Chapter 17: Drunken Confession

Chapter 17: Drunken Truths

Ling Yehan snapped out of it and quickly looked away. He took two steps forward before speaking:

"Brother, did you come to my residence earlier? Why didn’t you let me know?"

He finished speaking, but the person behind the curtain said nothing. Xiao Chen’s gaze was fixed intently on Ling Yehan, his expression unreadable. The way Ling Yehan had looked at him just now felt off—it wasn’t the gaze of a subject toward his sovereign, nor that of a younger brother toward his elder. The raw, undisguised emotion in his eyes was exactly the same as that of the frenzied young man from that drug-fueled night.

Ling Yehan felt uncomfortable under his gaze, his hands unconsciously rubbing the fabric at the sides of his robe. This small gesture did not escape Xiao Chen’s notice. It was a small habit Ling Yehan had when he felt guilty as a child. But what was he feeling guilty about now? Was it because of the family that had shown up, or something else?

"I saw you seemed to be having a pleasant conversation with that family, so I didn’t want to interrupt."

Pleasant conversation? Ling Yehan immediately refuted:

"I wasn’t! How could I possibly have a pleasant conversation with them?"

Xiao Chen looked weary, leaning against the bolster. A bright yellow quilt covered him up to his waist, softening his usual imposing presence and making him seem gentler and more approachable. He gestured toward a nearby embroidered stool, and Ling Yehan obediently brought it over, seating himself in front of the dragon bed.

"I just found out that such a family had come to the capital. Reports say they arrived as a group—father, sons, and brothers. The one claiming to be your elder brother bears a striking resemblance to you. This time, it can’t be a mistake, can it?"

Ling Yehan wasn’t surprised that Xiao Chen knew about this. He had never intended to hide it from him, his voice dripping with sarcasm:

"Yes, it’s them—the ones who sold me to the acrobatic troupe back then. They said the family was starving, and selling me was their only way to survive. Now they want me to take the Wei surname and return to the family."

Xiao Chen frowned slightly. When he had rescued Ling Yehan from the streets years ago, he had just escaped from an acrobatic troupe. He was covered in wounds, nothing but skin and bones, with only his dark, bright eyes burning fiercely, like a young wild wolf refusing to submit to fate. In such troupes, children were treated as less than human—only those who performed well were fed, while the others were whipped. A child’s life was cheap; if one died, another could be bought from a poor family for less than a string of coins. Ling Yehan had somehow managed to escape.

Xiao Chen looked up, his eyes shifting:

"Have you eaten dinner?"

Ling Yehan shook his head:

"I had a table prepared but didn’t eat."

"I haven’t eaten either. Would you keep me company for a bite?"

Concern flashed in Ling Yehan’s eyes as he immediately asked:

"Why haven’t you eaten? Are you unwell?"

"I had planned to drop by your place for a meal, but after returning, I lost my appetite. Zhang Fu, have the kitchen prepare a hot pot and warm some wine. Bring the tribute wine from the southwest."

Xiao Chen threw back the quilt and sat up. Ling Yehan fetched a cloak from nearby and draped it over his shoulders himself.

A brass pot inlaid with enamel and patterned with eye-shaped designs was brought in, filled with a bubbling hot pot simmering over charcoal. A white porcelain wine jar warmed nearby:

"Brother, if your stomach's bothering you, you shouldn’t drink wine in the evening."

Xiao Chen, dressed in sleepwear with the cloak draped over his shoulders, had his dark hair loosely tied back. He leaned casually against the armrest of a round-backed chair, lifting the wine jar to pour into a white porcelain petal-shaped cup:

"I’m not drinking. This is for you. It’s tribute wine sent from the southwest a few days ago. Consider yourself lucky."

Relieved, Ling Yehan downed the wine in one gulp. The spicy warmth flowed down his throat—this wine was stronger than the usual palace brew, packing a punch.

Xiao Chen picked at a few bites of food, managing to eat a little, before returning to their earlier topic:

"Do you resent them?"

Ling Yehan polished off the bowl of meat and vegetables he had served himself.

"Not exactly. Back then, the disasters kept coming, and the family couldn’t even afford porridge. Even if they hadn’t sold me to the troupe, I probably would have starved to death at home."

Xiao Chen filled his cup again:

"Then why are you so resistant now? Although you’re now a Marquis, you’re still on your own. If you had a family behind you, you could select a few clever ones from the clan, educate them, and they might be useful to you in court someday."

Any other court official hearing this would have taken it as a veiled warning from the emperor. But Ling Yehan knew that if he truly acknowledged the Wei family, Xiao Chen would indeed give them a chance to enter officialdom. He drank the wine, his cheeks flushing. The alcohol seemed to be getting to his head. His clear, bright eyes seemed to hold only the person before him:

"I don’t need assets in court. I earned my military merits myself, and I was the one who was enfeoffed as a Marquis. The Wei family did nothing—they don’t deserve a place in court."

