Slag Shou Cultivating Manual - Chapter 129: He Zheng · Endless Pursuit

Chapter 129: He Zheng · Endless Pursuit

 

Since then, He Zheng no longer dared to act frivolously toward He Lang, cautiously maintaining his distance, observing his reactions, and fearing any trace of displeasure on He Lang’s brow. Even the palace attendants could sense He Zheng’s newfound carefulness.

 

Although He Lang had lost all affection for him, he did not harbor deep hatred either. After all, they had grown up together as brothers. On good days, He Lang would still speak a few words to He Zheng, and even such moments left He Zheng without any complaints.

 

Everyone said the Emperor’s temper had improved significantly. He no longer punished palace attendants harshly or arbitrarily dismissed officials, and it seemed he was inclined toward granting universal amnesty.

 

He Lang recognized this as a good change and casually complimented him, a remark that left He Zheng elated for half a day. Ever since he abandoned his lofty expectations, even a small token of kindness became a source of hope.

 

He Zheng clung to He Lang’s chambers, staring at him as he read, lost in thought, and murmured softly to himself:

 

“In the past, I was always ruthless, trusting no one and disbelieving in concepts like fate or retribution. But ever since my elder brother returned, I feel as if it’s heaven’s gift. I know you didn’t like how I used to behave, so every day, I strive to be the virtuous ruler you could admire and respect.”

 

He Lang spared him a glance, giving a small nod, as if genuinely considering his words. He Zheng’s spirits lifted slightly, and he gently tugged at the corner of He Lang’s robe.

 

“Yet, I’m starting to fear that my past sins might bring retribution. Elder Brother, you’re so good—you must have a next life. But as for me, I’m bound for hell, perhaps even to be obliterated entirely…”

 

He Lang pulled back his sleeve, looking at He Zheng as one would a naive child, his expression mocking. “Do you believe such things?”

 

Unfazed by the ridicule, He Zheng persisted. “I’m not afraid of hell. I only fear a hell where you’re not there. What then? I can’t bear to drag you down with me.”

 

He Lang was taken aback by the shift in He Zheng’s demeanor and fell silent for a moment at his words. Finally, he spoke, his tone indifferent, “This palace is already a hell for me.”

 

Within these walls lies splendor and wealth, the envy of those outside. Yet for those within, the freedom and diversity of life outside the walls were unreachable dreams.

 

Having ruled for ten years, He Zheng’s early ambition had long waned. He was well aware of the deceit and intrigue within the palace. He had thought of leaving, but lacked the courage—unless his elder brother was willing, in which case He Lang would be his courage.

 

“Then… would Elder Brother be willing to leave this hell with me?”

 

He Zheng leaned closer, his voice soft, yet his words heavy with the weight of an emperor’s determination.

 

But He Lang found it laughable. How could someone once so calculating now ask such childish questions? His lips curled into a sneer as he countered, “And the kingdom you worked so hard to seize? Can you bear to leave it?”

 

A sharp laugh followed, cutting like a blade.

 

He Zheng faltered, his lips moving soundlessly, his throat dry, unable to find a response. His brother’s attitude left him feeling deeply defeated. Was it that even if he were willing to give up the throne and power, it still wouldn’t earn his brother’s regard?

 

“For ten years, you’ve held absolute power, and only now you speak of abandoning it. Too late. You’re just tired of the palace and seeking some novelty through me,” He Lang remarked indifferently, turning another page of his book, impervious to anything He Zheng might say.

 

There was a hint of sorrow in He Zheng’s eyes. The elder brother who once trusted him unconditionally now doubted his every word.

 

He had once believed that ascending to the pinnacle would grant him control over everything. But after becoming emperor, he realized he couldn’t hold on to what mattered most.

 

Shrouded in gloom, He Zheng’s sadness seemed almost tangible. He Lang frowned. “You’ve disrupted my reading.”

 

Looking at the row of books on the table, He Zheng took a deep breath, steadying his fragile emotions. He attempted to join He Lang’s world by sitting beside him and pretending to read.

 

He Lang hesitated but said nothing, immersing himself back into his book. Seeing this, He Zheng inched closer, their shoulders touching.

 

In that moment of contact, He Zheng’s heart calmed. As He Lang remained unaware, he grew bolder, resting his head on He Lang’s shoulder. Speaking softly, almost as if to himself, he murmured:

 

“Elder Brother once watched me like this too, cautiously, full of hope… Do you still remember the chest in your room, filled with letters and portraits of me? I’ve kept them all, treating them as treasures… When will you draw for me again? That would be the greatest blessing.”

