BEGW C81

Chapter 81

The clouds and snow had dispersed above the Chen River, and sunlight—filtered once through the felt canopy—still poured into the tent bright enough to sting the eyes.

Jade-colored brocade blankets lay heaped in disorder, utterly stripped of their former neatness.

Though he had fallen asleep late the previous night, Jiang Yuxun’s internal clock still woke him precisely at dawn.

By instinct, he buried his face into the blankets, attempting to avoid the overly piercing light.

Yet in the next instant, his cool nose did not press into bedding as his subconscious expected, but rather—bumped against something firm.

“……”

Everything that had happened last night came flooding back in an instant.

I… slept in the same bed as Ying Changchuan!

Jiang Yuxun, who moments ago was still groggy, snapped his eyes open. Like a rusty automaton, his gaze lifted little by little.

Sunlight slipped through the quilt seam and spilled into the bed.

The scene before him sharpened instantly.

Black fabric appeared abruptly in front of his eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again—but nothing changed.

Despair crashed over him. What he had bumped into was Ying Changchuan’s shoulder.

I slept clinging to his arm the whole night?!

At that realization, his mind screamed while his fingertips blazed as if scorched.

At this moment, it felt as though through that thin layer of cloth, he could feel the pulse of the man beside him.

Thinking of his notoriously restless sleeping posture, Jiang Yuxun could only think—better off dead!

…A warm cabin. Tangled brocade.

Though he knew nothing had happened between him and Ying Changchuan, the sight before him still made guilt surge through him in a rush.

This was far, far too ambiguous…

The answer seemed ready to burst forth, and his heart trembled.

He had no mirror, yet the strange heat flooding his cheeks reminded him ceaselessly: his face must be bright red.

Without thinking, his mind blank, Jiang Yuxun released his grip, held his breath, and sat up abruptly from under the covers.

He stared straight ahead, not daring to glance at the person beside him.

The grand boat atop the river lay steeped in quiet. Only his heartbeat and the gentle splash of oars cutting north through the water remained in his ears.

With the soft rippling of the river, slender fingers cautiously lifted the brocade blanket from his body.

His black hair slid down his shoulders, outlining his already slim waist in an even more delicate curve.

Slowly, he edged toward escaping the bed.

…But just as he prepared to slip away, warmth suddenly encircled his wrist.

—thump thump.

His heart leapt twice, violently.

From the corner of his eye he saw—sometime during this, the Emperor had awakened.

Now leaning casually against the bedframe, Ying Changchuan slowly tightened his hold around Jiang Yuxun’s wrist.

Sunlight, warm and tender, filled the smoke-gray depths of his eyes.

His gaze fell, inch by inch, to Jiang Yuxun’s tightly-bitten lower lip.

Spring still held its chill along the Chen River.

Jiang Yuxun’s wrist was already cold as ice.

The only warmth came from Ying Changchuan’s fingers spreading through his skin.

“Ah—” Jiang Yuxun startled like a guilty thief, wrist jerking as though shocked by a jolt of electricity.

Yet Ying Changchuan did not release him. Instead, eyes still resting upon him, he asked as though nothing were amiss, “What troubles you, my beloved minister?”

Perhaps because he had just awoken, there was a trace of hoarse danger in the Emperor’s voice, unfamiliar yet irresistible.

Outside, river wind stirred the heavy curtains.

Ink-black hair spilled like silk across Ying Changchuan’s knee.

Ambiguity blossomed through the cabin.

Jiang Yuxun wanted to feign composure, to extract himself from this strange atmosphere.

But now—he could no longer suppress that wild, reckless thought pounding within him—

Could it be… that the Emperor of Great Zhou, Ying Changchuan… liked him?

His fingers curled involuntarily. In a whisper, he murmured, “That’s not right…”

“What is not right?”

Ying Changchuan’s voice brushed past his ear like a sudden whisper.

He blurted, “Was it not said Your Majesty feels no affection for anyone, and particularly despises relations between men?”

These conclusions were not groundless—they were derived from records in the History of Zhou.

Though never officially sealed as truth, they were widely accepted.

The moment he spoke, his heart fell into utter disorder.

His free hand lifted involuntarily to press over his racing heart.

Ying Changchuan’s brows knit.

The memory of Jiang Yuxun’s words in the Feather Sun Palace years ago surfaced vividly.

—This minister wonders whether Your Majesty is truly as rumor claims—unmoved by either gender, devoid of worldly desire.

Unmoved by affection, disdain for male relations, free of worldly desire?

Ying Changchuan’s thumb brushed lightly against Jiang Yuxun’s wrist. His eyes narrowed faintly. “I have long wished to ask—where did you hear such absurd tales?”

At that moment, the great vessel passed a rapid.

The roar of water surged louder. Jiang Yuxun, half kneeling, lost balance and sat back down.

The distance between them became unbearably close.

Meeting Ying Changchuan’s gaze mid-air, he stiffened. “…That is what the world says.”

Ying Changchuan shook his head, lips bending in a half-smile. “The world knows nothing of me.”

