The broken golden chains swayed, tumbling down alongside the red thin gauze draped across Qin Duoye’s shoulders. The ends bounced lightly with the momentum of his recent movement, back and forth, gently brushing against Qin Xuanxiao’s cheek.
Qin Xuanxiao was pinned face-down to the floor with his hands twisted behind his back. Qin Duoye pressed heavily against his back, his other hand gripping the hilt of the Zhige sword. The web of his thumb and forefinger tingled numbly, and his thighs and arms trembled slightly from the excessive exertion.
Feeling the frailness of his current body, Qin Duoye could not help frowning.
Using a body that was not his own took some getting used to. This scholar’s body was utterly devoid of strength, pale-skinned and desperately thin without an ounce of meat on him.
Qin Duoye could not help reminiscing about his original body. That body had been truly robust and vigorous. When he galloped across the northern border battlefields, he could wield a thirty-pound heavy halberd and a grand banner one in each hand. Later, in the Zhenghe Hall, he could go without sleep for days on end reviewing memorials and autumn examination papers submitted by the Ministry of Rites.
As for this frail little scholar, he could take down one with every punch.
The phrase “I am your ancestor” had been hurled with excessive emotional intensity. Its lingering echo reverberated back and forth within the spacious and silent hall.
“You are your ancestor.”
“Your ancestor.”
“Ancestor.”
“Cestor.”
The echoing word “ancestor” reduced the two people in the inner hall to silence.
Qin Duoye: “”
The eunuch standing with his back to them at the palace doors, waiting to serve, suddenly heard the commotion. Turning his head, he saw his emperor pinned to the ground with a sharp blade resting against his neck. He was so frightened his soul nearly left his body. Tossing his whisk aside, he clutched his face and screamed, “Your Majesty, ahhh, someone come! Protect—”
“Shut up!” Qin Xuanxiao snapped angrily, his face still pressed against the floor.
The eunuch looked like a chicken with its neck wrung. The word “protect” cut off mid-stride as he met the murderous glare in Emperor Qin Xuanxiao’s eyes. He abruptly swallowed the final syllable, letting out a single, strangled “ga” sound before sealing his lips.
Silence fell over the hall once more, heavy as death.
Qin Xuanxiao let out a furious, dry chuckle. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the chilling gleam of the sword blade, followed by the red gauze and golden chains that were still brushing against his cheek.
A sudden sense of crisis welled up in Qin Duoye’s heart. He moved immediately, intending to find a more secure way to pin the other person down.
However, this body’s reactions were a bit sluggish and its strength lacking. A mere second of distraction was all it took for the world to flip upside down in a flash. Amidst the struggle for the Zhige sword, his wrist was pried open by a forceful grip. Unable to break free, Qin Duoye twisted his wrist, brought two fingers together, and struck the blade of the sword with a sharp, crisp crack.
Everything happened in an instant. Their positions reversed in a flash. Qin Duoye found his throat gripped and was pressed to the floor, both his hands bound together as Qin Xuanxiao seized the ends of the broken chain.
Clang.
The Zhige sword slipped from their wrestling hands, flew out, and clattered against the floor a short distance away.
Striking the ground completely unprotected, the impact left Qin Duoye dizzy and disoriented, his vision clearing only after a few moments.
He saw Qin Xuanxiao looking down at him from above, his narrow eyes slightly squinted. Gazing down at him, his expression carried a mocking amusement, much like a large, provoked beast.
The man parted his thin lips slightly, leaning down to speak right beside Qin Duoye’s ear. His cool breath brushed against the side of Qin Duoye’s face as he asked in a soft voice, “Is Scholar Wen attempting to commit regicide?”
With his throat pinned, Qin Duoye was forced to tilt his head back, his line of sight catching a scratch across Qin Xuanxiao’s shoulder.
The dark fabric of his robe had been sliced open, leaving a thin, long scratch across his shoulder blade. Blood slowly seeped through the wound, soaking into the black cloth until a few droplets formed and slid downward, dropping with a soft pat right onto the bridge of Qin Duoye’s nose.
Judging by the look of it, it must have been a wound sustained during their struggle for the sword just moments ago.
Qin Duoye chuckled softly as well, lifting his gaze to meet those gloomy phoenix eyes. His tone of voice, however, was exceptionally cheerful: “The edge of the Zhige sword remains just as sharp as it was back then.”
