Chapter 81

The wheels rolled forward, their sounds scattering into the silent night sky.

Winter nights were quiet, unlike the liveliness of long summer evenings, leaving only the sound of the candle flames faintly crackling in the carriage. The pain from his neck gradually dulled. It wasn’t so much a bite as a slow, deliberate nibbling, like a predator gently engulfing its prey. In the end, only a faint warmth remained, like a mark of ownership, a sign that it was being kept for later indulgence.

Rong Tang blinked involuntarily, his crow-feather-like eyelashes veiling the panic in his eyes.

Su Huaijing asked again, “Tangtang, who am I?”

Rong Tang’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, the sound of him swallowing magnified in the confined space of the carriage, overlapping with the rhythmic rumble of the wheels outside.

For a moment, Rong Tang had no words, unsure of how to respond.

There were countless answers to this question, each of them true, each of them an answer that could be handed in as a perfect score.

But the answer Su Huaijing wanted seemed to differ from Rong Tang’s own, and he didn’t know how to give the right one.

[Expose him directly!]

The system was angry, its mechanical voice trembling slightly. It wasn’t clear whether it was upset about the main villain biting its host or frustrated that the one hiding things was now turning the tables and playing the victim.

In short, the system was livid, urging Rong Tang.

[Just tell him! What’s he going to do, kill you!?]

Rong Tang: “……”

He certainly won’t.

But what if Su Huaijing asks how he knew the answer after that? How could Rong Tang explain it?

The system placed restrictions on him; any statements that went beyond the current timeline or revealed spoilers couldn’t be spoken. So how could he explain to Su Huaijing that, as an invalid who had spent most of his life in the palace, he not only knew the secrets of the civil strife in Yu nine years ago but was also aware that the seventh prince hadn’t died?

Furthermore, with Su Huaijing’s sharp instincts, any thread of information could lead him to unravel even deeper, hidden truths.

For example, how did Rong Tang know that Su Huaijing would be drugged and sent to Fengyue House earlier this spring?

It was all a risk. Rong Tang knew Su Huaijing wouldn’t harm him, but what if?

What if the main villain still turned dark, suspecting Rong Tang’s approach, questioning his motives and actions? What direction would everything take from there?

Two lifetimes of political intrigue had made Rong Tang instinctively analyse the pros and cons of every possibility. Unless he was absolutely certain of success, he wouldn’t set foot on any path.

But Su Huaijing sat opposite him. Though his eyes brimmed with desire and his posture radiated an oppressive intensity that couldn’t be ignored, Rong Tang still felt that Su Huaijing’s fierceness was more bluster than substance.

He wasn’t angry; he was being petulant.

Because his request had not been met, he couldn’t help but bite down on Rong Tang’s neck, as if to relieve those emotions in his heart that he could neither show nor control—be they frustration or restlessness.

The answer he needed seemed written all over his face.

Rong Tang met his gaze and softly said, “You are Su Huaijing.”

This was clearly not the answer Su Huaijing wanted, but he restrained himself, his voice slightly hoarse, “And what else?”

“You are my husband,” Rong Tang replied.

Su Huaijing froze for a second, seemingly pacified almost instantly.

A fleeting expression, a mix of joy and confusion, passed through his eyes. Rong Tang continued, “You are Li Changfu’s nephew—”

The main villain’s brow furrowed immediately. He had never bothered to hide his emotions from Rong Tang. Happiness, anger, and sadness were all blatantly written across his face, like a spoiled child.

Before Su Huaijing could react, Rong Tang threw out more answers: “You’re the grandson of Duke Xian, Mu Jingxu’s didi, and in some sense, my biao di.”

The system, which had been egging Rong Tang on for a while, suddenly faltered upon hearing his words. An almost imperceptible crackle of static echoed through the system space, and the carriage fell into silence once more.

The coachman uttered a surprised murmur, quietly telling the guards and attendants beside him, “It’s snowing!”

On the eleventh day of the winter month, snow began to fall in the Yu capital, slowly covering the city and the great fire raging in the north.

Su Huaijing lowered his head, quietly gazing at Rong Tang. After a long while, he suddenly chuckled, leaning back into a more relaxed posture. By the dim candlelight, he asked, “How does Tangtang know?”

The tension dissipated, the space for breathing expanded again, yet Rong Tang felt no relief.

Although Su Huaijing seemed at ease, his entire body was clearly still tense, not as if preparing for confrontation, but more like……

Guarding against his escape.

Rong Tang was confused, but Su Huaijing had asked a question, and it was impossible not to give him an answer.

However, he couldn’t speak the full truth. After a moment of frowning and contemplation, he decisively sold out his buddy.

