Fu Yi ascended the throne at the age of sixteen, a frail and scholarly young emperor with no support inside or outside the court.
There was no more tempting existence in the world than such a solitary, young, and unmarried emperor.
The palace was filled with beauties, and new ones were constantly being sent in, like swaying blossoms and delicate branches in the three palaces and six courtyards.
With so many beauties, there were naturally all kinds of personalities. Plump or slender, each had their own unique charms.
Thus, what he encountered most were various forms of seduction.
The weather today was truly excellent. In the afternoon, as the sun shifted slightly, Kuang Xuexian moved the small table to another spot, brought out the small stove, boiled a pot of water, and brewed the purple bud tea he had bought earlier.
He opened the jar of wine and explained, “Since we can’t go out to play today anyway, having a little wine and basking in the sun in spring is the most comfortable.”
Fu Yi nodded and said, “I’ll pour for you.”
Kuang Xuexian called out to Li Qing, “You sit down too.”
Li Qing sliced another plate of beef, arranged a dish of dried fruits, and sat down opposite Fu Yi and Kuang Xuexian. Thanks to Master Kuang, he actually received wine poured for him by the emperor himself.
The daughter’s red wine, aged for over a decade, had a much higher alcohol content than phoenix wine, with a rich and fragrant aroma.
Kuang Xuexian’s alcohol tolerance was decent, but he was prone to blushing when drinking. Already slightly tipsy, after just a few more sips, even his ears turned bright red.
He had a cool and aloof appearance. Earlier, when Wang Baobao was present, Fu Yi noticed the flush of wine on his cheeks and felt an unusual warmth compared to usual. Now, having discerned his intentions, it seemed difficult for him to maintain the demeanor of a cheerful gentleman; his eyes grew somber as well.
Kuang Xuexian’s “seduction” could hardly be called seduction; it seemed as if he drank merely to bolster his courage.
He was likely an extremely traditional and gentle man, incapable of seductive actions, yet desire had emerged like a flickering flame, spreading like the flush of wine to his brows and eyes. He glanced at Fu Yi from time to time, then looked away.
As he drank, Kuang Xuexian wondered how to naturally ask Fu Yi if he wanted to move into the main room.
He also thought, should they go through a proper wedding ceremony?
He was growing a bit impatient.
Now, under the sun, he secretly observed Fu Yi—so young and clean, not touching a drop of alcohol himself yet sitting beside them, pouring wine for him and Li Qing.
So well-behaved, so obedient. Even Li Qing seemed honest in his eyes. The prayer beads on Li Qing’s wrist looked well-worn and polished, smooth and glossy. Truly, like master, like servant—both equally simple and well-behaved.
He clinked glasses with Li Qing and chatted casually, “When did you start following him?”
Li Qing held his cup very low, and after clinking, he turned slightly to take a sip, his posture extremely humble, always mindful of his role as a male servant. “This servant has only been with the master for four years.”
Kuang Xuexian was somewhat surprised and looked at both of them. “I thought you had been with him since childhood.”
Li Qing smiled and said, “My elder brother has been with the master since childhood. I came to the master’s side in the first year of Tianfu.”
Kuang Xuexian then asked, “Does your whole family work for the Zhang family, or…”
Seeing that Fuyi showed no intention of stopping him, and emboldened by the wine, Li Qing began to tell Kuang Xuexian about his family background. “Actually, I’m originally from Dingzhou. My family had many siblings, and my parents couldn’t afford to raise us all, so they sold my brother and me to an official from the capital. Later, that official got into trouble, and after many twists and turns, my brother and I ended up in the master’s household.”
With his cheerful and plump appearance, he recounted these old stories with a smile.
“And what about your brother?”
Li Qing’s smile faded slightly. “He’s somewhere else now.”
He paused before adding, “Young master, don’t ask about me anymore. Don’t you want to ask about my master?”
Kuang Xuexian glanced at Fuyi and said, “No, I don’t. I’ll wait for him to tell me himself.”
