There was no conclusive evidence regarding ConcubineYi’s death. Even if Emperor Renshou harboured suspicions, he had no way of arriving at a definitive answer.
He had long begun to feel increasingly isolated. Each of his sons seemed intent on dragging him down from the throne to take his place. Only the Second Prince, stationed far away in Lingnan, and the babbling Eighth Prince brought him a rare sense of ease: one refrained from scheming, the other remained too young and innocent to pose a threat. In them, he felt something close to familial affection—something he had nearly forgotten amidst imperial entanglements. For a brief moment, he could almost believe he was an ordinary patriarch of a harmonious household.
But both princes were born of the late Concubine Yi. If Sheng Chengxi, the Eighth Prince, were not of imperial blood, then what little solace he found in these bonds would become a cruel mockery—one turned against himself.
Seated behind his desk, Sheng Xuyan’s expression was grim and his gaze heavy. His face shifted between light and shadow, as if he might explode at any moment.
Rage surged in his chest, straining against the limits of control.
Stifled fury choked him. After a long silence, he hurled his cup to the ground, then turned his head away and coughed up another mouthful of blood.
The nearby eunuchs and palace maids were terrified, dropping to their knees in trembling panic. The senior eunuch rushed off to summon the imperial physician. After the Emperor’s pulse was examined, Su Huaijing was summoned to the palace by decree.
One sat, one knelt. The Emperor, silent upon the dais; the subject, bowed in deference.
After some time, Emperor Renshou spoke.
“You once said that your father-in-law, Duke Ningxuan, harboured seditious intent. Is there truth to this claim?”
Su Huaijing’s face paled. A tremor passed through him, and he bowed even lower, voice hushed and uneasy. “Your Majesty—”
But the Emperor cut him off before the word was even formed, his breath laboured, his tone laced with impatience. “To falsely accuse a kinsman of the throne is a capital offence. To deceive your sovereign is a crime that implicates your entire household. Think carefully before you answer.”
Collective punishment. If he were found guilty of deceiving the Emperor, his entire family—including his spouse—would suffer. As a man wed into another noble house, the first to be questioned would be Rong Tang.
His forehead touched the shattered porcelain at his feet. For a fleeting second, a glint of murderous resolve flashed in his eyes… but it vanished just as quickly.
Su Huaijing lowered his head further and spoke in a low, steady voice. “A son ought not to accuse his elders, but an official must not shirk his duty to his liege. As Deputy Censor-in-Chief, it is my duty to monitor all officials. If there was failure to perceive wrongdoing, then the fault lies with me alone. My husband bears no blame. I beg Your Majesty to discern the truth. Let all punishment fall on me.”
“I was careless, and in drink, voiced suspicion I had long buried. As I have yet to find concrete proof, I dared not report it, for fear of worrying Your Majesty needlessly. I accept any punishment.”
He bowed deeply once again, forehead striking the floor with a sickening crack. Blood welled up from the abrasion, dotting the white jade tiles in sharp, jarring crimson.
Emperor Renshou stared at the drops of blood for a long time before speaking in a low, weighty voice. “I grant you the chance to atone for your mistake.”
Su Huaijing seemed stunned. He unthinkingly broke court protocol and lifted his head, eyes meeting the Emperor’s in open astonishment.
Sheng Xuyan did not reprimand him. Instead, he returned the gaze, sharp and searching, as though trying to see straight through to the depths of Su Huaijing’s thoughts.
At length, Su Huaijing lowered his eyes and replied with difficulty, “Your servant… accepts the decree.”
The porcelain shards had cut fine lines across his forehead. In the carriage on the way home, Su Huaijing groped about and picked out two larger pieces. The rest were too small and embedded to remove on his own. He decided to ask Xingfeng for help once they returned to the residence.
But before the carriage had even reached Yong’an Lane, Shuang Shou gave a surprised “Eh?” and called, “Young Master?”
Su Huaijing paused, then lifted the curtain to peer outside.
At the entrance to the lane, Rong Tang was sitting under the eaves with the neighbouring aunties, casually cracking melon seeds and joining in their gossip. Though he chimed in from time to time, his eyes kept straying towards the road, clearly watching for someone. The setting sun cast a warm glow behind him, and the tiled eaves spilled down a soft, cooling shade.
Su Huaijing stilled, and the anxiety in his chest melted away.
