Chapter 121

Warning: mentions of torture.

A patron died in Fengyue House. He’d died in the Chamber of Ecstasy, beneath a beauty’s silk canopy. If anything, one might say he lived up to the phrase, “To perish under the peony blossom, to die a romantic ghost.”

The cause of death was hotly debated. For seven days straight, the government office officers of the Imperial Court of Justice kept watch outside Fengyue House, hoping to catch the murderer. In the end, they secretly escorted a Hanlin scholar back to the interrogation chambers.

This one murder case ended up implicating numerous high-ranking officials who had been indulging themselves in Fengyue House. The Imperial Court of Justice had no authority to deal with them privately, so they reported the matter to the Emperor, who then transferred the case to the Censorate.

Thirty lashes are enough to take half a man’s life. But with foreign envoys currently gathered in the capital, they couldn’t have officials limping about in disgrace, tarnishing Dayu’s reputation. Thus, after some deliberation, the two Chief Censors proposed a compromise to Emperor Renshou: a uniform punishment of one year’s salary docked.

It was a severe penalty. After all, Fengyue House had operated openly for years, its reputation well known. It was the wealthiest and most extravagant district in the entire capital, and even a murder hadn’t stopped its business. The reason was something every official tacitly understood:

The Emperor himself frequented the place.

When those at the top do not set a straight path, those below will naturally stray. This was the simplest truth, but no one dared to say it aloud.

Emperor Renshou’s face was dark for days. He grew deeply resentful toward the Junior Minister of the Imperial Court of Justice who had dragged the matter into the light.

Before the murderer had even been convicted, the Junior Minister was blamed for mishandling the case. He was punished alongside the offending officials. One year’s salary docked, plus ten lashes.

When Rong Tang heard the news, he stood frozen in the courtyard, speechless.

Beside him, Su Huaijing’s expression darkened… so much so that, for the first time in a long while, he looked like he wanted to kill someone.

The lashes of the Imperial Court of Justice were no ordinary punishment. Each rod was studded with thorns, soaked in salt water. After ten strikes, even a strong man would be bedridden for half a month.

Yet Mu Jingxu was only granted three days’ sick leave.

Su Huaijing asked, “Tangtang, what do you think of Dayu as it is today?”

“It’s not good,” Rong Tang replied. He paused before adding, “It’s very bad.”

Throughout history, the decline of an empire always followed a pattern.

On the surface, Dayu seemed vast and its people prosperous. But in truth, its rulers were stubborn and blind to reality; its officials spent their days indulging in corruption and self-interest; its soldiers lacked ambition, valuing survival over duty.

And the Emperor? A single palace of his cost millions of taels of silver… wealth squeezed from the people, all for his own pleasure.

At this rate, within ten years, Dayu would fall.

Even without Su Huaijing’s presence in the original timeline, it would have been difficult for Sheng Chengli to save this empire. An empire that glittered like a mirage, beautiful yet doomed to collapse.

Su Huaijing said, “Father once told me that he was merely a caretaker monarch. As long as the empire did not fall in his hands, he would not be ashamed before his ancestors. Once my da ge grows into a wise and capable ruler, he will abdicate.”

By then, civil governance would have Sheng Fuze, the military would have Wei Zhun, and the court would have a clear ruler. Young minds would bring fresh, forward-thinking ideals. Dayu might yet see a bright future.

But now? The empire that the late emperor had guarded for twenty-five years was already rotting at the roots.

Su Huaijing lowered his gaze, looking into the autumn night sky. He was silent for a long time, not revealing his thoughts.

Rong Tang did not press him, nor did he ask. He simply stayed by his side, as did the system, lurking in some unseen corner of the courtyard.

A long while later, Su Huaijing finally let out a soft laugh. The gloom in his eyes faded slightly as he asked, “Shall we visit my xiong zhang?”

Rong Tang didn’t hesitate. “Alright.”

Mu Jingxu owned a residence in the capital, located in the southern district, not far from Yong’an Lane. By the time Rong Tang and Su Huaijing arrived, the last streaks of purple-red sunset had faded into the night sky.

A carriage was already parked outside. Compared to Duke Ningxuan’s Palace, it was just as grand.

