Rong Tang transmigrated at the age of twenty. Across three lifetimes comprised of three years, four years, then another two, he had spent a total of nine years battling illness. Big or small, he had suffered through no fewer than a hundred bouts of sickness.
From mild colds, dizziness, and weakness to severe comas and complete loss of bodily control, he had long grown accustomed to it.
The system had told him that this frailty was inherent to this body.
It assured him that if he diligently completed tasks, he could earn system credits to exchange for medicine… easing his pain and alleviating his symptoms.
After two lifetimes, Rong Tang had come to believe this without question.
So much so that on the eve of his latest severe illness, even as pain seeped from his very bones, he could still smile and tell the system, “Looks like there’s going to be heavy snow this year.”
His body was attuned to the seasons. A sudden drop in temperature, a looming blizzard—he would fall ill. Just as many elderly with frail constitutions would. It was normal, nothing worth excessive worry.
At most, if the pain became unbearable, he would have to inform Su Huaijing in advance to spare him from needless concern.
Yet the next day, Rong Tang rose as usual, had breakfast as usual. With Su Huaijing away at court, he took a carriage to visit Mu Jingxu.
Yuanyuan was in the study practising calligraphy and reading, while Rong Tang and Mu Jingxu sat in the main hall, chatting idly by the fire, watching the heavy, overcast sky herald the coming snow.
Then Rong Tang stood up, and in an instant, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull. It was like a barbed needle twisting into flesh. His vision swayed, his balance faltered, and he nearly collapsed.
He steadied himself just in time and, under Mu Jingxu’s startled, worried gaze, smiled and said, “I must have sat too long. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”
Then, as though nothing had happened, he lingered a while longer, conversing at leisure, before taking his leave and boarding the carriage home.
The streets were filled with hurried pedestrians. The sky was dark and heavy, and a strange, hollow unease settled in Rong Tang’s heart. It was an anxiety he couldn’t quite place.
Then, from the north, a deafening crack split the sky, as though shattering the thick clouds apart. The sharp, unrelenting burst of firecrackers echoed across the capital, ringing through Yu capital for miles.
The horses spooked. Rong Tang blinked, momentarily taken aback, then, inexplicably, his mind cleared.
He steadied himself, exhaled, and softly asked the system, “Sheng Chengli’s residence has been completed, hasn’t it?”
The glowing-orb-of-light system flitted anxiously around him. At his words, it lowered its voice, as if afraid of both disturbing its host and making it harder for him to hear through the pain. It spoke in a small, guilty whisper, like a child who had done something wrong: [Yes, Tangtang.]
Rong Tang closed his eyes and nodded. “I see.”
How was he meant to process all this? He found it increasingly difficult to decipher or predict.
The two nebulous mists in his mind shifted day by day… subtly, yet undeniably.
The grey mist grew clearer, its veil thinning to reveal the system’s hidden space beneath. Meanwhile, the black mist gradually faded, eroded by the grey, thinning from dense darkness to a diluted haze, and then towards transparency.
He clung to the hope that, one day, it would fully disappear.
Yet after Earl Wukang’s rebellion, while the grey mist did become more translucent, the black mist had begun to thicken again—as if bolstered by some unseen force.
Just moments ago, when he entered that space, he saw it: thick, clawing tendrils of black mist creeping towards the opposite side.
That was Sheng Chengli. Rong Tang was almost certain.
After Earl Wukang’s downfall, Emperor Renshou had grown increasingly fond of the Fifth Prince. Even with a year’s delay, the protagonist could still walk the path that Heavenly Way had laid for him.
The Second Prince had left the capital. The Third Prince’s power was growing. The Fourth Prince had passed away. The Sixth Prince bore heaven’s mandate. The Seventh and Eighth Princes were too weak to contend for the throne. At least, for now.
Whether to stabilise the court or to serve as a scapegoat, Sheng Xuyan needed a prince like Sheng Chengli to emerge. Someone to act as his target.
The black mist had weakened when Sheng Chengli left the capital. Now, it surged back with renewed strength because Sheng Chengli had once again stepped into the emperor’s gaze: his favoured son.
