Chapter 173

Warning: mentions of torture, gore

Before Su Huaijing’s formal coronation, the Ministry of Rites had already, in great secrecy, conducted a much smaller, utterly unorthodox ceremony.

When Lu Jiaxi received the decree, he stood frozen for a long time, unable to comprehend what he had just been told. He confirmed it again and again with the eunuch who had brought the imperial edict from the palace—and each time, the answer remained the same.

And so, under the watchful gaze of the eunuchs from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the ceremonial officials of the Ministry of Rites, and a handful of prison guards, Dayu witnessed the most baffling, absurd enthronement in its history.

The “emperor” had no proper dragon robe to speak of, only a few undamaged garments scavenged from the previous emperor’s wardrobe, salvaged from the wreckage of the palace coup. No auspicious hour was observed, no ceremony of state, no dignitaries in attendance. In the most slipshod, indecorous fashion, Sheng Chengli was hastily crowned.

Even the man himself appeared stunned and terrified. And when the realisation finally hit him, he burst out laughing—ragged, desperate laughter that quickly turned into a wracking cough, as though he might hack up his very heart.

Then came the tears. He laughed as he cried, blood mingling with his tears and dripping from his ruined eye onto the cheap, wrinkled robes he wore. Robes that were never meant to adorn an emperor. They stained with each drop, becoming only more wretched, a pitiful sight that should never have graced a throne.

Sheng Chengli could only move one hand. Enraged, he tried to tear the robe from his body, but the ritual was not yet complete. The guards wouldn’t even allow him that small act of rebellion. They held him firmly in place, one on either side, forcing him to endure the full, excruciating litany of imperial rites as recited by the ceremonial master.

Only when the final word was spoken, did the guards release him. In name, he was now the Emperor of Dayu. Sheng Chengli immediately tore the dragon robe from his body and flung it to the ground in fury.

The eunuch who had delivered the decree quickly picked it up, slung it over his arm, and gently dusted it off. His voice, lilting and effeminate, dripped with mockery.

“Your Majesty, there’s no need for such a display. Isn’t this what you always longed for?”

He gave the garment a perfunctory pat, then bent low in mocking obeisance.

“Long live Your Majesty. Long live, long live, long live.”

It was farcical. An insult dressed as formality, as if peeling off Sheng Chengli’s dignity and grinding it into the dust.

At last, he could bear it no more. Through clenched teeth, he spat, “Where is Su Huaijing? Bring him out!”

The eunuch tutted exaggeratedly. “Oh dear, Your Majesty doesn’t yet understand the situation, does he? The Seventh Prince’s name is not one you may utter lightly. Aren’t you afraid someone will cut out your tongue?”

Sheng Chengli’s gaze turned murderous, his eyes like blades. The fury within him was almost tangible, as if he might, at any moment, leap up and rip the man’s throat open with his teeth.

But the eunuch was a seasoned fixture of the palace, steeped in its politics and cruelty. Why should he fear an “emperor” in name only?

With a wave of his hand, he stepped back. The guards surged forward, pressed Sheng Chengli to the floor, and began stripping him of the garments they had just forced him to wear.

“His Highness said the cloth is too fine to be wasted on rats and maggots in a place like this.”

Rats and maggots. He didn’t even bother to hide whom he meant.

Sheng Chengli lay helpless, pinned beneath them, eyes bulging in rage. From the empty socket of his lost eye, blood and tears flowed freely. He looked monstrous, like a spectre torn from the deepest circle of hell.

Lu Jiaxi caught that gaze and shuddered. His body moved of its own accord, stepping back in fear.

He was afraid.

But before he could leave the prison chamber, he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Su Huaijing enter, followed by his retinue.

Upon seeing the wretched state Sheng Chengli was in, he even frowned slightly, his voice low and cold: “What’s the meaning of this?”

The eunuch who had only moments ago been taunting Sheng Chengli went weak at the knees and fell to the ground, trembling. “Forgive me, Your Highness. The prisoner was being unruly…”

“What prisoner?” Su Huaijing cut him off. “That is His Majesty.”

A heavy silence fell. No one dared respond.

Shen Feiyi brought forward a chair. Su Huaijing sank into it with the unhurried grace of one who had all the time in the world. With a casual wave, he dismissed everyone present.

Sheng Chengli, still stripped and sprawled on the floor, glared up at him, teeth bared like a feral beast. A guttural growl rumbled from his throat.

Su Huaijing leaned back lazily. For some reason, a vivid red bite mark marred the pale skin of his neck. It lent him an almost decadent allure, haunting, intoxicating.

On another man, such beauty would invite ruin. But on Su Huaijing, it inspired dread. One could only imagine him as a poisonous bloom high upon a mountain peak, pure, untouchable, and fatally dangerous.

He gave a soft chuckle, barely audible, and asked, almost absently, “Do you know what your father looks like now?”

Sheng Chengli flinched…just slightly. But it was enough to betray the memory. His body trembled.

Su Huaijing nodded to himself. “So you remember.”

