Extras (9): End of Story

The marriage of the Emperor and Empress has always been a matter of great national significance.

But in the case of this generation’s sovereigns of Dayu, the whole affair was… decidedly unorthodox.

All of the capital knew that on the eighteenth day of the third month in the ninth year of Qingzheng, Rong Tang, who was still the heir apparent of Duke Ningxuan, had taken Su Huaijing into his household as his consort.

Now, Su Huaijing sat on the throne as Emperor. The court and populace alike had come to accept that this made Rong Tang the Empress in all but name. Yet suddenly, talk had arisen that the two were to marry again. And no one quite knew how to make sense of it.

Would the Emperor, ruler of a nation, marry himself off a second time to his consort?

Or would Rong Tang assume the formal rites of the Empress and present himself as bride in reverse?

It was a question without precedent and without an elegant answer. As long as no one brought it up, all parties could pretend the matter did not exist. But once declared aloud, once placed in the open, it became a logistical and ceremonial nightmare that even the most diplomatic officials in the Ministry of Rites would struggle to execute without embarrassment.

So when Rong Tang heard Su Huaijing speak of it, he furrowed his brow and, without a moment’s hesitation, kicked him out of bed. With one smooth motion, he pulled the quilt over his shoulders and fell back asleep, muttering groggily, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Weddings were exhausting affairs. It wasn’t as though they’d changed partners. Why bother doing it twice?

As Rong Tang drifted off into peaceful slumber, Su Huaijing sat glumly at the foot of the bed, increasingly discontent.

Why shouldn’t they wed again? Tangtang owed him an answer. Tangtang ought to marry him once more.

That said, there were admittedly… complications. It bordered on the absurd for a reigning emperor to marry anyone at all. Even if Su Huaijing privately yearned to see Tangtang crowned in phoenix robes, he knew it would be cruel to make Rong Tang endure the rituals of an empress just to please the subjects’ sense of propriety.

It was the New Year, and most officials were on leave. Wang Xiuyu and a few others had returned from Jiangnan to spend the reunion festival with them, so Su Huaijing couldn’t very well consult him. In the end, he summoned Ke Hongxue and Lu Jiaxi to Qinzheng Hall instead.

Young Excellency Lu was thoroughly baffled. It was only the first day of the New Year, the firecrackers had barely stopped ringing—and yet His Majesty had dragged him into the imperial palace before breakfast. If he didn’t know better, he might have assumed Dayu was once again at war.

By contrast, the former Imperial Tutor Ke Hongxue was perfectly at ease. Spring-bright and insufferably smug, he entered, gave a perfunctory bow, and sauntered over to lean against a pillar. Yawning widely, he said, “Your Majesty called me here at this unholy hour. Surely not for a New Year’s greeting?”

He was utterly irreverent. Had any other civil official witnessed such conduct, they might have submitted a formal impeachment then and there. But Su Huaijing merely gave him a glance sharp enough to catch a flash of red on the man’s exposed wrist: a faint line, whether rope-burn or ribbon-crease, left ambiguous.

Su Huaijing was silent for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, let it go.

San ge’s appetite for chaos… had clearly exceeded previous estimates.

Clearing his throat, Su Huaijing turned to Lu Jiaxi and said, quite serenely, “I intend to marry.”

Lu Jiaxi had spent the entire night playing mahjong with his sisters. His mind was still foggy with exhaustion. “Ah? Does Shizi know?”

Su Huaijing replied, “Naturally.”

Lu Jiaxi blinked. “??? He agreed?!”

The young man stared at the Emperor as though he were some callous scoundrel who, having made his fortune, was now preparing to discard his faithful lover.

Su Huaijing paused, visibly confused, then frowned and corrected, “With Tangtang, of course.”

Before Lu Jiaxi could recover, Ke Hongxue pushed off from his pillar, eyes glinting with amusement.

“And what form,” he asked, tone light and faintly suggestive, “does His Majesty intend this wedding to take? The Empress’s rites… or some other sort?”

He spoke with studied subtlety, but the implication landed squarely. He knew at once what troubled Su Huaijing.

Su Huaijing met his gaze, said nothing, and gestured for both to sit.

Lu Jiaxi had barely lowered himself before jolting upright in alarm at the next words.

Su Huaijing, unbothered, entirely composed, declared: “I was wondering… has Dayu ever had a ceremony of co-sovereigns?”

Lu Jiaxi turned pale. “Your Majesty…?”

“No titles of Emperor and Empress,” Su Huaijing explained. “No talk of marriage in terms of bride and groom. If I am this nation’s ruler, then Rong Tang shall be co-ruler beside me. And if one day he ascends above me, so be it. This is not only a marriage of affection. It is a union of equals over the realm.”

The first day of the New Year. The snow had stopped. The sun was bright. A fine time to visit family.