He felt affection, did not loathe men, and… lacked neither worldly desires.

Fear flickered in Jiang Yuxun’s dark eyes. “…Your Majesty has someone you like?”

Ying Changchuan’s gaze deepened, serious for once. “Yes.”

The ruler of Great Zhou already had someone in his heart.

Wind sifted through the curtains, seeping into his thin robe.

A strange shiver swept Jiang Yuxun’s shoulders.

He instinctively wanted to crawl back under the blanket—but the Emperor clearly had no intention of letting him escape so easily.

“Is there anything else you wish to ask?”

The atmosphere and their posture were far too intimate, far too unclear.

Cornered, Jiang Yuxun abandoned restraint altogether.

Fist clenched, he lifted his head and met those gray eyes. “Then why not tell him directly?”

You are the Emperor. No one can force you to swallow your desires.

If you really… liked me… then why toy with me, make me guess, and sometimes even act foolish before me?

Am I a kitten you find amusing to tease?

A faint, inexplicable irritation burned in him.

Waves battered the hull, rocking the grand vessel.

Though he no longer became seasick easily, his mind swayed with the motion, muddled.

Ying Changchuan finally released him, drawing the discarded blanket back over Jiang Yuxun’s shoulders.

Warmth slowly seeped back beneath his skin.

Just when Jiang Yuxun thought the Emperor would drop the matter, he heard a soft, “Because the one I like is devoted to nation above all and dislikes leveraging power to force another’s hand.”

Thus—he must proceed slowly.

A heavy wave crashed—splash!

Jiang Yuxun’s mind blanked. Suddenly, he remembered: those were words he himself had once spoken.

Sunlight scattered through the woods like golden dust.

The mountains of Moon-Sheath rose lush and green.

Mist veiled the slopes; only Immortal Wandering Palace loomed faintly in its midst.

That day upon the river, Ying Changchuan had laid bare his heart.

Fortunately, he did not demand Jiang Yuxun’s answer.

The northern border of Great Zhou, still wary after Zhezhuo’s devastating white calamity, dispatched daily military reports via courier stations to the vessel.

The Emperor became busy once more. Jiang Yuxun breathed a sigh of relief and, using “warming up” as an excuse, bundled his bedding and retreated to the outer cabin.

—He needed time and space to untangle his thoughts.

Travel in this era was arduous. He had left home at Winter Solstice, never imagining he would not return to Zhaodu until the midst of spring.

…

Immortal Wandering Palace — Garden

Morning dew still clung to the shrubs; birdsong echoed everywhere.

Though warfare had paused in recent years, Great Zhou remained busy.

Reforms delayed during founding now surged forward all at once.

Within this vast palace there was hardly an idle soul.

After a long morning’s work, Zhuang Yue walked to digest his meal, chatting with Jiang Yuxun, whom he had not seen in a while. “…Spring means preparations to collect summer taxes. Yet this year His Majesty plans to change the tax structure. The entire Anhe Hall is in chaos!”

He stretched, exhaustion etched in his face.

Anhe Hall, southeast of the palace, housed the Office of Grain—Zhuang Yue’s domain.

Ordinarily, spring and winter were calmer seasons. But this year chaos reigned, complaints echoing everywhere.

Jiang Yuxun nodded, noticing two enormous dark circles under Zhuang Yue’s eyes.

“The tax rate has already been lowered from one-fifteenth to one-twentieth—unprecedented in history. I cannot imagine why His Majesty still seeks changes…”

Zhuang Yue’s scarred face looked fierce, but having managed military provisions, he was deeply familiar with taxation.

In recent days, Jiang Yuxun had learned that not only Zhuang Yue, but the storehouses (Taicang) and price-control bureau (Pingzhun) also puzzled over the Emperor’s tax reforms.

Hearing his sighing, Jiang Yuxun halted. “In all history, taxation is rooted in three pillars: land, labor, and commerce. If land tax keeps decreasing, then when the court needs funds, it must turn to taxing people or trade.”

“…That is true,” Zhuang Yue nodded, uncertain.

Great Zhou inherited its system from the former dynasty.

Aside from land tax, there were “capitation taxes” on adults and children—human taxes.

The Emperor had simply not levied them in recent years.

Zhuang Yue, raised in the old era, saw nothing strange about their existence. “Head-tax is simpler. I see no great issue with it.”

Jiang Yuxun shook his head. “It is unjust to commoners yet lenient to wealthy landholders. Should future rulers resume such taxes, countless commoners will be unable to pay.”

Great Zhou thrived now only because Ying Changchuan refused heavy head-taxes.

But that depended wholly on the ruler’s conscience—arguably the most precarious foundation in the world.

If the tax system remained unchanged, danger persisted.

“Those unable to pay will turn to powerful clans—or drift as refugees,” his voice echoed solemnly across the garden. “In time, the state’s very foundations will crack.”

This was no exaggeration—two dynasties after Great Zhou had fallen in large part due to taxation.

Zhuang Yue stared, shaken. “…Allow me to think further on this.”

Their walk turned silent, Zhuang Yue lost in calculations.

