BEGW C78

Chapter 78

The small private chamber had long been warmed by the charcoal fire.

Only the bronze mirror behind him still carried a trace of chill.

Jiang Yuxun instinctively tightened his sleeves and averted his gaze, saying, “Your Majesty, why not summon the Imperial Physician?”

Was this a joke? The mere fact that Ying Changchuan appeared here was already the biggest problem!

Since when had he changed professions and become a physician?

Ying Changchuan, as if not understanding the implied meaning behind his words, replied casually, “The Imperial Physician is currently taking Lord Tong’s pulse. When I was in the army, I often handled such external injuries.”

The emperor’s explanation, at first hearing, sounded entirely reasonable — neatly blocking off Jiang Yuxun’s line of protest.

…To insist any further now would only make it seem as if he were harboring a guilty conscience.

Seeing Ying Changchuan’s self-assured composure, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but silently take it as a challenge.

It was only applying medicine — what was there to be afraid of?

He had originally planned to lie down on the couch and wait for the Imperial Physician to tend to his wound, but instead, he sat himself at the desk.

Clenching his teeth in silence, he muttered, “…Then I must trouble Your Majesty.”

“It’s no trouble,” Ying Changchuan said with a faint laugh.

The side chamber in the county office was no more than ten feet long.

Between the desk and the bronze mirror, there was barely any space to move.

…They were both men — what was there to be awkward about?

Jiang Yuxun drew in a deep breath and slowly loosened his collar.

The soft fabric slipped from his shoulders, pooling at his arms.

A stretch of pale skin was revealed, marred by fierce, jagged scars.

Though the room had been well heated by the brazier, the moment his clothes fell away, Jiang Yuxun’s body still shivered lightly from the cold.

The butterfly bones on his back, mottled with bluish bruises, seemed in that instant to flutter their wings.

The emperor’s gaze darkened.

Before Jiang Yuxun could adjust, Ying Changchuan’s fingers had already brushed against his bare shoulder.

The cool touch instantly woke every nerve in his body. Jiang Yuxun instinctively tried to flinch away.

“Don’t move.” The emperor’s voice came from behind him.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty…” Jiang Yuxun froze in place, not daring to twitch.

Ying Changchuan had not lied — the ointment to promote circulation and disperse bruises also carried a numbing effect.

In just a few moments, the pain faded completely, leaving only a faint tingling warmth spreading across his back.

The chamber was utterly silent.

Jiang Yuxun unconsciously tightened his grip on his sleeve, lowering his gaze to compose his thoughts, silently counting numbers in his mind.

The candlelight lent a soft glow to his pale skin.

In the bronze mirror, Ying Changchuan could see Jiang Yuxun’s reflection swaying faintly with the flicker of the flame.

A warmth — soft and delicate — spread beneath his fingertips.

Ying Changchuan, swayed by a private impulse, unconsciously slowed his movements.

…The man before him trembled ever so slightly with each touch.

“Besides…” Ying Changchuan’s hand suddenly paused. A low, hoarse chuckle escaped his lips as he said, “Besides, I would not wish for the Imperial Physician to apply medicine in your place.”

As he spoke, his gaze lifted past Jiang Yuxun’s shoulder, meeting the man’s reflection squarely in the mirror.

…In that instant, the emperor had laid bare his private desire with disarming clarity.

Upon hearing those words, Jiang Yuxun, who had just begun to relax, clenched the fabric beneath his hands tightly.

In the bronze mirror, his dark eyes widened.

His heart, which had only just calmed, now pounded violently within his chest.

The pale skin of his back flushed faintly red…

That winter felt particularly long.

In Taoyan Prefecture, the snow fell night after night, showing no sign of stopping.

In modern times, such ice disasters often collapse power grids, sever highways and railways, and paralyze daily life.

Fortunately, the people of ancient times did not rely on electricity; during the winter, large-scale activities ceased altogether.

