Chapter 40: Slap

Chapter 40: The Slap

Ling Yehan’s pupils constricted violently, his eyes a maelstrom of shock, fear, and bewilderment. Xiao Chen’s words landed on him like a colossal, thousand-pound boulder, pinning him utterly still. He stood like a lifeless statue in a derelict temple, a mere husk. His lips trembled, his face instantly drained of color, yet he could not utter a single sound.

Separated by two lifetimes, the man before him had recalled his past, or perhaps, he *was* the Xiao Chen of that previous existence.

After an indeterminate time, Ling Yehan slowly sank to his knees, his mind a complete blank. All he could manage was a choked whisper:

"Brother."

He didn’t know what to say, or what *could* be said. In his previous life, he had failed to see this man one last time. In this life, he had believed it to be divine grace, but now, he felt he didn’t even possess the right to offer a single word of defense.

Xiao Chen refused to look at the kneeling figure. What had just transpired wasn't a dream; it was the stark reality of his past life. All the longing, the resentment, the reluctance he felt before his death in that previous existence were seared into his mind like an indelible brand, impossible to erase or forget. He remembered constantly watching that door, hoping to see him one last time before he died, but what was the outcome? His voice was hoarse and weary:

"I had hoped you would return before I died. I waited until the very end."

The words pierced Ling Yehan’s heart like a blood-grooved sword, instantly drawing forth a torrent of pain.

"I’m sorry, Brother. It’s my fault. I should have returned sooner. It’s my fault."

Tears streamed down his face. Why, why couldn’t he have been faster?

Xiao Chen took a deep breath. The apology did nothing to ease the turmoil in his heart. In the previous life, it was he who had defied the imperial edict and gone to Yongzhou without a word. It was he who had not returned to the capital for five years. And it was he whom Xiao Chen had failed to see before his death. Now, all that remained was a single "I’m sorry." How utterly ironic? He closed his eyes, his voice low and weary:

"When did you remember?"

Ling Yehan’s nails dug into the flesh of his palms, and his shoulders suddenly slumped:

"The day after the Battle of Yongzhou."

The day after the Battle of Yongzhou? That was before he returned to the capital. Memories of recent events flooded back: the night at the Dali Temple, when Ling Yehan, delirious, had clung to his leg and wept:

"Brother, you finally agreed to see me. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have defied the decree. I shouldn’t have stayed away..."

At the time, he had dismissed these incoherent words as fear over defying the imperial decree.

Then, during the assassination attempt in the imperial study, Ling Yehan had reacted with such speed, as if he had known something would happen that night. During the bandit suppression in Qianzhong, he had articulated the exact strategy from the previous life, even naming Song Qiyu, the very person sent to Qianzhong then. And what else had he said? He had said:

"It’s not just because of the child. I don’t want us to be merely ruler and subject... I want to see you every day. I don’t know when these shameful desires began..."

Ha, shameful desires? It must have been after his death in the previous life, when Ling Yehan lived every day in regret and torment. People always develop intense obsessions with those they’ve lost and things that cannot be undone. And he, Xiao Chen, had actually believed such nonsense. His hand clenched the quilt’s edge tightly. Suddenly, he turned his gaze, his eyes filled with oppressive intensity:

"Ling Yehan, does this kind of compensation make you happy?"

Ling Yehan’s head snapped up:

"Brother, I... I admit I wanted to atone, but everything I said was sincere. It wasn’t entirely because of the past—"

*Smack!* Before Ling Yehan could finish, a slap landed squarely on his face. The force of the blow snapped his head to the side. On the bed, Xiao Chen’s propped-up body swayed precariously, his face ashen, his eyes and brows blazing with fury. Everything over the past few months, every single incident, had been nothing but Ling Yehan’s deception, and he had fallen for it. He had even planned to remove all obstacles and quell all criticism from court officials, to openly reciprocate Ling Yehan’s feelings. Now, it all felt like a cruel joke.

"I have no need for your atonement, nor do I care for your guilt. From today onward, fulfill your duties as the Marquis of Jingbian. Everything else has nothing to do with you."

The violent surge of emotion caused Xiao Chen’s vision to blacken in waves. The arm propping him up on the bed trembled slightly. Ling Yehan immediately turned to support him, but was forcefully pushed away:

"Get out."

Ling Yehan dared not provoke him further:

"I’ll leave. I’m leaving now."

Imperial physicians swarmed into the Zichen Hall. Even Zhang Fu, seeing Ling Yehan’s distraught state, had no idea what had transpired in that short quarter of an hour to cause such a scene.

The cool night breeze swept over Ling Yehan. His shoulders slumped, he stood in the courtyard as if his soul had fled. He sat on the steps, gazing up at the sky. After an unknown period, he wiped his face, feeling as if all his strength had drained away. The Xiao Chen of his previous life had returned. There was no longer any need for concealment. It was like a dream, finally over.

After what felt like an eternity, Xu Yuanli emerged. Ling Yehan immediately stood up:

"How is His Majesty?"

"His Majesty’s high fever has just subsided, but his extreme emotional fluctuation has somewhat disturbed the pregnancy stability. This humble official administered acupuncture, and he will take a fetal calming tonic shortly. Marquis, you must persuade His Majesty to rest. He absolutely must not get agitated again."

Ling Yehan nodded with a bitter smile. At this moment, his absence was the only way to soothe the other’s anger.

