Chapter 69: Fat Chapter

Chapter 69: A Long One

As soon as Xiao Chen finished speaking, he felt as if a large dog had barreled toward him. Ling Yehan wrapped his arms around the slender figure on the couch, pressing close to the bedside. He slid one leg beneath Xiao Chen’s knees, laid the other over his, and encircled the rounded belly with his free arm, pulling the entire person into his embrace. Without a word, he then gently nuzzled Xiao Chen’s ear, cheek, and neck with his nose, playfully brushing away stray hairs from his temples.

Xiao Chen’s cheeks tickled from the nuzzling, and he turned his head to avoid it. But the man beside him had him tightly bound with both arms and legs, making it difficult to move even an inch. Knowing Ling Yehan possessed boundless strength, Xiao Chen gave up struggling and closed his eyes, resigned.

“What are you doing?”

Ling Yehan burrowed into his neck without speaking, slowly lowering himself and lifting Xiao Chen’s clothes again. He even boldly pressed down Xiao Chen’s hand as he tried to pull his garments back, then lowered his head to gently kiss the red marks left by the tight binding, even lightly licking them with his tongue. Xiao Chen’s body shivered slightly. He tried to free a hand to pull up the troublemaker’s head like plucking a radish, but at that moment, he heard a bold statement:

“Brother, I want you.”

Ling Yehan lay on his belly, lifting his head to look at him. His dark eyes reflected only Xiao Chen, and in their depths was not cautious comfort but a clear, unmistakable look of craving, like a puppy begging for meat. Xiao Chen even feared he might bite him, but meeting those eyes, the earlier tension in his heart eased slightly. He liked the obsession in those eyes, and the licking had certainly aroused him.

Seeing that Xiao Chen didn’t say no, Ling Yehan took it as consent. He drew the bed curtains closed. Outside, the sky gradually darkened, and the palace lanterns cast a dim, yellowish glow through the curtains. Ling Yehan’s movements were not as gentle as before; for the first time, his gaze laid bare his desire and hunger, boldly lingering on every inch of Xiao Chen’s body. Every part of Xiao Chen, down to a single strand of hair, made his heart race.

With one hand, he clasped Xiao Chen’s wrists and pinned them behind his back. Xiao Chen’s cheeks flushed red, his chest pounding, though not from illness as before. This position made him feel ashamed, and because of the child, he dared not use his inner strength. He struggled briefly but could not break free from Ling Yehan’s grip. A wave of shame and anger surged within him, and he lifted his leg to kick the unruly man. Ling Yehan, as if anticipating this, dodged with a suppressed laugh and pressed his leg down with his own.

“Brother, if you cripple me, what will you do in the future?”

For the first time, Xiao Chen felt Ling Yehan resembled a street ruffian. Before he could scold him, Ling Yehan buried his head again, and Xiao Chen inadvertently let out two soft moans from his throat.

Ling Yehan’s hands ignited fire across his body. The rough fingertips, calloused from years of wielding weapons in the army, became the spark that set the prairie ablaze. Xiao Chen, already sensitive from pregnancy, felt weak all over, unable to muster any strength. He tilted his slender neck slightly, a blush spreading from his neck down to his chest. His prominently rounded belly rose and fell with his rapid breaths.

After Xiao Chen reached his peak, Ling Yehan kissed and caressed his belly, lingering like a dog savoring a taste, unwilling to leave. When the other’s breathing steadied slightly, he once again looked as if he wanted to devour him whole.

Xiao Chen’s voice was gravelly. He leaned back against the bolster, his body limp as water. Outside the hall, Zhang Fu led the palace attendants in keeping watch. Even Zhang Chunlai, whom he had mentored for a long time, couldn’t help but glance sideways at the commotion inside. Zhang Fu lowered his eyes, standing as still as a statue, seemingly deaf to the sounds within.

The bed was already in disarray. Ling Yehan was also slick with sweat. Xiao Chen felt weak all over, and most of his sleeping robes had been removed. Pregnancy had already sapped his strength, and the intense lovemaking had completely cleared his mind, leaving him too exhausted to dwell on earlier frustrations. Seeing Ling Yehan approach again, he mustered the strength to kick the wolfish man beside him, his voice gravelly:

“Are you never going to stop?”

Ling Yehan’s hair was slightly disheveled, strands stuck to his sharply defined cheeks with sweat. His eyes were bright, like a well-fed dog. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around the other’s body:

“You wrong me. I just wanted to take you to bathe.”