“I strung him up by the beams for an entire day and night. His hair fell out in clumps. I hacked off his limbs and his cock. Gouged out one eye. Took an ear, too.” He listed the mutilations one by one, utterly untroubled by the horror of them. Then he asked, as if it were the most reasonable question in the world, “Compared to that, wouldn’t you say you’ve been rather fortunate?”

No dismemberment. No torture. He’d even been crowned emperor, if only for a day. A dream realised, however hollow.

Su Huaijing’s tone was almost indulgent. “What more could you want, hmm?”

As if, should Sheng Chengli give voice to his desires, Su Huaijing might truly see them granted.

Sheng Chengli clenched his jaw. When he tried to speak, a mouthful of blood welled up and spilled past his lips. His rage too fierce for his body to contain.

Su Huaijing gave a soft, amused “tsk.”

“So uncouth. Did the cold palace raise you without even a nanny to teach you the manners of a gentleman?”

Sheng Chengli was incensed. “You’re talking about a gentleman’s conduct with a death row prisoner?”

A beat of silence.

Then Su Huaijing laughed, a low, amused sound that never reached his eyes. He looked down at Sheng Chengli with a smile that chilled more than it warmed.

“How absurd,” he said. “You’re fixated on ‘death row’.”

Sheng Chengli fell silent, his throat tight.

Su Huaijing leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together.

“And you. How could you ever be considered a gentleman?”

He had only just asked whether Sheng Chengli had ever learned a gentleman’s conduct, yet now, with razor-edged precision, he gave his own verdict: You could never be one.

“I keep wondering,” Su Huaijing said softly, “where it all began. Who set in motion the suffering I endured?”

“At first I thought it was Sheng Xuyan. But even after I cut off his limbs and turned him into a human swine, there was still this hollowness inside me. It seemed I’d taken my revenge, and yet… it wasn’t enough. So I started to wonder: did I choose the wrong person?”

Sheng Chengli froze. The prison air hadn’t changed, and yet it now felt close, suffocating, as though the walls themselves were pressing in.

He swallowed, tried to prop himself up… but Su Huaijing’s voice cut through the air, sharp and quiet.

“Don’t move.”

At once, Sheng Chengli stopped. He didn’t know why. He just did.

Su Huaijing let the irritation fade. He sank deeper into his chair, a picture of languid, dangerous ease, like a beast resting after a feast.

He reached to his side and retrieved a sandalwood waist token. Once pristine, it had become smooth over the years. Its once-sharp edges worn down, the carved clouds polished to a gentle sheen.

Su Huaijing murmured, “Then I thought… if Tangtang came into this world to save me, perhaps the pain I went through was to lead me to him.”

Sheng Chengli let out a mocking snort.

As if anticipating the reaction, Su Huaijing said calmly, “But he’s not.”

The smirk froze on Sheng Chengli’s face.

Su Huaijing continued, his voice devoid of anger, stating a simple fact: “He’s not. He came to save you. So then, am I to understand that everything I’ve suffered was, in essence, your doing?”

Sheng Chengli stiffened at once, rooted to the spot. He stared at Su Huaijing in silent dread.

The latter merely toyed with the waist badge in his hand and added quietly, “But if all my misfortune stems from you, then you are clearly the perpetrator. Why would Rong Tang be the one to come save you?”

Sheng Chengli bit down hard, jaw clenched. The hand with severed tendons trembled uncontrollably. It was a clear sign of his panic and fear.

Su Huaijing gave him a cursory glance, then looked away and changed the subject with deliberate casualness.

“Tangtang likes storybooks, did you know that?”

Sheng Chengli opened his mouth: “I—”

“You probably didn’t,” Su Huaijing interrupted, not bothering to wait for an answer. “You’re too stupid to notice. He’s already spent all his strength helping you fight me. He’s probably not had the energy to read. He might listen to the odd opera though—”

He paused. His gaze drifted, mind wandering briefly. Then, as if struck by a private memory, he lowered his head and smiled, soft and unguarded. “So that’s how you knew each other…”

He’d once wondered how Ke Hongxue, who clearly had no real intention of helping Sheng Chengli, had thrown him a lifeline. Now he understood.

Su Huaijing shook his head. The reverie passed. He turned back to Sheng Chengli. “Stories in novels, operas, pingtan*, or the strange tales hawked by roadside storytellers. They’re all the same. Someone imagines them, writes them down, performs them. The protagonist might be one person or many…”

(*TN: storytelling and ballad singing in Suzhou dialect)

Sheng Chengli grew colder the longer he listened. His gaze fixed on Su Huaijing like he were seeing a ghost.

“What… what are you saying?” he asked hoarsely.

Su Huaijing asked him instead, “Do you know what they all have in common?”

Receiving no reply, he answered himself: “No matter what the protagonist does, they’re always right. Even if they were wrong at first, by the end, they’ll be right. To make the hero shine, there must be a villain. Someone vile, no matter what’s in their heart, no matter what’s left unfinished in their past. Their only purpose is to make the protagonist appear righteous, kind, brave, talented, handsome.”