Rong Tang met Su Huaijing’s gaze, using every ounce of acting skill he’d honed over the years: “Ke Hongxue told me.”

The system stuttered again, small, pixel-like question marks almost materialising above its head.

Even Su Huaijing tilted his head in surprise, blinking as he stared at Rong Tang.

Rong Tang maintained his composure, but his heart pounded loudly in his chest.

It was strange—after all the half-truths, lies, and truths he had told during his previous two lives, navigating court officials for Sheng Chengli’s sake, this was the first time he felt his heart protest so loudly, as if it might leap out in outrage at his deceit.

Rong Tang even suspected that perhaps Tutor Ke had remotely hijacked his heart due to this particular blame-shifting.

Su Huaijing gazed at him for a long time, then curved his lips into a soft smile. Whether or not he believed it, he asked another question: “And who is Sheng Chengli?”

Rong Tang: “?”

He frowned, clearly displeased, and his heartbeat immediately calmed, “What does he have to do with this?”

Su Huaijing gave a low “hng” and glanced at Rong Tang, “I’m curious too—what does he have to do with it?”

The carriage hit a raised stone, causing a bump. Rong Tang shifted under the blanket, his feet subconsciously moving forward, brushing against Su Huaijing’s leg. In an instant, Su Huaijing pinned them down, rendering him unable to move.

Su Huaijing’s voice was low, soft, and coaxing, as though attempting to mesmerise: “Tangtang, tell me the truth, who is he to you?”

Who could he be, that you would instinctively resist him from the depths of your heart? That at the mere sight of him, you would vomit in distress and cry to me about the pain? Who is important enough that even in your disgust, you always keep track of his whereabouts?

Who is he, that he affects you so deeply? And why such significant emotional turmoil?

You’ve never reacted this strongly to me.

As the carriage steadied and his foot remained trapped, Rong Tang suddenly felt a faint sourness fill the air around him.

Suspicious, he raised his head, only to meet Su Huaijing’s deep, piercing gaze.

Those eyes were clear and bright, with a hint of a smile. Su Huaijing looked innocent and obedient, giving the illusion of someone gentle and harmless.

But Rong Tang blinked, quickly realising the subtle jealousy and comparison hidden in Su Huaijing’s eyes.

The young prince was perplexed. Why was Su Huaijing comparing himself to Sheng Chengli?

To him, the main villain was a thousand times better than the protagonist.

After pondering for a moment, Rong Tang tentatively tried to reassure him: “He’s an insignificant person.”

He was speaking the truth, yet Su Huaijing’s expression didn’t improve. Instead, his frown deepened. His right hand instinctively reached to his side, searching for the waist tablet he always carried.

Rong Tang quickly added: “If you really want to define it, he could be considered my enemy.”

Su Huaijing paused, his eyes turning sharp, and his tone dropped. The natural authority in his voice seeped out unconsciously as he slowly repeated: “Enemy?”

Rong Tang froze, realising belatedly that, in trying to soothe Su Huaijing, he’d let slip something significant. But there was no turning back now, so he nodded stiffly: “Yes.”

Su Huaijing sat up straight, twirling his fingers thoughtfully, and asked, “What did he do to become your enemy?”

Rong Tang opened his mouth to respond, but a familiar, long-forgotten sense of blockage overwhelmed him, making it impossible to speak openly to Su Huaijing.

Frustrated, Rong Tang thought hard. Su Huaijing remained patient beside him, not rushing or pressing him. But the hand playing with the tassel on his waist tablet was moving faster, betraying his growing agitation.

After what felt like an eternity, Rong Tang finally spoke in a low, uneasy voice: “Huaijing, do you dream often?”

Su Huaijing was startled, his expression stiffening slightly, as though a memory had surfaced in his mind.

Rong Tang, choosing an ambiguous but inexplicable angle, tried to explain: “I’ve been having a recurring dream since I was very young.”

He paused, relieved to feel no resistance or punishment from the system. Feeling a little more confident, he continued: “It started when I was nine years old, and at that time, I hadn’t even met Sheng Chengli.”

[Your lying is getting better and better,] the system remarked coolly.

Rong Tang faltered for a moment, anger rising. “Then tell me what I should say to avoid arousing the main villain’s suspicion!”

[……] The system fell silent, too fearful to extinguish its host’s survival instincts.

Rong Tang then began to think of ways to cover up the lie: “The dream seems to be from another world, but every time I wake up, I feel exhausted, as if I’ve actually been there.”

Su Huaijing leaned back against the carriage: “How so?”

Soft snow tapped gently on the roof as Rong Tang sat in the dimly lit carriage, clutching a hand warmer, his feet still pinned beneath Su Huaijing’s legs.

