Chapter 161

Because Su Huaijing had said his bones ached, Rong Tang spent days on edge.

He didn’t know whether the so-called main villain was truly in pain. And if he was, what kind of pain it was.

But whether it was real or not, whether physical or psychological, in Rong Tang’s eyes, a man like Su Huaijing—who could endure anything without flinching—leaning on him and softly murmuring that he hurt, fragile as a paper lantern about to be torn by the wind… it could only mean the pain was unbearable.

It frightened him. More than his own chronic aches and old ailments ever had.

He summoned a physician, hoping to have Su Huaijing’s pulse taken. When the latter returned home after court and saw the white-bearded doctor seated in the main hall, he was momentarily taken aback. But under Rong Tang’s openly worried and anxious gaze, he obediently extended his wrist.

And when he finally realised what had prompted this entire consultation, Su Huaijing held it in for a moment… then couldn’t help but laugh.

“I only wanted you to feel sorry for me.” The main villain said it with utter ease, no guilt whatsoever, taking Rong Tang’s hand and gently kneading it, finger by finger. “I just like you too much, Tangtang. Wanted to act spoiled, that’s all. No need to be so worked up.”

He had no intention of explaining what made him say those words. My bones hurt. Yes, they had hurt. He had once felt them breaking, one by one, had felt the life draining out of him in an instant. Even a hardened soldier would have been terrified. Let alone an eight-year-old child.

Xingfeng, Bi Xin… anyone who had seen Su Huaijing curled up on a bed in agony, silent even as he writhed, would understand why he had grown colder with each passing year. And why the sweet, obedient young prince of yesteryear had turned into a creature born of fire and ice.

It was a pain that could not be disputed. And while Su Huaijing loved to act the part of the pitiful man from time to time, just to coax a bit of tenderness out of Rong Tang, this… this one thing. He had never wanted to speak of. Not even a hint.

There was no need. And more than that, he didn’t want to see pity in Tangtang’s eyes.

His tone was flippant, but Rong Tang only shot him a glare, pulled his hand out of Su Huaijing’s grasp, took the prescription that had been left on the table and slapped it in front of his face.

“From now on,” he said coldly, “you’re drinking your medicine with me.”

He sounded absolutely murderous.

Su Huaijing blinked, lowered his head, and glanced at the prescription.

He wanted to argue that he was a physician himself, that he knew his own body well enough, that he wasn’t in such dire condition that he needed daily tonics.

But the paper in front of him was clearly a formula for easing the mind and replenishing qi and blood. In essence: exhaustion remedies.

“…”

Su Huaijing fluttered his eyelashes and tried to wheedle: “Can’t I skip it?”

“No!” Rong Tang snapped, eyes sharp as blades. “And no acting cute either!”

Honestly, what kind of man was this? A physician, supposedly, who tampered with other people’s medicine on the regular, who even dared take pills meant only for the frail and bedridden. And he still didn’t seem to realise he’d pushed himself past the limit for years, running on empty. Was that it?!

If it weren’t for that quiet, unguarded murmur, Rong Tang might never have realised Su Huaijing’s body had already been driven to collapse.

He was only twenty!

And he still indulged himself daily!

The more Rong Tang thought about it, the angrier he got. Sparks practically shot from his eyes as he glared at Su Huaijing, his expression growing colder and more dangerous by the second.

The main villain flinched. Just a little. Then, in a rare show of submission, retracted his hand and pinched the tip of his finger. “Alright,” he murmured, “I’ll do whatever Tangtang says.”

Rong Tang’s fury eased ever so slightly. Not to be outdone, Su Huaijing snuck his hand back across the table, lightly hooked their fingers together, and said in a low, coaxing tone, “Don’t be angry, Tangtang. I know I was wrong.”

Rong Tang: “…”

So infuriating. There was just no dealing with this man.

After a few seconds of silence, Rong Tang could only roll his eyes again. But the fire in them had clearly dimmed.

And then Su Huaijing beamed, shamelessly leaning in again like syrup. “I knew Tangtang cared about me.”

There’s no pain that lasts forever. Time dulls wounds, even if the scars remain, stark reminders of what once was. But sometimes, someone arrives from outside of time, gently lays a hand over that wound, touches it tenderly, and asks in a low voice:

“Does it hurt?”

And from that twisted, ugly scar, a small flower blooms. Just like a cocoon breaking open to release a butterfly.

…

The secrets of the imperial family were never meant to be spoken of amongst common folk. The mishap at the Empress Dowager’s funeral might have caused a stir, but within three or five days, the capital had fallen into fearful silence.