Fuyi remarked, “If I tell you too much, you might not want me anymore.”
Kuang Xuexian chuckled softly, his face flushing even more. Feeling the sunlight too harsh, he shifted slightly toward the doorway, lowering his voice as he said, “I won’t abandon you.”
Fuyi replied, “That’s what you say now.”
Kuang Xuexian, his face still red, insisted, “I mean it.”
Fuyi tilted his head. “Do you like me that much?”
At the mention of “like,” Kuang Xuexian felt a bit embarrassed, especially in front of Li Qing. Still, he nodded, his face flushing crimson as he broke into a smile. He reached for the wine jar, but Fuyi stopped his hand, leaning over to pour him another cup instead. Kuang Xuexian grasped Fuyi’s hand and said, “Your hands are always so cold.”
The golden sunset bathed them in its light, and Li Qing felt he truly shouldn’t be there at that moment. Though he was a eunuch, he could see that Kuang Xuexian was radiating a tender, affectionate glow, as if thoroughly intoxicated.
He thought to himself that Kuang Xuexian’s promises might be fragile, and the emperor probably didn’t truly believe them, but his affection was genuine—and perhaps that was all the emperor wanted. He noticed the emperor gazing intently at Kuang Xuexian under the sunlight, hardly ever looking away.
As Kuang Xuexian grew increasingly drunk, the emperor leaned back lazily in his chair, his phoenix eyes fixed on him. His pupils, tinted amber by the sunset, gleamed with a translucent light, and a faint smile played on his lips.
In that moment, Li Qing believed he was truly Zhang Ji.
“The paper bush flowers are about to bloom,” Kuang Xuexian said.
Suddenly, the emperor spoke, “When the flowers bloom, let’s get married.”
This caught not only Kuang Xuexian but also Li Qing off guard.
But the wine had taken its effect, softening and moistening the young master’s heart. Li Qing heard Kuang Xuexian whisper softly, “Alright.”
Li Qing glanced at the paperbush tree in the courtyard. With the recent warmth, the buds had become more prominent, and some branches already bore specks of golden yellow. Paperbush flowers were also known as “joy flowers,” likely because their name evoked thoughts of marriage, and their fragrance was exceptionally strong. In folk tradition, people would tie knots in the branches as a wish for “eternal union.”
At that moment, he wasn’t sure whether to hope the flowers would bloom quickly or slowly.
Fuyi reached for the half-empty cup Kuang Xuexian had been drinking from. “Let me have a taste.”
He rarely drank, as his illness forbade it. After taking a sip, Kuang Xuexian suddenly sobered slightly from his tipsiness, remembering his condition. Leaning closer, he stared at Fuyi and asked, “Can you drink?”
His face was flushed, his ears were red, and even his eyes were glistening. His petal-like lips looked tender and fresh, his entire being exuding an alluring softness and warmth.
He appeared so gentle, kind, and compliant—like someone who would bite his own lip and sit astride his husband to rock, like someone who, even when thoroughly used, would only tenderly reach out to wipe his husband’s sweat.
So tempting, truly tempting. What does repression produce?
It produces twisted emotions, it produces pent-up desire.
But for Fu Lie, it produced malice.
He remembered the first palace banquet he attended after ascending the throne. Back then, he had just become a puppet on strings. Through a curtain as thin as mist, he caught the rich fragrance wafting from the noble men and women, heard their boisterous laughter. Perhaps their excessive joy displeased him greatly. He wanted to kill them all.
A malice born from resentment—why could others live like this, while he could not?
Amidst the music of strings and flutes, he fantasized about rivers of blood flowing down the steps, corpses piled into a mountain higher than the palace, and felt a rush of pleasure as if the scent of blood were washing over him.
Now, a different kind of malice was taking root.
Look at Kuang Xuexian’s pure and captivating face. Even his desires were gentle, restrained, like flowers hidden in a box.
He wanted to crush those flowers, chew them into pulp, and devour their decaying fragrance. He wanted to corrupt such a sweet, delicate gentleman. nTo see him broken.
