Chapter 154

Warning: mentions of gore.

Rong Tang had overindulged, and the medicine he took the next day was so bitter it nearly made him cry.

But there was nothing he could do about it. He’d been in the wrong, after all, and was far too embarrassed to go and act spoilt in front of Su Huaijing again.

Yet, as time passed, he began to notice changes in his body.

Where once even the most intimate moments rarely stirred desire, he now found himself reacting in the early hours of the morning. Just like any other man.

The first couple of times, he put it down to coincidence. But as the days went on and the taste of the medicine grew increasingly suspicious, Rong Tang could hardly help drawing conclusions.

By the time he fully realised what was going on, Young Prince Rong could only laugh in exasperation.

That day, Su Huaijing returned home from court and was led to the dining room by a servant. Somewhat puzzled, he asked where Tangtang had gone, only for the servant to reply, “Shizi dined early and has already turned in for the night.”

Su Huaijing immediately grew concerned. He feared Tangtang might be unwell and had instructed the servants to relay a message so as not to worry him. Anxious, he made his way to the eastern courtyard… only to find Shuang Fu standing in his path at the moon gate. The boy looked nervous, not quite daring to meet his master’s eye, but even more unwilling to go against the young prince’s orders. Dutifully, he held his ground and whispered, “Young Master has instructed that you’re not to enter his courtyard, Sir.”

Su Huaijing: “?”

He froze, the tension in his chest easing slightly. His footsteps slowed, and he looked down at Shuang Fu. “Why not?”

Still keeping his head lowered, Shuang Fu answered in a tone unexpectedly firm for someone so timid: “Young Master said, ‘You know exactly what you’ve done.’”

He paused, lips pursed, seeming to gather himself. Then gave a heavy snort through his nose: “Hmph!”

Su Huaijing burst out laughing at once, all his unease melting away. With genuine amusement, he said, “Loyal servant echoing his master. Well done. Go collect your reward from the warehouse.”

It was clearly a good-natured jest, but Shuang Fu pulled a miserable face and glanced furtively at the side room behind him. “Sir…” he said mournfully.

Su Huaijing simply turned on his heel. “Since Tangtang doesn’t wish to see me, I’ll come back later.”

“……”

Shuang Fu was on the verge of tears. He exchanged a look with Shuang Shou, both of them seeing the same thought reflected in each other’s eyes:

—What in the world is going on here?

Two overgrown children.

Meanwhile, the young prince whom everyone believed had gone to bed early was still tossing and turning in the middle of the night, unable to sleep.

He heard footsteps outside… deliberately unrestrained, as if the intruder wanted those inside to know he was there.

Rong Tang lay still beneath the covers. A small lamp gifted to him by the system glowed faintly by the bed. He let out a quiet “heh,” his expression faintly mocking.

There came a perfunctory knock. Two light taps. The visitor didn’t wait for an invitation, merely paused a moment to give the person inside time to prepare, then opened the door of his own accord and stepped in unhurriedly.

Rong Tang sat up with his quilt wrapped around him, propping himself against the headboard with a clear look of displeasure.

Su Huaijing, on the other hand, showed not the slightest hint of guilt or shame at sneaking in at night. In fact, he was smiling. An infuriatingly pretty smile. He set the lantern on the table and produced a freshly roasted chicken wrapped in oil paper, still steaming, along with a small white porcelain bottle of peach blossom wine. In a soft voice, he asked, “Tangtang, fancy a drink?”

Rong Tang: “……”

What could he even say to that? His main villain really did know how to press all the right buttons.

He didn’t move, just stared frostily at Su Huaijing for a long moment before finally extending a hand with an imperious air. “Bring it here.”

Su Huaijing chuckled. “Shall we eat in bed?”

Rong Tang rolled his eyes. “Fetch me something to wear. It’s cold.”

“Of course.” The main villain replied sweetly.

The chicken was fresh from a street vendor’s oven, the wine newly bought and gently warmed. Just right for drinking now.

Rong Tang ate heartily and drank his fill, leaning lazily against the chair back afterwards, reluctant to move.

Su Huaijing gently wiped his hands for him and asked, “Still angry, Tangtang?”

