BEGW C87

Chapter 87

In the hearts of Great Zhou’s officials—especially its soldiers—Ying Changchuan was nothing short of a living deity.

Zhuang Yue, who had once fought through life and death beside him, had never imagined in his wildest dreams that the Emperor would one day form this kind of relationship with his own junior relative.

Even—

Even… share a bed with him!

Heavens above…

He pinched himself again, hard.

A sliver of sunset fell across Zhuang Yue’s face, turning his already-strange expression an even deeper red.

The moment those words left Jiang Yuxun’s mouth, Zhuang Yue staggered back two steps.

Fortunately, his years in the army had left him with a sturdy body. He steadied himself after a few breaths.

Jiang Yuxun was a grown man, yet right now he looked exactly like a teenager caught in the act of first love—guilt written from head to toe.

He reacted on instinct before he could think: “You’re overthinking…”

Even the tips of his ears flushed red.

As the saying goes, no one knows a son better than his father. Though Zhuang Yue was not Jiang Yuxun’s father, he saw through him instantly.

But before he could question him—

A leisurely voice floated to Jiang Yuxun’s ear:

“Am I overthinking?”

Ying Changchuan.

And Jiang Yuxun answered reflexively:

“…Not exactly.”

Too fast.

Too straight.

Too honest.

What was Ying Changchuan interrupting for?!

Jiang Yuxun gritted his teeth and whipped around to glare at him.

Zhuang Yue, too, had not expected Jiang Yuxun to admit it so readily.

Draped in purple robes, Zhuang Yue stared once more at the Emperor’s hand. “Then… then His—His Majesty’s hand…”

Though horrified, the old general’s reason finally returned.

One glance at the Emperor—smiling faintly beside them—made Zhuang Yue break into a cold sweat.

As a minister, he should not be asking such shameful things in front of the Emperor.

Yet while Zhuang Yue wisely fell silent—

Jiang Yuxun had not recovered his senses.

“His hand?” Jiang Yuxun stammered, confused. “What’s wrong with His Majesty’s hand?”

He looked down as well.

Zhuang Yue had been planning to brush everything aside and speak privately later.

But the Emperor spoke first, smiling:

“Lord Zhuang wishes to know how the bite mark on my wrist came to be.”

He had no intention of hiding it.

A bite mark—

The moment he heard those words, Jiang Yuxun’s fingers curled reflexively.

That memory from midday flashed across his mind again, and he nearly wept.

He hadn’t done many shameful things in his life—

Why did Zhuang Yue manage to witness every single one?!

Though Jiang Yuxun had bitten Ying Changchuan, he hadn’t bitten hard. The mark was already fading.

He wanted to bluff and claim Zhuang Yue had seen wrong—

But Ying Changchuan didn’t give him the chance.

Before Zhuang Yue could fully recover from the shock, he heard Jiang Yuxun admit, utterly straightforward:

“I bit him.”

Three simple words, ringing with unmistakable clarity.

Silence settled over the palace path.

Then—

Ying Changchuan raised his wrist and glanced at the mark, smiling as though admiring a treasured gift.

A streak of red sunlight caught in his smoky-gray eyes—

Soft and filled with pleasure the likes of which Zhuang Yue had never seen.

His Majesty seemed very fond of A’xun’s blunt honesty…

Zhuang Yue retreated another full step.

That tone—

That attitude—

reminded him of the time Jiang Yuxun had stood up to the Emperor at a banquet.

In retrospect… there had been signs everywhere.

Could it be… the Emperor had already… back then?!

That—

That was going too far!

For the first time in his life, the loyal Zhuang Yue felt a spark of indignation.

…

Sun blazed over both sides of the Yi River, and fresh green stretched into the distance.

Though the north had only recently escaped heavy snow, the wheat near Zhaodu had already entered the grain-filling stage.

Recent rains along the Yi River were scarce, and farmers hurried to irrigate their fields.

If water fell short now, the year’s harvest would suffer.

Thus, after finishing tax-reform matters, Zhuang Yue—responsible for grain and monetary policy—rushed to the plains to inspect irrigation progress.

He wore a narrow-sleeved robe convenient for movement, crouched on a ridge of earth, rubbing soil between his fingers.

Behind him stood Zhuang Youli, summoned to assist.

