BEGW C76

Chapter 76

The flagstones, layered with fine snow, resembled a sheet of thin xuan paper,* and his jet-black hair spread out upon it like ink diffusing in water.

As the cries of the child in his arms rang out, Jiang Yuxun’s long lashes trembled faintly, fluttered twice, and finally fell still.

In an instant, the luster in his dark eyes vanished—like a lamp suddenly extinguished, or the moon obscured behind drifting clouds.

Ying Changchuan’s breath, too, seemed to stop at that very moment.

“Ah Xun—!”

Zhuang Youli hurried forward, his hands trembling as he carried the child from Jiang Yuxun’s limp arms to the side.

Everyone seemed to awaken from a daze all at once, rushing over in panic. Their eyes quickly caught sight of the icicles hanging under the eaves.

“Why weren’t the eaves cleared?!”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous those are—”

“Where is the imperial physician?!”

The officials of Lingping County turned deathly pale, nearly collapsing from fright. “Th–This official will find him at once!”

The academy fell into complete chaos. Even the Inspector of the Mysterious Seal,* who had been standing further back, strode quickly toward the scene.

But before anyone could step forward to lift Jiang Yuxun, the Emperor had already removed his fox-fur cloak and bent down to gather the man into his arms.

His movements were exceedingly careful, avoiding the injury on Jiang Yuxun’s back.

In that instant, his expression became deeply grave, all traces of the usual smile erased from his lips.

Though the Emperor wore both fur and padded robes, the body in his arms still felt impossibly light—

…like a wisp of snow resting weightlessly upon his palms.

For a moment, Ying Changchuan found himself utterly at a loss for what to do.

“Your Majesty!” The Inspector of the Mysterious Seal rushed forward, bowing deeply before attempting to take Jiang Yuxun from his arms.

But Ying Changchuan did not even consider letting go. “Don’t touch him.”

His ash-grey eyes gleamed with chilling frost, his gaze so sharp that it made the inspector freeze in place.

“Y–Yes, Your Majesty.”

Terrified, the man backed away several paces.

As the Emperor adjusted his hold, Jiang Yuxun’s limp hand slipped from his sleeve; the brocade glove he wore slid soundlessly to the ground.

His bare hand, numbed by the snow and wind, was as pale as paper—only the fingertips retained the faintest tinge of red.

For a brief instant, something inside Ying Changchuan’s chest seemed to collapse into emptiness.

After a long pause, he finally allowed himself to clutch that cold hand tightly—then, before the eyes of all present, he carried the unconscious man toward the county yamen, his expression unflinching and his gaze straight ahead.

Under the wide sleeves of his robe, no one saw that his fingers were faintly trembling…

The shattered icicles on the ground glimmered painfully bright under the sunlight—like blades piercing straight into Ying Changchuan’s heart.

…Just a little more.

Those icicles had almost struck Jiang Yuxun.

For the first time in years, the man who never flinched even before a collapsing mountain felt the cold grip of fear.

…

The blue bricks of winter were slick with moisture, sheathed in a thin layer of ice. In trying to avoid the falling icicles, Jiang Yuxun had taken an especially heavy fall.

Fortunately, the fox-fur and thick cotton robes he wore absorbed much of the impact.

Though the bruises across his back looked alarming, his spine was intact.

He had lost consciousness not from the fall itself but from striking the back of his head on the way down.

A misfortune within fortune, perhaps—his back hitting the ground first had lessened the blow to his skull.

Despite the severity of his fall, the injury was not fatal.

After a swift examination, the accompanying imperial physician immediately applied cold compresses to the affected area to limit swelling and internal bleeding.

That night, the Emperor never left the room.

He did not step away from the bedside, nor did he close his eyes even once.

Only when dawn broke—when the first batch of padded robes and tents arrived at Taoyan Commandery, delivered under Chen Jiang’s supervision—did Ying Changchuan finally rise to attend to state affairs.

Outside the county yamen, soldiers stood guard in heavy formation.

Sunlight melted the snow on the roof; cold droplets of water hung from the eaves, ready to fall at any moment.

Seeing this, the attendants quickly stepped forward and struck them down before they could refreeze into ice.

“Your Majesty, the ships under my charge carried one hundred tents in total. The small ones can house three to five people, and the large ones ten to twenty. They’ve all been unloaded and temporarily stored at the ferry on the outskirts of Xikou City.”

The middle-ranking officer, clad in silver armor and covered in travel dust, knelt as he made his report.

