“——I’ll give you whatever you want.”
He said this quietly, extending his hand to me—someone who had already lost everything.
Back then, my gaze must have been as empty and cold as a glass bead. Even so, I placed my hand into his, stiff and mechanical like a doll whose joints had been wound too tightly.
And yet… I remember the warmth of his palm.
A warmth that coaxed tears from eyes I thought had dried long ago.
Live for him.
Those words became my purpose.
He kept that promise. Everything I wished for, he fulfilled—everything except that final, unspoken desire.
His wishes… whatever he seeks… this time, I will be the one to grant them.
—
After confirming that Xiuli had fallen asleep, Liu Hui suddenly sat up. He patted the pillow gently, fingers brushing the faint bulge hidden beneath. Then, slipping a hand under the sheet, he retrieved something.
“…A sachet…”
Clutching it to his chest, he rose and moved around the room, pacing with practiced familiarity. Though no candles burned, he walked without hesitation. He reached under the bed and pulled out the paper talisman stuck to the underside—shaking the pitiful, crumpled thing before folding it neatly and tucking it away.
Tonight alone, he had already confiscated three scarecrows.
Then he removed the fragrant wood from the incense burner, checked inside the desk and retrieved a razor, opened Xiuli’s dressing box and carefully wiped the comb along with every piece of makeup inside. His movements were swift, methodical.
Finally, he picked up the silver tea set gifted by Shao Ke, tilting it under the moonlight to examine its shine.
Liu Hui narrowed his eyes, then slowly began polishing the silver cup.
As he worked, his gaze drifted to the peaceful figure sleeping on the bed.
Her gentle expression softened his own for an instant—until he glanced back at the small pile of “confiscated goods.” His brows knit in frustration.
“…It’s almost time.”
—
Xiuli, of course, had begun to sense it.
I’ve been losing things a lot lately, she thought.
A noble lady should not trouble herself with such trivialities, but Xiuli had long cultivated the habit. Mastery of every item, every resource—diligent frugality was the foundation of all proper household management.
So naturally, she noticed.
First small trinkets vanished.
Then tools.
Then, occasionally, personal belongings.
But the strange part was not the disappearing—
It was their reappearing, always replaced by something finer, something gifted back to her in another form.
As if someone were quietly exchanging her belongings piece by piece…
“……Are you giving this to me?”
General Lan had offered her a sachet with a practiced smile, claiming it was the newest trend among young girls.
“This sachet will highlight your purity and charm, my lady—and it helps with sleep.”
He even winked. With a face like his, tall and handsome, the gesture was unexpectedly captivating.
Then Jiang You presented her with a writing set—stationery box, inkstone, brush.
“——Work hard. You have potential,” he said. “Don’t use this as a toolbox.”
The box was made of silver-inlaid lacquer, an exquisite piece. Jiang You’s offhand praise—very potential—had made Xiuli secretly delighted. But as the excitement cooled, she remembered…
Her old writing box had gone missing just recently.
Every time something disappeared, something new appeared.
Xiuli was puzzled but had no time to dwell on it. There were more important matters demanding her attention.
—
“…Jinglan,” Xiuli said at last.
She and Jinglan stood together in the pavilion. Liu Hui was absent, occupied at court.
“What is it?” Jinglan asked.
“Are you being bullied in the Yulin Army?”
“…Huh?”
Xiuli’s expression was deadly serious. Jinglan’s was stunned.
“You’re very handsome. Obviously, someone would get jealous. Ever since joining the Yulin Army, you’ve kept your bangs long. Did your seniors tell you something like—‘Don’t get cocky just because you look a little better’? If that’s the case, I’ll report it to General Lan!”
“Miss—that’s not it.”
“Then what is it? What are you worried about?”
Ten years of friendship meant they could read each other effortlessly. Jinglan saw through Xiuli. Xiuli saw through Jinglan.
Recently, Jinglan had been drifting into long silences, lost in thought.
He gave a bitter smile.
“…I can’t hide anything from you, Miss. But don’t worry—it’s a small matter.”
Since he insisted, Xiuli didn’t push further. She sighed, set her cheek against the cold stone table, and looked up at him.
“…Jinglan.”
“Yes, Miss?”
“If you ever face something truly difficult, promise you’ll tell me. Maybe I can’t help much, but I hate seeing you troubled—and I hate even more when you pretend nothing’s wrong. You always listen to my complaints. So… you can come to me anytime.”
“Miss…”
“But honestly, I doubt that’ll ever happen.”