Rong Tang gave him a sideways look. “Why would I be angry?”

“I’ve no idea,” Su Huaijing said with infuriating softness. But before Rong Tang could glare at him, he added, “Perhaps Tangtang is so clever he figured out I tampered with the medicine?”

Rong Tang’s blood boiled, but he had just eaten, and whatever anger he felt seemed to settle in his stomach instead of rising to his head.

He gave Su Huaijing a cold side-eye and snorted: “Heh.”

The main villain’s lips twitched as though he wanted to laugh, but he forced it back, worried it might provoke Tangtang further. Instead, he said warmly, “I was wrong. Won’t you give me a chance to explain?”

Rong Tang: “Why bother, if it’s just going to be excuses?”

“Because Tangtang loves me,” Su Huaijing said shamelessly, his eyes soft, smile sweet. He bent forward slightly as he continued wiping Rong Tang’s hands, all meekness and grace, nothing like a calculating main villain, more like a pampered young gentleman raised in a private boudoir.

Cherished, delicate, sweet-talking, ridiculously pretty… and especially good at coaxing.

Rong Tang’s heart skipped a beat. He scolded himself for being utterly hopeless, but when Su Huaijing casually gave his hand a squeeze, a wave of tingling heat shot up his arm from his fingertips.

He yanked his hand back and shot Su Huaijing a glare. “Talk.”

Su Huaijing obeyed at once. “Tangtang’s health isn’t the best, and I—young, reckless, full of energy—have no self-control. I kept worrying I’d push too far and hurt you. Having you indulge my nonsense day and night would only sap your strength and make things worse, so I took it upon myself to add a few extra herbs. I swear I won’t do it again.”

Rong Tang blinked, caught off guard. He eyed Su Huaijing warily, suspicion only growing stronger.

This man was lowering himself too much. It was downright suspicious.

But Su Huaijing went on smoothly, “Later, when I saw you looking better, and after what you said to me in the study that day, I reflected long and hard. Maybe I had gone too far. Maybe I’d neglected how you felt. So I adjusted the formula again. These past few days… have you noticed any changes?”

Rong Tang’s ears flushed red, and all that imperious bravado instantly deflated. He gritted his teeth and muttered, “Beast…”

“Well, I’m a beast.” Su Huaijing dutifully poured Rong Tang another cup of wine and murmured, “Tangtang gege, just think of me as a dog you’ve taken in. Even the most loyal hound sometimes misbehaves. Surely you can forgive that?”  

“Can’t you?” He held the wine out, tilting his face up to meet Rong Tang’s gaze. The flicker of lamplight softened his expression into something docile, almost reverent.  

Yet Rong Tang was still stuck on his earlier words, his irritation flaring hotter.  

It wasn’t the audacity of dosing his drink and then claiming he was ‘too frail to feel desire’ that rankled. No, it was this… this wretched habit of twisting every sacrifice into self-flagellation, grovelling as if he could erase guilt by grinding himself into the dirt. For a heartbeat, Rong Tang felt something furious and helpless claw at his chest: the exasperation of watching someone spit on their own worth.  

He ignored the proffered cup. Instead, he stared down at Su Huaijing, voice icy. “Who taught you to speak of yourself this way?”  

Su Huaijing blinked. “Is it wrong?”  

Rong Tang’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the seventh prince of the late emperor. One day, you’ll rule Dayu. And here you are, calling yourself a dog. Have you no pride?”  

The rebuke was sharp enough to make Su Huaijing pout. “But I don’t mind.”  

Rong Tang choked on his retort.  

“Besides,” Su Huaijing added, softer now, “Tangtang knows I lost any notion of dignity long ago. Orphans scrambling for scraps at their uncle’s table don’t get lessons on pride. Back then, if my cousins weren’t pleased, I didn’t eat. What use was dignity?”  

Rong Tang said nothing.  

The night hung heavy around them. He knew: every word was calculated, every tremor of vulnerability staged. Yet still, still, he let himself be swayed. After a weighted pause, he muttered, “You’re insufferable.”  

Su Huaijing batted his lashes, the picture of innocence.  

With a defeated sigh, Rong Tang snapped, “Never again. Understood?”  