Ying Changchuan glanced over the memorial in his hand before speaking, his tone calm yet weighty: “Leave thirty tents here in Lingping County; send the rest to Xikou.”

His gaze was deep and his expression devoid of the warmth he once carried—an entirely different man from usual.

The officer hesitated before asking cautiously, “Should three-tenths of the cotton clothing also remain here, and the other seven-tenths go to Xikou?”

The midday air was biting cold; even within the yamen, where no braziers were lit, the chill stung the lungs.

Yet the officer kneeling before him was sweating profusely, a sheen of cold perspiration glistening on his back.

He dared to sneak a glance at the Emperor—

Strange. Though the situation in Taoyan Commandery was grave, His Majesty had faced far worse on countless campaigns.

Why, then, did today’s air feel so tense?

Ying Changchuan frowned slightly. “All the padded clothing shall be allocated by—”

He almost said, “by Minister Jiang,” but caught himself just in time, remembering that Jiang Yuxun was not here today…

At some point, he had grown used to the man’s presence.

After a brief pause, he continued, “The first batch of padded clothing shall be distributed among the garrison stationed in Lingping County, then to the people of Taoyan, prioritizing the elderly, the weak, and the young.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” The officer saluted deeply before withdrawing.

In times of disaster, resource distribution was no different from waging war.

The elite forces of Great Zhou once again displayed their unmatched discipline.

Within a day, the Taoyan garrison had gathered enough straw to turn into bedding.

The roofs of every building in Lingping County had been cleared of snow and icicles.

The words Jiang Yuxun had spoken in the orchard spread swiftly across the entire commandery.

Once the padded clothing was distributed, the soldiers stationed nearby immediately set about restoring the orchards, while guards along the official roads worked tirelessly to keep them clear for transport.

Having spent years commanding troops, Ying Changchuan completed all arrangements with remarkable efficiency.

Yet as he stared down at the memorials filled with neat lines of writing, he could not shake the hollow feeling in his chest—

Something was missing.

Lingping’s yamen, built during the previous dynasty, was sturdy enough to withstand the recent snowstorm.

Though no buildings had collapsed, each chamber was dimly lit, relying on flickering candlelight even during the day.

The untrimmed wick spat occasional sparks.

The candlelight dimmed, blurring the words on the page before him.

Taking up the wick trimmer, Ying Changchuan rose to adjust the flame.

And just as he turned back to the desk, his shadow—cast long across the floor by the low candlelight—flickered slightly, trembling in rhythm with the flame.

The vast, empty room only made his solitude more striking.

Everything around him served as a reminder—today, one presence was missing from his side.

In the open square outside the yamen, rows of tents had been erected.

The thick felt walls kept out the cold and damp.

Unlike stone or tile, the soft tops of the tents made it easier to clear off snow.

A light tap with a stick was enough to shake it loose.

The refugees who had been crammed into the academy now moved into these tents, joined by those from the nearby counties.

In the center, great cauldrons had been set over roaring fires.

As the water boiled, the cooks poured in washed grains; fragrant steam rose, filling the air with warmth and the comforting scent of food.

Before long, the bubbling sound of porridge echoed through the air, and the aroma grew so rich that it made everyone’s mouths water.

Most of Lingping’s houses had collapsed, even the yamen kitchen had caved in.

People cooked outdoors now, while those in the tents or academies queued twice a day for food at the communal kitchens.

Smelling the rice, one man swallowed audibly. “How much longer till it’s ready?”

“Patience!” called the cook, stirring vigorously. “Just one more cup of tea’s time!”

The heat from the fire warmed the crowd.

Those with thin clothes clustered near the cauldron, soaking in the warmth as they waited for their porridge.

The grains were unevenly cooked—some soft, some hard, some sweet, some bland—but for the people of Taoyan, who only years ago had known the pain of hunger, it was a feast.

Even the officials accompanying the Emperor dared not request separate meals. All waited their turn with bowls in hand.

Lingping had not seen such bustle all winter.

“Physician Xiang!”

Spotting the familiar figure, Zhuang Youli waved and hurried over. “How is Ah Xun?”

At his words, two other officials leaned in expectantly.

Brushing snow from his sleeves, the imperial physician replied, “We have already applied cold compresses to Lord Jiang’s injuries. The swelling has begun to subside—he should awaken today. Lord Zhuang need not worry.”

Zhuang let out a long sigh. “And the wound on his head?”

“It’s nothing serious,” the physician said, rubbing his hands for warmth. “In my opinion, Lord Jiang’s prolonged unconsciousness stems more from exhaustion. His body is frail by nature, and he has been overexerting himself lately.”