The Empress Dowager was laid to rest. His Majesty, claiming illness, remained bedridden. And the people of Dayu continued on with their cautious, trembling lives, careful not to speak out of turn. They terrified that one day, a moment of loose talk might bring armoured guards pounding at their gates, longspears in hand, to drag them off to prison.

It was plain to see that something was wrong, eerie and unjust. But no one dared say a word.

Su Huaijing sat in a gilded upper parlour, looking out over the crowded streets of Yu capital, the corners of his lips curled in a faintly mocking smile.

He was here for a meeting. But the person who had summoned him was late.

He waited a few moments longer. Downstairs, the erhu player shifted to another tune. At last, the door to the private room swung open.

Su Huaijing didn’t turn. Still seated by the window, he gazed lazily at the boats drifting down Jinfen River—Southern-style vessels, built to mimic the grace of Jiangnan.

“Excellency Su,” came a voice from the doorway. Clear, pleasant, precisely the kind of voice the masses imagined belonged to a refined young gentleman.

Su Huaijing finally withdrew his gaze and lifted his eyes… calm, unreadable…as he gave the newcomer a glance. There was no telling if it was pity, interest, or something else entirely.

There are many ways to describe youthful charm: sunlit elegance, sword-browed, star-eyed. Whatever the phrase, Sheng Chengli certainly lived up to it. If one put aside personal prejudice and past grudges, he really did have a face with all the right advantages.

Su Huaijing studied him for a moment, then thought: He must be about eighteen now.

When I was eighteen…

Whatever thought followed, it made his lips curl into a genuine, quiet smile. “Your Highness.”

He didn’t rise. He didn’t bow. This wasn’t court, nor was it the palace. They both knew they were playing a game. There was no need for pretence in private.

A flicker of surprise passed through Sheng Chengli’s eyes, but he said nothing. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.

No dishes had been served at the table, and Su Huaijing clearly had no intention of dining with him. He reclined lazily against the chair back… not like a powerful courtier, nor a scheming villain full of ulterior motives.

He was simply a gentleman of leisure, fashioned from the golden dust and grandeur of Yu capital, and even before Sheng Chengli, he could lift his gaze with that faint, elusive smile still playing on his lips.

He asked, “Your Highness invited me to dine. For what, exactly?”

Sheng Chengli faltered, caught off guard. Far from easing, the tension in his body grew tighter in the face of Su Huaijing’s indifference, drawn taut like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

He furrowed his brow slightly, then smoothed his expression and took a seat opposite Su Huaijing. Whatever thoughts ran through his mind remained unspoken as he poured himself a drink, buying a moment of quiet.

Then, looking up at last, he fixed Su Huaijing with a steady gaze and asked, “What is it that you want?”

Su Huaijing gave a soft laugh. “You invite me here, and now ask what I want?”

Not the brightest, he thought.

Sheng Chengli said, “It just feels as though we were born to be enemies.”

Su Huaijing arched a brow, neither agreeing nor denying. He straightened slightly and poured himself a glass of wine, watching the liquid tremble within the cup.

“We’re enemies,” Sheng Chengli repeated, though there was something obscure in his tone, “and yet… not quite.”

Su Huaijing offered no response.

“I used to believe we were destined to clash. That one of us would have to fall before the other could rise. But it no longer seems so simple.

“If not for you, er ge wouldn’t have left the capital so readily. San ge wouldn’t have died so swiftly. Even liu di* wouldn’t have gone from royal favourite to keeper of a tomb overnight. But all of this…”

(*TN: sixth younger brother)

He paused.

“…was exactly what I intended to happen.”

Su Huaijing finally looked up, something flickering in his gaze—a faint spark of interest.

“Lil’ Excellency Mu taught me never to trust anyone. Lil’ Excellency Ke taught me that power and wealth can buy a man’s life.”

He was no longer speaking in terms others could understand. Even if Mu Jingxu or Ke Hongxue were present, they might not grasp the true meaning behind his words… for those teachings had never been spoken aloud.

“But my teacher,” Sheng Chengli went on, “told me I was different. That I was born to bring an end to all conflict. That he would watch me ascend with his own eyes.”

His knuckles whitened around the wine cup. For a heartbeat, Su Huaijing’s pupils contracted as if something dark and murderous had stirred within him… then eased again, as if that momentary bloodlust had been mere illusion.

Oblivious, Sheng Chengli continued, “He taught me much. Told me much. I once believed we were the closest people in the world.”

He stopped, deliberately leaving space for thought.

