BEGW C101

Chapter 101

The sandy ground was littered with—broken stones and gravel—and the carriage jolted nonstop as it traveled across it.

With every violent sway, the bronze bells hanging from the four corners of the carriage chimed along, ding-ding, dang-dang, drowning out every sound inside the cabin.

The vast sky above was cloudless for tens of thousands of li, and at the far end of the sands, mirages shimmered into being.

Desire sparked like flint, igniting the carriage. Before long, the air itself grew heated and restless.

Beyond the thin wooden walls of the carriage lay nothing but barren sand and Gobi.

Even worse—there were the soldiers driving the carriage, and the attendant eunuchs riding alongside.

…The war might be over, but the time and place were completely wrong.

Was Ying Changchuan’s nerve not a little too big?!

Dark eyes flickered with agitation.

As if he already knew what Jiang Yuxun was about to say, Ying Changchuan silenced him with a kiss before he could speak—

and at the same time, gently slipped his fingers downward.

Separated only by the loosened summer robe left rumpled from sleep, a spark landed on Jiang Yuxun in an instant.

His eyes flew wide open, his breathing trembling.

No matter how large the carriage was, it could never compare to a bedchamber.

At this moment, the person pinned beneath him had nowhere to hide.

……

So what exactly had Ying Changchuan been doing during all that time he was late?

Now Jiang Yuxun finally had his answer.

The carriage slowly left the sandy stretch behind. The sunlight that had been slanting in earlier climbed, unnoticed, to the center of the sky.

Jiang Yuxun lay with his head resting on Ying Changchuan’s knee, his gaze unfocused, exhaustion written all over his face.

Inside the small carriage, besides the lingering incense, there was now an unmistakable, face-heating atmosphere.

A body weakened by years of illness was, after all, not in the best condition.

Along with it, Jiang Yuxun’s desire was far lighter than that of most people.

Even though Ying Changchuan had only used his hands, a little roughness had been enough to drain him completely.

Now he barely had the strength to lift a hand—or even blink.

Trying such a thing for the first time, Jiang Yuxun was utterly spent, his mind blank.

He heavily closed his eyes, wanting to use the silk handkerchief that had somehow slipped from his sleeve to cover his face and play ostrich.

But his fingers and wrists were nothing but numb weakness.

Forget grabbing the handkerchief—he couldn’t even lift his hand.

Sensing the movement of the person on his lap, Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze, casually brushing aside the long hair by Jiang Yuxun’s ear as he asked,

“What is it?”

“…I want the handkerchief.”

Jiang Yuxun’s voice was thick with fatigue now, so drowsy it almost sounded drunk.

The emperor picked up the silk cloth for him—but did not place it in Jiang Yuxun’s hand.

Instead, he frowned slightly, lifted Jiang Yuxun’s hand, and carefully wiped it clean.

What… was Ying Changchuan doing?

Too tired to sit up, Jiang Yuxun could only steal glances from the corner of his eye.

The long, slender fingers were tinged faintly pink, trembling slightly in Ying Changchuan’s grasp.

And amid that pale flush, a faint trace of clouded residue stood out all the more glaringly.

“Wait a moment,” Ying Changchuan said, utterly serious in both tone and manner.

“It seems I didn’t clean things thoroughly earlier.”

As if the person who had just done that inside the carriage… wasn’t him at all.

Just as Jiang Yuxun was studying Ying Changchuan’s expression, trying to find proof that this man’s shamelessness wasn’t quite as thick as he feared—

suddenly, hoofbeats sounded outside the carriage.

A rider reined in nearby and called out loudly,

“Reporting to Your Majesty! The army is about to enter Zefang Commandery territory. Shall we halt here to rest?”

The instant the voice rang out, Jiang Yuxun instinctively held his breath, daring not make a single sound.

He was terrified that even the slightest noise would give away what he and Ying Changchuan had just been doing.

The faint trace on his fingers had long been wiped clean.

Yet Ying Changchuan still meticulously polished away nonexistent marks, answering the soldier outside with casual indifference:

“No need. Continue forward.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Only after the hoofbeats faded completely did Jiang Yuxun finally grab the silk cloth that was still misbehaving in his fingers and mutter in a low, deeply aggrieved voice:

“I’ve fallen. I’ve truly fallen.”

