Hong Ce had never imagined that one day there would be a person who wouldn’t keep him at a distance, who would be willing to open up to him. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to cry or laugh in front of him, who would even lean into his embrace when feeling sad—especially since this person was male.

He felt somewhat awkward and should have pushed him away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t understand what the other was lamenting, while his mind was in turmoil. His connection with this person wasn’t particularly deep—they had met a few times, he had helped on several occasions, and they had exchanged some heartfelt words outside Yanzi River station. Step by step, they had reached this point, imperceptibly yet naturally. Now as he nestled against his chest, strangely, he didn’t feel it was inappropriate. The scattered fragments pieced together a person: no father, no mother, humble origins, relying entirely on himself, smiling through difficulties and injustices, living in constant fear—exceptionally pitiful and sad.

An overflow of sympathy wasn’t always a good thing. Even showing concern for a lonely girl wouldn’t necessarily be worse than the current situation. The identity of the person in his arms remained uncertain; despite suspecting he was a woman, without concrete evidence, he couldn’t make assumptions. So what did it mean for one man to lean on another? He frowned, thinking about it, but perhaps… there was no need to be so serious. The person was drunk, having consumed an unknown amount, but drunk nonetheless. Since he wasn’t in control of himself, let him lean—why argue with a drunk person? Still, reflecting quietly, he was a prince who had rushed over upon hearing that a guard was ill—this didn’t sound right when stated plainly.

As for Mu Xiaoshu, he continued talking, the vibrations humming against his chest. Hong Ce unconsciously wrapped his arm around his shoulders—they looked thin, but in reality, were even more frail than they appeared. How did he take care of himself? Those small shoulders, slender arms—it seemed they might fall apart at the slightest touch.

A drunk person has no control over their words or actions. Ding Yi tightly encircled his waist, finding a comfortable position to nestle against him. She spoke incoherently—initially guarded out of long-established habit, but later unable to maintain it, eventually circling back to reveal everything.

Fortunately, he couldn’t hear her—there was indeed a benefit in that. Upon sobering and recalling this, she would break into a cold sweat. If everything had been clearly explained then, she might have been captured in confusion and found herself in prison the next day.

At that moment, she couldn’t worry about such things. The Prince felt so comfortable to embrace; she had only one thought—how wonderful it would be if he belonged to her forever. And that scent… what was that fragrance? It smelled so good.

“…You’re a Prince, please release my brothers.” She pressed against his collarbone, saying, “Judge my father innocent, clear his false charges, then I can live openly and properly. Would that be all right?” Then she answered herself, nodding, “Yes, it would.”

After another string of mumbling, she finally straightened her tongue and rattled on: “I haven’t worn a dress for so many years, I can’t count… it must be at least ten or twenty years. In Beijing, when I pass by clothing stalls, my legs freeze. There are women’s clothes there—some of coarse cloth, others of fine silk. Others pick them up, while I’m content just to look. To this extent… how pitiful! No one in the world is more pitiful than me. Many women… think being a woman is bitter, wanting to be reborn as a man in the next life. I don’t think that way. I’m happy being a woman. This life hasn’t been enough—I’ll continue in the next.” She hiccupped from the alcohol—fortunate indeed that the Twelfth Prince was good-tempered and didn’t throw her to the ground. She raised her head, clutching his sleeve tightly and shaking it, “Why do some people have smooth sailing, while others must endure endless hardships? Heaven is so unfair, isn’t it?”

He agreed, “Yes, but who can predict the future? Some suffer first and find sweetness later, while others taste sweetness first and suffer afterward. If it were you, which would you choose?”

Her mind was foggy, and she pondered this simple question for a long time with her head tilted, “Suffering first, then sweetness, I suppose. But when will the bitterness end and sweetness come?” Saying this, she fell back onto the kang bed, extending five fingers to gesture, “I can plaster walls, play drums, have sold fruits, and even pushed a wheelbarrow transporting grain for others… If my parents were alive and saw me like this, I wonder how they would feel… Speaking of suffering, I’ve had more than enough. Look at my hands…”

She extended her hand, which Hong Ce naturally took. They were truly slender and delicate. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been well cared for—calluses on the palms, and a long scar on the back of her left hand. His heart twisted as his thumb gently stroked the scar, “How did you get this?”

With half-closed eyes, she said, “Building a wall for someone. Using a trowel to cut bricks, you know? The brick was too heavy, I held it wrong, and it cut into my flesh.”

Trowels have blunt edges—for it to tear like this, the pain must have been immense. He sighed, “You’ve suffered greatly.”

