At the Imperial Army training grounds, flags flapped fiercely in the wind outside the barracks. The ground in the arena kicked up dust as well-trained soldiers practiced their combat formations; the rhythmic thudding of boots and the bark of tactical commands resonated throughout the field.
Today, Song Nanqing had pulled his hair back entirely. A dark red, tight-sleeved martial arts outfit gave him a capable, sharp appearance. His high ponytail swayed in the wind, his eyes clear and his footsteps steady. Far from the lethargy of one raised in comfort, he carried the subtle authority and keen sharpness of one who stands at the top.
Yet, inside the sedan chair just a few minutes ago, he had been quite different.
Inside the spacious carriage, Song Nanqing tilted his head to look through a gap in the curtains, his black-and-white eyes darting around with mischievous liveliness. On his third attempt to pretend he was admiring the scenery while secretly glancing at Shen Heng, he was caught red-handed.
Shen Heng’s narrow eyes lifted slightly. He rested his elbows on his thighs and beckoned to him with a curled finger.
The air inside the carriage grew heavy. Song Nanqing took a deep breath, leaned in closer, and rubbed his cheek against Shen Heng’s fingers, though he dared not make any overtly intimate gestures.
He had not informed Shen Heng beforehand about the reclamation of the Imperial Army’s command. Thus, as he watched the Regent, now stripped of power, invite him to the training grounds for the handover, Song Nanqing felt a flicker of panic.
He could not fathom what Shen Heng was thinking. Shen Heng had long known of his desire to reclaim power; indeed, the Regent knew perfectly well that the Wang Dinian affair was a trap orchestrated by the Emperor. Yet, despite knowing, Shen Heng had not intervened, allowing Song Nanqing to push forward and hand over authority voluntarily. Song Nanqing truly could not grasp his intent.
Each of Song Nanqing’s eyelashes was thick and curled upward. When Shen Heng’s fingertips touched their tips, Song Nanqing blinked rapidly. Shen Heng gently brushed against the boy’s reddening eye corners. Sitting upright, Shen Heng’s lowered sleeve covered half the back of his hand, and his long, clean fingers stroked Song Nanqing’s face with a touch that could be described as affectionate.
But under that touch, Song Nanqing felt a chill climb up his spine. The narrow space was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic footsteps of the sedan chair bearers.
That deep, calculating gaze made Song Nanqing feel as though he stood at the edge of an abyss, ready to fall and be shattered to pieces.
Unable to bear Shen Heng’s silence, he reached out, grasped the man’s lapel, and slowly rested his head on Shen Heng’s lap. Tilting his face, he whispered, “I was wrong. Do not ignore me.”
Because his hair was pulled back, his face had no cover. His palm-sized face squeezed against Shen Heng’s knee, his round eyes filled with nervousness and a hint of ingratiation.
Shen Heng looked down. Under his dark green belt lay the boy selling his innocence on his lap. He played the part of a pitiful creature, yet in truth, when it came to schemes and means, he was more decisive and ruthless than anyone.
“What fault could the Emperor possibly have? Watching the snipe and the clam fight to reap the fisherman’s profit without losing a single cent is a superior strategy,” Shen Heng said calmly.
Song Nanqing’s lips pressed into a thin line. He lunged upward, intending to say something, but felt a sharp pain in his scalp. His meticulously styled hair had caught on the gold-inlaid jade piece on Shen Heng’s belt; a lock of hair was tangled tight, trapped.
“It hurts! It hurts!” Song Nanqing’s mouth turned down. One hand pushed against Shen Heng’s waist, the other clutched his hair, trying to pull it free. But the more he tugged, the tighter it tangled.
Shen Heng grabbed his hand to steady him. “Do not move.” He lowered his head to inspect the knot of hair, unraveling it strand by strand. The tips of the hair spiraled around his fingertips, a soft, dense itching grazing his rough callouses. Even seemingly smooth and soft hair carried its own sharp edge when it snagged.
“It seems it will not come undone. Shall I cut it for you?” Shen Heng asked, holding the final lock.
