After Being Mistakenly Taken for a Fellow Traveler by Emperor Long Aotian - Chapter 157

Chapter 157: He Still Wanted to Do So Many Things With Him

 

At dawn, the soldiers cleaning up the battlefield found the Fifth Prince’s corpse. He was lying face down in a filthy, blood-soaked alley, his eyes wide open in death. His body was covered in wounds inflicted by numerous blades, and a long trail of blood stretched behind him.

 

What was astonishing was that he seemed to have dragged himself all the way from his mansion to this place.

 

Even more puzzling was the state of his mansion, which had fallen into utter disrepair. In recent days, it seemed the Fifth Prince had spent all his time drinking alone in his room. Upon inspection, the room contained nothing but fragments of shattered porcelain, leaving no trace of anything else.

 

Why the Fifth Prince had crawled here to die remained an unsolved mystery. However, no one seemed inclined to dwell on it. After dealing with the involved gang members and the subordinates of Prince Su, the matter of his death was closed, buried along with his remains.

 

The mansion he had once lived in was emptied out. The emperor, deciding to conserve resources, did not demolish it, as it might still serve some future purpose.

 

What followed next was the reckoning of Prince Su’s faction. Upon learning of Qin Liang’s capture, Prince Su realized his conspiracy had been exposed. Resolute, he gathered his forces and attempted a last-ditch rebellion.

 

In his mind, the situation was greatly in his favor. He merely needed to capture the emperor at a restaurant, coerce him into issuing an edict of self-reproach in the emperor’s name, and command the feudal lords. Alternatively, he could claim the emperor had died of a sudden illness or gone mad at the restaurant, leaving the capital leaderless and paving the way for his ascension.

 

Moreover, he had one ace up his sleeve.

 

—The Empress Dowager, who was supposed to be meditating at Mount Wutai.

 

—The Empress Dowager, who was desperate to save her son, the Fifth Prince.

 

The Empress Dowager had also been secretly brought to the banquet. Upon her appearance, she immediately rebuked the emperor for his irrational behavior, accusing him of harming his own kin for the sake of a male concubine. She then changed her tone and urged him to step down, entrusting state affairs to Prince Su.

 

In the past, the emperor might have tearfully agreed. His transformation into a tyrant was deeply rooted in his past—though he and the Fifth Prince were both born to the Empress Dowager, he had been given to a favored consort to raise from birth. Even after the consort’s death, his return to the Empress Dowager’s care brought him no affection. Before his ascension, a heated conflict erupted between them, during which the Empress Dowager declared him unfit to rule. The throne, she insisted, was meant for her beloved younger son, Rong Fen.

 

Thus, after the Empress Dowager retreated to Mount Wutai to meditate, the emperor began his reckless descent into debauchery. His indulgence in male concubines and countless scandals might have been his way of seeking her acknowledgment or reclaiming her attention.

 

But now…

 

“Now, standing in this restaurant, is the brilliant and valiant me!” The emperor pointed proudly at himself with his thumb, grinning smugly. “I struck first, killing with thunderous momentum, and with a single North Star Fist, I subdued Prince Su… ouch.”

 

Zhou Xun, who was cleaning his wound with a cloth soaked in wine, replied impassively, “If I hadn’t arrived in time, you’d be dead already.”

 

His reddened eyes bore traces of tears. When Zhou Xun had arrived at the restaurant to rescue the emperor, an arrow was still lodged in the emperor’s shoulder.

 

Zhou Xun had never seen anyone as reckless as the emperor.

 

Surrounded by Prince Su’s men, the emperor had taken the initiative, holding a blade to Prince Su’s neck and shouting, “If I die, he dies too! Kill me if you dare!”

 

In truth, Prince Su had not yet considered a mutual destruction strategy. The emperor’s sudden move left him stunned.

 

In the chaos, the emperor even managed to strip Prince Su’s pants. He had intended to disrupt the scene but tragically discovered that Prince Su was, in fact, a eunuch.