Lu Jiaxi’s mouth hung open wide enough to fit a whole egg.

Ke Hongxue merely chuckled, all vulpine ease. “And how,” he drawled, “does Your Majesty plan to convince the old fogeys in the court?”

No Empress, a male consort, no imperial concubines… They had tolerated it all, grudgingly. After all, Ke Hongxue and Mu Jingxu had returned to the capital, and even brought young Yuanyuan back to be formally recognised by his kin. The matter of succession was, in principle, resolved.

But now, a joint sovereignty?

“I daresay,” Ke Hongxue added cheerfully, “once court resumes, someone or other will try to knock themselves unconscious against the Golden Throne in protest.”

He had never much cared for omens or taboos. Even talk of death on New Year’s Day meant little to him. His words were flippant and airy.

Lu Jiaxi finally closed his mouth and nodded in helpless agreement.

Indeed—there would be more than one body colliding with palace columns come spring.

But Su Huaijing only said, calmly, “Why should I persuade them?”

Ke Hongxue arched a brow. “Your Majesty?”

“I hear,” said Su Huaijing, “that Jiangnan boasts particularly exquisite scenery. The ministers have toiled long and hard here in the capital. Surely they’ve not had time to explore the southern provinces?”

Ke Hongxue’s smile faltered halfway. A chill of foreboding crept in.

“I was thinking,” Su Huaijing continued, “of granting them two months’ leave. They can all enjoy a nice excursion to Jiangnan.”

“…And the funds?” Ke Hongxue asked. “To send half the court on holiday?”

Su Huaijing replied easily, “San ge will lend me some, I’m sure.”

“…Shameless,” Ke Hongxue muttered.

Then Su Huaijing turned to Lu Jiaxi. “Two months should be enough for the Ministry of Rites to make the necessary arrangements, yes?”

Lu Jiaxi covered his face. “Just kill me.”

Su Huaijing rose, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “Settled, then. You two may go home for New Year.”

Ke Hongxue and Lu Jiaxi exchanged a long-suffering look.

Was he always this shameless?

And yet, for all the bluster, Su Huaijing had no real intention of forcing the court south, nor would he truly seize Ke Hongxue’s family wealth.

In truth, many things were quite simple.

Ministers could coerce a monarch only when that monarch was incompetent, inactive… or had already ceded his power.

Now that Su Huaijing had finally gathered all authority into his own hands, the court was left uneasy. The ministers had yet to grasp the true temperament of an emperor who had spent over a decade in the shadows, nursing vengeance. The harem was silent. There was no empress dowager, no concubine meddling in court affairs. Though objections existed, those bold enough to raise them in person ended up kneeling in supplication before him.

But kneeling proved useless.

Su Huaijing’s reply, light as a feather, held the weight of years: “In my youth, I stood alone. Friendless, powerless. Had it not been for Rong Tang, I’d have long since perished at the hands of the Slayer Emperor and his sons. And where were you then, my lords? Did any of you raise a hand to help me?”

This was not sentimentality; it was remembrance repaid. The emperor, even in power, had not forgotten kindness shown in obscurity.

What could they say?

If an emperor cannot protect and cherish the one who shares his pillow, how can he be trusted to govern his officials—or care for his people?

Still, the unease lingered. With the New Year approaching, ministers moved more freely between households. Ke Hongxue, long absent from the capital, found himself swamped with invitations the moment he returned.

The young master of the Ke family smiled, his eyes curved like peach petals, swirling wine lazily in his cup.

“What are you all so afraid of?” he asked, with studied indolence. “That this wedding ceremony breaks with precedent? But tell me, was there ever an ancestral law that wasn’t first decreed by a previous emperor? His Majesty simply wishes to write a new one. Is that truly so terrifying?”

“Well, even so—”

“Even so, you fear power might slip from imperial hands?” Ke Hongxue finished for him, still smiling. “But tell me. what’s more likely? That His Majesty takes a concubine? Or that Rong Tang suddenly fancies some young lady and wishes to marry her?”

The speaker fell silent. To be fair, neither scenario was remotely plausible. They had all witnessed, with perfect clarity, His Majesty halting a carriage at the city gate.

Ke Hongxue shrugged. “Exactly. Neither of them will have children. Rong Mingyu is dead, and the rest of the Rong clan are lying low, too scared to lose their heads. The empire lies in those two’s hands. And in the end—”

He paused, the corner of his mouth quirking.

“Isn’t it just a bit of lovers’ mischief? Why must you lot insist on playing the stick that parts the mandarin ducks? It’s dreadfully dull.”

The Jinfen River shimmered once more with a thousand lanterns. Ke Hongxue spoke with a nonchalance that belied the sharpness of his observation. But his gaze kept straying to the doorway.

