It wasn’t difficult to gather evidence against Duke Ningxuan. But when it came to conviction and sentencing, no one had the authority to speak except Emperor Renshou himself.
From the moment Sheng Xuyan first instructed Su Huaijing to investigate, to the day that chest of damning evidence was placed before the emperor, not a whisper of it leaked to either court or harem.
Rong Mingyu had served in officialdom for many years. Perhaps he’d had his suspicions; under the guise of casual conversation, he had even once invited Rong Tang and Su Huaijing back to the duchy estate for a family meal.
But after Wang Xiuyu’s divorce, she’d dealt Rong Mingyu a vicious blow. The bond between father and son had long since frayed, and this only widened the rift. The invitation never even reached Su Huaijing. Rong Tang turned it down flat on the spot.
When Su Huaijing later heard of it, he was stunned for a moment… then burst into helpless, uncontrollable laughter.
It didn’t matter whether he held the office of Deputy Censor-in-Chief, nor whether his word could decide a man’s fate or determine promotions and demotions. In front of Rong Tang, Su Huaijing always felt like a child… always needing to be protected.
He looked at Rong Tang’s sleeping face beside him, something stirring in his chest. He pulled the other into his arms and murmured so softly it was barely audible, “Tangtang, protect me for the rest of my life, won’t you?”
So long as Rong Tang was there, he was willing to stay a child forever.
—
At the end of the fifth month, the weather grew stifling. Emperor Renshou hosted a banquet in the palace, supposedly to “dispel the summer heat”. His sole guest: Rong Mingyu, under the pretext of reminiscing old times.
An imperial summons. An honour beyond measure.
Even if the favour was laced with chill and calculation, anyone with sense could guess at the truth behind the gesture.
But the imperial edict had been issued; Rong Mingyu had no choice but to obey.
No one knew what was said between Emperor Renshou and the Duke that night. All anyone knew was that on an otherwise unremarkable summer’s evening, Rong Mingyu entered the palace alive… and returned to his estate a stiffening corpse.
The official statement claimed that the emperor held Rong Mingyu in high regard and had appointed him as an imperial envoy, tasked with covert inspections across the realm, acting as the Son of Heaven’s “eagle eye”.
The court was immediately on edge. Local officials scrambled to clean house, frantically polishing their administrations to avoid giving the Duke any excuse to report back to the capital.
Su Huaijing once said he had a way to keep Rong Tang and the others safe. In the end, he kept his word.
One afternoon, as he gently fanned Rong Tang with a cattail-leaf fan, he smiled and asked, “Does Tangtang know why, even with ironclad evidence of treason, the emperor chose not to punish Rong Mingyu?”
Rong Tang wasn’t in the mood to use his brain. But Su Huaijing tempted him with an offer. If he got it right, they’d go out for grilled beef that night.
The little prince snorted and rolled his eyes. “Childish.”
Then he paused a few seconds before speaking in a measured tone. “How many more political upheavals do you think the court can withstand?”
Lord Wukang’s rebellion had implicated the Second Prince; Marshal Xia’s mutiny led to the emperor personally running a sword through the Third Prince in the middle of court.
Only a year separated the two events. And now, with half a year left until Sheng Chengxing’s death anniversary, if Rong Mingyu were publicly convicted, and if it emerged that the Eighth Prince wasn’t of imperial blood…
What would the court think? What would the people of the empire say?
“Let’s lay out the timeline,” Rong Tang continued, lazily. “Ninth year of Qingzheng—Shen Feiyi leads a minor uprising near the capital. Tenth year—Lord Wukang revolts. Eleventh—Marshal Xia follows suit. Twelfth—Duke Ningxuan again.
“So tell me, what kind of short-sighted, unfit emperor has four rebellions on his hands in just four years, each involving high-ranking princes, dukes and ministers? How incompetent must he be to provoke so many betrayals?”
Su Huaijing’s smile deepened. Rising to his feet with exaggerated politeness, he asked, “Tangtang, may I kiss you?”
Rong Tang blinked, startled. His eyes widened slightly. He was utterly baffled that this man, who usually behaved like a shameless scoundrel, was suddenly playing the gentleman.
The shock faded in a moment. Once he gathered himself, Rong Tang bargained: “Add a portion of chopped beef with pickled chillies.”
Now it was Su Huaijing’s turn to be taken aback. He froze for a second, then let out a muffled laugh. Phoenix eyes glinting, he looked at Rong Tang and said, “Then I’ll kiss you twice.”