 

This revelation was devastating for Prince Su and deeply embarrassing for his supporters.

 

In that humiliating moment, many of Prince Su’s loyalists couldn’t help but glance at his lower body. The atmosphere became suffocating with shame. It was in this moment of chaos that Zhou Xun arrived with reinforcements.

 

What followed was the suppression of the rebellion. Learning of Prince Su’s eunuch status caused many of his loyalists to lose the will to fight. Completely unhinged, Prince Su grabbed a knife and tried to take the emperor down with him, only to have the emperor grab an entire platter of chili peppers and smash it into his face.

 

Eventually, Prince Su was killed in a flurry of blades. As for the emperor, cornered by a traitorous guard who raised a sword against him, he hesitated—

 

And was subsequently stabbed through the chest by Zhou Xun, who appeared bloodied and trembling behind the guard. Zhou Xun dropped his blood-stained sword, visibly shaken by the experience of taking a life for the first time. The emperor, however, embraced his trembling savior and led him downstairs.

 

It was during their escape that the emperor took an arrow to the shoulder, shielding Zhou Xun to ensure he remained unharmed. Once they reached safety, Zhou Xun clung to him, crying uncontrollably.

 

He wasn’t one to cry, but at that moment, the terror he felt was overwhelming.

 

Back at the palace, Zhou Xun watched as the imperial physician removed the barbed arrow from the emperor’s shoulder. The process left the wound a bloody mess, yet the emperor remained silent throughout. It was Zhou Xun whose eyes turned red with suppressed tears. In response, the emperor had a screen pulled around him, hiding behind it as he shivered and told jokes.

 

“Do you know the next line to ‘The beacon fires lasted for three months straight’? It’s… Lady Bao Si laughed like an absolute fool, haha…”

 

“The old man angrily turned on the faucet because the hot water… burned him, hahaha.”

 

Unfortunately, Zhou Xun never laughed. Even after tending to the emperor’s wounds, he sat silently by the bedside, blowing on the emperor’s hot soup.

 

The emperor, scratching his head at Zhou Xun’s somber expression, tried to console him. “You don’t have to worry so much. The physician said I’ll recover soon.”

 

Zhou Xun thought to himself: The emperor doesn’t realize what I’m truly worried about.

 

The emperor came from a world filled with flowers, sunlight, and rain. In his time, there were no deadly schemes, no bloodstained intrigues, and no tragedies that could unfold from a mere half-hour delay.

 

These were burdens the emperor should never have to bear.

 

“I’m actually really resilient. I’ve watched so many gory war movies. I even played battle royale games—I’m so skilled, you don’t need to worry!”

 

The emperor seemed to sense Zhou Xun’s concerns and confidently patted his chest.

 

Zhou Xun looked at him and managed a weak smile.

 

“Don’t neglect your recovery anymore,” the emperor said, sitting up and cupping the back of Zhou Xun’s head, their noses nearly touching. “If you keep being sad, it’ll ruin your good looks, you know?”

 

“…Okay.”

 

They continued talking for a while. Seeing that Zhou Xun was finally beginning to relax, the emperor decided to complain. “I still don’t get it. Where did Prince Su get the confidence to think he could take me down? And that Empress Dowager—she’s my mother, isn’t she? No matter which of her sons becomes emperor, isn’t it the same? It’s so bizarre…”

 

After a moment’s thought, he added, “And that Empress Dowager is crazy. She should’ve been able to tell I’m not the original emperor, right? This is going to be a problem.”

 

“That’s not something you should be worrying about right now,” Zhou Xun said earnestly. “What you should focus on is getting better.”

 

The emperor: “Okay…”

 

After carefully instructing the emperor to rest, Zhou Xun confirmed everything was in order and prepared to leave. Before he stepped out, he heard the emperor say, “There’s actually one more thing I want to do…”

 

Zhou Xun turned back. “What is it?”