 

He Zheng reminisced about his elder brother’s former affection, as though merely recounting it could satisfy him, immersing him in a self-soothing fantasy.

 

He Lang let him ramble until his voice grew hoarse. Only then did he close his book, finding his shoulder damp with tears.

 

The fabric, chilled by moisture, touched his skin and sent a coldness straight to his heart. He Lang glanced down but said nothing, only sighing lightly.

 

“It’s late. Go back.”

 

He Zheng’s throat tightened, but he didn’t move.

 

A soft handkerchief landed on his face, accompanied by a resigned remark.

 

“An emperor, yet so fragile? So petty. Let go and leave.” He Lang pried He Zheng’s hand from his sleeve, one finger at a time, stood, and opened the door to send him out.

 

From a young age, He Zheng had been proud and self-assured. He Lang thought his repeated refusals and mockery would eventually provoke anger and drive him away. Yet, despite the heartbreak, He Zheng showed no signs of giving up. Instead, his temper had mellowed, and he quietly accepted all of He Lang’s rejections, returning daily to seek him again.

 

He Lang hadn’t expected the once decisive emperor to persist so patiently. Months passed, and even after a year, He Zheng’s determination did not waver.

 

“Your Majesty, you have three thousand beauties in the harem, yet you spend all your time with me, a mere man,” He Lang retorted irritably, tossing a scroll at the persistent figure beside him.

 

He Zheng remained unfazed, catching the scroll and closing it for him. His gaze was unwavering. “Of the three thousand, I desire only one.”

 

He Lang snatched the scroll back, turning his head away. “And that one should be your empress, not your brother, not me.”

 

He Lang had never inquired about the state of He Zheng’s harem, but what emperor didn’t surround himself with concubines? It was practically unheard of.

 

Realizing this, He Lang’s expression turned colder, signaling it was time for He Zheng to leave once more.

 

He Zheng sensed his intentions, his throat tightening. He explained in a dry voice, “I have no empress… Only you. As for the concubines, they were chosen by others. I don’t even know what they look like. For twenty-six years, my heart has belonged only to you.”

 

Indeed, He Lang had never heard palace servants mention the harem. He Zheng’s lack of heirs was an unprecedented situation.

 

He Lang fell silent briefly, prompting He Zheng to quickly add, “I’ll dismiss those concubines immediately and send them home respectfully. Would that please you, Elder Brother?”

 

He had always been uninterested in women, and his heart had been weighed down with thoughts of his brother. Even the idea of taking a wife left him dejected, fearing it might displease He Lang if he ever returned.

 

He Lang paused, turning away to glance at him. With a shake of his head, he maintained his distant demeanor. “I cannot bear the weight of your intentions.”

 

He Zheng clenched his sleeves, bowed his head in silence, and left without further argument.

 

The next day, the palace was in an uproar. He Zheng dismissed his entire harem and declared he would never take another consort. The announcement shocked the court, drawing significant opposition from the older ministers. Yet He Zheng ignored them, quelling the dissent with force.

 

The controversy didn’t stop there; it soon implicated He Lang.

 

With the imperial family seemingly on the brink of extinction, attention shifted to He Lang. At nearly thirty, the newly titled prince remained unmarried and was the subject of intense curiosity whenever he appeared. Some officials began sending portraits of eligible daughters to the palace, hoping to forge a connection.

 

At first, He Lang tolerated it, but as the number of suitors grew, he couldn’t reject them outright, and the matter spiraled out of control. Frustrated, he considered whether marrying someone might finally prompt He Zheng to give up.

 

A pragmatic marriage with a like-minded woman, built on mutual respect, seemed like a viable option.

 

But news of his deliberations soon reached He Zheng, who stormed into He Lang’s chambers and destroyed the portraits, vowing to punish the officials who had sent them.

 

He Lang rubbed his temples, handing him a cup of tea to calm him down.

 

“They mean well. I’m nearly thirty and unmarried—it’s understandable. Besides, the real cause is you. The He family is facing extinction; how could people not be concerned?”

 

He Zheng’s eyes drooped, his breath catching with a sense of grievance, and his eyes filled with shattered sorrow. “All I want is you. What can I do? Can’t my older brother show me even a little bit of mercy?”

 

His chest rose and fell violently as he gripped He Lang’s shoulders, nervously asking, “Did you agree? Do you want to marry the princess too?” The last words were spat out through clenched teeth.

