“I pardon you of that crime,” Yuwen Jie said, narrowing his eyes. “Turn, then.”

A chill ran through Hua Chun, and her eyes widened. Instinctively she patted herself down — damn it, no recording pen! Even if these words were said drunkenly on a whim, she should have recorded them, to have as a lifeline someday!

Sighing, she said: “Your Majesty should rest early. This official is a man — I can’t turn into a woman.”

Even if the emperor told her to change, she wasn’t foolish enough to actually try, was she? If she took it seriously and this man forgot everything and denied it all once he sobered up, it would be the Hua family facing execution of the whole clan. Hua Jinghua’s identity had been concealed for twenty years — uncovering it wouldn’t be so simple.

“You’re not the least bit like a man,” the emperor muttered, reaching out to grip the back of her neck and pulling her entire body toward him, lowering his eyes: “Delicate skin, tender flesh, frail as anything.”

Caught off guard, falling into his embrace, Hua Chun startled and tried to struggle, but was pinned tightly in place.

“Your Majesty!”

“Mm, I’m here,” Yuwen Jie said, eyes brimming with a crystalline light, looking at her. “Don’t move. I have a question I’ve wanted to ask for a long time.”

Hua Chun felt inexplicably nervous, staring wide-eyed at him: “What question?”

“Why are your robes always fastened so high at the collar? Covering your entire neck.” As he spoke, he reached toward her collar: “It makes one want to pull it open.”

“…”

Help! Sexual harassment!

Hua Chun clutched her robes tightly, frowning at the man before her: “Your Majesty, even if this official is obliged to obey your commands, that doesn’t mean you can take advantage so openly! Men and women shouldn’t touch so casually!”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?” Yuwen Jie frowned, grabbing her flailing hands and pinning them tightly: “Don’t move.”

How the hell was she not supposed to move? Watching his hand reach toward her, Hua Chun was already gritting her teeth, preparing to bite. This emperor was so cold and composed when sober — why did he turn into a rutting bull the moment he got drunk?

The air was thick with rich wine fumes, and Hua Chun’s face flushed from the scent alone.

Yuwen Jie, apparently anticipating that she might bite, simply pressed his leg down over hers, one hand pinning both of her wrists, the other reaching directly for her chin, forcing her neck into view.

Pale, smooth neck, faint veins visible beneath the skin.

Hua Chun panicked, suddenly realizing why Hua Jinghua always wore high collars.

Because she had no Adam’s apple!

At this moment there was no room left for resistance — Yuwen Jie’s hand had already landed on her smooth throat.

It was over.

Hua Chun felt everything go dark before her eyes; she wished desperately she could simply faint. What excuse could possibly work now? Claim some strange illness that left her without an Adam’s apple? That would sound like utter nonsense the moment she said it!

The atmosphere grew tense; she felt just like a duck at the market being held by the neck, awaiting slaughter, eyes fixed and unmoving.

The water clock dripped quietly, grain by grain, and after a long while, the emperor finally spoke:

“I’m feeling a bit sleepy.”

What? Hua Chun blinked, turning to stare blankly at him.

The pressure on her hands and legs vanished instantly. She stood up; the emperor stood as well, swaying slightly as he said: “Help me to bed.”

“…Yes.”

He must be terribly drunk. She examined him carefully — surely he was too befuddled to have realized she had no Adam’s apple.

Amitabha, thank the heavens above!

The moment his body touched the bed, Yuwen Jie closed his eyes.

“Your Majesty, then this official will take her leave?” Hua Chun said quietly.

The emperor gave no response, seemingly fast asleep.

Letting out a breath of relief, Hua Chun took off running, straight out, never once looking back, all the way out of the palace.

That feeling of surviving a brush with death was truly thrilling — she never wanted to experience it again! Starting tomorrow, she’d wear a scarf. The weather was already turning cooler anyway; it was time to start a scarf fashion trend in this dynasty!

Once the sounds outside had died away, Yuwen Jie, still lying in bed, opened his eyes. There was still a haze of drunkenness in them, yet also a good seventy percent of sobriety.

He touched his own throat, gaze deep and unreadable.

Hua Chun returned to the Prime Minister’s residence, her face still somewhat pale.

“What happened?” Qing Niao hastily handed her a handkerchief: “Why is Master running so urgently?”

“It’s nothing, nothing,” Hua Chun said, sprawled on the soft couch catching her breath. “Just a bit afraid of the dark.”

Qing Niao frowned, suddenly leaning in close to look at her carefully.

“What?” Hua Chun startled.

“Nothing. Master should rest more,” Qing Niao said with a faint smile. “The bed is already made.”

“Oh, alright.” Hua Chun nodded, touching her chest, still unable to escape its confines, and sighed before following her to bed.

What followed was an endless string of nightmares.

She wasn’t sure if it was because Qing Niao’s story from before had left such a deep impression, but in her dream she saw an execution ground, someone’s head flying high, someone else with a numb expression, hands clasped behind their back, watching in silence — the scene extremely bloody.

Then the scene shifted, and it was Yuwen Jie, touching her neck, looking down at her.

“You’re a woman.”

Hua Chun shook her head in shock, but felt those hands tightening around her neck, tighter and tighter, until her eyes rolled white and her face turned purple.

“No!”

Roaring, she woke up, hands flying to her own neck.

