Sheng Chengli held Su Huaijing’s gaze. After a moment, he looked up at the newly risen sun beyond the palace walls and said in a low voice, “To me, my Imperial Father is like the sun, moon, mountains and rivers. His grace as weighty and unshakable as a mountain. Excellency Su, I suggest you choose your words carefully.”
They walked at an unhurried pace. Sheng Chengli had accompanied Su Huaijing the entire way. By now, they were the only ones present. There were no other officials or palace staff in sight. His words could hardly be called a warning, but they were certainly no kind gesture either.
Su Huaijing gave him a glance before looking away indifferently, feeling quite uninterested.
He wants to fish for something, yet won’t speak plainly. He’s hoping instead to catch a slip in his words and use it as leverage…
How to put it? For the first time, Su Huaijing truly understood what it meant to be “rotten wood cannot be carved.”
Neither his san ge nor Tangtang had managed to teach him how to assess a situation or adjust his approach to the person at hand.
Calm and unhurried, Su Huaijing replied, “There’s an old saying: a single word can change the meaning entirely. ‘To serve’ and ‘to act in service’ may sound alike and mean the same in filial duty. But I am a censor. I am duty-bound to speak and record what I observe. His Highness is pure of heart and moved by filial piety, even stirring the heavens. It’s a pity that such noble sentiment should remain known only between the two of us. I had intended to write a formal report upon returning to the Censorate, to submit to His Majesty, so as to highlight Your Highness’s devotion and proper regard for your elders. An example for the court. But now, Your Highness advises me to ‘mind my words’? Whatever for?”
A flicker of shadow passed through Sheng Chengli’s eyes as he turned to look at Su Huaijing.
Su Huaijing met his gaze squarely, neither servile nor defiant. He didn’t shy away. In fact, he seemed entirely at ease, as though genuinely curious, waiting to see how Sheng Chengli would respond.
After a long pause, Sheng Chengli let out a soft laugh and sighed. “I’ve long heard of Excellency Su’s sharp wit and eloquence, that he is flawless in word and deed, capable of besting the finest scholars in debate. Today’s meeting proves the praise well-deserved. I’m impressed.”
“You flatter me, Your Highness.” Su Huaijing cast him a polite glance, offered a cupped-fist salute, and continued walking. He hadn’t been especially interested in conversation to begin with. Now, even less so.
Sheng Chengli followed him at a leisurely pace and, as if attempting to be friendly, began chatting about personal matters.
“Biao ge’s constitution is frail. He always falls ill at the turn of autumn and winter. You must be troubled taking care of him, Deputy Censor-in-Chief.”
Su Huaijing’s brows furrowed briefly, then relaxed. His tone turned cold.
“Tangtang is my husband. Looking after him is my duty. Has Your Highness grown so free of state concerns that you’ve begun taking an interest in other households’ affairs?”
Sheng Chengli said, “How can biao ge be considered ‘other’?”
Su Huaijing paused, then turned to look at him, his gaze heavy. Sheng Chengli met it with a faint, elusive smile. Paired with his now-matured features, it made him striking to behold.
Su Huaijing stared at him for a few moments. His expression shifted subtly. What had been a sharp edge in his eyes gave way to something more difficult to name.
He said gently, “Your Highness has truly beautiful eyes. It seems Concubine Shu’s reputation as the most beautiful woman in Yangzhou was no exaggeration.”
Sheng Chengli’s brow creased slightly. He dropped his gaze to the token at Su Huaijing’s waist and replied,
“My mother passed away when I was young. If I’ve inherited her eyes, that is my good fortune. It’s just… earlier this year I caught an illness in both eyes. I worry there may be lingering damage. It would be a shame to ruin the one thing she left me.”
“Both eyes?” Su Huaijing echoed.
Sheng Chengli nodded. “Yes, both. Does Deputy Censor-in-Chief find that odd?”
Su Huaijing smiled faintly and shook his head. “His Highness is blessed. With fortune shining upon him and His Majesty’s protection, no ailment could linger.”
