BEGW C80

Ying Changchuan’s voice cut through the torrenting downpour, falling softly at Jiang Yuxun’s ear.

Jiang Yuxun had not intended to cry.

Yet that single, lightly spoken sentence from Ying Changchuan dredged up every emotion buried deep within his heart.

Even the unspeakable exhaustion, and the longing for his previous life—everything surged forth uncontrollably in that instant.

Before the civil and military officials, he could not afford to lose composure, lest it unsettle the court.

Only before the Son of Heaven could Jiang Yuxun set aside all pretense—indeed, he could not feign anything before him.

He instinctively tightened his grip on the dark garment beneath his fingers, as though trying with all his strength to draw warmth from the man before him.

“…When this minister first met Lord Tong, his hair was still black. We even went together to the bank of the Yi River… I thought he looked quite young at the time… cough… I never imagined that in just a few short years, he would…”

Memories of the past flooded Jiang Yuxun’s mind, rendering him momentarily incoherent.

Ying Changchuan remained silent, merely brushing Jiang Yuxun’s shoulder and back in light, intermittent strokes, listening patiently to every broken sentence.

The rain showed no sign of easing.

Lightning bleached the courtyard white.

Ying Changchuan’s back had long been soaked through by the rain, yet standing at the threshold, he showed not the slightest intention of loosening his embrace or turning back to close the door.

The person in his arms had reddened eyes, eyelashes trembling with each breath beneath the weight of glittering tears.

Those usually smiling black irises were now filled with sorrow too dense to dispel.

At the surge of this emotion, Ying Changchuan’s heart tightened—an unfamiliar, stinging ache rising unbidden.

Over the years, countless commanders and soldiers who had followed him to battle had met their end on the battlefield. He had long grown accustomed to life and death, his grief tinged more with solemnity and regret than anything else.

Yet tonight, as though through Jiang Yuxun’s eyes, Ying Changchuan seemed to glimpse another world—one overflowing with joy, fury, sorrow, and fear.

The rain over Shuo-lin County grew even heavier; the distant sea roared in response.

Wind and rain stripped away Jiang Yuxun’s warmth, and with another crack of thunder, he could not help shrinking slightly into Ying Changchuan’s embrace.

The lightning lit half the night sky, casting Jiang Yuxun’s face in an even paler shade.

Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze, brushing aside the damp strands clinging to Jiang Yuxun’s temple. “Cold?”

“…Mm.” Jiang Yuxun’s voice was muffled.

“Change into dry clothes. At first light, I will depart with you.” Ying Changchuan murmured by his ear.

Lou Zhuo was already managing Shuo-lin County in perfect order; in merely a few days, the Emperor had fully grasped its affairs, civil and military.

And yet, despite the recent exhaustion of travel, though he could have rested—

…More importantly, with Jiang Yuxun, as Chief Minister, going to offer condolences and oversee arrangements, the Emperor need not personally attend.

But he still intended to go to Xikou City in person—an act of imperial grace and mourning.

Jiang Yuxun sniffed, voice trembling. “…Yes, Your Majesty.”

In the distance, turbulent waves crashed heavily against the reefs outside Shuo-lin’s port city, thundering with force.

Yet just as Jiang Yuxun prepared to release his hold and turn away, Ying Changchuan suddenly tightened his arms—deepening the embrace without a trace of desire.

The next moment, he lowered his head and pressed the lightest of kisses upon the crown of Jiang Yuxun’s head.

“That is enough. Let us go.”

Jiang Yuxun’s heart wavered.

The warmth of that fleeting touch had not yet dissipated. He lifted his gaze slightly toward the man beside him.

…For a moment, Jiang Yuxun could not tell whether Ying Changchuan had done it intentionally—or if it had been an unconscious gesture.

The sea churned, clouds pressed low overhead.

Only the two of them remained—like boats tossed upon storm-ridden waves, bracing against violent winds.

The rain lasted an uncommonly long time, still falling in fine sheets the next morning.

Though Shuo-lin’s official roads were far improved compared to the past, traveling through mud was still no easy matter.

Rain pattered relentlessly upon the carriage roof, grating on the nerves.