After a while, Zhuang Yue threw the dry soil back and dusted off his hands.

“What are you standing there for?” he barked, turning sharply toward Jiang Yuxun.

Only after confirming the Imperial Seal Bureau guards accompanying Jiang Yuxun remained far off did Zhuang Yue lower his voice:

“Come here.”

The tone alone made Zhuang Youli flinch and glance at Jiang Yuxun with deep sympathy.

“Y-yes…” Jiang Yuxun shrank at once, tiptoeing closer like a scolded student.

Ever since Gu Yejio’s notice that Lingtiantai was contacting the alchemists, Jiang Yuxun had been monitoring matters closely.

He had no need to inspect wheat irrigation—

Yet this morning, before leaving Xianyou Palace, Zhuang Yue had deliberately waited until the Emperor was absent before inviting him to “discuss agricultural matters.”

The real purpose couldn’t be clearer.

Zhuang Yue gave him a full visual inspection, and seeing his guilty downward gaze, finally said, in a low voice:

“Do you have anything you want to say?”

Jiang Yuxun stared into the fields and babbled nonsense: “There’s been some spring rain lately, but the sun is strong. The moisture evaporates quickly. So irrigating the wheat is necessary.”

Zhuang Youli closed his eyes in despair.

So this was the legendary courage of Jiang Yuxun?

Predictably, Zhuang Yue’s frown deepened. “Jiang Yuxun!”

Jiang Yuxun froze.

Since his transmigration, Zhuang Yue had always addressed him kindly as “A’xun.”

Hearing his full name was a bad omen.

Zhuang Yue sighed heavily.

When he returned home that night, he had thought for an entire hour. Then he called Zhuang Youli over.

One look at his son’s evasive expression had told him everything—

Zhuang Youli had known all along.

And the two of them had conspired to hide it from him.

Spring wind rustled through the wheat.

After a long silence, Zhuang Yue asked, voice low and cautious:

“You… you are willing in this matter?”

He studied Jiang Yuxun’s expression carefully.

He had never examined the young man’s features so seriously before.

And only now did he realize—

Somewhere along the years, Jiang Yuxun had grown into an elegant young man like moonlight breaking through clouds.

His baby fat had long faded.

His eyes were dark and bright.

His nose fine and straight.

His smile gentle and clear.

Not hard at all to understand why the Emperor might be drawn to him.

“Ah?” Jiang Yuxun blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

He belatedly remembered: compared to the rigid social norms of his past life, Great Zhou was far more open.

This era even had a flourishing male-male tradition among the nobility.

So Zhuang Yue, as a court minister, was not particularly shocked.

Seeing Jiang Yuxun hesitating, Zhuang Yue pressed on:

“Has His Majesty… forced you in any way?”

His tone was heavy.

Forced?

Zhuang Youli coughed, face burning, and looked away.

Zhuang Yue had taught Jiang Yuxun much about surviving court politics—

always urging him to stay close to the Emperor.

But he hadn’t expected Jiang Yuxun to get this close.

“No,” Jiang Yuxun said quickly. “Uncle, don’t misunderstand.”

“Then what about you?” Zhuang Yue asked again, sighing. “Do you like His Majesty as a person—or do you like the status of a Son of Heaven?”

Despite being one of the Nine Ministers, Zhuang Yue had no fondness for roundabout phrases.

Only the three of them stood in the field, so he asked plainly.

Zhuang Youli glanced anxiously at Jiang Yuxun.

Jiang Yuxun clenched his hands.

He knew exactly what Zhuang Yue meant.

The title “Emperor” itself held blinding allure.

Zhuang Yue feared that the young Jiang Yuxun might confuse admiration for the throne with affection for the man.

Jiang Yuxun should have answered at once—

But his nose stung unexpectedly.

If Zhuang Yue did not truly treat him like family, he would have celebrated this revelation, advising him to hold tightly to such a connection.

But instead, Zhuang Yue had said—

Know your own heart.

Know whether you love him—

or his crown.

The spring wind carried the scent of grass.

In that moment, Jiang Yuxun felt a sense of belonging he had rarely experienced in this world.

He had a family here.

Before he could speak, he sniffed softly.

Zhuang Youli panicked. “Dad! Don’t talk to A’xun like that.”

Zhuang Yue realized he had sounded too harsh.

