BEGW C92

Chapter 92

Jiang Yuxun’s riding skills might not rival Ying Changchuan’s, but they were still far above the average level of this era.

However, the official roads of Zhaodu were always crowded with pedestrians. Worried about disturbing others, he never rode his horse too fast.

The Dingwumu Vast Grasslands stretched endlessly in every direction.

Only today—after following the Zhenbei Army here—did Jiang Yuxun truly understand what it meant to gallop freely at full speed.

The morning air on the grasslands carried a sharp chill, yet Jiang Yuxun’s blood had already begun to boil in the mad dash forward.

His heart, too, had long since started pounding wildly in time with the hoofbeats.

In that instant, he couldn’t help but gently return Ying Changchuan’s embrace.

The faint scent of dragon-ambergris wrapped around him once more. Ying Changchuan rested a hand on Jiang Yuxun’s back, patting it lightly, unhurriedly.

At the same time, he pressed a series of soft, fleeting kisses to Jiang Yuxun’s forehead.

The wind across the grasslands seemed to still at that moment.

The emerald grass that had been swaying with the breeze appeared to stop dancing as well.

It was as if the entire world had been paused.

After a few breaths, Jiang Yuxun’s heartbeat finally began to return to normal.

Feeling the strength still holding his body in place, he finally realized—

He was still in Ying Changchuan’s arms.

“Cough, cough…” Jiang Yuxun lifted his head, cleared his throat awkwardly, and said, “Your Majesty, please put this subject down.”

As he spoke, he placed a hand on Ying Changchuan’s shoulder and applied a bit of pressure, trying to push him away.

The Zhenbei Army was not far behind; they could arrive at the camp at any moment.

The thought of being caught like this made him increasingly nervous.

Who knew that Ying Changchuan not only ignored him, but instead held him even tighter, speaking calmly by his ear,

“No rush.”

Perhaps because it was still early morning and he had only just woken, Ying Changchuan’s voice was lower and hoarser than usual.

It also carried its familiar trace of lazy ease.

“…No rush?” Jiang Yuxun was startled by those words.

If someone saw the Son of Heaven of Great Zhou holding the Minister of State like this, would that really be acceptable?

He himself didn’t mind—but did Ying Changchuan have no regard for appearances at all?

The camp at dawn was so quiet that only a few birds could be heard.

As the words fell, Jiang Yuxun faintly caught the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

He finally raised his head and saw—

The Zhenbei Army had already appeared at the far end of the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before they reached this place.

His unease deepened, and without realizing it, the name on his lips shifted from “Your Majesty” to “Ying Changchuan.”

“Hurry, hurry!” Jiang Yuxun stared anxiously at the armored soldiers in the distance. “Ying Changchuan, put me down—”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly to another tent nearby.

Standing by the felt curtain, the Dingbei Grand General sucked in a sharp breath.

Th-this… what was going on?!

How could Lord Jiang dare to call His Majesty by name?! Wasn’t he afraid the emperor would be angered?

Shock and instinctive fear tangled together as the general clenched the curtain in his hand.

The cold morning wind rushed at him, blowing against his thin undergarment as he stood at the tent entrance.

The biting chill finally snapped him back to his senses—

Calling him by name? What did that matter anymore?

Lord Jiang was already in His Majesty’s arms! Did names even matter at this point?

Heavens above…

One of them was his direct superior.

The other was an old acquaintance—the son of a colleague.

Though their ages weren’t vastly different, to the Dingbei Grand General, it felt like an entire generation apart.

…The impact of this scene on him was immense.

Years of military service honed his sense of danger, telling him he should immediately retreat into his tent before His Majesty noticed him, pretending nothing had happened.

Yet he stood frozen in place, unable to move.

His thoughts spiraled uncontrollably…

Could it be that he was overthinking things?

Was it possible that the emperor and Lord Jiang weren’t that kind of relationship?

But almost the moment the thought arose, he rejected it himself.

If he remembered correctly…

Jiang Yuxun was from Lanze Commandery.

Lanze lay on the very edge of Great Zhou. Looking across the entire commandery, the only person who could possibly be connected to His Majesty was Jiang Yuxun.

He had guessed everything right—except for one thing.

The gender of His Majesty’s beloved.

Another soft “Ying Changchuan” reached the general’s ears.

He saw it clearly—

The Son of Heaven carefully placed a kiss at Jiang Yuxun’s temple.

The Dingbei Grand General’s breath caught. As if waking from a dream, he retreated into his tent at top speed and meticulously pulled the felt curtain shut.

As he steadied his racing heart, he silently prayed—

Please let His Majesty not have seen me.

…

Outside the tent, the Zhenbei Army was about to arrive.

The earth trembled in rhythm with the hooves.

“Only a few days apart, yet you treat me as though we’re strangers,” Ying Changchuan said, feigning helplessness.