The Emperor studied the encrypted military dispatch, while Jiang Yuxun reviewed reports, marking and annotating as he read.

After a long moment, he set his brush down and turned to Ying Changchuan. “Your Majesty, news from the northern frontier states that this winter’s hardship has struck not only Great Zhou, but Zherou as well. They too suffer from a white calamity. At present, Zherou is preoccupied with its own losses and has yet to show intent of disturbing our northern borders.”

His tone was solemn.

A white calamity was another term for devastating snow disaster.

Excessive snowfall left herders easily lost in the snow, and their livestock, lacking forage, often froze or starved.

Worst of all, after such calamities, livestock weakened and died easily, with birthing rates plummeting.

In time, the effects would erode Zherou’s livelihood for years to come.

Ying Changchuan furrowed his brows, lifting his gaze from the report. “This winter and spring, Zherou is trapped by snow and cannot move. When summer or autumn arrives, they may turn their sights upon our northern lands.”

His fingers tapped twice against the report.

If Zherou faced hunger and deprivation, plundering would be their only recourse.

Jiang Yuxun nodded in agreement.

In the original timeline, from the Yi River Rebellion onward, Great Zhou and Zherou had been locked in prolonged war.

With or without snow disaster, the flames of war were inevitable.

But now… who could say whether Zherou would be driven by desperation to strike earlier?

Rain splashed through the window. Jiang Yuxun turned to secure the carriage curtain.

Before he could move, Ying Changchuan reached out to fasten it for him, shielding the opening from the wind.

Their fingers brushed in passing.

Before Jiang Yuxun could feel unsettled, Ying Changchuan withdrew his hand naturally, a faint smile touching his lips as his eyes returned to the dispatch. “I wonder which chieftain of Zherou will lose composure first?”

Following his gaze, Jiang Yuxun answered instinctively, “According to the letter I received this morning from Young Master Xing, the snow disaster is concentrated in the southeastern region of Zherou. If memory serves, that territory belongs to the Qiuji King.”

Xing Zhi had not only begun selling strong liquor into Zherou—his clandestine travels between the two realms had earned him acquaintances among merchants and influential figures.

He never inquired about military secrets, but instead pieced together intelligence from casual trade chatter.

—Such as the extent of the snow disaster—information gleaned while purchasing sheep from familiar merchants.

His knowledge filled the gaps left in the army’s reports.

Ying Changchuan raised a brow.

Among Zherou’s three tribal kings, the Qiuji King was the most volatile.

With his lands stricken by disaster… who knew how he would respond?

Though it would take time for the imperial party to reach Taoyan, the court’s arrangements for Tong Hailin’s funeral had already reached Xikou City by courier.

In Great Zhou, food must be placed in the mouth of the deceased before burial—known as fanhan.

This time, the Emperor personally bestowed pearls and jade for this rite, sending them immediately to the prefecture.

Never had a prefect of Taoyan been granted such honor in death.

…

Spring rains passed, and warmth returned little by little.

Tender green blanketed the banks of the Chen River.

Jiang Yuxun’s wound at the back of his head had yet to heal fully, so his hair remained loose, falling over his shoulders.

Though Great Zhou lacked the elaborate hair customs of later generations, a court official still could not attend formal occasions with hair disheveled.

On the river barge, seated outside the cabin, Jiang Yuxun carefully lifted a comb, turning sideways to avoid the wound as he attempted to tie his hair while looking in the bronze mirror.

As a transmigrator, he had never been adept at such tasks.

Add to that his restricted movements, and after much effort, his hair ended up crooked and uneven despite the long time spent.

His raised right arm grew sore, shaking slightly after a while.

Though cautious, the wooden comb still knocked against the wound now and then.

“Hiss—”

He sucked in a sharp breath, clenching his teeth.

It hurt.

Just as he resigned himself to calling someone to assist, a hand reached from behind and took the comb.

“Is my beloved minister finding it inconvenient to tie his hair?”

Ying Changchuan’s gaze met his in the bronze mirror.

His brows lowered as he took in the mess atop Jiang Yuxun’s head.

…In that instant, Jiang Yuxun clearly read four characters in his expression: unable to bear looking.

