BEGW C114

Chapter 114

The warhorse galloped along the official road outside Zhaodu, its hooves beating out a rapid da-da rhythm.

Through gaps in the wind and snow, Jiang Yuxun caught sight of small boats arriving from upstream at dusk, with commoners gathering in twos and threes as they headed into the city.

The horse flashed past an orchard like lightning, and a small city gate appeared before his eyes.

The sun was already sinking, its dark-red afterglow falling upon the plaque above the gate and illuminating the two characters: “Shangyu.”

Jiang Yuxun lifted his head and softly read them aloud.

Zhaodu had twelve city gates in total. Some, like Ziyi Gate, were grand main gates with five passages, while others—such as Shangyu Gate—were side gates just wide enough for a single carriage to pass through.

Compared to the solemn majesty of Ziyi Gate, Shangyu Gate carried a livelier, more down-to-earth air.

Warm yellow lamplight lit up the narrow gate passage, which was packed with bustling crowds.

Wisps of cooking smoke drifted from somewhere unknown, carrying a faint sweetness with them.

“We’re here.”

As Ying Changchuan spoke, he dismounted and reached out to help Jiang Yuxun down as well.

Without his imperial robes, there was a rare hint of casual freedom about him.

Jiang Yuxun jumped lightly off the horse. Though the cold wind had reddened the tip of his nose, there wasn’t the slightest trace of fatigue about him.

On the contrary, his jet-black eyes were even brighter than usual.

“What are we doing here?” Jiang Yuxun asked, gazing toward the gate while warming his hands with a few gentle breaths. He unconsciously scratched the fingers of his right hand.

Ying Changchuan didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to Jiang Yuxun’s hand.

“Does your hand hurt?”

As he spoke, he firmly caught the hand that was still fidgeting.

When Jiang Yuxun raised his hand to breathe warmth into it, his wide sleeve slipped down.

Only then did Ying Changchuan see that patches of glaring red blotches had appeared on his once pale hand.

“…Looks like chilblains acting up,” Jiang Yuxun said with some hesitation.

“The back of my hand feels itchy and sore.”

The chilblains on his right hand had formed last winter from prolonged writing.

In this era, chilblains couldn’t be cured. Once you had them, they were likely to recur every winter—itching fiercely when warm, aching when exposed to wind, with little remedy beyond endurance.

At some point, the warhorse that had brought them here had already turned and disappeared into the orchard.

Instead of leading Jiang Yuxun through Shangyu Gate at once, Ying Changchuan enclosed his chilblain-stricken hand in his own.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

A dry, comforting warmth wrapped around him instantly.

Jiang Yuxun’s fingers trembled slightly from the itch, only prompting Ying Changchuan to grip more tightly.

Though Great Zhou’s customs were open and male–male relationships widely accepted, openly holding hands on the streets of Zhaodu was still uncommon.

As lamplight from Shangyu Gate fell upon his face, Jiang Yuxun fell quiet the moment they entered. He forced himself to stop fidgeting, afraid someone might notice his hand.

The Son of Heaven, however, behaved with complete ease, as if he didn’t mind being seen at all.

Zhaodu’s inner city was densely built. Sheltered by tall walls, even the howling winter wind softened.

The instant they passed through the gate, noise flooded Jiang Yuxun’s ears:

“Candied fruit! Candied fruit for sale—”

“Mandarins… mandarins from Shuolin Commandery!” The vendor even carried a southern accent.

Someone else lifted the lid from a steaming bamboo basket and shouted, “Rice cakes! Sweet rice cakes!”

A rush of fragrance rose with the steam, instantly filling the air.

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help sniffing lightly.

The freshly steamed rice cakes had almost certainly been sprinkled with osmanthus honey—alongside the clean scent of rice, there was the sweet fragrance of osmanthus.

The familiar aroma stirred Jiang Yuxun’s appetite and reminded him of that night aboard the southern inspection boat…

Did Ying Changchuan still remember it?

He stole a glance at the stall, then immediately turned away, telling himself to forget it.

This was Zhaodu—at any moment they might run into someone who knew him or Ying Changchuan.

For the sake of appearances, it was better to endure.

He had just resolved this when Ying Changchuan leaned down and murmured by his ear,

“Does my beloved minister want to try some?”

The night wind swept through the street, carrying another wave of sweetness straight to Jiang Yuxun’s nose.

His fingers twitched, and the resolve he’d just built instantly collapsed.

“…I do.”

There was no fixed market yet inside Zhaodu, but the livelier streets were already lined with vendors.

