Chapter 113: Extra: The Day After

Chapter 113: Side Story – Days Later

The peach blossoms in the capital bloomed and faded. In the late spring of the twelfth year of Zhaoyuan, Qi Yan joined the Grand Secretariat.

After the start of spring, work piled up relentlessly. Memorials from south of the Yangtze River and beyond the Great Wall flooded into the capital, along with last year’s backlog of government matters. Xiao Shao was so swamped that he barely had time to breathe. It wasn’t until the last flowering season that he finally found time to invite Xiao Tanhu out for a spring outing.

By April, the weather had warmed. The peach blossoms in the city had already faded, but those at the northern mountain temple were in full bloom.

On this day off, a small sedan chair emerged from the southern gate, carrying the Emperor and the Grand Secretary toward Fuyou Temple in the northern suburbs.

Xiao Shao lifted the carriage curtain: "This temple was built by my grandfather to bless the capital with peace. In its early years, it thronged with devotees, especially on the first and fifteenth days of the month. But later, for some reason, it became a place to imprison criminals—disgraced concubines, deposed crown princes, all sent here for seclusion. Over time, it fell into ruin."

The deposed Crown Prince, Xiao Yi, had also been confined here. Xiao Shao had been too busy after ascending the throne to deal with him, so he simply left him imprisoned here to be handled later.

Though Fuyou Temple was remote, it lacked nothing in terms of food and clothing. Yet Xiao Shao hadn’t expected that the deposed Crown Prince, accustomed to extravagance and indulgence, would struggle with such a fall from grace. After staying in the temple for a short while, he lost his mind. One day, he stumbled into a well and was found dead by the monks.

Qi Yan gazed at the temple perched in the mountains, its golden glazed pagoda hidden among verdant pines and bamboos, only the tip visible.

He turned to Xiao Shao: "What brings us here?"

The deposed Crown Prince was dead, the past scattered like wind and clouds—he had long since let it go.

Xiao Shao dodged: "It’s nothing, really. It’s just that now that your nightmares have eased, I’ve started having them. Thought I’d come to the temple to pray."

In their past life, also in this very year, Qi Yan had died in Fuyou Temple.

Perhaps it was because he was getting older, but he kept dreaming of the past—dreams of the emaciated Chief Overseer Qi, wrapped in the threadbare quilts of early spring, curled up on the bed, lifting his eyes to Xiao Shao and murmuring with a sigh, "...If you must choose, choose me."

Xiao Shao would jolt awake, pulling Xiao Tanhu into his arms, holding him tightly from head to toe. The body in his embrace was warm, his frame now filled out slightly. Qi Yan would stir drowsily, wrapping his arms around Xiao Shao: "Your Majesty?"

Xiao Shao: "...It’s nothing."

If it had only happened once, it could be dismissed as coincidence. But lately, he woke every night to dreams of Qi Yan in that state, leaving him rattled. So he decided to visit Fuyou Temple and pray to the gods.

The temple, long neglected and empty except for a few scattered monks, was overrun with moss. Mold stained the white walls, even the temple’s deities green with oxidation.

Xiao Shao stepped into the main hall, where the Bodhisattva looked down with merciful eyes. He took incense from Li Dequan, lit three sticks with reverence, and knelt to pray.

Qi Yan didn’t understand. Among all the temples in the capital, why choose this one, so out-of-the-way, when others thrived with worshippers?

But since Xiao Shao had knelt, he followed suit.

After offering incense and kowtowing, Xiao Shao arranged a row of tributes, whispering prayers—who knew what he was saying?

The words were too soft to hear, so Qi Yan asked, "What is Your Majesty praying for?"

The realm was at peace. The floods in the south had receded, the beacon fires in the north extinguished. Future generations, when speaking of Zhaoyuan, would surely call it an era of prosperity. What more could Xiao Shao seek?

Xiao Shao pressed his palms together, speaking cryptically: "Cannot say, cannot say."

—If the gods truly existed, then that Xiao Tanhu of their past life, who had suffered so much, deserved some kindness too.

