Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Qi Guan got up early and headed to the Eastern Palace to deliver insect-repelling pouches for the Crown Prince—that young prince had inexplicably pestered him since yesterday’s feast about the scent on his person. He said he was afraid of mosquitoes, snakes, and such, so he had made herbal sachets to ward them off, and the prince had clamored for his own, which made him get up early.

Passing by the Wanshou Palace, he caught a glimpse of a figure dashing out of the emperor’s chambers in a flurry. Qi Guan frowned, but before he could take two steps, Xiaoyun came running toward him, crying as he ran, looking utterly miserable.

Clutching his sachet, Qi Guan frowned deeply. “What’s happened to His Majesty?”

Panicked, Xiaoyun grabbed at his sleeve. “His Majesty has abdominal pain… and he’s vomiting blood again! Worse than last time—His Majesty can’t bear it…”

Before he finished, Qi Guan had already dropped what he was holding and sprinted straight into the bedchamber, with Xiaoyun wiping away tears as he followed.

Qi Guan kicked open the door to find Fang Zhihe curled up at the edge of the bed, clutching his stomach and trembling violently, with dark red smears around his lips. Catching a vague glimpse of Qi Guan’s figure, he reached out a shaking hand and gasped, “Lanning… I’m dying from the pain…” A faint, broken smile crossed his face.

Qi Guan was furious with him! How could he smile like that at a time like this?

After some frantic effort, Qi Guan first forced a blood-clotting pill into his mouth, then took his pulse. Seeing Fang Zhihe’s face as pale as paper and the dark red stains on his lips, anger flared within him. “You’re a damn fool! How can you disregard your own health like this? Doesn’t it hurt when it flares up?”

The pain in Fang Zhihe’s body had eased considerably, and he was feeling drowsy, wanting to sleep. Idly stroking Qi Guan’s sleeve, he murmured softly, “I told him… I was unwell… but he wouldn’t listen…”

Qi Guan began inserting acupuncture needles and administering medicine. At those words, he paused, accidentally pricking his own flesh. Frowning briefly, he repositioned the needle. Once he had somewhat alleviated Fang Zhihe’s cold symptoms, he told Xiaoyun to fetch a bucket of hot water, then started to undress Fang Zhihe himself.

Fang Zhihe, exhausted after a night of torment, had finally fallen asleep.

Looking at the wounds on his lower body, Qi Guan felt the veins on his forehead throb. He muttered under his breath, barely audible, “A hero to the outside world, but how can he treat his own wife so badly at home…”

He dared not move too roughly—allowing Fang Zhihe a good night’s sleep was no easy feat. Taking the hot water from Xiaoyun, he sent him out to rest, then wrung out a cloth and began wiping Fang Zhihe down and applying medicine.

Though the injuries were still a mass of bruises, they were an improvement over last time. Qi Guan watched Fang Zhihe’s abdomen twitch slightly and pressed it gently. Beneath his hand, it spasmed badly, likely from cold aggravating his original stomach pain, which had caused the severe vomiting.

Fortunately, a surge of pure Yang energy had protected Fang Zhihe’s heart meridian, preventing a lung hemorrhage.

Qi Guan didn’t know what to say. The wounds had been inflicted by Lu Wuyou, and the life-saving intervention was also Lu Wuyou’s doing—but if not for those wounds, no rescue would have been needed.

Fuming, Qi Guan stood up abruptly, glared at Fang Zhihe, tucked the blanket around him, and stormed out.

Rushing outside the bedchamber, he ran straight into a certain young prince who was on his way to the Grand Tutor’s residence for lessons. The prince stepped on something soft—he thought it was just a thick patch of snow, but looking down, he saw a sachet the size of a small pouch.

Qi Guan came face to face with him. Remembering how Fang Zhihe often said, “The Crown Prince must be guided with care,” he straightened himself and put on an elegant smile. “Good morning, Your Highness. Off to your studies?”

The young prince glanced at him, bent down, and picked up the sachet from the ground. He sniffed it—his eyes lit up.

“Lord Qi, is this the insect-repelling sachet you mentioned?” Without acknowledging Qi Guan’s pointless question, he noticed the scent matched exactly what Qi Guan wore.