Months earlier, officials had reported this phenomenon to the throne.

The court, after learning of it, chose not to interfere, allowing it to develop naturally.

Drawing closer, Jiang Yuxun saw that this “stall” selling rice cakes was actually just a small pushcart woven from bamboo baskets.

The outer layer held osmanthus cakes and the like, while charcoal for steaming rice cakes was tucked inside.

The vendor spoke halting official speech—clearly not a native of Zhaodu.

Seeing this, Jiang Yuxun finally relaxed a little.

After a few simple exchanges, he took the rice cakes from the vendor.

However, though the vendor understood official speech, his heavy accent confused a few children gathered nearby.

Seeing this, Jiang Yuxun paused and helped them communicate with the vendor.

The children were chatty. While waiting for their rice cakes, they bombarded the vendor with questions.

“Where are these rice cakes from?”

“Why did you come to Zhaodu?”

Without even lifting his head, the vendor replied as he tidied the stove,

“They’re specialties from several southern commanderies. I’m from Taoyan Commandery—came specially to Zhaodu to do business.”

With that, he handed over the rice cakes wrapped in lotus leaves.

Hearing this, Jiang Yuxun—who should have already left—was reminded of Gu Yejia’s early experiences.

He stopped and asked one more question,

“Are there still bandits or highwaymen on the official roads these days?”

The vendor, who’d been focused on business, suddenly brightened.

“Long gone! The roads are full of checkpoints—what bandit would dare cause trouble now?”

For decades, many people from the south had fled north to Zhaodu.

Only in the past two years—after southern lands were reclaimed and higher-yield rice strains introduced—did those refugees finally return home.

Yet even so, many people still came to Zhaodu.

Unlike before, they were no longer emaciated refugees, but ordinary folk hoping to make a life and build something of their own.

Rice couldn’t be grown around Zhaodu. The habit of eating rice had only taken root in recent years.

Most people had never even seen snacks like rice cakes.

The night wind carried steam and sweetness down the long street. Before long, the small cart was surrounded by people.

Worried about being recognized, Jiang Yuxun quickly withdrew with his now-lukewarm rice cake, retreating into the shadows while glancing back once.

“What’s wrong?” Ying Changchuan asked, ruffling Jiang Yuxun’s hair.

Taking a bite of the rice cake, Jiang Yuxun lowered his voice.

“Suddenly I think that vendor really has a sharp mind. The southern commanderies may be developed now, but they’re still not as prosperous as Zhaodu. Rice cakes are sweet and easy to accept—if he sells snacks here, he might open a shop in Zhaodu within a few years and truly put down roots.”

It wasn’t just rice cakes—there were even stalls selling mandarins along the street.

Honestly speaking, the mandarins weren’t cheap at all.

But after several years of good harvests, Zhaodu’s people had some money to spare.

With the New Year approaching, they were willing to pay to try unfamiliar foods.

In today’s Great Zhou, “survival” was no longer the people’s only pursuit.

The New Year hadn’t arrived yet, but Zhaodu already carried a festive air.

At some point, bright lanterns had been hung above the long street, each bearing poems written in tiny, elegant script.

The night wind made the lanterns sway.

Their poems turned into shadows that fell across Jiang Yuxun.

The rice cake in his hand still steamed gently.

The redness at the tip of his nose finally faded a little.

After he finished speaking, Ying Changchuan produced a waterskin from somewhere and handed it to him casually.

“Don’t choke again.”

Jiang Yuxun, who had thought he’d escaped disaster, immediately coughed.

“Cough—cough—how do you still remember that?!”

He took the waterskin and drank most of the warm water in one go.

Ying Changchuan patted his back lightly.

“When have I ever forgotten anything my beloved minister has said?”

Then he glanced at the rice cake in Jiang Yuxun’s hand and raised an eyebrow.

“And this time, why didn’t you invite me to taste it?”

On the freshly steamed, still-soft rice cake was a small bite mark—

Like a crescent moon missing a sliver, white and jade-like, absurdly cute.

The lanterns swayed, rustling softly.

Jiang Yuxun’s shadow swayed with them.

He suddenly lifted his head.

This time, instead of breaking off a piece by hand like before, he raised his arm slightly and offered the bitten rice cake directly.

The lantern light continued to sway.

Ying Changchuan smiled and bit into the same spot.

Osmanthus sweetness instantly filled their mouths.

Lowering his gaze, he saw Jiang Yuxun—dressed in sky-blue brocade—looking at him with expectant, blinking eyes.

All the fireworks and lantern light of Zhaodu’s long street shone in those eyes.

