Shen Heng finished sorting through his manuals and prepared to leave the palace. As soon as the door was pushed open, two swords crossed to block his path. His robes fluttered in the wind; his expression unchanged, he asked the lead guard calmly, “What is the meaning of this?”
Wei Jin gave a slight nod. “Regent, a suspect carrying a short blade broke into the palace today with ill intent. He has just confessed in prison that he was acting under your instructions to harm His Majesty. Until the truth comes to light, you may not leave the Chonghua Palace.”
“Whose order?”
“The Emperor’s order.”
Shen Heng’s eyes shimmered with a faint amber hue under the moonlight, less like a human and more like some predatory beast. He swept his gaze over the guards and turned to push the door, retreating back into the hall.
With the moon high in the sky, Song Nanqing, wearing a white cloud-brocade robe, slowly arrived at the front of Chonghua Palace. The Yiluan Office had taken over the Supreme Court’s investigation into the truth of the case; Wei Jin was absent. He dismissed his attendants and pushed open the great door himself.
Chun Jian said nervously, “Your Majesty… it is too dangerous for you to be alone.”
After all, the man inside had just been identified as plotting to harm the Emperor. Entering alone now was a huge gamble.
Song Nanqing shook his head and insisted on entering Chonghua Palace alone.
On the table inside sat a peacock-shaped ceramic lamp with celadon carvings. The dim light illuminated only the area around the table. Shen Heng remained relaxed, sitting upright at the table, reading a book, as if he were not confined but had chosen to stay there of his own volition.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, Shen Heng looked up. Outside the door, a full moon hung in the deep blue sky. Song Nanqing arrived silently, dressed in spotless pure white, the silver butterflies on his collar and sleeves appearing as if they were truly about to take flight.
With a creak, the door closed. Song Nanqing walked slowly to the table, leaning against it with one hand, looking down at the book in front of Shen Heng. It was a manual on military strategy. He looked away, uninterested.
The light cast by the celadon lamp was a pale, eerie green, casting a cold hue upon Shen Heng’s eyes. Blocked from the light by Song Nanqing, he slowly looked up, his dark, greenish pupils locking onto the boy.
Song Nanqing’s heart skipped a beat. Just as he wanted to move away, his wrist was seized.
“How did this happen?” Shen Heng looked at the hand on the table, where the knuckles were slightly grazed. Turning it over, he saw that the palm had been scraped raw. For hands as delicate as his, even a small wound looked shocking. The abraded area oozed tiny red beads of blood.
Shen Heng stood and went to the back cabinet to find ointment. Song Nanqing bit his lip slightly. “I am fine… it was just archery practice today. They said training in martial arts always involves this. It will be better once calluses form.”
The sound of the drawer closing was loud. Perhaps because the place was so secluded—once Chonghua Palace was surrounded, there were no servants left, and most palace staff took wide detours—it was eerily quiet.
Shen Heng was very tall. When he stood, his shadow completely engulfed Song Nanqing. Ignoring any protest, he pulled Song Nanqing’s hand over, took a jade medicine spoon, and applied the ointment bit by bit.
A bit of raw, tender red flesh was exposed. When it was covered by the ointment, Song Nanqing couldn’t help but hiss. His wrist trembled as he tried to pull back, but he was held too tightly to move. His wrist was too slender—encircled completely by two fingers with space to spare. The faint blue veins could be seen pulsing beneath the thin skin of his inner wrist.
Shen Heng applied the medicine with extreme patience, his movements gentle. He found a moment to glance at Song Nanqing. “How do the people around you work? Letting you get injured like this without tending to it.”
Song Nanqing lowered his lashes. “I do not want them to think I am too delicate, and besides… I am not used to others touching me.”
Usually, he could tolerate people helping him with his outer robes and shoes, but when his skin was touched, he felt revolted. The touch of skin—whether hot or cold—always reminded him of cold corpses and hot blood. Being surrounded by bodies, already cold or still retaining warmth, was a memory he could neither forget nor ever wish to recall again.
Shen Heng did not loosen his grip on the wrist by even a fraction. He blew lightly on the wound and said ambiguously, “Qingqing has grown up. It is normal not to want to be treated like a child anymore.”
The fingers on the table curled slightly. Song Nanqing said nothing.
“Why the sudden interest in archery? And so diligent, too. Who taught you today?”
“I forgot who taught me. I just found someone who looked capable.” Song Nanqing felt the hand gripping his wrist was too hot. He pushed it away slightly and continued, “I suddenly realized that one needs the means to protect one’s own life. Otherwise, when danger comes, you cannot rely on anyone.”
Shen Heng caught the hand that had pushed him away. Now, both hands were controlled by him. He leaned closer and looked into Song Nanqing’s eyes. “Does the danger the Emperor speaks of mean someone unknown breaking into the palace today?”
So it had come to this. This time, Song Nanqing did not dodge the gaze. His eyes were clear. “Yes.”
The candlelight flickered. A lock of hair slid from behind his back to his shoulder. In the dim light, Song Nanqing’s eyes seemed to burn with flame.
“I do not know what Teacher means, and I do not know who to trust. I can only seek to protect myself.”
He had never practiced martial arts seriously before. First, because after ascending the throne and stabilizing the situation, he had missed the best age to learn. Second, because he shared a bed with Shen Heng every night; learning martial arts would have made the Regent suspicious and hindered his image of being innocent and fragile. Third, in the entire court, no one had ever suggested that the Emperor should practice martial arts to strengthen his body.
The most important reason was that Shen Heng had no intention of teaching him, and naturally, no one else dared to.