There was no shift in his expression, only the faintest touch of scorn. “I thought about that, and suddenly it all made sense. If you’re the protagonist of this tale, then I must be the villain. My tragic past exists only to decorate my role, to justify me standing as your enemy.”

He smiled coldly. “I was supposed to lose to you again and again. But alas, you were too weak. You lost to me. So the one who created you—or whatever force binds your fate—was forced to send someone else. A reader, perhaps. To come here, and help you defeat me.”

His voice was light. In the suffocating silence of the prison, it rang like a firecracker in an empty field. First a sharp shock, then an echo of dread.

Su Huaijing looked at Sheng Chengli not like an old enemy, but as one might inspect a flawed character in a book. Calm, distant, laced with mockery. “And doesn’t that explain everything?”

Sheng Chengli’s teeth began to chatter. He couldn’t utter a word.

Su Huaijing watched his disintegration for a while, then slowly rose to his feet. Looking down at him, he offered a condescending bow. “I won’t kill you. Since you’re so desperate to be emperor, I’ll let you have the throne… for today. I won’t sever your limbs. Your father still lacks a servant. You may attend to him.”

“As for death…” He smiled slightly. “Don’t bother. You know me well enough. I have many ways to make living far worse.”

He turned, casually adding: “By the way, since you’re so eager to serve Sheng Xuyan, do keep him alive. If he dies, I’ll have you made into a human swine and place you in his stead. Aren’t the two of you father and son? Coveting each other in the same bloodline?”

Sheng Chengli could barely feel his clenched teeth. His fists tightened, nails digging into flesh with no sensation of pain. Yet this time, despite the fear, he staggered upright and stared at Su Huaijing.

“Why?” he shouted. “Why won’t you kill me?!”

The prison was dark and vast. No sunlight ever reached this far down. Su Huaijing slipped the badge back into his robes, and absently brushed the bite mark on his neck. His voice turned gentle, almost tender.

“Because I find you useful.”

“That curse of yours,” he added with amusement, “was rather interesting. Tangtang’s been spoiling me since. I’m quite pleased. So, I’ve decided to let you live a bit longer.”

Sheng Chengli stared at him with his one remaining eye, voice trembling: “You all… you knew?”

Su Huaijing smiled. “Was the poem so hard to decipher?”

When star Shen rises in the west, star Shang appears in the east. If we are not to meet in this life, let us remain apart like Shen and Shang.

“A curse meant to keep Tangtang and me apart for eternity,” he said. “How touching.”

Sheng Chengli asked, “Aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid?” Su Huaijing echoed, scoffing. “Do you know what I thought at first?”

“I thought the world was full of fools. No kindness anywhere. Once I got my revenge, I’d set it all ablaze and bring everything to ruin.”

He continued: “If you were the protagonist, and someone sent Rong Tang in to save you while I stood here, threatening to burn the world, don’t you think that would’ve bound him to my side?”

Sheng Chengli shook his head frantically. “No… you wouldn’t…”

“I would,” Su Huaijing said. “And I did.”

“If there are no gods or ghosts in this world, Rong Tang won’t leave me. And if there are, then this world is nothing but ink on paper. Why should I fear destroying it?”

“In any case… I’m just the villain.” His smile was relaxed, even easy. “Curse all you like. I’ll always find a way to break it.”

He turned, lips curled faintly. “That is your only use to me.”

For the sake of that illusory curse, Rong Tang had let down his guard… just a little. And Su Huaijing found that rather delightful.

He left the prison. The absurd coronation was over.

…

Wentian Tower, West of the Palace

The white-haired monk tended a potted plant. Suddenly, he paused, as if sensing something. The water was just about to spill over the rim. but not a drop escaped. He lifted his wrist at just the right moment.

He smiled, warm and faintly helpless.

There was no plant in the pot. Only a small, soft white cloud.

Huimian reached out and gently brushed the cloud, murmuring as if to an old friend: “Devotee Rong, did you know? My qi di is like one of those white sesame buns: polished outside, dark within.”

When Rong Tang had entrusted this “cloud system” to him, it had been nothing more than a lifeless bauble. Now it quivered violently in his hand, indignant and twitching like it might float away at any moment to lodge a complaint in Rong Tang’s ear.

Huimian let go, pretending surprise: “Oh? You think it’s dangerous?”

The cloud bobbed furiously. Yes! Very dangerous!

Huimian fell silent for a moment, then sighed: “Then I must go. Before Xiao Qi finds out I was trying to convert his husband to Buddhism…”

He winced and muttered, “Best to leave early. That boy doesn’t care if I’m his brother when he gets cross.”

“…After all, I’ve never even caught a rabbit for him.”

His tone was indulgent, even as he complained. His smile was gentle.

Turning, he began packing the scriptures he would take with him. Outside the attic, Dayu was basking in a rare moment of peace. The wind was mild, the clouds light.

The author has something to say:

Er ge’s on the run! Er ge’s on the run! Once er ge runs, Tangtang runs too!

Tangtang runs, Tangtang runs… and after Tangtang runs… He gets caught and dragged back—! OvO