Extras (4): Ke Mu

The Crown Prince’s wedding was an extravagant affair. His bride was Xu Yumin, daughter of the Minister of Rites.

The two gifts Ke Hongxue presented were treasures of such rarity they could have purchased cities. Yet even those were eclipsed in splendour by what Ke Xuebo offered.

As for Sheng Fuze, he dismissed Ke Hongxue’s gifts as too lavish, yet himself gave away three estates, ten shops, a hundred fine horses, a host of attendants, and enough jewels to fill chest upon chest.

The sheer magnitude of the gesture left the entire court stunned.

When Ke Hongxue heard of the gift list, he was silent for a long while. The next day, news spread that Consort Lü had summoned the Third Prince into the palace.

Property, commerce, military power, influence… They called it a wedding gift, but it was more like a formal act of allegiance under the guise of celebration.

He had made it plain to all that Sheng Fuze had no desire for power or position. He would rather live his life in another’s shadow.

To lend the grace of a gentleman’s virtue, to nourish the people’s breath.

He lived freely, recklessly even. But from beginning to end, he had never once crossed the line.

At the wedding banquet, Ke Hongxue saw Sheng Fuze again. He wore a smile, drinking on behalf of his xiong zhang, gracefully refusing the officials who pressed him for more. As he turned his head, his peach-blossom eyes caught sight of Ke Hongxue, and without a second’s thought, he made his way over.

His steps were unsteady, as though drunk. But his eyes remained clear, serene, not a trace of disorder within them.

The hall swelled with guests, but Sheng Fuze sat beside Ke Hongxue, letting the trunk of a flowering osmanthus tree hide them from view. He leaned his head lightly on Ke Hongxue’s shoulder and murmured, “Ah Xue, let me rest a moment. I feel a little dizzy.”

His eyes were half-lidded, as though dozing. Ke Hongxue looked down and caught a glimpse of a faint scratch just behind his ear.

Thin. Sharp. The sort a concubine’s nail-guard might leave across a cheek.

He pressed his lips together, staring at that mark for a long while before looking away. He asked no questions… only said, “Your Highness is most extravagant.”

Sheng Fuze blinked, then opened his eyes slowly. He looked up at Ke Hongxue, puzzled.

Ke Hongxue recited softly, “Estates. Shops. Horses. Servants. Jade and jewels beyond counting… Wasn’t it Your Highness who once said your monthly stipend barely covered a few candied haws. And that even for those, you had to borrow from me?”

His voice, soft as snow beneath moonlight, held no discernible emotion. Sheng Fuze listened, and slowly understood. Then a smile bloomed in his eyes—thick, warm, impossible to contain.

He loved seeing Ah Xue like this… vivid, spirited, even demanding an explanation over a few copper coins. It was painfully endearing.

With a tilt of his charming peach-blossom eyes, Sheng Fuze remained leaning against Ke Hongxue’s shoulder and lifted his wine cup to his lips, coaxing, “That’s different. The ones you buy taste sweeter.”

Ke Hongxue’s heart jolted. Sheng Fuze only coaxed more gently, “Ah Xue, open up. Tonight’s wine doesn’t intoxicate.”

The clear autumn moon hung full, sweet osmanthus drifting through the breeze. Palace lanterns swayed at the treetops. In a daze, Ke Hongxue parted his lips. The wine slipped warm and smooth over his tongue.

Far off, the Crown Prince smiled as he toasted his guests. But here beneath the osmanthus, the two of them sat in a rare moment of stillness. One unruly, laughing prince, gently pressing his beloved to drink down a full cup of aged wine.

The moonlight fell just right, the scent on their robes faint and elegant. Ke Hongxue swallowed the last drop and found himself gazing into Sheng Fuze’s eyes… so beautiful they seemed drawn from a painter’s dream.

In that instant, he could not help but think: His Highness is lying again.

There’s no such thing as wine that doesn’t intoxicate. He’s already drunk.

“Ah Xue… xiong zhang is wed, you know…” Sheng Fuze murmured again, voice barely audible in the hush of night. Ke Hongxue could not say what this marriage truly meant to him, but Sheng Fuze had spoken of it once, then again… and now once more.

He only knew that the scent of osmanthus this evening seemed far richer and almost heavier than any night by the gilded banks of the Jinfen River.

The Crown Prince and his bride were, by all accounts, deeply enamoured; a harmony of zither and harp, perfectly attuned.

His Majesty, Emperor Yuanxing, had begun yielding real authority to his heir, delegating matter upon matter of state. Sheng Fuze, caught in that current, was swept up too, scarcely a moment to place both feet upon the ground.