The moment he laid eyes on the Zhige sword, Qin Duoye knew his soul had traveled forward to a later era of the Great Wei Dynasty.
The Zhige sword was a precious blade commissioned when he was still a young crown prince in his teens. His father had accidentally discovered a pitch-black yet incredibly hard piece of meteorite iron in the northern borders and posted a public recruitment for a master swordsman to forge a sword for him.
Back then, he had been full of eager enthusiasm, running off to the master’s workshop whenever he had spare time to watch the forging process. The blazing fire and repeated quenching filled the entire workshop with swirling white smoke, and he himself had ended up looking like a lump of charcoal from darting around the coal dust.
His father had told him back then, “I am having this made in advance for your coming-of-age ceremony. Do you like it? Give the sword a name.”
In those days, the northern borders were engulfed in the flames of war. Though Qin Duoye was only sixteen, he stood tall like a bamboo stalk. The wind, sand, and grasslands of the north had tempered the youth with boundless fearlessness and heroic spirit. Dressed in deep red warrior robes, galloping on a fine horse with his spirits high, his brows and eyes brimmed with vitality.
Tossing his high ponytail back, a thrilled, youthful, and clear voice rang out from him: “Zhige! Father, name it Zhige. To halt the fires of war, to use military force to stop battles, and bring peace to the realm!”
Only, Qin Duoye never got to receive the Zhige sword directly from his father’s hands as a coming-of-age gift. An imperial edict summoned his father to the capital city, and he never returned.
Later, he traveled to the capital alone, ascended the throne, and later still, led campaigns in person. He always brought Zhige with him, turning it into a true sword of the Son of Heaven.
It was bound to be passed down through generations, he supposed. He had specifically instructed Qin Zezhi before his death that Zhige must never be buried in his tomb; instead, the spirit of the famous sword needed to be passed on.
With Zhige in Qin Xuanxiao’s hands now, the man’s imperial identity was undoubtedly genuine.
He just wondered whose descendant this young emperor happened to be.
He looked like whom, exactly? He bore not a single resemblance to anyone in the Qin family. At the moment, frowning and casting sharp, hawklike glances about him, his facial features carried a thoroughly gloomy expression.
Relying on the seniority of his bloodline, Qin Duoye began scrutinizing his descendant’s features with an increasingly critical eye. Why did this child look so fierce at such a tender age?
“What ‘back then’?” Qin Xuanxiao raised an eyebrow as he looked at the person beneath him, suddenly detecting a trace of an elusive, unquantifiable aura about him.
These eyes were far too calm.
It was as if he had witnessed the turbulent whirlpools at the center of political power, and had also gazed upon vast, open horizons where blowing sands swallowed horse hooves. In a casual glance, those starry eyes seemed to encompass all of mortal existence, having seen enough of dazzling grandeur and fleeting beauty, yet remaining as tranquil as an ancient, waveless well. At the same time, amidst the sediment of decades of authority, flashes of youthful vigor unbefitting his age would occasionally burst through.
Qin Xuanxiao wondered if he had gone mad in that instant. He always felt as though the gaze of the person beneath him did not belong to a terrified minor official facing the Son of Heaven, but rather carried the indulgent tolerance of someone looking at their own mischievous child.
I must have gone blind, otherwise who would dare look at me like that?
As if burned by a spark, Qin Xuanxiao released the hand gripping Qin Duoye’s neck. Feeling as though he had lost the upper hand in terms of momentum, he reached out again, pinching Qin Duoye’s chin and forcing it upward.
Qin Duoye found that this brat possessed considerable physical strength. The pinch of his index and middle fingers on his chin was entirely merciless, and it was probably already red. Finding it amusing, he relaxed, letting his head naturally tilt back along with Qin Xuanxiao’s force. Relinquishing all tension in his body, he lay flat on the floor, watching the young emperor before him with casual interest.
Qin Duoye had never experienced a scenario where his soul detached from his body and wandered into future eras; it felt remarkably entertaining.
It reminded him of the days when he used to match wits with the Palace Attendant, slipping out of the palace in civilian clothes whenever the chance arose to buy a few jugs of Immortal’s Guide, finding a bustling tavern or a crowded inn, randomly striking up a conversation with strangers, ordering fine dishes through the waiter, and sharing strong liquor. Everyone would grow familiar quickly, boasting and spinning wild tales about the wider world while wine cups clinked together with crisp sounds, blending into the sudden outbursts of hearty laughter before drifting far away.
