Chapter 143: Final Chapter

Chapter 143 Finale

Shen Que spent a little over two weeks in prison.

He had initially thought it would be a relatively difficult period—cold, idle, and tedious, with nothing to do but endure the passage of time. Yet the emperor visited daily. They stole away together at night, entwined in intimacy, lips and bodies pressed together. Servants prepared hot water right there in the cell, allowing them to wash clean after their late-night activities before falling fast asleep.

By the next morning, Shen Que was always too exhausted to wake up.

He would sleep until noon before finding the energy to eat, then idly read essays or doodle idly on paper until the sun set.

And when the moon rose above the willow branches, the emperor would show up right on time.

Having abstained for decades, Jiang Xun eventually remembered many indulgences from his past life, along with the novels and comics he had encountered in the 21st century. Whenever the Imperial Tutor offered himself beneath the moonlight, allowing Jiang Xun to do as he pleased, the emperor always found himself taking things further.

And when he whispered outrageous requests into the Imperial Tutor’s ear, Shen Que would hesitate briefly before running fingers through his hair in silent consent.

For Jiang Xun, he couldn’t help indulging a little more.

Thus, the small ointment box began to hold other things.

Shen Que slept even later.

The breakfast prepared by the guards went cold and was reheated, and eventually stopped being prepared altogether.

Previously swamped with work, Shen Que had spent his days processing official documents and his nights resting, their meetings hurried and conversations rushed. But this half-month imprisonment became an unexpected break. Nestled in the tiny cell of the Eastern Depot, they somehow managed to turn it into a honeymoon-like experience.

One day, as usual, Jiang Xun tormented his teacher until soft gasps were drawn from him, then abruptly paused mid-act to bring up old complaints.

Beneath him, Shen Que was drenched in sweat, his skin glowing like warm jade in the flickering candlelight, eyes unfocused and chest heaving—clearly right at the edge. Yet Jiang Xun stopped, waiting until Shen Que’s confused gaze met his before whispering, "Teacher, do you remember scolding me?"

Shen Que: "...?"

Jiang Xun muttered, "You called me rotten wood."

A vein pulsed on the Imperial Tutor’s forehead, as if he had reached his limit. He gasped out, "Jiang Xun... must you... discuss this... now?"

Jiang Xun shifted slightly, his clear eyes fixed on Shen Que, looking all innocent and earnest—like a well-behaved, obedient student. "Yes."

—If one ignored what he was currently doing.

Shen Que, falling apart, retorted, "I’ve... scolded many people... Ask Shen Xiu, or ask Xue Jin!"

Jiang Xun: "I know."

It became the teacher's catchphrase. Jiang Xun’s homeroom teacher would say year after year, "You’re the worst class I’ve ever taught," or "Your class is the noisiest in the grade," as if every class was the worst and the loudest. When Shen Que was too exasperated to speak, he would say the same.

But Jiang Xun just wanted a little revenge.

...Or perhaps it wasn’t revenge?

Shen Que’s calves tensed, his toes curling—his body’s reactions made it hard to tell whether he was suffering or not.

Jiang Xun leaned down, with a pout. "So, am I rotten wood?"

Shen Que’s pupils were unfocused as he struggled to reply, "No..."

At this moment, Jiang Xun became like an honor student demanding answers. He pressed further, asking earnestly, "Then why not?"

"...”

The Emperor stood his ground, making it clear that unless Shen Que came up with a convincing explanation, he wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

Yet Shen Que was beyond thinking—or rather, no one could think under such circumstances. Struggling to decipher the Emperor's words, his mind moved like rusted machinery, barely grasping simple terms. His heart raced, his brain starved for oxygen, and through clenched teeth, he managed, "Because rotted wood... isn't this tough..."

—Such strong, unyielding timber was destined to be a pillar of the nation.

Jiang Xun was pleased.

When their passion had run its course, Jiang Xun snuggled back under the blankets, attempting to nestle into the Imperial Tutor's arms, only to be pushed away.

Shen Que seemed furious. For the first time, he refused the Emperor, turning his back to Jiang Xun and sinking into silence.

Jiang Xun reached out and poked him. "Teacher?"

Shen Que didn’t move.

The Emperor’s hand settled on his waist, rubbing lightly. "Teacher?"

Still, Shen Que remained silent.

But the hand massaged with practiced skill, easing the soreness and tingling away. When Jiang Xun poked at the sensitive spot on his waist, Shen Que shivered.