What he had just done—wasn’t that the very definition of “colluding in guilt”, complete with guilty nerves?

Ying Changchuan paused. Then he smiled at Jiang Yuxun.

“That’s your only takeaway, my dear minister?”

Jiang Yuxun looked puzzled. “What else should there be?”

Though the carriage had left the sand behind, the jolting had not yet ended.

Amid the creaking of the carriage, Ying Changchuan suddenly leaned down close again.

“How was my body?” he murmured.

“Has Lord Jiang finished his inspection?”

Jiang Yuxun: “……”

I knew it.

I really shouldn’t expect anything decent from this thoroughly indecent man.

Stared at like that, Jiang Yuxun instinctively tried to turn away—

but the moment he realized what his head was resting on, he froze.

“…It— it’s quite good.”

The instant the words left his mouth, his ears rang loudly.

Ying Changchuan truly was unmatched in martial skill. Months on campaign without injury.

Most importantly—

his body really was in excellent condition.

In every sense.

Satisfied at last, the emperor finally let him go.

He picked up the book that had somehow fallen into the corner of the carriage and been crushed into a wrinkled mess, flipping through it page by page.

“Sleep a little longer,” Ying Changchuan said softly.

“When you wake up hungry, we’ll have lunch.”

What had been mere fatigue suddenly deepened into drowsiness at those words.

Jiang Yuxun nodded lightly, resting his head once more on the emperor’s knee and closing his eyes.

The carriage had yet to reach Zefang Commandery. Outside was still a stretch of sand.

But unlike the last time they passed through here on the way back to Zhaodu, though yellow sands still remained, the howling, beastlike winds were gone.

Cishui was close now. Birdsong and the sound of water drifted in.

In the distance, a patch of fresh green swayed gently with the summer breeze.

Between heaven and earth, everything had already changed.

This time, they did not linger long in Zefang Commandery.

Almost without pause, they followed the official road straight south toward Zhaodu.

When they arrived, it was the hottest time of the year.

Even the Xianyou Palace—meant to escape the summer heat—rang with cicada cries every few days.

The first thing Jiang Yuxun did upon returning was roll a full circle on the bed in the rear hall of Liuyun Palace, burying his face in the pillow.

“…Finally home!”

From the moment he received news of the Taoyan snow disaster while resting at home last winter solstice, everything afterward had felt like life pressed fast-forward—swift, relentless.

By the time he caught his breath, the snow disaster was long over, and the blazing midsummer sun scorched the skin.

Even the stone that had weighed on his heart since transmigrating—the Zhou–Rou war—had ended.

And even his relationship with Ying Changchuan… had completely transformed.

Recalling that first day, when he’d been thrown into the imperial prison—

Jiang Yuxun suddenly felt as though everything since then had been a dream.

After being wound tight for over half a year, the moment he relaxed, exhaustion surged like a tide.

He rolled over slowly, staring at the canopy above the bed in a daze.

He even pinched himself lightly, just to confirm whether this was real.

At that moment, the door to Liuyun Palace sounded softly.

Before Jiang Yuxun could speak, it slowly opened.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the emperor in black step inside.

That pinch had been too light—barely painful at all.

Still pondering whether he was dreaming, Jiang Yuxun didn’t spare Ying Changchuan much attention.

Ying Changchuan didn’t mind in the slightest.

He sat down slowly by the bed.

“What is my dear minister thinking about?”

“I’m wondering whether all of this… might just be a dream,” Jiang Yuxun said languidly, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe when I wake up, I’ll find myself still in the imperial prison years ago. Maybe all of this is just a fantasy before death.”

Ying Changchuan gripped Jiang Yuxun’s hand tightly.

Lowering his voice, he said with a hint of wounded sadness,

“So in your eyes, I’m still that cruel?”

He had asked this question once before.

Jiang Yuxun immediately recognized it—Ying Changchuan was acting.

With their relationship now… how could someone this confident genuinely doubt such a thing?

Jiang Yuxun had meant to play along, but before he could form the lines in his head, his mouth answered honestly:

“…Not really.”

Afraid Ying Changchuan would dwell on it, he hurriedly added,

“I think I’m just… not used to being idle all of a sudden.”

