Song Pu felt his words sounded somewhat absurd. Wait. Why was he so concerned about his subject’s private life?
Yet lacking the courage to challenge him, Song Pu feigned ignorance. “Your subject does not know, Your Majesty.”
He recalled that Tantai Yi seemed to dislike praise directed at others, which was why he had never commented on the palace maids’ beauty.
But this answer did not satisfy Tantai Yi. His golden eyes narrowed slightly. “Minister Song can get drunk in a brothel and yet be delayed over a palace maid. I would have thought you a frivolous playboy. How could you not know who is more beautiful, the courtesans or the palace maids?”
Song Pu: “…”
He answered earnestly, “Your Majesty misunderstands me. I do not go to brothels to admire the women, just as I do not come to the palace for the palace maids. Women are but fleeting illusions, forgotten in a moment. Only Your Majesty is genuine before me. As for my tardiness, it was indeed on account of a palace maid. I was concerned that if Your Majesty did not encounter a woman suited to your taste, the harem might remain without an heir, and I wondered when a dragon prince or princess might be born.”
Hearing the first part of Song Pu’s explanation, the slight displeasure on Tantai Yi’s brow melted away. He was just about to smile when Song Pu’s latter words reached him, and for some reason, a flicker of annoyance returned. “Why, Minister Song, are you no different from the other courtiers? Do you also think I must produce an heir for the Liang Kingdom? If I wish to have a child, it is because I desire one, and not for the sake of the empire! I thought you understood me, yet you have fallen for their teachings, repeating their useless talk!”
To be fair, the ministers were not entirely wrong. Securing imperial power required heirs, and a hereditary succession could stabilise the realm and minimise unrest.
Tantai Yi was indeed rebellious. This was not merely a personal matter, but a matter of state. An emperor must first serve the empire before himself. Yet here he was, clearly preoccupied only with his own feelings.
Song Pu understood, though. For such a proud, narcissistic emperor, being coerced into taking a consort and producing heirs would be utterly humiliating.
This reminded him of details from the original story.
The original was an exceedingly melodramatic tale of sister-in-law romance. At this point, the timeline was roughly four years before the main events. The harem’s consort selection occurred every three years. From the year Tantai Yi ascended, the first selection should have taken place, but he refused, so it was cancelled. This was the second selection, and the female lead, Lin, entered the palace for the third.
At that time, her family was intact, granting her a respectable rank as Consort Lin. With no empress present, Tantai Yi seemed to regard her specially, awarding her the Phoenix Seal and placing her in charge of the harem.
One detail: a year after entering, when she was forcibly taken by Prince Gong, she remained a virgin. The tyrannical Tantai Yi had never touched her, and no one in the palace was pregnant at that time.
In other words, this arrogant, self-assured emperor truly lived by his words: even four or nine years later, he had found no one worthy of him and did not wish to leave an heir.
Though Song Pu could infer aspects of the emperor’s psyche, he remained baffled. Why such inexplicable obstinacy? Was he so narcissistic as to believe himself a god descended to earth, with ordinary mortals unworthy of his union?
If true, what level of self-regard would it take to maintain celibacy even if the universe were ending?
Lost in thought, Song Pu momentarily drifted. Tantai Yi noticed and, more irritated, raised his voice. “Minister Song! I am speaking to you, and you are elsewhere? Half a month apart, and you seem to care even less for me!”
Snapping back, Song Pu hurriedly replied, “Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I was merely thinking of Your Majesty’s affairs and was momentarily distracted.”
Tantai Yi’s gaze sharpened, his tone becoming more reserved. “Thinking of me?”
“I am unworthy. Hearing Your Majesty’s words, I cannot help but feel ashamed. I allowed myself worldly thoughts, presumptuous and trivial. Your Majesty’s noble mind is far beyond ordinary comprehension. I beg you, Your Majesty, do not take my words amiss,” Song Pu said earnestly.
Tantai Yi’s expression softened slightly. “I had forgotten what you said earlier, but—”
He narrowed his golden eyes, fixing them on Song Pu’s delicate face. His voice slowed, intimate and deliberate. “Some matters must be made clear. Your future marriage shall only be decided by me.”
Song Pu froze. “…Your Majesty, what do you mean?”
