Shen Heng had confiscated all of Song Nanqing’s novels, packing them away and tossing them out. Song Nanqing was so furious that he ignored Shen Heng for days, even having him blocked and turned away whenever he tried to visit.
Shen Heng had been busy as well. With the Spring Ploughing Ritual approaching, he was presiding over various affairs at the Ministry of Rites. Incense burned incessantly in the Buddhist hall. After Song Nanqing chased him away a few times, Shen Heng grew too busy to visit, and the two had not seen each other for half a month.
With the Emperor and the Regent at odds, the palace appeared calm on the surface, but a storm of intrigue raged beneath.
As dusk fell, Song Nanqing sat under the palace lanterns and called for dinner. His shadow was cast upon the beige silk screen, and even the slight tremor of his hair was clearly visible in the dim light.
He lowered his eyes to the food on the table and asked, “I mentioned two days ago that I wanted plum-braised ribs. Why aren’t they here today?”
Chun Jian, who was serving the dishes, paused. He immediately summoned the head of the Imperial Kitchen.
The portly steward knelt and squeaked, “Your Majesty, please forgive me! The pickled plums in the palace were spilled a few days ago, and the new batch has not reached its peak flavor, so they were not prepared. However, this servant had braised ribs and steamed pork ribs with rice flour made instead. Perhaps Your Majesty would like to taste those?”
“Was that jar the only one available?” Song Nanqing asked, his face expressionless.
The steward lowered his head and murmured, “Previously, the plum-braised ribs were always made with plums pickled personally by the Regent. Since the last batch ran out, the Regent has not stepped foot in the Imperial Kitchen for half a month. Please show mercy, Your Majesty.”
Under the pale yellow lantern light, the illumination on Song Nanqing’s face was soft. He toyed with an emerald ring on the table, the jade clinking crisply against the wood.
He twirled a stray lock of hair, his voice steady. “So, without the Regent, your Imperial Kitchen cannot even prepare a dish that satisfies me.”
He did not show his anger openly, but the servants in the hall immediately knelt in a row, trembling in silence. Those in the palace were sensitive; the slightest breeze could cause them to act as if the world were coming to an end.
Song Nanqing lifted his index finger and spun the ring. In the candlelight, the jade was exceptionally clear, free of any impurities. It was a priceless treasure, and it fit his finger perfectly.
He despised when others used the guise of doing what is best for you to deliver vague, insinuating remarks. He had been forced to decipher enough hidden meanings from a young age; did he really need to be schooled by a chef today?
Without the Regent, he was merely a puppet without power, ready to be carved up. Regardless of whether his relationship with Shen Heng was good or bad, a vast group of people stood to lose or gain depending on the Regent’s influence.
Whether this was Shen Heng’s subtle instruction or the steward trying to curry favor with the Regent on his own initiative, Song Nanqing did not care. He simply needed to vent this frustration, or he would struggle to even breathe.
Chun Jian leaned in and whispered, “Your Majesty, the Spring Ploughing Ritual is at hand. It is bad luck to punish the kitchen staff at this time.”
Plowing, sericulture, grain, and weaving were the foundation of the state. The ritual was a major national event to pray for good weather and an abundant harvest. One could not punish the chefs, lest it offend the deities. They had certainly chosen their timing well. As Emperor, he could not afford to provoke misfortune. If the harvest failed, it would be seen as the Emperor failing to show compassion to the commoners, incurring the wrath of the heavens.
Song Nanqing suddenly curled his lips, though his smile did not reach his eyes. With a flick of his finger, he sent the exquisite, expensive emerald ring flying toward the steward.
“A reward for you.”
The priceless piece of jade was treated as if it were worthless trash.
The steward stood trembling, staring at the ring on the floor, not knowing what to do.
Chun Jian stood beside Song Nanqing and raised his voice. “Stunned by joy? Are you not going to thank your master for his reward?”
The steward had never seen such a magnificent treasure, and it was a personal gift from the Emperor! It was of immense significance; he would have to have it framed and passed down through generations. He kowtowed repeatedly, thanked the Emperor, and hurried off with the ring.