After earnestly reciting his prayers, they paid their respects in the main hall before strolling through the temple grounds.

Devoid of worshippers, Fuyou Temple’s peach blossoms grew wild and untrimmed, branches sprawling drunkenly in every direction. Though lacking the grandeur of imperial temples, it held a wild, unkempt beauty all its own.

Xiao Shao plucked a fresh blossom from a branch and slid it behind Qi Yan’s ear.

Qi Yan froze for a moment, raising a hand as if to stop him but not actually avoiding it. He sighed in resignation: "Your Majesty, I'm not a young man anymore."

Who still wears flowers in their hair past thirty?

Xiao Shao adjusted the strands by his temples for him: "Don't laugh at old men with flowers in their hair. Even ten or twenty years from now, you’ll still be handsome."

He wasn’t joking. After joining the imperial court, Qi Yan had shed the youthful naivety of his younger days, gaining instead the dignified air of a learned man. Perhaps because he had Xiao Shao’s backing, he no longer needed to engage in factional politics or schemes. He simply had to follow his father’s example and remain a principled, incorruptible official. His footsteps had carried him from the northern frontiers to the southern rivers, and time had only added a dignified steadiness to his face, changing nothing else. Like a fine wine that grows mellower and richer with age, he was now at the perfect stage—lingering sweetness in every sip.

Xiao Shao gazed at him, utterly unable to connect this man with the Nine Thousand-Year Lord of his past life. He couldn’t help but pause, thinking to himself, *Had that man from the past been properly nurtured, he too might have grown into someone like this.*

It was his elder brother’s poor judgment, mistaking a pearl for worthless fish's eyes (i.e., failing to recognize true value), that had wasted all those years.

They sent their attendants away and strolled leisurely through the mountain temple.

A light rain had fallen the night before, leaving the temple grounds serene and quiet. Without realizing it, they'd wandered to the rear courtyard where the monks’ quarters stood. Only a few elderly monks remained here, and most of the courtyards had fallen into neglect and decay. As Xiao Shao passed a moss-covered side gate, he suddenly halted.

He recognized this courtyard.

A plum tree stood in the corner, its blossoms long since fallen. No lamps were lit inside, leaving the room dim, revealing only a low bed and a small table. The teapot on the table was coated in dust, and the bedding on the bed was blanketed in mold. A chill early spring wind rose, carrying a damp chill that rose from the soles of his feet—cold and desolate.

Back then, Qi Yan must have huddled beneath these very blankets, his long hair spilling over the edge of the bed, pooling on the floor.

How cold must he have been back then?

Xiao Shao’s heart clenched, and he reached out to grasp Qi Yan’s fingertips, rubbing them between his palms. Qi Yan turned to look at him: "Your Majesty?"

Xiao Shao: "Qi Yan, are you cold?"

Qi Yan: "Pardon?"

Xiao Shao: "Are you cold?"

Qi Yan hesitated: "No…?"

But in the next moment, a warm cloak was draped over his shoulders.

Then, he was pulled into an embrace.

Xiao Shao wrapped his arms around him entirely, resting his chin against Qi Yan’s shoulder, hands clutching his shoulders, nuzzling against him repeatedly.

Qi Yan returned the embrace: "Your Majesty...?"

Ever since entering Fuyou Temple, Xiao Shao’s mood had been off. Qi Yan pondered it and could only conclude: "If Your Majesty is distressed, perhaps you should offer incense at your brother's memorial. After all, he was your flesh and blood. I don’t mind these things."

Xiao Shao was holding him, feeling the steady, strong pulse where their necks touched, and only then did he relax—this man in his arms was healthy and well, not the Nine Thousand-Year Lord of his past life, frail and barely clinging to life. Just as he was about to let go, Qi Yan mentioned Xiao Yi.

Xiao Shao: "?"

Instantly, he felt as though he’d swallowed a fly: "Who said anything about paying respects to *him*?"

To hell with 'flesh and blood'!

