu raised his hand to recite a couplet. Han Min sniffled and hid behind Wen Yan.
“The wind is strong, it’s getting cold.”
Chu Yu’s half-verse got stuck in his throat; he raised a hand to strike Han Min. Han Min darted behind Wen Yan, who silently stepped aside.
“Bian Zhang, Bian Zhang?”
He hid near Liu Ting. “Senior Brother.”
Liu Ting touched his sleeve. “It’s autumn. Why wear so little? Did the emperor forbid you from wearing clothes?”
Han Min waved his hands: “Nonsense, nonsense.”
Liu Ting held his hands, warming them. “Hurry, there are clothes in the carriage outside. Take one.”
“Thank you! I want to wear two layers.”
“All right.”
Han Min happily stood by him, squeezing Jiang Huan aside. Out of sight, Jiang Huan frowned, but Liu Ting raised a hand to block his view.
Soon, a palace attendant caught up, holding clothes.
“The emperor saw Lord Han lightly dressed, so sent this.”
Han Min thanked him and put it on.
The attendant added: “Take care, Lord Han. You’ll review memorials again tomorrow.”
Truly, feudal landlord Fu Xun.
Han Min twitched his lips helplessly. “All right, tell him I know.”
Chu Yu tugged at his sleeve, lifting his hand. “Look at the embroidery! The emperor gave you his own robe. Oh ho!”
Han Min slapped his hand away; Chu Yu laughed: “Afraid I’ll ruin it? Impressive, impressive.”
They left the palace. No one at home knew Han Min was coming, so no servant waited. But three carriages were ready: Chu’s, Liu’s, and Wen’s.
Han Min hesitated; Wen Yan glanced at him. “I’ll take you. It’s on the way.”
“On the way?”
Han Min frowned; the Wen residence was in a different direction from Han’s.
Wen Yan smiled. “Moved to a new place. Now it’s on the way.”
Han Min brightened. “Makes sense. The old place was too small. When did you move? Where? Had a banquet? When will you invite us?”
“Too many questions.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
After bidding the others goodbye, Han Min got into Wen Yan’s carriage.
He glanced forward, seeing Xie Yan in Chu’s carriage.
He told the coachman: “Hurry to the front carriage. I need to say something to Chu’s eldest young master.”
The coachman glanced at Wen Yan, who nodded, then obeyed.
Two carriages stopped side by side. Han Min lifted the curtain. “Oh, Chu eldest young master reconciled with his companion? A new story just arrived. Xie Yan, will you write it? If not, I will.”
Xie Yan, pouring tea, froze, spilling tea everywhere.
Chu Yu lifted the curtain to speak, but Han Min hurriedly told Wen’s coachman: “Go, quickly!”
In the Liu carriage, Jiang Huan pointed at the “fleeing” Wen carriage: “Your junior brother is really an idiot, isn’t he?”
Liu Ting glared; Jiang Huan corrected himself. “Fine, I’m the idiot.” The carriage disappeared; Chu Yu snorted, dropped the curtain, crossed arms, and rested.
Xie Yan tidied the table, made tea again, and placed a cup in front of him. “Young Master.”
Late at night, the long street was empty.
Wen’s carriage stopped at Gouchen Street. Han Min said: “Stop here. It’s narrow inside, hard to turn.”
Wen Yan replied: “No, go straight in.”
“All right.”
Han Min hadn’t been home for days. Excited, he peeked out until he saw Han’s lanterns.
The carriage stopped at the gate. Han Min jumped out, waving. “Bian Zhang, I’ll go home first. See you tomorrow.”
Unexpectedly, Wen Yan descended slowly. Han Min blinked, then noticed a “Wen” character on the lantern across the street.
Embarrassed, he laughed. “Wow, Wen Bian Zhang actually wants to be my neighbor?”
Author’s note: The evolution of the rumor:
Senior Brother: Did the emperor forbid you from wearing clothes?
? The emperor forced Lord Han not to wear clothes!
? The emperor forced Lord Han…