Xiao Chen chuckled softly, perhaps amused by how childish that sounded, and poured him another drink:

"Family sticks together. When one person rises, their whole family benefits. Those in court who hold titles and positions spend their days plotting to get their relatives into official posts. Yet you don’t seem to care for it."

Ling Yehan knew that no matter how ambitious the Wei family was, he could keep them in check. In his previous life, they had mingled with court officials, appearing prosperous and influential, but he had still stripped them of their positions and exiled them all. But this life was different. Xiao Chen was alive, and the Wei family wouldn’t dare entertain such wicked thoughts as they had before. Still, that family was inherently corrupt. He wanted to be a sharp blade in Xiao Chen’s hand—a blade that must be flawless. He would never allow the Wei family to become a weakness for his enemies in court to exploit, causing unnecessary trouble for Xiao Chen.

But he couldn’t say this to him. He chewed a few bites of meat and drank another cup of wine, deciding to dig in his heels:

"I just don’t want them benefiting from me. They sold me for two strings of coins when I was young. I owe the Wei family nothing. I won’t be their stepping stone to success."

His body began to feel warm, and his head got fuzzy. He shook his head—was the wine really that strong?

"Brother, don’t drink this wine in the future. It’s a bit strong."

Xiao Chen had just refilled his cup. Noticing his flushed cheeks, he said:

"Strong? Then perhaps you shouldn’t drink anymore."

He reached for the cup, but Ling Yehan couldn’t let go of the wine poured by his hand:

"No, I can handle it. I can hold my liquor."

With that, he snatched the cup back and downed it in one go. The intense warmth rose from his chest and spread throughout his body, as if countless tiny flames had been ignited, dancing under his skin. His head started spinning. His dark eyes glistened with a watery sheen from the alcohol, and everything before him seemed hazy, as if bathed in a soft, glowing halo.

He couldn’t help but steal glances at the person he longed to see day and night. Under the palace lamps, Xiao Chen’s features appeared softer. Every time their eyes met, Ling Yehan felt his heart skip a beat. A faint voice of reason warned him not to stare, but his intoxicated mind could no longer control his gaze, which kept drifting back to the other man.

Xiao Chen had only taken a few bites of food. Though he didn’t constantly watch Ling Yehan, he didn’t miss any of the younger man’s expressions or the lingering looks directed his way. That gaze was like that of a lovesick youth staring at their beloved. He shook the nearly empty wine jar:

"There’s a little left. You can have it."

Ling Yehan, like an obedient large dog, nodded and sat beside him, his face flushed as he watched Xiao Chen pour the last of the wine into his cup. He held the cup carefully with both hands, like a child cherishing a treasure. But then Xiao Chen said something he really didn’t want to hear:

"You’re not young anymore. It’s time you settled down. Tomorrow, I’ll order the Ministry of Rites to compile a list of suitable women from families of comparable status for you."

The words felt like a block of ice thrown into a boiling pot, chilling Ling Yehan to the bone. He looked up in shock and blurted out without thinking:

"No need. I don’t want to marry."

The cold, sharp tone silenced the room. Xiao Chen didn’t respond. Ling Yehan immediately regretted his harsh tone but said nothing more. After all, he had no intention of marrying.

After a long pause, Xiao Chen deliberately broke the silence:

"Are you worried that, as a guard, you won’t find a suitable match? If so, there’s no need. In time, when the matter of your defiance has faded, I will restore your official position."

Ling Yehan felt as if ten thousand horses were stampeding in his chest, the heat of the wine surging to his head:

"Brother, don’t worry about this. I just don’t want to marry. I have no interest in wedding any daughter of a noble or influential family."

Xiao Chen’s fingers tightened around the empty wine cup before him.

"Do you have someone you're sweet on? If so, tell me. Even if there's a social gap, there are always ways."

Ling Yehan felt as if not only was a stampede of horses galloping wildly in his chest, but they were also kicking frantically, enough to make him cough up blood on the spot. Someone he was sweet on? Wasn’t it true that he did? Not only did their statuses not match, even their genders didn’t align. He lifted his head and met those bottomless eyes. At this moment, he even felt an impulse—why not just say it? Whatever the consequences, at least he’d feel unburdened.

But as soon as the thought emerged, he grew timid again. He was afraid that if he spoke up, he might lose even the chance to stay by his side.

His eyes welled up, turning red, filled with pain, struggle, conflict, and sorrow—all of it flashing like a kaleidoscope before Xiao Chen’s eyes. At this point, Xiao Chen finally felt somewhat certain about his rather far-fetched suspicion: this kid probably had a thing for him.

He placed a hand on his lower abdomen. The child indicated by the pulse still had no presence yet, but Xiao Chen couldn’t help but reconsider the issue: if Ling Yehan did harbor such feelings for him, then what about this child...

"Brother, don’t ask anymore. I won’t get married. I’ll just stay with you for the rest of my life. I’ll do whatever you ask."

Before Xiao Chen could respond, Zhang Fu entered to deliver a message:

"Your Majesty, the imperial physician has prepared the medicine."