Spring weather is fickle. The morning was bright and sunny, but by afternoon, the cold wind began to howl. The sky turned overcast, and the clouds pressed down in heavy layers as if threatening rain.
In the Emperor’s bedchamber, lamps had already been lit in the outer hall. With the Emperor and the Regent inside the inner chamber, no one dared to enter and disturb them.
Song Nanqing hugged the arm locked around his neck, struggling and shaking his head in a plea for mercy. The awe-inspiring power and oppressive pressure in the man’s eyes made his skin crawl.
Accustomed to the gentle and indulgent Shen Heng, he had long forgotten the blood-soaked Regent who had washed the imperial city in slaughter. Or perhaps, he had learned long ago how to interact with Shen Heng to avoid touching his inverse scale. He knew exactly what to say to make him happy and what persona to perform to satisfy him. Shen Heng wanted a lively yet obedient puppet. Through the process of growing up, Song Nanqing had become adept at acting out this role, knowing exactly where the boundaries lay.
But utilizing affection was something he had never attempted before, and he had misjudged the scale.
Song Nanqing’s brain was deprived of oxygen. The tightening of the neck and the fingers deeply occupying his throat overwhelmed his senses; he could not escape.
Two fingers were slowly withdrawn from between his wet lips. A layer of crystalline, glistening liquid coated the distinct knuckles, stretching into thin threads that dripped downward.
A long silver thread connected his crimson lips to the man’s fingers. Shen Heng pressed his knuckles against Song Nanqing’s small, pouting lip-bead and said in a cold, low voice, “Lick it clean.”
Song Nanqing burst into tears. He shook his head, refusing. His once-smooth hair was now disheveled, and a lock of hair was dampened by saliva, sticking to his cheek as tears rolled down like pearls from a broken string.
Shen Heng tilted his head slightly, one hand controlling the boy’s head, and brought his wet fingers closer once more. With thin lips parted, he uttered a single word, “Lick.”
The dangerous aura was suffocatingly close; they could see their own reflections in each other’s eyes. Over the years, one had played the part of the gentle, scholarly teacher, and the other, the obedient, innocent young emperor. Yet, beneath that packaging, the burning ambition and ruthless cruelty were the same.
Song Nanqing wept until he was breathless. Ordinarily, the servants outside should have heard, but the palace was deathly silent; no one came to check.
His wet lips brushed against the knuckles. His soft tongue darted out only slightly, retreating as soon as it touched the joints. Song Nanqing was pinned in place, teardrops hanging from his lashes, his chin and neck covered in the saliva he could not control. He trembled uncontrollably, his cheek flicked by the saliva-stained finger.
“Do you dare again?” Shen Heng’s voice was deep.
Song Nanqing shook his head frantically, desperately trying to retreat, but he was pinned on the carpet between Shen Heng and the heavy rocking chair behind him. There was no escape.
Shen Heng lowered his eyes and wiped his wet fingers with a handkerchief, asking, “What should you say?”
Song Nanqing gasped for air, his tear-filled eyes carrying the relief of a narrow escape and a trace of fear. He bit his lip. The strange sensation of being touched remained in his throat; every attempt to speak brought a tremor, itching and numbing. His lips quivered as he choked out, “I am sorry.”
His fingers were clenched together, gripping his robe as he shivered. He looked incredibly nervous.
Shen Heng watched him for a moment and tossed the soiled handkerchief onto the table. “You planned to deal with me next, but you could not say it out loud, so you tried to fool me again. Do you think your beauty is a weapon, or do you think I am just lustful?”
The hands gripped together shook more violently. Song Nanqing kept his head bowed, not daring to meet his gaze.
“Next time you find yourself in this situation, who will you try to bewilder with such means? Which minister, general, or your brother, the Ninth Prince?” Shen Heng lifted his chin, his tone intensifying. “It seems your methods are getting better every time, Qingqing.”
