MFMH C113

Chapter 113 — Extra

In the fifth year of Jianyuan, on the eighth day of the fifth month, the Emperor and Empress were wed, a celebration shared by the entire realm.

The day was bright with sunshine, a gentle breeze stirred, and magpies chirped upon willow branches.

Guards with crimson sashes at their waists lined the road from the palace gates all the way to the Circular Mound Altar, while the Imperial Guards patrolled the streets under strict orders, clearing the way for the imperial procession. On either side of the road, countless commoners craned their necks, eager for a glimpse of their sovereign, but through the gauzy yellow curtains they could only faintly make out two young men in brilliant red wedding robes, sitting upright and straight-backed.

As the carriage rolled closer, the onlookers fell to their knees, and a thunderous wave of voices rose: “Long live the Emperor, ten thousand years!” “Long live the Empress, ten thousand years!”

The Empress within the carriage lifted his fair chin slightly, gaze steady upon the sea of kneeling subjects. His expression was serene, his bearing composed, the very image of a sovereign consort. Yet once the procession passed the bustling markets and left the public eye, the Empress suddenly slumped like a wilting flower, shoulders drooping weakly.

At this, a trace of amusement flickered in Zhao Yu’s stern eyes. He reached out, steadying him by the shoulder, guiding him against his side. Su Qingze stiffened at once, his cheeks tinged red. When he raised his eyes, they met Zhao Yu’s long, dark gaze, softened with tenderness.

“Just endure a little longer,” Zhao Yu murmured, brushing a finger across the crimson birthmark between his brows, his cool voice gentle, coaxing.

An imperial wedding was an affair of endless ceremony. Zhao Yu had already cut down many unnecessary rituals under the pretext of avoiding waste, yet even so, Qingze had been fasting and bathing in preparation for three days. At dawn he had been roused for his bridal attire, and since then, every step had demanded flawless composure. His body and spirit alike were exhausted.

“Mm,” Su Qingze whispered, leaning softly against him. The wedding robes were heavy with finery, the ornaments weighing him down. Thank heavens he was not a woman, else he would have been smothered beneath jeweled headdresses as well—he might have regretted it all then.

The man beside him sat poised and steady, exuding calm. To think he himself had grown weary in a single day, yet Zhao Yu bore this day after day. Su Qingze asked, “Aren’t you tired?”

Understanding his meaning, Zhao Yu smiled faintly. “I am used to it.” Since childhood, as the seventh prince, he had been drilled in every rule of posture and bearing. Self-disciplined to the core, over the years he had embodied the perfect model of princely decorum. Now it had become imperial majesty itself.

Su Qingze blinked, then straightened. He pressed his lips together and said, “You are the Emperor. No one dares control you. You needn’t be so hard on yourself.”

After a moment he added, “If you don’t feel at ease relaxing before others, then at least relax before me. You can lean on me, too.” He remembered their younger days—how Zhao Yu had followed him even up trees, unbothered by torn clothes or dirty faces.

“Very well.” Zhao Yu’s thin lips curved, fingers lightly pinching the no-longer-round cheeks. His soft, chubby boy had grown into a supple, upright young bamboo, one who could now offer him a shoulder in return.

Su Qingze poked at the corner of his mouth. “You seem awfully pleased.” These past days had left him harried, smiles scarce, yet from the moment Zhao Yu had seen him in the palace, the Emperor’s lips had never ceased to curve.

Catching his hand, Zhao Yu arched a brow and asked quietly, “What do you think?”

Su Qingze realized at once it was a foolish question, especially with Zhao Yu’s gaze darkening dangerously. He wisely held his tongue.

When he stayed silent, Zhao Yu lifted the soft, pale fingers to his lips and nipped at them. Su Qingze’s eyes widened, tugging frantically, but Zhao Yu refused to release him, staring intently as he asked, “Why do you not call me as before?”

They had been apart for over a year. When they met again, Su Qingze had not rushed into his arms, only smiled faintly from afar. Zhao Yu had thought him grown steadier with age, never expecting distance instead. He disliked being merely “the Emperor” on Su Qingze’s lips.