Seeing the sachet now stained with snow and mud, Qi Guan was momentarily embarrassed. He wanted to offer a fresh one but found he hadn’t brought any. He could only smile apologetically. “Your Highness, this one is dirty. I’ll bring you a new one after you finish your lessons today.”

Lu Yuan thought for a moment, then nodded. He bowed to Qi Guan and said, “Thank you, my lord. I shall head to the Grand Tutor now.”

Qi Guan hastened to return the bow. He thought Lu Yuan seemed more composed than before. Seeing the prince still watching him, he said blankly, “I’ll be waiting for Your Highness’s return at the Eastern Palace.”

Lu Yuan looked back at him and smiled. “Very well.”

By evening, Fang Zhihe finally woke fully from his long sleep. He had been forced to drink some medicine in between, and now his stomach felt somewhat comfortable, though the lower part of his body was still sore—manageable, though.

Leaning on the bed frame, he slowly got up, his mind turning to the events of the previous night. Lu Wuyou’s sudden shift in mood must have been instigated by someone. As for what happened later… the fact that the man had saved him with pure Yang inner energy after seeing him vomit so much blood—Fang Zhihe’s lips curled slightly. Reaching for a cup of cold tea on the table, he raised it to his mouth.

Suddenly, the image of Qi Guan stamping his feet in fury flashed through his mind. He set the cup down with a sigh and muttered, “Since when did becoming emperor make me so tied down?”

He picked up two memorials to read, frowning again as he reached for his vermilion brush.

—Before summer, the river dikes must be reinforced, and emergency relief measures for the flood season must be prepared. Imperial Censor Yun will personally visit Fuzhou in mid-April.

The memorial addressed the recurring problem of flooding in Fuzhou. Almost every year in May and June, the Yangtze River swelled due to incessant plum rains, killing many and destroying the homes of those living along its banks. Despite annual preparations, every year still saw people displaced and many dead. Corpses rotting in the water often led to epidemics.

Ever since he began governing, flooding had been a constant headache for Fang Zhihe. He had even visited disaster zones personally to oversee flood control, but the severe epidemic there made Qi Guan refuse to let him stay long, fearing he would bring back a life-threatening illness.

Fang Zhihe massaged his temples, pondering the flood issue. He picked up his brush, then put it down again, just as Lu Wuyou pushed open the door, carrying a bowl of silver ear and lotus seed soup.

“Yunzheng’s suggestion last time—I wonder if it’s feasible…” Fang Zhihe muttered to himself, propping his chin on one hand and resting his elbow on the table.

Lu Wuyou set the soup beside him and said simply, “Eat.”

Fang Zhihe drew a circle on a blank sheet of paper, then with his vermilion brush made a few lines next to it. Something bumped his arm. Frowning, he looked up—and saw a hand. The hand, fingers long and strong, pinched him lightly, sending a jolt of pain through him.

Fang Zhihe couldn’t help but yelp. Then he saw the hand’s owner push the lotus seed soup toward him with a dark expression. “Eat it.”

Fang Zhihe stared blankly. “…Oh.” He cradled the bowl with both hands, carefully drew it in front of him, and bypassed the spoon, leaning down to take a sip from the rim. “…Mm, too hot.”

Lu Wuyou looked disgusted. He frowned and smacked Fang Zhihe’s arm. “Use the spoon. Blow on it first.”

Fang Zhihe nodded, licked his lips, and picked up the spoon.

Lu Wuyou’s eyes fell on the memorials on the desk. His brows knitted. “It’s already the end of the third month. Shouldn’t you put flood control on the agenda?”

Fang Zhihe swallowed a mouthful of soup, glanced up at him, then looked down again. “Mm. If there’s no effective way to manage the floods come May and June, the people along the river will suffer again.”

Lu Wuyou glanced at his reply and raised an eyebrow. “You’re sending Yunzheng as imperial commissioner to handle the floods?”

Fang Zhihe wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth. “Mm.”

Lu Wuyou sneered. “Have you gone mad from illness? You’re sending someone from the Censorate to deal with floods? What can they do besides impeaching people?”