That wasn’t a lie.

Today reminded him of the summer after finishing the college entrance exams in his previous life.

He’d known there would be endless challenges ahead—but stepping out of the exam hall, after handing in that final paper, there was joy… and an inexplicable emptiness.

For a moment, Jiang Yuxun didn’t know what he should do with this brief freedom—or how to prepare for future crises.

Yet the instant the thought settled, he remembered:

The spies at Lingtian Terrace hadn’t been dealt with.

The Yi River still hadn’t been completed.

Great Zhou’s official selection system was still deeply flawed.

Rou might have fallen—but neither emperor nor court could afford to relax.

Ying Changchuan gently stroked his long hair and suddenly placed something back onto the bed.

A soft “meow” sounded beside Jiang Yuxun’s ear.

—At some point, Ying Changchuan had brought over a cat kept by the eunuchs!

As a palace cat of the Son of Heaven, this white feline from the Western Regions had glossy fur and a round belly.

Bold from years of ruling the palace, it leapt from Ying Changchuan’s arms the moment Jiang Yuxun looked up and began kneading the bedding, completely ignoring both men.

Smiling, Ying Changchuan said softly,

“If you’re not used to the quiet, then keep it with you for a few days.”

As soon as he spoke, the cat lifted its head and meowed at Jiang Yuxun, then rolled over—as if it had understood him.

Still lying on the bed, Jiang Yuxun carefully turned over and gathered the little creature into his arms.

The cat wasn’t afraid at all. It even rubbed its head against Jiang Yuxun’s chin before settling comfortably against him.

“It really isn’t afraid of people,” Jiang Yuxun remarked, his gaze drifting to the scroll Ying Changchuan had placed on the bed.

“What’s this?”

Ying Changchuan answered with a smile,

“A map of Great Zhou’s territory. Take a look.”

Jiang Yuxun held his breath and slowly unfurled it with one hand.

The map before him not only encompassed the vast northern lands—it had redefined the boundaries of every commandery and county.

The principle Jiang Yuxun had once proposed—“mountains and rivers as shifting barriers, borders interlocking like canine teeth”—was applied to perfection.

It wasn’t limited to mountains and rivers; even the broad plains followed the same logic.

History could not be rewritten. The tide of time could not be reversed.

Jiang Yuxun had never sought eternal fame—but he wanted a country stable enough for ordinary people to live in peace.

Such divisions would suppress regional warlords to the greatest extent,

and even balance wealth and poverty across regions.

Whether by coincidence or fate, the outlines on this map already closely resembled those of the modern era.

Jiang Yuxun slowly traced the map with his fingers.

“In the future, we’ll sail straight from Zhaodu to the southeast. We’ll visit the southern commanderies… the Eastern Sea… even travel west to see the Kehan Highlands.”

“Mm.” Ying Changchuan nodded gently, his gaze never leaving Jiang Yuxun.

“Oh—and I’ve never properly explored the Yi River either. When we have time, we must climb Yueqiao Mountain and see it for ourselves.”

The more Jiang Yuxun spoke, the more animated he became. He suddenly realized how many things he still wanted to do—with Ying Changchuan.

He looked up and blinked at him playfully.

“Good,” Ying Changchuan said, fingers combing through Jiang Yuxun’s hair.

Then he added lazily, eyes narrowing, “And we’ll rebuild Yuyang Palace.”

“…Right.” Jiang Yuxun froze, then nodded along.

“Xianyou Palace is beautiful, but too small. Once Yuyang Palace is repaired, the civil and military officials can finally go home and rest each day.”

It was afternoon now. Cicadas cried faintly outside the window.

Ying Changchuan continued idly stroking Jiang Yuxun’s silk-like hair and asked,

“Has my dear minister thought about how Yuyang Palace should be restored?”

As a museum professional with some knowledge of architecture, Jiang Yuxun immediately perked up:

“Great Zhou’s strength has recovered, but we mustn’t burden the people. Yuyang Palace was already vast and extravagant in the previous dynasty—I think modest restoration on the original site would be best.”

Before he could elaborate, Ying Changchuan interrupted:

“The sleeping quarters should be larger. And we should dig a hot spring.”