Lowering his eyes, Su Qingze muttered, “My mother said I must not be so careless after entering the palace.”

Zhao Yu bit down harder, drawing a hiss of pain. His gaze burned.

“I don’t know what to call you,” Su Qingze mumbled. He disliked “Your Majesty,” yet had been told not to use “Ah Heng.”

“Ah Heng suits me well.”

Su Qingze shook his head. “Back then I was young and foolish. Now I cannot be so casual.” On his first day in the palace, he had asked a maid if “Ah Heng had finished court,” and she had blinked in confusion before realizing who he meant. Soon after, matrons arrived to instruct him in the ways of an Empress—rituals, duties, how to serve the sovereign. They told him Zhao Yu was first the Emperor, only second his husband; that love was nothing compared to the state; that he mustn’t cling like a silly girl but uphold the dignity of the throne; and that, since the Emperor was not young, he should quickly bear heirs.

At this, Zhao Yu’s brows knit. “I did not bring you here to be shackled by such nonsense. Do as you please, heed no one else.”

Su Qingze smiled faintly. “I know. I had no intention of obeying. Only…” Only, those matrons were sent by his mother, and as her emissaries, he could not entirely snub them as a newcomer.

Zhao Yu’s frown deepened. “Did the Empress Dowager speak against you?”

She had raged when he refused her favored bride, falling ill. Later she summoned the daughters and sons of high ministers to the palace, hoping one might catch his eye. Furious, he had punished the schemers harshly and spread word: at his wedding, should anyone see a match, he would gladly bestow marriage by decree. Thus, the opportunists retreated.

The Empress Dowager had never summoned Su Qingze, not even today on their wedding. Her silence was the loudest protest of all. She wished the world to know she did not favor this Empress.

But what of it? This was his consort.

“Pay her no mind,” Zhao Yu said coldly. “You are mine. None may touch you.”

He recalled her trembling finger pointing at him, her shrieks of “unfilial son.” She had ignored his childhood suffering, concerned only with her own grievances, envying favored concubines, weeping at her mirror. Now she dared to meddle in his marriage.

But Su Qingze had done no wrong. Why should he bear her spite?

Su Qingze smoothed his furrowed brow. “I understand. I won’t heed them. Don’t be angry.”

Zhao Yu bent and kissed his cheek. “If you don’t know what to call me, then call me Zhao Yu. Say my name.”

“The Emperor’s name is forbidden—” but Zhao Yu silenced the thought. “Only you may call it.”

Su Qingze’s eyes lit. “Truly?”

“I am the Emperor. If I decree it, it is so.”

“Zhao Yu?”

“Mm.”

“Zhao Yu?”

“Mm.”

“Zhao Yu, Zhao Yu, Zhao Yu…”

Patiently, Zhao Yu answered each call, until at last he stopped the litany with a kiss.

In Su Qingze’s bright eyes, joy sparkled, reflecting his own careful shadow. Zhao Yu’s chest tightened, and he held him close.

From now on, this person was his—always within reach, no longer only words on a page.

Su Qingze smiled, corners of his eyes curved. Surely others would say he was spoiled by favor. But if even he could not be proud of it, then who could?

When they reached the Circular Mound Altar, Zhao Yu alighted first, then turned to offer his hand. Su Qingze accepted with a smile.

The crimson carpet wound up the ninety-nine steps of the altar. Hand in hand, they ascended together.

Marriage and war were the affairs of state. Thus the Emperor and Empress ascended to sacrifice to Heaven, declaring their union to the skies, praying for heirs, prosperity, good harvests, and peace.

As drums and music echoed, Su Qingze glanced at their joined hands and recalled a mountain climb years past. Back then he had been chubby, panting after every few steps, yet Zhao Yu had never abandoned him—he had waited, holding his hand all the way.

This man had always waited, always yielded to him.

“After the sacrifice, there is no turning back.”

Zhao Yu’s voice rumbled by his ear. Su Qingze lifted his gaze into those fathomless black eyes.

