Even though the banquet was ongoing, the Taihe Hall was eerily quiet. Even the musicians sensed that the atmosphere was wrong and stopped playing. The dancers stood in the center of the stage, unable to decide whether to step down or continue.
Wei Zheng was strong, and suppressed by anger, he used force in secret.
Wei Yan’s face twisted in pain, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to show weakness, and replied with a thorny retort: “Seventh, why are you so nervous? I’m just having him toast me, not asking him to drink poison? You’re so heartbroken just by this?”
Wei Zheng said: “Sui Yun does not know how to drink.”
“Is he truly unable to hold his liquor, or is someone looking down on this fifth brother of yours?”
Wei Yan remained unmoved, intent on bickering until the end.
Wei San finally understood: they would not be allowed to leave until this cup of wine was finished. If he let Wei Yan continue to make a scene, he estimated that a label of “disrespecting the imperial family” would soon be pinned on him.
Disrespecting the imperial family was a major crime; he would surely be thrown into the Celestial Prison for ten or twenty days and stripped of a layer of skin before he could come out.
Ultimately, Wei Yan was just looking for trouble with Wei Zheng; he was nothing more than a stepping stone.
A cup of wine to resolve the immediate crisis—Wei San didn’t feel he was losing anything. He thought, surely one cup wouldn’t get him drunk.
Wei Zheng and Wei Yan were still at odds, neither willing to take a step back. Just as they were deadlocked, Wei San took the wine cup directly from Wei Yan’s hand and downed it in one gulp.
“I have already drunk the wine, Fifth Prince. Are you satisfied? May I take my leave now?”
The strong liquor burned his throat, traveling all the way down to his stomach. Wei San frowned uncomfortably; within a few moments, the alcohol rushed to his head, flushing his face and neck a deep red. It was clear his inability to hold his liquor was real.
Since the wine was finished, if Wei Yan said it wasn’t enough, he would be deliberately making things difficult.
Wei Yan said sheepishly: “I am satisfied.”
He pulled back his hand, but Wei Zheng refused to let it go.
“Fifth Brother, you make someone toast you but don’t return the gesture; that hardly seems reasonable, does it?”
Wei Yan met his gaze, pressed his lips together, and remained silent.
Wei Zheng’s smile did not reach his eyes, and he added a little more force to his grip on his wrist.
Wei Yan’s expression shifted. He shook off Wei Zheng’s hand forcefully, summoned a court lady to bring a new wine cup, then poured a cup of wine and held it high: “Fifth Brother toasts my younger brother’s wife.”
With that, he downed it in one gulp, smashed the cup, let out a cold snort, and flicked his sleeves as he left the scene.
Wei Zheng watched his retreating back, casually wiping his right hand—which had just held Wei Yan’s wrist—with a handkerchief, not hiding his disgust in the slightest.
The ministers only felt they had caught a glimpse of imperial secrets, and their minds grew active.
They had finally seen it clearly: the Emperor was truly indulgent toward the Prince of Xian. Now that the Prince’s brain illness was cured, his doting was even greater than before; he even tacitly accepted the Prince bringing a male favorite to the banquet.
And the rumors of discord between the Prince of Xian and the Fifth Prince were completely confirmed.
“Hmm? Why are you all staring at me? Go back to your drinking and dining.”
He acted as if he had only just remembered the other ministers present, tossed the handkerchief to the nearest court lady, and whispered: “Take it and burn it.”
The court lady felt as if the handkerchief was a hot potato. However, since the Prince of Xian was her master, she dared not disobey his command. Yet, the Fifth Prince was not an easy person to deal with either. If he found out about today, he couldn’t do much to the Prince of Xian, but wouldn’t dealing with her, a tiny slave, be as simple as pinching an ant?
The court lady felt like crying. Seeing this, Wei Zheng said: “Don’t worry, no one will do anything to you.”
The court lady was still anxious, but with his guarantee, she felt slightly more at ease.
Wei Zheng stopped paying attention to the court lady and turned to look at the unusually quiet Wei San.