Shen Heng looked at him steadily, eyes narrowing. “Do you truly think I orchestrated that man to kill you?”
Song Nanqing turned his palm over, lifted it to his face, and blew on it. “I do not know. I have always found it impossible to guess Teacher’s thoughts.”
His face was pinched by Shen Heng from both sides and lifted. The man lowered his voice. “If I truly wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago. I would not have gone to the trouble of raising you to this size, only to go through all this effort.”
“Results as proof. I do not waste time listening to excuses; that is what Teacher taught me.” Song Nanqing lifted his face. Because his cheeks were pinched inward, his speech was slightly slurred.
Shen Heng suddenly laughed, a corner of his lips tilting up in an alluring way. He tapped his index finger against Song Nanqing’s face. “You have truly grown up, our Qingqing.”
Song Nanqing was not afraid of him today. After all, Shen Heng had said himself that even if he wanted to deal with him later, it was fine. Furthermore, he had not lied with his conscience today, nor had he seduced him with his looks.
“Before the Yiluan Office returns a result, I am afraid you will have to suffer and stay here, Teacher.” Song Nanqing tilted his head, his cheek muscles squeezing into a slight arc in the man’s palm. With that cute, harmless face, he said, “Of course, I believe in Teacher, but there are so many eyes watching in the palace. I must have concrete results to clear your name. My word alone is not enough.”
Shen Heng pinched his soft cheeks a few times, his tone gentle. “Actually, as long as you believe me, it is enough. Would you not say so, Qingqing?”
The meaning-laden words and the meaningful look were ignored by Song Nanqing. His face was small, and being pinched like this made it look even rounder, devoid of any intimidation.
He slapped Shen Heng’s hand away. Just as he widened his eyes, intending to say something, he hit his injured hand, doubling the pain.
Song Nanqing opened his mouth and gasped in pain, his sharp teeth showing as he blew on his palm, his eyes rimmed with red.
Shen Heng reached out and looked at his hand. “Stop moving around. At this rate, it will not heal in half a month.”
“If Teacher hadn’t pinched my face, I would not have moved at all. It is all your fault.” Song Nanqing condemned him with a sullen face, moved a few steps to the far corner, and muttered, “You do not even let me sit on your lap, and you pinch me whenever you want. What kind of logic is that?”
He was the Emperor! There was no emperor who let people pinch their faces; it was not majestic at all!
Shen Heng turned to look at the small huddled mass in the corner. “I made mung bean cakes before dark. Would you like to taste them?”
Hearing the words “mung bean cake,” Song Nanqing’s eyes brightened, but he suppressed the corners of his mouth. “Since you are the only one here, if you made them, I suppose I will help you eat a few. Otherwise, they will not be fresh tomorrow.”
On the celadon plate sat a few neatly arranged mung bean cakes, uniform in size, their positioning flawless. Closer up, one could smell the rich, fresh fragrance. Song Nanqing reached out, hesitated, and pulled his hand back, staring longingly at Shen Heng. “My hand has ointment on it. I cannot pick them up.”
“So?” Shen Heng waited for the rest.
“…Feed me.” Song Nanqing leaned over the table, staring at the nearest cake without blinking.
Shen Heng picked one up and, under Song Nanqing’s gaze, popped it into his own mouth. His jawline was sharp and smooth; as he swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple moved up and down, clearly visible beneath the thin skin.
Song Nanqing stared at that spot, swallowing his own saliva unconsciously. He extended a foot to hook the tip of Shen Heng’s shoe, his knee pressed against the man’s leg as he swayed slightly. He softened his voice. “I am not grown up yet. Qingqing is still a child.”
Shen Heng lowered his eyes and rested his hand on his own thigh, the half-eaten mung bean cake still between his fingers.
The evening breeze snuck in through the window gap, neither cold nor hot, blowing the hair at his temples. Song Nanqing looked at him for a moment, leaned forward, and took a bite of the cake. Just as he was chewing the sweet, delicious treat with a smug smirk, he lost his balance and began to tip forward.
He would have been fine if he had used his hand for support, but his hand was injured, and Shen Heng showed no sign of catching him. He fell forward, his face landing directly in the middle of Shen Heng’s lap.
Soft clothing, the hard jade belt, and…
“What exactly do you want me to feed you?” a deep voice rang out from above, neither heavy nor light.
His fair face turned bright red in an instant. Song Nanqing ignored his injured hand, scrambling up from the man’s lap, pretending to be busy fixing his hair and looking at the scenery outside. It took him a long time to stammer, “I really… I did not mean to do that this time…”
“I really did not…” His face was already hot and flushed. The wind from the window could not dispel the heat. He was like someone who had been baking in the sun for an hour—flushed and sweating. He bowed his head and buried his face in the crevice of the pillow behind him, utterly at a loss.
Shen Heng held his head and turned him around. “Fine, I know. Stop smothering yourself.”
Of course, he could tell whether it was intentional or not.
Song Nanqing was pulled up forcibly. His lashes fluttered wildly; he dared not look up. Shen Heng gripped his neck and turned him around, only then realizing his state was wrong.
His white-and-red cheeks were beaded with sweat, and his small, white teeth bit his lower lip. The moment he was turned around, Song Nanqing grabbed the robe around his waist and pulled it straight up, high and taut, using the clinging fabric to block the silhouette beneath.
Such a self-defeating action could not escape Shen Heng’s eyes. He hooked his finger into Song Nanqing’s belt and tugged it. “Tell me, what child acts the way you do?”