Sheng Chengli replied, “In all my seventeen years, this is the first time someone has called me fortunate. Thank you, Deputy Censor-in-Chief.”
“There’s no need for such modesty, Your Highness.”
Courtiers were not permitted to linger within the palace unless summoned for an audience at the Hall of Political Affairs. So as soon as Su Huaijing finished speaking, he resumed walking. Sheng Chengli ambled alongside, speaking slowly:
“It’s not modesty. From the moment I was born, a single written edict determined my fate. My Imperial Father grew to despise me. Later, I was framed in the back palace’s intrigues, and my childhood was wretched. Just as I reached fifteen, misfortune struck again. I displeased my father and was banished to the imperial mausoleum.”
He paused, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. “My whole life, it seems I was fated for shallow kinship and constant betrayal.”
Su Huaijing frowned imperceptibly. He no longer wished to engage, but it was clear Sheng Chengli had pursued him with intent.
After a few seconds’ silence, he still responded: “Just now, Your Highness advised me to speak with care. Yet now you say your kinship is shallow?”
Such words tread dangerously close to defaming the sovereign, accusing the Emperor of neglect and injustice.
Sheng Chengli heard the meaning beneath his words, but asked instead, “Will Excellency Su report me to my imperial father, then?”
“Paper is costly. If it isn’t a matter concerning the realm, there’s no need to trouble His Majesty.”
In other words: you’re not worth it.
Though plainly snubbed, Sheng Chengli showed no anger. On the contrary, he smiled. “All the better. These days, Imperial Father spends his hours with Master Huimian, discussing scriptures, the Buddha, and elixirs. I doubt he’d want to be troubled with petty reports.”
Su Huaijing halted briefly and turned to glance at him, but said nothing.
Not until they neared the palace gates did they part ways. Su Huaijing gave a formal bow. “Thank you for the reminder, Your Highness. I advise you, in turn, to be mindful of your words and conduct.”
Sheng Chengli returned the gesture with equal courtesy. “I would not dare ignore Deputy Censor-in-Chief’s advice. And please… look after biao ge. Do not let him worry.”
Su Huaijing gave no reply. He boarded his carriage and closed his eyes to rest, fingers still absently running over the waist tablet Rong Tang had given him.
Annoying.
Utterly irritating. He truly didn’t understand how Sheng Chengli managed it. He knew full well Tangtang didn’t want to see him, yet still making frequent appearances to remind them of his presence.
Everything he said was laced with self-righteous concern and unwanted familiarity. Even the mildest temper would find it hard to stomach, and Su Huaijing had never been known for his patience.
He sat back in the carriage for a while, exhaled softly, then took out paper to draft a letter, pondering Sheng Chengli’s underlying message.
It wasn’t hard to grasp.
Firstly, he admitted to suspecting Mu Jingxu. Secondly, he made clear his concern for Rong Tang. Thirdly, and most critically, he revealed that Emperor Renshou had begun refining elixirs.
Historically, many emperors, nearing the end of their reigns, succumbed to superstition. They were easily deceived by itinerant mystics or false monks, seeking immortality through alchemy.
Sheng Xuyan had always been deeply superstitious. That he’d go down this path was hardly surprising. What was surprising was who had led him there.
Huimian, a monk famed across Dayu, and the very man who had once cured Rong Tang’s illness.
Su Huaijing lowered his gaze. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
He couldn’t quite name the feeling. But one thing was clear. Sheng Chengli’s visit today… carried the faint scent of reconciliation.
—
“The objective, for now, just happens to be the same.”
Rong Tang lay reclined on a small couch, a brazier placed before him. A clay pot of medicine simmered on the coals, bubbling gently.
The kitchen had tucked a few sweet potatoes into the hearth that evening. Su Huaijing sat nearby, peeling off the charred black skin. His fingers were smudged with ash, yet the flesh within was pale, soft, and fragrant.
As he rinsed his hands, he asked, “Why do you say that?”
The sweet potato was still piping hot, fresh from the fire. Rong Tang scooped it up spoonful by spoonful with a silver spoon, speaking around a mouthful: “Because he wants the Emperor dead too.”
