After Being Mistakenly Taken for a Fellow Traveler by Emperor Long Aotian - Chapter 87

Chapter 87: He Discovers the Truth Behind Being Mistaken for Someone Else

 

Zhou Xun stared at the emperor from afar, his brow twitching as though he had discerned something amiss.

 

The emperor’s brush danced across the paper on the desk, swiftly completing most of the text from memory. Just as he moved on to the second half, Zhou Xun’s voice sounded from behind him: “Rewrite it.”

 

The emperor: …

 

Zhou Xun: ^_^

 

“Who would’ve thought His Majesty had such…creative ideas.”

 

The emperor watched as Zhou Xun’s fingers traced along the uneven strokes of the paper. Naturally, the paper’s uneven surface wasn’t by chance but because…

 

The emperor had written “invisible” text into the paper earlier using a pen that left no visible ink, creating a series of indented “blank” characters.

 

Now, Zhou Xun had taken away the original cheat sheet and even confiscated the slip of notes hidden in the emperor’s wristband, leaving him no choice but to write under Zhou Xun’s watchful eyes. With a deeply dejected expression, the emperor scratched his head and finally spent half an hour finishing a draft: “Here.”

 

Zhou Xun took the sheet. At a glance, it seemed filled with characters. But upon closer inspection…

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

He studied the paper for a while before confirming that it seemed to contain only two characters repeated over and over.

 

And those two characters…

 

One of them was a half-finished, incomplete “人” (person).

 

The other? After much deliberation, he concluded it was also incomplete—a mangled version of “吃” (eat).

 

Zhou Xun: ??

 

The emperor, trying to reclaim the sheet in embarrassment, was stopped by Zhou Xun, who gave him a cold stare.

 

The emperor, knowing he was in the wrong, heard Zhou Xun rebuke him: “This paper…is full of the characters for ‘eating people’!”

 

“Well, feudal societies are, after all, cannibalistic societies,” the emperor muttered. “They exploit, oppress, and bring misery to the people. Heaven should be benevolent, not cause droughts and help the elite ‘eat people’…” His voice trailed off as even he realized he was grasping at straws. Zhou Xun watched him, sighing after a moment.

 

A feudal society as a cannibalistic one—those words struck a deep chord in Zhou Xun.

 

Many people, despite having access to grain, still chose to exploit others for sustenance. Zhou Cai, as a legitimate heir, could have basked in glory, but he sought joy in oppressing others; the Zhang family could have married off their niece honorably, but they drove her to despair for the sake of dowry and a medical text; Zhou Hong harmed people outright just to gratify his own vanity.

 

But such words could only be spoken by the emperor—not by Zhou Xun. Zhou Xun merely glanced at the emperor’s poorly written and incomplete characters, realizing that, despite all these days, the emperor still hadn’t mastered the local script, and his penmanship remained atrocious.

 

The emperor, uneasy under his gaze, heard Zhou Xun say, “As an emperor, having poor calligraphy simply won’t do. Starting tomorrow, every morning at the hour of Mao, I’ll teach you how to write. It’s important to adapt to local customs, after all.”

 

The emperor was overjoyed but hesitated for a moment before asking, “You…don’t have anything else to ask me?”

 

Zhou Xun looked at him, half-smiling. “Ask you what?”

 

“…Like how I know things you’ve said? Never mind.” The emperor muttered, “I’m overthinking it.”

 

The next morning, Zhou Xun rose early, dressed in a light blue robe. In the faint morning light, his long hair cascaded down his back as he painted at the desk.

 

When he looked up, he saw the emperor awkwardly standing at the door. Zhou Xun set down his brush and called out, “Why are you still standing there?”

 

The emperor stepped in, still looking uncomfortable and keeping a certain distance from Zhou Xun. Zhou Xun didn’t think much of it, instructing him to hold the brush properly and examining his posture.

 

When he saw the emperor’s misplaced fingers, he leaned in to adjust them himself.

 

“I really wonder how you managed to approve memorials to the throne without me around,” Zhou Xun muttered under his breath.

 

For some reason, the emperor’s fingers were unusually stiff. Zhou Xun sighed and said, “Relax.”

 

The emperor awkwardly blurted, “I suspect you’re flirting with me, but I lack evidence.”

 

“Flirting? With a carriage?” Zhou Xun asked, confused.

 

The emperor, flustered by the question, turned bright red and looked away. “Nothing.”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

The emperor, trying to change the subject, said, “By the way, could you tie your hair up?”