Xiao Chen truly had no strength left, feeling so tired he was almost drowsy, wishing he could close his eyes and sleep immediately. But the stickiness on his body was unbearable, so he merely glanced at Ling Yehan. Ling Yehan obediently got off the bed, slid one hand behind the other’s waist and the other under his knees, and lifted him up.

Both were disheveled. Xiao Chen didn’t want the palace attendants to see them like this, so he didn’t call for help. Instead, he simply nestled in Ling Yehan’s arms. Unexpectedly, Ling Yehan didn’t take him directly to the bath but carried him to the mirror.

Xiao Chen’s sleeping robes hung loosely, revealing the red marks on his rounded belly. His collar was mostly open, the flush on his face hadn’t faded, and his hair was disheveled. His neck and chest were flushed red. Xiao Chen glanced sideways and saw this image. He averted his gaze, feeling annoyed, but Ling Yehan lowered his head to kiss the corner of his lips:

“Brother, you have no idea how beautiful you look. I’ve longed for you for so long. Just one glance at you makes me want you again.”

With that, he swept Xiao Chen toward the bath. Xiao Chen glanced at his profile and finally understood the act this guy had been putting on all night. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt something hard pressing against him below. Instantly, he fell silent.

Xiao Chen leaned against the pool wall, enveloped in warm water that washed away the stickiness, allowing him to finally exhale in comfort. Sensing the other approach and reach out, and remembering that hard part of him, Xiao Chen opened his eyes with a warning look. Ling Yehan suddenly laughed:

“Brother, what are you thinking? I’m just worried your waist might be sore, so I’m helping you massage it.”

Xiao Chen rolled his eyes and closed them again. Moderate pressure applied to his waist and arms gradually lulled him into drowsiness. Ling Yehan didn’t dare let him soak too long and, not wanting to startle him, whispered in his ear:

“Brother, I’m taking you out now.”

Xiao Chen nodded drowsily. Ling Yehan summoned Zhang Fu and others to attend to him, changed his sleeping robes, and dried his hair before carrying him back.

The bed had already been tidied by the attendants, with fresh, comfortable brocade quilts laid out. Ling Yehan bent down carefully to place him on the bed. Xiao Chen was too sleepy to keep his eyes open, turning his head away from the light. Ling Yehan immediately turned and softly ordered:

“Extinguish the lamps, leave only one. Everyone may withdraw.”

“Yes.”

Ling Yehan sat by the bed, took out the small porcelain vial left by Xu Yuanli earlier, gently lifted the quilt and the other’s clothes. Xiao Chen was truly exhausted, only frowning slightly at the movement without waking. By the faint lamplight, Ling Yehan gently applied the ointment to the red marks on the other’s belly. His lowered eyes, no longer filled with the abandon of passion, were now full of heartache.

Perhaps the ointment had a cooling, pain-relieving effect, as Xiao Chen’s furrowed brows gradually relaxed. Ling Yehan waited for the medicine to dry before carefully smoothing his sleeping robes and even straightening the clothes beneath him, then covered him with the quilt. He climbed quietly into the bed and lay down beside him.

Xiao Chen felt he hadn’t slept so soundly in a long time. When he woke the next day, he even felt disoriented, as if unsure of the date. He opened his eyes, dazed for a moment, before yesterday’s events flooded back into his mind. He reached out to touch the space beside him—it was empty.

Zhang Fu, noticing he was awake, approached softly:

“Your Majesty is awake.”

Xiao Chen propped himself up on his elbow to sit, and Zhang Fu hurried forward to help him up:

“Where is that troublesome fellow?”

Zhang Fu pressed his lips together, smiling as he replied:

“The Marquis went to the Ministry of Personnel early this morning for duty. Before leaving, he specifically instructed us not to disturb Your Majesty. It is almost noon now.”

Xiao Chen was startled and turned to look outside. Indeed, the nearly noon sunlight streamed through the window lattice onto the soft couch. The warm, radiant light made him slightly dizzy. Perhaps because he had slept so deeply and well, all of yesterday’s emotions remained in the past. Now, looking back, he felt it was almost unlike him to be so upset and depressed half the day over a glance at himself in the mirror. And to think Ling Yehan had witnessed that side of him.

The result of last night’s indulgence was that his bones now felt as if soaked in vinegar—weak and sore, especially his aching waist, which ached intensely:

“He certainly left in a hurry.”

Zhang Fu pretended not to hear this remark.

