Chapter 86: You Are Very Pretty
The Emperor was urging them, so the palace attendants immediately took the waist token, left the palace, and rode straight to the Han residence.
At this time, Han Min was still at Baishi Bookstore.
During his illness, he had finished the last two volumes of The Chancellor. Today he happened to bring the final drafts over, completing all ten volumes of Several Things Between His Majesty and the Court.
Mr. Ge took the chance to tell him some good news and some bad news.
“Good news first—the bookstore plans to reprint all ten volumes and release both a collector’s edition and an illustrated edition. I’ve already looked over the contract for you. Nothing major to worry about. Once you sign, you get paid. After the books sell, you get profit shares too.”
Little rich man Han Min let out a cheerful “Yay!”
“The bad news is—”
“Hm?”
“When Xie Yan left to assume office in the three counties of Linshui, he left a stack of manuscript pages for the bookstore. He’s already written up to The Record Officer Volume Three. And a few days ago I heard that Lord Wen and Lord Chu are also writing.”
Attendant Han Min’s expression froze. Unhappy, he said, “How can they be like this?”
Mr. Ge cautiously asked, “Have you… heard the saying, ‘The student surpasses the master’?”
“What about it?”
“The Record Officer is even more popular than the bookstore expected—its momentum is fiercer than your story series. That’s actually why the bookstore agreed to let you go. Otherwise they would absolutely have made you write several more volumes.”
Han Min frowned deeply. “No way.”
“You don’t have to feel discouraged. They have three people, after all—and every single one knows you extremely well. Writing this kind of thing comes naturally to them. Three people write faster than one. Judging from the bookstore’s attitude, once they finish ten volumes, they’ll probably release a collector’s edition too, with craftsmen illustrating it. Maybe even a commentary edition. And if it really gets big, the storytellers at the teahouses, the performers on the stage…”
It was earth-shattering bad news. Han Min clapped his hands over his ears and shook his head hard. “I don’t want it, I don’t want it!”
Mr. Ge patted his shoulder. “It’s fine, don’t take it too hard.”
Han Min pouted. Then he saw a paper-cutting straight blade leaning against a wall in the courtyard and rushed toward it. “I’m going to fight them!”
A voice behind him gave a playful whistle. “And who exactly is Record Officer Han going to fight?”
Han Min turned around to see Chu Yu and Wen Yan. The one who whistled was Scholar Chu, the Third-Rank Scholar.
Wen Yan walked up to him and asked softly, “Recovered from your illness?”
“Mm.”
Han Min nodded, then looked down and noticed the thick stack of manuscripts in Wen Yan’s hands.
Wen Yan shoved the papers into Chu Yu’s arms and pretended nothing happened. “On my way here, I saw someone from the palace heading to your home. Not sure if His Majesty is looking for you. You’d better go back and check.”
“Then I’ll head off first.”
Han Min slung the straight blade over his shoulder. Chu Yu stepped aside to let him pass.
As he walked by, Chu Yu lightly commented, “Who knows—maybe His Majesty has discovered the matter of the storybooks and wants to settle accounts with the Pine-Smoke Ink Guest.”
Han Min fiddled with the straight blade in a showy way. “As long as you don’t say anything, how would he ever know? Right, Chu ‘Polished Stone’?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But last time, you didn’t finish reading the story to us. Things got delayed. When are you coming to read two more chapters?”
Han Min paused, shoved the straight blade into his hands, and walked off. “See you.”
When he left through the back door, he heard Chu Yu telling Mr. Ge, “These are Volumes Five and Six. Check when to print them. Profit doesn’t matter—what’s important is spreading the divine beauty of His Majesty and the Attendant as soon as possible.”
Han Min quickened his pace and fled Baishi Bookstore.
He hadn’t eaten enough breakfast earlier. He stood at the sesame-flatbread stall on his street, waiting for food.