Mu Jingxu’s residence was quiet and sparsely staffed, with only a handful of servants. Rong Tang stepped into the courtyard and immediately noticed that most of the people bustling about were Ke Hongxue’s men.

He turned to Su Huaijing. “Are they living together now?”

Su Huaijing’s expression was unreadable. Instead of answering, he simply took Rong Tang’s hand and led him forward.

Inside, the lamps were lit, casting a warm glow over the room’s furnishings which were elegant, understated, yet undeniably luxurious. It was far beyond what the salary of a Junior Minister of the Court of Justice could afford.

As they stepped through the doorway, they nearly ran into Ke Hongxue, who was coming out with a basin of water.

Ke Hongxue paused briefly before smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Senior just fell asleep. If I had known you were coming, I would have told him to wait a little longer.”

Rong Tang glanced at the basin… and quickly looked away.

The water had turned pale red. The towel floating inside was stained with blood, deep and shallow marks layered over each other. It had clearly been changed multiple times.

Su Huaijing’s expression darkened immediately. His grip on Rong Tang’s hand unconsciously tightened.

Then he let go just as quickly. But the tension in his posture gave him away. He took a steadying breath and asked, “Are there any spare rooms? Tangtang and I will stay here tonight.”

Ke Hongxue lowered his voice, as if afraid of waking the patient. “One room or two?”

Su Huaijing: “Two.”

Both Ke Hongxue and Rong Tang were momentarily surprised. They exchanged a glance but said nothing.

Ke Hongxue instructed his men to prepare the rooms. Meanwhile, Su Huaijing stood outside Mu Jingxu’s door for a moment before turning to leave.

Rong Tang called after him, “Aren’t you going to check on him?”

“He might wake up,” Su Huaijing murmured. His voice was calm, but beneath it was a trace of unease—perhaps even fear.

Rong Tang squeezed his hand lightly, offering silent comfort.

At this moment, words felt meaningless. No matter what was said, it could never fully bridge the distance between being an observer and truly experiencing the pain.

Mu Jingxu’s body had always been frail. He was prone to fainting in the cold, aching in damp conditions. Like Rong Tang, he couldn’t withstand wind or rain.

And in both past lives, he had died even earlier than Rong Tang.

Back then, there had been no senseless imperial punishment.

Having already witnessed the end, Rong Tang found himself even more afraid than Su Huaijing.

That night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Eventually, he got up and dressed. Seeing that Su Huaijing’s room remained dark, he decided not to disturb him.

Instead, he slowly made his way to Mu Jingxu’s door.

But he saw Ke Hongxue standing in the courtyard, still looking dashing in his red robes, though there was a patch of dark red near the hem, barely visible under the night sky.

Rong Tang lowered his head and noticed that Tutor Ke’s sleeve, hanging by his side, was trembling ever so slightly. His fingers were clenched into a fist, yet from time to time, faint shadows slipped out, beyond his control.

He stood as straight as a pine or cypress, yet his fear made him seem as if a mere gust of wind could topple him.

Rong Tang stepped closer, and only then did Ke Hongxue snap out of his trance. He blinked his dry eyes and, upon seeing who it was, habitually curved his lips into a smile. “You and Xiao Su are quite something, sneaking around in the middle of the night instead of sleeping. Aren’t you afraid of ruining your reputations if word gets out about this ‘night raid’?”

Rong Tang was briefly taken aback and instinctively glanced back. Faint light seeped through the wooden lattice of the window, but the entire courtyard was eerily silent. Even the cicadas and insects that should be calling on an autumn night were nowhere to be heard.

Ke Hongxue caught his confusion. “I drugged them and drove them away. Didn’t want them disturbing Senior.”

He didn’t say who administered the drug, and Rong Tang didn’t ask. It could have been either Ke Hongxue or Su Huaijing.

Rong Tang said softly, “Go back and get some rest.”

Ke Hongxue shook his head. “No need. I’ve taken leave and won’t be lecturing for the next few days. But Su Huaijing still has court tomorrow. I’ll switch with him later.”

Rong Tang frowned. “How long have you been awake?”

Ke Hongxue replied indifferently, “It doesn’t matter.”

Rong Tang insisted, “Huaijing and I can take turns watching over him.”