 

He Zheng had always been calm and reserved, rarely showing such an angry side. But this time, his fury erupted swiftly.

 

A feeling of crisis stirred in He Lang, and the momentary wavering in his heart disappeared without a trace. He did not answer.

 

But the silence seemed to express his affirmation, and He Zheng staggered back a few steps, muttering angrily, “Fine! Fine!”

 

Watching He Zheng’s furious figure leave, He Lang’s heart grew uneasy. Although He Zheng had been attentive and accommodating these past days, He Lang knew well the cruelty and madness deep within him. The coldness and bloodshed on his hands had always been a reminder that He Zheng was not someone who could be easily changed for his sake.

 

That night, after He Lang had fallen asleep, the door was suddenly kicked open, and a figure appeared from the darkness, holding a jar of wine.

 

He Zheng’s face was flushed, his eyes dazed. He stood by the bed, gazing at his beloved’s face, his eyes even slightly moist. He drank the wine in one gulp, emboldened, and pulled He Lang into his arms.

 

Feeling the weight on his body and the overwhelming smell of alcohol, He Lang immediately woke up.

 

Though irritated, he held back, seeing that the person was drunk, and planned to lift him up and have the servants take him back.

 

But the drunk person was as heavy as dead weight, and with a sudden roll, He Zheng pinned He Lang back down. He flashed a hoarse, seductive smile, “Prince, what do you think of this princess?”

 

Without the restraint of reason, He Zheng gave in to his desires, staring at He Lang’s pale lips, knowing full well what painful words would come out of them. He didn’t want to hear those answers, so he kissed him without regard.

 

The wine in He Zheng’s mouth seemed to transfer to He Lang’s, the strong alcohol clouding his mind and nerves. Together with the weight pressing down on him, He Lang could not resist, and their kiss continued for quite a while.

 

He Zheng buried his face in He Lang’s chest, mumbling incoherently, “I’m so sad, my older brother never pays attention to me… I don’t want my older brother to marry, I don’t want him to belong to anyone else… Wuwu, my older brother is mine…”

 

His mind was muddled, memories scattered and chaotic. Perhaps He Lang thought of their childhood, and before he could stop himself, he shamelessly murmured about wanting his older brother to play hide-and-seek with him, to sneak into the palace kitchen for some treats.

 

Such childlike ramblings struck a chord with He Lang, and the hand that had been trying to push him away stiffened for a moment before gently patting He Zheng’s head.

 

Unconsciously, their clothes became disheveled, and their bare skin brushed together, creating a burning heat, as their closeness intensified.

 

At the final step, He Lang suddenly jolted awake. He shook his head violently and pushed He Zheng away with all his strength. Fortunately, He Zheng, drunk, fell asleep without further resistance.

 

The indulgence felt like a fragment of a dream, but the strong scent of alcohol in his mouth and the lingering warmth on his body kept reminding He Lang that it was he who had softened, he who had let his guard down.

 

The heat and scent slowly faded like the receding tide. He Lang rose from the bed, lying on the cold desk, thinking, perhaps he too was drunk.

 

…

 

The next day, when He Zheng woke up from the bed, filled with He Lang’s scent, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart sweetened as the memories of last night played repeatedly in his mind—the images of them embracing and kissing, flashing in his head over and over.

 

But when he reached out, there was no warmth beside him. He Zheng’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately grew alert, jumping out of bed. The room was empty, except for a letter on the desk, its presence glaring. He rushed over to it, reading it hastily.

 

He Lang had left only one sentence: “From now on, we shall not meet, and I will not ask about the past.”

 

The joy he had felt moments ago vanished, and He Zheng’s face turned pale. Barefoot, he searched through the Longhuan Palace but found no trace of He Lang. Finally, he sat on the threshold of the palace, lost in thought, as if waiting for that person to return.

 

He thought his older brother had finally been moved by his love, but instead, his older brother had left him only a cold farewell?

 

He Zheng let out a soft laugh, burying his face in his knees, and began to sob quietly.

 

…

 

Three months later, in a small courtyard in Yangzhou.

 

He Lang sat under a wutong tree, idly playing with the leaves, relaxed and carefree.

 

After escaping the palace, he had become a free spirit again, subsisting on plain food instead of royal delicacies, wearing rough cloth instead of fine silks. Although he wasn’t used to the absence of that person’s daily attention, it didn’t take much to brush aside the small discomfort.

 

He Lang had just closed his eyes, intending to take a brief nap, when a shadow appeared in front of him, blocking the sunlight.