Next to the flatbread stall was a storyteller’s stand. The storyteller sat on a small stool and slapped the wooden clapper. “Say nothing else—many years ago, there was once a Qi Nation. The Emperor of Qi and the Imperial Record Officer Lord Han were childhood sweethearts—”
“Han” was turned into “Cold”—the homophone surname Chu Yu and the others made up for him.
Han Min covered his ears and quietly edged away.
The Record Officer was everywhere. If he weren’t waiting for the flatbread, he would’ve run far away already.
Both sides of the flatbread were toasted golden and crisp, sprinkled with white sesame seeds, fragrant enough to make one’s fingers itch to eat.
Just when his flatbread was finally ready, before he could take it, a group of imperial guards rushed over and surrounded the flatbread stall, the storyteller, and all the listeners.
Then a palace eunuch pushed through the crowd and approached Han Min.
He had originally come to deliver a verbal decree. But to his surprise, Young Lord Han wasn’t home. After waiting a while with no sign of him, afraid of delaying His Majesty’s orders, he brought people out to search.
Fortunately, they had only walked out of the alley when they saw him.
Afraid he might run, the eunuch hurried over with the guards to block him.
He bowed. “Young Master Han.”
Young Master Han, Young Lord ‘Cold’—just hearing it, the pronunciation was nearly identical.
The storyteller and the audience seemed to realize something astonishing.
Han Min also realized and desperately signaled the eunuch with his eyes—stop talking, stop talking right now.
The eunuch received the silent plea and gestured politely. “Young Lord Han, this servant brings His Majesty’s verbal message. May we speak privately?”
“All right.”
Han Min took the flatbread, dared not look at the crowd, used the flatbread to hide his face, and silently left.
He escaped in such a hurry that all he left them was the graceful arc of his fluttering robe.
The storyteller exchanged a look with the listeners, then quickly pulled out The Record Officer from his sleeve and flipped pages at high speed.
The storybook described the Record Officer’s figure as tall as a crane, standing like a bamboo shoot, moving as lightly as a fledgling swallow.
Originally, they felt distant from real court officials and would never connect the story’s descriptions with reality. But having now seen the real Young Master Han, they couldn’t help but think.
When he stood waiting for his flatbread—bamboo.
When he fled—swallow.
They had encountered the real Young Master Han!
*
Han Min would not enter the palace until the afternoon.
Inside Funing Hall, Fu Xun stared at the half-read The Imperial Record Officer in his hands, feeling helpless and unable to continue.
He leaned back in his chair, let out a cold laugh, and asked the young eunuch serving tea:
“You said earlier that you also like His Majesty and the Record Officer, that book?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The young eunuch nodded vigorously—he truly liked it.
Fu Xun looked at him. After thinking a moment, the eunuch added, “When I read it, I could hardly resist holding His Majesty down and making His Majesty confess his feelings to the Record Officer on the spot—and consummate the marriage that very night. I’ve already prepared the red-envelope gift money.”
He said it extremely earnestly—then suddenly realized something was wrong.
“Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I mean the characters in the book.”
Fu Xun waved his hand dismissively. Seeing the Baishi Bookstore seal on the cover, he said, “Summon Duke of Yue to the palace.”
Duke of Yue arrived before lunch.
He was slightly plump and wore a constant smile. “Your Majesty.”
“No need for formality, Royal Uncle. I have two things I want you to look at.”
“Yes.”
The Duke of Yue lifted his robes and approached. When he saw the storybooks spread open across the desk, he smiled foolishly. “Your Majesty has taken a liking to these idle books recently.”
Fu Xun closed the book and pointed to the seal on the cover. “This bookstore is part of Royal Uncle’s business.”
The Duke of Yue kept smiling. “My subordinates were likely carried away with enthusiasm, writing without restraint and offending Your Majesty. I will order them to remove the books immediately.”
Fu Xun didn’t respond. Instead, he tapped the book with his fingertip and asked, “When did he start writing?”
They both knew—“he” meant Han Min.
