Chapter 172

Warning: mentions of torture, gore

There was, truth be told, very little in Su Huaijing’s way if he wanted the throne.

He’d “secured” the imperial palace. Sheng Chengming and Eldest Princess Duanyi had both come forward to vouch for his lineage. Half the civil and military officials had followed him into court. In such circumstances, only one thing might give the old guard pause: his identity.

Everyone knew that Su Huaijing had entered court as a male consort. And the man he’d married was none other than the Duke Ningxuan’s heir, Rong Tang. As for the scandal that had rocked the capital not long ago… that is to say the mystery surrounding the Eighth Prince’s parentage… everyone had quietly accepted that Concubine Yi’s lover had been Duke Ningxuan, Rong Mingyu.

When Su Huaijing had only been a Deputy Censor-in-Chief, with no major office to his name, being married to Ningxuan’s son had been a source of protection. Political cover, even. But now that he stood on the cusp of becoming Dayu’s next sovereign, Sheng Fuya, in all but name, that same relationship had become a blemish on his record.

After all, a male consort, unless formally divorced, could neither marry nor produce heirs in the usual way. So what then, once Su Huaijing ascended the throne? Was the imperial harem to remain empty? And what of succession? Who would inherit the crown?

At first, only a few court officials dared to whisper such things behind closed doors. It never reached the scale of previous palace gossip.

Lu Jiaxi had overheard a snippet once, quite by accident, and felt as if through instinct that something more was at play.

In the past, a scrap of rumour whether about Emperor Renshou or the princes would be all over the capital within days. But now, with Su Huaijing about to be formally enthroned, the whispers barely dared to leave the shadows. Not a single word had made it into wider circulation.

Looking back, Lu couldn’t help thinking. Perhaps every thread of palace gossip in recent years had been Su Huaijing’s handiwork all along.

And so, for all of Shuang Fu’s intuition, even he couldn’t have guessed how many in court were quietly scandalised by Su Huaijing’s marital status.

All Rong Tang knew was that he’d woken that morning and, without a word, returned alone to Tangjing Residence. He had all of Su Xiao Qi’s belongings thrown out of the courtyard, and put up a sign at the entrance that read:

No dogs or Su Huaijing allowed.

At one point he even considered retreating to Wentian Tower, joining Huimian in a life of seclusion… and leaving Su Huaijing behind altogether.

But when Shuang Fu heard that, his face turned a worrying shade of liver-purple. After a long hesitation, he couldn’t help himself and ventured a pointed comment:

“Not the best idea, Young Master. I mean… it’s a Buddhist sanctuary. And going there like this…”

Rong Tang blinked in confusion. Then, as if realising something, he instinctively flicked out his tongue to moisten his lips… only to sting a raw split at the corner of his mouth.

“Stop licking, Young Master. Your lips are all swollen…” Shuang Fu said again. His tone was full of concern, but it somehow still sounded like veiled reproach.

Rong Tang bit back a string of curses. He was seething.

He’d already resolved to separate from Su Huaijing. But perhaps because the dust hadn’t yet settled, and countless affairs still needed managing, Su Huaijing had been kept at the imperial palace for days on end.

At first, Rong Tang actually felt relieved. Peaceful, even. His body had started to heal. But as the weather turned colder, and he woke some nights reaching instinctively for the warmth behind him. But when he was met with cold sheets… something small and miserable would stir in his chest.

He’d lie there staring at the faint light above, not strong enough to cast shadows, until sleep eventually claimed him again.

And then, one night, after waking in just that way, Little Prince Rong finally lost his temper.

Restless and unable to sleep, he dressed and went out, planning to grab something hot to eat on the street before curfew.

But as soon as he opened the door, he found someone standing in the courtyard.

Their eyes met. Both were caught off guard, and for a moment, neither spoke.

That same man who could glide through court like a fish through water, whose offhand words could send ministers scrambling… stood there blinking at him. And then, before his mind could settle on a response, his expression softened. Visibly. As if begging forgiveness.

He looked positively pitiful.

Su Huaijing stepped forward and reached out, as though to take Rong Tang’s hand… but halfway there, he faltered. His fingers hovered awkwardly in the cold night air before retreating slightly. His voice was low, tentative:

“You’re out like this in the cold… aren’t you freezing?”

Rong Tang gave him a frosty look but said nothing.

