Extras (2): Ke Mu

Since the age of thirteen, when His Majesty Emperor Yuanxing had, in rare indulgence, granted him the privilege to pass freely through palace gates, Sheng Fuze had spent more nights out than one might count.

Yet as a prince, nowhere truly suited him. Brothels were out of the question; taverns, far too sordid; and the home of any respectable official. Well, even the merest hint of favouritism might fan the embers of political rumour. Sheng Fuze had little desire to embroil himself in factional strife, and so, of course, would not lightly entangle himself with any household.

And so, without thought or hesitation, the Third Prince would slip away from the palace and sneak into the Ke residence, slipping like moonlight into Ke Hongxue’s modest courtyard, grinning as he wormed his way into the youth’s bed.

Seeking warmth, and pressing close, he reeked of rouge and wine, like some dreamy-eyed drunkard, arms wound about Ke Hongxue, murmuring with a tipsy smile, “Ah Xue is so soft.”

And indeed he was. A youth still, with little muscle to his frame, bones gentle, skin smooth as silk. The prince spoke only the truth.

Yet when the scent of wine drifted through the bed curtains, and their bodies lay so close… those words, however honest, carried a certain discourtesy.

More than once, Ke Hongxue had grown quietly cross, though with what exactly he could not say. Only that his ears flushed red and his cheeks followed suit. Eventually, he refused to let the prince cling to him through the night. But when it came to turning him away entirely, his heart could not bear it. It was like leaving a royal son to vie for shelter with alley cats. So he cleared out a room in the courtyard and kept it always ready, should Sheng Fuze come calling.

Which rendered all the prince’s grinning, wheedling requests to stay the night… more than a little unnecessary.

After all, the doors of the Ke household had never once been locked against him.

On one such morning, not long after the rooster had crowed but before dawn had risen, the door of the neighbouring room creaked softly open. As if by instinct, Ke Hongxue stirred and opened his eyes to the dark.

Footsteps padded gently closer. Someone slipped inside, paused briefly at the table, and whispered in the faintest breath, “Ah Xue, I’m off now.”

He must have known the other boy was still asleep. Yet always, always he made this farewell visit, as though to do otherwise would be unthinkable. What peculiar habit it was, none could say.

Once the door closed again and the quiet steps faded from the courtyard, Ke Hongxue sat up, blinking at nothing. In a daze, he walked over, lit a candle, and found upon the table a single crimson skewer of candied hawthorn.

He had used Ke Hongxue’s money to buy three… but in leaving, had placed one gently upon the desk.

What was he trying to say?

Lowering his gaze, Ke Hongxue stared at the glistening toffee glaze, then turned to glance at the small wooden box by his bed. Within it: powders, jade pendants, folding fans, scented sachets. Frivolous trinkets gathered from the streets, bought in idle whimsy.

Some with his own coin, some coaxed from Ke Hongxue himself. It mattered not whom they’d been intended for—nor what excuse accompanied their purchase. Invariably, by morning, a new piece would be nestled in Ke Hongxue’s chamber after the prince had gone.

As the pale morning light spilled through the lattice window, Ke Hongxue stood for a moment unmoving, then dressed and made his way to the study.

The Ke family had long been steeped in scholarly tradition. His grandfather, Ke Wenrui, served as the realm’s Grand Tutor. The so-called study was, in truth, an entire courtyard brimming with books, its scale outmatching most academies.

He wandered into one of the rooms. The treatise Sacred Reflections, unfinished from the night before, still lay on the desk. Notes inked in the margins, each one a sound principle of governance.

He was well suited to office. His grandfather had said as much.

But Ke Hongxue wanted no part of it.

“Ah Xue, you must get better soon. I’ll take you to float lanterns on Jinfen River, take you to the north to hunt hawks, take you to southern Min to walk the Insect Gorge.”

“I know all manner of marvellous places. When you’re better, when I’m granted a fief, I’ll bring you along.”

But if Sheng Fuze had no desire to vie for the throne, then he’d not sit the imperial examinations either. He’d never trade a life of wild freedom for the drudgery and danger of bureaucracy.

And yet…

Ke Hongxue lowered his gaze, his eyes falling upon the green-lotus inkstone upon the desk.