“Two years ago, when he was in Tongzhou. I was afraid he didn’t have money. The late emperor was watching him closely, so I didn’t dare give him money directly. I intended to make him a proofreader at the bookstore. But before I even approached him, he came on his own, saying he wanted to write storybooks. So I let him stay and write.”
“What else has he written?”
“He spent the first two years continuing other stories. These volumes were only started at the end of last year. At first, I also felt it wasn’t very appropriate, but the people below didn’t understand the seriousness. They saw a few good manuscripts and rushed to print them. Sales were good, and he seemed desperately short of money at the time, so I let him keep writing.”
His explanation was seamless—everything designed to protect Han Min. Fu Xun couldn’t press further.
The Duke of Yue added, “The authorities also inspected the shop. They found nothing wrong, so sales continued. If Your Majesty feels it improper…”
Fu Xun raised his hand. “No need.”
After thinking for a moment, Fu Xun finally said, “Allocate some money from my private treasury and print more of this book.”
He pushed The Imperial Record Officer toward the Duke of Yue. The Duke of Yue bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Baishi Bookstore might turn out to be the biggest winner.
—
After lunch, Han Min changed into his official robes and entered the palace.
He happened to run into the Duke of Yue leaving Funing Hall.
Han Min gathered his sleeves and jogged forward. “Royal Uncle.”
“Eh.”
“Royal Uncle rarely enters the palace. Did something happen today?”
“Mm, just a small matter. You’ve recovered? What brings you here?”
Han Min tugged the sleeve of his robes. “On duty.”
“Then I won’t hold you up—go on in.”
After bidding him farewell, Han Min lifted his robes and walked up the steps to Funing Hall.
The Duke of Yue turned back and watched him leave—with an expression full of pity.
The young eunuch guarding the entrance said, “Lord Han, please go in yourself. His Majesty is inside. He just finished lunch. We servants dared not disturb him.”
“All right, thank you.”
Han Min smiled at him and pushed open the hall doors alone.
The outer hall was empty. Han Min opened the inner hall door and peeked inside.
Fu Xun was sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a book as if absorbed in reading.
In reality, Fu Xun had long heard his footsteps. He deliberately bent the book slightly to hide the title on the cover.
Not wanting to disturb him, Han Min entered, saluted, then fetched a small stool and sat beside the couch.
He loosened his pen case, took out paper, brush, and ink, arranged everything properly, then dipped his brush in ink.
He wrote:
Twenty-third day of the eighth month, observed…
Observed what?
Han Min leaned in, wanting to see what Fu Xun was reading.
Whether intentional or not, the moment he leaned over, Fu Xun shifted the book away, pointedly refusing to let him see.
How odd.
Han Min hugged his paper and brush, walked to the other side.
Fu Xun turned again.
That confirmed it—this man was doing it on purpose.
Han Min pursed his lips helplessly. “Your Majesty, what are you reading? Can I record it?”
Fu Xun slowly lifted the book and presented the cover.
Gold-threaded florals, the title boldly written.
Han Min knew it instantly—Several Things Between His Majesty and the Chancellor.
Fu Xun said, with absolute seriousness, “The writing style is exaggerated. Doesn’t seem like your handiwork.”
A perfectly straight-faced critique.
Cold sweat trickled down Han Min’s back. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt tied.
“Your servant…”
He could argue eloquently in court, debate scholars without fear—yet now his fingers loosened, and the brush fell, landing on Fu Xun’s robe and dragging a black ink line across it.
Terrible. His crimes only grew worse.
Now Han Min couldn’t speak at all. In his mind, only two options remained:
First, faint on the spot.
Second, kneel and beg for mercy immediately.
He lifted his robe, preparing to kneel—when Fu Xun tossed the book aside, straightened, and held Han Min’s face in his hands.
Han Min froze.
Fu Xun’s calloused thumb stroked his cheek.
“I was not childhood sweethearts with the Censor, nor did I grow up with the Chancellor. I certainly never shared daily life with the Third-Rank Scholar.”