She didn’t respond, making a mumbling sound before falling silent. The alcohol had likely taken full effect—her cheeks flushed as she dozed, with soft breathing like a small beast. His gaze flowed over her face, and that was the feeling—whether her eyes were closed or brows furrowed, every detail was intriguing.

He remembered seeing him for the first time, mixed among the yamen runners, such a small figure, holding a demon-headed broadsword almost as tall as himself. At the execution ground, squinting toward the command platform, sunlight illuminating his face—those delicate features easily recognizable in the crowd. Later, for some minor offense against the Seventh Prince, things became life-threatening, and he stepped in to help… He had noticed him long ago—was it predestined fate? Perhaps this was fondness? Fondness… He sat there with drooping shoulders, his fingers slowly clenching into a fist. If this person were a woman, the situation would be simpler, but the problem was that he couldn’t be certain yet. What if he were a man? How would he handle that?

The men of the Yu Wen family struggled with matters of the heart, whether it was the profound yet short-lived love of their ancestor or the Emperor Emeritus’s patient waiting for the clouds to part—both differed from his situation. He felt confused, caught in an awkward position with no way forward or back. Liking a man… the Yu Wen family had no such precedent. Would it start with him? If this matter reached Emperor Emeritus, he didn’t know what the old man’s attitude would be, but his mother’s situation would likely become even more difficult!

Perhaps he should maintain some distance until the truth was clear. Even if he couldn’t fulfill his wishes, at least he could withdraw unscathed.

He tucked the blanket around him and rose, walking to the eaves. Sha Tong was approaching from the stone path with a eunuch, bowing and saying, “Master, everything you ordered has been prepared.”

The cooks in Shengjing, seldom used, were not efficient in their duties. After such a long time, the person inside had already fallen asleep—how could he eat now? He waved dismissively, “Ask about Mu Xiaoshu’s condition when he wakes up. If he’s still unwell, send word to me.”

Sha Tong acknowledged with a “Yes,” asking, “Has Master examined him? What symptoms does he have?”

“Just a chill, nothing serious,” he replied briefly, then walked slowly toward Jiqing Palace.

In the corridor, he encountered Hong Tao, who had just finished his afternoon nap and appeared confused. Seeing him, he stopped, “Where are you going?”

He replied, “In June, Kang Sanbao submitted a memorial about repairing the Imperial Ancestral Temple. The court allocated funds, and I’m going to see how it’s progressing.”

Hong Tao didn’t seem to believe him, eyeing him suspiciously, “You didn’t go to Mu Xiaoshu’s quarters?”

Hong Ce was straightforward, nodding, “I did. The doorkeeper eunuch said he had brought alcohol to dispel the cold, suspecting his illness was severe. When I arrived, I checked his pulse—it wasn’t too bad. A good sleep should resolve it.”

Hong Tao appeared displeased but couldn’t speak too plainly. He merely fanned himself and turned his head away, coughing once before saying, “I think, as a prince, you shouldn’t get too close to servants. We imperial clansmen with yellow girdles must maintain our dignity wherever we go. He’s just a small bird keeper—does his illness warrant your visit? A message to the Imperial Medical Academy, sending Su La with some medicine would suffice. Don’t neglect your important duties.”

Hong Ce smiled, “It was on my way—checking on him wasn’t much trouble.” After a pause, he added, “Is Seventh Brother reluctant for me to see him? Are there so many concerns between us brothers?”

Hong Tao said, “It’s not about concerns. People nowadays can be indiscriminate in their views. Any close association invites scrutiny—tongues can kill, and who enjoys being gossiped about?”

The smile gradually disappeared from his face as he replied coldly, “Seventh Brother knows that my ears are impaired. If you hear something, you should sternly rebuke it on my behalf. We’re brothers—breaking bones still leaves connected tendons. Speaking ill of me is like speaking ill of you. If it were me, and someone wagged their tongue about you in my presence, I would seize them for punishment. Yet you tell me to reflect on myself, allowing them to spread rumors?”

This left Hong Tao speechless—was he being accused of not honoring brotherly sentiment and watching him be embarrassed? That wasn’t it! He simply disliked how close he had become to Mu Xiaoshu. That boy was his guard, yet didn’t respect him as the rightful master, treating him like a mere decoration! He rubbed his temple with his fan handle, “I was just saying—why take it so seriously? This Mu Xiaoshu is capable of all sorts of trickery and cunning. When he claims to be ill, I can’t trust him. I’m just afraid he’ll tarnish your reputation. Keep your distance from him, don’t take him seriously, and he won’t become presumptuous.”

Such words naturally repulsed Hong Ce. Hong Tao had grown up surrounded by luxury, not particularly generous to his servants and attendants. In his view, they were all slaves—slaves existed to be commanded, and even their illnesses were feigned.

