BEGW C108

Chapter 108

It seemed that everyone on Yanxian Island had already been sent away by Ying Changchuan. After landing, there wasn’t even a single shadow to be seen.

Once on the island, the emperor abruptly changed demeanor.

Rather than saying he was carrying Jiang Yuxun in one arm, it would be more accurate to say he had hoisted him straight onto his shoulder.

…The last time Jiang Yuxun had been lifted this high was probably before he turned three.

The instant his feet left the ground, his heart leapt into his throat, accompanied by an inexplicable surge of embarrassment.

Hey—I’m an adult too, you know!

“I can walk on my own. Put me down,” he whispered urgently into Ying Changchuan’s ear.

“No need,” Ying Changchuan replied, ignoring him entirely—and even quickening his pace.

Jiang Yuxun’s heartbeat sped up.

The evening breeze, tinged with floral fragrance, rushed toward his face. He had no choice but to squint and clutch the fabric at the emperor’s shoulder.

“Ying Changchuan—ge! Ge—put me down!” he blurted out incoherently, patting his shoulder hard as he spoke.

Who would have thought that Ying Changchuan’s arm muscles, tensed by movement, would be so solid?

That slap not only failed to make Ying Changchuan stop—it left Jiang Yuxun’s palm stinging.

…It felt no different from slapping a rock.

“Why did you stop?” Ying Changchuan asked knowingly when Jiang Yuxun fell silent.

Left with no choice, Jiang Yuxun muttered in complaint, “You’re all muscle. It hurts to hit.”

To Ying Changchuan’s ears, that sounded far more like praise than grievance.

…Out of the corner of his eye, Jiang Yuxun even caught the faintest curve forming at the emperor’s lips.

Yanxian Island was filled with plants Jiang Yuxun couldn’t name.

This was the height of their blooming season.

Not only did the air brim with floral scent, but tiny white blossoms—fine as snowflakes—drifted on the summer wind.

Ying Changchuan showed no intention of setting him down. Seeing a flower-laden branch stretch across the path ahead, Jiang Yuxun instinctively shut his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Hiss—”

At the same moment, the hand that had been braced on Ying Changchuan’s shoulder slid down to his own abdomen.

His lips pressed together, looking for all the world as if he’d bumped into something by accident.

Seeing this, Ying Changchuan stopped at once and gently set him down.

“What’s wrong, A’Xun?” he asked, brows knitting unconsciously.

The stone path beneath their feet, warmed all day by the sun, still carried a pleasant heat—just right to step on.

Finally back on solid ground, Jiang Yuxun barely had time to breathe out before being questioned.

“I…” He had intended to keep up the act, but ended up telling the truth. “I… I was pretending. I lied to you.”

His voice carried a trace of guilt. Catching sight of Ying Changchuan’s serious, anxious expression, he couldn’t help but add softly, “Sorry.”

The sincerity in his tone even held a hint of regret.

Birdsong echoed across Yanxian Island.

Petals fluttered down, landing on Jiang Yuxun’s shoulder—but he didn’t spare them a glance.

When Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze, Jiang Yuxun’s unease spiked.

“Are you angry?”

The emperor, who had been frowning, finally smiled and shook his head lightly.

Jiang Yuxun’s feet—pale from years without sun—were almost too white.

The faint pink petal resting there stood out all the more vividly.

Ying Changchuan’s gaze darkened. He didn’t reproach Jiang Yuxun for his “trick.”

Instead, he bent again and carefully lifted him back into his arms, saying softly, “The ground is dirty.”

As he spoke, he brushed the small petal from the top of Jiang Yuxun’s foot.

It had rained on Yanxian Island just yesterday—there wasn’t even a speck of dust on the ground.

Glancing down once, Jiang Yuxun—once again inexplicably in Ying Changchuan’s arms—confirmed his suspicion.

He just wanted an excuse to hold me.

Yanxian Island wasn’t large. In no time, that familiar small pavilion came into view.

Though Jiang Yuxun had stayed here only briefly, he immediately noticed subtle differences from a few years ago.

He couldn’t quite say what had changed—only that what had once been exquisitely luxurious yet cold now felt inexplicably more alive.

Once inside, Ying Changchuan finally set him down.

Jiang Yuxun reached out to touch the red silk hanging from the window beam, glancing uncertainly at the emperor.

“Did Your Majesty have this place renovated in advance?”