Han Min whispered, barely audible, “Th-then… your servant… your servant was wrong…”
Fu Xun brushed his thumb across his lips. “But you were my childhood companion, my youth companion. You are the one who now serves at my side each day. So why did you write about others?”
He said this with an utterly serious expression.
Half of Han Min’s fear came from the possibility that Fu Xun had discovered he was writing storybooks; the other half came from Fu Xun’s current demeanor. He wanted to beg for mercy, yet somehow ended up biting the man’s finger.
Terrified, he looked up at Fu Xun, and then—
“Ptui.”
Fu Xun’s expression darkened slightly, tinged with confusion.
Han Min hurriedly pushed his hand away. Caught off guard, he fell back onto the floor. “Who’s childhood sweethearts with you?”
He yanked up his sleeve. “When we were young, you fought me so hard you dug a chunk of flesh out of my hand. There’s still a scar! Who’s childhood sweethearts with you?”
As if flipping open a record of Fu Xun’s crimes, Han Min began his litany of accusations: “You scared me, tricked me, bullied me. You pulled my hair and my hair ribbons, hid my things. I was sick and sleeping soundly, and you woke me up just to look at some rabbit.”
“This is what you call childhood sweethearts? Huh? Isn’t this clearly a lifelong nemesis? How am I supposed to write anything like that? I write tender, entangling love stories—what part of this is tender?! If you had been even a little nicer to me as a child, maybe I would’ve written about myself.”
He had completely reversed the situation. Even though he was still nervous, he refused to lose the momentum.
Han Min tipped his chin up and stared at him stubbornly, demanding an explanation.
Fu Xun’s deep, cold eyes stayed fixed on him, but he didn’t answer.
Han Min thought about it. Since he had already lost in terms of power, then he should win on moral ground.
He continued, “And it’s not just the scar on my hand—there are also two holes in my waist you dug into me.”
Fu Xun’s brow twitched. “What?”
“Don’t deny it. I’ll show you.”
As he spoke, Han Min began loosening his jade belt.
Fu Xun had a pretty good idea which “two holes” he meant—he was talking about his dimples of Venus.
Everything else was fine, but he never expected he’d be blamed for those too.
Fu Xun explained, “I didn’t do that.”
“So you won’t admit it.”
“You were born with them.”
“My senior brother and Wei Gui both don’t have them, so you’re the one who—”
Mid-sentence, Han Min realized something was off.
He didn’t know much about such things, but thinking back, he seemed to recall seeing something about it when he was flipping through old texts.
But he’d discovered those dimples right after he and Fu Xun had fallen off that fake mountain during a fight, so he’d always assumed they were caused by Fu Xun.
So that was it.
Han Min gathered his clothes. “My mistake. My mistake. Sorry—nothing to do with you.”
His belt was halfway undone, his clothes loose and disheveled. His outer official robe was red, but the inner layer was snow-white, all bundled in his arms. Against it, his forearms and neck looked even fairer.
Holding his clothes, he met Fu Xun’s now even darker gaze, let out an awkward laugh, and tried to ease the tension.
Suddenly, the system shouted, “Han Min!”
Han Min jumped in fright. “Hold on, I’m busy right now.”
He reached back to mute the system, but it hurriedly said, “Wait wait wait—I have two messages. Then I’ll leave.”
Han Min didn’t reply, and the system spoke quickly: “I was worried before and sent a message to the control center. They just replied.”
Two messages. The first: “You are the male empress. The male empress is you.”
The second: “Fu Xun has no other concubines.”
Having delivered the messages, the system couldn’t help adding, “Even though that’s the plot, I still think you shouldn’t—”
Han Min muted it and tilted his head, looking strangely at Fu Xun. “You’re always bullying me.”
Fu Xun’s tone was calm. “You’re very beautiful.”
Two completely unrelated sentences, yet both seemed like simple statements of fact.
Han Min thought that maybe Fu Xun was talking about those dimples.
Author’s Note:
Control Center: We weren’t delaying anything—we were just timing our assist down to the exact minute.
