Chapter 87: A Little Restraint
The cicadas were silent in the autumn air. The outer hall was empty, shrouded in stillness.
After the beginning of autumn, a layer of carpet had been laid on the floor of the inner hall of Funing Palace. The floor was very soft. Han Min sat dazedly on the ground, looking up at Fu Xun, confusion written all over his face.
What did he mean by that?
Was he saying his dimples were beautiful? Or that he couldn’t resist teasing him because he had been so pretty as a child?
But either way, who wouldn’t think there was something wrong with that?
Han Min was most afraid of this look from Fu Xun: staring at him seriously, no longer playful like before, as if he were paying full attention only to him.
What he didn’t know was that whenever Fu Xun teased him, his eyes were only on Han Min.
The control center really was something—these plot hints were clearly meant as compensation, to let him prepare in advance.
But they only told him now. Those two sentences hit him all at once. How could he have prepared? The fact that he could still barely maintain his composure in front of Fu Xun was already quite an achievement.
And yet, Fu Xun was still looking at him like that.
Han Min quietly twisted his neck. Tilting his head to look up was uncomfortable; his neck felt sore.
The moment he moved, Fu Xun noticed.
Fu Xun curled the corner of his lips, a smile playing ambiguously across his face.
Han Min responded with a couple of awkward chuckles, then rolled up his sleeves, trying to change the subject, but Fu Xun said, “Don’t change the topic.”
He pointed at a small crescent-shaped scar on his right forearm. “See this dent on my arm? You left it. How could you like me?”
Fu Xun rolled up his sleeve too, revealing a scar larger than Han Min’s, and said lightly, “That was left by you.”
They compared scars.
Han Min rolled his sleeve further, pointing at another mark. “This one was from an arrow by barbarians in the northwest.”
Fu Xun had made that one, yet it was even bigger than the scar from the battlefield.
Han Min choked, wanting to defend himself. “That’s because you were small when I did it… as you grew up, the scar stretched…”
His voice grew smaller and smaller. Even he couldn’t finish that lame excuse.
He lowered his eyes, thinking that after all this circling around, he hadn’t really gained anything. Resolutely, he looked away and said, “Anyway, those few storybooks were written by me, so if you want…”
Before he could finish, Fu Xun suddenly grabbed his wrist, bent down, and pressed his lips to the scar.
Han Min turned, stunned.
The little penguin that had been dancing leapt into the air, legs outstretched, froze midair, and then fell with a plop.
Fu Xun, still unsatisfied, kissed it again.
Han Min froze in place, cheeks flushed, heat radiating from his head.
The little penguin had been cruelly turned into a roasted penguin.
Fu Xun said, “I regret it.”
Regret teasing him so much as a child, to the point that Han Min misunderstood the meaning of “childhood sweethearts.”
Fu Xun wanted to kiss him again, but Han Min blocked him with his hand.
Covering Fu Xun’s face, he stammered, “Enough… enough. I more or less understand what you mean.”
Fu Xun looked up at him with the same gaze that always made Han Min a little afraid.
Han Min blinked, pursed his lips, and said earnestly, “I understand what you mean—”
“Me too.”
He didn’t need to say anything else; those three words were enough.
Han Min quietly watched him for a while, lifted his hand to hook around Fu Xun’s neck, and pulled him closer. “Fu Dog, you still aren’t enough. Just kissing… what’s the point? Look at mine…”
He was about to get closer when outside, the little eunuch announced, “Your Majesty, General Wei requests an audience.”
Startled, Han Min quickly stepped back.
Seems the one who isn’t enough is him.
He tidied his messy clothes, cleared his throat, and said to Fu Xun, “You take care of official matters first. I’ll go in and… tidy up.”
Fu Xun held his face, wanting to kiss him, but seeing his flushed face, he refrained.
“You go. The matter with the storybooks isn’t settled yet.”
Han Min pouted, wanting to argue, but Wei Gui was already entering, so he had no choice but to gather his robes and leave.
The heavy curtains were drawn, separating the inner and outer halls.
Han Min rubbed his burning face, then released the blocked system.
Seeing his flushed cheeks and disheveled official robes, the system angrily scolded: “Beast!”