And Ke Hongxue, no courtier himself, saw him less and less. What he did hear came through the ever-chattering grapevine of the capital. Idle whispers about the Third Prince.

A handsome prince, they said, bright as spring, charming and clever beyond his years. He had turned seventeen, and with the Crown Prince now married, half the ministers in court were angling to marry off their daughters to him.

Sheng Fuze would laugh, wave it all away, claiming gently that he was no good man. He’d only let the lady down.

If pressed, he might sling an arm, with practised ease, round the waist of some courtesan or a maid at his side, tip back a cup of warm sake from her jade-hand, and say with a languid smile: “Surely you’ve heard. I spend every day in the company of beauties and wine. If your daughter came to live in my house, would she not weep herself into ruin?”

The tale was oft repeated, always ending with a shake of the head. A prince in every sense, they would sigh, save for that wandering heart of his. Not like the Crown Prince. So steadfast, so true.

Still, the world forgave him. “He is young,” they said. “He loves his pleasures, as youth must. Let him come of age, and the wind will still in his sails. Talk of marriage then.”

Ke Hongxue, when he heard such talk, never knew quite what he felt. Only that after they left, he would sit to write, then read the finished page and find himself none the wiser. Wordless, shapeless things. He would crush the page in one hand and toss it aside.

Sometimes, upon waking in the early morning, he would discover on his desk some small, peculiar trinket. A toy from the market, a carved puzzle box, a clever bauble of no great worth but exquisite in its thought.

The Third Prince was still a romantic, distracted, burdened by politics, courted by all, and weary of refusing. He would still find time, in the stillest hours of night, to slip unseen into Ke Hongxue’s little courtyard. No knocking, no words. Just a gift. Month after month. Year after year.

Ke Hongxue would gaze at these strange, sweet offerings and think: If he came, why didn’t he wake me?

He didn’t want trinkets. He didn’t need them.

It was the twenty-fifth year of Yuanxing when the Emperor, with wine in hand at the New Year’s Eve banquet, turned once again to Ke Hongxue and asked—half in jest—whether he’d not consider taking up office.

There was no real choice in it. After the Lantern Festival, Ke Hongxue departed for Linyuan Academy.

On the morning of his departure, Sheng Fuze abandoned all official duties to come see him off.

From the gate of the Ke estate, he escorted him to the alley mouth. From the alley, he walked him to the city walls. And just as the carriage was preparing to depart through the gate, Sheng Fuze looked up at the sky, then at Ke Hongxue… hesitated a moment… then climbed into the carriage himself.

Ke Hongxue blinked, startled. “I’ve taken leave,” Sheng Fuze said lightly. “Nothing urgent at court. Might as well see you all the way there.”

The road was long, the journey slow. Only by dusk did they reach the academy nestled atop the cliffs. Sheng Fuze lifted the carriage curtain and looked up at the carved sign above the gate, gaze intent, as though he were the one about to become a student.

The path climbed steeply through rocks and forest, with a waterfall roaring behind the dormitories. Sheng Fuze helped Ke Hongxue settle in, then accompanied him to a modest inn on campus for a simple meal. Only then did they proceed to the Headmaster’s residence.

The headmaster, who had met Ke Hongxue before, was visibly startled to see who had brought him. He bent hurriedly to bow, but Sheng Fuze caught his arm with a graceful smile.

“No need for ceremony, sir. Here at the Academy, I am merely another student before the sages. I ought to bow to you.”

All the world knew the Third Prince as a man of impeccable diplomacy and courtly charm. But those who had truly known him saw beneath the polish… saw the unbending pride in his bones.

He treated all with courtesy. But rarely… very rarely… did he bow to any man. And this one was not even his master.

When the gesture was complete, Sheng Fuze smiled again. “Linyuan is famed across the realm. So many of our finest minds began here. Your merit, sir, will outlive us all. Ah Xue is fortunate indeed to learn under your guidance.”

The old master looked past him and at last understood why such a figure as the Third Prince had made this journey.

He inclined his head and replied, “Hongxue has a mind well suited to statecraft. I merely nudge him now and then.”

Sheng Fuze offered a few more elegant compliments.

They talked for a long while. The conversation ranged from the calibre of scholars to the words of Confucius; from the balance of court and commonwealth to the trials of the people.

At first Sheng Fuze steered the conversation; in time, the master spoke on with fervour, and the two young men listened, quietly, without interruption.

Only when dusk had fallen did the master draw things to a close. “Your Highness,” he said, “perhaps it’s time you took your leave?”