Rong Tang thought about it for two seconds, then lifted his chin with quiet pride. “Deal.”
—
In just a matter of days, Emperor Renshou had aged visibly. His hair, now streaked with grey, betrayed the deep unrest in his heart.
His moods were erratic. On court days, he handed down demotions and executions at the drop of a hat; in the harem, a new corpse was dragged out to the mass graves almost daily.
Yet he continued to chant sutras and pray to the Buddha, occasionally making pilgrimages to Wentian Tower to discuss the Dharma with Monk Huimian. As if such rituals could somehow dispel the loneliness of an emperor with no one left to trust.
But neither the realm of Dayu nor the relentless march of time would permit him to wallow in ignorance or shut his eyes to reality.
Back on Yong’an Lane, Rong Tang marked the days, one by one… until word came that Emperor Renshou had fallen seriously ill.
It came as no surprise. No matter how vigorous a man might once have been, few could stomach daily elixirs and nightly indulgence without consequence.
If the harem lost beauties by the day, new ones arrived just as often.
Sheng Xuyan was over forty now, never the strongest to begin with. And his constant tantrums, lashing out at everyone around him, wore even his iron frame thin.
While most men had some warning before illness took hold, his came with no mercy. In a single night, he collapsed into bed… and did not rise again. Court sessions were suspended indefinitely.
Meanwhile, a faint herbal fragrance lingered in the rear courtyard of the Tangjing Residence. Ever since Rong Tang discovered just how skilled Su Huaijing was in medicine, the so-called main villain hadn’t bothered hiding it.
That day, Rong Tang caught a whiff of the brewing herbs in the medicine house. His nose twitched slightly. Instinctively, he disliked such places. Yet his feet moved of their own accord, carrying him closer step by step.
The shelves were lined with medicine drawers, all evidently well-used. A mere glance at the dizzying array of herbs inside made his eyes ache.
Behind the furnace, Su Huaijing was preparing medicine. He didn’t even need a scale as he reached out for the ingredients.
Rong Tang raised his eyebrows at the sight, once again realising that his understanding of this supposed main villain was far from complete.
He walked over, took a small stool, and sat opposite Su Huaijing, the medicine furnace between them.
The latter paused, slightly startled, then glanced out at the blazing sky. “It’s sweltering. What are you doing in the medicine house?”
Rong Tang didn’t even blink. “Came to see you.”
Su Huaijing was briefly lost for words. With a helpless look at him, he stepped outside to instruct the servants to bring in two basins of ice to cool the room.
Rong Tang watched the bubbles rise and burst in the crucible and asked lazily, “Emperor Renshou’s illness… have you had a hand in it?”
Su Huaijing fetched a few more herbs, laid them out on a tray, and only then weighed them to confirm the exact quantity. He smiled as he asked, “What do you think, Tangtang?”
Rong Tang gave no reply, only followed up, “Can the ones who did it be trusted?”
Su Huaijing gazed at him for a long while before letting out a soft sigh. “If I couldn’t even make proper use of people, I’d be long dead by now.”
Rong Tang had been fanning the furnace with slow, distracted movements. At that, his hand paused. A beat passed before he shifted his tone to mimic Su Huaijing’s indifferent calm. “You’re right.”
His gaze dropped to the furnace, watching the thin trails of white smoke curl into the air. Softly, he said, “In another two months, I might—”
“Tangtang.” Su Huaijing cut him off, voice sinking a shade deeper. His narrowed eyes fixed on Rong Tang’s face, a flicker of danger in his expression. On the table beside him sat a fine piece of coptis, famed for its potency.
He asked gently, “Have you forgotten what those pills tasted like?”
Rong Tang shuddered involuntarily at the words. He looked up sharply, fury flashing in his eyes.
At the end of last year, he’d been unwell for a while, constantly haunted by the sense that death was near. Fearing he might suddenly drop dead one day, he’d spent a long time working up to it before formally bidding farewell to Su Huaijing.
He’d meant well. But the ever-compliant Su Huaijing had, in that moment, turned into a mad dog. After checking his pulse, he had looked him dead in the eye, silent and ice-cold.
A few quiet days followed. Just as Rong Tang had begun to believe Su Huaijing hadn’t taken it to heart, one evening, his usual medicinal broth was replaced with three pills. Each one as large as a child’s fist. Just the sight of them was terrifying.
