Chapter 138: Kissing Skills

Chapter 138 The Art of Kissing

Shen Que was both exasperated and amused as he tried to pry out the Emperor, who was turtled up under the blankets. "When have I ever disliked you?"

But Jiang Xun was determined to stay put, gripping the blankets tightly as if to say, "You clearly do." Shen Que tugged for a long while but still couldn’t pull him out.

So the Imperial Tutor started racking his brain, trying to figure out what he’d done to make the Emperor think that. But no matter how much he wracked his brain, he came up empty.

"At least tell me why you think I dislike you?" Shen Que asked.

It sounded ridiculous—since when did a subject have the right to dislike the Emperor?

Jiang Xun grumbled, "I made you kneel as punishment."

When he had first transmigrated back, Shen Que had been kneeling.

Shen Que: "...It was barely long enough to finish a cup of tea, and there was a cushion. My family’s rules are harsher than that."

Jiang Xun kept his head down, muttering, "I also imprisoned your favorite student."

Shen Que: "?"

It took him a second to realize this "favorite student" was Xue Jin.

...But since when was Xue Jin his favorite student?

The Junior General did have talent in military affairs, but when it came to classical texts and philosophy, he was completely clueless. Shen Que had almost lost his mind teaching him. If not for Marquis Zhenbei’s family being old friends with the Shens, Shen Que would have long given up. He was hardly a favorite.

If anything, Jiang Xun was way more likable.

Shen Que had once guided Jiang Xun in drafting official documents at Qingping Pass. The Emperor was sharp and picked things up fast—Shen Que had particularly enjoyed that.

So Shen Que said, "Xue Jin isn’t my favorite student. Besides, as a military officer accompanying the Emperor, he failed to protect you and let you get injured. Some jail time might knock some sense into him."

Jiang Xun added, "I also beat up your nephew."

He was referring to Shen Xiu.

Shen Que was even more baffled. The beating Shen Xiu got was so light it didn’t even leave a mark, and Shen Xiu himself hadn’t cared. Why would Shen Que even care?

So Shen Que replied, "He had it coming."

Jiang Xun fell silent.

He fumbled, struggling to get the words out, while Shen Que waited patiently. After a long pause, Jiang Xun finally whispered, "I summoned you to the palace, tarnished your reputation, and... played with you."

Plenty had died just to keep their reputations spotless. Shen Que had lived a life of uprightness and enjoyed an impeccable reputation. If not for Jiang Xun dragging his name through the mud, he would have been remembered in history as a statesman on par with Guan Zhong and Yue Yi.

Not to mention what Jiang Xun had done to him—touching his skin, playing with his body. Though it had been the system’s demand, Jiang Xun had still carried it out.

No official could stomach that kind of disgrace, and Shen Que was no exception.

This was the guilt eating at Jiang Xun.

In his past life, his reckless actions had doomed the empire. Though there was still time to make amends in this life, the damage to Shen Que’s reputation was irreversible.

The history books would forever note that on such-and-such a date, the Emperor had summoned him for his pleasure.

After speaking, Jiang Xun yanked the blanket over his head.

He didn’t dare look at Shen Que’s expression, burrowing into the bedding like an ostrich, clamming up completely.

Shen Que’s face was unreadable: *Is that all?*

He patted the cocoon of blankets and explained patiently, "I don’t care about that, truly."

Shen Que had never been a rigid person. If the emperor liked touching his leg, he would let Jiang Xun touch it. He didn’t even resist actual intimate service, let alone a few rumors in the court.

The cocoon shifted slightly, but the person inside still refused to come out.

Shen Que sighed. "Your Majesty, titles like 'favored minister' or 'loyal minister' are just empty names. A hundred years from now, we’ll all be dust in the grave. All I ask is to be of benefit to the nation during my time in office, to act with a clear conscience. As for the rest, I don’t care. Playful liberties aren’t important either."

—

If playful liberties weren’t important, then what was?

A long time later, Shen Que heard Jiang Xun whisper faintly, *I don’t believe you.*

—His voice was soft and muffled. If Shen Que hadn’t been listening carefully, he wouldn’t have caught it at all.