Xiao Yi had been pathologically distrustful, obsessed with political machinations. In their past life, he had repeatedly driven Xiao Shao into desperate straits—had it not been for that, Xiao Shao would never have seized the throne. They were brothers in name, but in truth, they were enemies.

Moreover, Xiao Yi had been utterly unscrupulous, bringing the empire to ruin and diverting funds meant for flood control to build lavish private gardens, leading to catastrophic floods that affected millions. He had also withheld military pay, causing mutinies in the northern frontiers and allowing barbarian tribes to march unchecked, nearly breaching the capital walls. If not for all these disasters, Xiao Shao wouldn’t have had to drown in paperwork day and night.

In his past life, as his heart failed, the last thing Xiao Shao did was venomously curse his elder brother: "*Worthless bastard, if I ever see you in the underworld, I’ll flay the skin from your bones.*"

Though if there really was an underworld, Xiao Yi had probably already been beaten to death by their father and grandfather.

Emperor Jianning, while not a paragon of virtue, had at least been a ruler who brought stability to the realm. To have raised such a wretched son—one wonders if he could rest peacefully knowing this.

In such a situation, to ask him to mourn Xiao Yi?

Yeah, right.

Xiao Shao snorted and strode forward. Qi Yan tried to follow but couldn’t keep up, already wearing his cloak. When Xiao Shao’s was added on top, it became way too bulky, making movement difficult.

With two layers of heavy coats weighing him down, Qi Yan looked like a cone from afar, like a snow-laden pine about to topple, barely able to stand. Struggling, he draped the cloak back over Xiao Shao and stopped him from returning it: "I’m not cold, really. Want to check?"

As he spoke, he offered himself up.

Xiao Shao squeezed his fingers, then pinched his cheeks, and finally traced his fingers down his neck and into his collar. Qi Yan, ticklish, shivered and pulled Xiao Shao’s hand out, edging away.

Pointing to the exit, he said, "Shao, we’ve covered this place enough. The blooms up ahead are even prettier. Shall we go?"

Xiao Shao nodded. "Let’s go."

Stepping out of the courtyard, he cast one last glance at the corner gate, taking in the sight of the crumbling room.

Qi Yan asked, "What are you looking at?"

Xiao Shao pulled him along. "Nothing."

Qi Yan was right—the peach blossoms blanketing the hills were indeed more vibrant ahead.

*

By the time they returned to the capital, night had fallen.

The streets of the capital were packed with carts and crowds, filled with merchants coming and going, lively.

At Qi Yan's suggestion, Xiao Shao had opened trade routes, dispatching envoys west by land and sea. Two major trade routes were connected, allowing Da Qian's porcelain and silk to travel across the oceans, while Western crops like potatoes, peppers, and tomatoes were introduced. Some of these produced bumper crops and had now been widely cultivated, greatly alleviating food shortages. Wealth poured in like tidewater, and Da Qian had become prosperous and wealthy, with the capital now the heart of trade.

Xiao Shao disliked harsh punishments, having all but shut down the Eastern Depot. He did not suppress literature or restrict communication, fostering an unprecedented openness in the court and society, embracing inclusivity—a proper golden era.

Their carriage moved leisurely through the streets, lined with lanterns, night markets buzzing.

Passing a certain spot, Xiao Shao suddenly said, "Stop."

He jumped down first. "Come, Xiao Tanhu, let me take you up for a look."

Qi Yan looked up—it was an extremely tall pavilion, six or seven stories high, with vermilion tiles and upturned eaves, faint sounds of music drifting from within.

Xiao Shao said, "Don’t recognize it? This is the Song Tower (a pleasure house)."

The place where they had first met.

Xiao Shao had reformed the capital's entertainment districts, allowing drinking and singing but prohibiting other activities. He also established a specialized agency to oversee music and dance, now managed by Lady Qi.

Qi Yan's sister was equally talented, no less than any man, and wasting her on needlework would’ve been a crime.

This was the first step. If Lady Qi performed well and earned public trust, Xiao Shao planned to expand further, selecting more learned women for official positions.