Their gazes met.

Jiang Yuxun smiled softly and asked, looking into Ying Changchuan’s no-longer-cold smoky-gray eyes,

“So? Is it sweet?”

Years ago, Jiang Yuxun had asked him the same question in a carriage by the Yi River.

Back then, the Son of Heaven hadn’t answered.

The street’s lanterns continued to sway.

Ying Changchuan lifted a hand and gently pinched Jiang Yuxun’s frost-reddened earlobe, then lowered his lips to his ear.

With solemn sincerity, he whispered the answer that should have been given four years earlier:

“Sweet.”

※

Tonight, Zhaodu was exceptionally lively.

Almost every shop had its doors open, each with a long line stretching out front.

Aside from specialty goods brought up from the southern regions, the most popular by far were the shops selling strong liquor.

Xing Zhi’s business had grown larger and larger.

In addition to higher-end restaurants, he had opened several liquor shops throughout Zhaodu.

These shops weren’t large, and there were no tables for dining inside.

Just a single storefront, with one or two clerks drawing liquor for customers at the counter.

The strong spirits sold here were mostly brewed that very year, without having undergone long aging.

Though the flavor couldn’t compare to the fine wines served in restaurants, a single gulp was enough to send warmth coursing through the body—an invaluable comfort for common folk in winter.

Even as night deepened, the queues outside the liquor shops showed no sign of shortening.

Today, everyone in Zhaodu seemed to have something to busy themselves with.

Under the dim glow of lantern light, no one even noticed the Son of Heaven and the Shangshu mingling among the crowd.

Jiang Yuxun’s courage gradually grew.

After finishing the rice cake, he bought a small jar of strong liquor and cradled it in his arms.

—It wasn’t that Jiang Yuxun particularly enjoyed drinking. With a wine cellar at home, any fine vintage he wanted could be fetched straight from storage.

Tonight, he simply wanted to feel the bustling atmosphere of Zhaodu.

…

Shangyu Gate was one of Zhaodu’s side gates—and happened to be located right near the Mi residence.

At this moment, not only had the once-quiet Mi Residence grown lively, but even the open space before its gates had filled with vendors.

Several of them even had Western Region features.

Jiang Yuxun had originally assumed that Ying Changchuan intended to take him to the Mi Residence.

Unexpectedly, Ying Changchuan led him around it instead, heading upward toward the higher ground of Zhaodu.

Although Zhaodu was built upon a plain, the city itself still had rises and dips in elevation.

Only today did Jiang Yuxun notice that Zhaodu’s highest point was crowned with a tall tower.

This wooden tower had jade bells hanging from its four corners. When the night wind blew, they rang out with clear, crisp sounds.

—The tower had once belonged to Listening-to-Heaven Terrace, but was now left unused.

The weather today was exceptionally clear. Even at night, there was not a single cloud in the sky.

Only a full moon hung alone at the edge of heaven, illuminating the entirety of Zhaodu.

To stop Jiang Yuxun from scratching at the chilblains on his fingers again, Ying Changchuan clasped his hand firmly the moment they went upstairs.

“Do you recognize that lake, my beloved minister?”

The emperor narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked beyond the city walls.

The night was so clear that Jiang Yuxun could easily see Moon-Sheath Mountain, blanketed in snow in the distance—and beneath it, a crescent-shaped lake.

After winter arrived, thin sheets of ice had formed across the lake’s surface. Under the moonlight, they shimmered with silvery ripples.

Jiang Yuxun had never truly lived in Zhaodu.

He had been about to answer “I don’t know it,” but the moment he recognized the shape of the water, realization struck—

That lake was what remained after the Yi River was rerouted.

When the river was straightened, the original curved channel had been left behind, forming a semicircular oxbow lake.

The lake beneath Moon-Sheath Mountain was exactly that.

Jiang Yuxun nodded lightly.

“I recognize it. That was once the Yi River.”

In ancient times, people rose early and slept early. Normally, most households would already be preparing for rest at this hour.

Yet now—not only was Zhaodu bustling, but even the lakeside in the distance was crowded with people.

“What are they waiting for?” Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but ask as he turned to Ying Changchuan.

This time, Ying Changchuan finally stopped teasing.

Standing by the railing, the emperor slowly turned back toward Jiang Yuxun and smiled.

“They’re waiting for fireworks.”

“…Fireworks?”

Jiang Yuxun’s breath caught, his heart pounding wildly.

Were these the fireworks he was thinking of?

Almost the instant the words fell, the silent night sky bloomed with blue nebulae of light.

