Chapter 28

Chapter 28

What modern person could resist the temptation of ancient erotic paintings?

Certainly not him.

He was burning with curiosity.

"So much dust," he said.

Qing Xi responded, "Your Highness, leave it there. I'll handle it."

He quickly reached out to stop her. "I can do it. You focus on your own work."

Qing Xi, ever the workhorse, showed no sign of noticing his odd behavior and simply lowered her head to continue organizing the court paintings.

Those court paintings were all created by Dowager Concubine Fang. Some were included in her work *Palace Notes*, while others were not. The architectural styles, clothing, and customs depicted in the paintings were entirely different from those of Great Zhou. Qing Xi seemed particularly fond of these court paintings, organizing them with great care, occasionally staring at them in a daze, her slate-blue court robes perfectly still. Those who came from Fu Huang's palace had exceptionally refined tastes.

As for Shuang Fu, he was already fast asleep, hugging a scroll of paintings, mouth hanging open.

Fu Ye lowered his eyes, waiting for the heat in his face to dissipate before opening the gold-flecked album again. Twelve sequential paintings were bound together with silk ribbons adorned with cloud patterns, each colored with powdered lapis lazuli and malachite. With a quick glance, he noticed one scene set in a wild grassland—sky for a blanket, earth for a bed.

The ancients were quite wild.

Of course, the real pleasure of viewing such things lay in doing so alone and in secret.

He dug deeper into the cabinet and discovered a large stack of similar items below—more than a dozen in total. Two of them even turned out to be illustrated storybooks, their covers already suggestive enough to make one blush.

Who could these have belonged to?

Emperor Wuzong was a notorious womanizer, unlikely to have any interest in male companionship. The princes left the palace in their teens and wouldn’t dare to keep such things there.

As for Fu Huang, he was clearly a stiff old traditionalist who understood nothing and had no sexual desires whatsoever.

Could it be that the palace maids of ancient times were already indulging in this?!

Suddenly, he felt a deep kinship with the palace maids.

Boys' love novels were nothing new, and he’d seen plenty of adult manga, but antique versions were a first.

The *Golden Snow Temple* volume was far too large and heavy, so he didn’t dare take it. Instead, he picked out an erotic painting collection titled *Spring’s End* and a short storybook called *The Jade Hairpin*, tucking them discreetly among a few respectable albums before sneaking them back to his own chambers.

The entire journey back was a blur of barely suppressed excitement.

He’d already planned how to dismiss Shuang Fu and the others early so he could read by lamplight.

But as soon as he entered the courtyard, he saw a row of Inner Officials from the main hall of Qingyuan Palace standing under the corridor like programmed androids, all dressed in identical close-fitting red robes, bowing to him in perfect unison under the dim candlelight.

...

Fu Ye hid the items in his hands before stepping into his chambers, only to find Fu Huang lounging in his chambers, reading a book.

He was studying *The Zhoubi Suanjing*.

He must have just finished a medicinal bath, his gaunt feet bare, one leg slightly curled. His hair wasn’t fully dry yet, the dampness seeping into the robe embroidered with dragons. He reeked of medicinal herbs. Seeing Fu Ye return, he remarked, "I thought you'd be there till daybreak."

Fu Ye stiffened. "There were too many documents inside. We’ve only sorted a small portion."

Fu Huang neither supported nor opposed his plan to organize the library, but he seemed particularly interested in what books Fu Ye had brought back, crooking a finger at him.

Fu Ye quickly passed him an illustrated album.

This was the *Immortals Saving the World* album he had picked out earlier, with flowing robes echoing Wu Daozi’s divine artistry. Probably a copy by palace women, its appeal lay in its narrative quality, featuring many classical allusions like Qin Gao Riding a Carp and Magu Offering Longevity.

And it was refined enough.

Fu Huang lounged on the daybed and flipped through it. Fu Ye promptly placed the other albums aside and said, "I’m dead tired today."

Then he pretended to be tired and yawned.

Fu Huang had *Zhou Bi Suan Jing* in hand, a typical mathematical and astronomical text, so it was clear he had little interest in the album. Sure enough, after casually glancing through a few pages, he tossed it aside and stood up. "Will you be able to get up tomorrow?"

Fu Ye nodded immediately. "I will, don’t worry, Imperial Brother."