Song Nanqing immediately refused, “No! You are not allowed to cut it. I take meticulous care of every single strand.”
Shen Heng chuckled. “Then what shall we do? Do you want to stay tied to my belt and never come down?”
Song Nanqing fell silent.
In the silence, his hair was finally teased apart and liberated. A small section of hair that had been perfectly arranged now fell to the side, looking both disheveled and daring. Combined with Song Nanqing’s flushed cheeks, it added an indescribable air to his appearance.
Shen Heng picked up the fallen locks, smoothed them with his fingers, and tied them back up, whispering, “Does Your Majesty truly think that transferring power is so easy? You may go to the barracks and look, but even if you are the one in command now, you should ask yourself who they truly listen to.”
Hearing this, Song Nanqing finally looked up to meet Shen Heng’s gaze. “So, you brought me here today just to make a fool of me?”
“No. My praise for Your Majesty just now was sincere. The strategy of killing two birds with one stone is indeed excellent, but the subsequent arrangements must be managed gradually.” Shen Heng remained calm and composed, as if the strategy had not targeted him at all. He continued to diligently play the role of the teacher, instructing Song Nanqing on how to properly handle the authority he had reclaimed.
Song Nanqing brushed his smoothed bangs and felt a strange sensation in his heart. He could not read Shen Heng at all.
A breeze swept up grit and stone. Song Nanqing and Shen Heng stood side-by-side at the training ground, observing the new maneuvers. Shen Heng explained everything to Song Nanqing, from the organization of the Imperial Army to the heads of each division and their tactical plans. Song Nanqing listened intently. When he inadvertently looked up at Shen Heng, he saw the man discussing weapons with a soldier. The look of reverence in the eyes of the men behind them was unanimous.
As a hostage from the prairies who had marched on his father to claim his crown, before pacifying the frontiers and returning in triumph, seizing control of the army and the court with thunderous momentum, Shen Heng was undeniably formidable. While the Great Sheng’s military was well-equipped, the core personnel remained the Regent’s loyalists. Without Shen Heng’s nod, it would have been impossible for Song Nanqing to move them so easily.
“The previous failure to guard the palace gate was met with minor punishment. Your Majesty has chosen not to execute further penalties, but you must remain vigilant. Obey His Majesty’s commands; there must be no more lapses,” Shen Heng’s tone remained as cold as ever.
“Yes!” The soldiers’ voices were thunderous, their unity shaking the very ground. Song Nanqing caught Shen Heng’s gaze, lowered his eyes, and walked away alone.
Ahead of the training ground stood several solitary arrow targets. Song Nanqing casually grabbed a bow, notched an arrow, and fired. He shot three times, but only one struck the target, and barely at that.
He shook his wrist, plucked at the feathers on the arrow’s tail, and curled his toes against the ground.
Shen Heng watched him for a few moments, stood behind him, and wrapped one hand around Song Nanqing’s to lift the bow, while his other hand casually pulled an arrow and notched it.
The hot, powerful palm enveloped Song Nanqing, easily pulling the bowstring into a crescent moon. This stance felt as if he were holding the boy in his arms. Without needing to look back, Song Nanqing could feel the warmth and breath pressing against his back. As his fingers were guided to rest on the string, Shen Heng’s voice came to his ear, “Release.”
Song Nanqing reflexively let go. The arrow flew with unstoppable force, striking dead-center in the red bullseye.
Song Nanqing turned to look at Shen Heng, his eyes full of joy and surprise, jumping up as he cheered, “It hit!”
Shen Heng gave a calm nod, as if this were the most ordinary of tasks.
“Why? Was the person who taught you that day so useless?” Shen Heng pulled out several more arrows and notched them, squinting slightly at the distance. With his large hand guiding Song Nanqing’s, he hooked all three arrows at once. A whistle pierced the wind, and all three arrows nailed the bullseye in perfect alignment, the four arrows forming a perfect circle.
The back of Song Nanqing’s hand still felt the residual warmth—powerful, elegant, striking with unerring accuracy without even needing to aim.
Shen Heng bowed his head slightly, feeling a burning gaze upon him.
