Today was an overcast day. Dark clouds piled up layer upon layer, like a thick quilt heavy enough to smother the world.
Gu Yun lay by the carriage window, looking out at the broad, compacted yellow-brown road. They passed through the towering city gate and entered the outer city. The outer city was already more prosperous than other places; here, Gu Yun saw things he had never seen in Zhuyang County, though it still lacked the affluence and tranquillity often depicted in films and television dramas.
Once they entered the inner city, however, there was indeed a certain sense of that prosperity and calm he had only seen on screen.
The convoy split before reaching the imperial city. Meng Zhao, Ning Qianhu and the others went to report back to Chancellor Meng’s residence, while the Crown Prince and his attendants, escorted by imperial guards, proceeded into the imperial city, then the palace city, and finally returned to the Eastern Palace.
The Eastern Palace lay in the south-eastern corner of the palace city.
The palace city referred to the imperial palace itself.
Carriage wheels rumbled over stone slabs, clattering in rhythm with hoofbeats and the marching of the imperial guards, forming a noisy, layered din.
Gu Yun was no longer allowed to look outside by Chao Yan.
Chao Yan coaxed him almost gently, saying, “There’ll be plenty of chances to look later.”
In truth, Gu Yun had already lost interest in the capital. More precisely, he had lost interest in the imperial palace.
Its layout was not much different from the palace complexes he knew from modern historical reconstructions, and he had already grown bored of it.
He had still been leaning against the carriage window simply because he was carsick and wanted some cold, clean air.
Hearing Chao Yan’s words now, he felt a little irritated. He shifted left and leaned back against the carriage wall. At that moment, he felt something unfamiliar at his waist. Looking down, he saw Chao Yan’s hand reaching over.
Before he could react, he was pulled into the other man’s arms.
The Crown Prince sat at the front of the carriage; only a few steps away was the carriage door leading out.
Gu Yun was about to adjust himself and sit up when Chao Yan parted his legs and pulled him to straddle his lap. He immediately froze, afraid any movement would expose his “condition”.
“Your Highness?”
“You should call me husband.”
“…Husband.”
Chao Yan supported the back of his head. “Sleep on me for a while. We’ll be there soon.”
Once he had made up his mind, there was no room for argument. Just like before, when he had been made to rest his head on the other man’s lap. It was, admittedly, more comfortable.
Resigned, Gu Yun gripped his arm, lowered his head, and buried his face against Chao Yan’s neck and shoulder, closing his eyes.
Warm body heat mixed with a faint fragrance enveloped him. Already unwell, he fell asleep almost immediately.
Noticing this, Chao Yan smiled faintly. He opened a concealed compartment beneath the carriage table, took out a small wooden box, and began reading the letters inside.
“Your Highness, we have arrived,” the imperial guard called.
“Mm,” Chao Yan replied.
He put the letters away, closed the compartment, and leaned down to wake Gu Yun.
Gu Yun sleepily rubbed against his shoulder and drifted off again. Chao Yan brushed the hair from his ear, then lightly sucked on his earlobe.
Gu Yun jolted awake, shoved him away, and covered his ear. Chao Yan laughed under his breath, kissed his forehead, and said, “Get off.”
Only then did Gu Yun’s irritation vanish. Supporting himself on Chao Yan, he climbed out of the carriage and jumped down.
The guards who saw him descend from the Crown Prince’s carriage paused briefly, then quickly lowered their heads.
The carriage stood on the main road, directly facing the imposing palace gate. The plaque read “Wenhua”, set above green-glazed tiles and framed borders. The gate was five bays wide, resting on a white jade platform, with vermilion walls and a green-glazed hipped roof. Beyond it lay the Eastern Palace complex.
Chao Yan followed after him.
Gu Yun looked around briefly before catching up. As soon as they passed through Wenhua Gate, a large group of people approached.
“Your Highness!”
Recognising them, the group hurried forward and bowed respectfully. They were officials of the Eastern Palace.