Not until the third round of drinks did footsteps sound outside the room. Ke Hongxue grinned, set down his cup, and rose to his feet.

“My dear senior’s come to fetch me. Gentlemen… another day.”

Mu Jingxu, standing at the door, hadn’t yet raised his hand to knock. He frowned slightly as Ke Hongxue stepped out with a lazy smile, then glanced down at his own feet.

Ke Hongxue slung an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t bother looking. It’s not your foot’s fault.”

Mu Jingxu shot him a cold glare.

Ke Hongxue merely said, “I’ve been sitting by the window all night, watching the street below a hundred times over, waiting for you to come. So the moment you entered Liujin Parlour, I knew.”

He’d been well-behaved tonight. The others clamoured to head off to the pleasure house, but the most debonair of them all, Ke Hanying, hadn’t moved an inch.

Outside, Yu capital bustled with spring crowds. Ke Hongxue leaned in close to Mu Jingxu’s ear, his words light and teasing, his breath tinged with the scent of wine and memory… like osmanthus in autumn, long ago.

In a whisper, he asked, “Your Highness, Xiao Qi’s about to marry for the second time. When, pray, will you marry me?”

A breeze stirred along the long spring street. Ke Hongxue saw the faint flush rise swiftly at the tip of Mu Jingxu’s ear.

The snow on the mountain had melted. Sunshine had returned. A spring breeze had arrived in the human world.

—

It was meant to take two months. But to avoid undue haste, it took three.

On the eighteenth day of the third month, in the first year of the Mingde reign, the first ever co-monarch wedding in Dayu’s history was held. And on the eighth day of the sixth month in Mingde’s ninth year, the first group of women who had passed the imperial examinations officially entered court as officials.

From then on, among the common people, marriage grew increasingly free of gender constraint.

And at the very start of it all, Rong Tang and Su Huaijing, hand in hand, walked from Yong’an Lane to the Imperial Palace.

A pair of bright red wedding robes: one for the phoenix who soared above the nine heavens, and one for the golden dragon who roamed the skies. They knelt before Heaven and Earth, before family and friends—and pledged the rest of their lives to each other.

Mu Jingxu sat at the very front, beside Wang Xiuyu.

Ke Hongxue, seated lower, leaned toward the white-haired monk beside him and asked, “Why don’t you take the seat of honour, xiong zhang?”

Huimian’s hands were cupped around a small, trembling tuft of cloud-light that was shedding tiny glowing particles. He was on the verge of crying himself unconscious.

He smiled gently and said, “I nearly tricked Rong Tang into joining the Buddhist path. If I stood up there, His Majesty might not offer me a sincere bow.”

Ke Hongxue fell silent for two beats. Then he nodded. “True enough. His Majesty is terribly petty.”

Huimian smiled back. “Isn’t he just?”

Outside, the spring night had deepened. Then, all at once, someone among the guests cried out: “A shooting star!”

Everyone turned their heads. Beneath the moonlight, a cascade of stars streaked across the sky, drawing arc upon arc of radiant light, until it seemed even the stars of the Nine Heavens had bowed their heads to bless this union.

Rong Tang stood still, momentarily dazed. He turned, almost instinctively, toward Huimian—who now cradled the shrinking little cloud, looking every bit as helpless.

This system. This Heavenly Way. Honestly, it did play favourites.

“Look at me, Tangtang,” came Su Huaijing’s voice.

He turned and was met, without warning, by a kiss. Soft, sudden.

Above them, a hundred meteors fell. And before him—eyes full of moonlight and stars.

Su Huaijing smiled, quietly, with joy and grace. He was no great villain, nor a fictional fantasy come to life.

Before Rong Tang, he was simply Su Xiao Qi. His Xiao Qi. His Sheng Fuya.

“I really, really, really love you, Tangtang…” he murmured, again and again, year after year—as though words could never quite contain the depths of his feeling.

He looked into Rong Tang’s eyes, while the guests gazed upward at the falling stars.

After a moment, Rong Tang raised his head… and kissed him back. “I love you too, Huaijing.”

He was the luckiest transmigrator. For he had someone to walk the road of life with, all the way to its end.

The author has something to say:

I declare that Huaijing’s lost this round of confession (not)

This is really over! Thank you for your support! Thank you! ❤️! Requesting for a five-star review, muahmuah! ! !

See you again!!! I wish you all a happy day!

The translator (PurpleLy) has something to say:

This marks the end of this translation project that has spanned over three years. It has been a most delightful story to translate and I’ve enjoyed every word. 

My thanks to the author for this amazing web novel and of course, to my lovely readers for your immense support. 

My current on-going translations are “Eldest Shixiong Doesn’t Want To Practice Swordsmanship” and “Transmigrating Into The Cannon-Fodder Male Wife Of A Universal Heartthrob”. Do check them out as well as my other completed works. Happy reading!