Xiao Chen was not one to dwell on melancholy for no reason. He would not let yesterday’s mood carry over to today, nor could he tolerate the embarrassment of being bedridden after a day of indulgence. Though his body still ached terribly, he had the attendants tie his hair and crown him, then changed into light ink-colored long robes layered with a sheer outer garment.

Zhang Fu had the meal served:

“The lunch consists of all your favorites, specially arranged by the Marquis. Worried you might have no appetite, he had this spiced pressed duck and cabbage with vermicelli delivered fresh to the palace.”

Xiao Chen sat down and snorted lightly:

“You certainly can’t go three sentences without mentioning the Marquis nowadays.”

Zhang Fu smiled, not daring to rebut, and began serving dishes to Xiao Chen.

After lunch, Xiao Chen didn’t want to stay indoors and went for a walk in the small garden. But soon, his weakness forced him to stop. Now clear-headed, he knew Ling Yehan’s insatiable greed last night was meant to cheer him up. But his sore waist and legs made it hard to swallow his anger. He turned his head:

“How are the new clothes for the Marquis coming along at the clothing workshop? The autumn sun is perfect—tell them to hurry. The Marquis is waiting to wear those gaudy clothes.”

Zhang Fu knew exactly how “gaudy” the Emperor meant and silently shed a tear for the Marquis, then promptly acknowledged the order.

Xiao Chen allowed himself to be supported back to the bedchamber and took a seat behind the desk. Just as he was about to have the day’s memorials brought to him, he noticed a figure peeking sneakily at the door. Without thinking, he knew—no one in the entire court would dare lurk around the Zichen Hall entrance except Ling Yehan.

Xiao Chen casually picked up a chess piece nearby and threw it at the head. Ling Yehan didn’t dare dodge and was hit squarely. Grinning, he picked up the fallen piece and walked in, shaking it:

“Your Majesty’s aim is impeccable. It’s a waste to hit me with this warm white jade piece.”

He then respectfully returned the piece to the chess box.

Xiao Chen couldn’t be bothered with him:

“Shouldn’t the Marquis be attending to important matters at the Ministry of Personnel instead of sneaking around here?”

Ling Yehan had rushed back during his noon break. He figured Xiao Chen would be up by now, have eaten, and likely cooled off, so he returned to the palace to check.

Seeing that Xiao Chen looked like he was feeling better, Ling Yehan didn’t dare bring up the last night’s events, let alone risk provoking him by asking if his waist still hurt. He inched closer step by step, but just as he reached out his hand, it got swatted away immediately.

At that moment, a palace attendant came in and announced:

"Your Majesty, Commander Xing requests an audience."

Xiao Chen looked up:

"Send him in."

Since assigning Xing Fang to care for Qing Li at the detached residence, Xiao Chen had decreed that Xing Fang didn't have to come to the palace every day—only once every three days. By that calculation, today should not have been his day to come.

"This servant pays respects to Your Majesty."

Xiao Chen leaned back in his chair and waved casually:

"Get up. Is something wrong at the detached residence?"

Xing Fang stood and replied:

"Yes. Yesterday, when I went into Young Master Qing’s room, I found him coughing up blood."

Xiao Chen immediately frowned:

"What? Hadn't I sent a royal physician? What did the physician say?"

Xing Fang looked concerned:

"The physician is stationed at the residence, but Young Master Qing wouldn't let him take his pulse. He has a porcelain bottle with medicine that he takes himself after coughing blood. These past few days, he has only written prescriptions for the medical attendant, instructing them to make the medicine as directed. Later, I had the physician examine the prescription, but he said it was very unusual—half the ingredients promote blood and energy flow, while the other half are very poisonous. He said he had never seen such a formula before. Moreover, since Young Master Qing is pregnant, he should not be taking blood-circulating medicine."

Ling Yehan recalled how Qing Li’s complexion had been getting worse each time he saw him and turned to Xiao Chen:

"When he used his blood to nourish those two pots of flowers before, shouldn’t he be taking tonics for blood and energy?"

Xiao Chen thought for a moment before speaking:

"How did he seem today?"

Xing Fang answered cautiously:

"After breakfast, I went to see him and noticed he seemed pretty tired. I urged him to call the physician again. I wondered if perhaps Young Master Qing has some medical knowledge but isn’t proficient enough, leading him to prescribe the wrong medicine?"

Seeing Qing Li’s pale complexion that morning had worried him. His complexion didn't look like the medicine was working, but since he was under the Emperor’s care, Xing Fang didn’t dare force the physician to examine him. That was why he rushed to the palace, thinking the Emperor might have a solution.