Seeing that look, Jiang Yuxun—who had been prepared to surrender his dignity and call for help—suddenly felt compelled to defend himself.

Alas, fate afforded him no chance.

“There is a wound on this minister’s head. I accidentally touched it just now, so I meant to summon someone to assist.”

Ying Changchuan let out a light laugh and sat behind him. “No need.”

As soon as he spoke, the half-tied hair fell loose, cascading over Jiang Yuxun’s shoulders like silk.

Before he could react, the Emperor lifted a strand and ran the comb gently through it before gathering it atop his head.

…The Emperor is tying my hair?

Jiang Yuxun’s heart jolted. He could not stop himself from peeking at Ying Changchuan’s reflection.

It was the first time the Son of Heaven had ever tied someone’s hair.

His movements were slightly awkward, but his expression was wholly focused.

Black hair flowed like water between his fingers. The soft ends brushed Jiang Yuxun’s neck, leaving behind unfamiliar tingling.

His hands involuntarily tightened together.

Part of him feared the comb might jostle the wound; another part braced for the brush of breath against the nape of his neck.

“Where is the hairpin?”

“Ah?” Jiang Yuxun froze for a moment and instinctively reached toward the desk. “Wait a moment, Your Majesty—”

But before he could even bend down to find the hairpin, Ying Changchuan drew a jade pin from within his sleeve and gently slid it into Jiang Yuxun’s hair. “Use this.”

His movements were slow and careful, completely avoiding Yuxun’s injured spot.

Jiang Yuxun was just about to rise and give thanks when, in the bronze mirror, he suddenly saw a cloud-patterned jade hairpin glowing faintly under the sunlight.

Except for the color, it was no different from the one Ying Changchuan himself wore…

Jiang Yuxun’s heart gave two abrupt thumps.

Ying Changchuan… that hint was a little too obvious.

—

Tong Hailin’s household had never been large, and all his family had followed him from Zhaodu to Taoyan.

Thus, his coffin was not transported back to Zhaodu but, according to his will, buried in the outskirts of Xikou City.

The not-so-grand tomb faced south, and not far beyond stretched the ten thousand acres of newly reclaimed farmland in Taoyan Commandery.

After ravaging the land for an entire winter, the biting wind and heavy snow had finally halted at some unknown moment.

Spring winds hummed softly. Young green sprouted everywhere.

The once-frozen creek stirred again, rippling faintly under the breeze.

The cypress coffin sank slowly into the burial pit.

It was the hour of sunset.

Standing at the forefront of the officials, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help glancing toward the distant Chen River.

The titanic sun was sinking beneath the river’s horizon, and the afterglow reddened its trembling waters—

Then, in an instant, shone with a brilliance even harsher than noon.

Jiang Yuxun unconsciously held his breath…

Even the brightest sun must set, yet its fall is only a moment’s rest.

Come morning, it will again light the fertile lands on both sides of the Chen River.

※

Taoyan Commandery, military garrison.

During the last round of raging winds and blizzards, His Majesty had no chance to properly inspect the camp.

On the return trip, though the snow in Taoyan had not fully melted, the skies had finally cleared.

Thus, before leaving the region, Ying Changchuan headed first to the army to conduct a thorough inspection.

The Great Zhou army had begun large-scale integration of firearms.

Aside from the Fulín Army, the Eastern Expedition troops stationed in Taoyan had also started learning to use these new weapons.

If the Great Zhou went to war with Zherou, these soldiers would constitute another major force, traveling north along the Chen River to join the battle.

In the training grounds of the Eastern Expedition Army, heaps of dried hay lay stacked in the open.

A soldier clad in armor rode his horse in circles around the haystacks before suddenly spurring forward.

Having never seen such a scene, Zhuang Youli lowered his voice with curiosity.

“A-Xun, weren’t we here to see firearms today? What… exactly are they doing?”

He had heard Zhuang Yue describe “firearms” before, and thus held intense fascination for these supposedly world-shaking weapons.

But now that he was here, all he saw were ordinary bows and arrows.

