Even though Yan Yihuan seemed to be carefree when staying by Li Xuanming’s side every day, with nothing on his mind but serving him and doing that sort of thing, he had actually been quietly pondering things all along.
Not only did the emperor not attend court, he also refused to see any other officials aside from Grand Chancellor Cui. Even within the bedchamber, the usual servants doing odd jobs were nowhere to be seen. Those attending him now were all high-ranking eunuchs and senior palace maids, and of course, Yan Yihuan himself.
What puzzled Yan Yihuan the most was that Ming Zhang had requested an audience twice, yet had been turned away both times.
Yan Yihuan felt that something major must have happened. He wondered whether it was related to the war on King Qin’s side, but although he wanted to ask around, he did not dare.
Fortunately, after that day, the emperor finally stopped pretending to be unable to move, so the daily service required less effort. As for the rest…
Cough. Yan Yihuan, lying on the table, buried his head in his arms, trying to hide his face that had begun to heat up. Although the emperor often deliberately made him cry, whenever he thought back on it afterward, there was a lingering aftertaste, making it hard to stop.
It just so happened that the emperor was also idle. With an impending storm looming, such indulgent, decadent days were numbered.
“Your Majesty.” Li Jiang’s voice came from outside the door. “Lord Ming requests an audience.”
Before Li Xuanming could respond, Yan Yihuan, who had been lying on the table looking listless, was the first to lift his head. His eyes shone with an undisguised anticipation, showing even more concern than Li Xuanming himself.
He might not understand love, but having a liking of someone was something he did not bother to hide.
“Let him in.”
Yan Yihuan instantly perked up, not for anything else but simply to overhear news from outside, especially anything related to the Yan family. Yet in the eyes of the one watching him, it took on a different meaning. Seeing the light in his eyes, Li Xuanming’s brows unconsciously drew together.
Ming Zhang’s steps were light, but the bedchamber was even quieter, laying bare the anxiety within him. By the time he appeared at the entrance, his chest was still heaving slightly, and he seemed a little breathless.
“This minister greets Your Majesty.”
The unease was subtle, yet this was Ming Zhang, who could always seem calm even if the sky were falling. That made Yan Yihuan glance at him in mild surprise. He stopped himself from stepping forward to greet him and quietly sat back down in the corner.
“Rise.”
Ming Zhang stood up, his gaze involuntarily falling on Li Xuanming’s left arm. It was no longer as heavily bandaged as it had been a few days ago. Covered by clothing, there was no sign that it had ever been injured.
Ming Zhang forced himself to withdraw his concerned gaze as he knew the emperor’s temperament well. If he mentioned such a minor injury, it might only irritate him. So he suppressed the urge to ask about it, steadied himself, and went straight to discussing recent court affairs.
The atmosphere shifted dramatically the moment state matters were brought up. Sitting to the side, Yan Yihuan hardly dared to breathe, only listening in silence. But no matter how long they spoke, they did not touch on what he cared about most, and he could not help growing anxious.
“Your Majesty, King Wei has indeed become restless and has secretly gathered some of his former subordinates. It seems a rebellion is imminent.”
A rebellion? Yan Yihuan quietly edged forward, pretending to hold a book and read, while in truth pricking up his ears.
But he did not realize that even the slightest movement would fall within the corner of the other two men’s view. Ming Zhang glanced over unconsciously, only to see him lowering his head over the book in his hands. Yan Yihuan’s long neck was exposed from the slightly loose collar, completely unaware that the scattered red marks there were already visible.
As if his eyes had been burned, Ming Zhang’s breath hitched slightly. Yet the flicker of discomposure vanished instantly, and even his tone remained completely unaffected.
A map lay spread out on the desk. Ming Zhang pointed at it and said,
“Shunnan, Wuyang, and other areas are secretly mobilizing troops, distributing clothes and weapons to refugees. It seems they intend to use a refugee uprising as a pretext to launch their forces.”
“Shunnan…” Li Xuanming pondered briefly. “Have Wang Yuankui block them there and drive them towards King Qin’s side.”
King Qin?
Yan Yihuan’s fingers tightened at once, the faint rustle of paper sounding especially clear in the brief pause between the two men’s conversation. Yan Yihuan’s heart skipped a beat. Seeing both their gazes turn towards him at the same time, he forced an awkward smile.