Xiao Chen remembered what Qing Li had said that day—how the Luo people were skilled in both medicine and poison. So, the likelihood of him prescribing the wrong medicine was small. The formula he used was probably just different from what regular doctors use. Still, even so, his pregnancy shouldn’t have led to him coughing blood. The toxic ingredients were likely due to some other health problem.

Since he couldn't leave the palace himself, Xiao Chen turned to Ling Yehan:

"Go to the detached residence later and inquire carefully. If any medicine is needed, have the royal physicians get it."

"Alright."

Xing Fang hesitated before adding:

"There’s one more thing. Yesterday, Young Master Qing said he wanted to paint, so I brought him painting supplies. He painted a portrait of someone and asked me to identify the person. When I looked, it was a portrait of Zhongshuling Zhao. I found it strange—the portrait was very detailed and realistic, but he seemed unaware of Zhongshuling Zhao’s identity."

He kept his suspicions to himself, but ever since seeing the portrait, he had felt uncomfortable, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

Ling Yehan folded his arms, his gaze shifting. Xiao Chen also remained silent, his expression serious, before finally saying:

"I understand. For the next few days, stay at the residence and take good care of him. If his condition worsens, report back immediately."

"Yes."

After Xing Fang left the Purple Palace Hall, Ling Yehan leaned on Xiao Chen’s desk and remarked:

"Qing Li was brought out of Qinghui Pavilion and lived in the mountains for years. Where could he have met Zhao Mengxian? Could Zhao Mengxian have been a customer at Qinghui Pavilion? Truly, you can’t judge a book by its cover."

As if finally catching Zhao Mengxian in a misstep, he tsk-tsked twice. Xiao Chen saw what he was thinking but ignored it. He suddenly recalled the recent report from the secret guards: Zhao Mengxian had been searching for someone at the Dali Temple, and his household had been discreetly inquiring about it. His eyes narrowed:

"Qing Li has never said who the baby's other father was."

Ling Yehan’s eyes widened:

"No way, are you saying Qing Li might be carrying Zhao Mengxian’s child?"

Instantly, a series of scenarios flashed through Ling Yehan’s mind: Zhao Mengxian hiding his identity to visit Qinghui Pavilion, sleeping together with Qing Li, and then abandoning him without taking responsibility. If that were true, Zhao Mengxian was truly awful.

He glanced down at Xiao Chen, suddenly reminded of the striking resemblance between Qing Li and Xiao Chen’s features, and felt a little uncomfortable. He had always felt that Zhao Mengxian acted unusually toward Xiao Chen.

"Don’t spread baseless rumors. I will have this matter investigated. As for his health, make sure you inquire thoroughly when you go later."

Though he had only met Qing Li once, Xiao Chen felt an indescribable connection to him. Perhaps it was because, in this lifetime, no one related by blood had ever done something that hurt themselves for him. He didn’t know how to express closeness, but he genuinely cared about Qing Li’s well-being.

Ling Yehan also felt grateful to Qing Li:

"Alright, I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll go now."

After turning to leave, he spun back around, knelt on one knee before Xiao Chen, gently touched his abdomen, and looked up at him:

"Does it still hurt?"

Xiao Chen, reminded of how Ling Yehan had restrained his hands the previous night, felt a surge of anger. He poked Ling Yehan’s forehead, causing him to topple over. But Ling Yehan just grinned and knelt again:

"I applied medicine for you last night and again secretly this morning. Is it feeling better?"

He even dared to boldly reach for Xiao Chen’s clothes, but Xiao Chen, annoyed by his audacity, kicked him. Ling Yehan didn’t dodge and simply sat cross-legged on the floor:

"Brother, if you kick me now, you can’t kick me tonight."

Xiao Chen laughed in exasperation and raised his leg again, but Ling Yehan grabbed it, looking up with dark eyes fixed on him:

"Brother, this isn’t our past life anymore, and you’re not alone. You can try leaning on me a little."

He had noticed that although Xiao Chen had delegated some court affairs to him, when faced with challenges, he still habitually tried to solve everything himself.

Beside the imperial desk, one looked down while the other looked up, their eyes meeting. For the first time, Xiao Chen seriously considered the suggestion and finally nodded in acknowledgment.

When Ling Yehan left the Purple Palace Hall, his steps were light. Zhang Fu, seeing his cheerful demeanor, felt relieved—it seemed the Emperor had been placated.