The thought of breaking him was even stronger than the desire to cherish him. It didn’t matter if he broke—they could break together, become the same kind of people, and never part again.
He truly was a deranged tyrant. Kuang Xuexian’s scolding was right. No one understood his own malice more clearly than he did.
Kuang Xuexian was finally truly drunk. His consciousness remained, but he could no longer speak. The last rays of the setting sun were gradually blocked by the eaves of the western wing, and the dark, cold spring night was about to descend. By the time Fu Lie carried him in his arms toward the main chamber, he had grown quiet. Unable to act seductively or utter words of invitation, in this ambiguous moment, silence itself was a form of expression. Li Qing followed, spreading out the quilt. Fu Lie placed him on the Luohan bed, sat down at the bedside, removed his outer robe, and tucked him under the covers.
Li Qing had already withdrawn. He returned to the entrance of the eastern wing, sealed the stove, and took the prayer beads from his wrist to roll between his fingers.
Fu Lie no longer smiled, sitting heavily at the bedside. Kuang Xuexian’s hand clutched his sleeve, refusing to let him leave.
If he had even a shred of remaining conscience—or rather, the newly sprouted conscience within him—he should have felt pity. But his soul had long grown cold and dark, and that tiny conscience could neither warm nor illuminate him.
That shred of conscience was only enough to make him sit with his back turned for half a moment.
Kuang Xuexian watched as Fu Lie turned around and asked him, “Kuang Xuexian, can I do anything to you?”
He felt that Fu Lie’s face was still the same, but the aura around him seemed different from usual. Motionless, he looked down at him, no trace of gentleness in his expression—instead, he seemed filled with a predatory aggression, inexplicably reminding him of that night at the Phoenix Mountain lantern festival when Fu Lie wore a Rakshasa mask, only a pair of pitch-black eyes staring at him.
“I accepted your betrothal gifts, so naturally… you can do… anything.”
He found the mole on the tip of his nose utterly captivating. With that thought, he leaned in and kissed it. He had wanted to do this for a long time—such a clean, elegant gentleman, yet with a small mole on his nose, indescribably sensual, tempting him for ages.
He felt a twinge of shame but mustered the courage to say, “The mole on your nose is truly beautiful.”
After speaking, he brushed his lips against his. Seeing no reaction, he did it again. This time, the soft touch of their lips lingered longer, carrying a warm breath.
Fu Mi studied him and suddenly said, “Perhaps this between us is also destined by fate.”
Kuang Xuexian didn’t understand the deeper meaning behind Fu Mi’s words, taking them only as a moving declaration of love.
Isn’t that how love confessions are in this world? Fate brought us together; perhaps the seeds of our connection were sown long ago in the unseen threads of destiny.
Fu Mi then removed his outer robe and slipped under the covers with him.
By now, the room had grown quite dark. In this season, at this hour, two men already entangled in ambiguity lay together on a single bed. Just holding each other was enough to stir warmth and passion. Emboldened by wine, desire burned within him, leaving his lips and tongue dry. The collar of his inner robe hung loosely, revealing half of his enticingly flushed collarbone. Without even looking, he knew the redness extended further down—his entire body, from head to toe, was likely flushed.
The usually reserved and gentle gentleman now seemed vibrant and fragrant, alive with color. This dragon, who had transformed into a refined and gentle man, now wanted to reveal his true nature.
Fu Mi wrapped his arms around him. Though his waist was slender, it was incredibly supple. His hand slipped directly into his trousers, grasping his buttocks.
Kuang Xuexian jolted, pulling away and turning to meet Fu Mi’s gaze. Perhaps due to the dim light, he found those eyes unnervingly dark and bright.
“What’s wrong?” Fu Mi asked him.
His expression held a kind of innocence, as if he were merely doing what was natural in that moment.
This… this was too direct.
Reaching out to touch that place just like that! As he floundered in embarrassment, unsure how to respond, Fu Mi suddenly leaned in, enveloping him completely. He buried his head against his neck and began inhaling his scent deeply.