After greetings were exchanged, Chao Yan smiled and said, “No need for such formality. I have troubled you all these past days.”
The officials replied, “Your Highness has suffered outside.”
They studied him carefully. Though he wore plain clothing, his complexion was good, and they finally felt at ease. They had received a secret report that the Crown Prince had been attacked and went missing, which had shocked them greatly. Even after later news said he was safe, they had remained uneasy.
They had dispatched agents to search for him, but lacked the ability of Chancellor Meng, who could mobilise officials across regions without arousing suspicion.
Later, when they saw Meng Zhao and Ning Qianhu mobilising personnel, they guessed the Crown Prince had been found and sent people to follow. However, Meng Zhao and Ning Qianhu only trusted their own men, leaving no openings for infiltration, so their agents continued searching independently.
What if Chancellor Meng’s people were mistaken?
Fortunately, everything had turned out correctly in the end. If there had been no attack at all, that would have been even better.
Their gazes shifted to Gu Yun, scanning him silently.
Gu Yun: “……”
He quietly stepped behind Chao Yan, shrinking his presence as much as possible.
But that relief lasted only a moment before Chao Yan pulled him back out.
The officials exchanged knowing looks. Just as the secret reports had said: the Crown Prince attached great importance to this young lady. Smiling, they greeted him, “Young Lady Gu.”
While the Crown Prince travelled incognito, he was addressed as “young master”, and Gu Yun could be called “madam” in that context. Now that the Crown Prince had resumed his identity, “madam” was no longer appropriate, yet Gu Yun had no official title… so “young lady” was the closest fit.
Gu Yun returned a polite bow.
On the way, Chao Yan had already instructed him on court etiquette.
Chao Yan then sent someone to take him to his residence in the Eastern Palace, Chunhe Hall. Gu Yun was more than willing to leave the situation; being stared at so openly was uncomfortable.
The person assigned to him was Zhao He, the head eunuch of the Eastern Palace.
He was of similar height to Gu Yun, with a smiling face and a youthful appearance in his thirties. Though his true age was likely older. Castration, combined with a comfortable life, had kept him looking younger than most men.
From Chao Yan’s attitude, Zhao He immediately understood Gu Yun’s importance. He privately guessed this “Young Lady Gu” might well be granted the rank of Talented Lady in future.
The Crown Prince’s consort ranks were simple: Talented Lady, Selected Attendant, and Palace Attendant.
A secondary consort, though often grouped with concubines in speech, was technically a wife and ranked just below the Crown Princess… so she was not part of the concubine hierarchy.
At Chunhe Hall, Zhao He first led Gu Yun to a side room to rest, then brought in senior palace officials to meet him.
They were introduced one by one. Gu Yun, exhausted from travel, could not remember all their names, though it was clear they remembered him very well.
Sensing his fatigue, Zhao He quickly finished the introductions and dismissed them, then asked whether he wished to bathe.
Gu Yun nodded.
He was led by Zhang Zhangshe, a female official in charge of daily arrangements, into the warm pavilion. Inside was a large bath filled with flower petals, with clean clothes laid out nearby.
The fragrance was overwhelming, like stepping into a sea of flowers.
When they moved to help him undress and bathe, he quickly stepped back, face flushing, and told them to leave. Zhang Zhangshe laughed softly. There was no malice in it… only amusement at his embarrassment.
She quickly composed herself, led the maids out, and said from outside, “If you need anything, just call us.”
Gu Yun checked carefully to ensure they would not enter, then quickly undressed and stepped into the bath.
His back wound was still healing, so he did not immerse himself fully. Instead, he sat on a small stool placed in the tub.
Warm water wrapped around him, steam rising gently. The sensation of heat and buoyancy spread through his limbs, easing his fatigue. He sighed softly, cupped water to wash his face, and was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of roses.
Most of the petals were rose petals… fresh, deep purplish-red.
He picked up a bath towel, then hesitated at the two types provided—linen and silk—before using both. The soap and cleansing balls were all infused with rose fragrance.
By the time he finished, he was completely saturated in the scent.
