Hot flashes

When the green horse stepped into Zhengyang Gate of Nandu, Zhou Heng was stunned by the scene before him.

The city gates were wide open, without any sign of resistance. Along the imperial road from the city gates to the palace, people were kneeling densely packed together—civil and military officials dressed in various official robes, eunuchs holding seals of office, and countless servants and palace maids with their heads bowed and hands at their sides.

No one made a sound, only the rustling of clothes and suppressed breathing, trembling slightly in the early spring wind.

Along both sides of the imperial road, a soldier from the Jingbei Army stood every ten steps. Their armor was gleaming, their long halberds stood like a forest, and their cold gazes were fixed on these former nobles of the Southern Capital.

Further away, the flags on the imperial city walls had changed—the great banner of the Prince of Jingbei fluttered in the wind.

Zhou Heng subconsciously shrank into Xiao Jue's arms.

Xiao Jue reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling crowd. Those once high and mighty faces now hung their heads low, their backs bent, not daring to raise their heads.

Some people were trembling, some were secretly wiping away sweat, and some had patches of their official robes soaked through—it was unclear whether it was from cold sweat or something else.

"Your Highness." Zhao Ting strode forward and knelt on one knee. He was still wearing his armor, and there was blood on his shoulder, but he was in high spirits. "Nandu fell yesterday at dusk. The defending general Li Chong committed suicide for his country, and the rest surrendered. The palace is under our control, the imperial guards have been disarmed, and the harem is safe."

Xiao Jue hummed in agreement.

Zhao Ting stood up, his gaze lingering on Zhou Heng for a moment, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, but he quickly concealed it. He said in a low voice, "The Emperor... is in the Xuanzheng Hall."

Xiao Jue looked down at Zhou Heng.

Zhou Heng didn't know what he was looking at, but he met his gaze and nodded slightly.

Xiao Jue dismounted and then carried Zhou Heng down—his movements were gentle, yet brooked no refusal. Zhou Heng's legs were still a little weak, and he staggered when he landed, but Xiao Jue caught him.

"Come in with me," Xiao Jue said.

Zhou Heng looked at him.

"Okay," he said.

The doors of Xuanzheng Hall were tightly closed.

Outside the hall, the soldiers of the Jingbei Army stood densely packed, stretching from the steps all the way to the end of the square.

No one spoke, only the sound of the wind rustling the flags. Seeing Xiao Jue approaching, the armored soldiers silently parted to make way.

Zhou Heng followed behind Xiao Jue, stepping up the white marble steps one by one.

He had seen these steps in documentaries from his previous life; they were majestic and magnificent, symbolizing supreme imperial power. But now, stepping on them, he only felt coldness and emptiness.

The palace doors were pushed open.

The creaking sound was particularly clear in the silence.

The hall was spacious and dimly lit. The dragon throne sat high above, utterly empty. All the windows were closed, except for the light filtering through the doors, casting a narrow, elongated shadow on the dark gold bricks. The air was thick with the aroma of wine and the smell of ink.

Zhou Heng's gaze passed over the bright figure and landed below the dragon throne.

There is a small table there.

On the table were a wine pot, wine cups, an open sheet of Xuan paper, and a writing brush resting on a jade brush holder. A person sat at the table, his back to the palace gate, head bowed, writing something on the paper.

He was dressed in bright yellow casual clothes, with a thin frame and slightly hunched shoulders, as if weighed down by something.

Hearing the door open, the person stopped writing but did not turn around.

"You're here?" he said.

The voice was young, even somewhat clear, like the sound of a mountain stream in spring. But the tone was too calm, so calm that it didn't sound like the voice of a deposed monarch welcoming an enemy who had breached the city walls.

Xiao Jue didn't answer. He just stood there, watching that figure from behind.

The man slowly put down his pen, stood up, and then turned around.

Zhou Heng saw his face clearly.

Very young. Much younger than I imagined. A thin face, delicate features, and skin so white it was almost translucent.

His eyes were large, with slightly sunken eye sockets, and there was a strange expression in them—a mixture of weariness, relief, and a little…curiosity.

He was looking at Xiao Jue.

"Xiao Jue," he said. It was like calling out to someone he'd known for a long time, "You've finally arrived."

Xiao Jue looked at him. After a long while, he spoke: "Your Majesty."

The title made the young emperor pause for a moment, then he smiled. The smile was faint, as faint as a reflection in water, easily dissipated.

"Your Majesty," he repeated, glancing down at his bright yellow robes before looking up at Xiao Jue, "Do you know, on the day I ascended the throne, I wondered if one day you would stand here and call me that."

He paused, reached for the wine pot on the table, and poured himself a cup. The wine was clear. He took a sip, then pointed to the seat opposite him: "Would you like a drink? This is this year's new tribute wine, Autumn Dew White. I... I've been saving it for almost half a year, and I haven't been able to bring myself to drink it. I was thinking that when you come, we might be able to have a drink together."

Xiao Jue did not move.

The emperor didn't seem to care. He held his wine cup and slowly walked to the center of the hall, looking up at the intricate paintings and golden dragons on the ceiling. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the door, falling on his face and casting a long shadow.

"This hall is really big," he said softly. "I've lived here for three years, and it still feels huge."

He lowered his head and looked at Xiao Jue.

"Before you came, I was painting." He pointed to the Xuan paper on the table. "I painted the Canglan River. I've never seen the real Canglan River. I've only heard people say that the river is very wide, the current is very rapid, and the banks are full of reeds. The night you crossed the river, you burned down Zheng You's water fortress, and the firelight illuminated half the sky. I saw it all from the palace."

His voice was very soft, as if he were talking about a distant past.

"That day I was thinking, Xiao Jue is really amazing. How wonderful it would be if I had a general like him."

He smiled, but there was a bitter taste in his smile.

"Then I thought, no, he was originally a general. It was my grandfather, my father, who slaughtered his entire family."

Standing behind Xiao Jue, Zhou Heng looked at the young emperor and a strange feeling welled up inside him.