“He told me he came to save me.” Sheng Chengli looked up, meeting Su Huaijing’s eyes. His voice softened, but carried the weight of sincerity. “Do you know what that feels like? To walk alone in darkness for years, only for someone to fight their way through it just to reach you? Someone who’s sick, broken even, but still shields you with every last ounce of strength they have?

“He was like a god, come down from the heavens, just to redeem me. Every step he took was to keep his promise. No matter how many people came and went, he was always there. Just behind me. All I had to do was look back.”

Su Huaijing set down his cup. Under the table, his hand moved slowly, deliberately, as though searching for something. His face remained placid, his smile mild.

Sheng Chengli frowned, frustrated now, with nothing false in his expression. He said, quietly, “How could I doubt a man like that?”

“I thought we were enemies. I thought his friendship with you was betrayal. I thought he would stab me in the back one day. So I tried to leave him. Cut off the chance of betrayal before it came.”

“But perhaps we’re not enemies. Everything you’ve done has benefited me. Every move I make paves the way for you.” Sheng Chengli lifted his head. A light shone in his eyes, as if the gods themselves had blessed him. “If we are not enemies, then perhaps we’re destined allies. In that case, what difference does it make who he sides with?

“If he helps you, he’s helping me. If he helps me, he’s helping you.”

“So tell me—what is it that you want? I’ll make it happen. We should be fighting on the same side.”

An imperial child—even one discarded and disillusioned—never truly sheds that innate pride, that grasp of power and politics. His gaze met Su Huaijing’s, clear and sharp, sending an unspoken message:

Rong Tang helping you is, in truth, helping me. In every lifetime, he stands on my side. And you ought to as well.

Su Huaijing was a jealous man. He could not bear the thought of anyone coveting or laying claim to Rong Tang. Yet now, beneath the table, his fingers brushed against the deadly poison that could kill with a single drop… then stilled. He let it go. Lifted his eyes. Gave a soft laugh.

“Have you finished?”

Sheng Chengli froze slightly, unconsciously straightening as he looked at him.

“Why so nervous?” Su Huaijing smiled faintly. “What’s panicked you into running to me, trying to drive a wedge between us?”

He paused for a breath, then let out a soft “ah,” as though something had just occurred to him. “Could it be… you’ve discovered the truth behind your Imperial Father’s murder of the Empress Dowager?”

“Even though the Eighth Prince isn’t his flesh and blood, even though it was his concubine who uncovered the truth, he didn’t hesitate to silence her. To preserve the Eighth Prince’s legitimacy?”

Su Huaijing’s smile was gentle, but his tone was that of a demon from the depths of hell. Calm, quiet, chilling.

“And why?” he asked. “Because he wants the Eighth Prince on the throne? Or… because he discovered you were plotting to kill him?”

Sheng Chengli’s composure cracked. His pupils dilated, and his eyes filled with fear and suspicion.

But Su Huaijing merely poured himself another cup of wine. His voice remained light, unhurried. “You’ve realised your plan isn’t going as smoothly as before. That without your advisers, every step is a struggle. So you’re desperate. You came to me for help.”

“I…”

“Just be honest.” Su Huaijing cut him off, with the indulgent air of an adult allowing a child to blunder.

“What are you trying to achieve? Where did things go wrong? Tell me, and perhaps I’ll help you set it right.”

Sheng Chengli was stunned. He knew Su Huaijing hadn’t believed a word he’d said just moments earlier. Yet the response he’d received was unmistakably a promise.

His eyes widened, aching with unshed tears. He blinked and asked, “Why?”

Su Huaijing merely said, “Because he wanted to see you on that throne. Didn’t he?”

He added, “If that was his wish, I’ll make it come true.”

In that instant, something like starlight flared in Sheng Chengli’s eyes. But just as his joy surged, Su Huaijing stood, gazing down at him.

There was no disdain in his gaze, no hatred. Only the cool, dispassionate regard one might give an ant.

“As for the rest,” he said, “I don’t believe a word of it. And no, you’re not my enemy.”

A person like that, who speaks of saving others, of promises and redemption, as though it were all some divine mission. How laughable. How absurd.

Perhaps, once, Su Huaijing had considered Sheng Chengli a threat. But in that moment, he understood.

There was no need.

This man had never even come close to touching the truth of who Rong Tang really was. He wasn’t qualified to be an enemy.

Let him go where he pleases. If that is what Rong Tang desires. No matter the lifetime, Su Huaijing will make it happen.

And after that…

He smiled.

It was a smile more radiant than the autumn moon. The smile of a child who, after rifling through an entire library, had finally found the right answer.

And after that…

He could kill the man before him without the slightest hesitation. Couldn’t he?