Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Fu Ye’s mind was a cacophony of ten thousand screaming chickens.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

If Fu Huang were to flip it open in front of everyone, he might as well bash his head against the ground and die.

Eunuch Qin froze for a moment when he saw the cover of the book.

There was no helping it—the cover was downright provocative.

He immediately lifted his gaze to Fu Huang, only to see the emperor toss *The Jade Hairpin Chronicles* onto the low table as well.

Having served the emperor for years, Eunuch Qin reacted swiftly, taking two steps back and waving for everyone in the palace to withdraw.

Shuang Fu backed away too, completely in the dark about what had happened. He stood by the door, stretching his neck like a curious turtle to peek inside, just as Eunuch Qin stepped out as well.

Even Eunuch Qin—the emperor’s most trusted aide—had to leave!

He hastily took another step back, bowing his head and standing at attention, hands folded.

Qing Xi had just arrived in the eastern courtyard with two other Inner Officials, their dark robe hems rippling like water while their upper bodies remained perfectly still.

Startled, he shot Shuang Fu a questioning look, but Shuang Fu gave a slight shake of his head.

No clue what was happening!

They always said the emperor was unpredictable, and today he finally witnessed it firsthand—his heart lodged itself in his throat.

He stole a glance at Eunuch Qin, noticing the eunuch’s smile twitched at the corners.

[...]

A gust swept through the vermilion-lacquered windows, rustling the pages of *The Jade Hairpin Chronicles* on the low table. The fluttering stopped on an illustration inside.

There, in plain view, were two men, faces twisted in pleasure, bodies tangled together.

!!

Fu Huang hadn’t known the world contained such things.

Looking closer, it was indeed two men, expressions lewd, limbs entwined.

Fu Ye’s embarrassment hit its limit. He stepped forward, slamming a stack of memorials atop *The Jade Hairpin Chronicles*, then let out a strained chuckle. “Imperial Brother.”

Fu Huang’s face showed neither anger nor surprise; he simply picked up the remaining two books in silence.

One was *Discourse on Statecraft*, beneath which lay an erotic album titled *Xiao Chun Tu (Scenes of Spring’s Delight)*.

He tossed both onto the low table and, after a long silence, asked, “…Is this what you usually read?”

Fu Ye immediately shook his head. “I only found these yesterday in the library! I’ve never read them before!”

As soon as he finished speaking, he hastily covered the pile with *Discourse on Statecraft* and eagerly gathered the memorials that had fallen onto the floor, arranging them neatly. Normally quick-witted, he was now beet red, ears burning, too flustered to speak, and just offered a sheepish grin.

Fu Huang rubbed his thumb against his fingers, then—with deliberate slowness—pulled out *Xiao Chun Tu*.

“Imperial Brother!”

Fu Ye quickly reached out to stop him.

The illustrations inside were nothing like those in the storybooks—those merely showed people embracing, at least still clothed. These, however, were full-color paintings, completely unclothed, with poses so shocking they left him gaping.

For someone as uptight and conservative as Fu Huang, seeing this would probably blow his mind!

"Brother, please don’t look," he said with a flattering smile, so flustered he almost pressed closer.

Fu Huang’s face hardened.

Fu Ye’s eyes were bright, with pupils like agate, like a restless spirit trapped in a delicate porcelain body—enough to make one overlook his frailty. But now, he still appeared thin and weak, his chin sharp. Likely from running too fast earlier and now flushed with embarrassment, his face burned crimson as he gazed at Fu Huang.

The way he called him like this—he could’ve gotten away with murder.

Fu Huang withdrew his hand, his mouth set in a grim line, looking deadly serious.

Fu Ye hastily gathered up all the picture books.

"These are just for us who like men. It’s best you don’t look, elder brother, or you’ll have nightmares," Fu Ye said. "Honestly, they’re not even that good."

"You’ve seen your fair share," Fu Huang remarked, though his eyes didn’t meet his.

Fu Huang clearly didn’t believe him and called for Eunuch Qin.

Eunuch Qin approached cautiously, head slightly bowed, but Fu Ye still caught the smirk he couldn’t hide.

His face flushed hotter as he stood beside Fu Huang, his leg brushing against Fu Huang’s boot.

Eunuch Qin: "Your Majesty?"

Fu Huang turned to Fu Ye: "Are there more?"

"There are some in the library, but none here," Fu Ye dared not lie further. "If you don’t believe me, you can search."