From that perspective, the effects of snow and ice disasters were far less devastating than they would be in modern days.

Lengping County, the hardest hit by the storm, had a permanent population of only a thousand.

Once the cotton-padded coats had been distributed, the people quickly began their self-rescue efforts.

Some cleared the ice from courtyards and streets, while those whose homes had suffered only minor damage rebuilt with the help of soldiers.

Children, dressed in thick coats, took advantage of their parents’ distraction to slide gleefully across the frozen ground.

The long streets gradually regained life, no longer the desolate silence from before.

“…Finally, we can return to Xikou City!” On horseback, Zhuang Youli stretched lazily. “Lengping’s county office was far too small — I’ve never in my life had to squeeze into a communal bunk like that.”

Another person twisted his torso atop the saddle and groaned, “Don’t even mention it — someone kicked me last night, and my ribs still hurt.”

The group chattered animatedly as they rode out from Lengping County.

Though born into a family of generals, Zhuang Youli had always ridden with strict posture, never daring to loosen his grip on the reins — let alone stretch.

The other officials, more accustomed to carriages, were even less skilled. Normally, they sat stiffly, afraid to move an inch.

But today, everyone seemed far more at ease.

The “arched saddle” had recently begun spreading throughout the Zhou Empire.

The fashionable nobles of Zhaodu had eagerly abandoned the thin, cushion-like “low saddles” for these sturdy wooden ones.

With their raised front and back, arched saddles securely held a rider’s waist and hips, preventing them from being jolted forward or back.

This not only improved cavalry combat but also made riding far easier for ordinary people.

Even Zhuang Youli and his peers could now move freely atop their horses.

Though the snow had not yet ceased, the weight on everyone’s hearts had lifted.

The road was alive with laughter.

Lengping was a small town with only two main streets.

Before long, the group had left it far behind, returning toward Xikou City along the official road.

“…Cough, cough, what heavy smoke,” Jiang Yuxun muttered, trying to stuff the carriage curtain tighter to block the billowing haze.

The imperial soldiers worked with remarkable efficiency.

The orchards near Lengping had been meticulously tended — all dead roots and broken branches cleared, trunks wrapped in straw for insulation.

They even burned rice stalks in open areas to warm the soil.

Seeing Jiang Yuxun struggle with the curtain, Ying Changchuan set down the memorial he was reading and reached over.

With a simple movement of his fingers, he adjusted it properly. “Careful with your wound.”

Thanks to the newly distributed cotton coats, the guards could now rotate shifts to clear the roads.

The main route was again passable.

On the return journey, aside from the injured Jiang Yuxun, Tong Hailin also rode in another carriage.

There was no shortage of carriages in Lengping — Jiang Yuxun could not understand why Ying Changchuan insisted on sharing one with him.

“Thank you for the reminder, Your Majesty,” Jiang Yuxun said, straightening his posture, though his brow furrowed slightly as he propped himself up on both sides.

Ying Changchuan, noticing the small movement, looked down. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Caught mid-motion, Jiang Yuxun froze and answered honestly, “Your Majesty, my back feels somewhat sore.”

In this era, there were no chairs — carriages only had cushioned seats.

Usually, Jiang Yuxun leaned against the wall for support, but with his back wounded, he could only sit upright, avoiding any contact.

Before long, his waist began to ache.

The carriage rolled steadily onward, leaving the smoke and dust behind.

Noting that the emperor showed no displeasure, Jiang Yuxun exhaled in relief and openly braced himself with his arms.

Unexpectedly, Ying Changchuan glanced up from the memorial and said casually, “The road is long yet — why not lie down for a while?”

…Lie down?

Did I mishear, or did the emperor just say that?

Since winter began, a thick carpet had been laid on the carriage floor for warmth — soft, thick felt that cushioned the knees and warded off the cold.

Lying there would indeed be more comfortable than sitting upright.

But the problem was—

Even if it weren’t improper before the emperor, the carriage was far too small to allow such a thing.