“After all that trouble, the food is cold. Should I have them prepare it again?” Chun Jian asked carefully.
Song Nanqing adjusted his ribbons. “No need. I have no appetite.”
Night had fallen completely. A crescent moon hung high, the surrounding stars dimmed by its glow. After the recent rains, some begonia petals had fallen, and the pink-white blossoms and green leaves swayed together in the wind.
Song Nanqing draped his arms over the back of the pear-wood chair, rested his head, and watched the moon. A section of his slender arm was exposed, and the sandalwood prayer beads slid down his wrist, clinking against his silver bracelet.
Plant a grain of millet in spring, harvest ten thousand seeds in autumn. The prelude to the Spring Ploughing Ritual began with the rite of the Emperor personally tilling the field.
The breeze was mild, and the sun had not yet reached its zenith. Ministers changed into linen robes and cloth shoes, following Song Nanqing as he finished listening to the Regent’s ceremonial address. The canopy had been removed, and the surrounding trees were sparse. In the garden filled with the scent of earth, a hoe was passed into Song Nanqing’s hands.
It was only on the day of the ritual that he finally saw Shen Heng after so many days. Even in the simplest attire, the Regent’s aura remained undiminished. His long hair was tied back cleanly, and he picked up the hoe with one hand before handing it to the Emperor.
Song Nanqing pressed his lips together and stretched out his arm elegantly. His silver bracelet chimed against the wooden handle. His slender wrist tightened, and the dark blue veins were visible beneath his fair skin.
He gripped the hoe, but as the weight pressed down, he swayed.
During the handoff, their fingers brushed, exchanging warmth. Song Nanqing felt a jolt. The heat reminded him of their accidental touch in the carriage, and he pulled his hand away quickly.
The hoe lacked the support of strength and could not stand. As Song Nanqing stood in the soft soil, swaying unsteadily, he began to tip over. Just as he was about to fall with the hoe, a powerful hand gripped his forearm.
He leaned against Shen Heng, the sunlight hitting his face.
After so many days apart, it was the same familiar scent, the same familiar voice.
“Be careful. The ground is uneven.” The low voice came from above. Leaning against the man’s chest, Song Nanqing could feel the resonance of his heart.
After all their bickering, Shen Heng acted as if nothing had happened, as if he were the only one suffering. Song Nanqing stood up awkwardly and made conversation just to fill the silence. “Have you been practicing martial arts these past two days?” The sensation of leaning against him felt slightly different than before.
He didn’t know what he was fussing about. Perhaps it was because he felt humiliated by being exposed by Shen Heng in the carriage, or perhaps because Shen Heng had teased him too much, or because his books had been burned, or because when he said Shen Heng didn’t have to come, Shen Heng really hadn’t. But one thing was certain: he did not like that no matter what happened, Shen Heng remained so calm and unmoved.
Shen Heng held the hoe and ensured Song Nanqing had a firm grip before letting go. He pointed at the ground. “If you want to learn martial arts, I can teach you. First, dig a hole here.”
Song Nanqing grunted and used the hoe to laboriously dig, half the soil flying onto his own feet.
Shen Heng tossed in a seed and commanded, “Now bury it.”
Song Nanqing stared at him, raising his voice. “Are you mocking me?”
“Farming is like this. It requires patience and a grounded approach. I remember showing you the Qimin Yaoshu before.” Shen Heng moved a step south, his clear eyes fixed on Song Nanqing.
Song Nanqing shrank his neck, digging in the next designated spot with his eyes darting away.
“You don’t read serious books, only those devious novels,” Shen Heng concluded.
Song Nanqing drove the hoe into the ground with force, but it would not budge. The ground beneath was hard. Refusing to believe it, he tried again, grumbling, “You never teach me anything, so I have to learn from novels.”
Seeing he could not dig through, Shen Heng took the hoe from him.
“What do you want me to teach you?” Seemingly remembering something, Shen Heng leaned over and looked at Song Nanqing. “In those novels, the noble lady saves the poor scholar and supports his studies until he passes the exam and returns to marry her. What is the result?”