Rong Tang found himself thinking. Then what was he?
What did his suffering amount to?
The system hovered anxiously. Rong Tang merely closed his eyes and, as he had always done, silently endured the pain.
Outside, the first snow began to fall. The sound of horse hooves crunching against the fresh snow was unexpectedly pleasant.
Across the city, a grand and imposing residence stood completed… a tangible marker of yet another rising power within the capital.
Zhou Gang had resigned, leaving the position of Deputy Censor-in-Chief vacant. It was all but universally acknowledged that Su Huaijing would take his place.
Inside the Censorate, a few senior officials were sorting through documents, chatting amongst themselves.
“His Fifth Highness’s new residence is finished. Have you all prepared congratulatory gifts?” one asked with a smile.
“The Censorate must uphold impartiality. My lord, it would be unwise to be seen getting too close to a prince.”
“It’s just a gift,” the first man scoffed. “Not flattery, not political alignment. His Highness has come of age and left the palace. His Majesty himself has tacitly approved this. Why make it sound so serious?”
He turned to another official who had remained silent the entire time. “What do you think, Excellency Su?”
Su Huaijing’s expression remained composed. He set down his brush, lifted his gaze, and smiled. “His Majesty is benevolent and values family. There’s no need to frame this as factionalism. If word got out, people might say the Censorate is rigid, dogmatic, and inflexible.”
At this, the first man grinned triumphantly, as though having gained an ally. “In that case, Excellency Su, why don’t you join me after work to congratulate His Highness on his new home? We can have a cup of wine while we’re at it.”
“No,” Su Huaijing declined bluntly, his lips curving slightly. “It’s going to snow today. If I leave too late, travel will be difficult. I need to get home.”
“Excellency Su, why do you always rush home after work? You never socialise with us, nor do you linger in the office,” someone asked curiously.
Su Huaijing replied with composed frankness, “My husband retires to bed at the fourth quarter of the Xu hour. The Censorate finishes work at the second quarter of the Shen hour. The carriage ride home takes two quarters, and dinner another two. Altogether, my husband and I have only one hour and six quarters to spend together each day… less than two hours in total. How could I waste even a moment?”
The room fell silent. A young official, newly appointed after the latest imperial examinations, visibly gaped in astonishment.
Su Huaijing merely smiled and continued, “My lords, you should also return home early. Your wives wait all day, and the time you spend together is but a fleeting moment. If even that brief companionship cannot be prioritised, then what was the point of marriage? Why drink the wedding cup at all?”
As the final bell rang, signalling the end of the workday, Su Huaijing rose, tidied his desk, and with a slight nod, prepared to leave.
Just before stepping out, almost as if in passing, he turned back to the first official and said, “His Majesty may not seem to mind, but the emperor’s heart is inscrutable. As officials, we ought to understand that his will is beyond speculation.
“That being said…”
He paused, then smiled. “His Fifth Highness’s residence is complete. I wonder if His Third Highness and Marshal Xia will be attending the ceremony as well?”
After Su Huaijing finished speaking, he gave a final nod and finally left the government office.
The censors in the room, who had originally considered visiting the Fifth Prince’s residence that evening, were momentarily stunned. Then, as realisation dawned, they exchanged glances, each seeing the same fear reflected in the other’s eyes.
The emperor’s heart was unfathomable; one must never infer his true intentions based on fleeting favour. Lately, Emperor Renshou had been showering the Fifth Prince with affection, but even this beloved son had once spent over a decade in the cold palace and half a year guarding the imperial mausoleum.
Who could say whether such overwhelming wealth and favour would one day be revoked?
As for the Third Prince…
So long as Concubine Hui and Marshal Xia stood firm, the Third and Sixth Princes would always remain the most viable candidates for the position of heir. If they were to visit the Fifth Prince today to offer their congratulations, how would the Third Prince perceive it?
A chill ran through the group. One of them was the first to react, hurriedly standing up, gathering his documents, and smiling as he said, “Before I left home, my wife told me she’s making soup tonight and asked me to return early. See you all tomorrow, my lords.”