Trapped in his embrace and subjected to such intense sniffing, Kuang Xuexian felt goosebumps rise all over his body in an instant.
The arhat bed was just spacious enough for one person to sleep comfortably, but with two, it felt cramped. As Fu Mi nuzzled and sniffed him, Kuang Xuexian grew disoriented, his senses spinning. Suddenly, his chin was grasped. Before he could react, Fu Mi’s tongue slipped into his mouth. When their wet, soft tongues met, Fu Mi seemed to stiffen for a moment, as if transformed into another person, suddenly fierce and demanding in his movements.
He struggled to catch his breath, wanting to pull back, but he was held firmly in place. Kuang Xuexian didn’t dare open his eyes, sinking into complete darkness. For the first time, he realized Fu Mi’s tongue was so sharp and long, agile like a serpent’s.
This was nothing like what he had expected. In his heart, Zhang Ji was gentle.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t fantasized about such things, but in his fantasies, Zhang Ji was always tender. He had even wondered if he might need to take the lead, given how proper Zhang Ji seemed.
He probably only knew the missionary position in bed. But he thought that would be fine too.
After all, what he loved was this version of Zhang Ji—refined, respectful, and gentle, like a slow-burning flame.
He felt almost suffocated. Fu Yi’s breathing grew rapid, and he could no longer bear it. He opened his eyes and pushed against Fu Yi’s neck.
His gaze met Fu Yi’s pitch-black eyes. Those eyes were truly dark, the pupils seeming to burst with ink-like intensity.
Panting, Fu Yi asked him, “Are you uncomfortable?”
“Too… too deep.” Kuang Xuexian wore a look of panic and confusion.
Fu Yi’s expression shifted, and he immediately leaned in to kiss him again. This time, he showed no restraint—instead, he was even more fervent than before. His tongue delved almost to the throat, the intense masculine scent flooding into him, more intoxicating than wine. An almost terrifying tingling sensation seemed to seep from his very bones. He couldn’t suppress a muffled sob, feeling as though his soul had been sucked right out of him.
Fu Yi didn’t feel out of control at all. He believed he had been exceptionally restrained.
The identity of Zhang Ji was his disguise, but it also constrained him. If he were acting as the emperor, he would have been utterly unrestrained.
Now, he was merely kissing here and there, not taking advantage of the other’s drunkenness to go further. Even though he had permission—he could do anything he wanted.
How many gentlemen in the world were as virtuous as him?
He gently smoothed Kuang Xuexian’s slightly disheveled hair with his fingers, gazing intently at his face.
Kuang Xuexian had already closed his eyes, seemingly unconscious, but his eyelashes still fluttered. Tear stains lingered at the corners of his eyes, his lips swollen, red, and glistening with moisture, exuding a humid, sensual beauty.
This was indeed more beautiful than he had imagined. Kuang Xuexian, usually so clean and composed, when slightly ravaged, could burst forth with such astonishing allure.
What if he were ravaged a little more? What if he were utterly unrestrained? Would he completely break down? Blooming fully in the filth.
He imagined him even more disheveled—long hair tangled and damp, his entire body like his lips at this moment.
Tears and saliva flowing together. Crying at the slightest distance from him.
Someone as delicate as Kuang Xuexian, who only wished to find an ordinary husband and live an ordinary life as a respectable man, would surely be easily tamed into such a state. Gently enduring all the misdeeds of his husband.
The more he thought this way, the more he pitied Kuang Xuexian. And the more he pitied him, the more excited he became, his entire body clamoring to become a merciless tyrant.
He took Kuang Xuexian’s fingers into his hand and sucked on them.
Outside, the sky had completely darkened, but the day had been clear, and now the moonlight was gentle and soft.
Li Qing had recited the sutras a few extra times today.
Amitabha, Amitabha, poor Master Kuang.
This truly is fate—to be noticed by the emperor, no one can save you.