Chapter 108

At the midpoint of the performance, Su Huaijing and Mu Jingxu returned to their seats.

Rong Tang glanced at the stage, ensuring there was nothing inappropriate for children being performed before letting out a slight sigh of relief.

Su Huaijing asked, “Is it good?”

Rong Tang replied with a decisive and indifferent expression, “It’s average.”

Su Huaijing blinked in surprise, studying Tangtang’s upright demeanour before glancing at Lu Jiaxi, who looked as though he wanted to sink into his chair. In an instant, realisation dawned on him, and he smiled as he sat down. “I thought Tangtang would like it.”

Rong Tang: “?”

He froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at Su Huaijing. “You know?”

“Know what?” Su Huaijing teased, a playful gleam in his eyes that made his amusement clear.

The curtain fell, dimming the candlelight in the theatre. Though it was not yet evening outside, the hall was dark, with only the stage and nearby companions visible.

Rong Tang and Su Huaijing locked eyes for a few seconds before Rong Tang broke the gaze.

There was a faint sound of fabric brushing against the armchair as Su Huaijing leaned closer, his voice a lazy murmur in Rong Tang’s ear: “It was Tangtang who read the story first, and Ke Hongxue who suggested coming to the play. Tangtang wasn’t shy reading the book, nor did you object to coming here. So why are you blaming me now?”

The actor’s voice echoed softly through the room, blending with the subdued hum of quiet conversations. The atmosphere carried a delicate intimacy, breaths brushing gently against ears. Rong Tang’s ears reddened involuntarily. Shifting half an inch to the side, he muttered, “I’m not blaming you.”

Su Huaijing asked, “Is it really not good?”

Rong Tang hesitated, recalling fragments of the story and the fleeting scenes of the play. In a muffled voice, he admitted, “I didn’t watch.”

Su Huaijing: “…?”

He paused, processing the confession, and then couldn’t help but laugh. A smile tugged at his lips and lit up his eyes as his hand slipped along the armchair to clasp Tangtang’s, giving it a light squeeze. “You didn’t want to watch, or… were you embarrassed to?”

[What a scoundrel!] the system fumed.

Rong Tang almost echoed the sentiment.

His eyes blazed as he glared at Su Huaijing, who grinned brightly before pleading for forgiveness. “My fault. I won’t ask anymore.”

Suppressing his frustration, Rong Tang turned away, choosing instead to admire the embroidery on his robes alongside young Excellency Lu. The play and the man beside him both faded into insignificance.

Watching this, Su Huaijing suppressed his laughter, his head dipping as muffled chuckles escaped. The unease lingering from his earlier conversation with Mu Jingxu finally began to ease.

In the twenty-fourth year of Yuanxing, the crown prince married the daughter of the Minister of Rites, Miss Xu, as his wife.

The following year, unrest erupted at the northern border, and the crown prince was dispatched to quell the rebellion. Two months later, amidst the turmoil, Crown Princess Xu Yumin entered the palace to beg the Emperor and Empress for permission to join her husband at the frontier.

The late Emperor refused, but the crown princess spent the entire night in discussion with the Empress. By dawn, the Empress’s personal guards escorted Xu Yumin to the battlefield.

After the war ended, surviving soldiers discovered the crown princess in a remote village and escorted her back to the capital, which had undergone a complete transformation. She had lost her husband, and her father had perished in the rebellion.

Even Emperor Renshou, ruthless as he was, could not harm the crown prince’s widow so soon after stabilising the nation. Xu Yumin vowed before the Emperor and Empress to renounce the world and live as a nun, never leaving the temple and dedicating her life to praying for the country.

Su Huaijing’s impression of his eldest sao was faint. He only remembered her as a gentle and meticulous woman.

Always flawlessly dressed, her attire elaborate yet dignified, she followed her husband with precise caution, always half a step behind. She epitomised the ideal crown princess in the eyes of noble families—graceful, composed, and without flaw.

Unlike the commanding presence of Princess Duanyi or the vivacious charm of the late Empress, Xu Yumin embodied the archetypal lady of high society: gentle, refined, and exemplary in every gesture and word.

As a child, Su Huaijing couldn’t grasp the subtleties of court life. Yet, whenever he looked up at his eldest sao’s unwavering smile, he couldn’t shake the feeling of exhaustion, as if even smiling was a burden. He often wondered if she wore a mask.

One family banquet, while chasing butterflies in the imperial garden, he stumbled upon a corner of bright yellow fabric.

Yellow, the imperial colour, was reserved for the Emperor’s gold, the crown prince’s bright yellow, and lesser princes’ apricot and orange shades.

The young Seventh Prince forgot about the butterflies when he spotted his Crown Prince gege. He was about to rush over when he heard a low, almost petulant murmur: “I’m so tired…”

The Crown Prince, praised endlessly by the Emperor for his composure and sense of duty, leaned against his wife in a secluded corner of the garden, his head buried in her neck. “I just want to go home.”

Not back to the East Palace, but home.

The young Su Huaijing didn’t yet understand the distinction. But he noticed how his saosao’s smile softened, a delicate blend of shyness and dignity, as she patted her husband’s back. “Just a bit longer. When we return, I’ll make you sweet dumplings for the Lantern Festival. Alright?”

Only then did Su Huaijing recall that the banquet was to celebrate his da ge’s birthday.

The crown prince had slipped away to spend a quiet moment with his wife, away from the palace’s stifling routines, under the branches of a moonlit tree.

