Chapter 362: If: Shen Que Travels Back to Jiang Xun’s Rebellious Period 1

Chapter 362 If: Shen Que Returns to Jiang Xun's Rebellious Phase 1

When Shen Que woke up in confusion, he had no sense of time or place.

Yesterday, a complex archaeological project had been completed. As the team leader, Shen Que treated the entire group to a meal and ended up drinking half a bottle of wine before winding up in bed with Jiang Xun.

Exhausted, he initially wanted to do nothing, but the Young Emperor was exceptionally good at being clingy—now saying, "It's been two busy months, and I haven’t been close to my teacher at all," then whining, "I missed you so much, Teacher. Don’t you miss me?" If Shen Que still refused, Jiang Xun would curl up pitifully at the foot of the bed, mumbling, "I knew it. When Teacher said you liked me, you were just humoring me. I’ve done so many bad things—Teacher must hate me now."

As he spoke, he’d even dab at his eyes with his sleeve as if about to cry.

What could Shen Que do?

He could only summon his energy, pull Jiang Xun from the foot of the bed under the covers, and indulge him in whatever followed.

When it was all over, Shen Que stared at the ceiling, a strange melancholy rising in his heart.

—What kind of Imperial Tutor was this?! Attending court, processing petitions, babysitting, and even sharing a bed!

But he couldn’t just abandon his own emperor. With a long sigh, Shen Que prepared to sleep.

There was nothing scheduled for tomorrow—a rare moment of leisure. Shen Que intended to sleep until noon before visiting parks and museums with his emperor.

Yet when he opened his eyes, what greeted him were towering palace walls.

Double-eaved hip-and-gable roofs, glazed tiles adorned with ornamental roof figures, vermilion paired with bright yellow—solemn and imposing.

Shen Que was kneeling in front of the grand hall.

It was the depths of winter, with sleet falling from the sky. The white marble steps were dusted with snow, the cold seeping into his bones. Shen Que lifted his head—the warm glow of lanterns spilled from the hall’s latticed windows, faintly outlining a figure inside.

The Young Emperor.

A sudden disorientation washed over Shen Que, and suddenly, he remembered the time.

This was shortly after the Young Emperor had ascended the throne. Back then, he was obscure, had never fought for the throne, and was virtually unnoticed in the imperial harem. The court officials were all speculating about the new emperor’s temperament.

Yet within just two months, the Young Emperor had made it abundantly clear—he was a tyrant, and a cruel one at that.

He promoted his maternal relatives, all of them worthless cronies, and frequently subjected veteran ministers to beatings and punishments. Today, he had crossed an especially outrageous line.

—He had thrown the heir of Marquis Zhenbei into prison.

Shen Que immediately knew this was bad.

Marquis Zhenbei had long been entrenched at the border. With the Young Emperor acting so recklessly, there was a near certainty it would incite a mutiny.

Shen Que had come today to appeal for leniency.

He had no personal relationship with the Young Emperor—they had only shared a brief teacher-student connection in the royal academy. The late emperor had grown increasingly paranoid in his later years, and the court was on edge with suspicion. For a minister to befriend a prince was a grave crime, and the Shen family had always upheld integrity, refusing to cross that line. Thus, despite their formal teacher-student relationship, there was no real affection between them. This petition was merely out of duty—Shen Que had no other choice but to come.

—That was how Shen Que of the Previous Dynasty had thought.

But this life was different.

He knew now how adorable the Young Emperor could be, how soft-hearted he truly was. The Jiang Xun of this time was just a child who needed coaxing.

In their previous life, Jiang Xun had confessed to him about the three lifetimes of time-travel, and only then did Shen Que realize—that little emperor, all prickly with hostility, had actually been afraid.

Afraid of showing weakness, afraid of being looked down upon. Like a hedgehog raising its spines, but if you just picked him up and soothed him for a bit, he’d roll over and expose his soft belly, letting you rub his belly as much as you wanted.

Shen Que patted his robes and stood up smoothly, then brushed the snow off his knees, lifted his official robe, and ascended the steps.

The guards on both sides hurriedly stepped forward to block him: "Lord Shen, what is this?"

Shen Que: "Could you pass along a message? Tell His Majesty I’m freezing to death and ask for his kindness to let me in and warm up inside."

The guards exchanged looks, their eyes saying it all.

—What the hell?

—The emperor’s still pissed. Let him in to warm up?

—Did the cold freeze Lord Shen’s brain?

Shen Que: "Please, just relay my words as I said."

The Shen family had been esteemed for three dynasties, and Shen Que was the clear head of the reformist faction. The guards dared not delay. After a brief hesitation, one of them went inside.