Fang Zhihe set down the bowl, smacked his lips, and wiped them again before replying, “Yunzheng rose up from local government. He was promoted for good performance. Back then, he handled the logistics after the Xunjiang River flooding. Lord Lu, why must you judge people so broadly without even looking into their background?”

Lu Wuyou fell silent for a few seconds, then picked up the vermilion brush and drew several circles on a map at the corner of the desk—marking several branches of the Yangtze River. Fuzhou was surrounded by water on three sides and backed by mountains. Outside the flood season, it was a beautiful, fertile land where people lived by farming and fishing. But when the floods came, everything was destroyed.

Fang Zhihe squinted at the tributaries Lu Wuyou had drawn. “The tributaries also hold a lot of water. The key is drainage. The river’s current is too strong; relying solely on tributaries won’t work.”

Lu Wuyou marked nearby farmland on the map and said calmly, “We don’t have to limit ourselves to existing river channels. We can dig new channels through nearby farmland to divert the flow. A few channels might be overwhelmed, but hundreds can handle it.”

“Then we use dikes to block the main current of the main river, so the diverted water won’t catch us off guard…” Fang Zhihe murmured.

“Excellent, excellent idea!” Fang Zhihe grabbed a black ink brush and began writing enthusiastically next to his rough sketch. After a short paragraph, he started drawing a diagram.

Lu Wuyou took the bowl away. When he returned, Fang Zhihe had finished both his writing and his diagram. He presented it triumphantly to Lu Wuyou, who glanced at it, then pressed Fang Zhihe’s hand on the table, speaking solemnly, “Your Majesty, for this flood control mission, I request to go.”

Fang Zhihe was still absorbed in the diagram. At these words, he paused. He shook his head, trying to withdraw his hand, but then he realized what was happening. Instinctively, he wanted to refuse, but he softened his tone. “Yuntai, I know it’s because of what happened to your parents… but that place is dangerous. I don’t want you to go.” He lowered his head, afraid that Lu Wuyou would lose his temper.

Lu Wuyou, however, remained calm. He simply asked, “If the people of the realm can endure hardship, how can I not? ‘The people are most important, the state comes next, and the ruler is the least important.’ Besides, I am a minister. How can I not bear the people’s toil and benefit them?”

Fang Zhihe bit his lip and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want you to take the risk. I can go, but you cannot.”

“Ridiculous.” Lu Wuyou sneered. “You are the Son of Heaven, far more precious than a mere minister.”

Fang Zhihe still shook his head. “You cannot go.”

Impatient, Lu Wuyou reached up and pinched Fang Zhihe’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. Staring into his eyes, he asked word by word, “My parents were killed by the floods. My sister died of the epidemic. How can I not go? Are those commoners not more important than me?”

“What nonsense are you talking!” Fang Zhihe slapped his hand away and shouted, “None of them is more important than you! Only I am unimportant. I am the most insignificant, the least deserving of warmth in this world.”

After he finished shouting, he lost all strength and sat there, dazed. Lu Wuyou was also stunned by his words for a long while before saying, "I must go. They are your people, and it's only right I protect them for you."

Fang Zhihe trembled and snapped, "I forbid it!"

Lu Wuyou patted his head. "Changlin would never get angry with me like this. Be good."

Fang Zhihe's back shuddered. He fell silent.

Lu Wuyou knelt down and kissed his face. "If Changlin were emperor, he would surely have me guard this land for him... He is so innocent and kind, completely oblivious to danger. Seeing the people suffer, he would be frantic with worry."

Fang Zhihe's eyelashes trembled, and he swallowed the bloody taste rising in his throat.

Lu Wuyou brushed the corner of his eye and said with a smile, "How did you end up as emperor? You are so wicked..."

Fang Zhihe closed his eyes and broke into a smile. "It's because my little brother didn't want it."

Lu Wuyou paused. Fang Zhihe said with a cheerful smile, "So I had to pick it up and claim it."

He smiled as if he had gotten a great bargain. Lu Wuyou, at a loss for words, simply withdrew his hand and wiped his mouth again as if it were dirty.

Fang Zhihe watched, eyes wide, his heart numb.

This throne was something he had picked up, something his little brother didn't want.