BEGW C62

Chapter 62

The rippling waves rocked the little boat. Taking advantage of the moment they stepped ashore, Jiang Yuxun secretly cast a glance at Ying Changchuan.

The Son of Heaven’s expression carried his usual air of natural composure with a trace of languor, no different from normal.

In fact, when he noticed Jiang Yuxun’s gaze, he even calmly lowered his eyes to look at him openly.

…Could it be I am overthinking?

At once, Jiang Yuxun turned back and withdrew his gaze.

Of course! Leaving aside the fact that Ying Changchuan was now Emperor of Great Zhou, his birth alone as “Son of Duke Jing” already outranked ninety-nine percent of the world. To call him “of imperial bloodline” was, if anything, an understatement.

How could someone like Ying Changchuan possibly remember something as trivial as bringing another person a parasol?

Jiang Yuxun quietly let out a long breath.

The name “Swallow-Carrying Lake” came from the saying “Spring swallows carry new mud,” its spring scenery the grandest of all the seasons.

On the central islet, the pear blossoms, having bloomed for a season, were nearing their fall.

At dusk, spring drizzle descended from the horizon.

It swept loose petals like drifts of snow across the air, finally scattering across the path.

Jiang Yuxun forgot to move, slowly halting where he stood.

“These pear trees were planted in the former dynasty; now they have aged more than three hundred years,” Ying Changchuan said as he likewise looked at the clustered blossoms.

“No wonder they grow so tall…” Jiang Yuxun murmured, raising his head to peer at the pear crowns.

…Yet before he could glimpse the treetops, his sight was intercepted by a parasol.

In the space of a moment, Jiang Yuxun woke from his reverie.

Damn!

I nearly forgot—Ying Changchuan is holding the parasol for me!

As this realization struck, Jiang Yuxun’s scalp tingled numb.

Was this not worse than outpacing the boss to turn a dining table?

He hurriedly spoke, “Your Majesty… better let your servant carry the parasol instead?”

His ears turned red enough to drip blood. His black eyes brimmed with unease and tension.

The path on Swallow-Carrying Island was uneven, and where Jiang Yuxun walked stood slightly lower than Ying Changchuan.

Thus, the difference in their heights appeared exaggerated.

The Son of Heaven had meant to say “No need,” but upon seeing this expression, an uncharacteristically childish impulse arose in his heart…

After a pause, he arched a brow and handed the parasol over.

Jiang Yuxun instantly breathed in relief, hastily raising it as the two continued together down the narrow path.

Yet as soon as he lifted it, he realized something was amiss—

Ying Changchuan was not only tall, but also wore a black jade coronet upon his head!

Jiang Yuxun had to hold the parasol high, arm raised stiffly, so that it would not knock against the emperor’s hair.

At a glance, to any passerby, he might have seemed like a man clinging overhead on a crowded subway!

Regret flooded Jiang Yuxun’s heart.

If I’d known, I should have feigned ignorance!

Petals fluttered down, sticking upon the oil-paper parasol.

But Yuxun dared spare no glance, focused wholly on controlling it.

Even so, a bamboo rib of the umbrella still lightly caught the coronet, finally snagging a strand of hair.

Jiang Yuxun: …!

To disturb the emperor’s head… surely this would ruin his career!

Ying Changchuan’s step faltered; lowering his eyes, he asked, “And what is beloved minister doing?”

Jiang Yuxun’s heart sank like lead.

Biting his lip hard, he made the treasonous suggestion: “Otherwise, perhaps Your Majesty should carry it again?”

The whole isle seemed to fall silent.

The dripping of spring rain struck louder than ever.

Jiang Yuxun blurted, grasping for amendment, “Your servant—”

But before he could finish, Ying Changchuan interrupted: “Very well.”

His words laced with laughter, no shadow of displeasure.

Late spring neared, yet the rain carried chill.

After bearing the parasol for a short while, Yuxun’s hand was reddened by the cold.

Suddenly a faint warmth wrapped about him.

Ying Changchuan had raised his hand, taking hold of the parasol’s handle.

There was still a sliver of space between their hands, yet from an angle, it looked as though Jiang Yuxun’s hand was enclosed within the emperor’s.

It was only then he noticed—not only taller, Ying Changchuan’s hands too were a full circle greater than his own.

Startled, Yuxun forgot to let go.