Su Huaijing once thought Xu Yumin fortunate to have survived the war, believing a quiet life in a temple was a blessing. But the truth surprised him: this gentle, seemingly fragile woman had secretly borne the crown prince’s child and braved the battlefield repeatedly to recover her husband’s remains.

As for sending the child to Dasui, Su Huaijing could not determine whether it was right. But it was undeniable that from the twenty-fifth year of Yuanxing to the first year of Qingzheng, had the late crown prince’s child been discovered, they would have been killed before he could even speak.

Mu Jingxu’s choice was not solely influenced by Sheng Chengli but stemmed from a shared strategy with Su Huaijing:

Divide and conquer.

Support one prince wholeheartedly, dismantle his rivals one by one, and finally weaken him to claim the ultimate advantage.

The only difference is that Su Huaijing chose Sheng Chengming, and Mu Jingxu chose Sheng Chengli.

The former has a powerful maternal clan but is reckless and easily manipulated; the latter is alone, without a family to rely on or imperial favour, making him easier for strategists to control.

Neither choice was sincere. In the eyes of the late emperor’s sons, the children of Emperor Renshou were merely pawns on the chessboard.

After hearing this, Su Huaijing remained silent for a long time. The spring sun was warm, and halos of light filled the western sky. He gazed at the shimmering shadows of banyan leaves in the garden, and for some reason, suddenly asked Mu Jingxu, “What if you hadn’t recognised me?”

Mu Jingxu was startled. “What?”

The tree shadows swayed as Su Huaijing stared at them for a while. Some speculations were too far-fetched to seem plausible… dreamlike, even. Yet, he inexplicably wanted to know: “What if you didn’t recognise me? Or recognised me much later?”

“What would you do?” Su Huaijing asked. “Continue paving the way for that child? Or abandon Sheng Chengli to find me?”

“I would find you,” Mu Jingxu replied without hesitation.

Su Huaijing curled his lips into a smile, turned to him, and asked, “Why?”

Mu Jingxu fell silent for a long time, a faint trace of doubt lingering between his brows. He seemed uncertain why Xiao Qi would pose such an abstract and improbable hypothetical… or why he felt compelled to answer.

After some thought, he said, “Because I need you, and you need me.”

Because they were both walking through life burdened by hatred. Because they both understood the despair of losing their loved ones. Because they longed for a fleeting sense of joy in regaining something thought lost.

They needed each other. Just like many years ago in the palace of Dayu, when a young Seventh Prince needed his royal xiong to lift him onto his shoulders to catch cicadas from the trees.

Su Huaijing asked, “Under what circumstances would you not seek me out?”

Mu Jingxu frowned slightly, reluctant to answer such a despairing scenario. Softly, he said, “Xiao Qi…”

“Xiong zhang,” Su Huaijing interrupted him, “If you recognised me but chose not to seek me out or acknowledge me, what would the reason be?”

His expression was so grave that Mu Jingxu had no choice but to think seriously.

Even though the possibility seemed minuscule, Mu Jingxu couldn’t help but reflect carefully. Finally, he replied in a low voice to a situation that could never possibly occur: “I’m about to die. You’re making steady progress. We’re enemies. You can reach your destination on your own.”

Mu Jingxu paused, then added, “If that were the case, I wouldn’t come for you.”

Su Huaijing was silent for a long time. He leaned back slightly, a faint smile on his lips, as if lost in thought. Murmuring to himself, he said, “So that’s how it is…”

Because he believed Mu Jingxu could complete his revenge. Because they had been long-time adversaries. Because his own death was imminent.

It would be better not to meet. Better not to recognise each other. Better to let Mu Jingxu walk forward with resentment than to let him realise his xiong zhang had long been by his side, growing weaker, and dying under the weight of their rivalry.

The Third Prince would never want his Xiao Qi to feel guilt because of him. Xiao Qi was his most cherished younger brother.

But what happened afterward?

Su Huaijing couldn’t help but recall: After the Shudao Pavilion, when he and Rong Tang were walking along the banks of Jinfen River, he had asked Tangtang why he wanted to befriend Ke and Mu. Rong Tang had blurted out, “Because of you,” with a flash of compassion in his eyes.

Because of him? Because he needed his xiong zhang.

But at that time, Rong Tang clearly didn’t know who Mu Jingxu was. Then why?

Because their interactions had made Rong Tang notice something? Because his xiong zhang had never acknowledged him? Or because the possibilities Mu Jingxu had just spoken of were already facts?

Because in a world Su Huaijing didn’t know, his elder brother had truly died once. Because Rong Tang had witnessed his death firsthand.

So Tangtang wanted to rewrite the ending. To try a different possibility.

To save him. To save his xiong zhang.

“Huaijing? Huaijing?”

Lost in thought, Su Huaijing was brought back by Rong Tang’s voice. Turning his head, he saw that the play on stage had ended, and the audience was beginning to disperse. Life, like the play, had reached its conclusion.

Rong Tang asked, “Shall we head home?”

Su Huaijing paused briefly, then smiled softly. Taking Rong Tang’s hand, he said, “Alright. Let’s go home.”

Outside, twilight lingered, and the sunset glowed beautifully against the spring sky.

As Su Huaijing walked under the vast heavens, he glanced up nonchalantly. A sharp, cold glint flickered in his eyes.

“How many lives…do you owe me?”