He saw the youth in the cyan robe, his cheeks flushed red from the alcohol, his expression calm, eyes lowered as if deep in thought. On the surface, he looked normal, but there were subtle details that showed he was different.
Wei Zheng sensed something and asked tentatively: “Sui Yun?”
The latter didn’t react, so he called out again.
“Hm?”
The person being called looked up at him blankly, his pair of peach-blossom eyes stained with a misty layer of water, making him appear even more delicate and alluring.
His heart itched; he rubbed his fingertips together and said in a hoarse voice: “Let’s go back.”
Wei San’s brain had been numbed by the alcohol; it felt like a jammed gear, spinning with great effort for a long time before he finally remembered who was in front of him and where he was. He took the initiative to hold Wei Zheng’s hand and said vaguely: “Okay, go back.”
Wei Zheng looked down at their joined hands. If the little death-sworn guard were sober, he would never have done such a thing that overstepped the rules.
It seemed he really couldn’t hold his liquor; he had gotten drunk after only one cup.
He found it extremely satisfying. Adhering to the mentality that “only a fool doesn’t take advantage,” he moved from passive to active, interlacing their fingers and tightening his grip. He raised an eyebrow as if to show off, bowing to the Crown Prince—who had been watching the show in silence—and said: “Brother Crown Prince, my little pet at home is drunk and quite clingy. To avoid causing a scene and becoming a laughingstock, I must take my leave first.”
What could the Crown Prince say? He could only exchange a few words of brotherly affection before letting him go.
Wei Zheng wasn’t asking for his permission; as soon as the Crown Prince’s voice fell, he led the man out of the Taihe Hall.
With the main figures of the banquet mostly gone, most of the ministers had no desire to stay, and one after another, they rose to take their leave. The Crown Prince let them go one by one.
In less than a quarter of an hour, the Taihe Hall, which had just been bustling, became desolate, leaving only the ministers from the Crown Prince’s faction. Without outsiders, they were more relaxed and took turns toasting the Crown Prince.
The Prime Minister and the Grand Tutor continued to sip wine as if nothing had happened, discussing poetry; the noise and disputes of the outside world had nothing to do with them.
.
In the Prince of Xian’s carriage, Wei San sat stiffly against the carriage wall, his gaze vacant. He didn’t even react when Wei Zheng pinched the soft flesh of his cheek.
“Sui Yun?”
He called out, but got no response, so he simply became bold.
He leaned in, and the distance between them quickly closed to less than a fist’s width—a very dangerous and subtle distance.
The moist, vibrant red lips were right in front of him, eye-catching, as if waiting for him to pick them.
Wei Zheng still had some humanity left; he didn’t directly take advantage of the situation. He brushed aside the messy strands of hair at Wei San’s temples and chuckled: “Wei San, do you still recognize who I am?”
Wei San looked at him blankly, the fingers he had placed honestly on his knees curling, and he nodded slowly: “Recognize, it’s Master.”
Wei Zheng was dissatisfied with this answer and corrected him righteously: “Wrong, not Master.”
Wei San was confused: “You are the Master.”
He chuckled: “But you are my male favorite now; you must call me ‘husband’.”
If this were when Wei San was sober, he would surely have been teased until his face turned red. But he didn’t expect the drunken Wei San to think seriously for a moment and nod, saying: “You’re right, I should indeed call you husband.”
There was such a good thing to be had while drunk?
“Call me husband and let me hear it.”
Wei Zheng sat upright, filled with faint anticipation.
He waited and waited, even pretending to be unconcerned as he lowered his head to adjust his sleeves, but in the end, he didn’t hear that “husband.” He thought Wei San had come to his senses and was just about to find a way to smooth things over when he suddenly felt his shoulder sink, as if pressed by something.
He looked over; it turned out the drunken death-sworn guard had fallen asleep, his body leaning toward his side, resting his head on his shoulder in a deep sleep.
Wei Zheng: “…………”
He glared unhappily at the death-sworn guard who had piqued his interest but was now heartlessly fast asleep. He was so angry his teeth itched, but he couldn’t bear to wake him up.
“You just rely on my doting on you. Wait until I settle accounts with you later.”