How Shen Que was remembered in history, Shen Que himself didn’t know, but Jiang Xun did.

In official records, Shen Que was a brilliant and flawless prime minister, but in unofficial histories, the stories were absolutely scandalous. The imaginations of scholars and poets ran rampant—churning out outrageous yarns that bordered on absurd.

And most of these unofficial accounts were linked to Jiang Xun—strange novels and fanworks, some even delving into explicit themes. Later, Jiang Xun avoided fan conventions with classmates, afraid of stumbling upon booths or books featuring their pairing.

Future generations had dragged his reputation, turning the dignified Qingyi Prime Minister into something unrecognizable. If Shen Que knew, Jiang Xun couldn’t imagine him not being angry.

Shen Que huffed in exasperation. "I’m truly not angry. How can I prove it to you?"

He thought for a moment. "Should I tell you a secret?"

Jiang Xun still didn’t speak, but the blanket tent twitched, as if revealing an ear inside.

Shen Que found it amusing but didn’t point it out. Instead, he said, "Has Your Majesty ever wondered why, at my age—over thirty, long past marrying age—and having reached the pinnacle of officialdom, I’ve never married?"

The blanket shifted again.

Shen Que continued, "I placed second in the imperial exams at twenty and hailed from the prestigious Shen family. Without boasting, I was the most eligible bachelor in the capital at the time. Countless high-ranking officials sought to 'catch a son-in-law under the rankings,' and when I rode through the streets, at least half the noble ladies of the capital tossed silk favors at me."

Jiang Xun muttered, "I know."

The history books recorded this. Great Wei had an open-minded society, and everyone adored handsome young men. Though Shen Que had since matured into a distinguished older man, back then, he was the city’s heartthrob—today’s Shen Xiu and Xue Jin combined couldn’t compare.

But the more he knew, the worse Jiang Xun felt.

Historical records showed Shen Que never married and died without heirs. Jiang Xun thought that, if not for his own reckless pursuit, Shen Que might have been surrounded by family, enjoying a happy life.

Shen Que sighed helplessly. "If you know that, why don’t you believe me when I say I don’t care?"

Jiang Xun froze.

His mind struggled to connect the dots, then suddenly stopped.

In ancient times, people married young—before twenty. Someone like Shen Que should have had a wife and children long ago.

Shen Que said, "Though I often say Shen Xiu is rebellious, in my father’s eyes back then, I was the true black sheep."

Jiang Xun eyed him suspiciously, "...You?"

Unable to hold back any longer, he shrugged off the covers.

Shen Que said calmly, "I prefer men."

This matter was inherently unspeakable, against the natural and moral order. His refusal to marry, start a family, or have children was seen by the Shen family as a downright sacrilegious act—utterly heretical.

Shen Que had punished Shen Xiu by making him kneel in the ancestral hall today, but in the past, he himself had knelt there no less than Shen Xiu. The punishments Jiang Xun had imposed on him hardly qualified as punishment. Back then, his father had been furious, splintering multiple canes in the process. Every beating he endured was no lighter than the ones Shen Xiu suffered, yet even when bloodied and bruised, he never relented.

The Shen family was a scholarly lineage with an untarnished reputation, yet they had produced such a rebellious son. If word got out, the family’s dignity would be trampled, likely becoming a mockery among aristocratic families.

Shen Que said, "My father forced me to kneel before our ancestors and swear an oath—I could choose not to marry or have children, but I was forbidden from any entanglement with men, lest it tarnish the family’s honor."

He smiled faintly. "I had long prepared myself to hide this truth for a lifetime and die alone."

It was absurd, really. When the Emperor summoned him, when he and Jiang Xun bared themselves in the hot springs, when Jiang Xun assumed he must be filled with shame, resentment, and humiliation—wishing he could flay the tyrant alive—Shen Que had actually... felt a spark of pleasure.

Jiang Xun’s eyes widened.

He stared at Shen Que, gaping stupidly, his expression incredulous, as if accusing— "Wait—you’re like this?"

Shen Que coughed awkwardly and turned his head away. "So... what you did, I wasn’t opposed to it."