Zhuang nodded slowly. “That’s true… his health has never been good. Perhaps this is Heaven’s way of forcing him to rest.”

The others chimed in at once. “Indeed! Let him recover properly. We can manage the rest.”

The snow that had fallen through the night gave way to rare sunlight by midday—but this was not good news for Taoyan.

The melting snow pooled into water everywhere, and if not drained quickly, it would refreeze by nightfall.

Villagers, lacking warm clothes, worked together to clear the roads and drains.

Meanwhile, Zhuang Youli and several others rode between counties to inspect the granaries, ensuring that no leaks or dampness had ruined the stores.

Fortunately, Lingping’s granaries—accustomed to rain—were well sealed.

All had weathered the ice disaster safely.

By the time they returned, the porridge had finished cooking. Steam billowed up as the lid was lifted.

Ravenous, Zhuang grabbed a bowl and devoured it, sighing in satisfaction—then his thoughts turned again to the man still bedridden.

“Physician Xiang,” he said, spooning up another bite, “may we visit Ah Xun later? Perhaps bring him some food? What if he wakes hungry?”

“You are thoughtful, Lord Zhuang,” another official added. “We should prepare his meal in advance, then reheat it later.”

But before they could continue, the physician suddenly choked on his porridge, coughing violently. “C–Cough—”

“What’s wrong, Physician Xiang?”

He waved his hands nervously. “N–No, my lords needn’t worry! Lord Jiang lacks for nothing.”

“How can we not worry?” Zhuang frowned. “After such a fall, we must at least check on him out of concern.”

“Yes!”

“Physician Xiang, you needn’t trouble yourself. We’ll just take a quick look and leave immediately—we wouldn’t disturb him.”

The physician looked around anxiously to ensure no civilians were listening. Then, lowering his voice, he said hurriedly, “That’s not what I meant!”

The officials blinked in confusion, but Zhuang’s expression changed instantly—

Not good.

Something was definitely off.

He quickly stepped between the others and the physician. “Forget it. If he forbids it, we won’t go. Perhaps Ah Xun will wake soon anyway.”

But before he could finish, the physician blurted, “To tell the truth—His Majesty is still with Lord Jiang! You mustn’t go and disturb them.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Even the physician himself, who hadn’t witnessed yesterday’s scene, felt that something was… odd.

The Emperor had not only stayed by Jiang Yuxun’s side all night but had returned after attending court, even ordering meals to be sent to the chamber.

Since when had His Majesty ever shown such concern for a subordinate?

“Huh?” one official stammered. “H–His Majesty is… with Lord Jiang?”

The image of yesterday’s scene flashed vividly through their minds.

If yesterday’s action could be excused as instinct in a moment of danger—

Then what, exactly, was today?

The officials from the capital, men of “broad experience,” began to suspect… something.

Before their imaginations could spiral further, Zhuang Youli abruptly raised his voice: “A ruler cherishing his worthy minister—that’s all!”

Then, with exaggerated cheer, he seized the ladle and filled everyone’s bowls to the brim. “Enough gossip! Once Ah Xun recovers, we can visit properly. For now, eat! We still have work this afternoon!”

“Hey, Lord Zhuang—stop! That’s too much!”

“My bowl’s already full!”

“I’m done! No more!”

But Zhuang was relentless, filling each bowl until the porridge nearly overflowed.

No one dared waste food during disaster relief.

They bent over their bowls, slurping hurriedly.

The air filled with the sound of “slurp, slurp,” and just like that, the conversation died.

Safe.

Zhuang exhaled in relief and patted his chest.

Ah Xun, that’s the best I can do for you—

…

Behind the county yamen, in a sealed side chamber, the room was dim.

No lamps were lit; only the brazier’s embers glowed faintly, casting a soft warmth through the space.

Outside, snow began to fall again, veiling the world in white.

But from behind that door, a tender glow seeped out through the cracks.

The pale inner robes highlighted Jiang Yuxun’s wan complexion.

Lying on his side to spare his injured back, his dark hair spilled loosely over the bedding.

All that day, his dreams were chaotic and endless.

Everything that had happened since his transmigration replayed in his mind like a film reel.

When he finally struggled awake, a dull ache throbbed in the back of his head, and exhaustion weighed upon every limb.

Pain. Heaviness.

It felt as though he were being dragged into a swamp, unable to free himself.

Another wave of pain made his brow furrow; the haze in his mind lifted slightly.

…Where am I?

“Hiss…” He drew a sharp breath and instinctively reached for his back.