Though he spoke harsh words, his movements as he held the death-sworn guard’s shoulders and placed him on his lap to lie down were extremely gentle.
The carriage swayed the whole way, but the death-sworn guard slept very soundly, not even waking up when the carriage stopped.
Wei Zheng poked his cheek with his finger, but after calling out several times without a response, he simply picked the man up in his arms. Refusing the servant who wanted to take the man from his grasp, he carried him back to the side hall in front of all the maids and guards.
After entering the door, Wei Zheng dismissed everyone. Just as he placed the death-sworn guard on the bed, the guard opened his eyes in a daze.
“Master?”
Wei San’s brain was clouded, but he still recognized the person.
Wei Zheng said, both angry and amused: “I couldn’t wake you no matter how I called you earlier, but now that we’re here, you’re awake. Tell me, did you do it on purpose, asking me to carry you back so you could take advantage of me?”
He knew Wei San wasn’t faking it; he was just teasing him out of habit. The little death-sworn guard’s reaction was so cute; he actually shook his head and argued earnestly: “I didn’t.”
The death-sworn guard’s naturally clear voice was filled with a bit of nasal tone. Wei Zheng actually sensed a hint of soft, glutinous coquetry in it.
The drunken beauty was truly delicious. Wei Zheng had never been a respectable man; provoked to desire, he simply abandoned what little conscience he had left.
A great opportunity was placed before him. If he didn’t know how to cherish it, he might as well have really been a fool.
He leaned toward Wei San. The direct-avoidance instinct trained into the death-sworn guard made Wei San subconsciously want to dodge, but his head was held by Wei Zheng’s hand. With the bed beneath him, he was forced into a corner with no retreat.
“Master, you’re pressing on me.”
The water mist in the death-sworn guard’s eyes grew thicker prey that had fallen into a trap but was unaware of the danger. He tugged at the lapels of his chest, asking with slight confusion as he parted his lips.
Wei Zheng didn’t give him another chance to speak, capturing those moist, thin lips he had coveted for so long with speed and precision.
A nimble tongue besieged the fortress of his mouth, domineering and leaving no room for retreat. Wei San muffled a groan, feeling as if his instinct to breathe had been taken away.
Wei San’s kissing technique was a blank slate of purity, and Wei Zheng’s attack was so fierce that he didn’t even know how to catch his breath. He turned beet red, and just as he was about to pass out, Wei Zheng finally released him, albeit reluctantly.
The death-sworn guard’s eyes were hazy as he gasped for air. His hair, which had been tied up loosely, had been pulled loose at some point, spreading out over the bed like a waterfall.
The desire in Wei Zheng’s eyes held no concealment. His palm held the man’s flushed cheek as his thumb pressed heavily against the red, swollen lip bead.
His aggressive gaze swept inch by inch over the person beneath him who had softened into a puddle of water. Wei Zheng licked his dry lips and suddenly laughed.
He said: “Little death-sworn guard, seducing your master requires punishment.”
“Let me think carefully about how I should punish you.”
Wei San was already muddled because of the alcohol; under Wei Zheng’s twisted accusations, what little reason he had left was stirred into a pile of mud. He instinctively replied: “I didn’t.”
He hadn’t seduced his Master it was clearly his Master who had kissed him first.
Having been wrongly accused, the death-sworn guard pouted, looking pitiful and making others feel love for him.
Wei Zheng’s heart felt soft; how could he allow him to quibble?
“I’ve decided; your punishment for tonight will be to serve me in bed.”
He made the decision unilaterally, without even asking for Wei San’s consent. He rose to pull down the bed curtains, hiding all the beautiful scenery within.
Outside the curtains, the candlelight in the lanterns flickered. The room was extremely quiet, and occasionally one or two muffled groans that could not be suppressed were heard.
A hand, white as lotus root and flushed with a hint of red, hung weakly by the side of the bed. Unaware of what kind of treatment he was enduring, he suddenly grabbed the bed curtain and clenched it, his fingers turning white from the force as his veins bulged. Before long, a larger, slightly darker-skinned palm covered the back of his hand, and the whole hand was restrained and dragged back behind the bed curtains.