Until his trembling finger brushed against the black jade ring the emperor wore, he came to his senses, hastily pulling away and turning his gaze aside.

“Your Majesty…” Jiang Yuxun forced composure, eyes darting around pointlessly, words tumbling. “Why are there no others on the isle today?”

By Steward Zhuang’s account, should this not be crowded?

Brushing off a blossom that clung to the handle, Ying Changchuan said, “Swallow-Carrying Island is split between east and west. The eastern isle has belonged solely to the royal family since the former dynasty.”

“Ah, I see,” Yuxun uttered at once.

So the Great Zhou imperial clan had but Ying Changchuan alone; this was, then, his private isle.

Perhaps never to come again, Jiang Yuxun could not help stealing many glances around.

The rain parasol was neither large nor small.

The stone path narrow.

To avoid wetting themselves, Yuxun kept close beside the emperor.

Shoulders brushed as they walked, the warmth of another body through thin spring robes dispelling night’s chill at once.

The secluded estate upon the isle, though small, was grander even than the Immortal Sojourn Palace.

Mist rose from the bubbling stream, curling round the double-eaved buildings, near which loomed a decades-tall pear tree.

It was only upon arrival that Yuxun discovered—Swallow-Carrying Island even held natural hot springs.

As in ancient times, people retired early.

That night, Yuxun bathed then slept.

At dawn, he went with Ying Changchuan deeper into the isle.

Beyond the estate stretched a small hunting ground, their destination that morning.

…

“Southeast—”

“At once, Your Majesty!”

At the instant Ying Changchuan gave command, Yuxun loosed his arrow southeastward.

The feathered shaft split the air with a sharp “swoosh.”

Next beat, it grazed the pheasant’s plumage, burying instead in damp soil.

Pressing his lips, Yuxun sighed with regret. “A pity it escaped.”

Besides swordplay, he had lately practiced mounted archery.

Though not for long, his aim was decent—he had struck a hare earlier.

Unwilling to concede, he notched another, scanning the brush for game atop his horse.

“To the earthen slope on the right,” Ying Changchuan whispered, “that same pheasant hides behind the shrubs.”

Yuxun looked that way—indeed, the long-tailed pheasant shimmered behind the undergrowth.

How sharp Ying Changchuan’s sight ran!

Silent to avoid startling the prey, Yuxun only nodded.

Drawing the bowstring taut, breath held, eyes fixed.

The white-feathered shaft loosed like lightning.

He clenched his fist unconsciously—

But just as it neared, the pheasant flapped upward.

Hastily, he fired again—rushed, it skimmed the bird’s head and embedded itself deep in a tree.

Another sigh escaped him. “Truly, mounted archery is difficult. I was distracted.”

Together they rode toward the tree.

The hunting grounds were modest, holding pheasants, hares, at largest, deer.

Trivial prey for the emperor; Yuxun even suspected the trip meant to test his learning.

“Not bad,” Ying Changchuan chuckled. “Pheasants are always hard.”

His quiver emptied, Yuxun dismounted beneath the tree.

Moving nearer, he found the lodged shaft higher than expected.

Even stretching full arm, he could not reach it.

Just as he turned to another shaft upon the ground, faint dragon musk reached his nose.¹

Ying Changchuan had silently stepped behind.

Easily, he pulled the arrow from the wood.

Yuxun: …!

His eyes darted to their feet—yes, Ying Changchuan indeed stood even lower upon the slope?

For Yuxun’s body was identical to his modern self’s height and figure.

By modern, nutrition-rich standards, he was no “short” man.

Yet the emperor loomed yet taller.

Doubt kindled deep; Yuxun even edged down two steps to test the difference.

But before he could, Ying Changchuan handed back the arrow.

Its head bent crooked, no longer useable.

Rushing, ashamed at his near-indiscretion, Yuxun quickly took it.

But through the emperor’s silver-grey eyes, he saw his own face—thoughts plain upon it.

Asking height outright of the emperor would be unforgivable.

“To thank Your Majesty,” Yuxun said instead, forcing talk elsewise, “I noticed earlier—the mounts upon the isle run smaller, and the stirrups too quite short.”

Their hunt concluded, he walked, reins in hand, leading his horse.

“Yes,” Ying Changchuan said.

The rains from last night had left the forest fresher, soil softened.