Strangers? Jiang Yuxun’s eyes widened.

Ying Changchuan was truly shamelessly lying through his teeth!

In broad daylight, with the Zhenbei Army about to arrive—surely they couldn’t do that here again, like last time?!

He retorted, “Then tell me, Your Majesty, what exactly should this subject do?”

The instant he heard “Your Majesty,” Ying Changchuan frowned slightly.

“Do not call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

By all logic, Jiang Yuxun should have switched to calling him by name.

But a strange thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.

…What if he tried calling him something else?

Maybe that would make him loosen his grip.

Before he could reject the idea, Ying Changchuan—sensing the distraction—leaned closer and murmured by his ear,

“Why have you suddenly spaced out, my dear minister?”

“Ah?” Startled, Jiang Yuxun instinctively tightened his arms around Ying Changchuan’s neck. Alarm bells blared in his mind.

He wanted to say “nothing,” but his mouth betrayed him.

Clutching the fabric beneath his fingers, he whispered in a voice as soft as a mosquito,

“I—I was thinking… if I used a different form of address, would Your Majesty put me down?”

On the Dingwumu Grasslands, the red sun slowly rose in the east, illuminating the silk-like streams winding across the plains.

An eagle spread its wings across the sky. By the stables, one black and one white warhorse nuzzled each other gently.

Ying Changchuan was still holding Jiang Yuxun. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against his, and asked softly—so quietly that only the two of them could hear:

“What form of address?”

As he spoke, his pace slowed deliberately, his tone growing faintly dangerous.

Jiang Yuxun bit his lower lip unconsciously and spoke awkwardly,

“…Ge—gege?”

(“…Brother…?”)

He was done for.

The moment the words left his mouth, his heart dropped with a heavy thud.

Were those words something one could just casually say?!

Ying Changchuan’s fingers paused. He slowly tightened his embrace, kissing the tip of Jiang Yuxun’s nose as he murmured,

“Be serious. Call me properly once more, and I’ll let you go.”

The tension in Jiang Yuxun’s chest snapped taut.

…It was just one word, wasn’t it?

Ying Changchuan was older than him—there was no loss in calling him that.

Reason told him it was nothing serious.

Yet he still had to work himself up repeatedly.

After a few breaths, he finally inhaled deeply and said, trembling,

“Brother…”

His voice quivered with nervousness, carrying a faint breathy softness.

Like meltwater from distant snow-capped mountains flowing into a stream, it brushed gently against Ying Changchuan’s heart—then drifted eastward on the breeze.

From the corner of his eye, Ying Changchuan saw that the vanguard of the Zhenbei Army was only a few li away.

Those two simple words were like a tiny spark falling onto the late-spring grasslands.

All it needed was a breeze—to ignite a wildfire.

At this moment, Ying Changchuan felt a trace of regret.

Had he known this would happen, he shouldn’t have lingered here with Jiang Yuxun.

He should have taken him into the tent earlier.

The Son of Heaven placed one last gentle kiss at Jiang Yuxun’s temple, then—reluctantly—set him down.

The four great nobles under King Qiuqi led all their people in surrender to Great Zhou.

Busy with military affairs, the emperor did not attend personally; the Dingbei Grand General accepted the surrender on Zhou’s behalf.

At noon, the blazing sunlight turned the stream’s surface silver.

The surrender ceremony had not yet officially begun, but it was already the hottest part of the day. Zhou soldiers had changed into light garments.

The Zherou nobles, however, wore their most splendid fur robes to appear solemn—soon drenched with sweat.

Even so, they offered no complaints, eager instead to show greater reverence.

Tens of thousands under King Qiuqi were scattered across the Dingwumu Grasslands.

News of the battle days ago and the current situation had already reached every corner.

Around the ceremonial ground, herders crowded in layers, inside and out.

Jiang Yuxun, now serving as Minister of State, was among them.

Before the ceremony began, seeing the herders whispering among themselves, he lowered his voice and asked the Dingbei Grand General beside him,

“General, can you understand what they’re saying?”

The Dingbei Grand General had lived on the Zhou–Zherou border for most of his life; their language posed little difficulty.

“In reply to Lord Jiang—they’re discussing whether they’ll be able to eat their fill in the future.”

…Eat their fill?

Jiang Yuxun paused.

The general hesitated, then translated carefully, sentence by sentence.

Under the scorching sun, Zherou herders looked toward the Zhou officials on the high platform and murmured:

“…The Zhou may be good at fighting, but they aren’t gods. This year my family lost a great many cattle and sheep. I don’t know what we’ll do next year.”

“Sigh… hard to say. Even the animals that survived are weak and sick. It should be birthing season, but mine haven’t shown much movement.”

“These next two years will be hard to endure…”

Unlike Zhou, the Zherou—who lived by nomadism—had only formed a clear sense of tribal identity a century ago.