Su Huaijing pressed his lips together, glanced down, and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Still, Rong Tang remained silent. Su Huaijing began to look properly anxious.

“I was wrong, Tangtang. Don’t be angry with me… please?”

He looked up. Under the moonlight, his eyes seemed damp like a drenched puppy turned out from home, grovelling by its master’s side, asking to be let back in.

Rong Tang stared at him for a long moment before saying icily, “And what exactly are you sorry for?”

That got a reaction. Even if the tone was wrong, it was a response.

Su Huaijing breathed a quiet sigh of relief and stepped forward, carefully bridging the distance between them.  Not too close, not enough to risk being driven off.

“I shouldn’t have been so… greedy,” he began, listing his transgressions like a schoolboy: “I shouldn’t have dragged you into the hot spring with me. I shouldn’t have left all those marks on you. I shouldn’t have said ‘last time’ and then gone back on it. I shouldn’t have… done it again and again… until you passed out… and then woke you up again just to—”

The words stopped abruptly.

With a sharp smack, Rong Tang slapped his hand over Su Huaijing’s mouth, eyes blazing.

Su Huaijing blinked, briefly startled. Then his gaze softened again, shoulders slouched. He looked up with big, apologetic eyes, and stuck out his tongue to gently lick Rong Tang’s palm. God help him.

Rong Tang shuddered with immediate goosebumps. He yanked his hand back. But before he could retreat, Su Huaijing caught his wrist, and with surprising tenderness, laced their fingers together.

“I do know I was wrong,” he whispered. “Don’t be angry anymore, please?”

Rong Tang clenched his jaw. “Know, my—!”

He very nearly let fly with something unprintable. Did this man look like someone who knew he’d done wrong?

Was this an apology? Or a calculated attempt to help Rong Tang relive every last detail?

Shameless. Debauched. Absolutely incorrigible.

Rong Tang was livid. His ears were burning. His eyes practically shot flames.

But before he could unleash his fury, Su Huaijing raised his hand and gently pressed Rong Tang’s wrist to his own forehead, rubbing against it softly.

“I really do know I was wrong,” he murmured. “Punish me if you must, but don’t make yourself ill from the anger…”

And just like that, Rong Tang was silenced.

This man, this scheming villain from the storybooks, the would-be emperor of Dayu. He was now standing before him, stripped of all pretence, all posturing.

Just a soft, obedient creature, gently pressing his head into the hand of the one he loved, murmuring his remorse like a house-pet that knew it had misbehaved.

How could you stay angry after that?

And besides… it wasn’t as though Rong Tang hadn’t enjoyed himself.

But…

In those few seconds of regained composure, Rong Tang thought to himself: wasn’t it far too easy to forgive Su Xiao Qi just like that? Wouldn’t that be letting him off cheaply? And what if he did the same thing again next time?

He said nothing, but evidently, his emotions had already betrayed him.

Su Huaijing nuzzled him for a while, having soothed some of that pent-up restlessness and hollow ache from their days apart. Softly, coaxingly, he murmured, “Tangtang, do you want to go have a look at Sheng Chengli?”

Rong Tang had been wondering how to keep up the cold act. This, finally, gave him an excuse. He snapped, “Why should I want to see him?”

Su Huaijing said cheerily, “I spared him just so you could vent your anger. Wouldn’t Tangtang like to go take a look?”

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted Rong Tang to see Sheng Chengli at all. But when the tip of the sword was pressed against that man’s heart, Su Huaijing had shifted it just slightly… lower, enough to miss a fatal blow.

He still harboured some concerns. He was afraid that if anything went wrong with Sheng Chengli, Rong Tang might suffer for it.

Rong Tang considered, then nodded with haughty indifference. “Very well, then.”

Su Huaijing couldn’t help but laugh. He stepped up beside him, clasping their fingers together and giving them a small swing. He resembled a child unable to contain his glee.

After a few steps, something occurred to him. “Tangtang, going out this late… are you hungry? Shall we eat before heading to the Sky Prison?”

Rong Tang didn’t quite know how to rate the main villain’s perceptiveness.

He had wanted to go out for food, but only because he’d woken up in the middle of the night and, not seeing Su Huaijing there, had grown irritable. He was still faintly annoyed, but the strange, agitated restlessness had already vanished.

With Su Huaijing at his side, the hunger had mostly faded too.

Still, he couldn’t dismiss it too easily. That would be far too undignified.