When everyone was thoroughly drunk, Qin Duoye would quietly slip away, settle the tab, return to the palace, and submerge himself once more in the towering stacks of memorials and documents on his desk—Lingnan’s new fields, the Luoshui Dam.
It was as if the recent liveliness had never happened. The palace remained dead silent, with only the lamplight flickering over his desk. Late into the night, the serving eunuch would respectfully step forward to trim the wick.
Darkness enveloped the massive palace, profound and still. The maids and eunuchs nodded off in slumber. Candle flames swayed, and behind the dragon-carved desk, a solitary, unyielding figure stood resolute, acting as the strongest backbone of the Great Wei.
If Qin Duoye had his own choice, he would still prefer not being an emperor, galloping across the northern grasslands, as free as the wind.
Yet, once the responsibility rested upon his shoulders, he had to endure the solitude of walking forward alone.
Fortunately, Qin Duoye was someone adept at finding amusement for himself.
Just as he was doing now, he found the novelty of possessing someone else’s soul immensely fun. Being an official or a male favorite were roles he had never experienced before.
Let’s play along.
“Your Majesty, could you release this humble subject so we may speak civilly?” Qin Duoye instantly shifted into the persona of a petty official, softening his tone.
“Oh? Does the Minister wish to tell me something?” Qin Xuanxiao noticed the trace of undisguised excitement in the eyes of the man beneath him, and a sense of intrigue was suddenly hooked within him.
He was feeling rather excited himself.
Suddenly, Qin Xuanxiao reached out to cover Qin Duoye’s eyes.
Plunged into sudden darkness and baffled by Qin Xuanxiao’s intention, Qin Duoye blinked, his eyelashes sweeping against the skin with a slight sensation of friction. He struggled with his hands, but finding he could not break free, he simply relaxed his body again and asked, “What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?”
After covering the eyes of the person beneath him, Qin Xuanxiao suddenly understood what that vague, creeping sensation in his heart had been.
It was too disjointed.
This Wen Qinghe.
If his eyes were covered, the appearance and bearing presented to Qin Xuanxiao were entirely those of a timid, weak minor official who had been scared out of his wits under his command—silent and inconspicuous. Prior to today, Qin Xuanxiao had not even remembered such a person existing in the imperial court.
Those old fogeys wanted to force a marriage upon him, yet lacking the guts themselves, they actually picked a vanguard to test the waters. How cowardly. Qin Xuanxiao held them in utter contempt.
He had killed quite a few people during the early days of his ascension, establishing a firm deterrence, and killing more served little purpose. However, if he did not take some action, those old men would likely assume he was backing down, and then he would never have a moment of peace during morning court, forced to listen to them drone on about petitioning the emperor to select a consort and establish an empress—utterly insane.
Thus, Qin Xuanxiao had watched with cold detachment as the selected minor official trembled and stammered through a memorial, frightened nearly out of his wits by nothing more than a single glance from him.
Qin Xuanxiao had sneered inwardly. He was a thoroughly soft persimmon.
Since Wen Qinghe had been picked to be the scapegoat, he would make use of him before putting him to death.
Qin Xuanxiao’s original intention had never been to actually keep a male favorite for amusement, but rather to use this stunt to lift the roof off those old fogeys who constantly babbled about Confucian righteousness and filial piety, effectively stopping anyone from forcing him further.
Yet, Qin Xuanxiao suddenly felt inclined to change his mind.
Those eyes seemed to hold something different the moment he stepped into the hall.
Either this minor official had completely lost his mind from fright, or he had finally stripped away his submissive disguise.
The former was boring; the latter held a bit of interest.
Qin Xuanxiao abruptly pulled his hand away from Qin Duoye’s eyes, locking gazes with them once more.
Through those deep pupils, Qin Xuanxiao seemed to catch a glimpse of a mighty soul, transcending ages of brilliant splendor, gazing at him from afar.
An emperor’s soul resonated with it.
Qin Xuanxiao’s gaze darkened abruptly. Looking down at the seemingly obedient person beneath him, a desire quietly sprouted.
What if I actually make him a male favorite?