Only upon closer look did he realize that the wooden doors once used to divide the space had been replaced with gauzy curtains.

Those thin veils now swayed gently in the summer breeze.

There was also an abundance of red silk indoors—entirely unlike Yanxian Island’s usual ethereal style.

It looked… almost like a wedding chamber.

The instant the word “wedding chamber” crossed his mind, the carefree joy he’d felt moments earlier evaporated.

—Return to Xianyou Palace or Yanxian Island, and finish everything left undone today.

Ying Changchuan’s words in the northern lands months ago resurfaced with unsettling clarity.

Realizing the implication, Jiang Yuxun’s ears flushed crimson.

Standing behind him, the emperor shook his head.

“I didn’t have anyone do it. I fixed it up myself.”

“You?” Jiang Yuxun was startled. He turned to stare at Ying Changchuan, wondering if this was a joke.

He did all this himself?

Where did he even find the time?

One glance was enough for Ying Changchuan to read his thoughts. He rubbed Jiang Yuxun’s ears—red enough to drip blood.

“On the way back from the Fulín Army camp to Xianyou Palace, I stopped by to tidy things up.”

That explained it.

Though Zherou had been eliminated, the army remained indispensable.

In the future, forces like the Fulín Army would not only defend against foreign threats but also stabilize domestic order, safeguard Great Zhou’s rule, and even protect merchants and envoys.

Even after returning to Zhaodu, Ying Changchuan still visited the Fulín camp regularly.

Jiang Yuxun knew he was handling both military reforms and agricultural matters.

…But he never imagined the emperor would still squeeze in a trip to Yanxian Island.

The room, once furnished only with gold and silver vessels, now held many items imbued with everyday warmth.

Even the previously empty bookcases were filled with volumes Jiang Yuxun had never seen.

The changes weren’t drastic—but everywhere revealed Ying Changchuan’s care.

Standing there, Jiang Yuxun unconsciously slowed his breathing, carefully looking around.

Seeing this, Ying Changchuan finally released his ears.

“Go take a look. See if you like it.”

“Okay.”

Jiang Yuxun’s shoes and socks were still on the boat.

He simply went barefoot and began flipping through the books.

They were newly bound—white, dense pages with pristine texture, not a trace of yellowing or stains.

There weren’t even any creases from prior reading.

At first, he flipped casually—but soon sensed something amiss.

Most books circulating in Great Zhou were classics and histories; noble households might have music scores or poetry.

In recent years, there had also been many texts on mathematics, agriculture, and craftsmanship.

All practical works.

Yet the book he now held was entirely different.

It recorded a folk fable.

“…Is this a storybook?” Jiang Yuxun slowed his movements, lifting his gaze to Ying Changchuan. “Did Your Majesty have these compiled?”

He was so curious his words tumbled out faster than usual.

The pavilion stood beside water. As he spoke, Ying Changchuan had already seated himself by the stream, sipping tea.

Jiang Yuxun hugged the stack of books and sat down nearby, placing them carefully away from the water.

Ying Changchuan poured him tea.

“Yes. Didn’t you once say you hoped folk stories could be collected? I thought I’d give them to you as a gift.”

He glanced back at the stack.

“Records and legends of Lingtiantai are included as well.”

Not only had Ying Changchuan refrained from burning Lingtiantai as history suggested—he had preserved its stories.

Everything before Jiang Yuxun exceeded his expectations.

…Back when Jiang Yuxun moved into the side hall of Liuyun Palace, Ying Changchuan—just one wall away—had developed a habit of sneaking over at night to chat.

If memory served, this had been nothing more than a casual remark Jiang Yuxun made last year.

He never expected Ying Changchuan to remember—let alone make it real.

The hem of Jiang Yuxun’s pale-blue summer robe was still damp from the lake.

Unlike Ying Changchuan, seated properly by the water, Jiang Yuxun let his legs dangle, idly stirring the stream as he spoke.

After a sip of tea, he raised his eyes and looked deeply at Ying Changchuan.

“Thank you.”

“Why thank me?” Ying Changchuan smiled.

The sun was setting.

Brilliant clouds dyed the stream red, making one squint.

The emperor—usually imposing—now looked languid and relaxed.

Jiang Yuxun shook his head.

“Great Zhou doesn’t belong only to nobles—it belongs to the people. Future generations shouldn’t know only what officials ate each day, while remaining ignorant of common lives. These books may mean little now, but they’ll be invaluable to the future.”