Song Nanqing crouched down, watching Shen Heng dig through the hard patch. His robes trailed in the dirt, staining them, but he did not care. They shared a common trait: when faced with a difficulty, they insisted on tackling it. They were determined to break through this patch of earth.
Hearing Shen Heng speak on a subject within his expertise, Song Nanqing replied confidently, “Naturally, he betrays her! Poor scholars who study by candlelight are obsessed with achieving status. Once they pass the exam, they only think of climbing the social ladder.”
“So, you know,” Shen Heng said, his tone unreadable.
Bang! The hard ground was breached. A box was unearthed, buried deep, which explained why it had taken so long.
Song Nanqing stood stunned, not expecting to actually find treasure.
As the dirt was brushed off the black box, Song Nanqing crouched down to stare at it. The moment it was opened, the glint of gold caused him to squint.
It was a box of gold ingots!
Looking at the neatly arranged gold, Song Nanqing wiped the sweat from his brow, slammed the lid shut, and looked around vigilantly.
They had been planting while chatting, keeping some distance from the ministers. Everyone else was busy farming, competing to show off their hard work before the Emperor and Regent, so no one had noticed what happened.
Song Nanqing curled his eyes in delight as he hugged the black box, recounted the gold, and, pretending not to hear Shen Heng’s earlier comment, said, “I remember this place used to be where Grand Princess Shaoyang lived. The Grand Princess was Teacher’s mother, so she is naturally my relative! What is yours is mine, right?”
In the light, the youth’s face was exceptionally fair, with a smudge of mud he had accidentally wiped onto his forehead while drying his sweat. His face, rarely exposed to the sun, was glistening with a thin layer of perspiration, his eyes bright.
Hearing the mention of the Grand Princess, Shen Heng lowered his eyes.
His mother had been pampered since childhood and lived in the most luxurious quarters of the palace, but who could have foreseen that the brother who adored her would heartlessly send her to the grasslands for a political marriage, to an aging Khan? Marrying into the grasslands was a path of no return. The Grand Princess had perished in Khorchin, and the palace where she once lived was now desolate and changed.
“Chun Jian, come quickly and collect this. Put it in my private treasury.” Song Nanqing saw that Shen Heng had no intention of objecting and beckoned for Chun Jian.
Inside the plain black box, aside from the gold ingots, there were gold plates engraved with patterns. They were worn with time, but one could faintly see kirin-like motifs.
Song Nanqing wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and mused, “Who would bury gold? And it seems to have been here a long time.”
Chun Jian spoke up, “This servant heard that in the old days, palace concubines who were pregnant would bury gold in the backyard to pray for the child, symbolizing that gold cannot be traded.”
Shen Heng pulled Song Nanqing toward him, pulling a clean handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe the mud from his face. The fragrance of incense lingered on the cloth as it grazed his skin. Song Nanqing tilted his head, his hair tucked neatly away, the sweat at his temples wiped off.
He closed his eyes, glimpsing Shen Heng’s hazy face through the translucent cloth. The warmth of his fingers transferred through the fabric. The soft handkerchief felt much more comfortable than his linen sleeve.
While Song Nanqing enjoyed the Regent’s personal facial cleaning service, he asked Chun Jian, “I never heard of any concubines in the previous dynasty having a child in this vicinity.”
Chun Jian cradled the black box and, seeing Shen Heng’s gaze, lowered his head. “I was just babbling. Perhaps someone simply hid their own money.”
Song Nanqing swayed as he gripped the hoe. “Under the wide heaven, all is the King’s land. In any case, it is mine now.” He looked down at his dirty shoes and hem, frowning.
“I want to go back and bathe. Can Teacher plant the rest for me?”
Shen Heng took the hoe, his thin lips parting slightly. “When you have a need, you seek Zhong Wuyan; when you have no need, you seek Xia Yingchun.”
Song Nanqing grabbed his arm and shook it lightly. “I come to you whether I have a need or not! I hear the Qinglian Pool has been repaired. Teacher, do you want to join me and test the new hot spring?”