Xiao Ci walked away after speaking his piece. Lu Moyun remained where he was, turning to watch his silhouette gradually vanish from sight.
A eunuch.
The sense of pressure he exerted was far too heavy.
A waste of effort?
It remained to be seen who would end up with nothing in the end.
Qin Ziyu lay on a soft chaise longue, eating a newly delivered tribute pear that made his mouth water with its sweetness. He closed his eyes to rest his mind, thinking about the information he had just received from Lu Moyun.
The original host was born with residual poison in his body—not fatal, but it would slowly destroy his internal organs. The longer time passed, the deeper the poison grew, until the body could no longer endure and fought a final battle with the toxins—a battle to the death. The best medical care in ancient times was essentially in the Imperial Palace; if a cure hadn’t been found in all these years, they were likely truly powerless.
The half-eaten pear in his hand rolled onto the table. Qin Ziyu leaned to one side; in his daze, he vaguely heard someone call him twice, but he simply couldn’t open his eyes.
“Is he always like this?”
Qing’an whispered from the side, “Yes. His Highness often falls asleep in the middle of a conversation, and he never sleeps soundly. He is always exhausted whenever he wakes.”
Xiao Ci looked down at the person on the chaise. The underfloor heating in the room was steaming; Qing’an, standing nearby, was already sweating, yet Qin Ziyu’s face was so pale it was bloodless, completely unable to feel the heat.
He finally understood why Qin Ziyu preferred gaudy colors—they served to make his complexion look better. Unlike now, as he lay quietly on the chaise, looking as if he might stop breathing at any moment.
“His Highness also said earlier that if there was news of the Governor, I must wake him.”
Xiao Ci waved his hand silently, and Qing’an bowed and withdrew.
The woody fragrance of the room diluted the scent of the pear. Qin Ziyu’s nose twitched, and his breathing grew slightly heavier. But he was still restless, his fingers twisting unconsciously, his brow furrowing as he murmured in his sleep. The voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. Xiao Ci leaned closer, but the sound vanished.
Just as he was about to straighten up, the lapel at his chest was suddenly grabbed.
Xiao Ci’s body tensed. The fine chains on his clothing became tangled. Below was a slender, white hand; because it rarely saw the sun, the veins on the back of the hand were very prominent.
“Don’t go…”
Breathing fell upon his face, feeling somewhat itchy.
“Don’t leave me…”
Xiao Ci did not move, watching him quietly. After a long while, he pulled off his outer robe; one corner remained in Qin Ziyu’s hand, while the rest was draped over him. Only after feeling the pressure around him lighten did Qin Ziyu truly fall into a deep sleep.
Occasionally, the sound of pages turning reached his ears. The friction of the paper allowed Qin Ziyu to have a long-distant beautiful dream. When he woke, he felt a sense of lingering longing; if the sound of a lecture had been added, he would have slept even more soundly.
Affected by his constitution, Qin Ziyu always felt a lack of energy, often falling asleep while talking to people. However, that was in a safe environment; the moment Xiao Ci appeared, he had actually woken up. Fortunately, his acting skills while dazed were quite good, and he had managed to fool the man.
The dark-blue outer robe slid off as he sat up. Qin Ziyu touched the soft material beneath his hand, feigning confusion.
“Why didn’t your lordship wake me when you arrived?”
Qin Ziyu’s voice naturally had a touch of softness. Due to his chronic illness, he never had a strong, resonant voice, and it was especially blurred when half-asleep—making Xiao Ci suddenly recall the name “Zizhen” that had fallen from Qin Ziyu’s lips in the Kaiyang Palace.
“Your lordship gave me your clothes. Aren’t you cold sitting out here alone?”
Although the entire Eastern Palace had underfloor heating, there was a difference between the main hall and side halls, or the inner chambers and the outer rooms. He usually only dared to be without an outer robe behind the screen; whenever he went out, he wrapped himself in layers like a zongzi (sticky rice dumpling).
Xiao Ci’s gaze passed through the screen, faintly seeing the silhouette on the other side. He shifted the subject: “Your Highness remembers my birth name. What else do you remember?”
“Mmm…” Qin Ziyu was stunned for a moment; the topic changed so fast he had to think.
“You weren’t even as tall as my chest back then.”
He gestured as he spoke: “Thin and scrawny, your little face was all dirty, but your eyes were exceptionally large, carrying a hint of ruthlessness when you looked at people.”
“Even though you were clearly starving, you were still so cautious, afraid of dirtying my hands. It wasn’t until I forcibly grabbed you that you came with me.”
Xiao Ci was only eight years old then. He was clearly a child, yet he acted like a little adult—neither crying nor making a scene. Some onlookers who wanted to cause trouble were scared off by Xiao Ci’s gaze and walked away cursing. Only when Qin Ziyu approached did Xiao Ci not glare at him with ferocity.
Qin Ziyu sighed: “I didn’t understand much back then. I thought there was food in the palace, which was better than being a starving refugee outside, and there were new clothes to wear.”
Xiao Ci lowered his head and let out a light laugh. If it were truly for his own good, he could have been arranged as a servant in a Prince’s manor or a Duke’s house. As long as he was industrious, he wouldn’t have starved. Did one truly have to enter the palace [as a eunuch] just to save one’s life?
He still remembered Qin Ziyu’s smiling face hypocritical to the extreme, disgusting to the extreme.
“Is that so? In that case, the multiple ‘reminders’ Your Highness gave me after I entered the palace were all to motivate me, wanting me to adapt faster and survive in the palace.”
