In the twenty-first year of Anping, on the twenty-first day of the ninth month, the Emperor discussed matters with his officials in the Zhenghe Hall. At midnight, the officials departed; the Emperor returned to his desk, only to retire at the third watch. Suddenly stricken with a heart ailment, he passed away outside the hall at the age of twenty-nine, leaving no heir. The officials wept bitter tears, and the entire nation mourned, covering themselves in white hemp for months on end. “Book of Wei: Biography of the Accomplished and Resolute Sage Emperor”
“Your Majesty!”
“Your Majesty, no!”
Distant, chaotic clamor drifted into his ears. Qin Duoye frowned and unconsciously rolled over.
“Your Majesty, wuwu… This old subject… would rather die… wuwu ah!”
“Your Majesty, wuwu!”
What is all this commotion? Crying like I have just kicked the bucket.
Qin Duoye had been sleeping soundly. Ever since he was thrust onto the throne during a time when everyone feared for their lives, he had racked his brains day and night, rarely ever getting to sleep this comfortably.
His mind was still hazy and sluggish, as if sunk deep inside soft, luxurious cloud-brocade.
Yet the wailing and howling outside the door kept pulling him out of his sleep.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! There is no reason under heaven for this, I beg you…”
The voice gradually grew clearer, sounding like one of the old fogies.
Qin Duoye’s sleep-addled brain spun for a moment. Which of his veteran subjects had suffered such a grave grievance that he ran into the palace at the crack of dawn to wail and complain to him?
Qin Duoye prepared to stretch lazily and peel himself off the bed.
As his wrist moved, a clear clink rang out.
Qin Duoye: ?
What was that noise now?
Qin Duoye finally opened his eyes, a clear haze and drowsiness still lingering in his vision. He caught sight of the bed curtains—somewhat unfamiliar, embroidered all over with honeysuckle patterns. His own sleeping quarters didn’t look like this at all.
As his eyes opened, his hearing and wits gradually returned. Outside the door, the wailing was breathless, sounding as though several people were taking turns at it.
“Your Majesty, you cannot act against the principles of heaven!”
“Your Majesty! This old subject begs you to retract your decree, wuwu.”
“Your Majesty, we are willing to die with our remonstrance, I beg you, Your Majesty, wuwu!”
Qin Duoye was completely baffled, muttering to himself, “Did I commit some heinous crime to deserve this?” For that bunch of old men who usually argued until their faces turned red and even rolled up their sleeves to fight in court to cry like this.
While Qin Duoye was muttering to himself, a cold, sharp voice rang out from outside the door: “What, my beloved ministers react this way because I have committed some heinous crime?”
“Your Majesty!” The cries outside intensified, heart-rending to the point that Qin Duoye worried for their vocal cords. “Is taking a male concubine not a violation of heavenly principles?! With this act of yours, how will Your Majesty’s imperial ancestors…”
Qin Duoye’s jaw dropped slightly: “Huh?”
Taking a male concubine? Me?
Qin Duoye was baffled all over again. He instinctively reached out to rub his forehead out of habit.
Clink.
Another sound.
Frowning, Qin Duoye looked down, and a flash of gold caught his eye.
A gorgeous, exquisite, and luxuriously decadent pure gold handcuff had one end attached to a golden chain bound to the bedpost, while the other end was securely locked around a rather slender, pale wrist.
Qin Duoye was momentarily stunned by the brilliant golden flash, then blinked.
Uncertain, let’s look again.
With his mind completely blank, Qin Duoye took stock of his entire person.
His black sleeping robe had somehow been stripped away and replaced with a layer of thin red gauze so sheer it was almost translucent, letting one see straight through to the skin beneath—a thoroughly salacious garment!
The bright red, sheer fabric was ingeniously designed, perfectly exposing all the parts of the body that normal clothing should cover. Threading across his exposed skin were golden chains, wrapping him up like an exquisitely packaged gift.
Qin Duoye stared blankly at the shackles on his wrists and ankles, his expression sinking. His gaze turned as deep and calm as an abyss, the surface still while the depths surged violently.
“Heh.”
Expressionless, he let out a soft laugh.
The aura he had cultivated all the way from his ascension to sitting on the dragon throne for over a decade began to unfurl, like a dark dragon opening its slumbering eyes.
Just which palace servant dared to commit such an act of gross disrespect against him?
This was a capital offense.
Suddenly, a sharp “Shut your mouth!” rang out from outside. The wailing stopped instantly, and the area outside the hall fell quiet.