 

The emperor raised his eyebrows and smirked mischievously. “I want to do it with you…”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

He replied coldly, “Focus on recovering.”

 

Then he shut the door behind him and left. His dark hair cascaded like clouds, but it couldn’t hide the redness of his ears.

 

As he exited the Hall of Mental Cultivation, he overheard Eunuch Li reporting. Glancing toward the hall, Eunuch Li hesitated before saying, “Lord Zhou, the Empress Dowager requests to see His Majesty…”

 

After a brief pause, he added in a hushed tone, “The Empress Dowager knows the Fifth Prince is dead.”

 

Zhou Xun nodded after hearing this and said, “I’ll go see her.”

 

“Be careful, Lord Zhou,” Eunuch Li warned, glancing at the distant setting sun.

 

…

 

Before entering the Empress Dowager’s confined courtyard, Zhou Xun heard her voice. “I am the Empress Dowager! He’s my son! Why can’t I see him?”

 

The guards stationed outside were Zhou Xun’s trusted men. He had them step aside, entering the courtyard to find the Empress Dowager seated at a tea table. Her expression soured the moment she saw him. “It’s you?”

 

Zhou Xun, unfazed, sat across from her. “His Majesty sent me to check on the Empress Dowager.”

 

“It’s you! You vile seducer, you fox spirit! If it weren’t for you, how could my son…” The Empress Dowager glared at him, her face twisted with disgust.

 

Zhou Xun paid her insults no mind. Instead, he glanced at the empty tea cup and remarked, “The attendants have been neglectful. How could they not refill the Empress Dowager’s tea?”

 

With that, he rolled up his sleeves, poured her a fresh cup of tea, and placed it before her. His movements were graceful and refined, a display of practiced etiquette. Even though she loathed him, the Empress Dowager couldn’t find fault in his manners.

 

Zhou Xun appeared humble and amiable, clearly acting on the emperor’s behalf. The Empress Dowager assumed he had come to seek reconciliation. Scoffing, she waited for him to speak, and he did.

 

“His Majesty misses you greatly in his illness. But he’s also deeply hurt. For so many years, His Majesty’s reckless behavior was…”

 

Line by line, Zhou Xun carefully used humble words and a mild demeanor to lower her defenses.

 

Over the next half-month, Zhou Xun visited the Empress Dowager daily, always pouring her a cup of tea. He became the only person allowed to see her.

 

On the fifteenth day, the Empress Dowager, finally letting her guard down, scoffed during their conversation and said, “He’s fit to be emperor? If not for the late emperor’s decree that whoever bore a son first would be elevated to the rank of noble consort, he—a mere kitten…”

 

She abruptly stopped, realizing she had misspoken. Flustered, she grabbed her tea to cover her slip.

 

For the first time, she drank the tea Zhou Xun had poured for her.

 

“His Majesty is feeling better today and has asked to see you,” Zhou Xun said.

 

The Empress Dowager’s face lit up with joy. She excused herself to change clothes, leaving for the back room. When she returned, she found Zhou Xun standing alone in the courtyard.

 

“Where are the people to escort me?” she demanded.

 

“Why don’t you ask the dagger hidden in your sleeve?” Zhou Xun replied calmly, smiling faintly.

 

Realizing her plan had been exposed, the Empress Dowager sneered and laughed arrogantly. “What can you do to me? I am the Empress Dowager, the emperor’s mother! He killed my son, and you’re no better. As long as I live, I’ll drag both of you to hell with me!”

 

As she finished speaking, she noticed Zhou Xun’s ambiguous smile. Then…

 

Clutching her throat, she collapsed to the ground.

 

The tea was poisoned. Zhou Xun had spent half a month building her trust, letting her grow accustomed to him pouring her tea.

 

It was a colorless, tasteless poison that would stop the heart and make death appear like a peaceful slumber.

 

Zhou Xun disposed of the Empress Dowager’s body. History would record that she passed away peacefully in her sleep—nothing more.