So he paused, affected a thoughtful expression, and said with solemn poise, “The Sky Prison smells foul. If I eat something beforehand, I might throw it back up. Let’s eat once we’re back.”

He’d probably be hungry again anyway, he reasoned inwardly.

Su Huaijing saw through him at a glance and gave a soft chuckle. His brows eased into a quiet joy, though his tone remained obedient and sweet: “All right. I’ll listen to Tangtang gege.”

Even his voice had a sugary lilt to it.

Rong Tang’s Adam’s apple shifted subtly. He gave a stoic little “mm”—but his fingers had already curled instinctively around Su Huaijing’s, utterly indulgent.

There was no helping it. This was exactly the sort of thing he was weak to.

—

The Sky Prison was filthy and dark, housing mostly those on death row.

Because Rong Tang had called it “filthy,” Su Huaijing had sent Xingfeng ahead of them to have the place thoroughly cleaned. Buckets of water had been poured over the stone, leaving it visibly tidier. But still, the air reeked faintly of blood and decay.

Su Huaijing’s expression dimmed. His mood soured. He gripped Rong Tang’s hand tighter and said lowly, “I’m sorry.”

He should’ve had the place scrubbed more thoroughly before letting Tangtang come.

Rong Tang had only said it offhandedly. He’d been to worse prisons, after all. At first, he didn’t even realise why Su Huaijing was apologising. He paused, blank for a moment, before it sank in, and found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

Fortunately, they soon arrived at Sheng Chengli’s cell. Rong Tang swept his gaze about, as if searching for someone.

Su Huaijing noticed and asked, “Who are you looking for, Tangtang?”

Rong Tang shook his head reflexively, not answering.

Inside the dim cell, a figure slumped upon a straw mat, utterly wretched. A tendon had been severed in his dominant hand, leaving it limp and useless. His hair hung in filthy clumps, matted and crawling. So much for Heaven’s chosen son; now he was nothing more than a rat among insects, a prisoner left to rot.

A louse crawled from his scalp and dropped to the floor. Only then did the man stir, lifting his one working hand to crush it under his palm.

Rong Tang’s brow furrowed instantly.

He couldn’t say what emotion rose in him. Once, there had been pity. Once, fury. Once, he’d wanted this man to die by his own hand. But now, seeing Sheng Chengli like this, Rong Tang only felt a cold, cutting irony.

Including the version in the original book, this was already the fourth time Sheng Chengli had been defeated by Su Huaijing.

Forever the vanquished. Forever in chains.

But never had Rong Tang seen a male protagonist in such a pitiful state.

Su Huaijing had been humiliated too, once paraded in Fengyue House, bound in golden chains, made into a living ornament for others to pluck and sample. And when Rong Tang had seen him like that, his heart had throbbed with pain and rage.

Now, looking at Sheng Chengli through the bars, there was no pain. No rage. Just silence. Sarcasm. Detachment.

He looked once, turned on his heel to leave.

But then, the prisoner lifted his head.

One eye had been gouged out. The remaining one was clouded and bloodied. Yet when he caught sight of Rong Tang’s face, a smile curled at his lips… sickly sweet, uncanny.

“Sir,” he said, in a voice soft and syrupy. “You’ve come to see me.”

Rong Tang flinched involuntarily, halted, and met his gaze.

Sheng Chengli propped himself on one hand, trying to rise to eye level—but the effort only soaked him in sweat. Defeated, he stayed seated, lifting his chin to look up at Rong Tang.

Rong Tang frowned, then turned to Su Huaijing. “What’s wrong with him?”

Su Huaijing replied calmly, “A few nails in his body. Nothing serious.”

Rong Tang fell silent.

Sheng Chengli, after catching his breath, tilted his head and asked, confused, “Was it you who told him to spare my life?”

Rong Tang answered coolly, “No.”

Sheng Chengli opened his mouth in a soundless “Ah,” then murmured, as if understanding something, “Then Excellency Su still has use for me?”

Su Huaijing stared coldly at him, offering no explanation in front of Rong Tang.

Rong Tang, for his part, had no intention of exchanging words with Sheng Chengli.

He’d only come because Su Huaijing had handed him a convenient excuse. Just a glance, one last look at the so-called “Son of Heaven.” More than that, he’d wanted to see whether that “Heavenly Way” was still clinging to him.

But clearly, there was no one here. No sign of divine favour. Which meant there was little reason to linger.