“Understood!” Su Huaijing beamed, all docile.  

Rong Tang glared. The wine hummed in his veins, stoking his temper. Abruptly, he shoved off the table and stalked to the bed. “Come here.”  

Su Huaijing trailed after him, tilting his head. “What does Tangtang need?”  

Shucking off his outer robe, Rong Tang sat on the edge of the bed and shot him a look. “Serve me.”  

A beat of silence. Then, a low, delighted laugh. “Gladly.”  

—

Later, when the room was thick with heat and Rong Tang’s thoughts had dissolved into sensation, Su Huaijing pressed close, his voice rough. “Tangtang.”  

“Ng?” Rong Tang cracked his eyes open, desire hazing his gaze.  

Su Huaijing kissed him, slow and deep. When they parted, breath tangled between them, he asked, “Do you think Master Huimian is a good man?”  

Rong Tang frowned. Why bring up a monk now, of all times? His muddled mind struggled to parse it. “He… seeks to save the world,” he managed. “A benevolent soul.”  

Su Huaijing’s eyes gleamed. “I see.”  

Outside, autumn’s chill clung to the walls. Inside, the silks clung to damp skin, blooming with sweat and whispered devotion.  

“I adore you,” Su Huaijing murmured, like a secret.  

—

Li Changfu had been dead a month.  

Even with the emperor’s pardon, public sentiment was a pliant thing. Convincing Renshou to rescind clemency for a condemned man took little effort.  

On execution day, Su Huaijing detoured to the market square. He’d shed his court robes, blending into the crowd. He was just another gentleman, anonymous amid the throng.  

The mob roared. A prisoner in a cage was a villain by default: corrupt official, murderous brigand, it hardly mattered. They hurled curses and rotten vegetables, a festival of condemnation.  

Su Huaijing watched, hollow.  

When Emperor Sheng Xuyan took the throne, his first decree had vilified his predecessor: A lecherous tyrant who bled the people dry. Officials in every province recited the late emperor’s “crimes,” sweetening the lies with tax cuts. Farmers praised their new ruler. Never mind that they’d never tasted the old regime’s injustices.  

Truth died with the loyalists. The living parroted what they were fed.  

Capital citizens might glimpse the game. But in the provinces? Where magistrates were the highest authority? The people bowed to the stories they were told.  

I dared not disbelieve. Disbelief would be deemed heresy, punishable by law, by death. One would be dragged to the market square, subject to the contemptuous glares of passers-by, perhaps cursed, pelted with rotten vegetables and swill, just as they did today. They would curse him as a man who deserved no better.

Su Huaijing had heard those so-called sermons. He’d heard his father repeatedly reviled, heard people brazenly claim that the corpse of that “dog emperor” ought to be dug up and fed to wild dogs, to be served as an offering to the soldiers who had fallen at the border, to right the injustice done to the state of Yu.

He had once released his hatred indiscriminately, had once loathed every man and woman in the world with equal fervour.

He had read the classics, studied history; he knew that reason could discern right from wrong. And yet, when the pain was his own, he too had been led astray by emotion, overcome with countless irrational thoughts.

Now, in the final days of autumn, as winter loomed, the skies over Yu capital lay beneath a heavy shroud of clouds. Su Huaijing let himself drift with the crowd, and as he looked at the people around him, another thought surfaced.

Rong Tang had never been wrong.

The people were called “ignorant” not because they were born that way, but because they had never been taught.

Without education, with the gulf between imperial power and the common folk so vast and unbridgeable, how could he expect every farmer and labourer in the remotest village to share his perspective? How could they possibly understand that the late emperor had been framed, and that Emperor Renshou was the true usurper?

The people’s malice was not directed solely at the late emperor or at his family. Much like the Su Huaijing of the past, they harboured a blanket contempt for authority, for every criminal sentenced to death under the weight of law.

An eight-year-old Su Huaijing could be allowed to hate, to despise.

But a nineteen-year-old Su Huaijing could not.

He wanted vengeance. He wanted a better world. And if so, his cause could not remain confined to the ruin of his own household.