Looking like this, he couldn’t very well get out and greet anyone. So he simply had Shuang Shou stop the carriage and called out softly, “Tangtang.”
Rong Tang heard him, set the melon seeds back in their dish, and patted the dust from his hands. Smiling, he took his leave. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“Aye, aye, alright.” The neighbours nodded, their curiosity getting the better of them as they craned their necks to see into the carriage.
But all they saw was Rong Tang stepping up. And before his hand could touch the doorframe, a thin, sinewy arm reached out, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him inside.
The interior dimmed at once. Before Rong Tang could adjust to the change in light, he was pulled into a firm embrace and kissed.
He froze for a moment, then softened, allowing Su Huaijing to kiss him without resistance. He even wriggled into a more comfortable position, refusing to let himself suffer even a little discomfort.
Su Huaijing felt the subtle shift and chuckled softly, nuzzling him. The amusement in his mood was palpable.
Rong Tang had long grown used to this and let him carry on. When their lips parted and the carriage rolled to a stop, he finally drew a breath and opened his mouth to ask about the summons to the palace—only to catch sight of the wounds on Su Huaijing’s forehead. His expression instantly darkened.
Su Huaijing loved seeing Tangtang’s emotions shift because of him. But he hated to make him upset.
As they stepped down from the carriage, he took his hand and asked warmly, “I’m starving. Has dinner been made?”
Rong Tang had a belly full of questions, but seeing Su Huaijing like this, he swallowed them down. He huffed, “It has.”
Su Huaijing smiled. “Then could Tangtang help me clean up my wound first? We’ll talk over dinner, alright?”
Rong Tang didn’t answer, but once they entered the house, he fetched a basin of water, and without a word began picking out the splinters from Su Huaijing’s brow. With painstaking care, he cleaned and treated the wounds.
The so-called main villain said nothing throughout, simply tilted his head obediently to let Rong Tang work. His eyes shimmered with a tender smile. When water dripped onto his lashes, he blinked, looking for all the world like a dragonfly skimming across water… fluttering and exquisite.
Rong Tang was angry—but at Sheng Xuyan, not Su Huaijing. And now, seeing him like this, how could he possibly stay angry?
Once the wound was cleaned, he gave a long sigh, pinched Su Huaijing’s cheek, and threatened fiercely, “Next time you go through something like that, I’ll go into the imperial palace with you!”
That place could swallow a person whole. There was no way Su Huaijing would ever let him step foot there. But when Tangtang said it, he obediently nodded. “Alright. I’ll heed my husband’s warning.”
Rong Tang had no energy left to argue over titles. He shot him a glare and returned to the dining table, eating while listening to Su Huaijing recount the day’s events.
When Su Huaijing mentioned that Emperor Renshou had ordered him to secretly investigate Rong Mingyu for treason, Rong Tang stiffened slightly, raising his eyes to meet his.
Su Huaijing said gently, “Don’t worry, Tangtang. I’ll protect everyone.”
Everyone—meaning all those who didn’t deserve to be dragged down alongside Duke Ningxuan.
But Rong Tang’s attention wasn’t on that. He lowered his gaze and said softly, “I know you will.”
He simply recalled that, in the original novel, there was scarcely any mention of Rong Mingyu’s intent to rebel.
Looking back now, he couldn’t tell whether this was a flaw in the book’s logic, or if that old fox, Duke Ningxuan, had truly kept up the pretence so well that no one had ever glimpsed his ambition.
But if one followed the original storyline, this oversight would prove fatal.
Duke Ningxuan had been entrenched in court for years. He never openly aligned himself with any faction, appearing to serve only the emperor. Yet in truth, every major political force had dealings with him.
Even if Sheng Chengli—our protagonist—really did defeat Su Huaijing and seize the throne, how was he meant to hold it against such a master strategist?
In The Emperor’s Journey, all the plans and ideals built around Sheng Chengli as the central figure now looked more like a utopian fantasy.
Aside from Rong Tang, none of the advisers by his side were truly loyal. Each court official harboured his own agenda. Before ascending the throne, he had Su Huaijing—an implacable antagonist—blocking his every move. After his coronation, he’d have to contend with someone like Rong Mingyu, a smiling tiger lying in wait.
Why would the “Heavenly Way” choose such a man to wear the crown?
What could it possibly gain?
What kind of benefit would be worth repeatedly shielding and favouring Sheng Chengli, even at great cost, just to ensure his rise?