Jiang Yuxun spoke no more, instead accompanying him toward Liuyun Hall.

Though Zhuang Yue’s office was more expert in tax matters than himself, they were all bound by the assumptions of their time.

Only Jiang Yuxun knew future history.

Yet Ying Changchuan still perceived the structural danger.

So—beyond warfare, he possessed great vision.

And… perhaps steadier emotions?

“…Nephew? Nephew?” At some point Zhuang Yue waved a hand before his face. “What are you thinking about? I asked you to reserve some good wine for your aunt’s birthday!”

Jiang Yuxun blinked, still half-lost. He blurted honestly, “I was thinking of His Majesty.”

The moment the words left him, panic shot through him. Can I say that?!

He cleared his throat. “Rest assured, I have made note. I will send the wine in a few days.”

“Excellent!” Thankfully, Zhuang Yue was too busy to notice the odd tone. Stroking his beard, he laughed, “For a minister, thinking often of the sovereign is commendable.”

As praise washed over him, guilt gnawed deeper.

Once, he had single-minded focus. But lately… stray thoughts swirled endlessly.

For instance, he never used to concern himself with the Emperor’s feelings.

Ridiculous! Grace and wrath are alike imperial favor.

What minister had leisure to worry about an emperor’s mood?

Grass flourished along the Yi River; the season reached its finest.

But in the north, winter’s wound lingered.

Zhezhuo’s strength was shattered; unable to rebuild, they could not raid.

Great Zhou remained vigilant, yet governance continued unabated.

Trade with Kehan increased; goods and horses flowed rapidly.

The ninth prince of Kehan now served as chief envoy, replacing Ci-Jia.

…

“…In Great Zhou’s ‘fire-nurtured greenhouses’, beyond flowers we also cultivate vegetables and melons,” Jiang Yuxun explained as he guided Prince Ruogu through, “Now, farmers along the Yi River are building their own.”

Ruogu’s accent was thick; his phrasing blunt. “Then greenhouse easy build?”

He blinked at Jiang Yuxun in curiosity.

“It is, Your Highness. If you wish, your craftsmen may remain to learn, then build them in Kehan later.”

Great Zhou had offered knowledge without reserve; Ruogu felt almost embarrassed. “Then I trouble you.”

“You are too polite.” Jiang Yuxun bowed.

Kehan had gifted fine horses; Great Zhou’s cavalry grew swiftly.

Generosity was returned in kind.

Seeing the hour grow late, Jiang Yuxun offered, “Luncheon nears. Would Your Highness rest in Liuyun Hall and try this year’s new tea?”

Young and only fourteen or fifteen, Ruogu cared little for politics. Tea, however, intrigued him.

“Good. Lead the way!”

The palace brimmed with blossoms after a night of rain, droplets dripping from eaves in soft rhythm.

Within Liuyun Hall, a white-jade table stood.

A eunuch warmed the cups and explained the tea. “…Picked last month, lightly pan-fried and delivered fresh—its fragrance brightest now.”

The envoy translated line by line.

Jiang Yuxun added gently, “In the past we flavored tea heavily. Now more prefer pure infusion.”

Foam was skimmed, fragrance unfurled. Ruogu inhaled deeply, eyes widening. “Different. Very good.”

Soon tea floated like orchids in water, scent elegant, hue vivid.

Peaceful conversation filled the hall until—

“…Feather Sun Palace is hundreds of miles away?” Ruogu asked. “Do all royals live there?”

Setting his cup, Jiang Yuxun shook his head. “It is damp and yet unrenovated. Only guards reside there; no one dwells within.”

“Strange…” Ruogu muttered, then suddenly turned bold eyes to the Emperor. “Then why palace here so empty? I see few people.”

Silence rippled. Curiosity—or gossip—gleamed in the boy’s eyes.

Chen gonggong froze. Ministers stilled.

The envoy hesitated to translate such a question—until Ying Changchuan smiled faintly. “Speak.”

Hard-pressed, the envoy lowered his head. “His Highness wonders… why one has not seen a single imperial consort.”

A hush fell.

Ruogu, oblivious to impropriety, nodded eagerly. “Yes, that.”

Silence thickened.

Behind the Emperor, Eunuch Sang risked a glance—straight into Jiang Yuxun’s guilty eyes.

Why are you looking at me?! This has nothing to do with me!

“Cough, cough—” Jiang Yuxun choked, staring desperately out the window.

Ruogu blinked. “What is wrong with Lord Jiang?”

Before Jiang Yuxun could respond, Ying Changchuan set down his cup—and echoed, voice rich with amusement, “Yes, what is wrong with Lord Jiang?”

Warm laughter shimmered in those smoke-gray eyes.

Jiang Yuxun: !!!

His grip tightened on his cup.

And before he could stop himself—he blurted, “Your Majesty… in the future, what do you intend?”

The soft question drifted across the hall.

…Within it, puzzlement mingled with a trembling unease he had never recognized before.

Disaster.

Ministers did not ask emperors their future intentions.

It sounded far too much like… asking for a promise.