But before his hand could touch the wound, another hand gently caught his. “The bruising hasn’t faded. You mustn’t touch it.”

The voice was low, calm—unusually so.

Jiang Yuxun blinked, and the scene around him gradually came into focus.

The Emperor, dressed in black, had set aside the memorials and now sat at his bedside, gazing down at him.

His expression was composed, but his fingers—clenched ever so slightly—betrayed his unrest.

For once, Ying Changchuan did not look serene, but tired.

Then, from the depths of his memory, Jiang Yuxun recalled those three words he had heard before losing consciousness—

In that final instant, Ying Changchuan had cried out his name.

A gust of wind rattled the window.

“…Your Majesty?” Jiang Yuxun murmured hoarsely, his voice rasped from sleep.

On the bedside table sat a small tray, atop which rested a bowl of freshly cooled water.

“Drink first.” Ying Changchuan lifted the porcelain spoon and brought it gently to his lips. “You’ve slept for an entire day.”

Startled, Jiang Yuxun stared at him, heat creeping up his face.

Wait—what? The Emperor was taking care of him?!

His ears rang; his cheeks burned crimson.

He blinked hard, wondering if he was still dreaming—but the ache in his skull and the chill of the water against his lips told him this was all too real.

The white porcelain spoon brushed his lips as he swallowed obediently.

Then, trying to recover some dignity, he lifted a weak hand. “Your Majesty, I can do it myself.”

The low bed, the Emperor sitting so casually at his side—such intimacy was unthinkable between ruler and subject.

In that narrow chamber, warm with firelight, Jiang Yuxun felt an illusion—almost as if his head rested upon Ying Changchuan’s knee.

Such closeness was far beyond propriety.

He tried to rise, but pain shot through his back and stopped him short.

“…Ah—” He hissed softly, shrinking from the spoon. “Your Majesty, truly, I can—”

But Ying Changchuan did not let go. Instead, he gripped Jiang Yuxun’s hand tighter, his gaze steady and deep.

“Do you understand,” he said, voice suddenly sharp, “that those icicles missed you by mere inches? That you could have struck your skull fatally?”

His words came fast, stripped of imperial calm.

Jiang Yuxun pressed his lips together and whispered, “I understand.”

In his previous life, he had seen plenty of news about such accidents—he knew how deadly they could be.

“Are you not afraid of death?” Ying Changchuan’s grip tightened until Jiang Yuxun winced from the pressure, and only then did he release him.

Of course Jiang Yuxun feared death.

He meant to say so—but what came out was, “Naturally, I fear it. I fear pain, darkness, the unknown… Cough—but perhaps not death itself.”

Even he was startled by his own words.

He lowered his gaze, fidgeting slightly, but Ying Changchuan’s hand tightened again. “Why?”

The Emperor’s voice had grown low and rough.

As a soldier, as a sovereign, Ying Changchuan had long grown used to life and death.

To him, lives were numbers—fleeting, replaceable.

And yet, in this moment, he could not think of anything in the world more precious than the man before him.

The throbbing in Jiang Yuxun’s head grew stronger. Fatigue washed over him once more, but he murmured softly, “Everything I’ve done, Your Majesty already knows. Wine, gunpowder, wheat, the trade routes—all have been recorded. Even if something happened to me, Your Majesty could handle them with ease.”

Ying Changchuan said nothing. His silence was heavy, unreadable.

Uneasy, Jiang Yuxun tried again. “As for the rest—the Inspector of the Mysterious Seal serves Your Majesty directly. Whether I’m here or not makes little difference. Youli has grown too; he can take charge himself. And if not, Lord Zhuang will help.”

Still, Ying Changchuan said nothing, and Jiang Yuxun forced a small laugh. “The Jiang family estates too—all of them… I can entrust them to Your Majesty without worry.”

He smiled faintly, unaware that every word struck the Emperor’s heart like an echo.

Because, in truth, the reason Jiang Yuxun feared nothing was simple—

As long as Ying Changchuan was there, he believed everything would be fine.

The firelight cast a faint blush across his pale face.

“Without worry…” Ying Changchuan repeated softly.

Then, just as Jiang Yuxun’s eyes fluttered closed again, the Emperor suddenly gripped his hand more tightly, forcing him to meet his gaze.

The room was silent but for the faint dripping from the eaves.

And amidst that quiet, Ying Changchuan’s voice fell, low and sharp, like a blade to the heart—

“…What about me?”

He leaned closer, his tone almost fierce.

“Can you leave me behind without a care, too?”