When principles differ, collaboration becomes impossible—this describes their situation. Some people couldn’t be reasoned with, so it was better to drop the matter and let him be, bringing peace. Changing the subject, he asked, “We’re getting closer to the Changbai Mountains. What’s Seventh Brother’s view on Wen Lu’s case?”

Hong Tao was a prince of peace, too busy enjoying himself in Beijing to bother with such matters. He said, “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Handle it as you see fit. You hold the power of life and death—if you want to redress the injustice, do so; if you find it troublesome, cover it up and report upward, and it’s done. In my opinion, why stir up that hornet’s nest? Cases from Emperor Emeritus’s reign, are more than a decade old—what’s the point in reopening them? Times have changed, let each person sweep the snow from their doorstep! The Wen family’s destruction is already settled. If the culprit can be unearthed, fine; if not, it’s wasted effort, and they might even work against you from behind. Why bother?”

Hong Tao’s peace-keeping had its merits, and Hong Ce nodded, “Seventh Brother is right. Reviewing old cases is thankless work. I’ve also considered that to maintain peace, concealment is the best approach. If I take this case and succeed, I’ll be feared and isolated; if I fail, I’ll be called incompetent, suffer a setback, and learn my lesson.” He shook his head with a bitter smile, “It’s a lose-lose situation, wouldn’t you say?”

The rain had stopped, and the sun gradually emerged, extending rays of light through the clouds, straight beams spreading in all directions. The brothers walked side by side in the corridor. Though Hong Tao was playful, he understood the rules of officialdom. With hands behind his back, he said, “Exactly. I wouldn’t bother telling others, but we brothers have no grudges, and I see your difficulty. Let’s use an example: what if the real party behind this is the natal family of an imperial consort? Yes, in the older and current generations, apart from the proper Empress, there’s no one to fear. But what if it’s the Virtuous Prince, a nephew of the Emperor Emeritus’s Empress from Changchun Garden? What if it’s one of us brothers? Even if not a prince or duke, but a second or third-rank official, with a tight-knit faction that can’t be broken, you’re not facing just one person but perhaps half the court. Have you considered that?”

Hong Ce smiled, “Seventh Brother is truly perceptive, hiding your wisdom and fooling everyone.”

Hong Tao grinned, “If I weren’t clever, would my duties be lighter than yours? Working like an ox or horse all my life—who would thank me? If I do well, we’re already princes, and there’s no higher position unless the Emperor lets me take his place. If I do poorly, I face blame, possibly stripped of titles and confined, spending the rest of my life counting ants by the wall. Taking on duties? Am I a fool? The same applies to you. I know the Khalkha incident was a significant blow. You’re different from the rest of us—your position is awkward, with many watching you! So smear some beard and muddle through. A knife cuts tofu clean on both sides—don’t offend those above, and for those below, give them a path. Those people will remember your kindness, and each will understand. That’s enough.”

He nodded slowly, “I have a plan, but Seventh Brother’s willingness to speak these words shows that our brotherhood remains strong.” After a pause, he asked, “When Mu Xiaoshu entered your household as a guard, did he register formally? Where was he originally from? Has his hometown been visited?”

Hong Tao replied, “Those matters were handled by subordinates; I’m not very clear. A child from the wilderness, with no parents—where would we find household registration? Joining the banners isn’t difficult. I’m the banner master—give the order, and the scribe makes a stroke of the brush, and it’s done. Why take a roundabout approach?”

He had never been meticulous in his affairs—a broad-strokes person who sought solutions after problems arose and let things pass when they didn’t. Asking him was pointless. Though not detail-oriented in dealing with people and situations, he was adept at sensing the winds and gauging flavors. With a distant expression, he said, “I asked Mu Xiaoshu before about his relationship with you. He evaded the question, repeatedly calling the Twelfth Prince an upright person. I’m truly curious, so let me ask you today: have you taken a fancy to him?” Fearing embarrassment, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, even if you have such a preference, I won’t mock you. Officials turning a blind eye to male companions… just tell me the truth!”

Hong Ce was caught off guard by this question. How should he answer? Neither confirming nor denying seemed appropriate. He shifted his gaze forward, pretending not to have heard.

Seeing his silence, Hong Tao huffed, “That’s quite a clever tactic—listening when you want to hear jokes, pretending not to notice when you don’t. No one can get the better of you!”

What else could he do? He couldn’t distinguish his feelings clearly—what explanation could he offer? He had considered: if this person were a woman traveling thousands of li with them, she must have an undisclosed purpose; if not, then perhaps he had truly fallen this time. Having lived a righteous life, to end with such an unexpected stroke—he didn’t know whether to grieve or rejoice.