It had been a gift, offered to Sheng Fuze at some banquet, from someone hoping to curry favour. The prince, finding it tasteful, had passed it along to Ke Hongxue without a second thought.

He stared at it for some time, until full daylight had broken through the windows.

Of all the places promised, he’d only ever taken him to the river.

Ke Hongxue’s health had long since returned. But most of Sheng Fuze’s words had never come to pass.

Snowman—his boyhood nickname—pressed his lips together, his spirits low, some nameless irritation catching in his chest.

After a while, he picked up a brush and, without much thought, penned a poem.

“Ah Xue, you’re brilliant. Do you know that?”

Spring was ripening. The young prince sprawled without decorum on the beauty’s chaise, sipping peach blossom wine of rare vintage. “The Grand Tutor brought your poem to the Imperial Academy. Father happened to be there too. He praised you for a full incense-stick’s length. You should’ve seen the looks on the other students’ faces. Green with envy.”

Sheng Fuze smiled, his peach-blossom eyes agleam, more radiant than spring itself.

Ke Hongxue glanced up without thinking, and in that distracted instant, a drop of ink fell upon his paper.

He stared at the stain, frowning lightly, unmoving.

Noticing the stillness, Sheng Fuze lifted a brow, slipped off the couch barefoot, and padded over to stand behind him. Bending low, he peered at the document over his shoulder.

“A gentleman’s conduct should be as luminous and open as the sun and moon…”

His voice was different when reading. It was neither jesting nor idle, but something softer. Sincere. A tone so gentle, so unwavering, it was like a flask of aged osmanthus wine: the scent alone enough to intoxicate.

Ke Hongxue’s ears tinged pink. He pressed his lips tight. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to cover the page… or to silence the prince altogether.

But before he could act, Sheng Fuze chuckled softly above him, and with a deft motion, took his hand, guiding the still-gripped brush to the blot of ink.

“If it’s about being a gentleman, then why not turn that mark into a plum blossom? No need to frown over it.”

He laughed lightly as he said it, and with a few artful strokes, the dark spot bloomed into a winter flower… delicate, cold, and beautiful… right in the middle of the essay.

Elegant? Certainly. Nothing in the world more refined than a plum in the snow. But noble? Detached?

The warmth lingering on the back of Ke Hongxue’s hand made that doubtful.

The same warmth, perhaps, as when the girls at the pleasure house let gentlemen paint blossoms on their palms, hands held just so.

Ke Hongxue’s heart chilled. A pale hue crept across his face.

Sheng Fuze noticed none of it. He let go, cast a glance at the paper, and read aloud once more:

“Open and bright… Ah Xue, you don’t seem all that open.”

Why else would you lose focus while writing?

He was always saying such things, without waiting for replies. Barefoot, he retreated once more to the couch, lay back, and turned to the window. The pear blossoms were just beginning to bloom, faint stars of white across a sea of green.

His eyes flashed with mischief.

“There were far too many people at Song Garden last time. I worried you’d be jostled and feel unwell. But it’s closed now, and the season’s perfect. Shall we go? You’ve still not named that courtyard I gave you. Planning to abandon it?”

He gazed out the window, while Ke Hongxue looked down at the plum drawn on the page. His right hand clenched, almost without realising, as though trying to seize something—

But all that lay in his grasp was a brush already held, and a breeze already past.

“Ah Xue?”

Sheng Fuze turned back, puzzled. “Hm?”

Ke Hongxue closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “All right,” he said.

Sheng Fuze smiled as he pressed on, “And your courtesy name?”

Ke Hongxue hesitated, falling silent for a moment before replying softly, “Give it a little more time.”

When enough time had passed, once he had a courtesy name, he would leave it as the name of a courtyard in Sheng Fuze’s Song Garden.

The spring light was just right, the scent of peach blossom wine sweeter than wine itself. Intoxicating not in strength, but in gentleness.

The finest vintage had been scattered across the coldest study room. Sheng Fuze sipped as he lounged, now and then humming a ditty popular in the streets, each one once sung by the courtesans of Fengyue House.

Amidst the idle noise and interruptions, Ke Hongxue managed to pen two policy essays, each in a different hand.

