Hongce had never imagined that one day someone would come along who didn’t treat him as an outsider and was willing to open their heart to him. Someone who didn’t hold back tears or laughter in front of him, who might even lean into his embrace when speaking of sorrow—especially when that someone was a man.
He felt somewhat awkward. Logically, he should push him away, yet he didn’t. He couldn’t make out what the man was sobbing about, his own mind too preoccupied with inner turmoil. Their connection wasn’t particularly deep—they’d met a few times, helped each other out on occasion, exchanged a few heartfelt words outside Swallow River Post Station—yet step by step, they’d arrived at this moment, almost imperceptibly, yet somehow naturally.
Now, nestled against his chest, strangely enough, Hongce didn’t find it inappropriate. Those fragmented pieces painted a picture of a man—parentless, of humble origins, forced to rely solely on himself, forced to smile through hardship and injustice, living in constant fear. A pitiful existence.
An overflow of sympathy wasn’t always a good thing. Even doting on a lonely girl might not be as troublesome as this. The identity of the person in his arms remained uncertain. Though he suspected he might be a woman, without solid proof, he couldn’t jump to conclusions. So what did it mean for a man to lean on another man? He frowned, pondering, but perhaps… it didn’t have to be taken so seriously.
He was drunk—who knew how much he’d had—but drunk he was. Since he wasn’t in control of himself, why not let him stay where he was? No point arguing with a drunk. Still, when Hongce thought about it calmly, it was absurd—him, a Prince, rushing over in a panic upon hearing a mere Guard had fallen ill. Hardly something to boast about.
Mu Xiaoshu, meanwhile, kept talking, his words vibrating against Hongce’s chest. Instinctively, Hongce tightened his hold around his shoulders—frail-looking, yet even more fragile than they appeared. How had he been taking care of himself? Those small shoulders, those slender arms—one wrong touch and he might just fall apart.
A drunkard had no control over words or actions. Dingyi clung tightly to his waist, nestling into a comfortable position as if slotting himself into place. His murmurs were disjointed at first, the initial restraint merely a habit born of long practice. But soon, he couldn’t hold back, circling back to the same topic, spilling everything.
Perhaps it was fortunate Hongce couldn’t hear him. Not hearing had its advantages. Once sober, Dingyi would shudder at the thought—had he confessed everything, he might’ve been carelessly arrested, waking up the next day in a prison cell.
But right now, none of that mattered. The Prince’s embrace was warm, and in that moment, all she could think was—how wonderful it would be if he belonged to her forever. And that scent… what was it? So intoxicating.
"...You’re the Prince," she murmured against his collarbone. "Just release my brother. Declare my father innocent, clear his name—then I can live openly. Wouldn’t that be nice?" Then, answering her own question, she nodded. "Yes, it would."Another string of incoherent mumbling, and after a long while, she finally straightened her tongue and babbled, "How many years has it been since I last wore a skirt? I can't even remember... must be ten or twenty. In Beijing, whenever I pass by those second-hand clothing stalls, my legs just won’t move. There are women’s clothes there—coarse cloth ones, fine silk ones too. When people pick them up, just looking at them is enough for me. To think it’s come to this... how pitiful! No one in the world is more pitiful than me. Many women... think being a woman is hard, wishing to be reborn as a man in the next life. Not me—I want to be a woman again. This lifetime isn’t enough; I’ll do it again in the next." She hiccuped drunkenly, and it was only thanks to Twelfth Master’s good temper that she wasn’t thrown to the ground. She lifted her head, clutching his sleeve tightly and shaking it. "Why is it that some people sail smoothly through life while others suffer endlessly? How unfair is the heavens, don’t you think?"
He agreed, "But who can say what lies ahead? Some suffer first and enjoy later, while others enjoy first and suffer later. If it were you, which would you choose?"
Her mind was too muddled, and she tilted her head for a long time over such a simple question. "Suffer first, then enjoy... but when will the suffering end and the sweetness come?" With that, she flopped back onto the kang, stretching out five fingers to count. "I can plaster walls, play the horn, peddle fruit, even pushed a wheelbarrow to transport grain... If my parents were alive, seeing me like this, who knows what they’d think... As for suffering, I’ve had my fill. Just look at my hands..."
He reached out his hand, and Hongce naturally took it. Truly slender fingers, but what a pity they hadn’t been well cared for—calloused palms and a long scar on the back of the left hand. His heart twisted, and he brushed his thumb over the scar. "How did this happen?"
Her eyes half-closed, she murmured, "Plastering a wall. The trowel slipped while cutting bricks. The brick was too heavy, and it sliced right into the flesh."
A blunt trowel could leave such a mark—just how painful must it have been? He sighed. "You’ve had it hard."