As Yuxun observed in earnest, “With shorter stirrups, riders push deeper into the saddle, seating heavier.”

So the emperor added, “But should danger strike and the rider fall, his foot may catch by the stirrup, dragged by the horse.”

Yuxun’s eyes brightened. “Indeed!”

How keen Ying Changchuan’s grasp!

“Whether horse breeds from Kehan or Zherou, they tend small. When improved, such problems will only multiply.”²

He had already glimpsed this while practicing mounted archery.

Great Zhou’s saddles, unlike firm modern arched ones, were mere leather pads—low, unsteady, the cause of many accidents.

Chatting thus, they soon left the fields.

Puddles lingered on the slate paths, petal-drift afloat.

Handing his mount to the Xuan Seal Supervisors, Ying Changchuan walked with his minister toward the estate as he asked, “Has beloved minister any solution in mind?”

Pausing, Yuxun said firmly, “We may bid our craftsmen fashion saddles with sturdy frames. In years, fit the army with them, replacing the soft kind.”

“Very good.” Ying Changchuan nodded lightly. “When we return to Immortal Sojourn Palace, make the arrangements.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Yuxun smiled.

Though up early and busy hunting, the hour yet touched only midmorning.

Walking past the estate, Yuxun instinctively strode forward, but Ying Changchuan turned back inside.

Yuxun halted.

“Why not follow?” the emperor asked.

“It grows late—should we not return to Immortal Palace?”

“Not today,” Ying Changchuan smiled.

As though the sun had risen wrong.

The workaholic emperor… not working?

“…This,” Yuxun eyed him with suspicion—something here unusual.

“What is it?”

“Does Your Majesty have something weighing at heart?”

Else why holiday from rule?

The breeze scattered a blossom across Yuxun’s shoulder.

With a faintly helpless smile, Ying Changchuan brushed it away. “You come out to seek spring, leaving me alone at work—would that not be unfair?”

The wind stirred perfumes—pear and dragon musk together folded round him.

For a moment, Yuxun blanked out.

※

The rain began again upon Swallow-Carrying Isle, fine and threadlike from sky to ground.

“Sit, beloved minister.”

With ease, Ying Changchuan placed a porcelain flask upon the small brazier to warm wine.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” With hesitation, Yuxun sat opposite him, glancing toward the resplendent interior—a tall golden lotus lamp, candlelight shimmering upon it.

His eyes shone bright.

A millennium hence, this lamp would stand in the national museum as a “treasure of the nation.” To think, here it stood as household furnishing!

Seeing his gaze, Ying Changchuan asked, “Does beloved minister like this lamp?”

“Yes.” Yuxun answered honestly.

With the cottage three sides upon water, the steam of hot springs wrapped them round.

“Then I shall give it to you,” Ying Changchuan said lightly.

Yuxun nearly toppled with shock.

Never mind the craftsmanship—the sheer gold alone was priceless, an imperial item.

Even if the emperor dared gift it, he dared not accept!

He shook his head. “No merit, no reward. Your servant cannot take it.”

“Accept it as a birthday gift, then,” Ying Changchuan smiled.

Yuxun’s eyes widened—he knows my birthday?

Stunned a few moments, he regained composure.

Maybe to the emperor, it was but a lamp.

But to Yuxun, it was a national relic!

Joking aside, no ancient artifact could be hoarded!

Thus, with highest professionalism, he shook his head resolutely. “Too precious to remove. Better it remain here. I already have lamps myself.”

His tone grave; his manner unyielding.

Before long, the wine warmed.

Pouring smoothly, Ying Changchuan passed him a cup.

Yuxun had spoken sincerely; he truly yearned for nothing more.

Fearing the emperor might try gifting other relics, he hastily sipped, saying, “Truly, Your servant covets neither riches nor honors, nor treasures of silver or gold.”

“Oh?” Ying Changchuan tilted with interest. “Why not?”

Had it been a normal courtier, he would have seized this to display lofty virtue.

But Yuxun simply said, “First, as I reside in Immortal Palace, such things serve no use. Second, the family estate has no space. They only collect dust.”

In truth, what he desired banally were phones, Wi-Fi, cars, planes… even flush toilets.

At that thought, his heart sank.

Ying Changchuan smiled. “And honor, fame?”

Mist rose around the stream, warmth everywhere.