Sheng Fuze turned slightly, eyes catching the last light in the doorway, and the profile of a face turned half-away.

He paused, then looked back with a smile. “Sir, your wisdom truly humbles me. A single evening in your company has taught me more than ten years with books. I’m half-inclined not to go.”

The headmaster answered mildly, “But there are many in the world, Your Highness, who need you to return.”

There was weight in the words. A subtle warning.

Sheng Fuze rose, bowed again, then turned and asked gently, “Ah Xue. Walk me out?”

He had brought Ke Hongxue to the Academy. Now it was Ke Hongxue who must see him off.

Dusk thickened into early night. The quiet murmur of students reciting texts still drifted from open windows. In the trees, the wind stirred the branches, and the waterfall sang softly in the cliffs behind.

Sheng Fuze gave a few parting instructions… trivial things, as if they mattered: Watch your health. Don’t go walking alone at night. Write, if you can.

Ke Hongxue answered each one dully, almost absently, as though they were strangers exchanging pleasantries.

But just before stepping into the carriage, Sheng Fuze turned, as if it had only just occurred to him. “Ah Xue… you truly mean not to serve? No desire for office at all?”

Ke Hongxue looked at him.

His winter cloak was trimmed in fire-fox fur. Around his waist, jewelled rings and dangling ornaments chimed faintly as he moved. Even the gold-threaded boots on his feet seemed chosen for beauty more than use.

On anyone else, it would have looked garish. On him, it was effortless nobility. This time, Ke Hongxue gave no answer.

Instead, he tilted his head and listened… to the wind among the pines, to the early spring breeze, to the quiet beyond them both. And then, softly, he asked:

“Your Highness… are the flowers blooming yet in Lingnan?”

Sheng Fuze froze. A beat too long. His pupils widened, startled.

A bell tolled in the Academy tower.

Ke Hongxue stepped back and said calmly, “You should go. The mountain paths are no place to linger after dark.”

“Ah Xue…” Sheng Fuze said again, barely above a whisper. But that was all.

He looked deeply at him for a long moment, as if to remember every line of his face. Then he turned and climbed into the carriage.

—

Spring passed. Summer came.

Letters were exchanged between capital and Academy. One here, one there.

They met briefly during the Dragon Boat Festival banquet. Then came war, sudden and unrelenting.

Letters from the capital ceased.

The Crown Prince and young General Wei were dispatched to the northern frontier. Two months later, the Crown Princess requested to join the campaign.

At Linyuan, students still recited the ancient texts. The air remained calm, like some hidden peach-blossom valley.

But Ke Hongxue… Ke Hongxue began making mistakes. Over and over.

Until at last, word came from the capital: The Third Prince would ride south. To quell the rebellion.

For the first time, Snowman defied all etiquette and rules. In the dead of night, he scaled the academy walls, led away a horse, and rode through the silent streets straight to the Third Prince’s manor.

He had rarely come here. It was always Sheng Fuze who leapt over into his courtyard. All Ke Hongxue ever needed to do was wait. Sheng Fuze always came for him.

Tonight, the manor blazed with light. Servants hurried to and fro, voices murmured in passing. As Ke Hongxue stepped through the gate, the last group of ministers was just leaving, shoulders slumped, sighing in low tones, brows heavy with worry.

Something in Ke Hongxue’s chest tightened and sank. Without pause, he made for the study.

Only one man remained within.

Sheng Fuze sat behind his desk, his head resting wearily upon one hand. The eyes that so often glimmered with laughter were now shut, his entire posture steeped in exhaustion. Once, this room had been filled with laughter and feasting, courtiers coming and going like a tide. But now, he was utterly alone, papers and scrolls strewn before him in disarray.

Ke Hongxue saw him, and in that instant, could not bring himself to take another step.

Perhaps it was the unnatural stillness, or the sudden hush of footsteps outside. But after a moment, Sheng Fuze stirred. He raised his head slowly, eyes opening to scan the doorway.

And what was in that glance?

Years later, no matter how Ke Hongxue tried to purge the memory of that night, he could never forget that look Sheng Fuze gave him from behind the desk.

There was weariness. Frustration. Resignation. Distance.

But above all, there was a flicker of raw, unguarded joy, blooming suddenly from a tangled web of emotion.

He had not expected Ke Hongxue to come.

And he was glad and instinctively joyful that he had.

Ke Hongxue wondered, had he truly grasped what that glance meant. Would he still have obeyed, and refrained from going south with him?

But that moment passed unnoticed. Too many graver matters pressed upon them. No one lingered on that briefest of looks in the midst of ten thousand others.