The observers all held their breath. Jiang Yuxun turned and whispered,

“That thing in the cavalryman’s hand is called a ‘powder-charge arrow.’

At first glance it seems no different from a normal arrow, but if you examine it closely, you’ll see a gunpowder chamber affixed to the shaft.”

The amount of powder the chamber held depended on the “bow strength.”

The cavalryman in the distance carried a three-stone bow, so the charge within his powder chamber was relatively high.

Zhuang Youli, initially disappointed, instantly grasped the idea and tensed with excitement.

“…The Zherou always carry dry fodder for their warhorses during campaigns. This powder-charge arrow is meant to strike that!’’

Before his words even finished, the mounted soldier had reached his mark.

Zhuang Youli fell silent at once, holding his breath beside Jiang Yuxun as both stared ahead.

Sunlight gleamed against the dry earth.

The armored rider lit the powder chamber, then immediately drew and loosed the arrow.

Whoosh—

With a sharp hiss, the smoke-trailed arrow streaked across the entire training ground and vanished into the haystacks.

“Where… where did it go?”

Before Zhuang Youli could finish his question, thick smoke suddenly billowed from the hay.

A gust swept across the field—

Then the hay ignited at once.

“It worked!!”

“No wonder it’s called a firearm—!”

The court officials, witnessing the power of such weapons for the first time, erupted in cheers.

The cavalryman who shot the arrow couldn’t help waving his bow toward the crowd.

Zhuang Youli turned to Jiang Yuxun, exhilarated.

“My father said others have tried using fire in war before, but those weapons were too unstable to be useful.

But now—now that we have this—let’s see how the Zherou dare march south!”

He clenched his fists tightly.

Previously, people attempted “fire arrows” by tying oil-soaked cloth to the back of the arrow and lighting them before release—

A clumsy technique.

But the cloth, heavy with oil, was difficult to draw and often fell mid-flight.

And a flaming arrow skittering about unpredictably posed as much danger to one’s own men as to the enemy.

Gunpowder had solved all these problems in an instant.

The flames on the haystack grew fiercer, and the rising smoke forced Jiang Yuxun to cough.

He squinted his eyes and finally turned his gaze toward the far northern horizon.

Zherou’s winters ran longer than Great Zhou’s—

And this year, disaster plagued them still.

Though the lands of Great Zhou were already entering the season of budding grasses and singing orioles, Zherou’s winter had yet to pass.

…He wondered how much longer King Qiuqi could endure?

—

As the weather warmed, the Chen River remained cold but tolerably so.

Jiang Yuxun longed to rest in the outer cabin, but since the day he discovered he was sharing a cabin with the emperor, the outer bedding had conveniently “disappeared,” taken elsewhere by the eunuchs.

…After so many nights, he couldn’t keep making things difficult for himself.

Thus on the return journey, he resigned himself and walked into the inner cabin.

But he never expected—

Why was there only one quilt left today!?

This was simply outrageous!

Late into the night, the tower ship sliced through the mirror-smooth river as it pushed upstream.

Most aboard had already fallen asleep.

Only Jiang Yuxun stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

He must not sleep. Absolutely not…

When drowsiness crept in, he silently pinched the flesh of his thigh.

Pain spread through his leg, and the fog in his mind cleared at once.

With the faintest glance, he calculated the distance between himself and Ying Changchuan.

…All thanks to the “good work” of the eunuchs.

At this moment, he and His Majesty lay beneath the same quilt.

Though the imperial bed was large, Jiang Yuxun still clung to the edge like a gecko pressed to a wall.

Between them lay more than five feet.

Only when he confirmed the distance was still safe did he quietly exhale.

He knew he was an utterly restless sleeper.

With two thick layers of bedding before, he had slept well enough.

Now, with only one quilt, the best he could do was force himself to stay awake and keep as much distance as possible.

Early spring nights remained icy.

Even though the snow in Taoyan had stopped, melting ice chilled the river, and the cold felt sharper than the days before.

After pinching himself awake, Jiang Yuxun lifted his hand—

Only for another chill to slip into the quilt with the movement.

With wind seeping in, how could he sleep even if he didn’t pinch himself?

He sucked in a cold breath and instinctively pressed the quilt down.