He looked away toward the wheat fields. “At your age, it’s normal to be confused. But His Majesty is not an ordinary man. You cannot treat him like one. Otherwise—”

Otherwise, when you want to disentangle yourself, it will be impossible.

Before he finished speaking, the sound of rushing water filled the fields.

Clear river water flowed down the long canal, spreading through the wheat fields that had thirsted half a spring.

The massive irrigation system—six zhang wide—branched into slender channels like veins feeding the plains.

Gates, grooves, wooden sluice boards—

small structures, complete in every function.

Farmers adjusted the boards to control the flow.

Enough water to relieve drought—

but not enough to drown the seedlings.

Zhuang Yue sighed. “Come. After watering, the soil will be fine. You should return to Xianyou Palace and attend to your duties.”

He turned to leave—

But Jiang Yuxun suddenly tugged his sleeve.

“Uncle,” he said earnestly. “I can tell the difference.”

Zhuang Yue blinked. “Tell what difference?”

“…between loving the man who is Emperor, and loving the status of an Emperor.”

He was not a native of this era.

He felt no innate awe toward the title of Son of Heaven.

In his heart, Ying Changchuan was never “His Majesty” first—

He was “Ying Changchuan.”

※

The court welcomed all talent, regardless of background.

Novel, unprecedented creations were valued most.

Craftsmen and experts from across Great Zhou flocked to Zhaodu and took root there, many gaining rank and reward regardless of origin.

And the influence spread to the common people.

Farmers studied agriculture scientifically and tried to write farming manuals.

Carpenters innovated new tools and vehicles.

Some even observed astronomy and hydrology.

Everyone wanted to contribute in this era of change—

leaving little attention for Lingtiantai’s once-dominant presence.

After returning to Xianyou Palace, Jiang Yuxun reviewed the strange inventions sent recently from various regions.

He recorded everything and compiled a booklet to present to the Emperor.

By then, dusk had deepened. Lights burned in the rear hall of Liuyun Hall.

Warm lamplight illuminated memorials—

but could not soften the chill of the armor hanging nearby.

When Jiang Yuxun opened the door, he saw the silver armor on its stand—

And Ying Changchuan standing quietly before it.

His steps slowed. “…Your Majesty is preparing armor?”

He closed the door behind him.

The armor had been stored away for years.

If the Emperor retrieved it today—

It meant only one thing.

War.

As founding Emperor, Ying Changchuan was also the greatest warrior of his age.

In the original history, he personally led the seven-year campaign that defeated Zherou.

With military leadership lacking—the former Southern General (the original host’s father) dead, and Gu Yejio not yet battle-tested—

Ying Changchuan would not, could not, remain behind.

The Emperor looked at him and nodded. “Yes.”

War was no child’s play. Life and death were uncertain.

Though Jiang Yuxun had known this day would come, hearing it aloud made his chest tighten painfully.

“When will Your Majesty depart?”

His gaze dropped to the cold silver plates.

The Emperor walked over, took the booklet from his hands, and gently brushed his fingers through Jiang Yuxun’s hair.

“Is that the only thing you wish to ask, A’xun?”

He now called him “A’xun” in private—

And from his lips, those two syllables carried a thousand unspoken meanings.

Jiang Yuxun opened his mouth to nod—

But the words that left him were:

“I want to go to the north with you.”

He startled himself.

He had not expected this to be the truest desire in his heart.

Ying Changchuan paused.

He did not refuse. “Very well. A’xun may stay in the Northern Garrison’s camp.”

Then—

with a smooth movement—

he plucked the jade hairpin from Jiang Yuxun’s hair.

His hair loosened, falling like ink.

The Northern Garrison camp remained some distance from Zherou. Ying Changchuan was confident he would never allow war to reach it.

Though Jiang Yuxun had learned martial arts, he knew his limits.

His inherited body was fragile; real battlefield combat was far beyond him.

So he nodded softly. “…All right.”

He had not known—until they became involved—how childish Ying Changchuan could be.

Speaking while his hands played with Jiang Yuxun’s hair—

And within moments, that well-bound hair had been entirely undone.

At some point they had moved from the armor stand to the desk.

Ying Changchuan toyed with his hair and whispered:

“Still worried, my beloved minister?”