As His Highness the Third Prince prepared to depart, he glanced at the pages and broke into a grin. “Ah Xue, how thoughtful of you. You knew I hadn’t done my work, so you wrote it for me.”

Ke Hongxue said nothing, letting him take the essays with him. Just before leaving, the prince called back, “Make time for me! Let’s go to Song Garden!”

The gallant wanderer came and went in a blink. All that remained was a wine jar, emptied and left by the couch. A quiet proof that he had truly been here.

Ke Hongxue sat at his desk a moment longer, then rose and walked to the couch. He gazed down at the empty wine jug, then at the small white porcelain cup nearby. A shallow pool of wine remained at the bottom.

He considered for a moment, then bent down to pick it up. He brought it to his lips and took a cautious sip.

At once, his brow furrowed.

…Awful.

What was so enjoyable about it, anyway? That man feasted every day, wine never far from his side.

He was practically a drunkard.

Ke Hongxue put the cup down again, the wine inside barely touched.

He stepped out of the study and called for a servant to clean up.

Grand Tutor Ke happened to be in the courtyard searching for a book. Upon seeing him, he stood still, waiting.

Ke Hongxue felt his heart sink and slowly walked over. “Grandfather.”

Ke Wenrui gave a slight nod. “His Highness has gone?”

Ke Hongxue clenched his fists, warmth still lingering on the back of his hand. “He has.”

Ke Wenrui set off, taking him to the book storage. As he directed him to find a few volumes, he asked offhandedly, “Still not planning to sit the imperial exams?”

Ke Hongxue’s voice was low and rough. “This grandson has failed in his duty.”

Ke Wenrui sighed, bending to search among the shelves. He did not scold him, merely said, “If you don’t wish to enter government service, then at least join an academy. His Majesty has asked about you several times. I can’t very well tell him you refuse to serve Dayu.”

Since Ke Xuebo had become a merchant, Ke Hongxue technically shouldn’t have been eligible for the exams. But the Emperor had made a rare exception and granted him the right to sit. And yet, from start to finish, Ke Hongxue had shown no intention of taking the exam. Even with Ke Wenrui’s standing, he couldn’t keep making excuses forever.

The best he could do was claim that the boy’s learning was still immature, that further study was needed.

Still, Ke Hongxue didn’t immediately respond. Ke Wenrui turned from the sea of books and gave him a calm, far-seeing look. “Never mind. A while longer won’t hurt. You’re only sixteen.”

Then he asked, “Would you like me to give you your courtesy name?”

Ke Hongxue’s gaze flickered faintly, but he said nothing.

Ke Wenrui didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. “Fine, I’ll ask His Highness to choose one for you instead.”

He turned back, finally having found the book he needed. Just before leaving the archive, he couldn’t resist adding, “How did you turn into such a taciturn lad? You weren’t like this as a child.”

When he was younger, Ke Hongxue had been clever, sharp-witted, bold, and brazen enough to cry in front of the Emperor himself.

But in the past two years, he’d grown quieter by the day. It was almost unrecognisable.

Two months later, just before Sheng Fuze’s first appearance in court, spring was in full bloom. He invited his companions to Song Garden to admire the flowers. That night, he slipped into Ke Hongxue’s courtyard, jug in hand, and pulled him up to the red-lacquered attic to gaze out over the night.

Sheng Fuze’s smile was dazzling. “Ah Xue, you’ll never guess what I won from Grand Tutor.”

Ke Hongxue was nibbling on a peach blossom pastry and raised his gaze, faintly curious.

Sheng Fuze beamed. “He had us compose a poem. The winner could take anything they liked from him.”

He chuckled. “And I won, so I took the right to choose your courtesy name! Just wait. I’ll think of one that suits you perfectly!”

The sky stretched vast and empty, fireflies drifting low. The young prince threw back his head and laughed, carefree and radiant. Even the spring light seemed to blush and bow its head before him.

Ke Hongxue looked at him, and in that moment, his heart skipped a beat.

The sound blended into the chorus of spring insects, soft and unnoticed. No one heard it.

The author has something to say:

Ke Mu both are pure. They’ve never had relations with anyone else!