Jiang Xun continued kneading. "Teacher..."

Shen Que stayed quiet.

So the Emperor’s voice took on a whiny, pleading tone. "Teacher..."

Shen Que inhaled deeply.

His anger had mostly dissipated.

Giving in to the Emperor’s persistence, he turned back and pulled Jiang Xun close again, rubbing the Emperor’s too-thin shoulders. With a sigh, Shen Que said, "You can’t keep carrying on like this."

He could get away with sleeping till noon, but Jiang Xun still had morning court to attend.

Shen Que added, "Moderation is the key to good health. You're not strong to begin with—you can’t afford to act so recklessly."

Jiang Xun: "..."

He couldn’t care less about preserving his health, so he replied, "We’ll see."

But there was no chance for further discussion.

Censor Shen Xiu moved fast. Within half a month, he had thoroughly investigated the court’s disturbances, wiping out Song Zhiping’s faction root and branch.

When Jiang Xun glanced at the roster, everything became clear.

Many names on the list had survived until Xue Jin’s ascension, and they'd already earned shady reputations. Their collusion was hardly surprising.

Jiang Xun tossed the roster back to Shen Xiu, ordering a full investigation.

What followed was a thorough purge, lasting about half a month.

The court was stunned by the Emperor’s ruthless efficiency, and Shen Xiu started getting a name as a ruthless operator. Yet once the purge concluded, the Censor immediately petitioned to resign, heading to the lake country to take up farming.

The Emperor readily approved.

The young official turned out to have a green thumb. Over the years, he walked the length and breadth of Great Wei, adapting crops and techniques to each region's needs, and earning widespread admiration.

Of course, all this came later.

The Imperial Tutor also returned to the court, resuming his post in the Wenyuan Pavilion. Documents streamed through his and Jiang Xun’s hands, with very few errors.

Jiang Xun held several imperial examinations in succession. Drawing from his memories of the future, he identified many loyal ministers and capable generals. First, he assigned a few promising military talents to Xue Jin, then placed a few budding civil officials under Shen Que. The Junior General rose to become a great general, stationed in the northern frontier, and for decades thereafter, no one dared breach the Qingping Pass.

Some officials who had been overlooked in their past lives, despite their undeniable talent, were also brought forward by Jiang Xun and placed in suitable positions.

The government thrived, and long-neglected projects were revived.

The elder ministers of the late Emperor’s reign beamed, stroking their beards in satisfaction and exclaiming, "Heaven smiles upon Great Wei."

Who would have thought that the once reckless and defiant Emperor would temper his temper and become like this?

The only thing that troubled them was the Emperor’s failure to produce heirs.

...No, not just a lack—he had none at all, not a single one.

Jiang Xun neither took an empress nor filled his harem, spending his nights... well, in the Imperial Tutor’s quarters.

That’s right—Shen Que resided right in the palace.

Jiang Xun had initially disagreed, grumbling objections. Before, he had forced Shen Que to stay overnight for the sake of Task 66, but now that the task had fallen apart completely and even the system itself no longer cared, Shen Que remaining in the palace would only fuel gossip.

Jiang Xun knew all too well how vicious scholars’ words could be. Though Shen Que now held high authority and no one dared speak ill of him, once the two of them passed away, all sorts of rumors would spread.

He didn’t want Shen Que to be branded a sycophant.

The Imperial Tutor’s brilliance alone would secure his place in history, but if he were tainted by association with Jiang Xun, all his achievements would be overshadowed by titles like "the Emperor’s favorite" or "a flatterer," reducing him to a mere laughingstock.

Jiang Xun refused to let that happen.

His teacher, one of the architects of this prosperous era, deserved nothing less than honor and glory, his name shining bright in history.

Just as he had in their previous life.

Jiang Xun tried to drive Shen Que out of the palace, only to see the pain in his eyes.

The Imperial Tutor looked at him, brows slightly furrowed. "You don’t wish to live with me?"

Jiang Xun: "Of course not, it’s just..."

"Just what?" Shen Que interrupted. "We are family. Should family not live together?"

To the Imperial Tutor, after years of companionship, Jiang Xun was no longer just an ordinary lover.

Jiang Xun fell silent.

He rolled the word "family" over his tongue and found he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

Born into royalty, after his mother’s death, he had no family left.