After Ling Yehan left, Xiao Chen sat alone behind the imperial desk for a long time. Reflecting on his behavior the previous day and comparing it to his now half-empty desk—a stark contrast to his previous life—he leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly. Perhaps he was already relying on Ling Yehan more than he realized. In his past life, he wouldn’t have had the luxury of indulging in such melodrama.

"Zhang Fu, summon the Minister of Rites for an audience."

"Yes."

Since the epidemic in the capital, Xiao Chen had rarely summoned court officials. Minister of Rites Guo Huai, upon receiving the decree, immediately changed into his court robes and hurried to the palace. He guessed the summons was likely related to ancestral rites. Remembering the earlier proposal for a posthumous title that the Emperor had rejected, he felt uneasy. He had thought conferring a title on the Emperor’s biological father would please him, but instead, it had provoked displeasure. Unaware of the underlying reasons, he regretted having associated too closely with the Earl of Rong’an and Prince Chengxuan.

When he arrived, Xiao Chen sat behind the imperial desk, his figure partially obscured, revealing little.

"Your servant pays respects to Your Majesty. Is the imperial health restored?"

"No major issues. You may sit."

Guo Huai assumed the Emperor would bring up the matter of posthumous honors and grew tense, but instead heard His Majesty ask:

"For this sacrificial ceremony, I wish to select one among the court officials to serve as sacrificial companion. You are knowledgeable in ritual protocols—were there any precedents from previous dynasties?"

Sacrificial companion? Guo Huai was momentarily stunned by the sudden question, but as a high-ranking official capable of leading a ministry, he quickly composed himself and replied:

"To my knowledge, previous dynasties did have precedents for appointing a sacrificial companion. The individual chosen should be a member of the imperial clan. If a crown prince has been designated, he may serve in this role. In the absence of a crown prince, it is typically an adult imperial relative who has been enfeoffed as a prince—sometimes a prince, sometimes an imperial brother. There are also historical instances of an imperial uncle fulfilling this duty."

At this, his thoughts turned once more to Prince Chengxuan. Though only a second-rank commandery prince, he was currently the sole imperial prince in the clan. Could it be that the Emperor intended to appoint Prince Chengxuan? Yet Prince Chengxuan had been in the capital for many days without receiving even a single summons, suggesting he was not held in high favor. When it came to someone truly favored, Guo Huai immediately thought of Marquis Ling Yehan of Jingbian.

Throughout the entire court, no one dared act with such boldness before the Emperor or defy him so openly—except the Marquis of Jingbian. Even the grave offense of disobeying an imperial decree had been lightly dismissed. Moreover, during the Emperor’s recent illness, most officials were denied audience, yet the Marquis visited the palace daily and was never turned away. Thus, the likelihood that the Emperor intended to appoint the Marquis of Jingbian far outweighed that of Prince Chengxuan.

Xiao Chen sipped his tea leisurely:

"Oh? So it seems our dynasty does not even have a single imperial prince worthy of selection."

Guo Huai’s eyelids flickered slightly. Was the Emperor considering enfeoffing a new prince? Normally, princely titles were granted first to imperial relatives with notable achievements. Yet among current imperial kin, while the lack of princes was indeed conspicuous, none had distinguished themselves through merit. Even Prince Chengxuan had contributed nothing during the Emperor’s rise to power; granting him a commandery princedom was already generous.

But if not an imperial relative, could the choice be the Marquis of Jingbian? It was well known throughout the court that the Marquis was regarded as the Emperor’s sworn brother. Even after ascending the throne, the Emperor still allowed the Marquis to address him as "brother," and always responded in kind. The Marquis certainly possessed outstanding merits. Still, the distinction between a first-rank marquis and a non-imperial prince remained considerable.

"Your Majesty, although past dynasties appointed imperial princes as sacrificial companions, our dynasty need not follow every precedent. I believe selecting a meritorious official from the court would also be appropriate."

Xiao Chen glanced at the seasoned minister with quiet amusement:

"Very well. As Minister of Rites, return and prepare a memorial recommending suitable candidates."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Shortly after Guo Huai departed, an envoy from the imperial tailoring workshop arrived:

"Your Majesty, the garments for the Marquis have been delivered."

With that, Zhang Fu led attendants forward, presenting several exquisitely crafted robes.

Xiao Chen lifted his gaze from his desk and froze momentarily at the delicate fabrics before him—silks shimmering like morning dew, in hues of blush, rouge, and tender scarlet, as though every bloom from the imperial gardens had been spun into thread. After a lingering pause, he smiled softly and murmured:

"Well done. Such fresh and elegant attire will surely please the Marquis when he sees it. Reward them handsomely."