Qin Duoye’s gaze shifted, taking in the interior furnishings before letting his eyes slide toward the carved wooden doors of the bedchamber. Near the entrance burned a Boshan incense burner, emitting curling wisps of white smoke—burning Jiangzhen incense, his usual favorite scent.
Creeak. The door was pushed open.
Against the overly bright daylight outside, Qin Duoye saw a tall, slender figure standing in the doorway. The figure’s voice was utterly chilling, like an ice cellar that had been frozen for years: “The imperial ancestors… If we leave aside those degenerate scum of the Qin family, if I’m in a good mood, I might even change my mind. But if you bring them up… Qingxuan, the ministers are getting old; send them back to their residences.”
Bang.
The door was closed. The daylight was shut outside, and the room plunged back into silence.
Qin Duoye didn’t move, but his gaze sliced like a sharp blade toward the newcomer.
The person at the door wore a pure black brocade robe with a rounded collar and narrow sleeves, embroidered with coiled dragons on the front, back, and shoulders. From a distance, judging by the regulations, it looked like the style of robe only members of the imperial clan were permitted to wear.
Qin Duoye ran through his mind and couldn’t recall any imperial kinsman looking like this. Logically speaking, the only imperial kinsman in the capital was his unreliable younger brother, Qin Zezhi.
Qin Duoye couldn’t understand it. Did someone stage a coup while he was asleep?
Tap. Tap.
Long boots stepped on the floor, gradually approaching the bed.
The man lowered his head to look at him, seemingly curling his lips into a disdainful smile as he casually shrugged off his outer robe and tossed it onto a nearby wooden dragon-carved rack.
Qin Duoye saw it clearly: this person was actually dressed in the regalia of an emperor.
Huh? A real rebellion?
With a calm expression, Qin Duoye raised his head and watched the newcomer lower his body, inching closer.
The man had long, narrow phoenix eyes, a high brow ridge, fierce brow peaks, a towering bridge of the nose, deep-set eyes, and exceptionally long eyelashes. Squinting down at someone now, cold light shot out from beneath his eyelashes like a venomous snake locking onto its prey. His lips were thin with very pale coloring, making him look ruthless, cold, and immensely gloomy.
He propped one knee on the edge of the bed, reached out, roughly grabbed Qin Duoye’s chin, and heavily dragged his thumb across Qin Duoye’s lip corner.
The man’s hand was covered in calluses from martial arts practice, and after the friction across the corner of his mouth, that patch of skin was visibly reddened.
Qin Duoye slightly frowned, a flash of cold light vanishing from his eyes.
Audacious.
“Self-proclaimed upright scholars…” Qin Duoye watched the man retract his hand, a trace of red staining the thumb’s pad, and listened as he muttered to himself with a hint of sarcastic amusement: “Waters of emperors flow, iron-clad gentry remain; with all that lofty integrity, you’d even bite your tongue to commit suicide.”
Bite his tongue to commit suicide?
The tongue in Qin Duoye’s mouth moved slightly.
Intact, completely uninjured.
Except for a faint, very special, bitter taste.
“Stunned?” Seeing Qin Duoye didn’t react, the man suddenly moved to shove him backward onto the bed, looming over him to press down upon his body. With one hand pinning his shoulder and the other pinching his jaw to force him to look up:
“Minister Wen also possessed lofty integrity, yet in the end, didn’t he still end up reduced to my male concubine?”
A, a male concubine?!
Qin Duoye’s rigid expression suddenly cracked slightly, his eyes widening marginally as his voice carried a hint of shock and faint anger: “You say I am a male concubine?”
“I?” He raised a brow, seeming to have heard something extremely amusing. “Ha, Wen Qinghe, are you beaten stupid? You dare refer to yourself as Zhen, so who am I, Qin Xuanxiao?”
“Qin Xuanxiao.” Qin Duoye repeated this unfamiliar name. Lowering his gaze, he suddenly realized that his exposed chest was smooth and even; the scars he had earned campaigning in the northern borderlands during his youth had vanished completely.
This frail body, unseasoned by warfare and tempering, was not his own.
Qin Duoye had felt that something was twelve-parts wrong from the moment he woke up. Now, thoroughly grasping his current situation, the abrasive touch of the thumb against his skin and the restrictive confinement of the pure gold shackles on his wrists and ankles all reminded him that this was no dream.
So he was no longer the Emperor of Great Wei, but had instead become an ordinary civil official. This minor official must have offended the emperor somehow, and the emperor, in a fit of anger, abducted him into the palace to serve as a male concubine.