Qin Ziyu didn’t know how to respond to that. Xiao Ci was full of sarcasm. Although the original host hadn’t personally raised a hand, he had allowed the people around him to kick and beat Xiao Ci. Because of his actions, Xiao Ci became a target for everyone to bully. Aside from physical torture, there was no lack of mental humiliation.
In the vast Imperial Palace, everyone was polite on the surface, but the hidden filth was as numerous as ox hairs. Old eunuchs who “took both men and women” would use their master’s favor to force others into becoming their “voluntary” partners (duishi). Not only did they grope palace maids, but they also had many ways of playing with young boys. Since they lacked “that thing,” they used all sorts of props—becoming as lewd as one could imagine.
He didn’t know if Xiao Ci had experienced that.
When he asked about godfathers and god-brothers last time, Qin Ziyu was also trying to fish for information. Now that Xiao Ci was below only one man and above ten thousand, no one knew of those shameful pasts except himself; even if they knew, they would pretend not to.
Qin Ziyu laughed awkwardly. Through the screen, things were unclear, and an inexplicable flame surged in Xiao Ci’s heart—the more he looked, the more an eyesore it became.
“Regarding those matters, I truly did you wrong.”
Qin Ziyu did not dodge. He needed to face the harm the original host had caused Xiao Ci. Only after the thorn is pulled can the wound heal; otherwise, it would only grow deeper, festering and bleeding repeatedly.
Xiao Ci’s eyelid jumped wildly. He had been angry for so many years, held a grudge for so many years, and been blocked up in his chest for so many years. He was clearly about to succeed; he could soon personally kill the person who brought him into hell. Yet that person had admitted his fault and was sticking to him like taffy. Despite hearing the apology he had dreamed of, he didn’t feel satisfied.
It must be that Qin Ziyu’s words were full of lies, making them feel surreal.
He put down the book in his hand, rose from the chair, and walked past the screen to see Qin Ziyu playing with the chain on his outer robe.
Qin Ziyu sheepishly withdrew his hand. “I didn’t break it. It’s perfectly fine.”
“I remember I was eating something when I fell asleep. I probably didn’t finish it. Where is it?”
When a person is embarrassed, they always appear particularly busy. Qin Ziyu searched the table for a long time, nearly staring a hole into the fruit plate, but couldn’t find the remaining half of the pear.
What’s wrong with Qing’an? He isn’t industrious when he should be, and he’s blindy industrious when he shouldn’t be!
Qing’an, staring from the outer hall, sneezed twice in a row.
Xiao Ci stood before the chaise longue, looking down at him. “If Your Highness wants to apologize, you should show some sincerity.”
“Sincerity?” Qin Ziyu didn’t understand; he felt he was being very sincere. “What should I do?”
Xiao Ci leaned halfway down, the distance between the two narrowing bit by bit.
“For example,”
“Your Highness’s honest words.”
Qin Ziyu was even more confused. “Every word I say is from the heart.”
“Is it?” Xiao Ci sneered, pinching Qin Ziyu’s chin and turning it left and right, admiring it for a moment. “It’s a pity Your Highness’s neck isn’t fastened with a chain.”
Such a fair neck should be fastened with a dog chain, locked in a room, where he would only wag his tail and beg for mercy toward him.
Qin Ziyu: “…”
“So your lordship likes to play with ‘excitement’?”
“You should have said so earlier!”
He exhaled, thrusting his neck forward and blinking at Xiao Ci. “A black chain or a silver chain? Can you tie it a bit loosely? I’m afraid of pain.”
Xiao Ci abruptly let go, the disgust in his eyes beyond words.
Qin Ziyu rubbed his chin. He didn’t have a mirror, but he was certain his chin had been pinched red. Why use so much force? It wasn’t as if he were going to run!
“I know I did many wrong things in the past. It’s normal that you don’t believe me; actually, even I don’t want to believe it. But there is no logic to liking someone; one doesn’t know where it begins. By the time I realized it, those established facts could no longer be changed.”
“I want to do my best to make amends, only wishing for your lordship’s happiness.”
Xiao Ci took a step back, looking at him coldly.
“Is Your Highness not afraid of this ‘true sentiment’ reaching the Emperor’s ears?”
Qin Ziyu shook his head. “As long as I can obtain your lordship’s forgiveness, I am afraid of nothing.”
It was merely the reputation of being a “cut sleeve” (homosexual). Since the Emperor had already given up on him, he might as well let the abandonment be more thorough. Every dynasty had people who kept male favorites; the famous Founding Emperor of Han, Liu Bang himself, his son, and his grandson were all like that. It wasn’t unusual.
Xiao Ci asked, “If Your Highness takes a further step in the future and possesses the wealth of the world, all the beauties of the world will be yours.”
Qin Ziyu shook his head. “No. My heart is very small; it only has room for your lordship alone.”
“Furthermore, my body doesn’t allow for anyone else. One is already more than I can handle.”
“Your lordship doesn’t believe me?”
He watched Xiao Ci’s expression and reached out to untie his waistband.
“What are you doing!” Though Xiao Ci was surprised, he stood in place without moving.
Qin Ziyu unfastened his outer garment, his speed neither fast nor slow, peeling it back layer by layer like an onion. Just as Xiao Ci was about to turn away, his peripheral vision was suddenly snagged. Qin Ziyu hadn’t removed his clothes; he had only revealed a small patch of skin over his heart.
It was so white it seemed to glow, and upon it, a word was clearly printed in cinnabar:
Zhen.