Jiang Xun sat on the throne, absentmindedly shuffling through petitions, doodling a bird at the bottom of one with his brush and adding two feathers to its head.

As the emperor, he ought to review the petitions, but he couldn’t recognize half the characters, filling in the blanks with guesses. Worse still, the court officials loved flaunting their literary prowess, writing in such pretentious, tangled prose that Jiang Xun was ready to tear his hair out without understanding a word.

Just then, the chief eunuch Wang An approached. Jiang Xun straightened the petition, putting on a show of reading it carefully.

He asked listlessly, "Has Shen Que left yet?"

Jiang Xun truly wished he would leave sooner.

He might act the fool, but he wasn’t one. Someone had to manage the court affairs, and while he couldn’t read others well, he knew Shen Que would never endanger the empire. It was just young pride—if Shen Que left on his own, Jiang Xun would’ve dropped it right then without further trouble.

But Wang An replied, "Not yet."

Jiang Xun frowned. "Then is he still kneeling?"

Wang An hesitated. "Well... no, not exactly."

Jiang Xun smacked the petition onto the desk, his anger spiking. "Then what does he want?"

"Lord Shen said he’s freezing to death and humbly requests Your Majesty..." Wang An bowed even lower. "To allow him inside to warm up."

"..."

Jiang Xun blinked, then let out a mocking laugh. "Fine. Let him in."

Shen Que pushed open the palace doors.

Jiang Xun eyed him, already loaded with snarky comebacks—like, "Xue Jin must truly be Lord Shen’s favorite student, running to beg for him in the middle of the night," or, "If I refuse, will you kneel to death at the palace gates?"

But instead, Shen Que first bowed properly, then stood without waiting for permission. He scanned Jiang Xun’s face intently for a moment before suddenly frowning. "How’s Your Majesty’s injury coming along?"

"…?"

Jiang Xun’s sneer stiffened.

Why was Shen Que asking about his injury instead of Xue Jin?

Ah, right. He had fallen from his horse earlier, injuring his forehead, and Zhenbei Marquis Heir Apparent Xue Jin had been present—hence his imprisonment.

Jiang Xun slid back into his lazy smirk. "Does Lord Shen think such words will get me to let Xue Jin off?"

"Xue Jin is irrelevant; he’s not about to drop dead." Shen Que genuinely didn't care about Xue Jin's situation. In fact, having spent so much time in the modern era, he couldn't immediately recall who Xue Jin was. Instead, his attention was drawn to the Young Emperor's injured forehead and the pitiful attempt at a fierce look he wore.

Shen Que took a step forward, wanting to examine his lover's wound. "Has the imperial physician treated it? Your Majesty, there's blood on the bandage."

The physician had dressed the wound, but the era's bandaging techniques were crude, relying mostly on natural healing. Blood had seeped from the edges of the gauze, staining a coin-sized patch.

Shen Que clicked his tongue. "In private audiences, you don’t need to wear the imperial crown. The brim presses right against your forehead and will irritate the wound."

Jiang Xun: "..."

He recoiled on instinct.

Having grown up in the cold palace, surrounded by malice, Jiang Xun's mother was barely a recognized consort—even palace maids and eunuchs could bully them. Winters lacked charcoal, summers lacked seasonal ice allotments. Over time, Jiang Xun developed a conditioned reflex to hostility, perpetually braced for attack. But when someone softly fussed over his injury, he didn’t know how to react.

Shen Que: "Have you applied medicine today? Mind if I take a look under the gauze? Would that be alright?"

"..."

Jiang Xun retreated another step. "No."

He maintained his imperial dignity. "The wound has been treated today... This doesn’t concern you, Minister Shen. It’s late at night, and I must retire. If you have nothing to say, you may be dismissed."

Shen Que: "There’s nothing urgent. I was just worried about Your Majesty’s injury."

As he spoke, he glanced around and noticed the memorial Jiang Xun had knocked askew, its corner bent. He bent down to pick it up, smiling. "The governor of Shandong’s report—what did he say to anger Your Majesty so?"

Jiang Xun: "Hey, don’t—!"

Before he could finish, Shen Que had already picked it up, his peripheral vision catching the doodled bird with a tufted head.

He was inwardly speechless but pretended not to see it, handing the memorial back to Jiang Xun. "It must be the annual greeting memorial—nothing important. A simple ‘Acknowledged’ will do."

Jiang Xun took it. "...Mm."

With the Imperial Tutor standing there, he felt increasingly awkward, his body stiffening as he stubbornly insisted, "Since you’re not here about Xue Jin, Minister Shen, please return. I must retire."

Over a dozen memorials still lay piled on his desk. Loathe to expose his ignorance, Jiang Xun had hidden a primer for toddlers beneath the table, planning to play possum and read it at night to at least handle the essential reports.