Sheng Chengli glanced between the two of them. His lone eye flicked back and forth, then finally settled on their joined hands.

He went quiet for a couple of seconds, as if he’d just stumbled upon something curious. He tried to raise an eyebrow, but the muscles in his face tensed the moment they moved, tugging painfully. In the end, no unnecessary expression made it through. He simply lowered his head and chuckled under his breath for quite some time. When he finally looked up, his gaze was laced with mischief as he glanced at Rong Tang and asked softly,

“Biao ge, didn’t Master say anything to you before he left?”

Rong Tang was taken aback at first, but quickly caught on. His eyes shifted faintly, turning wary as they fixed on Sheng Chengli.

Sheng Chengli had clearly got the rise out of him he wanted and didn’t press further. He leaned back and made himself comfortable, mumbling as he settled in to sleep,

“Sir’s not here to see me, then back he should go. And since Excellency Su’s still got errands for me, I’d best get some rest first, hadn’t I?”

Rong Tang stepped closer to the cell, his voice cutting cold through the air: “What do you know?”

“So stern, sir. You’ve never been this strict with me before,” Sheng Chengli drawled playfully, the mock-sweet tone enough to send a shiver of disgust down Rong Tang’s spine.

Su Huaijing had had enough. He stared at Sheng Chengli icily for two seconds, then turned to the jailer and ordered, “Cut out his tongue.”

Sheng Chengli startled violently. He shot upright, eyes blazing as he glared at Su Huaijing. “You really have no scruples left, do you?”

Su Huaijing asked calmly, “If I don’t cut out your tongue, will you tell the truth?”

Sheng Chengli was struck dumb. His single visible eye bore into Su Huaijing with silent fury, overflowing with hatred and spite.

Su Huaijing waited. But when no reply came, he turned away, taking Rong Tang by the hand. The jailer, already approaching with a brazier and scissors, followed orders silently.

Rong Tang couldn’t say whether Su Huaijing’s decision was the wisest possible course. All he knew was if Sheng Chengli thought to use this to threaten Su Huaijing, then he’d chosen the wrong target.

But they had barely taken two steps when a low, eerie voice drifted from behind them: “The Shen star rises in the west, the Shang star in the east. In life, we do not meet, our fates diverge like Shen and Shang.”

Rong Tang froze in place. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. Su Huaijing, noticing, immediately halted the jailer and bent his head to ask gently, “What’s wrong?”

Rong Tang clenched his fist reflexively and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Huimian had once asked him if he had nothing more to ask. And now Sheng Chengli had recited the very line that had once been scribbled down by Heavenly Way.

Even if Rong Tang wanted to dismiss it, he could no longer ignore it.

It felt like… a curse.

He pressed his lips together and raised his head to look at Su Huaijing, changing the subject with deliberate casualness: “Has the date for the enthronement ceremony been set?”

Su Huaijing’s gaze wavered slightly.

He could tell Rong Tang was hiding something, but chose not to push. He simply held his hand and led him out of the prison, answering in a warm voice, “Not yet. There aren’t any particularly auspicious days coming up, and we can’t afford to rush. Perhaps next month.”

So, still half a month or so to go. Rong Tang nodded. “Alright.”

At first, Su Huaijing had no idea what that “alright” was meant to mean. But after they had supper together out on the street, and he walked Rong Tang back to Yong’an Lane, standing outside the courtyard gate hesitating—about to shamelessly ask whether he might stay the night—Rong Tang yawned, then lazily ordered, “Go fetch water. I want a bath.”

Su Huaijing blinked. “What?”

Rong Tang narrowed his eyes at him.

“What’s so hard to understand? You need one too. You’re filthy. Don’t you dare get into my bed if you haven’t bathed.”

Su Huaijing: “???”

Tangtang must’ve gone mad! Someone must’ve drugged the supper!

Young Master Su had no time to think. Worried Rong Tang might change his mind, he nodded frantically and bolted off to boil the water.

Just as he entered the kitchen, something in his head twitched. He turned to Xingfeng and said, “Go find that old man selling tangyuan on the street. Buy his recipe.”

Xingfeng: “???”

Sir… are you feeling alright?

The author has something to say:

Tangtang: Oh no. I think there’s some kind of curse… Well, better sleep with Xiao Qi a few more times, just in case.

Susu: Yay! Tangtang’s been well and truly mind-blown by me! (censored) (Just kidding!)