 

As for the rumors of a switched baby, Zhou Xun would track down those involved and bury the truth. But it seemed the young Empress Dowager had been even more ruthless than she was now. Those who had helped her swap the healthy boy for a stillborn had long been silenced, and the only other person who knew the truth—Prince Su—had been driven mad by the humiliation of his eunuch status being exposed and killed in the chaos.

 

The emperor didn’t need to know any of this. If two people were to walk this world together, one of them had to bear the burden of blood and sin. Zhou Xun wanted that person to be him—only him.

 

All the emperor needed to do was stand before him, face the endless possibilities of the world with a smile, and lead him toward the light.

 

Zhou Xun hoped the emperor’s smile would forever remain as pure and unclouded as when he had arrived from his world of sunshine and flowers.

 

The next day, Qin Liang was handed over to the Northern Wei emissaries in exchange for a hefty ransom and escorted out of the capital. Before leaving, Qin Liang made an unusual request—he wished to visit the old Lin family estate in Jiangzhou.

 

The emperor refused.

 

On the day he left, Lu Xiandao, despite being covered in wounds, went to the city gates to see him off. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed firmly on Qin Liang. Qin Liang noticed his gaze and only returned it with a disdainful smile.

 

Zhou Xun patted Lu Xiandao on the shoulder and said, “Master Lu…”

 

“I know,” Lu Xiandao murmured, “He can’t die in Jing.”

 

That night, when he returned to his bed, he had another nightmare. In the dream, there was blood and fire, accompanied by the cries of Yang Er’s family and their angry accusations toward him. He remembered how, as a child, he had joined the Jiangwei Garrison out of spite over his parents’ discord. During those countless nights when he feared the dark, Old Yang had been like a father to him.

 

When he woke from the nightmare, he was drenched in cold sweat. In the endless darkness and chaos, he saw the open window, outside of which hung a bright moon. Reflected in the moonlight was the figure of someone in white.

 

For a moment, he thought a celestial being had descended.

 

Lu Xiandao stared blankly at Bai Yuxing by the window. He had no time to question how this person had suddenly appeared in his bedroom, nor whether he had overheard the words of hatred, fear, and regret he had uttered in his dream. All he could manage was to ask, “What are you here for?”

 

“To bid you farewell,” the little deity under the moon replied, shaking the ponytail tied at the back of his head. He wore boots and casually twirled the white jade paperweight in his hand. “I’m heading to Northern Wei.”

 

“Northern Wei… What are you going there for?”

 

The celestial being grinned, a carefree, radiant smile under the moonlight. “To steal a gift for you,” he said.

 

As he spoke, he tossed the jade paperweight into the air, caught it again, and said to Lu Xiandao, “I’ve broken into Princess Fukang’s mansion so many times but never stolen anything. Tonight, your paperweight is mine! Consider it an exchange for the gift I’ll bring back for you!”

 

“You…!”

 

Lu Xiandao struggled to get out of bed. Bai Yuxing said, “We folks of the martial world don’t follow the strict rules you officials do. I’m off. The world is vast, and the road is long. Until we meet again!”

 

“By the way, one last thing.” He turned slightly, his profile glowing under the moonlight, his eyes sparkling. “Old Lu, you’re a very loyal friend. I should’ve become friends with you sooner. I used to dislike how imposing you were, but now I think it’s great that you remain imposing, unreasonable, and righteous. It’s a good look on you. And one more thing…”

 

“You said you’ve seen me in bridal attire. Well, I’ve also seen you in red robes. I guess we’re truly fated!”

 

With that, he leapt out the window as lightly as a swallow. Lu Xiandao couldn’t catch him, only the breeze he left behind.

 

It wasn’t until later that he understood what Bai Yuxing had gone to Northern Wei to steal.

 

The world-renowned thief who had stolen countless treasures—glowing jade cups, glass goblets, and red gemstones—this time, stole not an artifact.

 

But Qin Liang’s head.

