Though the two spoke in low tones, many present overheard them.
It was true that their lax discipline of their children was a fault, but was Jia Shikai, son of Jia Liang, any better? Jia Shikai had not attended the Xi family banquet that day because an official had impeached Jia Liang for poor family governance, claiming Jia Shikai had brawled in a brothel. Jia Liang had then confined him at home, claiming he was bedridden after receiving family punishment.
Thinking of this, the ministers who had always looked to Jia Liang for leadership exchanged glances.
The power to decide who received a low-level official post through bribery ultimately lay with Jia Liang. If Jia Shikai truly was absent, was it because he was injured, or because Jia Liang knew trouble was brewing and deliberately kept his son from getting his hands dirty? They had followed Jia Liang for years, earning silver and offering gifts, all for the sake of their own future and that of their descendants.
With today’s incident, a quarter of the young scions in the capital’s elite circles were now ineligible for the imperial examinations. Even if the proportion of commoners allowed to take the exams were increased, there were few in the elite circle who could compete with Jia Shikai. Would he not be guaranteed a smooth entry into the bureaucracy? Based on the words of the Regent and the Emperor, the examination system was set to be reformed, making official entry far more difficult.
Jia Liang had remained untainted by today’s mess, appearing as an incorruptible Chief Councilor in the Emperor’s eyes, and Jia Shikai had avoided leaving a bad impression. Yet, when it came to bribery, corruption, and the exchange of money for power, these ministers were merely the blades in Jia Liang’s hand. The true culprit sat on high, while they—small fry who only ate the scraps that fell from his fingers—were left paying out money, enduring house arrest, and losing the chance for their children to take the exams. It was truly a case of losing both the wife and the soldiers.
Was Jia Liang’s detached demeanor today genuine, or had he known all along that they would be trapped? If the truth were ever exposed, would the Emperor believe they were acting under Jia Liang’s orders, or would he trust his own uncle?
When the group dispersed, they were silent. Only after leaving the Jingzhao Mansion did someone cover their mouth and whisper, “At least the Ministry of Revenue does not have to worry about finding the silver for the exams now.”
“We were set up.”
They had all assumed the two-headed cow incident was aimed at the Emperor, the Regent, or Jia Liang. They never expected that the rumor would be lifted with a heavy hand only to be set down gently, revealing that everything was aimed at the silver in their pockets.
If you want to know who orchestrated the play, just look at who gained the most.
A westerly wind picked up the fallen leaves. The warming weather turned cold again with this chill. With the Dragon Boat Festival approaching, the palace was bustling with preparations.
The Imperial Kitchen had a new head chef, especially skilled in delicate pastries. For the festival, he had specially prepared mugwort nests and Five-Poison cakes.
On a long screen painted with lush, dark-green trees, flowering branches bloomed with dazzling brilliance. Song Nanqing lay in a rocking chair with freshly washed hair. His silk-smooth, black hair was spread out on a wooden rack, each strand evenly fanned out to dry in the sun. He wore a light green robe, the gold thread embroidery reflecting the sunlight with vibrant radiance.
Chun Jian approached with the pastries, saying softly to Song Nanqing, who was drifting into sleep in the rocking chair, “Your Majesty, the Imperial Kitchen has prepared seasonal snacks. Would you like to taste them?”
The sun warmed his body. Song Nanqing lazily raised his arm, his sleeve sliding back to reveal a slender wrist. He reached out blindly with his eyes closed. His fingers touched nothing, but then something with a fresh plant scent brushed against his lips.
Song Nanqing opened his eyes quickly. Before he could voice a reprimand, he saw a familiar figure.
The man stood tall like a green pine, with the imposing presence of a mountain. His high-bridged nose was sharp as if carved by a knife, and his ink-black brows hid a cold severity, though his gaze burned intensely when fixed upon the boy. Shen Heng, having entered unnoticed, sat on a round stool beside him, holding a small mung bean cake to Song Nanqing’s lips.
Song Nanqing leaned against the rocking chair, looking up at him with round eyes, and took a small bite of the cake.
“The new chef is not bad.” He licked the crumbs from the corner of his mouth, his hair swaying on the rack as he did so.
Shen Heng reached out and stroked the hair. It was nearly dry, silky strands slipping through his fingers, accompanied by the lingering scent of soap-berry.
Song Nanqing took Shen Heng’s hand and lifted it, saying, “This is delicious! You should try some.”
The square cake had a bite mark on the corner. Shen Heng looked at it and then bit into the other half.
Song Nanqing rose, watching him intently with bright eyes, waiting for his feedback. His long, black hair slid off the rack and flowed into the air before falling onto his back. A breeze blew, lifting his light green hem, and the fresh, bath-scented air mingled with the wind.
“Not bad,” Shen Heng offered his opinion after finishing, casually picking up a cloth to wipe the crumbs from Song Nanqing’s mouth.
Song Nanqing was unsatisfied and hugged his arm, “It is clearly very good! Teacher, you are too picky.”
Shen Heng gathered the open collar of his robe and asked, “You like this chef so much?” His eyes darkened.
The sun shone on his exposed skin, giving it a hazy, lustrous glow. Song Nanqing had been lying carelessly, and his sudden movement made the collar feel uncomfortable. He pushed Shen Heng, causing the robe to fall open, revealing a large expanse of chest and collarbone.
“Fix your clothes. You are the Sovereign; what kind of appearance is this?” Shen Heng sat to the side, eyes lowered, his tone stern and displeased.
Song Nanqing looked down and pouted, unconvinced, “There is no one else here. Wearing layers upon layers is exhausting enough; can I not be comfortable in my own bedchamber? Teacher, you are so fierce!”