Qi Yan gazed up at the pavilion, slightly surprised. "It’s been built so tall now."

With the increase in merchant traffic, the Song Tower had expanded to accommodate foreign traders, growing from three stories to seven, towering over the street like a pagoda.

Frowning, he said, "If you were up there now looking down, you’d miss me, and I’d miss you."

Nor would we hear our flirting.

Xiao Shao laughed heartily. "Lucky we met when we did."

He pulled Qi Yan along, "Wanna go up the tower?"

Without stopping to listen to music or watch the dances, the two climbed straight to the top. Soon, they reached the highest floor. Xiao Shao pushed open the door, and a chilly night wind rushed toward them. Leaning against the railing, they gazed down at the entire capital.

In the farthest distance was the snaking river, slightly closer stood the hulking imperial palace, and the lights of the Wenyuan Pavilion remained unextinguished, clearly visible.

Closer still were the countless pinpricks of light in the city, twinkling like stars.

Xiao Shao teased, "Hey, Councilor, all the other councilors are busy going through petitions, and here you are, out playing."

He grabbed a jug of wine and slouched casually against the railing. "When you go back, will they scold you?"

Qi Yan was also supposed to be going through petitions—he had been dragged out by Xiao Shao. Now that Xiao Shao was turning the tables, he gritted his teeth and snorted.

Xiao Shao asked, "Hey, what excuse did you use to come out with me?"

Qi Yan remained silent.

Xiao Shao tugged at him. "You tight-lipped bastard, tell me, what excuse did you use?"

After a few sips of wine, the Emperor was already buzzed, teetering on the railing as if about to topple over. Qi Yan quickly steadied him and muttered, "Stomachache."

Then, his voice grew even quieter. "Not that it was an excuse."

After last night’s... activities, his stomach did indeed ache.

Xiao Shao busted out laughing.

As his laughter subsided, he dangled the half-drunk bottle against the railing. The countless lights of the imperial city danced in his eyes, and Xiao Shao suddenly asked, "Grand Councilor, do you like it?"

Qi Yan, gripping Xiao Shao’s sash to keep him from falling, felt his eye twitch. "Like what?"

Xiao Shao replied, "This empire."

He turned back. "You once told me you climbed a mountain with your father and looked down at the capital from the summit—you saw the imperial palace and the Wenyuan Pavilion then too. The capital back then couldn’t have been like this, could it?"

Qi Yan paused, then answered, "No."

In those days, businesses were failing. Floods wrecked Hedong and Jiangnan year after year, and the suffering people became refugees, gathering at the foot of the imperial palace, skin and bones, dirt poor. Lamp oil was expensive, so half the city couldn’t even afford to light their homes. Viewed from the mountain, it was nothing like the sight before them now.

Half-drunk, Xiao Shao reached for the moon. Moonlight glinted off his cup, and the long wind billowed his sleeves and robes.

Xiao Shao said, "I still remember studying with you in the Imperial Study. Back then, I didn’t like you. Old Song pulled every trick to separate us. For your capping ceremony, he even gave you an adult name—Pingzhang."

He patted Qi Yan’s shoulder. "At the time, you said you’d never use that name. But now, Grand Councilor Qi is famous throughout the realm—who in the empire doesn’t know you?"

...Who in the empire doesn’t know you?

Qi Yan went still, then followed Xiao Shao’s gaze outward. Inside and outside the imperial palace, above and below the palace gates, the surging great river, the pinpricks of light—all entered his vision.

After a long silence, he suddenly murmured, "Yes."

The Emperor holds court and debates philosophy, reigning with easy command—who could have imagined that one day, he would stand beside the Emperor, witnessing a peaceful and prosperous world together?

The names Qi Yan and Xiao Shao would stand side by side. Future generations, when speaking of Xiao Shao, would never omit Pingzhang, and when speaking of Pingzhang, would never omit Xiao Shao.

This night over the rivers and mountains, the wind howled.

We'll be remembered together.