 

Zhou Xun glanced at him. The emperor’s expression was as upright as could be.

 

Taking out a ribbon, Zhou Xun held it in his teeth, smoothing his hair with his hands before tying it back. When he finished, he noticed the emperor staring at him and asked, “What is it?”

 

The emperor stammered, “Ah, your hair… It’s so long and thick. Doesn’t it shed a lot? If you go bald, that’d be a shame. I’ll see if I can find some ginger shampoo for you…”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

It took significant restraint not to stomp on the emperor’s foot.

 

When the emperor caught Zhou Xun’s glare, he awkwardly added, “You know, beasts walk alone, while cattle and sheep move in herds… Hair is the same way.”

 

Zhou Xun: ?

 

The emperor: “I’m sure you’ve heard that saying before, right?”

 

Despite his nonsensical chatter, the emperor earnestly practiced under Zhou Xun’s guidance, eventually managing to copy “Thoughts on a Quiet Night.” Most of his characters were still missing strokes, but Zhou Xun showed little reaction.

 

After examining the writing, Zhou Xun finally remarked, “This handwriting…”

 

The emperor: “It’s very neat, right? Standard Hengshui style!”

 

Zhou Xun: “It’s incredibly lazy.”

 

Taking the brush himself, Zhou Xun filled in the missing strokes and advised, “While others might attribute this to laziness, Your Majesty must learn to complete these characters. After all…”

 

“I’ll be staying here for many more years!”

 

Zhou Xun: “We can’t have others thinking you’re illiterate, Your Majesty.”

 

“…Illiterate is illiterate. Actually,” the emperor began, “at first, I really wanted to go back. No Wi-Fi here, no air conditioning, and so much work to do.”

 

Zhou Xun paused, surprised to find himself strangely unsettled by these words, a hollow sense of dread creeping in: “And then?”

 

The emperor: “Then, I felt like I had to finish something here before I left. Later…”

 

Zhou Xun leaned in closer to listen.

 

The emperor: “Hey, is that a bald spot on your head?”

 

Zhou Xun: “…That’s my cowlick.”

 

The emperor: “Ah, back in school, I went through a phase of losing a lot of hair too. I tried all sorts of remedies—you should give them a go. I promise you’ll have a full head of hair even at eighty.”

 

As the emperor rambled on about hair care for the elderly, it was as though he assumed they had countless days yet to spend together.

 

But how could there possibly be so many days?

 

Hearing the emperor’s plans for hair care at eighty, Zhou Xun chuckled, “Don’t bother. I might not even live that long.”

 

His words were casual, offhand. The emperor, however, took them seriously: “Why not?”

 

Zhou Xun didn’t know how to explain. Too much detail made him seem petty; too little made him appear evasive. In truth, he didn’t believe he would live that long.

 

His past had been too bitter, and his present was so sweet. Even if he could only hold onto this happiness for ten years, it would be enough.

 

But such melancholy thoughts weren’t worth sharing with the emperor. So he simply smiled: “I was joking.”

 

“Don’t joke about that.” The emperor was stern. “Evil lives short; good lives long. You’ll live to a hundred, and so will I.”

 

With that, he clapped Zhou Xun’s shoulder, making a promise: “If I’m wrong, you can come find me anytime.”

 

Zhou Xun smiled, amused: “If I die first, how would I find you?”

 

He thought that if he became a ghost, he’d surely be a vengeful red specter. His life had been stained with blood and haunted by pain.

 

But the emperor was different. Someone like him was destined for heaven.

 

“Pah, don’t talk nonsense.” The emperor grew serious. “You could always come down to earth and visit me in my dreams.”

 

Zhou Xun chuckled, “I hope it wouldn’t be a nightmare.”

 

“How could it be!” The emperor said cheerfully. “Although, before I came here, every time I dreamed of you, it was a nightmare. But now, if I dream of you again, they’ll all be sweet dreams!”

 

Before? It had been nightmares?

 

And before arriving here…

 

For some reason, Zhou Cai’s words about a “stand-in” echoed in Zhou Xun’s mind.

 

Zhou Xun remained calm and asked, “Why were they nightmares? When you say before, what do you mean?”

 

“Before I came here, of course,” the emperor replied matter-of-factly. “When I was still in that world, back then, who wouldn’t be terrified to dream of you in the middle of the night?”

 

Zhou Xun went quiet: “Was I…very frightening before?”