 

However, when Bai Yuxing, dressed in black, stood in Qin Liang’s residence, even he didn’t understand. That day, when he opened the window and brought in the moonlight and wind, he stole more than just the jade paperweight on the desk.

 

He also stole a heart.

 

…

 

Now the major conflicts had seemingly subsided, and life appeared to be gradually returning to normal. Zhou Xun noticed that the emperor had been unusually drowsy lately.

 

Winter had arrived once more. In the palace, braziers were lit. Their daily routine, apart from attending court and handling state affairs, consisted of sitting in the Hall of Mental Cultivation around a brazier, roasting oranges by the fire.

 

“Old Bai used to say, ‘With green ant wine and a red clay stove, would you have a drink as the evening snow falls?'” The emperor, who had recently taken a liking to brewing milk tea with tea leaves, brown sugar, and warmed it over the brazier, now handed a cup to Zhou Xun. “Here, have a cup.”

 

Zhou Xun accepted the “milk tea” and began sipping it. His pale face, warmed by the brazier, had turned rosy, making him appear much healthier. The emperor had commissioned an extra-large chaise longue, covered with all sorts of cushions, furs, and quilts. Zhou Xun was now curled up in a large cloak.

 

His pale legs rested on the silver-gray fur, his black hair casually draped over his shoulders. His long, slender neck and outstretched hands were alabaster white, strikingly contrasting with his black hair—a sight that took one’s breath away. Anyone would know what had just transpired here.

 

Zhou Xun lowered his head, sipping his milk tea slowly. The emperor rested his head on his side, watching him, and after a while, suddenly laughed.

 

“What are you laughing at?” Zhou Xun asked.

 

The emperor replied, “You’re beautiful.”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

“The second year’s plan is complete! Next year, it’ll be the third year!” The emperor changed the subject, leaning on Zhou Xun and saying, “Now it’s Northern Wei’s turn to pay tribute! We’re wealthy now. Next step: revive the great countryside! We…”

 

He mumbled on, but Zhou Xun soon heard the even sound of breathing.

 

The emperor had fallen asleep again.

 

The milk tea in Zhou Xun’s hand had gone cold. He lowered his head, his hair cascading like a waterfall onto the silver cloak. He leaned his face gently against the emperor’s cheek.

 

Lately, the emperor had been sleeping more and more.

 

Zhou Xun had asked many imperial physicians about this issue, trying to uncover the reason behind it, even suspecting that the emperor was hiding something from him. But the physicians couldn’t offer any definitive answers.

 

Physician He speculated that the problem had started after the rebellion of Prince Su. At the time, no extreme symptoms had followed the arrow’s removal. But now, it seemed the arrow might have been coated with some colorless, odorless poison, or perhaps it had left some aftereffects.

 

Zhou Xun had never believed in gods, but this time, he personally sought out a renowned monk. It was said that this monk was different from the ordinary charlatans. However, when he met the monk, the man only said one thing to him:

 

“Defying the natural order will always come to an end.”

 

Eight words revealed the secret of heaven. After speaking them, the monk seemed to age significantly in an instant.

 

Zhou Xun finally understood.

 

The emperor—no, Rong Haoyu.

 

He was going to leave.

 

This world had granted them the stolen time of two years with Rong Haoyu’s presence, and now, fate seemed intent on reclaiming this borrowed blessing.

 

He knew the emperor had noticed the anomaly too. The emperor had quietly made some arrangements, like preparations for the court. He also knew the emperor, believing him to be asleep, would sometimes gaze at him, lift the hair covering his face, and murmur softly, “Perhaps… it’s better to let you go.”

 

He knew what the emperor was afraid of. The emperor later confided in him.

 

He feared the return of “Rong Xuan,” feared that one day Zhou Xun would awaken to find not the man willing to protect and cherish him for a lifetime, Rong Haoyu.

 

But someone who would destroy him, Rong Xuan.

 

Yet Zhou Xun refused to leave.