“No, it’s me—I couldn’t control myself, so I blushed. The clothes are my own doing too.”
“You…” The system couldn’t finish scolding him. “Little rascal, restrain yourself a bit.”
“I know, I’ll be careful next time.”
He tidied his robes and patted his face, trying to calm himself.
“By the way, why didn’t the control center tell me earlier? Why now?”
“They’ve always been slow.”
“When did you send them the message then?”
“A long time ago. The night you and Fu Xun went to look at the house.”
Han Min narrowed his eyes. “Hmm?” At this point, it didn’t seem like a big deal to tell him.
The system lowered its voice, whispering: “Fu Xun kissed you while you were drunk.”
Han Min’s face, which had finally returned to normal, turned red again. He gritted his teeth and muttered through them:
“Beast.”
—
Normally, the Record Officer should take notes during an audience.
So Han Min adjusted his posture and lifted the curtains, ready to silently start work.
He hadn’t intended to alert anyone, but Wei Gui saw him as soon as he stepped out.
Wei Gui was very surprised. “Why are you in here?”
“Why am I in here? Maybe… I was taking a nap on the imperial bed? What do you think?”
Even Han Min didn’t believe what he said.
Fu Xun glanced at Wei Gui, who shrank back and didn’t ask further.
Fu Xun turned to Han Min. “Standing there foolishly…”
Perhaps recalling Han Min’s earlier complaint that Fu Xun treated him badly, he didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he said, “Come, sit down.”
Han Min picked up paper and pen and sat beside him.
Wei Gui, who had come to report, sat on the round stool before the platform.
“The Tiger Fang Mountain palace and hunting grounds have been cleared. The autumn hunt can start today.”
Tiger Fang Mountain lies north of Yong’an, nicknamed “Quanyashan” (Dog Fang Mountain), a series of rugged mountain ranges. Its terrain is complex, with interlacing peaks, hence the name.
The south is mountainous; practicing cavalry like in Song wouldn’t work. So Qi trained through seasonal hunts.
Emperor Dezong first designated Dog Fang Mountain as a hunting ground, but disliked the name, so he renamed it Tiger Fang Mountain.
There’s a palace on Tiger Fang Mountain. Emperor Dezong rarely stayed there, usually camping at the foot of the mountains, often venturing deep into the forest. Once, he hunted a tiger alone—a display of courage common among the Fu family. Previous emperors, however, stayed in the palace whenever they went.
Perhaps one could see a difference even from this.
Fu Xun said, “At the next court meeting, explain that the army is too large to move entirely. It’s better to leave half behind to safeguard the capital.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Today, categorize the soldiers. Those whose families are not in Yong’an accompany the hunt; those whose parents are in Yong’an stay to guard.”
“Understood.”
In case of trouble in Yong’an, even though Fu Xun designed it with Zhao Cun in mind, he couldn’t prevent opportunistic rebellion. Keeping soldiers with families in Yong’an is safer. After giving these instructions, Wei Gui left.
The hall was left with only Fu Xun and Han Min.
Han Min lowered his head, focusing on writing.
He couldn’t yet include these notes in the official records; if seen, they could leak and cause trouble. But he could store them for himself and preserve history later.
After a while, he put down his pen. Fu Xun asked, “Finished recording?”
Once that was done, it was time to settle accounts—the accounts of The Emperor and the Court Official’s Affairs.
Han Min picked up his pen again. “Not yet. Just resting a bit. Your Majesty, read your book.”
He reached to take the storybook from Fu Xun. “Don’t read this; it’s terrible.”
He tugged hard but couldn’t take it, so he withdrew his hand. “If you want to read, read. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Han Min continued to hint frantically, “It’s really bad. Really.”
Fu Xun looked at him for a while, then put the book on the desk, open before Han Min.
Han Min smiled in satisfaction. “Good little obedient one…”
Fu Xun took the pen from him. “You seem idle, your eyes tired. Read it out loud.”
Han Min’s smile froze. “Huh?”
“It’s already been flipped open for you. Read.”
Han Min blinked hard, trying not to cry. “Really read it?”
“Yes.”
His tone was cold. Han Min didn’t dare bargain further, reluctantly taking the book, starting from the opened page.