Naturally, Fu Huang wouldn’t conduct a search himself, only instructing Eunuch Qin to confiscate everything.

Eunuch Qin gathered up all the books, proper and improper alike. With his presence, Fu Huang seemed to regain some composure, merely saying to Fu Ye, "Stop reading such filthy trash."

When Fu Ye returned to the central hall, Eunuch Qin accompanied him.

Eunuch Qin was heading to the library to collect more of this "filthy trash."

The entire way, Eunuch Qin struggled to suppress his laughter, while Fu Ye fumed, humiliated.

What was wrong with reading some smut?!

Wasn’t he, a twenty-year-old adult, entitled to read such things?!

What kind of world was this?!

After much deliberation, he concluded the root cause was Fu Huang’s low libido, making it impossible for him to empathize.

Fu Ye spent the journey plotting how to fix the emperor’s... situation.

If he could make the emperor wake up with morning wood, then he’d understand—reading some smut was nothing to fuss over!

Eunuch Qin combed through the library for all the "filthy" books. The collection was vast, and they worked well into the evening. His Highness Prince Huan, having finished his studies, came to organize the books and watched as a chest of porn and racy novels was carried out.

The night was gloomy, clouded over, the only light coming from the palace lanterns lining the path. Eunuch Qin led the way, followed by two red-robed Inner Officials from Qingyuan Palace carrying the chest to the western annex.

Upon entering, he saw His Majesty the Emperor standing in the hall with his hands behind his back, spacing out.

Clearly, the Emperor had no idea such pornographic stuff existed in the palace, and his expression was extremely grave.

Eunuch Qin spoke up for Fu Ye: "His Highness is young and restless, cooped up in the palace. It’s only natural for him to be curious about such things."

Fu Huang neither agreed nor disagreed, his gaze sweeping over the erotic picture books.

The stack of albums was adorned with emerald greens and vermilion reds, embellished with gold and silver powder, their colors strikingly vivid. Among them, one stood out—the largest, most exquisite, and most eye-catching. It depicted a slender, snow-white man, completely undressed, seated atop a powerfully built man. The latter gripped the former’s narrow waist with large hands, his face pressed against the other’s chest, whether nuzzling or kissing was unclear.

A vein twitched on Fu Huang’s forehead.

Without even flipping through it, His Majesty remained silent for a moment before instructing Eunuch Qin to have them all removed.

Having grown up in the palace, Eunuch Qin had previously served Emperor Renzong’s concubines and was often tasked with serving tea during the Emperor’s intimate moments. He had seen not just illustrations but the real thing and was unfazed. However, he knew the Emperor had little experience and no consorts whatsoever. To suddenly encounter such materials—especially in the possession of the virtuous and refined His Highness Prince Huan—must have been shocking.

That night, His Highness Prince Huan returned very late and went to bed quietly, likely mortified.

His Majesty also turned in early, not visiting the eastern annex.

After serving tea four times, Eunuch Qin couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—His Majesty truly ought to get himself a consort.

It was just some porn pics, yet he had nearly stayed awake all night.

The next morning, when he awoke nearby, Fu Huang asked him to grab a towel and fresh undergarments.

Unlike Fu Ye, Fu Huang had been attended by Inner Officials since childhood and wasn’t shy about it. Yet today, as he bathed and changed, he seemed preoccupied.

His Highness Prince Huan rose unusually early, leaving just past dawn.

The gates of Qingyuan Palace stood open, and the Emperor, draped in a cloak, watched from the corridor as the Prince passed through the palace pathway. The sky above the palace was heavy and dark, as if threatening to engulf the entire imperial grounds.

Fu Ye felt somewhat awkward, thinking he’d wait a couple of days before approaching Fu Huang again. After all, he had never been a model younger brother in the Emperor’s eyes.

But to his surprise, when he returned from his studies, he found Fu Huang working in his chambers again.

He bowed to the Emperor, who called for dinner.

Since Fu Huang seemed to be letting it slide, Fu Ye was happy to pretend nothing had happened. He had just picked out a book from the library—one he considered a real work of art and exceptionally well-written.

In fact, it wasn’t just any book but a handwritten copy of the renowned *Palace Memoirs*.

Authored by Dowager Concubine Fang, *Palace Memoirs* carried exotic vibes from foreign lands and spanned hundreds of thousands of words, its language refined and elegant—a true literary masterpiece. After reading part of it, Fu Ye even considered paying another visit to Dowager Concubine Fang at Lihua Palace.