Tantai Yi continued, “Your future matches will be my choice alone. You are so perceptive; what woman in the world could be worthy of you? I do this for your good. Surely you do not think my reach is so long?”
Song Pu: “…”
He swallowed hard, struggling to respond. “Of course not. Your concern for my marriage is my honour. Never have I heard of an emperor so considerate.”
Tantai Yi’s lips curved in a faint, pleased smile. “As I do not grant a consort, you shall naturally follow my example. You must exercise caution. Should I learn you grow too familiar with women, I shall be displeased.”
Song Pu hesitated, uncertain of his meaning.
Seeing his silence, Tantai Yi’s smile faded, tone deepening. “I regard you as a confidant. I wish you to remain virtuous, untainted by frivolity or vulgarity. You do not wish otherwise, surely? I believe you understand me and my intentions.”
Ah, the classic FFF brigade* indignation.
(*TN: In online fandom, this is slang. Being in the “FFF brigade” is a humorous and self-deprecating way for single people to express jealousy toward couples who are being overly affectionate or “showing off” their relationship.)
Yet if he truly followed Tantai Yi’s lead, he feared he might never marry.
Though marriage held little appeal, being prevented from marrying by the emperor was another matter entirely. Could an emperor’s possessiveness reach such heights? Truly unprecedented.
Despite his misgivings, Song Pu answered dutifully, “Your Majesty is correct. Indulgence in romantic love is vulgar. A true man stands tall and upright; establishing a career precedes founding a family. Even had Your Majesty not said so, I would refrain from considering marriage or children for the time being. Rest assured, I shall follow Your Majesty’s lead. If Your Majesty does not grant a consort, how could I dare preemptively marry or father children?”
Hearing this, Tantai Yi’s brows lifted in barely concealed pleasure. “Then it is settled.”
He picked up the Sun-Shooting Bow, held by the eunuchs, and smiled at Song Pu. “Though physically frail, your archery and horsemanship are commendable. Today, we shall have another contest.”
Song Pu replied, “Your Majesty’s skill is peerless. I would surely pale in comparison.”
Yet he accepted the bow from the eunuch.
Tantai Yi, with restrained arrogance, said, “You say I am exceptionally gifted; do not strain to surpass me. Even merely watching is acceptable.”
His glass-bead-like eyes were intent solely on him.
Song Pu said, “Your Majesty, I am far inferior and have not handled a bow in some time. Should my form falter, please do not mock me.”
Tantai Yi replied, “How could I mock you? Simply do your best.”
He drew the bow, releasing several arrows in rapid succession. Each pierced with the force of a thousand pounds, embedding in the distant palace wall without fail.
His golden eyes gleamed with pride and expectation, though he murmured, “My touch was not perfect today.”
Song Pu, witnessing this feat, struggled to contain his awe. His face flushed, heart stirred, admiration unfeigned.
Oblivious to the pride in Song Pu’s gaze, Tantai Yi continued. “Today’s display is only three-tenths of my skill; you make a fuss over nothing.”
Song Pu replied, “Even so, I might not reach half your ability. I shall not compete.”
Noticing Song Pu’s lingering gaze on the bow, Tantai Yi smiled warmly. “You may touch it.”
Song Pu blinked. “Truly, Your Majesty?”
“Indeed,” said Tantai Yi. “Ordinary men cannot lift it, and you are frail; a touch suffices.”
Song Pu set down his light longbow, approached, and gently touched the Sun-Shooting Bow. “…It feels ordinary.”
Tantai Yi’s golden eyes narrowed in amusement. “What merit is there in feel alone? The bow is made from sacred Northern Region wood, rare in this world. Many bows exist, but only this one carries significance. It is a treasure of the North.”
Song Pu asked, “May I try it fully?”
Tantai Yi hesitated, then smiled. “Since you wish, you may. I am not so petty.”
He handed over the bow. Prepared for its weight, Song Pu took it with both hands. The heft nearly unbalanced him, yet he did not fall; Tantai Yi stepped in, sliding an arm beneath his, holding him steady.
Once upright, Song Pu heard Tantai Yi’s voice close by, unguarded and pleased. “Are you all right, Lord Song?”