Jiang Xun’s eyes grew even wider. "But—but—"

He stammered for a long moment before lowering his head and mumbling, "But you were so stiff back then, like you could barely stand it..."

Back then, following the system’s instructions, Jiang Xun had touched Shen Que’s leg. When he placed his hand on Shen Que’s knee, the Imperial Tutor had turned rigid as a board, gooseflesh breaking out all over his body, taking a long while to recover.

That kind of reaction clearly indicated disgust.

"..."

Shen Que avoided Jiang Xun’s gaze, staring at the ceiling instead. He rephrased it delicately, "I was just... unaccustomed to it. I’ve never been... touched like that before."

Steeped in classical virtues and decorum, Shen Que had never even touched himself, only suppressing his desires again and again. Combined with his unusual circumstances, he had never allowed himself close contact with others—no embraces, no handshakes, no sharing a bed. This distance and restraint were later recorded in history as "chaste integrity" and "aloof nobility."

Jiang Xun studied Shen Que, an odd sensation stirring within him.

The Imperial Tutor was like a medieval saint—some chaste priest or ascetic wrapped entirely in pure white robes, sealed away from worldly desires, every inch of skin concealed beneath fabric. But one day, the Emperor of the empire forced him and commanded that he unfasten his robes.

True to his vows, the ascetic knelt obediently and bared himself. Yet when the Emperor’s fingers traced his skin, gooseflesh broke out down his spine, and the long-suppressed ascetic suddenly realized... he liked this touch.

That beneath all the struggle and resistance lay a hidden pleasure.

And so, Jiang Xun suddenly remembered their past life.

He recalled the unusual practices they had engaged in. Since his rebirth, Jiang Xun had deliberately forgotten these memories, too afraid to revisit those perverted, tumultuous years—how he had humiliated Shen Que, shattered his pride, and used imperial authority to commit degrading acts. But now, it all came rushing back.

Shen Que’s expression back then must have been one of torment and rapture.

His feet arched, brows furrowed, lower lip bitten until it bled, sweat and tears streaming down his temples, every gasp thick with restraint.

Restraint from what?

Torment of what?

Being the one taken was undoubtedly painful, and Jiang Xun had only remembered his suffering. But now, looking back, it wasn’t merely suffering.

"......"

Seeing the Emperor clutching the blanket, frozen in place, his mind a million miles away, with a dazed and peculiar expression, even unflappable Shen Que couldn't hold up under that gaze.

He coughed lightly and deflected, "So, does Your Majesty believe me now? I've never looked down on you. Even when you did those things..."

He gritted his teeth, "I didn't dislike it either."

To keep Jiang Xun from giving up on himself, the Imperial Tutor truly said everything he could.

Jiang Xun was still processing. He stared fixedly at Shen Que, then suddenly began looking around, his ears burning red as he mumbled, "I..."

He didn’t know whether to say yes or no.

Shen Que: "Alright."

At this point, all pretense of propriety was gone. The Imperial Tutor clenched his teeth inwardly, reached out to cup the Emperor’s face, and carefully placed a kiss on his forehead.

It wasn’t a comforting peck meant for a junior, but one filled with hesitation, conflict, and finally, tentative courage.

The kiss was light and reverent. Seeing no reaction from the Emperor, Shen Que paused, then continued downward.

He brushed the corner of Jiang Xun’s eye light as a dragonfly's touch, kissed the long lashes that fluttered down, touched the tip of his nose, and finally hovered in the air for a long moment before lightly pressing against the Emperor’s lower lip.

Just a brush of lips—barely qualified as a kiss. The parrots Jiang Xun had kept in his past life nipped at each other harder when they fought.

As if sensing the inadequacy, Shen Que tentatively touched his lip, taking a shy little bite.

Completely inexperienced, but for Shen Que, this was the greatest effort he could muster.

Having done this, the Imperial Tutor placed his hands properly back on his knees, like the picture of scholarly restraint. He lowered his gaze and asked, "Does this prove it now?"

"......"

In the heavy silence that followed, Shen Que heard Jiang Xun mutter, "I believe you now..."

The Emperor touched his lips and whispered, "Teacher, you're totally green at this."

—If he hadn’t been celibate for over thirty years, how could he be this bad at kissing?