Rong Tang was momentarily lost in thought. Su Huaijing noticed the shift and, without a word, placed a piece of perch on his plate. “Tangtang, eat.”
Rong Tang glanced at him, his gaze uncertain. Su Huaijing met his eyes, but for once, couldn’t quite read what was on his mind.
That unsettled him. He frowned slightly, but Rong Tang said, “Shall we go for a walk after dinner? It’s been ages since we’ve gone out together.”
It had been so long since he’d seen young Excellency Lu, so long since he’d seen his xiong zhang, Ke Hongxue, or his mother. So long since they’d had a proper date.
Rong Tang looked at Su Huaijing with bright, unguarded eyes, making no attempt to hide his intent.
Su Huaijing stared blankly for a moment before catching on. He couldn’t help but smile, helplessly. “Alright.”
He had no defense—his Tangtang was far too good at coaxing people.
—
Yu capital bustled with splendour, while the political tides surged in silence.
Sheng Xuyan’s suspicion toward his sons had once again reached a peak. The remorse and paternal affection Sheng Chengli had expected from the emperor had completely evaporated.
Su Huaijing spoke with Rong Tang about how Huimian had incited Emperor Renshou to refine elixirs.
The moment Rong Tang heard this, his expression darkened. It only confirmed to Su Huaijing that Huimian was indeed someone they could work with.
Rong Tang said coldly, “He invited that master down the mountain and brought him into the palace, gaining favour and rewards for it. And now he wants the emperor to turn on the monk, to trust him and him alone?”
“He’s taken every advantage the world has to offer. Where’s the justice in that?”
Sheng Chengli had invited Huimian down the mountain, intending to use him as a pawn, to be sacrificed for a larger game. But the blade he meant to wield had turned on him instead. Even the fallback he’d prepared, that whole business about ‘fated destinies,’ had collapsed in the process.
Rong Tang gave a cold laugh. “That’s what they call hoisting oneself with one’s own petard.”
Su Huaijing listened quietly. Noting the flickers across Rong Tang’s face, he added, “Good and evil reap their own rewards. He brought it on himself.”
Rong Tang nodded silently, clearly agreeing.
From early to mid-summer, Rong Mingyu, with decades of influence behind him, proved a formidable adversary. To unearth concrete proof of his wrongdoings would take far more than usual effort.
Su Huaijing spent two full months. Then one evening, as dusk fell, he rode into the imperial palace by carriage.
Sheng Xuyan stared in silence at the chest filled to the brim with incriminating evidence.
Su Huaijing knelt in the hall, bowing even longer than he had the last time.
The documents laid it bare: from the very beginning, Rong Mingyu had never intended to help Sheng Xuyan.
He had planned to topple the late emperor, then turn around and, under the guise of ‘restoring order’, kill Sheng Xuyan. He would then install a young scion of the former emperor as a puppet, over whom he could rule as regent without opposition.
In time, that child would prove incapable of ruling and would abdicate in favour of a worthier man. At that point, Rong Mingyu would change his surname to Sheng—alongside the Eldest Princess—and join the imperial clan by name, becoming emperor in all but title.
That was his real aim in siding with Sheng Xuyan during the rebellion. When the scheme failed, he shifted tactics, pretending to be a loyal hound, all the while biding his time to sink his teeth into his master.
Sheng Xuyan gripped one of the memorials tightly, fingers digging in so hard they left marks in the soft paper.
The emperor let out a cold laugh of rage. “…Very well. Very well!”
Su Huaijing remained kneeling, his posture deferential, but inwardly, he found the moment deeply ironic.
Who else could possibly suit the role of the late emperor’s youngest son?
That year, when the great fire broke out in the palace, many used the chaos to line their pockets. Who had genuinely tried to save his life? Who had preserved him only to keep a bargaining chip in their grasp?
The tangled motives and murky truths he couldn’t discern back then… looking back now, with years and bitterness stretched between, it had all become sharply clear.
From the very start, Duke Ningxuan had meant to place him on the puppet throne.
The Eldest Princess had never imagined her own son would harbour such ambition, just as Duke Ningxuan never expected his mother would risk death to protect the rightful heir.
Wasn’t that another kind of unspoken understanding?
All her life, the Eldest Princess ate plain meals, chanted sutras, performed good deeds. But the sins she tried to redeem had never been her own.
And the one who demanded her repentance… was never worthy of it.
omg :/