 

The person’s presence was intense, and He Lang knew immediately who it was.

 

A complex mix of feelings surged within him—disgust, anger, fear, and a reluctant sense of anticipation that he refused to acknowledge.

 

He Lang opened his eyes with force, but instead of the expected dark expression, he saw the figure in front of him had removed his dragon robe, wearing only simple clothes, like a fresh young man bathed in light. He crouched in front of He Lang and smiled naturally, his voice light and cheerful. “Lang, I missed you.”

 

He Lang paused, gripping the grass root beside him, surprised by the change in his appearance and tone.

 

He Zheng, disregarding his royal status, sat down beside him under the tree, casually recounting how he had abdicated and, against everyone’s opposition, had come alone to find him.

 

“When I abdicate, what will become of the He family’s dynasty?” When He Lang heard the word “abdicate,” his face changed dramatically. He had never imagined that He Zheng would actually let go of the empire he had spent years building.

 

He Zheng squinted slightly, feeling the air around him, and then spoke seriously, “You don’t believe I’ll give up the empire for you? I’ll show you.”

 

He Lang clenched his fists and sighed deeply, no longer willing to be entangled in matters of state. He pressed his voice low as he spoke, “When I first met you, you were only eight years old. Now, twenty years have passed…”

 

He Zheng nodded, slowly intertwining their fingers, but He Lang, noticing the gesture, quickly pulled his hand away.

 

“For the first ten years, I showered you with affection and care, but we both know, it was only my one-sided love. Maybe neither of us ever expected that the next ten years would be filled with waiting in vain, longing unreturned… Do you think this is fate playing tricks on us?”

 

He Zheng bit his lip, taking a deep breath, steadying his heart, and changed the topic, holding up a small flowerpot. “Your favorite orchid, the one only found in the palace. I brought it for you. Take a look. Don’t talk about that now… please.”

 

He presented the orchid before He Lang, his intense gaze pleading softly, hoping he wouldn’t turn him away.

 

He Lang took the orchid and examined it, his expression softening. He Zheng sighed in relief and then carefully asked, “I haven’t seen you smile in so long. Can I see it again?”

 

His request was simple—He Zheng, who had once commanded the winds and waves, was now humbling himself so much, making this request so carefully, which was heartbreaking.

 

He Lang steeled his heart, unwilling to oblige. He absentmindedly plucked a petal, not sparing another glance at the flower. The person who used to smile so often was now absent of that expression, and He Lang couldn’t find any trace of it in him.

 

“In the past, I smiled at you countless times, even before I died, yet I never saw you care… Now, it’s too late. I’m tired. I don’t want to smile anymore.” He glanced away, returning the orchid to him.

 

“No matter, if you don’t want to smile, then don’t. I will do everything I can to make you happy in the future… We have a long time ahead.” He Zheng forced a smile, but the curve of his lips didn’t seem joyful. It only made him look like he was crying instead of smiling.

 

He Lang furrowed his brows, confused by his words. The future? Was this person truly never going to let him go? When would this chase ever end?

 

A deep sense of exhaustion rose in He Lang, and as he sighed, his words came out heavy.

 

“There’s no one who is truly indispensable. Letting go of me is also letting go of yourself… We’re both too tired. Let it go.”

 

The words “let it go” seemed to echo through He Zheng’s mind, amplifying within him until he couldn’t hold the smile any longer. His stubbornness flared up again.

 

“But I’d rather not let go of myself, and I don’t want to let go of you.”

 

He Zheng spoke firmly, moving closer, but not with his usual forceful manner. Instead, he gently wrapped his arm around He Lang’s, as if drawing strength from his presence. He was willing to accept everything about He Lang—the good and the bad. “All the good you’ve shown me, I’ll return it even more. As long as… you don’t just leave me without a word again.”

 

He panted heavily, the fear of He Lang leaving him still lingering in his heart.

 

Without his pursuit of power and years of ambition, He Zheng had rediscovered the simplicity of his youth. The imperial aura that had once defined him had been washed away, and now, stepping down from the throne, he was once again the young man he had loved all those years ago.

 

Perhaps tired, He Lang no longer argued. He closed his eyes to rest, a faint smile forming at the corner of his mouth. When He Zheng thought he was asleep and remained silent, He Lang’s voice, soft enough to be carried away by the wind, whispered, “It’s up to you.”

 

It was spring in March, and the breeze blew, making the orchids between them sway.

 

And when the wind would stop, no one knew.