 

“I know you’ve arranged everything. Even if you die, this court and this nation will keep running,” Zhou Xun said. “It’ll be a world where everyone can be happy. No one else in this world understands it the way I do.”

 

“If the one who wakes isn’t you, if it’s Rong Xuan or someone else… someone who wants to destroy all this, I’ll kill him.” Zhou Xun lowered his lashes and said seriously, “I won’t allow anyone to destroy the world you’ve left behind.”

 

The emperor said nothing. But Zhou Xun knew he had secretly written an imperial edict, told his most trusted ministers, and hidden it behind a plaque.

 

If one day he “lost his mind” and became a bloodthirsty tyrant, Zhou Xun had the authority to kill him.

 

Zhou Xun thought, after that…

 

He would live, live a long time, and watch this world transform into the one Rong Haoyu envisioned and planned for. When his life neared its end, he would die quietly in the small courtyard in the capital that belonged to him.

 

The one Rong Haoyu had given him.

 

Or perhaps, when he grew old, when everything had improved, he would travel the world alone, seeing the sights Rong Haoyu hadn’t had time to show him. He would ride a horse, imagining another person he couldn’t see riding behind him, embracing him as gently as the wind.

 

This world did not yet have the “camera” Rong Haoyu had once described to him, the device that could record everything seen.

 

But he would use the remaining decades of his life to perfect his painting skills. By the year he left the capital, he would be an accomplished artist. He would traverse deserts of golden sand, climb cliffs of ice, witness Jiangnan’s misty rain and the peach blossoms of the northern frontier. Spring would bring thunder, summer rain, autumn winds, and winter snow. He would capture all the beauty he saw in his paintings, preserving them in the most pristine corners of history.

 

So that, many years later, perhaps in some future era of this world, a university student named Rong Haoyu would encounter them.

 

And then he would know that thousands of years ago, there was someone who had been saved by him and who, after his departure, had gone on to live a long and fulfilling life.

 

—It would be starlight spanning millennia, the greatest gift Zhou Xun could leave for the emperor.

 

The only thing he would not do was end his life prematurely. Because he knew that even if Rong Haoyu left, somewhere in the world, there would always be his eyes from thousands of years in the future, gazing at him with warmth and brightness.

 

And he would become his star. Starlight takes thousands upon thousands of years to traverse the universe, and the passage of time would eventually carry his light into Rong Haoyu’s eyes, letting him see the beauty born from his presence, long past.

 

On the day his life ended, when the evening sun bathed his silver-white hair, he would lie in the reclining chair in the courtyard, and a newly bloomed peach blossom would fall onto his forehead.

 

The wind would pass through the peach forest, its sound like waves, and it would be Rong Haoyu coming to meet him.

 

He had once changed his life. And Zhou Xun could not waste the life that had been saved.

 

Zhou Xun pressed his face against Rong Haoyu’s cheek. Listening to the rhythm of his breathing, he thought of how, when Rong Haoyu awoke, he would grab his hand, grinning as he pulled him off to build a snowman, review memorials, enjoy delicious foods, or, disliking the cold, stay in bed with him and do this or that.

 

Such mundane and ordinary days.

 

But now, even a single roasted orange felt as precious as something stolen from the hands of fate.

 

There were still so many things he wanted to do with him.

 

Zhou Xun thought.

 

He wanted to build snowmen with him, see another year’s spring and autumn. He wanted to be held by him and revisit Jiangzhou, walking through the memories of his youth. He wanted him to see what he would look like in middle age, and he wanted to see him grow old too. Two old men, both with unsteady legs, supporting each other as they walked.

 

He would be the cheerful old man, while Rong Haoyu would be the gentler one. Even if they became senile and forgetful, losing their memories, they would still recall each other’s names anew every morning.

 

He leaned quietly against the emperor and fell asleep.

 

Finally, one early morning, when he woke from a dream, it was a day for court. Yet all he could hear was the emperor lying beside him, his breathing steady.

 

That day, he waited from morning till night, but the emperor never woke up again.