“But do you know what price you must pay if you want to succeed? You are crying just from licking a finger.”
Shen Heng said slowly, “I do not like you being dishonest. Even if you had told me today that after dealing with Jia Liang, I would be next, I would only think that you have grown up and be pleased for you.” His expression was earnest, his voice like snow congealing on the needles of a high-mountain pine. “I would not want you to sacrifice your looks and make that face just to seduce me.”
Song Nanqing lifted his head abruptly, realizing Shen Heng was not joking. A different luster shone in his round eyes. He asked softly, “Would you really be pleased for me?”
“Are you truly planning to deal with me?” Shen Heng watched him, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.
Song Nanqing realized he had been tricked, his mouth slightly agape in a pout.
Shen Heng reached out to help him up, but before he could touch him, Song Nanqing reflexively flinched, instinctively dodging to the side.
Shen Heng paused. He gently tucked the disheveled hair behind the boy’s ear, revealing his white, tender cheek, and then lifted him onto his lap with one arm.
“Are you afraid of me now?” he asked, looking down at him.
Song Nanqing shook his head, swinging his feet while sitting in the man’s lap.
A white pastry patterned with the Five-Poison design was brought to his lips. Song Nanqing took a bite; only the tail of the scorpion mark remained. Eating Five-Poison cakes during the festival was meant to use poison to attack poison, a prayer for warding off illness. Song Nanqing ate bite by bite, looking earnest, but his mind was racing.
His previous plan was no longer viable. Shen Heng would notice the moment he used any tricks. To make the Regent work for him, he would have to find another way.
The room was quiet. Outside, the sound of raindrops hitting the glazed tiles echoed, and a cool breeze blew in through the window. Zhuxin, who was usually by Shen Heng’s side, splashed through small puddles, running hurriedly toward Chun Jian, who was waiting outside, saying, “I have an urgent matter to report to the Regent.”
Hearing the voice outside, Song Nanqing pushed against the arm that was feeding him. He lifted his robe and slid off Shen Heng’s lap, telling Chun Jian to let the man in.
Shen Heng glanced at his empty lap and looked at Zhuxin. “What is it?”
Zhuxin bowed behind the screen. “My lord, news from the Northwest frontier. A blizzard struck outside Yanmen Pass. The troops held the gates for many days, but with the temperature plummeting, the padded coats and winter gear proved useless. The reports say the cotton in the coats will not even burn; they provide no warmth at all. Many have frozen to death. We request immediate reinforcements and supplies.”
Shen Heng frowned. “Where is the person in charge of military supplies?”
“The Ministry of Revenue appointed Jia Xie, nephew of Lord Jia Liang, to manage them. Your servant has sent people to summon him; he is already on his way.”
Outside, the rain began to pour. On a remote path in the palace, Jia Xie walked hurriedly through the rain toward the center of the Forbidden City. “Why would His Majesty summon me so suddenly? And in such a rush?”
The attendant beside him replied, “Perhaps he wants to reward you. The Dragon Boat Festival is approaching, and you have been doing your job well. His Majesty surely sees it.”
Jia Xie rubbed the rainwater from his nose, feeling guilty. He thought, forget rewards; as long as it is not trouble, that is enough. Jia Liang had only transferred him to manage supplies a few months ago, a lucrative position. To show loyalty, he had offered a handsome tribute, and as for where the silver came from, it all came from the same source. The army was fighting in the Northwest; in the fourth or fifth month, who really needed heavy winter gear? He had brought it only as a formality, so he secretly swapped it for the cheapest batch, thinking no one would notice since it would not be used anyway. Besides, the army was used to hardship; they would not know the difference.
Furthermore, he had Jia Liang as his backer. Who dared to criticize him? He had recently heard that the Emperor praised Lord Jia Liang for his high moral character and for opening schools for humble students. Among the high-ranking officials in the capital, only Jia Liang remained unscathed; the Jia family was clearly the most favored by the Emperor.