Jiang Yuxun immediately turned his gaze upward.

Gasps rose from the lakeside below.

Nearly all of Zhaodu lifted their heads at that moment, staring toward Moon-Sheath Mountain.

Pale-white bursts bloomed like peonies against the night.

In the next instant, they poured downward like a spilled galaxy, falling into the cold, dark lake.

—Great Zhou needed cannons to defend against enemies, but it also needed fireworks to celebrate.

The words Jiang Yuxun had once spoken surfaced again in his heart.

Now, firearms had driven away the foreign threats that once loomed in the north.

And fireworks finally illuminated Zhaodu’s long streets.

Another firework burst. People who had remained indoors threw on outer garments and rushed outside to gaze at the sky.

“Is that the cry of a phoenix?”

“Even a phoenix wouldn’t sound better than this!”

The people of Zhaodu likened the soft crackle of fireworks to a phoenix’s call.

They held their breath, afraid even to gasp too loudly.

They only dared to look upward—fearful of disturbing the starry river descending for them alone.

Ying Changchuan’s voice drifted to Jiang Yuxun’s ear, dreamlike and soft:

“Since summer, I’ve had alchemists adjusting the fireworks. Is this scene as you imagined, Axun?”

He had remembered those words from years ago…

Jiang Yuxun had seen fireworks countless times.

None compared to this.

He looked up at the sky, eyes full of laughter.

“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Fireworks exploded along the Yi River.

They illuminated not only the frost-white ground, but even outshone the full moon.

Before Jiang Yuxun lay fireworks and Moon-Sheath Mountain.

Behind him rose the ethereal, heavenly Yuyang Palace.

As Ying Changchuan gently kneaded Jiang Yuxun’s fingers, he murmured near his ear:

“I originally wanted to watch this with you alone—at Moon-Sheath Mountain or Xianyou Palace.

But you said… you wanted Great Zhou’s civil and military officials, and all its people, to see the fireworks together.”

Thus, aside from keeping it secret from Jiang Yuxun as a surprise, Ying Changchuan had not ordered the Xuan Seal Guards to suppress the news.

When word spread that the court would set off “fireworks” here, people immediately brought their families to wait by the lake.

Another burst lit up the sky.

The image burned itself deep into Jiang Yuxun’s heart.

Zhaodu was no longer quiet. The people once again cheered along with the fireworks.

At some point, Jiang Yuxun had interlaced his fingers with Ying Changchuan’s.

He tilted his head slightly, resting it against Ying Changchuan’s shoulder, and murmured softly:

“I’ve been in Zhaodu for several years now…”

Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze to him.

“Was this journey a pleasant one?”

Fireworks continued to blaze, dazzling and fierce.

Whether from the light or from memory, a faint shimmer of moisture appeared in Jiang Yuxun’s dark eyes.

The chaos of the Yi River had never occurred.

Great Zhou had not been shackled by seven years of war.

Those who would have been displaced by conflict now gathered in Zhaodu’s streets, gazing up at brilliant fireworks.

They wore padded winter clothes, no longer fearing cold or hunger.

—This world truly had changed, just a little, because of his existence.

Jiang Yuxun shifted his gaze from the fireworks to Ying Changchuan.

“This journey…”

His fingers tightened slowly as he met Ying Changchuan’s eyes, speaking with utmost sincerity.

“…was worth it.”

What lay before him felt like a dream—more beautiful even than one.

A bamboo pole stirred the lake’s silver ripples.

Fireworks burned through the night, turning Zhaodu bright as day.

At some unknown point, Jiang Yuxun fell asleep against Ying Changchuan’s shoulder.

Carefully, the emperor reached out and brushed the lashes that trembled faintly with Jiang Yuxun’s breathing—

—like a feather sweeping across his palm.

Before long, the sun would rise.

In Shuolin Commandery, far to the east of Great Zhou, waves still crashed against the shore, and somewhere by the sea, a fisherman’s song drifted into the air.

In the commanderies bordering the Western Regions’ Qiaoluo State, the bright moon had only just climbed over the hills.

Deep winter had arrived, yet beneath thin quilts of newly fallen snow, wheat sprouts were already quietly pushing through.

Before long, Taoyan would stretch for miles once more—rice and wheat turning green again.

Another firework ignited the small lake beneath Moon-Sheath Mountain.

It illuminated the iron river-guardian rhinoceros that had once stood beside the Yi River.

The scars left by floods many years ago had already blurred away.

Only the inscription remained, clear as ever:

“The mountains and rivers are at peace.”

—End of Main Story—