Shen Que: "With the year’s end approaching, the memorials are piled up and jumbled, surely disturbing Your Majesty’s rest. If you trust me, I could help sort them?"

Jiang Xun: "Mm... Mm."

Secretly grateful, he feigned reluctance. "Fine. Come here, then."

Shen Que sat beside the desk, lifting his brush to begin reviewing.

Jiang Xun pretended to sleep while secretly watching him.

Shen Que cut a striking figure when focused on writing.

Since childhood, Jiang Xun had known that Master Shen was the foremost scholar of the age—always composed, refined in manner. Even his most favored brothers would address him respectfully as "Master." It was just that Jiang Xun had never dared to draw attention to himself.

His own ineptitude would only earn scorn.

Shen Que let him observe, sorting the memorials one by one before setting down his brush. Suddenly, he said, "Your Majesty, I keep a parrot at home—it parrots words and is quite amusing. Shall I bring it for you tomorrow?"

"...Huh?"

Flustered, Jiang Xun blinked, stunned.

Parrots weren’t rare among commoners, but Jiang Xun had never seen one before. At his age, he was naturally playful and restless, and he felt intrigued.

But Shen Que bringing *him* a parrot?

Wasn’t Shen Que supposed to be a loyal and upright minister, who’d normally scorn such trivial distractions?

If he said he wanted it, would Shen Que scold him as a foolish ruler?

Jiang Xun couldn’t quite decide.

Shen Que piled on: “It’s a lovebird, very beautiful—fits in your palm. Its chirps are adorable and it has fluffy feathers on its head.”

“...”

Jiang Xun stared at the memorial in his hands. “W-well, if you insist, you can bring it.”

The next day, Shen Que indeed brought a parrot into the palace.

—Shen Xiu enjoyed raising flowers and birds, and this was one Shen Que had snagged from his nephew, picking the prettiest one.

Jiang Xun was mesmerized.

Shen Que placed the birdcage on the desk, showing the emperor how to care for it, then added slyly, “Your Majesty, with proper training, this parrot can recognize more characters than a scholar.”

Jiang Xun was hooked.

After that, after each court session, Shen Que would come to teach the parrot, breaking things down step by step, sticking to the basics of reading and writing, following the chapters of an elementary primer.

While he taught, Jiang Xun acted like he was reviewing petitions but secretly listened intently, then later pored over books under the covers, picking up most of it.

He was naturally clever, and Shen Que taught with great care. By the time spring arrived, Jiang Xun could understand the petitions and occasionally even understood Shen Que’s annotations.

Yes, during this time, most of the annotations were done by Shen Que.

He came and went from the palace daily, always finding new ways to bring Jiang Xun things from outside—candied hawthorns, loquats, puzzle locks, nine-linked rings, hanging scrolls, and all sorts of miscellaneous books, spoiling the young emperor like a kid.

With a pet to care for, tasks to occupy him, and petitions handled by Shen Que, Jiang Xun behaved well for a long time. The palace was quiet, and nothing went wrong.

But one day, just as Jiang Xun was about to shove all the petitions onto Shen Que as usual, Lord Shen arrived at the palace with his arm wrapped in bandages, slung in a sling.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Shen said with unconvincing concern, “I accidentally broke my arm. I’m afraid I won’t be able to annotate the memorials today.”

Jiang Xun panicked, a vague dread rising in his chest. He stood abruptly. “Y-your arm—is it alright?”

“Ahem, it’s fine.” Shen Que guiltily pushed the memorials toward Jiang Xun. “Why don’t you try handling them yourself today, Your Majesty?”

“...”

Jiang Xun visibly hesitated.

He had learned characters and a bit about official documents, but doing it himself—especially in front of Shen Que—made him nervous.

Yet, under Shen Que’s expectant gaze, the emperor hesitated for a long moment before finally giving a faint nod.

He nervously finished annotating one memorial, his notes scrawled, then pushed it toward Shen Que in defeat, burying his head in frustration.

Shen Que flipped through it and praised, “Very good.”

Jiang Xun looked up, seeing nothing but soft pride in Shen Que’s gaze, as if he were genuinely pleased. He paused, his voice tinged with cautious hope. “...Very good?”

——Is this bullshit reply really good?

Shen Que: "Of course."

With that, he smiled and pushed a pile of memorials toward Jiang Xun: "Your Majesty should handle these. My arm's killing me today—I really can't lift it."

"......"

Jiang Xun had always been more responsive to softness than force. Pursing his lips, he pulled the memorials back and grumbled reluctantly, "Fine."

Shen Que couldn't hide his smile anymore.