The affairs of the former court and the inner palace were tightly interwoven. If Sheng Chengli had managed to topple Concubine Yi in a single move, then Concubine Hui’s demise was merely a matter of time.
Marshal Xia’s military command had long been a thorn in the Emperor’s side. Once Concubine Hui lost her influence, the Third and Sixth princes would inevitably fall out of favour with Emperor Renshou. At that point, whether by coaxing or forgery, it wouldn’t be difficult for Sheng Chengli to obtain an edict stamped with the Imperial jade seal.
So, in a sense, Su Huaijing and Sheng Chengli did indeed share a common enemy: Emperor Renshou.
Sheng Chengli had gone out of his way to seek Su Huaijing, appearing guarded on the surface, but his story was riddled with holes. Some of those lapses were genuine, others deliberate. He had, in fact, handed over leverage of his own accord, a subtle gesture of goodwill.
A pity, though…
Rong Tang took another bite of sweet potato. The sweetness melted warmly on his tongue, and he looked immensely pleased.
He narrowed his eyes and cast Su Huaijing a sidelong glance. “But you don’t want Sheng Xuyan to die, do you?”
Su Huaijing paused for a beat, then smiled gently, refined, like the perfect gentleman. But his words were laced with undisguised malice. “Tangtang knows me far too well.”
Rong Tang gave a noncommittal hum and took another spoonful.
“Letting him die would be far too merciful. I am not a kind man. Generosity doesn’t suit me,” Su Huaijing murmured softly.
Killing as an act of mercy and goodness, Rong Tang thought. At last, he’s starting to sound like a proper villain. He gave no comment, but Su Huaijing leaned closer, their faces almost touching. With a smile in his voice, he asked coyly, “Do you think I’m cruel, Tangtang?”
There was a faint scent on him… plum blossoms, bamboo, ink; perhaps sandalwood from the carriage or study. All were the scents of a gentleman, calming and serene. But as Rong Tang caught a whiff of that elusive fragrance, and saw the man’s lashes fluttering so close to his own face, something stirred in him.
Without thinking, he reached out, curled his arm around Su Huaijing’s neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.
The wind stirred through the courtyard, scattering autumn leaves. Their breaths mingled in the space between them. Rong Tang kissed him for a long time; on the brazier, the clay lid of the medicine pot was beginning to rattle.
The heat rose steadily. Just before he ran out of strength, Rong Tang let him go. His voice was faint and a little breathless, yet sincere: “Avenging one’s parents is a child’s duty. How can that be called cruel?”
Su Huaijing’s gaze flickered. Something stirred in him. He leaned in again, ready to resume the kiss. But then Rong Tang smiled, dimples deepening, and spoke with a languid gentleness:
“Besides, even if it is cruel, what of it? One good person in a family is quite enough.”
He said, “Let me atone for your sins. Let me bear your burdens.”
Rong Tang delivered the most seductive line of all with the calmest, most matter-of-fact tone. Su Huaijing stared at him in a daze, top to bottom, for a long moment before his senses returned.
For an instant, instinct overtook reason. He leaned down again. Rong Tang’s arm lay across the most vulnerable part of his neck… yet it held no threat.
As long as Rong Tang lay there, Su Huaijing would gladly throw himself into the flames.
The northern wind was rising, the sky growing dark. The study was lit only by a dim lamp. Medicinal herbs filled the air with their earthy scent. Su Huaijing kissed him with rising fervour, one hand slipping beneath Rong Tang’s robes. But then he paused, remembering… he should let Tangtang take his medicine first.
Rong Tang blinked slowly, then tightened his arm and murmured, “Can we skip the medicine, just this once?”
Su Huaijing frowned almost instantly. He could humour Tangtang in nearly everything, but never this. He had seen too many times how little Tangtang cared for his own health, and it always left him shaken.
“Tangtang…”
“But I want to feel good too.” Rong Tang’s voice was sweet and soft, wickedly indulgent. “Huaijing, just this once… won’t you let me have my way?”
The autumn moon hung high above. A saint fell into the mortal world—and invited him to fall too.