Thinking of this, Jia Xie straightened his posture and strode forward.
Inside the hall, Song Nanqing’s brows were locked in a deep frown as he looked at the military report. Holding the gates had already been difficult; the weather in the Hu lands was unpredictable, with even freak blizzards in August. To be stabbed in the back and sabotaged with supplies was heartbreaking for the soldiers. If morale fell, the consequences would be catastrophic.
“Jia Liang steals my enamel boxes, and Jia Xie swaps quality goods for junk, disrupting military affairs. The Jia family truly is of the same mold.” Song Nanqing set his teacup down heavily.
“Jia Liang is arrogant, and no one dares offend him. If not for the fear of the gates falling, the military would not have dared to report the truth,” Shen Heng said. “A thousand-mile levee collapses because of an ant’s nest. A single greedy villain can cause Great Sheng to lose a city. There are still too many parasites in the court.”
The pattering of the rain grew rapid. Song Nanqing looked at Shen Heng. “How does Teacher intend to deal with him?”
“Military law. Fifty lashes with a heavy staff. How else can we console the soldiers who froze to death?” Shen Heng’s tone was cold.
Outside the hall, before Jia Xie could even offer a salute, his mouth was stuffed, and he was forced onto a bench. Two guards stood by, each holding a heavy staff, striking him blow after blow. The pouring rain diluted the blood on the ground and silenced his screams. At first, he struggled, but gradually, he went limp and silent.
Song Nanqing glanced out the window and told Chun Jian, “After the rain stops, have someone clean that area thoroughly.”
Shen Heng asked, “Is it dirty again?”
“I keep thinking I can smell it. Chun Jian, light some incense, please,” Song Nanqing commanded.
Thin white smoke curled up from the intricate bronze censer in the corner. Song Nanqing was busy coordinating the supply reinforcements while Shen Heng stirred the powder in the incense box. “Can you smell it on me?”
Song Nanqing looked up. “Did you come here after killing someone?”
He suddenly realized, “You were feeding me just now! Did you wash your hands properly?”
Dark clouds lowered. Jia Xie was carried away, leaving only a faint streak of blood flowing into a winding line with the rainwater. A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the darkness, followed instantly by a thunderclap that seemed to shatter hearts.
Song Nanqing flinched at the sound of the thunder. He hurried over to Shen Heng, who stood by the censer, and grabbed his arm. His hair drifted through the incense-laden air, smelling of the censer before falling back across his chest.
With every rumble of thunder, his grip on the man’s arm tightened. His chest heaved, and his freshly washed hair swayed.
That night, the night the Second Prince forced the palace, the night he was thrown into a dry well with the corpses, there had been rain just like this, thunder just as deafening.
He was the only living soul in the well. The rain and blood were thick with the stench of rot. Sitting in the well, looking up at the sky, he felt every bolt of lightning would strike him. Every flash of lightning revealed the terrifying sight of the mountain of corpses. Even the head at his feet belonged to someone he had spoken to just the day before.
Lost in memory, Song Nanqing shook violently. The thunder seemed to have activated something deep within. His eyes stared straight ahead, only one thought in his mind:
Survive.
If he were dragged down from the throne, he could imagine the scene; it would be a thousand times worse than that night. It must not happen. These wolves and tigers who sought to usurp power and control him must die first.
Song Nanqing breathed rapidly, his body trembling, his skin deathly pale, red veins visible in his eyes.
Suddenly, a warm palm covered his ears, blocking out the deafening thunder. The embroidery, not quite soft, pressed against his face. Song Nanqing looked up.
Shen Heng was as calm as ever, lifting both hands to cover his ears. He was enveloped in those arms.
The thunder faded. His clarity slowly returned. Song Nanqing studied the shape of Shen Heng’s lips and realized he was saying:
It is all right. Do not be afraid.
The same words he had spoken that night when he pulled him out of the well.