Wang Xiuyu had already selected a site in Jiangnan. Perhaps next year, the very first formal girls’ school in Yu would finally be established.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t just girls who needed to be educated. The majority of the population at the very least deserved basic literacy, a foundation for understanding, so that they wouldn’t be so easily swayed by rumour and hearsay.

Yet such a goal was far more difficult than founding a single girls’ school.

The more people knew, the more they would desire. The more discerning the people, the more precarious the throne. Perhaps this was why, across millennia, no emperor had ever dared propose universal enlightenment.

Su Huaijing weighed the pros and cons in silence, eyes lowered in thought. Yet for all his pondering, he still didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t act rashly and risk backlash. Dozens of minor states lay in wait beyond Yu’s borders, to say nothing of powerful rivals like Dasui. If internal unrest broke out, foreign invasion would soon follow.

But having conceived the thought, he could not simply do nothing.

For the first time, he felt completely at a loss.

Suddenly, the crowd stirred with alarm. Shouts erupted, interspersed with a few sharp barks. Then came a chorus of applause and cheering.

Su Huaijing looked over to see a stray dog dart in front of the prison cart. The escorting soldiers quickly subdued it with their batons. Inside the cart, Li Changfu was clutching his head and thrashing about in agony. Blood streamed between his fingers, staining the floor of the cart, as though he might drop dead at any moment.

An eyeball had been torn from its socket, rolled to the ground, gathered dust, then was burst apart by the dog’s jaws, spurting gore in all directions.

A flicker of horror passed over the face of someone standing nearby. It was quickly replaced by a sort of frenzied glee. The man raised his arms and shouted as if he’d just witnessed a sign from the heavens: “He who walks in unrighteousness shall perish by it!”

Su Huaijing’s gaze moved from one fixed point to another. Li Changfu, the dog, the bloodied eye, the jubilant crowd…

After a long pause, he sighed softly.

Take it slowly. He couldn’t simply turn away and let the people’s minds be eroded day by day, until ignorance became their only truth.

It would be difficult—extremely difficult—but he couldn’t let that be an excuse to do nothing. If the pace must be slow, then so be it. There would be a way.

Just as he had told Rong Tang during the floods in Jiangnan: if even one person could be saved, then it was not in vain.

It wasn’t quite the same, of course. But still… it wasn’t something that would bring eternal disgrace.

Su Huaijing stepped forward from the crowd and approached the soldiers, who stood at a loss by the prison cart. Inside, Li Changfu’s breathing was growing faint; his voice, barely audible.

The leading officer recognised him immediately, dismounted and saluted. “Excellency Su.”

Su Huaijing nodded. “What’s happened?”

The man hesitated, clearly uneasy. “My lord… he looks like he’s close to death…”

Su Huaijing cast a cold glance at Li Changfu. There was no hatred in his eyes, no malice. Not even the satisfaction of revenge.

He simply said, evenly, “Carry on. The imperial edict states he is to be beheaded. If he dies en route, it counts as negligence. You’ll be punished by law.”

The officer froze, face paling in panic. He hurriedly excused himself and turned to remount.

But Su Huaijing called him back, his tone calm but firm: “When you return, reinforce the prison cart. Criminals are to be dealt with according to the law. There is no reason they should suffer like this beforehand.”

From inside the cart, the injured man heard his voice. Through the blood caking his face, his one remaining eye widened with stunned disbelief. He struggled to see if the speaker was someone he knew, but Su Huaijing had already turned and walked away.

Only those beyond the reach of law warranted such ruthlessness. As for the rest—

Su Huaijing felt there was no point.

It didn’t matter who Li Changfu was, nor how many years he’d helped raise him.

The moment he’d plotted to have him imprisoned and sentenced, their debts had been paid in full.

The author has something to say:

[Highlighting once more!]

This story does not aim to discuss real-world politics, nor the feasibility of widespread education in a feudal context. These topics will not be explored in detail. The protagonist’s views and actions are fictional, specific to the imaginary setting of this novel. They do not reflect the author’s personal beliefs, and there is no allegorical reference to any real events, governments, or individuals. If you dislike it, please consider reading it as a fairy tale. Thank you!

Wishing you all happiness every day~~~ Mwah!