Leaning against the jade table, half-smiling, he watched.

Yuxun too relaxed, cupping his wine in thought. “After reading so much history, the notion of ‘leaving a name for the ages’ seems less tempting.”

“How so?” the emperor asked curiously.

He seldom cared for others’ thoughts—until Yuxun, who was always unusual, always amusing.

Downing his cooling cup, Yuxun analyzed, “Outside a few, most, even if remembered, leave only half a page. One page: commanding thousands. Next, they are dead. So I feel it not so alluring.”

From a thousand years later, he had read too much history—his sense of “immortal fame” unlike ancients.

He glanced nervously at Ying Changchuan.

What he withheld was— even someone like Ying Changchuan, who filled a whole history volume, could still be cursed casually by him today!

The cottage fell silent. Yuxun felt uneasy.

Ancients prized reputation after death. Would Ying Changchuan agree?

Remembering his love of war and conquest, Yuxun doubted.

But after sipping a while, the Son of Heaven nodded. “Beloved minister speaks true.”

He agrees?

As emperor, there was no need for formality with his courtier.

But indeed, though criticized by later ages for “dictatorship,” during his reign he paid little care to public or chronicles—living free, careless of tongues.

Relieved, Yuxun smiled again, filling his cup.

“So beloved minister desires nothing at all?” Ying Changchuan asked then.

He hesitated, then: “The matter at hand is what matters. If anything, when peace reigns, and the people on both banks of Yi River can spring-ramble, carefree of food and clothing, then my toil will not have been wasted.”

Ying Changchuan paused, then nodded.

Lest the emperor dismiss it as hollow talk, Yuxun hastened, “This is my true heart, not pretense. If I lie, then—”

“I understand,” the Son of Heaven cut in softly with humor. “When has Little Lord Jiang deceived me?”

Lowering his eyes, he looked direct.

“…Cough, cough.”

Yuxun flushed scarlet.

No martial virtue—three times now!

Did he know of my weak spot for “Little Lord Jiang”?

The warmed wine, nuanced and fruity, hit deeper than expected.

After just a few cups, Yuxun’s head spun.

Knowing his limit, he stopped early—yet forgetting how many bugs plagued him.

He was an “unavoidable loophole” in flesh.

Spring rain murmured outside. Within, chatter continued.

“Just surprised Your Majesty wished leisure,” Yuxun explained.

Ying Changchuan twirled a golden cup. “So that was your query in the hunt?”

“…Hunt?” Yuxun frowned, confused. “Not exactly.”

“What then?”

“…Just curious how tall Your Majesty is. So I wished to measure against you.”

His voice shrank smaller, each word coy.

But when said, he rushed to retract. “Though childish, improper—I shall drop it.”

The emperor raised a brow. “No longer curious?”

Are you mocking me!

“Still am.” Yuxun ground his teeth.

“Then perfect,” Ying Changchuan said, setting down the goblet. “So am I.” Rising to his feet.

What! You too await such nonsense?

Incredulous, but when the emperor stood, the minister could not remain seated.

Resigned, Yuxun stood also.

Breathing deep, he steeled himself—A word loosed cannot be taken back.

So he was shorter? Nothing shameful.

The wind picked up, blossoms like snow.

Mist drifted inside.

He stepped near, standing just before Ying Changchuan.

Never so near, their closeness pressed.

His sleeve brushed the emperor’s nose with faint pear scent.

“Seems off,” he muttered, shifting. “One moment, I think I measured wrong.”

Completely focused, he ignored all but this task.

Warm breath unwound near Ying Changchuan’s neck.

The Son of Heaven held his breath.

Fingers brushing toward his lips—suddenly, Ying Changchuan averted his eyes.

“That suffices.” His voice low. “The result is known.”

Before Yuxun could react, the emperor stepped back and calmly reclaimed his seat, sipping tea.

“…Eh?” Did we?

How strange—he was the shorter. Shouldn’t he, at least, be the one sulking?

——

Author’s Note:

Little Lord Jiang: Mark it down publicly—#YingChangchuanCan’tPlayFair!

Footnotes

1. Dragon musk (龙涎香, long xian xiang) — An incense-like fragrance resembling ambergris, historically associated with imperial use.

2. Kehan and Zherou horse breeds — References to northern and frontier horse stocks, smaller, hardier varieties. Important in cavalry warfare.