“Go on, don’t mind me. I’m reading.”
Ming Zhang was still hesitating over whether to point out that Yan Yihuan was holding his book upside down when he heard the emperor speak. That originally sharp tone instantly softened, losing all its edge,
“Then read.”
Ming Zhang paused for a moment before withdrawing his gaze, returning back to the map. He forced himself to focus on the icy cold location names marked upon it, as if only by doing so could he quietly endure the faint bitterness and stifling ache in his chest.
So he was capable of such a doting gaze, capable of softening a voice that could chill others to the bone. Had he not always liked those who could stand shoulder to shoulder with him? Then why…?
Then all the effort he’d put in since childhood to become the kind of person he would like all seemed like a joke.
Not just seemed. It was one.
“Ming Zhang, is there anything else?”
“Yes, there is.” The hollow look in his eyes cleared in an instant. He still controlled every glance, every subtle expression, and every tone of his voice with perfect ease. As long as he wanted to, he would always be the flawless Ming Zhang in others’ eyes.
“There’s also…” Ming Zhang lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear, “the assassination attempt.”
Yan Yihuan had been listening for a long time, but it had all been about King Wei. Not a single thing he wanted to hear had come up. Then suddenly seeing the two of them speak in hushed tones, his heart leapt into his throat, wondering if it might be related to him.
Li Xuanming suddenly raised a hand to stop Ming Zhang from continuing, then turned to Yan Yihuan, “You go out first.”
Yan Yihuan froze for a moment. Even something as serious as King Wei’s rebellion had not stopped them from letting him listen casually, yet now, with Ming Zhang having only whispered a few words, he was being told to leave?
At that moment, the emperor and Ming Zhang stood together before the desk. One was strikingly handsome and imposing; the other was gentle, refined, and elegant. More than once, Yan Yihuan had felt that the sight of the two of them together was so beautiful it was intoxicating. Previously, he had only found it pleasing to the eye. But now, for some reason, it felt somewhat jarring.
Even feeling somewhat jealous.
Yan Yihuan was startled by his own thoughts, his face turning pale in an instant. Before he could think further, he quickly replied, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and hurried out of the bedchamber.
Originally, Li Xuanming had wanted him to leave so he would not have to recall that night again. But watching his somewhat fleeing figure, Li Xuanming’s gaze darkened, and he almost instinctively shifted, about to call him back.
Yet at that slight movement, Ming Zhang suddenly dropped to his knees. “This matter is something I have long wished to confess and apologize for, but while Your Majesty was recovering, I was not granted an audience.”
That kneeling halted Li Xuanming’s steps. He stopped, lowered his eyes to the person at his feet, and said calmly, “Speak.”
“On that day, I suddenly received a report that the heir of the Qin family had mobilized a large number of death assassins[mfn]Assassins that are specially trained and used to carry out suicidal missions. Some are used for attacks, some are used to protect important people at all costs.[/mfn]. Fearing something might happen, I urgently deployed the Youluo Jian,” Ming Zhang said, bowing deeply, his tone filled with remorse. “I truly did not know that Your Majesty had suddenly left the palace, and I nearly caused a great disaster.”
As his words fell, the previously calm and quiet atmosphere abruptly grew thick and heavy. Ming Zhang felt a tightness in his chest, and a thought suddenly arose.
Perhaps this suffocating pressure was not only because of his confession, but because at this very moment, Yan Yihuan was no longer here, and the emperor had withdrawn that gentleness without hesitation.
What remained before him was only the emperor, the supreme ruler of Northern Jin.
Why him?[mfn]凭什么 – Ming Zhang’s inner thoughts. Means “On what grounds” or “What right does he have?” So basically Ming Zhang thinks it’s unfair, why is it that Li Xuanming is gentle only to Yan Yihuan, and so cold towards him.[/mfn]
Ming Zhang’s body trembled slightly. His clenched fist was hidden within his sleeve, his nails digging into his palm, relying on that sliver of pain to keep himself composed.
“Ming Zhang,” Li Xuanming suddenly broke the silence and spoke slowly, “When Zhen first met you, were we six, or seven years old?”