“I cannot speak sweet words like Shen Qing, nor coax you as he coaxes his husband. I cannot even promise to cook you meals with my own hands…”

Su Qingze’s throat tightened. Had he spoken too often of his friends’ tender life, making Zhao Yu feel inadequate, that he would bring it up at such a moment?

“I have only this heart, and this vast land, to give you.” The Emperor’s eyes shone with solemn truth.

Su Qingze’s lips curved. “Then I shall accept without hesitation.”

Long ago, aboard a boat bound for the capital, he had learned a foreign phrase from Mr. William. In a letter to Zhao Yu, he had once written: I Love You.

…It was his secret alone.

Incense, prayers, prostrations—when the rites were complete, the officials proclaimed the union, and all below the altar bowed three times and nine times more, their voices echoing across heaven and earth.

There they stood, Zhao Yu and Su Qingze, side by side—one majestic and commanding, the other radiant and clear. Upon their scarlet robes, the dragon and phoenix seemed to soar in the sun, their clasped hands gleaming, their gazes locked in tender devotion.

After returning to the palace, Zhao Yu went to feast the ministers, while Su Qingze received the homage of noble ladies.

Among the capital’s noblewomen, his background was unremarkable, and with the Empress Dowager’s disfavor, some offered him perfunctory bows. Unruffled, Su Qingze ordered them seated.

Then the herald cried: “The Duke of Zhen arrives—”

Gu Changfeng strode in, tall and imposing in blue robes. Before Su Qingze could bid him rise, he dropped to his knees. “Your Majesty the Empress, may you live ten thousand years!”

Startled, Su Qingze rushed to help him. “Duke… please, rise quickly!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” When Gu Changfeng met his joyful eyes, his own stern features softened.

Seating him at his side, Su Qingze turned away from the noblewomen to converse with him.

The women exchanged glances, affronted but silent. Though Gu Changfeng was a shuang’er, his rank eclipsed them all. None dared protest.

Rarely mingling with such circles, Gu Changfeng was a figure apart, aloof yet respected. To see him and the Empress speaking warmly, clearly long acquainted, stirred whispers none dared voice.

“Brother Gu, I was roused at dawn for dressing, weighed down all day in these robes. I am exhausted! Are great figures always this weary?” Su Qingze whispered.

Gu Changfeng chuckled. “Others less so. But His Majesty, burdened with state affairs, is indeed most weary.”

“I know nothing of governance, cannot ease his cares,” Su Qingze frowned earnestly. “I must trouble you and the ministers to aid him more.”

Gu Changfeng smiled. “It is our duty as subjects.”

Su Qingze’s eyes sparkled. “I find this company dreadfully dull. I’d rather visit your twins—I haven’t even seen them yet!”

Gu Changfeng laughed. “In a few days, I shall bring them to the palace.” With a glance at the dignified noblewomen, he lowered his voice. “If you dislike this, you may dismiss them. His Majesty sent me to spare you the ordeal.”

Surprised, Su Qingze hesitated. “Wouldn’t that seem arrogant?”

Gu Changfeng’s tone was mild. “You have seen them. No need for pleasantries. Keep only those whose company you enjoy.”

Relieved, Su Qingze grinned. “Then I’ll hold a banquet another day—you must attend! But for today, let them go. I cannot sit another moment.” Not only weary, but ravenous—he had fasted for days, this morning eating only a small bowl of lotus seed porridge. He craved meat!

Gu Changfeng rose and bowed. “On this day of joy, we shall not disturb Your Majesty further. We take our leave.”

With the Duke gone, the rest had no choice but to withdraw.

Watching them depart in their silken gowns, Su Qingze hurried to change out of his finery. Seeing this, Ming’an protested, “But this robe is so beautiful—His Majesty has hardly seen it. Why change?”

Su Qingze paused. “The ceremonies are done. I can’t very well wait for him in this all night.”

At that moment, a voice asked, “Wait for me for what?”

He turned—and there stood Zhao Yu, tall and radiant.

“So soon?”

Zhao Yu nodded, drawing him close. “I wished to dine with you.”