Song Nanqing’s large eyes were filled with nothing but worship and envy. The tight sleeves hugged his slender wrists, which were now gripped tightly against Shen Heng’s arms. As he turned back in the man’s embrace, his smile was brilliant, and his eyes seemed to overflow with starlight.
“Teach me! Teach me!” Song Nanqing pleaded, standing on his tiptoes and tilting his head back. His ponytail arced in the wind, and his whole being was electrified with excitement.
Shen Heng handed him the bow, explaining everything from the grip to the angle of aim, occasionally demonstrating personally. The intimacy of the scene was clear to everyone in the barracks.
Another arrow flew. This time, it finally grazed the edge of the bullseye, though it slanted off slightly. Song Nanqing wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, pouting in mild displeasure.
Seeing his gloom, Shen Heng took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his temples. “The wind has changed direction. Adjust for the wind as I told you and try once more.”
The distant military flags were swaying in the wind. Song Nanqing took a breath, lifted the bow, notched the arrow, aimed, and drew. He tilted the angle of his arm slightly, and the shot arrow finally struck the bullseye.
An hour had passed since Shen Heng began teaching him. Only when he finally struck the center did Song Nanqing realize his arms were nearly numb.
His head was patted gently. Shen Heng took the bow from his hands. “Well done.”
Those two simple words washed away the exhaustion of the hour. Song Nanqing blinked, realizing that his eyes were also tired from staring at the target for so long.
He scanned left and right, noticing that everyone was busy with their own training and paying no attention to them. He relaxed his body, leaning his head against Shen Heng’s shoulder, and whispered, “When you first learned to shoot, did you miss like this too?”
Shen Heng lowered his eyes, his voice calm. “No. The first time I fired a bow, I shot a wolf.”
A pack-leading wolf, at that. If he had not hit his mark, he would not be standing here today.
Song Nanqing hummed, turning his head to rub against Shen Heng’s shoulder. “Fine, Teacher is a genius. I should not have asked; I have only humiliated myself.”
“Are you hungry?” Shen Heng asked with a smile, pinching the chin of the little Emperor as he stuck it out. “I heard Fengle Tower has new spicy rabbit meat. Would you like to go and taste it?”
Song Nanqing’s eyes brightened, his small Adam’s apple bobbing, before he lowered his gaze. “Rabbit? Rabbit meat? But little rabbits are so cute; wouldn’t that be a bit cruel?”
Song Nanqing tugged at Shen Heng’s sleeve, feigning pity. If his mouth had contained tears instead of saliva, it would have been even more convincing.
Shen Heng watched him, a corner of his lips tilting. “Then what shall we do? Since Qingqing cannot eat it, I suppose I must go alone.”
“Don’t do that! I can eat something else. Let’s go, let’s go!” He pushed Shen Heng. “The fruit juice from last time was also delicious; I wonder if they still have it.”
The carriage drove out of the palace. The Imperial Army at the gate had been rotated, and entry was even stricter. Without the Emperor’s warrant, casual visitors could barely come or go, and Yiluan Office guards stood watch. It was rumored that the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court had fallen deathly ill, and cases involving court officials were now all handled by the Yiluan Office. The Chief Commander, Wei Jin, had even been officially ranked. Seeing him, some officials now felt compelled to bow.
In-and-out access to the palace had become difficult, and getting close to the Emperor or transporting goods was no longer easy. Jia Liang’s status was damaged, and he remained at home in reflection. Officials who had previously used their family status to bully others now found that one wrong word today might be reported to the Emperor by the Yiluan Office tomorrow. Without Jia Liang and the censors to protect them, everyone had become much more cautious. Conversely, while the Regent’s power appeared to have diminished, his relationship with the Emperor seemed closer than ever.
In the second-floor lobby of Fengle Tower, Song Nanqing sat by the window, pointing at the menu, sliding his finger back and forth while chattering incessantly to the waiter. Only after ordering a mountain of food did he look up, realizing Shen Heng’s expression was off.
“We came out for a meal, so what is the meaning of bringing him along?” Shen Heng looked vaguely toward Wei Jin in the distant corner, his gaze deepening.