He smelled like a rose that had been pickled into existence.
Touching the bandages on his back to ensure they were dry, he stepped barefoot onto the floor, picked up his clothes, and froze.
Inside was a pale pink undergarment.
A dudou*.
(*TN: an apron-style undergarment that covers the chest and abdomen.)
— Trapezoidal, tied at the back of the neck, with waist strings on both sides to fasten it, the back completely exposed.
Chao Yan had never bought such a thing when purchasing clothes for him, nor had he ever seen or come across it anywhere else. He had thought that this era did not have dudou, and that women simply wore more layers than men or bound their chests with strips of cloth.
Gu Yun stared at it for a long moment, then slowly turned red.
Outside, Zhang Zhangshe asked if he was asleep. He forced a reply while dressing.
“It’s just a piece of cloth,” he muttered.
His thoughts drifted absurdly. Men in Ming and Qing dynasties wore these too, didn’t they? And when he was little…
The memory only made him more mortified. He dressed quickly, forcing the heat in his face to subside.
When he came out, he wore a grey-blue silk robe lined with cotton and carried a cloak he had not yet fastened. The warmth of the clothing made the colder air outside bearable.
After tea and snacks, he was brought to a side hall. The bedding had already been prepared.
He collapsed onto the bed, sinking into softness that felt faintly familiar. Refusing further help, he removed his outer garments and climbed under the covers.
Zhang Zhangshe hesitated, then said, “We will not disturb you. If you need anything, just call us. We will be waiting outside.”
She added carefully, “Please do not feel obliged to be polite. It is our duty.”
Her words about not being a burden lingered in the air.
Gu Yun almost said he wanted them all to leave, but stopped himself. Helping people beyond their rank here seemed to become its own form of pressure. He could not do that to them.
Yet as soon as they left, another thought surfaced.
What about next time? He had already refused them today. Could he keep refusing? Probably not. But it was his private matter.
He rolled over in bed.
Then decided: he would refuse anyway.
If necessary, he would ask the Crown Prince. If Chao Yan said yes, then it was settled. This was the Crown Prince’s territory. Even if it broke rules, surely no one would dare object.
He made up his mind.
If the Crown Prince broke his promise…
Then he would curse him to be reborn as a dog in his next life, wandering the streets in misery.
Dog king? Dog king?
No. That would be giving him too much credit.
After Gu Yun had gone to bed in resentment, Chao Yan and the Eastern Palace officials dismissed most of their attendants, retaining only a small number.
The five of them entered the core building of the Eastern Palace, Wenhua Hall, and passed through the corridor to the rear hall. Wenhua Hall is divided into front and rear sections: the front hall is used for political deliberation, while the rear hall is for reviewing memorials and summoning officials for discussion on important matters.
They entered and took their seats in turn.
Zhao He, who had already left Chunhe Hall, retrieved the small wooden box from the carriage and handed it silently to Chao Yan before withdrawing without a sound.
Chao Yan placed the wooden box upon the imperial desk.
The first man on the left asked, “Your Highness, how do you intend to deal with General Bai?”
This man was Sun Yunbo, Grand Secretary of the Left Spring Palace, responsible for lecturing on the Classics and History, offering remonstrations on ritual propriety, and submitting memorials and policy advice. He was the highest-ranking official among all Eastern Palace staff.
To cultivate the Crown Prince and ensure the stability of imperial succession, the Eastern Palace was furnished with several institutions: the Court of the Imperial Sacrifices, the Left Spring Palace, the Right Spring Palace, and the Bureau of the Imperial Library.
At present, aside from the Left Spring Palace, which was relatively well-staffed, the other institutions were lacking. In particular, the Court of the Imperial Sacrifices, which functioned as the head of the Eastern Palace bureaucracy and coordinated the other departments, did not even have its chief administrator who was the “Chancellor” of the Eastern Palace.
As a result, the entire Eastern Palace apparatus was weak, barely able to function.