If he wasn’t the emperor, so be it; if he became someone else, so be it; the male concubine matter aside for now—Qin Duoye only wanted to know how Great Wei was faring.
He wondered if his silly younger brother, Qin Zezhi, could shoulder the responsibility of the throne.
Qin Xuanxiao lowered his gaze to watch the person beneath him freeze in a daze, assuming the man had been frightened out of his wits. Suddenly losing interest, he loosened his grip, patted Qin Duoye’s face casually, and prepared to dismount the bed.
Abruptly, his wrist was seized. Qin Xuanxiao lowered his head to meet a pair of deep, dark pupils. The gaze was extraordinarily bright, yet the iris was jet-black and bottomless at a glance. Still water running deep, carrying an unyielding majesty.
Although his appearance carried a frail paleness, this pair of eyes forcefully elevated his entire presence by a notch. Something felt different, causing Qin Xuanxiao to locate a faint, fluttering thrill deep within his soul.
Qin Xuanxiao’s thoughts felt as though a handful of fluffy dry grass had suddenly been tossed on them; touched by a spark, they began to burn frantically.
He suddenly developed an interest in Qin Duoye, curving his lips as he carefully appraised him.
Qin Duoye had never believed in ghosts and deities; soul-switching was simply too explosive. He fabricated a lie: “I… seem to have lost some memories. What dynasty and what year is this?”
Qin Xuanxiao replied, “Wei, fourth year of Tiancheng.”
If other ministers and palace attendants had seen the emperor answering questions so obediently, they would have been incomparably shocked, then scrambled to their knees to kowtow and beg the tyrant for mercy.
Anyone who knew Qin Xuanxiao understood that whenever this capricious emperor conversed with someone in such a pleasant mood, it meant that person’s life was drawing to a close.
Yet Qin Duoye remained entirely oblivious. He had never heard of this reign title, meaning his soul hadn’t traveled backward in time, but rather into the future.
Still the Wei Dynasty… That was fine.
Qin Duoye breathed a sigh of relief.
Qin Xuanxiao tilted his head. Seeing Qin Duoye’s indifferent attitude, he didn’t get angry. Instead, he casually grabbed the person’s loose, jet-black hair and began to toy with it in his hand.
Suddenly, the clamor outside the door resumed.
A voice shouted with all its might: “Your Majesty—if you do not retract your decree today, this old subject will smash his head against the stone steps before your sleeping quarters!”
Another voice shrieked loudly: “Your Majesty! Ancestral precepts of the Wei Dynasty have never included appointing former dynasty officials as inner-palace male concubines! This simply defies the ways of state scholarship, Your Majesty! We earnestly implore Your Majesty to retract the decree!”
Qin Xuanxiao’s expression suddenly darkened: “I spared a few, and they really thought I was easygoing, huh? Courting death.”
As Qin Duoye pondered, he suddenly saw the emperor before him ruthlessly pull the sword from his waist, rising in anger. The cold gleam of the blade flashed across Qin Duoye’s eyes.
The sword emitted a cold, piercing light, freezing and stark from head to toe, resembling the moonlight and jade beads hanging inverted from the evening sky.
This is!
Qin Duoye’s pupils trembled.
My Zhige Sword!
Having personally led campaigns and even killed enemies on the battlefield himself in the past, Qin Duoye’s battleground trials made him extremely sensitive to killing intent.
Qin Duoye saw it instantly: Qin Xuanxiao intended to kill!
There was no time to hesitate. Qin Duoye sprang up from the bed, his wrist flicking as the decadent golden chain instantly wrapped around the blade of the Zhige sword.
The sharp blade cleaved downward, severing the golden chain in an instant!
Pulling back with leverage, Qin Duoye wrenched the Zhige from Qin Xuanxiao’s grip, and Qin Xuanxiao spun around abruptly.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The next second, Qin Duoye tackled Qin Xuanxiao to the floor, gripping the Zhige. With a squeak, the sword point stabbed into the floor, less than an inch from Qin Xuanxiao’s neck.
The cold light reflected in Qin Duoye’s jet-black eyes.
That speed and reaction were definitely not something an ordinary civil official could execute. Qin Xuanxiao reined in his expression and said coldly, “What kind of person are you?”
Overlooking Qin Xuanxiao from above, pinning his hands down, a trace of fury welled up within Qin Duoye as he sneered: “I am your ancestor!”