 

The emperor nodded, recalling with a shiver, “Absolutely. Just the sight of you made my hands and feet go cold. And back then, you made me memorize so much, write so much…”

 

“…Honestly, I wasn’t great to you back then either,” the emperor added guiltily. “I spilled red ink on you, trampled you, exploited you, hurt you so badly, and finally discarded you. Sometimes I think… Maybe that’s why I ended up here—to meet you again and make amends.”

 

Zhou Xun paused for a long moment before softly asking, “Why did Your Majesty save me back then? Why were you so sure…that I was him? That I was…Uncle Yu Wen?”

 

Indeed, why had he trusted him so completely? Why had he spared him in the imperial study and later handed him government affairs without a second thought? Why had he allowed him to read memorials, never questioning his background?

 

And why, when Zhou Xun suffered injustice, had the emperor so easily punished his most trusted officials and even his own brother?

 

Why had he treated him so well, so unconditionally?

 

“How could I not trust you? The scars and birthmarks on your body… They’re exactly the same as the injuries he once had. And besides…”

 

“…You deserve to be treated well.”

 

But why? Why did he deserve it?

 

“You are talented, willing to listen to me, write essays for me, help me handle government affairs every day, and even in such a world, you still strive to improve yourself… Moreover, I’ve read many of your essays and know you’re very gifted. Later, you proved it as well…”

 

What essays?

 

“For example? ‘The Kite,’ ‘From the Herb Garden to the Three Flavor Study Room’…”

 

He continued talking, and Zhou Xun quietly watched him.

 

Then, his fingertips went cold.

 

Zhou Xun said, “I’ve never written those things, nor have I heard of them.”

 

The emperor’s expression froze: “Huh?”

 

“I’m neither an immortal nor the reincarnation of one. I’m just an ordinary person, an utterly ordinary person,” Zhou Xun said quietly. “The burns on my hand were purely accidental, and the birthmark on my ankle is just an ordinary mark. The words I spoke… were also a coincidence.”

 

“I’m not the person you’re looking for or the one you want to compensate.” Zhou Xun bowed to him. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

 

The emperor’s mouth opened wide enough to fit a duck egg as he watched Zhou Xun turn and walk away. It wasn’t until Zhou Xun had left that he shouted hoarsely, “Wait! That person wasn’t human!”

 

“He wasn’t human!”

 

Zhou Xun didn’t return to his room; instead, he went to the imperial garden and sat down, hugging his knees.

 

Leaning against a pillar, he thought tiredly.

 

So this time, he was mistaken for someone else again?

 

Once again, he was treated as someone’s substitute?

 

The emperor’s kindness to him was only meant as compensation for that person. The emperor had done many excessive things to that person in the past. His guilt and care were meant for that person.

 

He remembered Zhou Cai’s smug smile and cryptic words, and he couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

 

After a long time, he hugged his knees and whispered to himself, “Zhou Xun, why are you overthinking this?”

 

…The emperor really was kind to him, wasn’t he?

 

…Even if that pity never truly belonged to him in the first place, the emperor now…

 

He tried to comfort himself, but he still felt sad—so sad that it made him panic.

 

If he only saw the emperor as a benefactor, just a friend, he shouldn’t feel this way.

 

After all, the protection and kindness he received were tangible and real.

 

But he greedily longed for exclusivity. The thought that the emperor might have treated someone else this way before… made him uneasy.

 

He had developed expectations for the emperor, expectations that far exceeded reason.

 

This wasn’t good.

 

Zhou Xun thought that perhaps he should leave the palace for a while.

 

He had his pride, and what scared him even more was the thought of whether the emperor would treat him the same after learning the truth.

 

He trusted the emperor’s character and believed he wasn’t like the Fifth Prince. But what he feared wasn’t mistreatment—it was the alienation that might follow.

 

Just imagining the emperor looking at him with unfamiliar eyes made him feel unbearable.

 

He couldn’t bear the emperor distancing himself from him.

 

“Zhou Xun,” he softly told himself, “you’ve been spoiled.”

 

He had never been pampered before, so once he experienced it, he couldn’t forget it.

 

Rather than losing it, it would be better if he had never had it at all.

 

Zhou Xun eventually fell asleep in the pavilion. It was the same one where he had once shared drinks and conversations with the emperor. When he woke up, he found an extra coat draped over him.

 

He looked down at the coat, walked down the stone steps, and saw Xiao Li waiting at the end.

 

Xiao Li led him to the side hall but didn’t follow him in.

 

Zhou Xun entered alone.