Sheng Fuze rose, forcing a smile. Though still tired, something gentler softened his voice. “Ah Xue, what brings you here? Is the academy on holiday? Have you eaten? Tell me what you’d like, and I’ll have the kitchens prepare it.”

He smiled as he spoke, his eyes never leaving Ke Hongxue. Ke Hongxue’s throat tightened. He stepped further into the room. A strategy map or military memorandum.. some counsellor’s proposal… lay spread across the table between them.

Sheng Fuze, without thinking, stepped around the desk, moving toward him.

But Ke Hongxue asked, voice like iron, “You’re going south?”

He didn’t even address him formally. The words were cold, clipped.

Sheng Fuze paused, caught mid-step. After a heartbeat, he smiled lightly. “Mmn. I’m going to try persuading my uncle to surrender.”

“You must go?” Ke Hongxue’s voice rose, taut with urgency.

But Sheng Fuze’s tone was calm, almost indulgent. “Troop strength is too low. The northern front is deadlocked. If we want to negotiate a surrender, it must be someone of royal blood. I’m the best choice.”

Ke Hongxue stared at him, unable to fathom how he could say such words “the best choice” so matter-of-factly.

Everything pointed to danger: meagre troops, dire timing. Sheng Fuze couldn’t possibly be blind to it. Yet still, he was going.

Because the people demanded it. Because the court forced his hand.

The Crown Prince rode to the northern border, so Sheng Fuze must ride south.

Ke Hongxue was silent a long time. He didn’t argue. He simply met Sheng Fuze’s calm with his own, and said softly, “Take me with you.”

Sheng Fuze thought he was joking. He laughed, brushing it off. “War isn’t some childish game, Ah Xue. Don’t be silly.”

“I’m going with you.” Ke Hongxue repeated it. His voice did not waver. His expression did not shift.

Sheng Fuze faltered. His smile faded slowly. “…No.”

Ke Hongxue’s voice dropped. “Did you not promise to take me to Jiangnan? It’s time to keep your word, Your Highness.”

It was the first time since boyhood that he had shown such unwavering resolve before him.

Sheng Fuze’s brows drew together. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You know this is ridiculous?” Ke Hongxue’s voice broke, hoarse. “You say we’re too few, that we go with little hope. The best-case outcome is to remain there as a hostage. And you think I’m the one being ridiculous?”

Sheng Fuze stared at him in silence for a long time, as if seeing him anew.

At last, he realised: Ah Xue was too clever for his own good.

But he was still young. And too easily provoked. Seeing Sheng Fuze remain silent, he stepped forward, voice cracking, “Xu Yumin can go to the north. Why can’t I follow you south?”

The summer was waning, the air tinged with the first chill of autumn. Almost before the words had settled in the air, Sheng Fuze snapped back, finding his moment to strike.

His lips moved, voice sharp and cold: “Impudent.”

To speak the Crown Princess’s name so casually—impudent. To compare himself to her—impudent. To meddle in matters of state—utterly impudent.

Sheng Fuze’s reprimand was not undeserved.

But Ke Hongxue’s face turned ghostly pale. He looked at him, stunned, disbelieving.

Sheng Fuze returned to his desk and sank into his chair, gazing up at him without warmth, without the trace of welcome that had lit his face mere moments ago.

“Ke Hongxue. You have overstepped your bounds.”

“Return to your academy. I shall not punish you.” His tone was gracious, almost regal—as though bestowing mercy.

At summer’s end, His Highness led troops south.

By late autumn, as the last of the osmanthus blossoms withered in the capital, he returned.

All that remained was a severed head, eyes closed, suspended from the city wall, exposed to wind and sun, picked at by crows, crawling with maggots.

Ke Hongxue came to the gates each day. He stood there from dawn till dusk, silent, motionless, neither eating nor drinking, gazing up at that decaying head.

No one recalled the day it fell.

The cord securing the hair had rotted through. The head tumbled down the stone wall, rolled a few times across the dusty ground, scattering shrieking onlookers, drawing in stray dogs.

Ke Hongxue blinked. As if his soul, scattered for years, had suddenly returned to his body.

He stumbled forward. He tore the head from the jaws of the mongrels and held it tightly to his chest, like a lone traveller in the desert clutching a mirage of an oasis.

Even if the flesh stank of decay. Even if the bone pressed cruelly against his skin.

From the age of twelve to seventeen, he had finally held Sheng Fuze in his arms.

The author has something to say:

How did no one realise that the Third Prince kept mentioning the Crown Prince’s marriage like it was some kind of sugar? He’s wanted to marry Ah Xue since they were children (I’m crying QAQ).