At the word, Su Qingze’s stomach growled. He quickly called for food.

Zhao Yu helped him shed the ornate outer layers until only a crimson robe remained. Against his pale skin, years of training had honed his frame; the red made him gleam with vigor.

Zhao Yu’s arm lingered at his narrow waist until the dishes were set.

That meal left Su Qingze trembling. He devoured the food, yet the man beside him devoured him with his eyes, gaze so intense it seemed to swallow him whole.

When Zhao Yu truly set about “eating,” Su Qingze learned the phrase was not so simple at all.

Upon the scarlet bridal bed, the youth’s skin gleamed like jade, his black hair spread like silk, limbs supple and long, seductive as a siren. Zhao Yu could not resist consuming him again and again.

Su Qingze could not withstand him, swept along in the tide of passion.

When at last the storm abated, Zhao Yu kissed his damp temple, voice husky with satisfaction. “Are you unwell?”

Face buried in the covers, Su Qingze shook his head. Zhao Yu laughed, pulling him out, but he averted his gaze in panic.

“What are you flustered for?” Zhao Yu pressed close, savoring the feel of skin against skin.

Su Qingze bristled, pushing at his shoulder. “Enough!”

“Not enough.” Zhao Yu kissed his throat, marking him anew.

“Zhao Yu!” Su Qingze bit him in desperation. “Tomorrow I must greet the Empress Dowager—how can I face her like this!” His neck was covered in marks no high collar could conceal, and such collars were absurd in summer.

“No need.” Zhao Yu drew him close, rolling onto his back. “She departs tomorrow for the Western Hills palace. You needn’t see her.”

Startled, Su Qingze frowned. “We have just wed. If she leaves now, what will the world say?”

Zhao Yu kissed his brow. “Do not worry. All is arranged. None will call you a curse.”

Su Qingze’s brows drew tight. “She dislikes me—I cannot like her either. I don’t mind slander, but you are the Emperor. If you send her away, what will history say?”

“When I am in my grave, what care I for history?” Zhao Yu chuckled lightly. “I am Emperor. Why not be willful once? She and I weary of each other. Let her go—it is better for both.”

He caressed Su Qingze’s face, voice soft. “No more of her. Stay with me.”

Obediently, Su Qingze nestled upon his chest. Zhao Yu stroked his smooth back, peace settling over him.

“Zhao Yu, don’t be sad. From now on, I am your family. I will stay by your side always. If you like children, we can have one, so you will have kin of your own blood…” Su Qingze whispered.

In those clear eyes, Zhao Yu saw only concern for him, and his heart quivered.

He had meant every word in his decree. Long ago, he had wished for someone to share his burdens, to warm his cold heart. In the boy’s letters, he had found that person.

That soft, pure youth, with eyes like spring water, had become his light—bringing warmth, green grass, and blossoms to his bleak world.

Bit by bit, the ice in his heart melted into gentle waters.

“I need only you,” Zhao Yu said earnestly, kissing his eyes.

Su Qingze hesitated. “But if we don’t… My mother said I should bear a son. She fears I’ll have no place in the palace, or be left desolate if I lose favor.” She herself had suffered scorn for bearing no sons, until Su Jingheng rose in rank. He understood her worry.

Zhao Yu brushed back his hair, gaze tender. “She cares for you. I will ease her heart. If I have children, they will be ours. If you wish it, we will. If not, then no.”

Delighted, Su Qingze said, “Then I don’t want to yet!” He was too hasty, too clumsy—he could not manage a baby.

Zhao Yu smiled. “Then when you are a little older.”

“I am no child anymore!” Su Qingze retorted.

“Mm.” Zhao Yu nuzzled his cheek, voice husky. “If you don’t sleep, shall we do something only adults may do?”

Blushing furiously, Su Qingze squeezed his eyes shut.

Zhao Yu’s lips curved with amusement. Holding him close, he too closed his eyes.

In the chamber, smoke curled from the bronze incense burner, its

fragrance wafting with the breeze.

On the bed, the two slept entwined, smiles lingering on their lips, as though lost in the sweetest of dreams.