To those of this era, these were trivial anecdotes.

But future readers could uncover a hidden pulse of history—customs, habits, language shifts, even geography and climate—encoded in these stories like unopened gifts.

His words weren’t wrong.

Yet once spoken, something felt off.

This wasn’t what Ying Changchuan wanted to hear.

On Yanxian Island, alone together, there was no need to sound so official.

It was his honest feeling—but still… it dampened the mood.

Sure enough, Jiang Yuxun glimpsed a rare trace of loneliness in those smoke-gray eyes.

Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze and nodded quietly.

I really don’t know how to talk, Jiang Yuxun scolded himself.

Normally, he’d just let this page turn.

But here—on Yanxian Island—he didn’t want to.

He suddenly turned, lightly patting Ying Changchuan’s arm.

Taking a deep breath, he said,

“…And thank you—for keeping me in your heart.”

—Ying Changchuan hadn’t asked. Jiang Yuxun chose to say this.

The sunset reflected in the emperor’s eyes, warming what was once cold.

The gaze alone felt scorching.

Uncomfortable, Jiang Yuxun looked away, his feet stilled in the stream.

Only ripples remained.

From childhood, Jiang Yuxun had lived in boarding schools, never taught how to confide in loved ones.

Unused to intimacy, he felt awkward.

Yet now—he wanted to learn.

Ying Changchuan waited silently, never interrupting.

Counting fallen petals in the water, Jiang Yuxun said haltingly,

“…You probably know my situation. I never talked heart-to-heart with my parents. I don’t have old friends. I don’t really know how to… be in love.”

The island fell silent.

Only the soft chime of spring water remained.

“I know,” Ying Changchuan said gently.

After a pause, Jiang Yuxun gathered courage and looked up.

“…So I might really be bad at saying sweet things.”

Water murmured.

Bare skin showed beneath his soaked hem.

With the sound of flowing water, his clear voice reached Ying Changchuan’s ears:

“If there’s something you want to hear… why not just ask me?”

Twilight faded into a veil of pink and violet.

The man before him, once like green bamboo in snow, now looked softer—warmer.

He thought his words clumsy.

Yet Ying Changchuan’s heart raced wildly with every syllable.

To others, Jiang Yuxun was dependable “Lord Jiang.”

Even here, he often pretended maturity.

But today, he laid out his sincerity—nervous, earnest.

Thinking of his parents, he even sniffed quietly.

“It’s nothing. I just… missed home.”

Miss home.

The second time Ying Changchuan had heard that phrase.

This time, Jiang Yuxun didn’t hide.

Ying Changchuan suddenly reached out, gripping his wrist—and with a creak of the table, pinned him down.

“Ah—!”

Jiang Yuxun reflexively lifted his legs from the stream.

Splash! Water drenched them both.

Ying Changchuan heard both their breathing—and his own heartbeat.

Closing his eyes, he laughed softly into Jiang Yuxun’s ear.

“You said I can hear anything—except ‘thank you.’”

Before Jiang Yuxun could react, the world flipped.

The sunset vanished as Ying Changchuan carried him straight into the water.

Petals drifted past.

Warm spring water caressed every inch of skin.

His hair soaked through; his robe came undone—

Like an ice lotus blooming in water.

Night fell on Yanxian Island.

Standing before the bronze mirror, Jiang Yuxun sighed deeply.

The reflection showed loose hair trailing to his knees—and an ill-fitting black summer robe.

…This was Ying Changchuan’s clothing.

The Son of Heaven was buried in state affairs; being able to spare time to come to Yanxian Island was no small thing.

Naturally, Jiang Yuxun felt deeply moved.

That emotion, however, vanished the moment he opened the wardrobe.

—Could someone explain why the wardrobe on Yanxian Island contained clothes belonging to only Ying Changchuan?

Wasn’t this a bit careless?

Jiang Yuxun refused to believe the emperor could make such a low-level mistake.

The answer was obvious: Ying Changchuan had done it on purpose.

Still, no matter how much Jiang Yuxun wanted to avoid wearing Ying Changchuan’s clothes, it didn’t change the fact that his own summer robe had been soaked through earlier.

Grinding his teeth, he changed into the black robe that dragged all the way to the floor. Only then did Jiang Yuxun brace himself against the wall and walk barefoot out of the bedroom, following the sounds down the corridor toward a small nearby house.

…

It really did seem that there were only two people on Yanxian Island.