Thank goodness, thank goodness — it was only a dream. Probably the binding around her chest had been too tight, cutting off her breath, causing such a nightmare. How could Yuwen Jie possibly be so cruel as to strangle her with his own hands?

If she were to die, he’d have someone else do the strangling.

“Master?” Qing Niao had been woken too, gazing at her with worried eyes. Outside it was still the dead of night.

“I think I’ll go sleep in the side hall myself,” Hua Chun said, looking at her guiltily. “Sleeping like this, I keep having nightmares.”

Frowning slightly, Qing Niao thought it over and finally nodded: “Master should go rest well, then.”

“Mm.” Patting her shoulder, Hua Chun hugged her own pillow and went to the side hall.

“Your Highness.” Zhanshui leaned close to Prince Xi’s ear and said in a low voice: “Everything that needed investigating has been investigated. Everything related to Prime Minister Hua is in this ledger.”

“Mm.” Yuwen Xi reached out to take it and looked it over.

The ledger recorded Hua Jinghua’s life history — from childhood to now, not a single wrongdoing, proper and well-behaved throughout, never even having visited a brothel.

Closing the ledger, Yuwen Xi looked at Zhanshui, displeased: “Is this an investigation, or a hymn of praise?”

“Your Highness, please understand — this is simply how the investigation turned out. This servant did not exaggerate in the slightest,” Zhanshui said. “Prime Minister Hua has offended so many people at court, yet has still managed to survive safely to this day — this is likely precisely why.”

Not giving anyone a single flaw to seize upon — naturally, no one could do anything about him.

“Is there truly nothing at all out of place?” Tapping the ledger, Prince Xi said. “A man in his twenties, who doesn’t frequent brothels, doesn’t take in concubines, and only recently married a principal wife — does that seem right to you?”

Zhanshui paused, thinking it over: “When it comes to women, Prime Minister Hua is indeed a bit odd. Those below reported that he and the Madam frequently sleep in separate rooms at night, occasionally sharing a room, but never any sounds of… activity.”

Why was that? Prince Xi raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued: “Tomorrow, when there’s time, invite Prime Minister Hua to Boyang Palace on my behalf.”

“Yes,” Zhanshui acknowledged.

After removing her chest binder, Hua Chun slept soundly through the rest of the night, no more nightmares, and the next day went to court in good spirits.

However, the emperor, breaking precedent, was late.

“What’s going on?” Marquis Gongyu, standing behind her, asked quietly: “Where has His Majesty gone?”

“How would I know? I went home yesterday,” Hua Chun answered quietly. “But His Majesty got quite drunk yesterday — very drunk, in fact. It’s only natural he’d be late today.”

Drunk? He Chang’an was somewhat surprised — how could the ever-composed Yuwen Jie suddenly get drunk? Stranger still, he hadn’t even invited him along?

“His Majesty has issued a decree — morning court is canceled today. Those with urgent matters, report to Zichen Hall; those with memorials, submit them directly,” a eunuch called out, waving a whisk.

The assembled officials erupted in discussion over what this meant. He Chang’an tugged at Hua Chun’s sleeve, gesturing for her to head to Zichen Hall.

Hua Chun nodded and followed him out.

“Prime Minister Hua.”

The moment they stepped out of Xuanzheng Hall, a guard blocked their path. Hua Chun looked up, puzzled: “And you are?”

“This servant is Zhanshui, Prince Xi’s personal guard,” Zhanshui said, cupping his hands. “By the prince’s order, I request the Prime Minister accompany me to Boyang Palace for a talk.”

He Chang’an raised an eyebrow, instinctively stepping to shield Hua Chun, looking at him: “Court officials aren’t to casually meet with princes — this is palace protocol. Does your prince not know this?”

Zhanshui startled: “This servant did not know. This servant is merely here on orders to invite the Prime Minister — please, Marquis, don’t make things difficult.”

“This marquis doesn’t like making things difficult for people,” He Chang’an said with a smile. “But don’t make things difficult for the Prime Minister either. If His Majesty were to learn of this, the Prime Minister would be caught in an impossible position from every side.”

An important official visiting a prince inevitably invites the emperor’s suspicion, undermining trust in that official. What good could Prince Xi possibly intend by summoning Hua Jinghua?

Zhanshui bowed awkwardly, unsure what to do.

“It seems that to invite Prime Minister Hua, this king must come in person,” Yuwen Xi’s voice drifted over from behind, tinged with amusement. “The Marquis guards the Prime Minister so closely.”

Hua Chun paused, turned and bowed: “Prince Xi.”

He Chang’an had no choice but to bow as well: “Your Highness.”

“No need to be so tense,” Yuwen Xi said, walking slowly toward them, expression amiable as he looked at Hua Chun. “This king merely wishes to have a chat with the Prime Minister. Standing here seems rather tiresome — why not move to Boyang Palace?”

He Chang’an frowned: “We were just on our way to Zichen Hall. If Your Highness has something to say, saying it there would serve just as well.”

Prince Xi gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Zhanshui beside him immediately stepped forward, blocking He Chang’an’s path.

“Let’s go.” As though he hadn’t heard He Chang’an at all, Yuwen Xi reached out and grabbed Hua Chun’s arm.

“Since the prince is so warmly insistent, this humble one won’t decline any further,” Hua Chun said with a smile, glancing back at He Chang’an: “Marquis, go on ahead to Zichen Hall. I’ll have a word with the prince and join you shortly.”

Know when to yield gracefully — that’s how one becomes a hero of the times!