It had not been long since the late emperor’s death when Shen Zheng, citing the overwhelming burden of state affairs, urgently promoted Wen Zhuo to Grand Secretary, entrusting him with soothing the officials and setting the government back on course.
In reality, Wen Zhuo spent his days curled up in bed beneath a thick quilt, calmly recuperating while watching the imperial physicians frown at him one after another.
All those tedious and demanding affairs of state fell upon Shen Zheng alone.
Shen Zheng was so busy each day that his feet scarcely touched the ground. His hours of rest and work were completely reversed, and even a brief nap became a luxury. Yet before midnight, without fail, he would step into Wen Zhuo’s room, sit quietly beside the bed, and watch until Wen Zhuo sank into deep sleep.
Wen Zhuo felt terribly guilty. Several times he tried to force himself upright and share the burden, but Shen Zheng always rejected him sternly, making his fall into the river sound perilous in the extreme.
Shen Zheng said the river water had been cold and filthy, that Wen Zhuo had inhaled water into his lungs, which had brought on a chill illness. If he was not careful, it could develop into “pneumonia.”
Wen Zhuo had no idea what pneumonia was, but an imperial command could not be disobeyed, so he could only obediently rest and recover.
Besides the medicinal decoctions prescribed by the physicians—concoctions that required one to pinch one’s nose before swallowing—Shen Zheng ordered people to boil clear water every day and steep honeysuckle in it, then had Wen Zhuo lean over the basin and breathe in the rising steam.
He said this was called “nebulization,” and that it could moisten the airways and mildly inhibit bacteria.
It was yet another piece of knowledge from the future that Wen Zhuo had never heard of. He did not know whether it truly worked, but his cheeks had certainly grown rosy from the steam, and his complexion was far better than before.
Shen Zheng worked until he was exhausted every day, but whenever he reached Wen Zhuo’s bedside, he could never resist gently stroking his cheek before bending down to kiss him—long, tender kisses.
Seeing Wen Zhuo’s complexion improve by the day, Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü were both greatly astonished. They secretly began imitating the steam treatment.
Liu Qiying was meticulous. She used only honeysuckle, just as instructed, and after trying it, found that her complexion had indeed become smooth and radiant. She was so pleased that she even began planning to make some improvements and sell the secret formula to the noblewomen of the capital.
Jiang Mannü, however, boldly chose to innovate. With one reckless burst of enthusiasm, she added goji berries, red dates, longan, Chinese yam, rose petals, bird’s nest, and lotus seeds to the basin, then poured in boiling water.
She had just lowered her face toward the basin when Wen Zhuo happened to pass by on his way to get some sunshine and fresh air. Frowning, he left behind a single remark:
“I don’t feel like drinking eight-treasure porridge tonight.”
“...”
Jiang Mannü overturned the basin in despair.
On the fourth day of his recovery, Wen Zhuo heard that Xie Langyang had smashed his head against the prison wall.
He paid no heed to Shen Zheng’s repeated admonitions. Throwing off his quilt at once, he put on his official robes and hurried toward the Dali Temple prison beneath a sky full of snow.
There was no other reason. He simply wanted Xie Langyang, before dying, to see with his own eyes that everything was going smoothly for Wen Zhuo and that his official career was flourishing—just as in his previous life, when Xie Langyang had watched Wen Zhuo’s reputation collapse and witnessed his miserable death.
Every torment Wen Zhuo had suffered should be endured by Xie Langyang a hundredfold, a thousandfold. And since Xie Langyang had always been so sharp-tongued, losing his tongue would leave him unable to argue back. Surely that would make his life worse than death.
Wen Zhuo had never denied that he was a deeply vengeful person.
But by the time he trudged through the slush and accumulated snow, arriving at the Dali Temple prison wrapped in icy wind, Xie Langyang’s body had already been covered with a white cloth. He was emaciated, with his features utterly disfigured.
Wen Zhuo found this rather disappointing.
On his way home, snowmelt accidentally seeped into his collar, leaving him dizzy and feverish for the entire day.
It had truly been a poor exchange, so he decided to keep it from Shen Zheng.
Unfortunately, Xue Chongnian meant well and only made matters worse.
When reporting to Shen Zheng, he deliberately sighed with admiration. “Though Director Wen has yet to recover fully, he still remains deeply concerned with state affairs. Yesterday, he braved the snow to visit the Dali Temple prison, offering careful guidance and earnest instructions. For Great Qian to have such a Grand Secretary is truly a blessing for all under Heaven!”