She didn’t respond, mumbling something before quieting down, likely overwhelmed by the alcohol. Her cheeks flushed as she dozed off, her breath coming in soft puffs like a little beast. His gaze traced over her face—that feeling, whether her eyes were closed or her brows furrowed, every detail was endlessly fascinating.
He still remembered the first time he saw her, blending in among the bailiffs, so small yet holding a ghost-headed saber half her height. At the execution ground, she squinted toward the command platform, sunlight illuminating her delicate features, making her stand out even in a crowd. Later, she offended Seventh Master over some trivial matter, nearly costing her life. He couldn’t stand by and lent a hand... Had he noticed her long ago? Looking back now, was it fate? Maybe this was... affection? Affection... His shoulders slumped as he sat there, fingers slowly curling into fists. If she were a woman, things would be simpler. The problem was he couldn’t be sure yet—what if she was a man? How would he handle that?
The men of the Yuwen family had always struggled in matters of the heart. Whether it was the deep but short-lived love of the founding emperor or Emperor Emeritus’s patient waiting for the clouds to part, none were like him. He felt lost, trapped in an awkward dilemma—could he really... love a man? The Yuwen family had no precedent for this. Would it start with him? If this reached Emperor Emeritus, who knew what the old man’s stance would be? And his mother’s position would only grow more precarious.Or perhaps maintaining some distance before uncovering the truth would allow him to withdraw unscathed, even if things didn't go as he wished.
He tucked in the quilt corner for him and stood up, pacing to the eaves. Sha Tong approached along the bluestone path with a eunuch in tow, bowing as he said, "Master, everything you requested has been prepared."
The chefs from Shengjing, long out of practice, were clearly inefficient in their duties. It had taken them so long that the person inside had already fallen asleep—how could he eat now? Waving them away, he said, "Ask Mu Xiaoshu about his condition when he wakes up later. If he's still unwell, report to me."
Sha Tong acknowledged with a "Yes," then asked, "Did you examine him yourself, Master? What's the ailment?"
"Just a chill, nothing serious," he replied tersely before heading leisurely toward Jiqing Palace.
In the narrow passageway, he encountered Hongtao, who had just woken from his afternoon nap and still looked groggy. Spotting him, Hongtao stopped abruptly. "Where have you been?"
"I went to check on the repairs of the Imperial Ancestral Temple," he replied. "Kang Sanbao submitted a memorial in June requesting funds for the renovations. I wanted to see how it's progressing."
Hongtao seemed skeptical, eyeing him sideways. "You didn't go to Mu Xiaoshu's quarters, did you?"
Hongce answered bluntly, nodding. "I did. The gatekeeper eunuch said he'd sent wine to ward off the cold, so I assumed he was seriously ill. But when I checked his pulse, it wasn't bad. A good sleep should set him right."
Hongtao appeared displeased but couldn't voice his objections too plainly. Fanning himself, he turned away and coughed. "I think, as a Prince, you shouldn't get too close to subordinates. You're of the Imperial Clan, a Yellow Belt—wherever you go, face matters. That lowly Bird Keeper—is it worth your time to visit him when he's sick? Just send word to the Imperial Hospital and have a Sula deliver some medicine. Don't let it interfere with your duties."
Hongce smiled. "It was on my way. Checking on him wasn't any trouble." He paused briefly. "Does Seventh Brother disapprove of me visiting him? Are there so many reservations between men?"
Hongtao said, "It's not about reservations. People nowadays see everyone as equals. Get too close, and you'll attract gossip. Rumors can crush a man—do you want to be the subject of idle talk?"
The smile faded from Hongce's face, his voice turning cold. "You know my hearing isn't sharp. If you've heard anything, you should confront it fiercely on my behalf. We're brothers—blood runs thicker than water. Criticizing me is the same as criticizing you. If it were me, and someone dared gossip about you in my presence, I'd drag them before you for punishment. Yet here you are, telling me to reflect and let the rumors spread?"
Hongtao was left speechless. Was he being accused of standing by idly while his brother was mocked? That wasn't the case—he simply disliked Hongce's closeness to Mu Xiaoshu. That brat was his guard, yet he disregarded his actual master, treating him like a decoration? Rubbing his temple with the fan handle, Hongtao said, "I was just making a point—why take it so seriously? That Mu Xiaoshu is a sly, lazy good-for-nothing. If he says he's sick, I don't trust it. I'm only worried he'll tarnish your reputation. Keep your distance, don't indulge him, and he won't dare overstep his bounds."
Hongce was clearly irritated by this. Hongtao, having grown up in luxury, had little tolerance for servants. To him, they were mere tools—even their illnesses were likely feigned.Birds of a feather flock together, and this was precisely the case. Some people were beyond reasoning with, so it was better to drop the matter and let them be for the sake of peace. Changing the subject, he asked, "We're getting closer to Changbai Mountain. What are your thoughts on Wen Lu's case, Seventh Brother?"