When Jiang Yuxun remained still, Ying Changchuan asked with mild curiosity, “Do you not wish to lie down?”

Before the emperor, Jiang Yuxun dared not refuse too bluntly.

“…I do wish to, but if I were to lie down, where would Your Majesty sit?”

Outside, snowflakes drifted down again, though the two inside remained unaware.

Ying Changchuan continued turning pages, his tone calm: “You may rest your head upon My lap.”

A ringing buzz exploded in Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

This… this was far too much—

What in the world—!

Did Ying Changchuan even realize what he was saying? Had someone possessed him?

Jiang Yuxun struggled to keep his expression neutral, though the turmoil inside him had long turned into a tiny, panicked man running in circles and screaming.

Was this the emperor’s idea of a joke?

He might say such things lightly — but if Jiang Yuxun actually did it, wouldn’t that be crossing every line?

Trying to cling to composure, Jiang Yuxun found all his thoughts laid bare on his face.

When he still didn’t move, Ying Changchuan finally looked up. “What’s wrong? Still hesitant?”

His tone carried only faint puzzlement — as though… he were entirely serious.

Jiang Yuxun, suffering from his sore back, wanted nothing more than to lie down. But he made a final attempt to resist. “This would be far too discourteous. If others were to see—”

Ying Changchuan chuckled softly. “It matters not. There is only us here. No one can see.”

His voice lowered deliberately, his words — already inappropriate — taking on an even more ambiguous meaning.

Us. Them.

At some unknown point, Ying Changchuan had drawn a clear boundary between the world — one side, himself and Jiang Yuxun; on the other, everyone else.

A tingling numbness crept into Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips.

He was the Son of Heaven — and having spoken thus, what excuse did Jiang Yuxun have to refuse further?

The carriage rolled slowly onward, its wheels crunching over loose stones.

With the resolve of a man walking to his doom, Jiang Yuxun turned onto his side within the narrow space, cautiously resting his head upon Ying Changchuan’s lap.

The emperor, usually impeccable in posture and composure, now leaned slightly against the wall, his knee bent to make room.

Outside, the snowstorm thickened.

Inside, the sound of the wind mingled with the faint rustle of paper as Ying Changchuan continued reading.

The felt carpet beneath them was too soft; lulled by the rhythmic motion and quiet page turns, Jiang Yuxun’s tense nerves slowly unwound.

The frantic beating of his heart gradually steadied.

Just as he drifted into slumber, beginning to slip from Ying Changchuan’s lap, the emperor lifted him gently back into place, letting his head rest securely.

After a moment, Ying Changchuan set aside the memorial and said quietly to the guard outside, “No need to hurry. Slow the pace.”

…

The snow thickened. The carriage creaked gently as it moved.

Ying Changchuan no longer read. Instead, he let his hand rest lightly against Jiang Yuxun’s back, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes beside the man in his arms.

Jiang Yuxun was not a restful sleeper.

On the grand ship, with its wide bed, it was never apparent.

But now—

After some time, half asleep, he tried to turn over, only to be restrained by the pain in his back.

Unable to move, he shifted slightly, unconsciously nuzzling the “pillow” beneath his cheek.

A soft breath passed through the layers of fabric, brushing warm against the skin beneath — like a feather teasing past.

The emperor frowned faintly, his eyes opening again.

His gaze darkened, a dangerous complexity stirring in their depths.

After a long pause, he slowly placed his hand upon the dark hair beneath his fingers.

※

Though winter was long, snow and ice would always melt in time.

The storm along the official road had gentled, taking on the mildness of the southern lands.

They had departed at noon, and by the time they reached Xikou City, night had fallen.

Though lying down had been more comfortable, the carriage was far too cramped; after half a day curled up, every bone in Jiang Yuxun’s body ached, and fatigue clung to him still.

Upon returning to the grand ship moored outside the city, he washed briefly and fell fast asleep.

At dawn, he awoke.