“I just helped you, and this is how you repay me?” Shen Heng pinched the edge of his collar, his voice unreadable, “For the Dragon Boat Festival, officials in the capital hold dragon boat races and sacrifices. Usually, the Jia family organizes it, but this year, the Xi family is also stepping up to hold it.”
Song Nanqing became interested. He set down his tea and leaned closer, “But these ceremonies usually only have one host. Since the Xi family is coming forward too, whose side is everyone going to?”
Shen Heng tapped his fingers on the edge of the rocking chair, his eyes dark and bright, “Naturally, the situation is exactly as you wished.”
Since most of the noble scions were punished for the two-headed cow incident, they harbored suspicions toward Jia Liang. Conversely, his arch-rival, the Xi family, was being re-employed by the Emperor, and for a major task like repairing the examination grounds, no less. Everyone knew that Jia Liang and Xi Wenkang had a long-standing feud. Compared to the double-dealing Jia Liang, most people chose to visit the upright Xi Wenkang this year.
They wanted to see if the Xi family could rise again, and they were disillusioned by Jia Liang’s treatment of them. If the Xi family rose, everything would change.
Song Nanqing’s eyes widened, a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. He looked at Shen Heng, his eyes dancing, “With you here, I naturally get whatever I want.”
“I am not going to the festival because the god is already right here in front of me.” He reached out to hug Shen Heng, tilting his face up with a smile. His round eyes curved into crescents, and the scent of his recent bath drifted toward the man.
Shen Heng pressed two fingers to his forehead to stop him from leaning in, whispering, “Do not try to please me. Tell me how you plan to repay me. Because of that play I put on for you at the Jingzhao Mansion, Jia Liang now wants me dead.”
Song Nanqing licked the corner of his mouth, saying quietly, “He has wanted to kill you for a long time; one more time does not make a difference.”
Shen Heng raised an eyebrow, “What did you say?”
“Nothing, nothing at all!” Song Nanqing’s voice softened. He did not mind the red mark left on his forehead by Shen Heng’s finger. He toyed with the tassel hanging from Shen Heng’s jade pendant, “Then tell me what reward you want.”
He could give him anything except this empire; but besides this empire, he seemed to have nothing.
Shen Heng looked down at the gap in his robes where Song Nanqing had pulled them, but he did not react, only saying earnestly, “I want His Majesty to tell me what you want to do next.”
The hand on the jade pendant froze, and Song Nanqing’s leg, which had been swaying on Shen Heng’s lap, stopped. His downcast eyes hid the roiling thoughts within. When he looked up again, his gaze was clear.
The cool jade pendant was warmed by his palm. Song Nanqing pulled on the pendant for leverage and sat right on Shen Heng’s lap. His limbs were slender, though he had plenty of padding where it counted. He sat in his lap and said, “I do not know about next steps, but I have wanted to sit here for a while.”
The fifth rule of the Ten Arts of Managing Men: when he asks you questions you do not want to answer, like who you went out with, which jewelry set you bought, or if you are missing an old flame, create physical contact, go to bed, and use your body to answer: “I am yours.”
His innocent face showed no hint of deceit. Song Nanqing’s damp hair hung behind him, and as he moved, a few strands brushed against Shen Heng’s nose, resting on his shoulder.
He sat sideways in his lap, one arm hung around Shen Heng’s neck, their body temperatures rising. The light green hem of his robe and Shen Heng’s ink-black sleeve layered together, matching the flower garden on the screen perfectly.
Song Nanqing’s eyes were beautiful, bright, amorous, and tipped with a hint of longing. He looked at Shen Heng’s left eye, then quickly lowered his lashes. His gaze swept over the man’s lips, then he slowly lifted his eyelids again. His amorous gaze was filled with a delicate shyness, his clear eyes shimmering with an unnamable anticipation and caution, slowly stirring the man’s emotions.
A crisp sound echoed. The superior-grade mutton-fat jade pendant, having been loosened by his tugging, fell to the floor and shattered in two.
Shen Heng pinched the soft flesh on his waist, his eyes perfectly calm. He mocked with a hint of a smile, “It seems someone is lying, and the gods have sent a punishment.”
Song Nanqing’s cheeks flushed red, and he gritted his teeth, “I will buy you another one.”
A warm, large hand stroked Song Nanqing’s soft, flushed cheek, only to have his index finger bitten by the frustrated boy.
Shen Heng hooked his finger and pushed it deeper. His hot, slippery oral cavity wrapped around the finger, but could not hinder the invasion. The sensitive palate was brushed lightly. Just once—the sudden, tingling itch sent shivers down Song Nanqing’s spine. He shuddered, drawing back his neck, but Shen Heng’s other hand grabbed his slender throat.
“Did I tell you to stop using these seductive little tricks on me?” Shen Heng stared into his rapidly moistening eyes, “You never learn. Does Qingqing think my temper is so good that I will not get angry no matter how you play?”
The finger pushed to the back of his throat made it hard to swallow and caused a gag reflex. Song Nanqing’s eyes turned red, filling with tears. Held by the throat, he could not move, emitting soundless, rhythmic gags. Saliva dripped uncontrollably from the corners of his mouth—miserable and overwhelmed, he wanted to escape.
The tingling friction on his palate had not faded, mixing with the current agony. The hand on his neck did not choke him but provided an unparalleled sense of control. Song Nanqing could not tell if he felt more pain or pleasure. He wanted to cry but could not make a sound with his mouth filled. He wanted to escape but was pulled back by the tightening fingers.
Wet marks dripped onto the ink-black sleeves, indistinguishable between saliva and tears. Shen Heng’s pitch-black eyes shimmered with a hint of amber in the light, taking in every detail of Song Nanqing’s beautiful, messy face, which was forced to roll back in ecstasy.
“Try dodging again?”