No one would tolerate his mistakes, no one would understand his struggles, no one cared about his sorrows. To the court officials, Jiang Xun was merely a symbol.

An Emperor should not—could not—make mistakes. The historians’ records were merciless, leaving no room for error.

Only Shen Que allowed him to bury himself like an ostrich in moments of unease and sorrow, creating a refuge of warmth.

Yet it was precisely because of this that he didn’t want Shen Que’s reputation tarnished.

Jiang Xun looked at Shen Que, stammering incoherently, yet digging in his heels and insisting that Shen Que leave the palace.

The Imperial Tutor’s brow furrowed with worry. "But I will miss you."

They saw each other daily at court and slept side by side, but if they didn’t live together, he’d still ache for him.

The Imperial Tutor was already past thirty, his only nephew far away in the southeast. He neither married nor had children—like Jiang Xun, he, too, was alone.

In the sprawling palace, he had only Jiang Xun.

As for reputation and judgment, Shen Que had never cared.

After a tense stalemate, Jiang Xun conceded.

Thus, the Qianqing Palace acquired a second resident.

One year, two years, three years... Several years passed, and the court’s patience wore thin. Many officials no longer feared offending Shen Que. They submitted a joint petition, a lengthy scroll boiling down to one demand: "Your Majesty, where is your crown prince?"

Jiang Xun was already the imperial family’s last hope. If he did not produce an heir, wouldn’t the empire be doomed?

The ministers pleaded desperately, "Your Majesty, for the sake of Great Wei’s future, we beg you to have a crown prince!"

"..."

A crown prince wasn’t some roadside vegetable—how could Jiang Xun just snag one on demand?

After a moment’s thought, Jiang Xun said, "Fine, I’ll snag one for you."

He fixed his gaze on Xue Jin’s nephew.

This little nephew was also a familiar figure in Jiang Xun’s history books. In his past life, after Xue Jin, the Founding Emperor, passed away, the nephew had taken his place, reigning for over forty years as a ruler of both civil and military excellence, with an impeccable reputation.

But now, this future emperor was just a diaper-clad toddler. Xue Jin doted on him, often carrying the little one on his shoulders for rides. Yet with a single imperial decree sent to the northern frontier, Jiang Xun swiped the child.

The Emperor was succinct: "I need a crown prince. Your nephew seems suitable. Hand him over."

Xue Jin was stunned speechless.

He and Jiang Xun shared not a drop of blood relation, let alone his nephew—how could he possibly be crown prince material?

For a moment, the Junior General broke out in a cold sweat, wondering if the Northern Garrison Army’s influence had grown too great, provoking the Emperor’s suspicion and prompting him to demand the child as a hostage.

Life as a hostage far from home was harsh, and Xue Jin couldn’t bear the thought of the little one suffering. So he journeyed alone to the capital and prostrated himself before Jiang Xun.

The Junior General banged his forehead against the floor several times. "Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please understand! This humble subject would never dare harbor disloyal thoughts!"

Jiang Xun felt his temper flare.

The Qianqing Palace’s floors were expensive—repairs wouldn’t come cheap.

Just looking at Xue Jin made him see red. If it weren’t for the Founding Emperor’s reckless drafting of documents and his abrupt departure from the Wenyuan Pavilion without notice, Jiang Xun wouldn’t now be drowning in paperwork nightly, with no time left for intimacy with the Imperial Tutor. Both of them had dark circles under their eyes—all thanks to Xue Jin.

Jiang Xun: "Get out, get out, go back to the northern frontier. I don’t want to see you. Just send your nephew over."

Jiang Xun had already made plans with Shen Que—once the little one grew up, they would head south together and settle in a courtyard filled with loquat trees.

Xue Jin crawled forward on his knees, pleading desperately, "Your Majesty, he’s still so young! Just a child!"

Jiang Xun thought to himself that you had to start training them young—an emperor had to be cultivated from childhood. Wasn’t that exactly why he needed a child?

Seeing Xue Jin's eyes dim and his whole person slump, Shen Xiu, who happened to be back in the capital, kicked him and scolded, "Xue Jin, have you grown a brain over all these years? Are you really that stupid?"

Xue Jin: "Huh?"

Shen Xiu: "Who wants your nephew as a hostage? If they really asked you to rebel, could you even do it? Could you handle imperial documents as emperor? You're not capable, are you?"

Xue Jin: "Oh, right."