Fu Huang now went to bed earlier than before—a request Fu Ye had made to regulate his schedule.

Fu Huang had been quite receptive to advice lately.

And just like that, Fu Huang left, followed by a swarm of Inner Officials through the festooned gate.

It seemed his long stay in Fu Ye’s chambers had been solely to see him before bedtime.

But nothing’s more heartless than a boy with a one-track mind.

The moment Fu Huang left, Fu Ye rushed through his bedtime routine.

When he first arrived at the palace, Shuang Fu and Qing Xi used to take night shifts, sitting on soft cushions not far from his bed—on call to serve him anytime. Fu Ye wasn’t used to others watching him sleep, so he had sent them to the other side of the bedchamber.

After washing up, he quickly dismissed Shuang Fu and the others. He peeked through the bed curtains one last time before taking out the erotic album for a closer look.

True masters rarely painted this stuff, so the craftsmanship was usually mediocre. But these palace editions were clearly VIP material, with fine paper and skilled brushwork.

The first image: feather-adorned curtains, beaded drapes, an emerald quilt on a carved bed—two men in brocade robes embraced, one half-turned, his upper body twisted back to meet the other’s lips.

Pretty steamy.

The second image: two men lay naked on a bamboo mat in a pavilion, surrounded by lush pines and cypresses.

An accompanying poem read: *Behind the courtyard, red stems glisten; at midnight, silver threads of rain.*

Holy crap, so graphic!

It made him blush.

Having started one, there was no reason not to read the rest.

The *Tale of the Jade Hairpin*, a male romance novella, was the most captivating—mostly text with spicy illustrations. Ancient smut was mild stuff, but paired with a story, the heat level shot up. He’d figured it’d be trashy fun, but the more he read, the more he couldn’t stop.

*The Tale of the Jade Hairpin* told of an emperor who fancied a minister named Xu Ying. *"Ying turned red, voice shaking as he adamantly refused, tears rolling. Yet the emperor wore him down till he gave in."*

The minister had initially resisted to the death, but his body betrayed his resolve. *"As time passed, Ying’s body gradually took pleasure in it. Though his will resisted, his body craved the emperor’s touch, every time leaving him breathless and begging."* ...Talk about a cliché!

The line *"his will resisted, his body craved the emperor’s touch"* captured the essence of reluctant desire better than ten thousand words of smut.

The illustrations followed the story closely—the first showed Xu Ying in front with the emperor behind him, but later scenes depicted him riding atop willingly!

A perfect portrayal of *"I shouldn’t, but I love it!"*—a mess of guilty pleasure.

Jesus. Christ.

Even for a modern person, it made him blush fiercely, his underwear damp in one spot.

Later, the minister fled, and the emperor even had a stone statue made in his likeness,

sleeping and lying beside it. There was even an illustration of statue roleplay.

Who says the ancients weren’t ahead of their time?

If someone served him braised pork, he might find it too greasy, yet this short, steamy story of just a few thousand words kept him tossing and turning all night.

It had been too long since he'd read something so stimulating.

He looked around but fought the urge to reach down.

After all, he was still modern at heart, not fully accustomed to ancient life. Ancient nobles felt no shame around their servants—they were raised being waited on hand and foot, even their intimate moments were attended by maids.

But he couldn’t. To him, sex was private.

What he missed most now was privacy.

After thinking it over, he had to tough it out.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t know how to clean himself up.

This just made the torment worse. He gazed blankly at the silver-embroidered cloud patterns on the brocade canopy, the quilt embroidered with a phoenix clutching a pearl reflecting his flushed face. He didn’t finally fall asleep until the dead of night.

What a miserable twenty-year-old guy he was.

The cost of his restlessness was waking up late the next day. Rushing out of the palace at mao hour’s third mark, he nearly collided with Fu Huang, who was returning from his morning exercises.

Fu Huang wasn’t angry, just watching as he sprinted past, hair disheveled, Shuang Fu trailing behind, clutching a food box, and Qing Xi biting his lip, unsure whether to run too.

Palace rules barred servants from shouting or running.

Seeing this early in the morning, Eunuch Qin grinned widely. Fu Huang didn’t move until Fu Ye was long gone.

"His Highness must’ve stayed up late last night," Eunuch Qin chuckled.

Fu Huang didn’t understand the appeal of those little erotic books.