 

Inside, he saw the emperor asleep at the table, a stack of pages before him—the same prayer he had been copying.

 

Zhou Xun didn’t know why, but his chest felt tight. He sat silently beside the emperor, waiting for him to wake up.

 

The emperor seemed to be dreaming, restless, mumbling words in his sleep.

 

Hesitating, Zhou Xun leaned closer to listen.

 

“…Zhou Xun is nowhere near as good-looking as you,” the emperor murmured.

 

At those words, Zhou Xun’s heart sank.

 

But soon after, he heard the next sentence: “…If you were a girl, no Zhou Xun, no Zhang Ziyi, no Fan Bingbing would compare to you. I’d only look at you…”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

“…Now that you’re human, you won’t turn back into your original form, right? Oh no, you’re turning back into a book! Turn back, turn back—ahhh!”

 

“Xiao Li, where’s Xiao Xun? Did Xiao Xun leave?”

 

The emperor woke with a start and found himself staring at Zhou Xun, who hadn’t had time to hide his expression.

 

Seeing Zhou Xun, he looked slightly embarrassed before handing him a piece of paper. “Here…”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

The emperor: “Sodium reacts explosively with water. I spent the whole night memorizing it; I finally got it.”

 

Zhou Xun held the paper and thought, The emperor is such a fool.

 

He said seriously, “I’m not the person you’re looking for.”

 

“I know.” The emperor hastily added, “I’m not even looking for someone; I’m looking for…”

 

“You’re giving me feelings that belong to someone else. Your guilt isn’t for me…”

 

The more Zhou Xun spoke, the more despondent he felt. The emperor patted his shoulder, his expression no longer careless but earnest. “Let’s clear this up—what’s wrong?”

 

What… was wrong?

 

Zhou Xun was taken aback. The emperor said, “If I hadn’t mistaken you at the beginning, do you think I would have killed you without question?”

 

Zhou Xun hesitated but shook his head.

 

For some reason, he did trust the emperor… to this extent.

 

“Even without the mistake, I wouldn’t have killed you—I’m a modern person. Killing someone right away would leave some psychological scars. After investigating the truth, I might’ve been exasperated but also found you pitiful, helped you start over, or recognized your talent and had you do other work for me.” The emperor spoke seriously. “I knew Zhou Cai was a bad person and wouldn’t have used him again. As for the Fifth Prince, I’d have distanced myself from him too. We wouldn’t have become friends so quickly, but with time, there’d still be plenty of opportunities to build a connection.”

 

Zhou Xun could hear his heartbeat.

 

“…We might’ve taken a longer route, but there would always be chances for us to become friends and grow closer. Once I arrived, you wouldn’t have died here—that’s destiny. People are like this; if they’re meant to get along, no matter when they meet, even if it’s just a passing moment, it’s like two magnets. Once they encounter each other, they’ll inevitably stick together.” The emperor snapped his fingers. “I’m inevitable.”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

The emperor couldn’t resist cracking another bad joke, but he continued, “As for being wrong—weren’t the memorials reviewed by you? Didn’t you teach me how to write? Weren’t the essays copied by you? Didn’t you provide the suggestions?”

 

Zhou Xun: …

 

“Although our beginning was a mistake, everything after that is unique to us. It has nothing to do with your past or how we first met; it’s just about us. And… saying I only feel guilty about you is also wrong.”

 

Zhou Xun could hear his own heartbeat.

 

He involuntarily asked, “Then, aside from guilt, what else is there?”

 

The emperor beamed, his smile bright.

 

“Of course, there’s liking you,” he said. “I like you very much.”

 

“I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you. Being with you is so comfortable, and walking beside you is such a joy. When I see you always feeling sad, I can’t help but buy books to learn how to make you happy, how to comfort someone. When I see your hair, I worry about you going bald; I think that even when we’re old, I want you to still have thick, long hair. Sometimes, I even think… Ah, you better not hit me for this.”

 

Zhou Xun pursed his lips.

 

“If you were a girl, I might’ve already proposed to you.” The emperor scratched his head, unable to stop smiling. “Ah, too bad you’re a guy…”

 

Zhou Xun couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright then.”

 

“Such a pity, ah, heaven is unfair,” the emperor said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Wait, what did you just say?”

 

“I said, alright.”

 

Author’s Note: The emperor will shrink back in the next chapter: “You—you—you’re joking, right?”

 

And a few chapters later: “Does that joke still count?” (with a pitiful expression).