Shen Xiu: "But His Majesty really does need a crown prince. Look at him and my uncle—who can get pregnant and have a child? If not your nephew, whose else could they take? Mine?"

Xue Jin thought for a moment about who else had a nephew and timidly suggested, "They could take the Imperial Tutor's."

The Imperial Tutor's nephew—wasn’t that Shen Xiu herself?

Shen Xiu was furious: "I’m the same age as the emperor! How would that work? Xue Jin, use your brain!"

At this rate, it was uncertain whether the emperor or the crown prince would die first.

If the emperor passed away in his seventies or eighties, only to be succeeded by a crown prince also in his seventies or eighties—who could possibly justify that?

Xue Jin had nothing to say.

And so, Xue Jin’s little tyke was transformed into the crown prince of the dynasty. The young prince was clever and well-behaved, bowing solemnly and calling out to Jiang Xun in a childish voice, "Father Emperor."

Jiang Xun patted his head. "Good boy."

He crouched down with a smile. "There’s one requirement for being my crown prince, though."

The little one straightened his expression. "Please speak, Your Majesty."

Jiang Xun said gravely, "When you ascend the throne, remember to change the dynasty’s name to Liang."

He couldn’t change the dynasty’s name himself—not only would the court officials never agree, but Shen Que wouldn’t either.

But with the little tyke, there was still room for maneuver.

Upon hearing this, [System] 66 streamed tears like noodles.

*

Unlike previous hosts, 66 had stayed in Great Wei all these years, accompanying Jiang Xun for a long time.

Jiang Xun’s health had always been poor. Even after some recovery, he was never as healthy as others. Worried that Jiang Xun might die young without him, 66 had stayed indefinitely, as there were no time constraints on his mission.

Jiang Xun was his favorite host. Both shared 21st century backgrounds, and they often got together to complain. While the ministers argued below, they traded jokes mentally. There was only one time when 66 would stay far away—

—when the hibiscus curtains provided warmth in the Qianqing Palace.

The little system sighed while gazing at the moon, thinking, "The host’s health isn’t great, but his endurance is remarkable."

So impressive that waiting became tedious.

With the system’s company, Jiang Xun lived without illness or misfortune.

By the time he turned forty, he began constructing his imperial mausoleum.

Jiang Xun knew the burden large-scale construction projects placed on the people, so his tomb was simple, without lavish burial items. After all, most would be stolen by grave robbers in later generations—better to leave nothing at all. It was just a simple single chamber.

He instructed the Ministry of Works: "Spare the people and resources. Forge no gold or silver artifacts. Provide no funerary objects, and bury no craftsmen. Just place a bookshelf filled with travel writings and miscellaneous tales, and a fruit basket containing a grasshopper and loquats."

The bookshelf would be for Shen Que. The fruit basket would be for himself.

Many more years passed, and Shen Que grew old.

Gray streaked his temples, and wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, yet to Jiang Xun, he still looked refined, elegant, and endearing.

He left before Jiang Xun, lying in state in the Qianqing Palace for seven days. As the final incense stick turned to ash, Jiang Xun closed the coffin lid and whispered, "66, you can leave now."

66: "...Got it."

Once it was gone, Jiang Xun probably wouldn’t last much longer either.

Jiang Xun held the little system close again, just as he had countless times before: "I never said it before, but... thank you, 66."

Thank you for giving him a chance to make up for his regrets and for granting him such a perfect life.

66: "Yeah, host, you passed with over 60 points, so I can give you a gift too... Say it with me: I agree."

Jiang Xun raised an eyebrow slightly.

66: "Say it! I don’t give this out to just anyone!"

Back in the fire incident, Jiang Xun had flat-out refused to say it, and 66 had been waiting for this moment to get back at him.

So Jiang Xun said, "...I agree."

66 gave Jiang Xun’s head a satisfied pat: "I’m going to unbind now. Safe travels."

A robotic voice chimed in Jiang Xun’s mind.

"0%"

"10%"

"50%"

...

"Unbinding complete."

As the voice faded, Jiang Xun’s vision whited out. He gripped the coffin, strength draining, and collapsed.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

On this day, the emperor passed away, and the mountains shook in grief.

And so ended a golden age that had spanned nearly forty years in the annals of history.

Author’s Note:

66 hissed mischievously, "Host, do you remember what you were doing before you came here?"

The *gaokao*~