Xiuli rolled her face to the other cheek.
“You never lean on me. How am I ever supposed to balance this mountain of favors you’ve accumulated?! Borrowing without paying back is the worst!”
Jinglan laughed softly and patted her head.
“No—you’ve already repaid me.”
“…Eh?”
“Your cheerful, lively self is the best medicine I could ask for. When I see you so bright and healthy, I recover too.”
“…Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He smiled.
“Whenever I see you, I feel that no matter how dark things get, there’s always a path forward. The courage to face it all—that’s because of you.”
Xiuli rested her chin atop her folded hands.
“…So it’s the same this time too?”
Jinglan nodded. His smile returned—calm, familiar.
“If I’m troubled, you would be sad.”
“Exactly! Of all the things I’m dealing with right now, you worry me the most. You’re always thankless.”
“…Thankless?”
“You put yourself last—always me, always Father. We shouldn’t rely on you so much. You should treat yourself better. You matter to us.”
“No. You’re wrong.”
Jinglan chuckled softly.
“You and your father matter most. That’s why I choose to prioritize you. I’m willing. It’s not hard. It makes me happy.”
“You really are a natural hardworking fool…”
“That’s not true. Besides taking care of you, I’m selfish about plenty of things.”
His easy smile finally eased her concern.
“By the way,” Xiuli added. “Earlier, you said ‘among all things’—does that mean there’s something else bothering you?”
“Ah—yes. Not bothering me, exactly… just strange.”
So Xiuli began listing all the items that had been disappearing.
—
“‘Jiangyou—Today’s Feature’ covered the ‘Black Wolf,’ didn’t it?”
Yu Ying, who had been observing from afar, turned toward Jinglan as he asked.
“That man was the late king’s right hand,” she said. “Commander of the legendary assassination unit ‘Wolf of the Wind.’ I don’t know what’s true, but I want to hear more about the top assassin who’s now become a legend.”
“Are you going?” Yu Ying asked with a teasing smile.
Jinglan simply replied, “No.”
“…‘No’?”
“My subordinate has something to discuss with the general.”
Yu Ying’s brows lifted. She had said nothing after witnessing his sword match with Song Taifu. Jinglan hadn’t spoken either.
So… things have changed?
Interest flickered in Yu Ying’s eyes.
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“Before that—may I ask, has the general received any reward from His Majesty?”
“Oh, asters. Jiangyou received the same.”
“I see.”
A faint smile touched Jinglan’s lips. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a letter.
“Then, General Lan—please accept this.”
Yu Ying opened it silently, eyes scanning the contents. Then she looked up at Jinglan. A smile curved her lips—but none reached her eyes.
“…Then I have a question for you.”
She flicked the letter lightly with her finger.
“Did you receive the aster as well?”
A familiar, slightly mischievous smile crossed Jinglan’s face. He shook his head.
—
“Prince Qingyuan—”
Grand Tutor Xiao’s low murmur made Cha Taibao echo unconsciously.
“Why bring up that name now?”
After decades of acquaintance, Taibao Cha only shifted into such a tone—youthful, sharp—when speaking with Grand Tutor Xiao and Taifu Song.
“…Tea,” Xiao said quietly, “do you remember the fight for the throne eight years ago?”
“How could I forget?”
“At that time, only the Red and Blue families among the Seven remained uninvolved.”
“…Are you hinting at something?”
Cha Taibao smiled bitterly.
At that time, the Tea family had also supported one of the princes of the former king, taking part in the struggle for the throne. As Taibao Cha recalled it, he once held enough authority to stop those foolish, power-hungry relatives—but when a group is blinded by ambition, reason becomes utterly useless. Among the seven great surnames, only the Red and Blue families were able to calmly assess the situation and forbid their kin from meddling.
Because the Tea family itself did not participate in the power struggle—and because of the great merit Cha Taibao earned during the late king’s lifetime—the family managed to preserve its influence afterward. It could be said that the current Tea clan survives entirely by the lingering virtue of Taibao Cha.
“It’s said that the Lan family once intended to support the exiled second prince,” Grand Master Xiao remarked. “They even sent men to search for him.”
Cha Taibao’s eyes widened.
“...I didn’t expect those clever heads of the Lan clan to have such ideas.”
“Of course,” Xiao added, “that wasn’t Lord Yuying or his brother—it was the old men sitting above them.”
“Oh, those old immortals. Once people age, their heads lose clarity.”
“That’s harsh. We’re not much younger than they are.”
Grand Master Xiao lifted his face slightly.