…

Under Tong Hailin’s planning, Xikou City — now thriving with settlers from all regions — had taken on the charm of a southern water town.

Boatmen paddled gently through the thawing stream, calling out to sell grain and firewood.

“Millet! Freshly harvested millet from last year!”

The cry carried down the street, waking the townsfolk from slumber.

Before long, a window opened, and someone called back, “How much a shi?”

“Forty coins!”

After a brief hesitation, the householder donned a padded coat, lifted a clay jar, and stepped out to buy.

The lively haggling that followed brought a cheerful buzz to the street.

“…Though the weather’s been strange lately, Xikou’s grain stores are plentiful, so prices haven’t risen much,” Zhuang Youli said quietly as they walked.

Jiang Yuxun thought for a moment. “If I recall, it’s even a little cheaper than in Zhaodu?”

“Hahaha, isn’t it just! Everything in Zhaodu costs a fortune,” Zhuang Youli replied, amused.

Seeing that food prices remained stable, they continued on at a leisurely pace.

Though snow still fell intermittently, Xikou City and all of Taoyan Prefecture had slowly regained vitality.

Shops along the streets had reopened for business.

“Ahchun, what do you think of this?” Zhuang Youli asked, picking up a ceramic jar outside a shop. “Wouldn’t this make a fine gift for Lord Tong?”

Jiang Yuxun followed him over, glancing inside the jar.

It was filled with honey, glinting gold beneath the morning sun.

He had been confined to rest for several days and had not yet visited Tong Hailin.

According to Zhuang Youli, though tended by physicians, Tong Hailin had yet to recover — no one knew quite why.

So now that he was able to go out, Jiang Yuxun intended to bring a small gift.

Hearing their voices, the shopkeeper hurried to explain, “Excellent choice, young masters! This is wild honey collected from the mountains — our local specialty, lychee honey. Please, have a taste.”

He fetched a clean wooden spoon and offered it over.

Zhuang Youli accepted without hesitation.

After sampling, he smacked his lips appreciatively and turned to Jiang Yuxun. “It really is good! And maybe it’s just because he said so, but I can swear I taste a hint of lychee.”

Seeing his fine fur cloak and confident air, the shopkeeper brightened. “Would you like to buy a jar, young master?”

Jiang Yuxun nodded. “Yes, we’ll take one.”

Zhuang Youli set down the spoon and clapped his hands. “Good, let’s have a jar.”

“Right away!” The merchant, who hadn’t seen much business for days, busied himself cheerfully and soon presented the jar. “Here you go, young master!”

As the sky brightened and more people filled the street, Jiang Yuxun and Zhuang Youli, honey in hand, continued toward the governor’s office.

“One moment sunshine, one moment rain — plant yellow seedlings, eat white rice.”*

“Spring rain awakens the earth, clears the sky in Grain Rain…”

By now, all the ice in Xikou had been cleared away.

The townsfolk, bundled in thick coats, began venturing outdoors again.

Refugees returned home, freeing up space in the schools.

Children who had stayed indoors during the snow were sent back to study.

The first edition of the “Literacy Primer” had recently been distributed throughout the empire — its lessons filled with agricultural proverbs.

So even parents who never expected their children to become scholars eagerly sent them to class, seeing it as both educational and practical.

After so many snowbound days, the children’s enthusiasm for study was higher than ever.

The lively recitation of farm sayings spilled from classroom walls, echoing through the whole of Xikou City.

Though the streets had been cleared, the melting snow still made them slick.

Worried Jiang Yuxun might slip, Zhuang Youli stayed close beside him.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped. “Ahchun, what’s that over there?”

Jiang Yuxun followed his gaze.

—Across the now-thawed creek, a household had flung open its doors to sweep the floors.

Through the doorway, they could see a woman bent over some contraption, working with great focus.

“That’s a new-style loom,” Jiang Yuxun said, halting. “It’s the invention of Miss Guan Xiangjun.”