He complained inwardly, why was this the same as when Chu Yu made him read?
But back then, it was his own books, changed so that the court official was himself.
This time, Fu Xun made him read The Court Official’s Records, closely reflecting real events. Unlike Han Min’s ten fictional books, this one felt immersive, making him particularly awkward.
He tried to maintain a calm tone.
Fu Xun asked, “You’re about to cry?”
Han Min rubbed his eyes, mumbling, “Yeah.”
“Then read page seventy-six.”
He turned to that page. Well, that chapter described “Young Master Han” being bullied, eyes red and sniffling.
He knew this chapter was written by Chu Yu. Only that one had such a cruel sense of humor.
Han Min read two lines, couldn’t go on, and threw the book on the desk. “I won’t read it.”
Fu Xun was understanding, returning his pen. “Then write.”
“Write what?”
The Emperor and the Court Official’s Affairs. Write ten volumes yourself.”
“No, I’ve decided to retire from this.”
“Then read it.”
Han Min leaned on the desk, peering at him. “Are you angry? Don’t be. I really have changed.”
Fu Xun glanced at him. “I’m not.”
“Dishonest words,” Han Min grumbled, taking back the book. “Fine, I’ll read.”
He read two pages in a mournful voice. After coughing inadvertently, Fu Xun didn’t make him continue.
“Remember where you stopped. Continue tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
After reviewing memorials with him for a while, it was evening.
Han Min stayed for dinner. As before, the Empress Dowager sent two dishes.
No one else served; they dined alone in the hall.
Han Min looked at the dishes and remembered: “With unrest in Yong’an, the palace is unsafe. Where will the Empress Dowager go during the autumn hunt?”
“She will go to Jianguo Temple to pray.”
Han Min nodded thoughtfully. “Still need secret guards for safety.”
Fu Xun said, “You’ll come to the palace with me.”
Han Min decisively refused. “No. My grandfather and family are in Yong’an; I can’t go alone.”
Taking the Han family out of Yong’an would alert even a fool like Zhao Cun.
So Han Min decided to stay, both avoiding trouble for Fu Xun and protecting his family.
Fu Xun understood, didn’t insist. “They’ll move to Jianguo Temple; you go too. I’ll entrust my mother to take care of you.”
That would be ideal.
Han Min smiled. “Then please thank Your Majesty’s mother for me.”
Who exactly is he thanking? What a cheeky little rascal.
—
After dinner, they continued reviewing memorials until night.
Han Min prepared to leave. It was windy; Fu Xun had specially arranged two cloaks.
When the eunuchs brought the garments, Han Min realized there were really two.
Fu Xun put one on him, adjusting the collar and tying it. Then he picked up the other, draping it while asking, “Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It waits outside Funing Palace.”
Han Min nervously rubbed his hands. “You’re sending me home?”
“Yes.”
Everything ready, the carriage left Funing Palace for the Han residence.
They rode in silence, arriving at the Han house.
Han Min said goodbye and jumped down, only to see Fu Xun follow, instructing the carriage to wait at the alley’s mouth.
It seemed he was planning something private.
Han Min was startled, awkwardly touching his nose. “Are you still angry?”
Fu Xun asked, “What are we now? Lifelong enemies?”
Han Min quickly waved his hands. “No, no.”
“Then what are we?”
“Well…” Han Min scratched his head. “If Your Majesty wants…”
Seeing no one in the alley, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Fu Xun.
He buried his face in Fu Xun’s chest, whispering, “Fu Dog, you’re a silly dog.”
Fu Xun seemed not to hear this blatant rebellion—
He was busy wagging his tail, a big wolf tail.
He was also busy inspecting Han Min’s face, looking for the right spot.
Just as his gaze fell on Han Min’s lips, voices came from behind the Han residence.
Grandpa Han said, “Come early tomorrow, finish the remaining words in this volume.”
The cane struck the ground rhythmically. Old scholar Liu replied, “Understood. No need to escort. You may return.”
The wooden door pushed open. A few elders were inside. Outside, Han Min and Fu Xun stood properly side by side, ready for inspection.
Author’s note:
Old Fu’s wife at the tip of his tongue is finally going home.