Hongtao was a carefree prince, too busy enjoying himself in the capital to bother with such matters. He replied, "Isn't that your job? Handle it as you see fit. You hold the power of life and death—if you want to clear his name, go ahead. If it's too much trouble, just cover it up and report it as resolved. Personally, I don’t see the point in stirring up old dust. The case was settled over a decade ago under the Emperor Emeritus’s reign. What’s the point of reopening it now? Times have changed—let everyone sweep the snow from their own doorstep. The Wen family’s ruin is already sealed. If you can dig up the mastermind, fine. If not, it’s just wasted effort, and you’ll only invite more scheming behind your back. Why bother?"
Hongtao’s pragmatic approach had its merits. Hongce nodded and said, "You’re right, Seventh Brother. Revisiting old cases is thankless work. I’ve thought about it too—keeping the peace often means letting sleeping dogs lie. If I take this case and succeed, I’ll be seen as ruthless, driving people away and isolating myself. If I fail, I’ll be labeled incompetent, humiliated and forced to back down." He shook his head with a bitter smile. "Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. What do you think?"
The rain had stopped, and the sun began to peek through the clouds, its rays stretching out like straight, spreading fingers. The two brothers walked side by side along the narrow path. Though Hongtao was a playboy, he understood the rules of officialdom. Hands clasped behind his back, he said, "Exactly. I wouldn’t bother saying this to anyone else, but there’s never been any rift between us, and I see your difficulties. Let me put it this way—what if the mastermind behind this is a relative of someone in the inner palace? True, among the older generation and ours, aside from the Empress Dowager, there’s no one else to fear. But what if it’s Prince Ke, the Empress Dowager’s nephew from Changchun Garden? Or one of our own brothers? And even if it’s not a prince or duke, what if it’s a second- or third-rank official? If they’ve formed an unbreakable faction, you’re not up against one person but half the court. Have you considered that?"
Hongce laughed. "Seventh Brother, you’re actually quite sharp. You’ve been playing the fool all this time, fooling everyone."
Hongtao grinned. "If I weren’t clever, how could my duties be so much lighter than yours? Work like an ox all your life, and who’ll thank you? Do well, and we’re already princes—there’s no throne for me to ascend. Do poorly, and you’ll be blamed, maybe even stripped of your title and confined, counting ants by the wall for the rest of your life. Take on extra work? I’d be a fool! And you’re no different. I know the Khalkha incident hit you hard. You’re not like the rest of us—your position is precarious, with so many eyes on you. So just muddle through. Keep both sides happy—don’t offend those above you, and give those below a way out. They’ll remember your kindness, and that’s enough."
Hongce nodded slowly. "I have my plans. But the fact that you’d say this to me shows our brotherhood remains strong." After a pause, he added, "Mu Xiaoshu joined your household as a guard. Has his status been elevated? Where was he originally registered? Have you looked into his background?"Hongtao said, "Those matters were handled by subordinates, and I'm not too clear on the details. A child from the wilderness, with no parents left—where would one even check for household registration? Enrolling in the banner isn't difficult. As the Banner Lord, I just gave the order, and the Clerk made it official with a stroke of his pen. No need to take such a roundabout approach."
He had always been careless in handling affairs, a broad-brush kind of person—fixing problems only after they arose, muddling through otherwise. Asking him was pointless. Though he paid little attention to details in life, he was sharp at reading between the lines. With a vague expression, he continued, "Last time I asked Mu Xiaoshu about his relationship with you, he dodged the question, insisting repeatedly that the Twelfth Master was an upright man. I'm genuinely curious, so I'll ask you directly today—have you taken a fancy to him?" Hurriedly, he added to spare any embarrassment, "Don't worry, even if you have such inclinations, I won’t mock you. Officials aren’t supposed to frequent brothels or courtesans, but turning a blind eye to dalliances with young men... Just be honest with me!"
Hongce was caught off guard. How should he answer? Speaking would be awkward, but silence was no better. He averted his gaze, pretending not to hear.
His silence prompted Hongtao to chuckle. "That’s quite the tactic—listening when it suits you, pretending not to notice when it doesn’t. No one can pin you down."
What else could he do? Even he couldn’t sort out his own feelings—how could he explain them? He had pondered this: if it were a woman traveling such a distance with him, there would surely be undisclosed reasons. If not, then he might truly be undone—a lifetime of integrity ending with such an unexpected twist. He couldn’t decide whether to lament or rejoice.
Author's Note: Sula: Low-ranking palace servants in the Qing dynasty, referred to as "Sula" in Manchu.
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