Hot flashes

He wasn't the kind of tyrant one might imagine; he wasn't greedy, cowardly, or foolish. He was just a child who was pushed into that position, a child who understood everything but couldn't change anything.

The emperor's gaze passed over Xiao Jue and landed on Zhou Heng.

"You're Zhou Heng?"

Zhou Heng was taken aback.

The emperor looked at him, a strange tenderness in his eyes: "Xiao Jue has been sending people to look for you like crazy. All the spies in the entire Southern Capital are on high alert. I thought he was going to break in. Turns out he really did break in."

He smiled and said to Zhou Heng, "You're really lucky to be alive."

Zhou Heng didn't know what to say.

The emperor didn't expect him to answer. He looked away and down at the wine cup in his hand.

"Xiao Jue," he said.

Xiao Jue looked at him.

"On the day I ascended the throne, my Grand Tutor told me that an emperor must act like an emperor. He must be dignified, decisive, and instill fear in his ministers."

His voice grew softer and softer, "I've tried. I really have. But every time I went to court and saw those ministers, I knew they weren't afraid of me."

What they fear is the position behind me, who will take my place after I die. Their struggle isn't for the throne, but for who can reap the most after my death.

He looked up at Xiao Jue.

"You're different. They're genuinely afraid of you. I heard that when you attacked Chuzhou, the defending general was so scared he wet his pants." He smiled slightly. "I'm quite envious."

Xiao Jue remained silent.

The emperor took another sip of wine. His face was even paler than before, almost translucent. Zhou Heng noticed a faint trace of crimson seeping from the corner of his mouth, as if he had bitten his lip.

"The empire is yours," the emperor said, his voice as soft as the wind. "The people... treat them well. They've suffered enough. Increased taxes, conscription, palace construction—everything is taken from them. I know, I know everything."

But I have no choice. I don't keep my word; the ministers don't listen to me, and the generals don't listen to me either. I can't do anything but sit here in this hall.

He smiled again, a hint of relief in his smile.

"You're different. You keep your word. You make them fear you, so they won't dare disobey."

He paused, the crimson at the corner of his mouth deepened, and slowly trickled down his lip line.

Zhou Heng's pupils contracted.

The emperor raised his hand and wiped it, looking at the blood on his fingertip with a calm expression.

"This poison is called 'Return to the Homeland.' The Grand Tutor gave it to me, saying it might come in handy if the city falls," he said softly. "Quite fitting."

Xiao Jue finally moved. He stepped forward and reached out to support the emperor's swaying body. The emperor's weight on his arm felt as light as a twig.

"I will treat your people well," Xiao Jue said in a low voice. "The harem and the imperial family will not be killed."

The emperor looked at him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his bright yellow robe and spreading into a small patch of dark red.

"I know," he said. "You're Xiao Jue, and you keep your word."

His gaze began to wander.

The wine glass slipped from his fingers, landed on the table, rolled twice, and stopped next to the scroll. He swayed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes still open, staring at the light streaming in from the direction of the palace door.

The light fell to the ground, landing at his feet.

He murmured, "It's dawn..."

Zhou Heng finally saw those eyes clearly. There were bloodshot eyes, weariness, and relief in them. And a very faint, almost invisible sense of ease.

It's like carrying something heavy for a long time, and finally being able to put it down.

"I have done my best..."

The last few words were as light as a sigh.

Then those eyes slowly closed.

The hall was deathly silent.

Zhou Heng stood there, looking at the boy leaning back in his chair. He wasn't wearing a crown; his hair was tied up with a jade hairpin, his face was pale, and there were dark bloodstains at the corners of his mouth.

The scroll painting lay quietly on the table, while the wine pot beside it was overturned, with the last drop of wine slowly dripping down its rim.

He was only seventeen years old.

Zhou Heng thought of Acao, and the boy who shared malt candy with him in the dilapidated temple; he was about the same age.

Xiao Jue looked down at the scroll. After a while, he reached out, picked it up, and unrolled it.

Distant mountains and nearby waters, thatched cottages and bamboo boats, the ink is light and elegant, the brushstrokes are sparse and free. The small characters on the painting are still there: "Imitating Juran's style to depict the spring scenery of Jiangnan."

He rolled up the painting and placed it on the table, next to the young emperor's hand.

Then he turned around and walked down the steps.

Zhou Heng watched him approach step by step.

Xiao Jue walked up to him and stopped.

"Let's go."

He reached out and grasped Zhou Heng's wrist. His hand was a little cold.

Zhou Heng glanced back at the slender young man on the steps. Sunlight streamed in from the palace doors, falling directly on him and bathing him in a soft golden glow.

He looked like he was asleep.

The palace doors slowly closed behind them.

Outside the hall, the officials remained kneeling, and the armored soldiers stood in rows. Upon seeing Xiao Jue emerge, everyone lowered their heads.

A spring breeze blows, bringing with it the fragrance of flowers that seem to come from nowhere.

Zhou Heng looked up and saw a lone wild goose flying across the gray-blue sky above the imperial city.