Jiang Yuxun had read the History of Zhou.

He knew Ying Changchuan’s brilliance.

As a minister, he should express confidence.

But at the Emperor’s low question, he could only whisper:

“Yes…”

Hugging his knees, he lifted his gaze.

His voice roughened.

“Blades are blind. If something happens—what then?”

Ying Changchuan smiled faintly.

He lowered his hand from Jiang Yuxun’s hair and glanced out the window.

Then after a few breaths, he murmured by his ear:

“A’xun—do you remember the Hidden Edge Hall?”

The armory of Xianyou Palace.

Jiang Yuxun nodded. “The weapon vault?”

“Mm.”

Ying Changchuan tapped his fingers lightly against Jiang Yuxun’s neck.

“If anything truly happens, go there… and take the sword I gave you.”

—the Zhou Sword.

Jiang Yuxun’s hand clenched.

His heart dropped like a stone.

He turned sharply, anger rising. “What nonsense are you spouting?”

He had no mind to worry about speaking improperly to an Emperor.

“You understand what I mean,” Ying Changchuan said softly, kneading his nape.

The meaning of an Imperial Sword—

he knew better than anyone.

He wanted Jiang Yuxun to take the sword only in the event of—

No. Jiang Yuxun refused even to think it.

Their gazes met.

Jiang Yuxun knew Ying Changchuan was teasing.

He knew Great Zhou had every advantage.

But still—

He shook his head and said firmly, “Do not speak such unlucky words.”

He only realized then that his own voice carried a faint nasal tremor.

“Why not?” the Emperor asked, his voice suddenly low and hoarse.

Jiang Yuxun instinctively tried to turn away—

But the hand on his neck tightened, holding him still.

“Because… because I don’t want to live in Great Zhou alone.”

He did not want to be alone in this era.

Silence draped the rear hall.

Ying Changchuan was the person he knew best in this world.

They had seen each other nearly every day.

He could not imagine Ying Changchuan absent from his life.

Their conversation in Taoyan came to mind—

Back then, when Ying Changchuan asked him “why,” he hadn’t known the answer.

Now he did.

He wasn’t afraid of death.

He had even wondered whether dying might return him to the modern world.

He would gladly leave behind the honors and comforts of this age—

But one thing held him here.

One person.

Only Ying Changchuan made him hesitate.

Only Ying Changchuan gave him lingering attachment.

The modern world had everything—

except him.

Jiang Yuxun closed his eyes.

His voice softened into childlike vulnerability:

“Because Your Majesty seems to be my… my greatest attachment in Great Zhou.”

Ying Changchuan said nothing.

Then—slowly—he wrapped his arms around Jiang Yuxun from behind.

After a very long silence, he laughed quietly.

“And since when does little Lord Jiang speak like this?”

His voice was impossibly gentle.

Jiang Yuxun, mortified by his own sentimentality, sat upright and cleared his throat.

“My mouth only ever causes trouble.”

Ying Changchuan chuckled. “It also bites.”

“…”

Jiang Yuxun wished he could crawl into the earth.

That humiliating moment in front of Zhuang Yue flashed through his mind.

Flustered beyond belief, he snapped back:

“Yes, I bite. And what of it?”

He glanced around—

Zhuang Yue already knew anyway.

What was one more bite?

But he was too close to Ying Changchuan now—

Pinned against him, he couldn’t reach the wrist.

He could only see the Emperor’s throat and jawline.

His Adam’s apple rose and fell with his breathing.

On impulse—Jiang Yuxun leaned in and pressed his teeth lightly against that vulnerable spot.

Warm breath brushed Ying Changchuan’s neck—

Sending a shiver from spine to fingertips.

The Emperor’s eyes darkened.

His hand on Jiang Yuxun’s waist tightened.

But before Jiang Yuxun actually bit, he recovered himself.

No—this was the airway, he couldn’t just bite here!

“What is it?” Ying Changchuan murmured, voice deep and rough.

He stroked Jiang Yuxun’s loose hair absently.

Jiang Yuxun nearly abandoned the idea entirely—

But remembering the Emperor’s earlier teasing, he steadied himself, withdrew his teeth—

And instead closed his eyes and placed a soft kiss there.

Light as a dragonfly touching water.

Rippling warmth through Ying Changchuan’s neck in widening circles.