Guan Xiangjun’s brother was Guan Shiming, the man who had once crafted the flower-tower machine.

Having studied spinning and weaving from childhood, she understood the mechanics even better than he did.

This loom, which she had designed at the end of last year, could triple the efficiency of the old models.

“I see…” Zhuang Youli nodded.

“Most of the cotton shipped from the north arrived unspun,” Jiang Yuxun continued, “so while tailoring is underway, weaving must also speed up.”

Because of the loom’s large size, they couldn’t all be placed in a single workshop.

After registration, each machine was distributed to households throughout Xikou City.

In ancient times, most families made their own clothes — every home had its loom.

But across the city, only about ten families had received these new ones.

Zhuang Youli glanced back at the house. “That family’s home looks rather worn — how could they afford such a machine?”

He had worked mainly in finance and taxation in Zhaodu and wasn’t familiar with the system here.

Jiang Yuxun, watching his step carefully, explained patiently, “They don’t need to buy it. If I recall correctly, Taoyan Prefecture began promoting these looms widely this spring.”

Zhuang Youli nodded, attentive. “I heard a bit about that.”

Jiang Yuxun went on, “Once they learn to operate it, the people can collect cotton or hemp from the government each month and deliver woven cloth by a set deadline. The rest of the time, they may use it freely.”

“No wonder!” Zhuang Youli exclaimed, enlightened.

By then, the gates of the governor’s office had come into view.

Snow had fallen through the night again.

As dawn broke, soldiers within were already clearing the roofs and walls.

Sunlight streamed through the thin clouds, scattering over the courtyard.

The soft sound of falling snow filled their ears.

Just as Jiang Yuxun was about to step forward, noticing the slick stone path, ever-dutiful Zhuang Youli quickly shifted the honey jar to one hand. “Wait, let me help you.”

“Thank you—” Jiang Yuxun replied without protest.

But as they stepped through the gate, everything turned white.

The guards atop the wall, unaware anyone stood below, had just swept down a pile of snow.

The snow, gathered all night, cascaded down like a waterfall.

“Pfft!” Zhuang Youli, caught off guard, spat out a mouthful of snow, standing frozen. “Heavens—!”

Snow still rained down as he lifted an arm to shield himself, glancing sideways.

Seeing Jiang Yuxun also covered head to toe, Zhuang Youli’s playful spirit stirred.

He crouched, scooped up a ball of snow, and hurled it.

“Ahchun, take this!”

Before he finished speaking, the snowball hit Jiang Yuxun squarely on the hand.

It was soft and harmless — fresh morning snow that couldn’t possibly hurt.

Seeing the mark on his hand, Jiang Yuxun suddenly felt a surge of competitive fire. “Don’t run!”

Scooping up snow from the air, he tried to throw it back — but his injured back made him slow and clumsy.

Before he could even lift his arm, Zhuang Youli had already thrown another.

The snowball whizzed through the air —

And struck a figure clad in dark robes.

“Pff—”

What… what just happened?

The guards, done clearing the eaves, moved away — and Jiang Yuxun’s vision cleared.

He saw—

The appointed hour had come; the accompanying officials and Taoyan’s local commanders had gathered before the yamen, awaiting the emperor’s audience.

Yet Ying Changchuan had left them standing, appearing instead at the front gate — and before all present, gently stepped forward to shield Jiang Yuxun.

“Are you unharmed, my dear minister?”

As he spoke, he brushed the snow from Jiang Yuxun’s shoulders — seemingly unaware of the flakes dusting his own robes.

…Neither his tone nor his gesture was anything the officials had ever seen from their sovereign.

Author’s Note:

Zhuang Youli: Urgent! Urgent! Ahchun, may I borrow your “immunity from death” card just once?!

Footnote:

“One moment sunshine, one moment rain, plant yellow seedlings, eat white rice” — an agricultural proverb meaning that alternating weather helps crops grow well.