He remembered how Prince Qingyuan had been exiled because of his foolish maternal grandfather. It truly was regrettable.
“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to do such a thing, right? What happened next? What did Lord Yuying’s brother do?”
“They couldn’t simply ignore the elders’ wishes. So they decided to send someone out—and Queping chose Lord Yuying, who at the time was a carefree young gentleman with too much time and no official post.”
“...Right, the national examination was suspended for several years because of the chaos.”
“If the political climate had been stable, both Lord Yuying and Lord Jiangyou would have already passed the exam. Still—how heartless could those brothers be? Handing such a vague, pointless mission to their youngest brother... worthy indeed of being the brilliant young heirs of the first-ranked Blue family, cold-blooded as ever.”
“...That’s really hopeless. So he didn’t find anyone, right?”
“The mission was cut short halfway. Even if he had found the prince, his brothers would never have let him get entangled in a royal struggle.”
Grand Master Xiao sipped his tea and looked up at the sky through the window.
“...Prince Qingyuan was the best among all the princes.”
“Yes. Had he remained in the palace, perhaps the succession struggle would never have occurred.”
“No one knows where he is now... there’s no way to even know if he’s alive.”
Grand Master Xiao sighed deeply—when suddenly the door burst open.
A girl rushed in, startling both old men.
“—Xiuli! Xiuli-niangniang!?”
“Grand Master Xiao! Taibao Cha!”
Xiuli shouted, her face dark with fury:
“The little girl begs you—let me leave the harem immediately!!!”
The two old men shot up from their chairs.
“I’m furious—!!”
Later, Xiuli was forcibly placed under house arrest by Liu Hui. Enraged, she grabbed an embroidery needle and stabbed at her cloth with such force that it was riddled with holes in moments.
“Ai... how could His Majesty do such a foolish thing...”
Zhu Cui, stationed to monitor her, brought tea. Xiuli snatched the cup and drank it in one gulp.
“Looking down on me! Looking down on me! Looking down on me!!”
She stabbed again and again, venting her wrath.
“That useless king! I was risking everything, and he just sat back watching the show!!”
—Thus, Liu Hui’s “foolish-monarch mask” cracked open.
“Your Majesty surely didn’t mean it like that...” Zhu Cui murmured, remembering how Xiuli had calmly said, ‘Please allow me to return home immediately’, and His Majesty, panicked, had responded by placing her under house arrest.
“Oh, right—this is something Xiangling asked me to give you.”
She handed over a small pouch.
“Ah—is this... incense?”
“Yes, ancestral incense. Burn it before bed and it’ll help you sleep. Xiangling said she was heartbroken seeing you so upset.”
Xiuli flushed. She had gone a little overboard.
“...Please thank her for me. Tell her I like it.”
“So you’re sleeping alone tonight?”
Xiuli stiffened—thinking of Liu Hui’s fear of sleeping alone in the dark. Her chest tightened, but anger still won out. She downed another cup of tea.
“If he dares to come, I’ll blast him right back out!”
She roared and returned to stabbing the fabric.
“...I didn’t expect her to be this angry,” Liu Hui murmured from a corner of the courtyard.
“I truly don’t know what a ‘nominal concubine’ is...” he groaned.
Xiuli had confessed everything to him—the terms of the “contract” between her and Grand Master Xiao: she had entered the harem merely as an instructor, her noble-concubine title purely symbolic, and she was to leave once her time was up. And then she had told him, “I’m no longer useful, so I’ll go now.”
Liu Hui, completely unaware of all this beforehand, had taken a direct emotional hit.
“It’s better that Your Majesty knows now,” Yuying said, sitting beside him. “You have time to think and prepare.”
“...I don’t want to prepare...” Liu Hui muttered.
He looked nothing like a king—yet his misery was wholly his own doing.
“Why keep pretending to be mediocre?” Yuying asked.
“...So Xiuli would care for me... and accompany me to lessons...” he said weakly.
Are you a dog?
Yuying managed not to say it aloud.
“Your Majesty, with respect... you’ve held women before, haven’t you? With experience.”
“...H-how could you tell?”
“From the way you interact with Lady Xiuli,” Yuying replied calmly. “So why hide it?”
“I’ve never lied,” Liu Hui muttered.
True—he’d never declared he only liked men. But he feared that if he admitted he liked women too, Xiuli would run away. And it was true that he had avoided relationships with women for a long time.
“...Children,” he suddenly murmured.
“Hm?”
“If you... hold a woman, you have children, right?”