Jiang Yuxun: “……”

Did Ying Changchuan really have nothing decent in his head?

“What?” Seeing Jiang Yuxun suddenly fall silent, Ying Changchuan asked deliberately, “Does my dear minister have some doubts?”

The next moment, Jiang Yuxun blurted out exactly what had just crossed his mind.

Ying Changchuan raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. “Building a larger bedchamber—what’s improper about that?”

As he spoke, a hint of amusement flickered in his smoke-gray eyes.

…He was obviously still teasing him.

The little cat in Jiang Yuxun’s arms had fallen asleep at some point without his noticing.

Too lazy to bother with Ying Changchuan, Jiang Yuxun gently stroked the cat’s head.

But after only a couple of motions, he realized that what he was doing now… seemed to overlap exactly with what Ying Changchuan had just been doing.

Jiang Yuxun hurriedly stopped and silently complained in his heart about Ying Changchuan’s lack of honesty.

—If only Ying Changchuan were like him and had to tell the truth.

Then he’d like to see how he’d keep teasing people.

Thinking this, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but smile.

But the smile quickly faded from his lips.

No, no! If that were really the case, Ying Changchuan definitely wouldn’t be able to say anything decent at all!

On the other side of Xianyou Palace, Princess Lianyi—now dressed in a rosy-pink palace gown—was strolling through the grounds accompanied by palace maids.

After the long journey back to the capital, she was naturally exhausted.

But the excitement of returning to her homeland after more than twenty years washed away her fatigue in an instant.

Today, she had deliberately changed into a brighter-colored palace dress. Her long hair was styled half-up, half-down just as it had been back in Zhaodu, adorned only with a simple jade hairpin.

From a distance, it was surprisingly difficult to tell her age.

Princess Lianyi was of noble birth, yet despite bearing the title of “princess,” she was not truly a member of the former imperial family.

Before this, she had never once set foot in Xianyou Palace and was unfamiliar with every blade of grass and tree within it.

Compared to other officials who dared not move rashly in the palace, she—as the emperor’s aunt and someone who had received special permission—enjoyed much greater freedom in her actions.

“Your Highness, beyond the corridor ahead is Liuyun Hall,” a palace maid explained softly by her side. “His Majesty not only handles state affairs there, but also resides there.”

Princess Lianyi’s eyes lit up. “Is His Majesty busy today?”

The maid who usually attended the emperor thought for a moment before answering, “In reply to Your Highness—there’s nothing major today.”

“In that case,” Princess Lianyi said with a smile, lightly patting the item she was holding, “I’ll go to Liuyun Hall to catch up with him. There’s also a gift I haven’t yet had the chance to give him.”

The last time Princess Lianyi had ridden in a carriage for such a long journey was more than twenty years ago, when she left for her political marriage.

Although the carriage had been prepared with cushions and blankets, she still found it difficult to adjust after so many years without long-distance travel, and her spirits had remained low.

Thus, during the return trip, she stayed in the carriage most of the time, let alone reminiscing with Ying Changchuan.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the maid replied, bowing and stepping forward to lead the way. “Please come this way.”

“Alright.” Princess Lianyi tightened her grip on the gift in her hands and followed, letting out a soft, emotional sigh at the end.

After so many years away from home, she had already forgotten her sister’s appearance.

At this moment, she couldn’t even tell whether Ying Changchuan resembled his father more or his mother more.

Having been away from Zhaodu for too long—and not personally experiencing the bloody upheavals of recent years—she still thought of Ying Changchuan as the child he once was.

Deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her nephew hadn’t yet grown up…

Inside Liuyun Hall, Jiang Yuxun had been propping himself up on his elbows on the couch for a while, and his arms had begun to ache.

He gently gathered the cat into his arms and carefully sat upright.

Before long, seated beside Ying Changchuan, Jiang Yuxun nudged his arm lightly with his elbow.

When Ying Changchuan turned to look at him, Jiang Yuxun blinked and asked softly, “Doesn’t Your Majesty feel that the future looks a little better than you once imagined?”

His eyes were dazzlingly bright—and most importantly, Ying Changchuan saw only his own reflection within them.