As he made his exit, a second person quickly followed, then a third…
“My boy has been neglecting his studies lately, making his mother furious more than once. I must go home and set him straight.”
“My wife has been wanting to see a play for ages. Since I’ve managed to finish work early today, I’d best take her.”
“My wife…”
“My mother…”
“My daughter…”
One by one, the officials discreetly made their exits, scattering to their respective homes. That evening, at Sheng Chengli’s grand housewarming banquet, not a single member of the Imperial Censorate was in attendance.
…
Seated in the carriage returning to Yong’an Lane, Su Huaijing gazed out at the falling snow, his heart filled with unease.
Tangtang had been in pain yesterday, so he had added an extra pain-relieving ingredient to the medicinal diet. But today’s snowfall was heavy, and he worried that the medicine alone might not be enough to see Rong Tang through.
The household’s charcoal stores had been fully stocked before winter, yet spending an entire day confined to a poorly ventilated room would be stifling for anyone.
Lately, Rong Tang had taken to visiting his elder brother to pass the time. Now and then, he would even sneak out with Yuanyuan, both in disguise, to wander the streets. He would buy him treats and trinkets, take him to watch plays and listen to storytellers. He lived more freely than most of the pampered noble sons of the capital.
Su Huaijing was displeased but could not bring himself to stop Tangtang from going out.
But today, it was snowing…
His brow furrowed slightly. Pushing open the carriage door, he called softly, “Faster.”
If Tangtang was in pain, he needed to be there immediately to administer moxibustion and medicine.
Before the carriage had even come to a halt, Su Huaijing leapt down impatiently, unwilling to wait a second longer.
The snow on the steps quickly soaked into his shoes, darkening them in patches.
Irritation flared within him as he strode straight to the bedroom—empty. The study—also empty.
Just as he was beginning to suspect that Rong Tang might have dined at Mu Jingxu’s house instead, Shuang Fu passed by and hesitated before calling out, “Sir?”
Su Huaijing turned. “Where is Tangtang?”
“The kitchen,” Shuang Fu replied. “The Young Master fancied goose soup today and is discussing the preparation with the cook.”
The tension in Su Huaijing’s chest dissipated instantly. Exhaling softly, he made his way to the kitchen.
There, behind the stove, Rong Tang’s face was flushed from the firelight, his cheeks round and rosy—like a ripe, tempting apple.
Su Huaijing’s heart stirred at the sight. Standing at the doorway, he called gently, “Tangtang.”
Rong Tang paused for a fraction of a second, then turned his head. Seeing who had arrived, he broke into a warm smile. “You’re back?”
Su Huaijing nodded and extended a hand. “Come here.”
Without hesitation, Rong Tang dropped the firewood he had been about to place into the stove, dusted off his clothes, and trotted over.
Su Huaijing chuckled at his eagerness. As soon as Rong Tang reached him, he grasped his wrist. His expression shifted slightly before quickly returning to normal. Smiling, he picked a stray grass seed from Rong Tang’s hair and pulled him closer. “Why weren’t you waiting for me in the room?”
Rong Tang answered offhandedly, “I suddenly had a craving.”
Su Huaijing noted the forced ease in his tone but chose not to expose it. Instead, he murmured, “But Tangtang has stolen seven and a half minutes* from me.”
(*TN: it’s stated as 半刻钟 in the original text, which literally translates to “half of a quarter of an hour”, i.e. 7.5 minutes.)
Rong Tang froze slightly, glancing at Su Huaijing in puzzlement.
The latter took his hand and led him towards the main hall. As they rounded a corner, the red glow of lanterns illuminated the eaves, casting flickering light against the backdrop of falling snow.
With a firm pull, Su Huaijing reversed their positions. Rong Tang found himself pressed against the wall. The lanterns swayed, their shadows dancing across his face.
Leaning in, Su Huaijing lowered his gaze, eyes warm yet intense, his grip unwavering.
As their breaths mingled, Rong Tang heard him whisper, “Tangtang, you owe me.”
A kiss landed at the corner of his lips. Snow continued to fall, blanketing the courtyard in silence.
One sought to conceal his unease, the other to hide his secrets—each silent yet fervent in their own way.