Rong Tang refused to take them and looked to Su Huaijing for mercy. The main villain didn’t so much as flinch. Heeven coaxed him in a gentle tone: “It’s the coldest time of year. Your body needs nourishment. Pills work better than decoctions. Didn’t Tangtang say he’s been feeling unwell lately?”
Rong Tang whined, pleaded, and acted pitiful for half the night, but Su Huaijing didn’t budge an inch.
In the end, he had no choice but to try swallowing one.
It was hellishly bitter, with a fishy, metallic taste. If the broth had been foul, this was ten times worse.
He couldn’t swallow such a large thing. A bite produced two mouthfuls of nausea. Even after forcing down two full cups of tea, the stench still clung to his tongue, as though it meant to suffocate him.
He fought the discomfort, managing to chew through half, and then swallowed about a quarter of it. It was unbearable. Tears pricked his eyes. He looked up at Su Huaijing, watery-eyed, and choked out in grievance, “I can’t do it…”
At that time, the world outside was buried in snow. The brazier inside burned warmly. North winds blanketed Yu capital’s skies in fog. Lamps flickered indoors as Su Huaijing lowered his gaze and gently wiped away the tears at the corners of Rong Tang’s eyes. His voice was warm and soft. “Then don’t, for now.”
Rong Tang breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like he’d just clawed his way back from death’s doorstep.
But later that night, when he lay in bed, Su Huaijing leaned over him, kissing him tenderly, teasing him slowly.
Rong Tang was used to his presence, used to his invasion. He closed his eyes, occasionally giving instructions.
Until, in some unguarded moment, the taste on his tongue turned strange. It was unmistakably bitter and eerily familiar. He frowned and opened his eyes to look at Su Huaijing, puzzled.
Red candles flickered behind the gauzy bed curtains. The main villain’s gaze had darkened with a hint of madness. The taste of medicine spread between their mouths, as if doctor and patient were taking bitter remedy together.
Su Huaijing pinned his wrists above his head with one hand and used his legs to restrain any further resistance.
The pills had followed them to bed. He took a bite and passed it mouth-to-mouth. There was no tea now, only relentless kisses that pressed the medicine past his lips, forcing him to take them in. Pills of uncertain efficacy, but more than enough to terrify and leave an indelible memory.
Rong Tang struggled fiercely. Su Huaijing was clamped between his legs so tightly it hurt, yet he refused to yield. Sweat gathered on his brow, and still, with mad patience, he fed him bite after bitter bite.
Once the three dark pills were finally forced down between the two of them—no one quite sure how much either had taken—Su Huaijing’s mad-dog stubbornness vanished. Like a man gone unhinged, he turned tender once more. His movements slowed. He gently wiped the tears and sweat from Rong Tang’s face, kissed the tip of his nose, the curve of his ear, and in a voice soft as a whisper, murmured something unspeakably chilling:
“If you ever scare me like that again, we’ll go to hell together.”
Outside, the north wind rustled the treetops. Inside, wax tears spilled down the bronze candlesticks.
—
Rong Tang glared at Su Huaijing.
The latter held his gaze, calm and unwavering, not backing down an inch. After a long silence, Rong Tang gritted his teeth and snapped: “So it’s fine for the officials to start fires, but the commoners can’t light lamps?”
Su Huaijing was briefly stunned, then finally realised why Rong Tang had tried to scare him again. His expression softened at once. He stepped forward, reaching out to take Rong Tang’s hand.
Rong Tang abruptly flung him off. His chest rose and fell with force. His ears were inexplicably red, he was thoroughly enraged.
Su Huaijing said softly, “I’m sorry.”
Rong Tang ignored him, yanking back his hand and striding out of the rear courtyard with great flair… though there was an air of retreat in his steps.
Su Huaijing watched him go and let out a quiet sigh.
After two days of failed coaxing, the main villain finally understood how terribly he had erred this time. Just as he was pondering how best to make amends, a deep, solemn bell rang out over Yu capital.
He stood frozen, caught off guard.
The man who had sulked for days came running out of the house and stood beside him, disbelief etched across his face.
Atop the Wentian Tower, the highest floor had long remained locked. Above, only a solitary bronze bell faced the sun and moon in quiet reverence.
If the Brahma Bell tolled, then a national mourning was at hand.
Within the imperial palace of Dayu, only three were qualified to strike the bell.
The Empress Dowager. The Empress. Emperor Renshou.