Aside from a handful of nobles, ordinary herders cared little about who they “belonged” to.

All they cared about was whether they could eat.

Even the so-called “warriors” weren’t truly loyal to the Zherou king—they simply followed him in search of survival.

The conversations went back and forth like this. Soon, the general finished translating.

After speaking, he unexpectedly raised his hand and bowed to Jiang Yuxun.

Great Zhou valued ritual, but Jiang Yuxun’s father had once been of equal rank with the general. He had always been treated as a junior—never with such a formal salute.

This was… overly respectful.

Startled, Jiang Yuxun hurriedly returned the salute.

The Dingbei Grand General panicked, leaning back and waving his hands.

“I wouldn’t dare! Lord Jiang, please don’t be so courteous—”

Beads of sweat the size of soybeans appeared on his forehead; he looked extremely tense.

…What was going on?

A bad feeling rose in Jiang Yuxun’s chest.

Did the general know about his relationship with Ying Changchuan?

His heart skipped. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze.

The Prefect of Zefang Commandery was also present today; this land would soon fall under his jurisdiction.

Jiang Yuxun turned to him and smoothly changed the topic.

“As for the livelihood of the surrendered Zherou tribes, how does Your Excellency plan to address it?”

The prefect, who had been listening carefully, answered earnestly,

“This year, grain must be transported from Zhaodu to relieve the immediate crisis. As for the future… to be honest, I haven’t decided yet. What advice does Lord Jiang have?”

The Qiuqi tribe had only recently surrendered; such matters could not be settled hastily.

The prefect was a practical man. He spoke frankly rather than evasively.

Jiang Yuxun nodded and raised his teacup.

“At the border between the Qiuqi lands and Zefang Commandery, one can both graze livestock and farm. Relying solely on herding means living at the mercy of Heaven—no one can guarantee that disasters like this year won’t happen again. Therefore… in my view, the people here should combine farming and herding, letting agriculture and pastoralism advance side by side.”

This wasn’t merely Jiang Yuxun’s opinion—it was the objective course of future history.

In the original timeline, after the Zhou–Zherou wars, some Zherou fled west through Qiaoluo and gradually vanished from history.

Many more integrated with the Central Plains people.

The inhabitants of this land shifted from “nomadic” to “settled pastoralism.”

Life became steadily more stable and prosperous.

The prefect paused, then nodded repeatedly, hurriedly recording Jiang Yuxun’s words.

After some casual conversation, the surrender ceremony formally began.

Several Zherou nobles drew knives, cut their fingertips, swallowed their blood with strong liquor, and others stepped forward to dance in celebration.

Colorful ribbons fluttered in the wind.

Torches ignited the air of the grasslands.

The chants they uttered were not Zherou at all, but incantations even the Dingbei Grand General had never heard.

To Jiang Yuxun, these rites were mysterious and unfamiliar. Having worked in a museum in his previous life—and loving different cultures—he watched intently.

But for Jiang Yuxun and the other Zhou officials, the true focus came afterward.

—To demonstrate sincerity, the four Zherou nobles ordered their men to bring a group of people forward.

Unlike the Zherou soldiers restraining them, these people wore their hair bound to the right and dressed entirely as Zhou.

Before Jiang Yuxun could see them clearly, they dropped to their knees with a loud thump and began kowtowing furiously.

One clasped his hands together, crying and begging,

“Spare us! Lord Jiang, spare us—”

“We acted against our will! We were deceived by those shamans from Zhaodu—they led us astray! Please see the truth!”

Another had already collapsed to the ground, trembling as he explained himself over and over.

“Yes, yes… it’s all the Listening Heaven Platform’s fault! We lived peacefully in the north. If they hadn’t incited us and given us money and supplies, how could we have ever found our way into the desert on our own?”

Others were forced to kneel as well, yet kept their backs straight, utterly unrepentant.

They were clearly the devoted believers—and organizers—of the Listening Heaven Platform.

The soldiers guarding them were battle-hardened men, their bodies steeped in killing intent, ring-pommel blades gleaming coldly in their hands.

The believers were terrified out of their wits, desperate to confess everything that had happened.

The herders watching—unable to understand—looked up at the platform in confusion.

Jiang Yuxun set down his teacup and raised his hand.

The noisy platform fell instantly silent, all eyes turning to him.

He said nothing more, only calling over the Xuanjin Inspector and giving a low command,

“Take them away. Interrogate them thoroughly in the military tent.”

“Yes, Lord Jiang!” the inspector replied.

The men were dragged away, still kowtowing and begging.

That afternoon, the surrender ceremony concluded.

After receiving the prefect’s assurances, the herders mounted their horses and returned home, spreading the news across the grasslands.

After inspecting supplies and learning the deployment situation, the emperor finally gained half a day of leisure.