Xiao Chen had just had the silver needles removed from his wrist. A pervasive sense of weakness and aching lingered, though his expression betrayed no hint of discomfort. These current discomforts were utterly insignificant compared to the sufferings of his previous life. His only concern was the child in his womb. His hand remained pressed to his abdomen—the Xiao Lin he had been most reluctant to part with in his past life.

Inside the bed curtains, the emperor in his imperial yellow sleep robes lowered his head slightly, his expression uncharacteristically gentle:

"I’m sorry. Did I scare you just now, Xiao Lin? Don’t be afraid. This time, your imperial father will do his best to watch you grow up."

Without needing any persuasion, Xiao Chen took the fetal calming tonic and forced himself to eat a little. He didn’t ask a single word about what was happening outside, allowing the palace attendants to help him wash and prepare for bed. His hand gently rested on his rounded belly as he recalled the persistent dreams of recent days:

"Xiao Lin, your imperial father misses you. If you miss your imperial father too, come into my dreams. Let me see how you’re doing."

The lights in the inner hall of Zichen Hall were extinguished. Zhang Fu stood at the entrance, unsure what to do about the man still sitting on the steps.

"Marquis, His Majesty has retired. Should we prepare a side chamber for you?"

Ling Yehan knew Xiao Chen least wanted to see him now, but he also dared not leave the palace. He curled up on the daybed in the side chamber, his gaze fixed on the main hall, his mind replaying Xiao Chen’s words:

"I had hoped you would return before I died. I waited until the very end."

His heart constricted painfully. Large tears streamed from his eyes, soaking into the pillow. He delivered a solid slap to his own face, unable to bear the thought of how Xiao Chen, in his previous life, had clung to life, desperately waiting for his return.

Xiao Chen hoped to dream of Xiao Lin from his past life again, but that night, he passed dreamlessly.

At dawn, Ling Yehan rose early. There was no movement in the inner hall—Xiao Chen had clearly not yet awakened. Fortunately, no imperial physicians had been summoned again last night, suggesting things were at least relatively calm.

Before long, Zhang Fu was called inside. Less than the time it takes to finish a cup of tea, Zhang Fu emerged and approached Ling Yehan. Ling Yehan immediately went to meet him:

"Has His Majesty awakened? Is he well?"

Zhang Fu’s expression was somewhat troubled as he spoke:

"He’s awake, and appears well. Marquis, His Majesty has issued an edict: The Marquis of Jingbian is to take charge of overseeing the epidemic in the capital, reporting daily without fail. Furthermore, the token held by the Marquis of Jingbian is to be confiscated. Henceforth, it may no longer be used to unlock the palace gates. Effective immediately, unless presenting a formal memorial, the Marquis of Jingbian need not enter the palace."

Ling Yehan was rooted to the spot by the decree, his hand almost instinctively reaching for the token at his waist—the one Xiao Chen had given him when he first ascended the throne.

"Brother, if you’re going to live in the palace from now on, does that mean I can’t just come in and find you whenever I want?"

Back then, the man had casually tossed him a token:

"Take this. If the palace gates are locked, use this to open them."

He had been overjoyed when he received that token, spending two months’ salary treating his military colleagues to food and drink. Now, Xiao Chen was taking the token back. He truly didn’t want him anymore.

Zhang Fu, seeing Ling Yehan’s reddened eyes, felt a pang of difficulty:

"Marquis, whatever disagreement you have with His Majesty, can’t it be resolved through proper discussion? His Majesty is furious right now. Please don’t provoke him further at such a critical juncture."

Ling Yehan numbly untied the token from his waist, his fingers tracing its patterns one last time before handing it to Zhang Fu:

"Please convey to His Majesty for me that I will do my utmost in all matters outside the palace, and I beg him to rest assured and focus on his health. Every word I have spoken in the past was completely true. Should I ever deviate, may I be struck by divine retribution."

Zhang Fu’s heart thumped hearing these words. What in the world were these two lords fighting about?

After Ling Yehan left the palace, Zhang Fu took the token and presented it to the emperor, who had already risen and was reclining on a soft couch, relaying Ling Yehan’s message.

Xiao Chen accepted the token, his expression revealing neither joy nor sorrow. Zhang Fu felt that today’s emperor seemed different from before—shrouded in a deep, somber aura, as if nothing mattered to him anymore, yet his authority felt even more imposing, making it difficult to discern his thoughts. After repeated hesitation, Zhang Fu ultimately held his tongue.

At that moment, Xiao Chen looked up:

"Did you want to say something?"

Zhang Fu, who believed he had concealed his thoughts seamlessly, was inwardly startled. He quickly bowed slightly and replied:

"This servant speaks out of turn. I noticed the Marquis’s eyes redden as he handed over the token. The token’s pattern is smooth and glossy, clearly from being handled and cherished often. It seems the Marquis valued this token highly."

Xiao Chen’s eyebrows lifted slightly. His tone remained unchanged, yet the pressure in his voice grew heavier:

"One more word, and go punish yourself."

Zhang Fu immediately knelt:

"This servant acknowledges his mistake."

Xiao Chen’s fingers gently traced the pattern on the token. So it was smooth? So he cherished it? He knew that in Ling Yehan’s heart, he held a certain special place. Yet, that specialness had not been enough to bring back the man who was determined to stay guarding the frontier in their past life. What he felt now was merely the surprise of regaining what was lost, mingled with guilt and a desire to make amends. Such sentiments—what did he care for such feelings?