At first, he was just trying to avoid answering Su Huaijing’s persistent questions, but as he continued to speak, he found himself becoming more immersed in the story. An almost imperceptible sense of sorrow began to settle around him, and Su Huaijing, for once, found himself unable to intervene.

“It happened around this time of year. It began with heavy snowfall on New Year’s Eve. I fell into a pond, and when I woke up, everything was different.”

“During the Lantern Festival, His Majesty invited my parents to a banquet at the palace. I had just recovered, so I went with my mother. The banquet bored me, so I wandered off and got lost. Without realising it, I stumbled into an abandoned cold palace.”

Rong Tang spoke slowly, his gaze dropping naturally as if focused on some indeterminate point. His vision alternated between sharpness and blur, until all he could make out were the flickering reflections of candlelight and the soft texture of the blanket.

“The cold palace was dilapidated and dark. Inside, I found someone lying on a bed, burning up with a fever. I wanted to leave and find a doctor, but the person grabbed my sleeve. He was very young, barely conscious, and mistook me for his mother, crying out to me.”

Su Huaijing’s expression tightened slightly, his thin lips pressed together as he watched Rong Tang intently.

“I comforted him for a while, pried his hand off mine, and fetched a doctor to cure his fever,” Rong Tang said softly. “After some time, I returned to the palace, and he thanked me profusely, calling me his saviour. He then asked if I could save him once more.”

Su Huaijing’s voice was calm as he asked, “Was it Sheng Chengli?”

Rong Tang nodded. “He begged me to teach him how to escape the cold palace, how to win His Majesty’s favour, how to build his own power. He even asked me to teach him the ways of a ruler.”

“I didn’t know much at the time either, but I learnt along the way, teaching him as I went. We supported each other for three or four years.”

Then came the jealousy, suspicion, and distance that slowly grew between them until, in a nameless, decrepit temple, everything finally collapsed.

Rong Tang didn’t go into detail, instead saying simply, “In the end, he betrayed me and did some terrible things.”

“What kind of things?” Su Huaijing asked quietly.

Rong Tang shook his head. “I can’t remember. Dreams are fleeting, and the details fade after waking.”

Su Huaijing held his waist tablet, studying Rong Tang in silence for a long time before he finally nodded. “I see.”

He then asked, “Do you hate him, Tangtang?”

“It’s not quite hate,” Rong Tang frowned. “I just loathe him. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Su Huaijing’s next question was chilling in its simplicity. “Do you want to kill him?”

Rong Tang’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up sharply at Su Huaijing, ready to protest, but the cold intensity in Su Huaijing’s gaze stopped him short.

Su Huaijing was serious.

He truly wanted to kill Sheng Chengli.

The system in Rong Tang’s mind blared warnings, but instead of offering a dismissive answer like “It’s just a dream,” he gave Su Huaijing the response he was clearly waiting for: “Yes.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, Su Huaijing smiled gently. “Then let me kill him for you, Tangtang.”

He didn’t care whether it was a dream or not. To Su Huaijing, if Sheng Chengli’s existence caused Rong Tang fear and disgust, then he was already as good as dead.

He made the offer with ease, but Rong Tang shook his head.

Su Huaijing was surprised. “You don’t want him dead?”

Rong Tang clung tightly to the hand warmer, uncertain whether what he said next was truth or deception. “I do.”

Su Huaijing frowned. “Then why won’t you let me do it?”

“I’ll do it myself.” Rong Tang’s voice was hoarse, trembling slightly. “Let me do it. You’re not to intervene.”

Su Huaijing was taken aback, staring at Rong Tang in disbelief, but all he saw in his eyes was serene resolve, as though every word was genuine. Only Rong Tang’s body betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly.

Su Huaijing stared at him for a long moment before he eventually nodded. “Fine. I’ll leave his life to you.”

The tension that had built up in Rong Tang’s body suddenly melted away. Sweat pricked his palms, and the system’s insistent alarms finally quieted.

When the carriage pulled up outside Duke Ningxuan’s Palace, Su Huaijing was the first to alight. He extended his hand to help Rong Tang down.

As their hands clasped, the wind blew snow off the doorframe, and the lanterns swayed gently in the breeze. Su Huaijing turned to Rong Tang, asking, “What am I like in your dreams, Tangtang?”

Rong Tang had just started to relax from the tense fear that his mission had been on the verge of failure. Without thinking, he replied, “You’re not in my dreams.”

Su Huaijing frowned slightly, and a faint sound of rustling snow came from beside him.

Rong Tang stood next to him, his feet crunching into the freshly fallen snow, distant firelight flickering on the horizon.

In a soft, almost whispering tone, he said, “You’re in my reality.”