The emperor couldn’t help but lightly touch Jiang Yuxun’s eyelashes. Smiling, he replied, “Yes.”

In truth, Ying Changchuan had never really thought about the “future” before.

He had always lived firmly in the present.

…If anything, the old Ying Changchuan had only ever had goals and plans for the future—never idle dreams like this.

Jiang Yuxun’s arrival had added countless unknown delights to his once calm, icy life.

Even Ying Changchuan had begun to imagine the trivialities of future days.

After saying this, Jiang Yuxun stretched lazily, hugged the cat, and rose from the couch.

“What is my dear minister planning to do?” Ying Changchuan asked.

He stood as well, wrapping his arms around Jiang Yuxun from behind.

“Nothing much,” Jiang Yuxun said, trying to pry his hands away. “I’m well-rested now. I suddenly realized I haven’t returned to my estate in quite some time, so I plan to have someone arrange a visit back home in Zhaodu soon. I also want to prepare some gifts and formally visit Young Master Xing.”

Xing Zhi hadn’t gone to the royal court; he had returned directly to Zhaodu from the Dingwumu Grasslands.

Though he hadn’t suffered severe injuries, going hungry for several days on the plains had left him rather weak.

Jiang Yuxun had heard that after returning to Zhaodu, Xing Zhi had been bedridden for a time and only recovered in the past few days.

Since Jiang Yuxun had personally sent him to the northern frontier, it was only right that he pay a proper visit.

“I’ll go with you,” the emperor murmured near his ear.

Before Jiang Yuxun could respond, Ying Changchuan lowered his voice further and added, “Since you’re rested now… when shall we go to Yanxian Island?”

At the same time, he lifted a hand and traced slow circles behind Jiang Yuxun’s ear with his fingertips.

The husky voice and faint touch blended together, turning into a tingling sensation that spread through Jiang Yuxun’s entire body in an instant.

Though Ying Changchuan didn’t say it outright, the words “Yanxian Island” carried a very different meaning for the two of them.

Thinking of what had happened in the carriage that day—and the book Ruogu had sent—Jiang Yuxun’s cheeks instantly flushed red.

“I—I don’t know…”

Afraid Ying Changchuan would ask something even more explicit, Jiang Yuxun simply started playing dumb.

Holding the now-awake white cat, he turned around and waved its paw toward Ying Changchuan. “His Majesty never thinks about proper things—quick, bite him!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the white cat cooperatively let out a little cry toward Ying Changchuan.

At that moment, Ying Changchuan tightened his hold, pecked Jiang Yuxun’s nose, and continued, “What? Can’t even mention Yanxian Island now?”

As he spoke, he suddenly bent down, scooped Jiang Yuxun into his arms, and strode toward the bed curtains.

Liuyun Hall’s rear chamber was spacious, and Ying Changchuan moved quickly, with long, confident strides.

Startled by being lifted so abruptly, Jiang Yuxun cried out his name, “Ying Changchuan! Put me down—Ying Changchuan!”

With no one guarding outside Liuyun Hall, Jiang Yuxun’s voice carried much louder.

The slanting rays of the evening sun streamed in from outside, warming a stretch of woven mats.

…Who would come here at a time like this?

Just as Ying Changchuan reached the bed curtains, a shadow appeared at the entrance to Liuyun Hall.

As the light dimmed, Jiang Yuxun froze mid-motion and turned toward the doorway like a jammed machine.

—Princess Lianyi, dressed in her rosy palace gown, had appeared outside at some unknown moment, looking at the two of them with confusion and bewilderment.

Suspecting she’d just heard something wrong, she paused before asking instinctively, “…Did Lord Jiang just call His Majesty by name?”

Jiang Yuxun’s heart clenched.

He instinctively tightened his grip on Ying Changchuan’s clothing, wanting to urge him to set him down so he could explain.

But the emperor only lowered his gaze and smiled faintly at Jiang Yuxun, then gently pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Turning to Princess Lianyi, Ying Changchuan said openly, “Axun calls me Ying Changchuan.”

No—not just openly.

There was unmistakable pride and pleasure woven into his tone.

 

• 「正經東西」 → “anything proper / decent / respectable”

  This is playful internal complaining, not serious condemnation—classic intimate banter signaling closeness and trust.