He and Jiang Yuxun rode together, aimlessly heading deeper into the Dingwumu Grasslands.

In modern times, Dingwumu was a nationally famous scenic site.

Unfortunately, Jiang Yuxun had never had the chance to visit before inexplicably traveling to this era.

In recent days, following the Zhenbei Army, he had been occupied almost entirely with official duties.

Today, riding out here, he could finally enjoy the northern scenery.

So busy was he taking it all in that he failed to notice the emperor’s gaze lingering on him.

…

Deep within Dingwumu, the grass had already risen past the horses’ hooves.

Only when immersed within could one see—besides green grass—countless white wildflowers dancing in the wind.

Heavy clouds like piled snow pressed against the horizon, casting distinct shadows over the plains.

It was a magnificent sight.

At some point, Jiang Yuxun loosened his reins.

He breathed in air scented with grass while idly stroking the horse’s neck.

Unguided, the white horse wandered to the stream and lowered its head to drink.

Jiang Yuxun jumped down as well, sitting on the small slope by the water, squinting at the drifting clouds.

He casually picked a few wildflowers and placed them by the stream.

Though King Qiuqi had been defeated, two other kings still eyed the northwest hungrily. The war was not yet over.

Yet for this moment, the surroundings were rare and peaceful.

The afternoon grasslands were warm.

After sitting awhile, Jiang Yuxun bent down and gently stirred the water.

His long hair fell with the motion, dipping into the stream and wetting a strand.

The instant his fingers touched the water, a piercing chill shot through them.

“Hiss…” He pulled his hand back. “Why is the water so cold?”

The emperor had dismounted and sat beside him without his noticing.

“These waters come from Xiaobei Cliff,” Ying Changchuan said, squinting northward. “It’s the highest peak in the north. Snow never melts at the summit. Only the snow at mid-mountain and the base melts in spring and summer, feeding the streams and nourishing this land.”

As he spoke, he wrapped Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips in his palm, warming them.

The distance between them shrank until their bodies nearly touched.

After a few breaths, Jiang Yuxun—seated slightly lower—hesitated, then rested his head against Ying Changchuan’s shoulder.

Hidden beneath his hair, his earlobes flushed faintly red.

Feeling awkward, he meant to sit upright again, but Ying Changchuan lifted an arm and drew him in.

The forehead that had only lightly touched his shoulder now rested there firmly.

A faint buzzing filled Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

He closed his eyes and pretended nothing had happened.

“In the future, let’s go to Xiaobei Cliff as well.”

The horses, done drinking, wandered off to graze.

Ying Changchuan gently stroked Jiang Yuxun’s hair.

“Alright.”

A trace of a smile curved the emperor’s lips.

It was time for the midday rest.

Jiang Yuxun intended to nap briefly against his shoulder, but to his surprise, the faint drowsiness vanished.

The two had only just reunited and hadn’t been particularly intimate.

…And they’d been apart for several days.

Thinking of how he had just leaned in on his own initiative, his heart began pounding wildly.

The place on his back being caressed felt strangely soft and unfamiliar.

He cautiously opened his eyes and glanced at Ying Changchuan from the corner of his vision.

The stream reflected in those ash-gray eyes, making them appear even clearer.

…Ying Changchuan seemed as calm as ever.

But instinct told Jiang Yuxun—this was only an illusion.

The Dingwumu Grasslands lay utterly still.

Between heaven and earth, there seemed to be nothing but grass, water, wildflowers, and white clouds.

Sitting beside Ying Changchuan on the soft grass, a strange thought arose in Jiang Yuxun’s mind.

—He had to expose Ying Changchuan’s façade.

With that thought, he suddenly looked up.

Before the emperor could react, Jiang Yuxun carefully raised both hands from the grass.

He leaned in again, turning slightly to wrap his arms around Ying Changchuan’s waist.

As if that weren’t enough, he adjusted his position and gently rubbed his forehead against Ying Changchuan’s chin.

It was late spring; Ying Changchuan wore only a single layer.

Through the thin fabric, Jiang Yuxun could clearly feel the emperor’s defined abs.

Before he could realize the danger and let go, Ying Changchuan had already pressed down on the back of his hands—

Pinning them against his own waist.

Jiang Yuxun instinctively tried to sit up, but it was too late.

Their gazes tangled.

In eyes that had been clear just moments ago, a storm brewed—as if intoxicated.

The next instant, Jiang Yuxun’s view flipped.

The one who had been sitting by the stream was pressed down onto the ground.

Soft grass and wildflowers cushioned his head.

An unfamiliar fragrance filled his nose.

“Ah—”

The grasslands and stream vanished.

All that remained in his vision was a slice of blue sky—

And Ying Changchuan’s deep, dark eyes.

 

• 策馬飛騰 → to gallop freely at full speed — often used to symbolize absolute freedom in classical prose.