"This one is very well-written," he mumbled awkwardly to Fu Huang.

His eagerness to present a literary classic was as transparent as his guilty conscience—undeniably hasty.

Yet, to his surprise, Fu Huang played along, effortlessly accepting the book and flipping through it.

Outside, the roses swayed, filling the hall with fragrance, harmonizing with the over-the-top descriptions of palace life in *Palace Memoirs*.

Fu Ye had expected the erotic picture books to make waves, perhaps a few days of reprimands from Fu Huang.

But Fu Huang acted as if nothing had happened.

Stealing glances at the Emperor’s expression, Fu Ye saw only the same stern, austere young ruler, clad in black robes, like he’d never heard of lust.

The eerie calm unsettled him. The hall felt stifling, and the wind outside grew stronger, rushing through the half-open window, tousling his ink-black hair. Strands drifted onto the Emperor, catching on the gold-stitched dragon’s tail embroidered on his robes.

Fu Ye was beautiful.

More beautiful than any painting.

In the oppressive wind, Fu Huang slightly raised his eyes—phoenix-like, sharp and arresting. His gaze swept over Fu Ye’s neck, tightly wrapped in his collar, his pale hands, and the voluminous black robes puddled around him as he lounged there. He recalled the dream he had the night before, his expression growing darker. His dry fingertips brushed over the pristine, gilt-speckled paper as the wind stirred his wide sleeves, making his imposing figure seem even more solemn.

In the dream, Fu Ye had straddled his scar-laden waist. Every inch of Fu Ye was flawless and delicate, only accentuating the rough, gnarled scars and the bluish-gray tendons beneath his skin. Yet Fu Ye hadn’t seemed to mind, rutting against the rigid, corded muscles below his navel.

Fu Ye was naturally rebellious, quick-witted, and in his dream, utterly unrestrained—wild and uninhibited.

In his dream, Fu Ye had been loud in pleasure.

Now, sitting face-to-face with him in this heavenly retreat, Fu Huang couldn’t help but wonder—how could someone’s looks and poise be so mesmerizing?

The hazy feelings when he awoke had suddenly become vivid.

Did he really move like that?

Did he really cry out like that?

Calling him "dear brother," pleading for leniency.

Fu Huang shoved the window wide open.

The wind rushed in, and Fu Ye clamped down on the manuscripts on the low table.

*The Palace Chronicles* were all handwritten copies, each volume containing thousands upon thousands of characters, piled haphazardly—those Fu Huang had read on one side, those he hadn’t on the other. Hugging the papers to his chest, Fu Ye leaned in.

He was so guileless, so completely trusting, as if he truly believed yesterday’s events were water under the bridge. Excitedly, he said, “It’s raining!”

The spring rain came down in a gentle patter. Fu Ye, who adored finery and luxury, immediately ordered Shuang Fu, “Have the glass lanterns hung outside.”

He wanted to see the roses in the rain.

The spring rain was light, but the roses were in full bloom, their petals unable to bear the weight of the raindrops. Once soaked, they sagged under the weight, never to rise again.

Fu Huang instructed Eunuch Qin to retrieve his cloak from his quarters.

Fu Ye asked, “Are you cold, Imperial Brother? I have one here.”

Yet Fu Huang still had Eunuch Qin bring his own cloak—only to wrap it around Fu Ye.

Since returning to the palace, Fu Ye had never worn the emperor’s clothes again.

He deemed it improper, and besides, he wasn’t lacking in garments.

He looked at the emperor, unsure why he would do this.

“I have clothes, Imperial Brother. You should wear it yourself—don’t take a chill.”

Fu Huang reclined on the couch, ignoring him.

He didn’t explain his actions, perhaps because he couldn’t find a reason himself.

But he simply wanted to do it.

The emperor’s grace, be it as harsh as thunder or gentle as dew, was unchallengeable. He just wanted Fu Ye to wear his clothes—perhaps then the restless melancholy in his chest might ease slightly.

He didn’t know what *The Palace Chronicles* contained. His mind was preoccupied with darker, weightier matters. Fu Ye knelt by the low table, watching the rain, bare feet pale as untouched snow.

The dream was nothing compared to reality.

Fu Huang reached out, swathing those feet in his cloak, afraid they might grow cold.

Yet he himself turned toward the damp night rain outside, hoping this feigned show of fraternal care could last just a little longer.