For a Crown Prince whose authority had been significantly curtailed, the Emperor could easily maintain control through various mechanisms, ensuring he posed no threat.
Chao Yan replied, “What do you mean by that?”
Sun Yunbo said, “His Majesty previously stated that if Your Highness returned safely but acted arrogantly and provoked a fierce retaliatory attack from the bandit forces, causing Your Highness to fall into the river, then the culprit, General Bai, would be at your disposal.”
The General Bai he referred to was Bai Cheng, whom Ning Fu had mentioned earlier.
“I see,” Chao Yan said.
He fell silent for a moment, offering no direct response, and instead asked about the events of the past two days. “The letters I received only described what happened earlier.”
Below the Grand Secretary stood the Left Assistant of the Left Spring Palace, responsible for assisting with official documentation.
He glanced towards the leading figure on the right.
Two men were seated on the right. One was the Vice Director of the Court of the Imperial Sacrifices, responsible for overseeing administrative affairs, coordinating departments, and managing archives.
The other was the Grand Eunuch of the Eastern Palace, appointed by the Emperor to control document flow and manage audiences with officials. In truth, he also acted as a monitor of the Crown Prince’s conduct—a role openly acknowledged within the Eastern Palace, as he made no effort to conceal his duty of reporting directly to the Emperor.
The Left Assistant’s gaze rested on the eunuch.
The Crown Prince’s words in the presence of the Grand Eunuch were, in effect, a report to the Emperor regarding the Eastern Palace’s recent actions and capabilities.
He was not surprised. The Crown Prince had long declared that father and son were of one mind, and that he would always align himself with the Emperor. If the Emperor wished to know anything, he could be informed without hesitation.
What did irritate him was that the eunuch would simply relay everything back to the Emperor and likely be rewarded for it… but he suppressed the thought. After all, it was only a eunuch.
The Crown Prince’s conduct was merely expedient. If he did not act in this way, he would follow the fate of his predecessor and come under complete suspicion and suppression from the Emperor.
He steadied himself and continued, “In the past two days, there have been only two major matters. First, the princes, together with several ministers, intend to request Your Highness appear publicly to dispel rumours of illness in the capital. Second, His Majesty intends to construct the Ascension Tower. His Majesty himself stated…”
He hoped, as the Crown Prince had said, that this situation would not require prolonged restraint.
—
Chao Yan left the rear hall and asked Zhao He whether Gu Yun had adapted to Chunhe Palace.
Zhao He had already learned from Zhang Zhangshe about Gu Yun’s condition after Chao Yan’s departure. He replied, “The young lady has adapted well. She is very composed, neither looking around indiscriminately nor speaking out of turn. She is likely resting by now. The journey was exhausting; she is rather delicate and would surely struggle with it.”
Chao Yan raised his eyes slightly and looked towards Chunhe Palace. “He* showed neither surprise nor fear?”
(*TN: it’s written as “他” tā which is “he”, versus “她” tā which is “she”. When spoken, it can only be differentiated based on context.)
Zhao He thought carefully before replying, “No, Your Highness.”
Chao Yan concluded inwardly: composed and worldly.
He took a few steps towards Chunhe Palace, then paused. He still had to meet that old scoundrel today. So instead, he turned towards the garden pond, with Zhao He following behind.
A python brought back from afar was kept in a cage beside the pond. The shopkeeper’s son crouched nearby, feeding it dead mice, while a group of palace maids stood at a distance, exclaiming in alarm.
As Chao Yan approached, the maids withdrew at once, and the shopkeeper’s son rose to bow.
Chao Yan ordered him to bring the cage out and dry it, as it was to be presented to the Emperor.
The young man complied.
Chao Yan took the bamboo cage containing the dead mice, lifted one with an iron rod, and fed it to the python. “Today you will rise in fortune. Are you pleased?”
The shopkeeper’s son’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, Your Highness!”
Chao Yan glanced at him. “Have you developed an attachment to it? If it ascends, you rejoice?”
The young man scratched his nose. “I spoke improperly, Your Highness.”