Who would have thought that Ying Changchuan—an emperor—wouldn’t even leave behind a single attendant?

It was already late.

On an ordinary day, Jiang Yuxun would have finished washing up and gone to bed by now. But after all that exertion—and with no dinner—he felt nothing but hunger.

Earlier, when Ying Changchuan told him not to worry, Jiang Yuxun had assumed food had already been prepared.

It wasn’t until he reached the small house that he realized…

…he had seriously overestimated things.

“Your Majesty?” Jiang Yuxun clutched the doorframe, staring into the room in disbelief. “Y-you’re… cooking?”

As the words left his mouth, he couldn’t help flicking his own finger lightly, as if using pain to confirm he wasn’t dreaming.

The emperor—dressed in a crimson gauze robe—was standing beside the stove.

Not only had he steamed rice according to Jiang Yuxun’s tastes, but another pot was gurgling with fish stew.

As Ying Changchuan bent to scoop rice, he said casually, “Didn’t A’Xun say he was feeling homesick?”

“…That’s true,” Jiang Yuxun admitted.

A home, after all, shouldn’t have imperial chefs or attendants.

Before Jiang Yuxun even arrived, Ying Changchuan had already finished one dish.

Seeing this, Jiang Yuxun—idle for the moment—walked over, intending to carry the food inside.

But before he could take a step, Ying Changchuan waved him off. “Go rest first.”

“I’m not—”

The word tired never made it out. Ying Changchuan’s gaze had already dropped slowly to Jiang Yuxun’s legs.

Jiang Yuxun: “……”

All the words he’d been ready to say died instantly.

To be honest, Jiang Yuxun had thought Ying Changchuan was past the age of being constantly… that inclined.

And after the outrageous behavior on the boat earlier, surely he wouldn’t be interested again so soon—

He was very wrong.

Though they hadn’t gone all the way, Jiang Yuxun’s legs were still burning even now.

He suspected something might be wrong but stubbornly refused to check, so he still didn’t know whether the skin was broken.

“Ahem…” Standing at the doorway, he instantly straightened up.

As the son of the Marquis of Jing, Ying Changchuan had never lacked servants since childhood.

No matter how one looked at it, he didn’t seem like the type to cook for himself.

Yet standing in the kitchen now, there was not the slightest sense of incongruity about him.

Even what simmered in the pot looked perfectly proper.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Jiang Yuxun asked, “Did Your Majesty just learn this, or have you practiced before?”

Ying Changchuan didn’t hide it. “First time. But the imperial chef left notes.”

“I see,” Jiang Yuxun said, enlightened.

Ying Changchuan’s martial training meant his knife skills were excellent—and he had no fear of fire.

Those two alone solved the biggest hurdles for a beginner.

With detailed notes from the imperial chef as well, even his first attempt looked effortless.

The only remaining question was… how would it taste?

Thinking this, Jiang Yuxun grew curious.

He sniffed lightly—but since nothing was burnt, his nose gave nothing away.

With only the two of them on Yanxian Island, the place felt almost too quiet.

Though newly sorted books awaited him in the bedroom, he didn’t want to leave.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of food, though from the color alone, the fish stew didn’t seem finished yet.

Looking at the figure busy at the stove, then recalling their first meeting years ago in the grand hall…

The contrast amused Jiang Yuxun so much that he finally laughed.

“What is it?” Ying Changchuan asked—somehow able to spare attention even while cooking.

Jiang Yuxun answered honestly, “When I first saw you in Yuyang Palace, you looked impossible to get along with. If we went back and told that Ying Changchuan he’d one day cook for me, I wonder what he’d think?”

—His face would probably turn green with anger.

The thought made Jiang Yuxun laugh again.

The kitchen fell quiet for a moment.

Before his amusement could fade, Ying Changchuan set down what he was holding and looked at him with a half-smile.

It seemed he, too, had been pulled back to that scene in the hall years ago.

For some reason, a chill ran down Jiang Yuxun’s back—along with a sense of impending doom.

“Uh, I was just talking nonsense, you—”

Before he could finish, Ying Changchuan shook his head, cutting him off.

The kitchen lighting was dim, flickering faintly over the emperor.

That familiar sense of danger returned.

Ying Changchuan smiled at him, lowering his voice meaningfully.

“I never imagined that the unyielding Lord Jiang would one day beg before me.”

“What do you think, Little Lord Jiang?”