He really had moved so little—yet the next moment, the emperor’s soft voice sounded beside him,

“Beloved minister, are you not sleepy?”

Moonlight filtered through the felt canopy, illuminating the small enclosed space.

For a breath, Jiang Yuxun sensed a strange, dangerous undertone from Ying Changchuan.

His eyes were clear—he had never been asleep at all.

Great. Did I freeze him?

Jiang Yuxun faltered.

“…This minister is a little sleepy,” he replied softly.

“Then why are you still awake?”

The emperor’s lazy voice brushed past his ear, carrying an unreadable warmth.

Jiang Yuxun tightened his grip on the quilt.

“The bedding lets in wind. This minister is too cold to sleep.”

Those blasted eunuchs!

At the thought, Jiang Yuxun felt his teeth itch with frustration.

Since His Majesty was clearly awake, he might as well stop pretending.

He lifted his eyes and ventured a suggestion,

“Your Majesty must be cold as well. Why not allow this minister to fetch another quilt?”

Before he even finished speaking, he had already braced his hand against the quilt, ready to rise.

Yet the next moment, Ying Changchuan’s hand gently rested atop his.

“No need. Come a little closer.”

His tone was utterly calm—

As though sharing a quilt with his subject was the most natural thing in the world.

Jiang Yuxun: !!!

Oh, Ying Changchuan could pretend!

As if he didn’t understand what Yuxun was trying to imply!?

But before the principled Jiang Yuxun could refuse, the emperor moved—

Closing the distance without the slightest shame.

In the blink of an eye, less than a foot separated them.

The quilt, suspended in midair, fell over them again—warm, soft, enclosing.

Before Jiang Yuxun could react, the emperor had already closed his eyes again, silent as though asleep.

Yuxun’s despair was instant.

Behind him was the cabin wall—there was nowhere left to retreat.

Afraid of brushing against His Majesty even by accident, he held his breath and remained frozen in place, hands and feet unnaturally obedient.

The ship rocked with the river’s flow.

Facing the sleeping emperor, Jiang Yuxun dared not keep staring at the ceiling and finally shut his eyes heavily.

He thought he would never be able to sleep with Ying Changchuan right beside him.

But clearly… he overestimated himself.

Once the emperor drew close, warmth filled the quilt.

With the rhythmic slap of river water against the hull, Jiang Yuxun—exhausted after resisting sleep for hours—finally grew hazy.

Originally curled up against the very edge, he gradually relaxed.

Eventually, he drifted toward the center of the bed.

Just before falling completely asleep, one final thought passed through his mind—

Isn’t my relationship with Ying Changchuan getting a little too ambiguous…?

…

The hour of the ox.

Silver moonlight glazed the river.

The ship still felt faintly cold, for a brazier could not be lit.

Jiang Yuxun, having rolled to the center of the bed, frowned in his sleep and searched instinctively for warmth.

At this moment, perhaps only His Majesty remained awake.

Minute, restless movements stirred beneath the quilt until, at last, warmth drifted close.

Then Ying Changchuan finally opened his eyes.

Jiang Yuxun seemed to still be trying to cling to the wall like a gecko, but fast asleep, he had forgotten all notion of direction.

For now—

Instead of clinging to the wall, Jiang Yuxun was tightly clinging to the emperor’s arm.

Then he let out a small, deeply contented sigh.

Soft warmth pressed against His Majesty without warning.

Under the moonlight, those silver-gray eyes darkened.

He raised a hand, intending to pull the quilt back over Yuxun’s exposed shoulder…

But before he could do so, the sleeping Jiang Yuxun nuzzled lightly against his arm.

The tender warmth seeped through the fabric, touching skin—

Sparking a current that rushed through Ying Changchuan’s entire body.

In that instant, he fully understood what it meant…

To bring disaster upon oneself by ordering the eunuchs to remove the extra bedding.

Footnotes

1. White Calamity (白災)term used to describe catastrophic snow disasters drastically affecting pastoral societies

2. Fanhan (飯含)unerary rite in ancient China wherein food is placed in the mouth of the deceased to symbolize sustenance in the afterlife