But he loved seeing Fu Ye so full of life.

Maybe love for someone extends even to their quirks—today, he went to the eastern annex to work.

The eastern annex was now truly a place of boundless luxury, like a divine paradise, worthy of an immortal like Fu Ye.

Though he was in Fu Ye’s chambers, the attendants serving him were all Inner Officials from his usual quarters in Qingyuan Palace’s main hall. When he worked, he preferred silence, and the entire hall stood with hands clasped, motionless.

The weather was warming, and Fu Ye now took lunch at Cien Palace, napping there afterward. But today, before lunchtime, he heard someone sprinting toward the courtyard. With the warmer weather, the roses in the yard had bloomed, and Fu Ye often insisted on keeping the windows open, saying he wanted the fragrant breeze to drift in.

No one but Fu Ye would dare run so recklessly through the palace.

Through the window, Fu Huang saw Fu Ye dash into the courtyard, Shuang Fu panting close behind.

An Inner Official hurriedly announced at the door, "His Highness has returned."

Before the words even finished, Fu Ye had already burst inside.

Hearing Fu Huang had gone to his chambers to work nearly scared him to death!

The most dangerous place is the safest. After getting up, he placed the picture books and storybooks right on the desk, tucked among his proper Confucian texts like the *Four Books and Five Classics*.

He immediately glanced at the desk.

Whew—his books remained untouched.

Fu Huang was lounging by the heated window seat. These days, he rarely wore his hair down during the day, instead securing it with a dark jade hairpin. He wore a black spring robe woven with gold and adorned with the twelve imperial dragon emblems, the gold and black contrast making him look even more imperial than ever. Beside him was a vermilion-lacquered window, where pale pink rose blossoms swayed gently, like a living, scented painting.

It actually made Fu Ye freeze.

Fu Huang looked at him and asked, "Shouldn't you be joining the Empress Dowager for lunch?"

Fu Ye said breathlessly, "...I came back to fetch something."

Leaving those risqué pictures right in his bedchamber, under Fu Huang’s very nose, made it impossible for him to focus on reading. He was too nervous! Better to take them away.

"Brother, why are you in my palace..." He put on a smile as he walked toward the desk, his crimson robes brushing against the opulent gold and jade decorations of the palace.

He thought he was being clever. Carrying away the entire stack of books would be impossible—it would inevitably reveal that he wasn’t taking proper books. So he acted casual and said, "I’ve finished these novels and was planning to swap them for new ones. Would you like to read them, Brother? This one’s about the scandalous histories of imperial consorts—it's really juicy."

There was no way Fu Huang would be interested in women's romance novels. He often said he’d rather be horseback riding or archery.

Fu Huang declined, and Fu Ye could've just left—perfect.

But then Fu Huang reached out his hand.

His fingertips were calloused, his hand scarred, his palm dry—not what you'd expect from royalty. But the bone structure was exquisite, his fingers extraordinarily long, just like his entire being: wiry, strong, and imposing.

Yet more elegant than the man himself.

Right now, though, Fu Ye didn’t find that hand elegant at all.

It was the hand of a demon!

Fu Ye instantly regretted his clever act in front of Fu Huang.

Who was Fu Huang? Lately, he had been so indulgent that Fu Ye had nearly forgotten how fiendish he used to be!

Eunuch Qin stepped forward with a smile, ready to pass the books over.

Fu Ye stood frozen, staring at Fu Huang with a dumbstruck grin.

Fu Huang, seeing his reaction, knew something was amiss and simply beckoned Eunuch Qin over.

Eunuch Qin took the books from Fu Ye’s hands and presented them to the emperor.

The emperor, clearly seeing through his every thought, reclined leisurely on the rosewood jade-inlaid daybed, flipping through the books one by one before tossing them onto the kang table.

*Comprehensive Records of Literature and History*, *Divine Beings Saving the World*, *Tales of a Hundred Heroes*.

Several memorials concerning military and state affairs had already fallen off the kang table.

Then Fu Huang flipped open *The Jade Hairpin*.

The cover of *The Jade Hairpin* featured a lewd-looking dragon-wrapped pillar, its body winding sinuously as the column thrust straight into the clouds.

Fu Huang’s relaxed expression vanished instantly.

Author’s Note:

The Emperor: So he really does like *this* thing that much.