Ke Hongxue chuckled. “You, Prince? Forget it. One more patient, and won’t your dear wife be tempted to kill the emperor in court tomorrow?”

Rong Tang’s brows furrowed. He wanted to press further, but Ke Hongxue simply said, “Go back. He deliberately arranged for two rooms so you wouldn’t worry. The night air is cold. Don’t catch a chill.”

For a brief moment, an indescribable sense of helplessness weighed down on Rong Tang.

It wasn’t that the Mu household lacked servants or that they couldn’t hire physicians and attendants. It was just that, to them, outsiders would never be as reliable. They had to watch over Mu Jingxu themselves—staring unblinkingly as he opened his eyes, drank his medicine, and fell asleep again—only then could they feel at ease.

In this courtyard, the sick were never just one.

Before leaving, Rong Tang paused and asked, “How did you deal with the suspect from Fengyue House?”

“A Dongshan spy,” Ke Hongxue replied coolly. “Skinned halfway and fed to the dogs.”

Rong Tang stiffened slightly, momentarily surprised.

Mu Jingxu had been caned in the morning, and by nightfall, his assailant had already been punished. The efficiency was staggering.

Perhaps his reaction was too obvious, because Ke Hongxue let out a small laugh and curved his eyes teasingly. “Does Prince think I was merely a clean-handed, uninvolved tutor at court?”

It was only because the diplomatic mission was in the capital that he couldn’t immediately pass judgment. His senior had always been rigidly bound by rules. He was being cautious.

He wanted revenge, yet he also worried about provoking conflict between the two nations, about the suffering of the border citizens. Even with the culprit in hand, he still insisted on waiting for the emperor’s so-called ‘golden decree’ before daring to act.

And in the end, all he earned was a punishment of his own.

Ke Hongxue lowered his gaze, a shadow of cold cruelty flickering in his expression. “A man can still live with half his skin peeled. Put on a prisoner’s robe, and who can say whether he was tortured?” He sneered faintly. “But what a pity…”

He trailed off, then smiled as he gestured for Rong Tang to return to his room. After standing there in silence for a moment, he finally turned and stepped inside.

No one heard the quiet murmur that followed.

“What a pity we can’t peel Sheng Xuyan’s skin too.”

The emperor’s name was Sheng Xuyan. These treasonous and seditious words were spoken in the dead of night.

…

Rong Tang returned to his room and lay on the bed, staring blankly for a long time.

Just as sleep began to overtake him, the sky outside was still as dark as ink, but somewhere in the distance, a rooster let out a loud cry. Dawn was breaking.

The door creaked open.

Su Huaijing entered, his robes damp with dew. Moving lightly, he shed his outer garment and climbed into bed, wrapping an arm around Rong Tang to steal a brief rest before morning court.

His hand was caught, his fingers pried open, one by one, as another hand slipped into his palm.

Rong Tang nearly shivered from the cold.

It was the first time he had ever felt such an icy chill from Su Huaijing’s body.

It was also the first time Su Huaijing climbed into his bed, forgetting to warm his hands and feet.

Rong Tang shut his eyes, a dull ache swelling in his chest. Silently, he rolled closer into the embrace.

A rare, rare moment. Warming up the main villain, for once.

…

They stayed in Mu Jingxu’s residence for three days.

On the second morning, Mu Jingxu finally opened his eyes. His face was as pale as paper, yet his demeanour was as composed as if he had never been punished.

Holding a case file, he casually discussed matters with Su Huaijing.

Ke Hongxue entered with a bowl of medicine, saw this scene, and his temple throbbed. Without a word, he snatched the scroll from Mu Jingxu’s hands.

…

On the day Mu Jingxu’s sick leave ended, Yu capital was brimming with celebration.

Golden river lanterns floated along the Jinfen River, each carrying prayers for the emperor’s longevity.

The city gates were flung wide open, and envoys from all directions arrived to offer their congratulations. The three-day-long Longevity Festival* of Dayu’s emperor had officially begun.

(*TN: aka. Emperor’s birthday celebrations.)

Rong Tang left the Mu residence and watched as Mu Jingxu, his face expressionless, was carried into the imperial carriage by Ke Hongxue. The back of his white robes was stained with fresh specks of blood.

At that moment, one thought crossed his mind.

What birthday? That damn emperor should just drop dead.