“Well, yes. And?”
“...If I have a child... it’ll become a hot potato later.”
Yuying stared.
Every official wanted the king to have heirs. How could a child be a ‘hot potato’?
Unless—
He didn’t intend to be king for life.
Liu Hui believed that one day, someone else would take the throne. For the sake of that “someone,” he acted with extreme caution. To avoid heirs, he deliberately cultivated a reputation for preferring men. He was afraid that marrying a noblewoman—even without children—would trigger political turmoil, so he built defensive walls early. Before Xiuli was forced into the palace, not a single courtier had dared send their daughter to the harem.
Everything was going exactly as he planned.
And the “someone” he awaited—
Yuying inhaled slowly but wisely did not ask.
“So, Your Majesty... have you ever liked someone?”
Liu Hui blinked in confusion.
Before he ever learned what love was, he had already experienced physical intimacy. There was never a need to love—many attendants willingly sought the favor of princes.
(Unfortunate, Yuying thought. Truly unfortunate.)
But such things could not be explained through words alone. Suffering for love was a rite of youth. Yuying felt as if he had suddenly gained a younger brother and ruffled Liu Hui’s hair.
“Falling for a woman is admirable. Do your best. With your handsome face, you still have a chance at victory.”
“...?”
“You deliberately angered Lady Xiuli. Naturally, you must compensate her properly.”
Liu Hui’s expression sharpened.
“...How poisoned were the things gifted today?”
“According to Tao Yuyi and Jiang You, the toxicity is increasing.”
Yuying spoke as casually as if discussing the weather.
“From embroidery needles to cursed dolls—even sachets and wiped tablecloths showed traces. At this point, I hope she notices we’re aware. Your Majesty’s skill in deflecting them is indeed remarkable.”
“...I’ve been used to these since childhood,” Liu Hui said.
Yuying sighed.
Ordinary nobles would never detect such subtleties. But Liu Hui had been forced to. His survival proved his talent.
“As for the source of the poison...”
“All from the same place,” Yuying said. “We even have evidence. But what’s strange is how sloppily the culprit exposed themselves.”
Poisons acquired through outside channels usually lost all trace. Yet the methods this time were absurdly crude.
“Don’t narrow the suspect list yet,” Liu Hui commanded. “Continue the investigation. Get every detail on all suspicious individuals.”
“Yes!” Yuying saluted.
“...Any movement today?”
“Yes. Please rest assured—we’re prepared.”
Accepting the aster meant taking responsibility. Yuying smiled faintly.
That night, Jiang You entered the harem—and sensed something off.
He stopped, gripping the simplified map in his hand.
...Surely not.
(...No... The map is simplified! It should be obvious! There’s no way I’m lost!)
But he was lost.
The proud sixteen-year-old top scholar, acknowledged prodigy of the empire, absolutely refused to admit he had no sense of direction.
Female officials passing by nodded respectfully—Jiang You was the brightest talent of the imperial court. Because of his pride, he refused to ask anyone for help. And because everyone gave him space as he strode forward with his intimidating “do not obstruct me” aura... he became even more lost.
A quarter-hour later, Jiang You faced a simple truth:
Abandon pride, or die here.
He could no longer find his way back. His irritation reached its peak.
—Why are there so many rooms? Who needs them!? Waste of wood! Wasting imperial labor! If I’m ever put in charge of the harem, I’ll demolish half of these useless rooms and distribute the firewood to every household in the empire! I swear it!!
(...Why isn’t anyone passing by?)
Even deep in the harem, someone should appear.
Negligence!
He forgot he had complained about excessive personnel moments ago.
Then—he froze. A sound.
“...It’s you, right?”
A woman’s voice—sharp, angry. Jiang You frowned. He hated shrill tones.
“Thanks to—my lord—restra—int—!”
Her fragmented words caught his attention, and he followed the sound. Strangely, the other party’s voice never surfaced—only hers.
“—Why are you stopping me!?”
The anger turned into desperation.
“Isn’t this what my lord wishes!? I only want to help... as long as it’s for my lord—”
Suddenly, the voice cut off.
A chill shot down Jiang You’s spine. He shoved the door open.
Inside was only one woman on the ground—no one else.
Stunned, Jiang You helped her up, and then recognized her—
His expression transformed instantly.
“Guards—!! Come quickly!! Investigate the Red Concubine’s palace at once!!”
But by the time the palace guards stormed the place—
Xiuli was gone.
And moments later, they also realized—
Jinglan was missing.
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