Shen Zheng was already suffering from a headache brought on by the mountain of government documents before him. He had been pressing his fingertips against his brow to ease the ache, but at those words, he lowered his hand and narrowed his eyes.
“You said Director Wen went to the Dali Temple prison yesterday?”
No wonder Wen Zhuo had slept with his brows tightly furrowed the previous night, and had even developed a slight fever.
Shen Zheng had assumed his illness had worsened and had summoned an imperial physician to examine him.
“That’s right!” Xue Chongnian remained completely unaware of the danger. Instead, he embellished the story further, praising Wen Zhuo with even greater enthusiasm.
Shen Zheng listened with unusual attentiveness. That very evening, he left the palace early and went straight to the Wen residence.
At the time, Wen Zhuo was curled up on the bed reading. Two braziers burned brightly in the room, their warmth carrying the scent of ink through the air. It was an exceedingly comfortable scene.
Shen Zheng pushed the door open and removed his cloak, dusted with snow, leaving all the cold outside. He warmed his hands over the brazier, and only when his palms had regained their heat did he reach out to feel Wen Zhuo’s forehead.
Wen Zhuo set down his book and smiled at him. He had just reached out to embrace Shen Zheng when an itch rose in his throat, forcing him to cough several times.
Shen Zheng sat down beside him, gently patting his back with one hand while using the other to smooth his loose dark hair.
As soon as Wen Zhuo’s coughing subsided, Shen Zheng asked with a smile, “Did my teacher stay obediently at home and rest yesterday?”
Wen Zhuo’s body stiffened. He instinctively lowered his lashes and glanced around. Spotting the handkerchief beside the bed, he hurriedly picked it up and dabbed at the corner of his lips before answering vaguely, “Of course.”
Shen Zheng took the handkerchief from him and tossed it into the basin. Then he tucked Wen Zhuo’s cool hands beneath the quilt and said with a half-smile, “If you followed the physician’s instructions so obediently, why are you coughing again?”
Wen Zhuo was held firmly against the bed, with nowhere to retreat. He could only lift his eyes and meet Shen Zheng’s gaze.
As husband and wife in all but name, they understood one another completely from a single glance.
“...Your Highness already knows.”
“When a condemned prisoner dies in custody, Xue Chongnian would naturally report it to His Highness. He happened to mention me as well.”
“Look at you. You guessed it immediately, yet you still chose to lie first.” Shen Zheng picked up the book Wen Zhuo had been reading, carefully placed a bookmark between the pages, and set it aside. Then he undid his red robe and lay down beside Wen Zhuo.
He ground his back teeth, turned on his side, and said each word distinctly, “And as for Xie Langyang—I truly despise him. I hope you feel nothing for him, Wanshan. Not even hatred.”
Whenever Shen Zheng thought of Xie Langyang’s romantic first meeting with the sixteen-year-old Wen Zhuo, of the poems and compositions they had exchanged, his heart soured. But jealousy was childish and humiliating, and he was too ashamed to admit it.
“Your Highness has handled state affairs all day. Are you tired?” Wen Zhuo asked softly, changing the subject.
Shen Zheng knew that whenever Wen Zhuo felt guilty, he would try to divert the conversation. Still, he did not expose him and simply went along with it.
“Very tired. The arrangements for Father’s burial are exceedingly complicated. The Ministry of Rites has revised the procedures again and again, and I have to review every detail personally. Then there are the mountain of memorials, the placement of the former court’s officials... Every single matter requires my attention.”
Wen Zhuo snuggled closer into Shen Zheng’s embrace. Holding Shen Zheng’s hand, he began undoing the ties of his own undergarment, his eyes bright and glimmering with watery light.
“Are Your Highness’s hands cold?” he asked, his voice deliberately trailing off with a hint of hesitation. His fingers guided Shen Zheng’s hand slowly beneath his clothes.
The inside of his undergarment was warm and cozy, enveloping Shen Zheng’s rough palm.
Shen Zheng could not help but chuckle. Curling his fingers, he followed the line of Wen Zhuo’s slender waist after stroking over his flat stomach.
“Did I really make you think I was angry? Is that why you’re trying so hard to appease me?”
The tips of Wen Zhuo’s ears instantly turned red. He let go at once and pulled the quilt over them, snapping indignantly, “That’s all Your Highness’s fault... You have far too many tricks!”
Shen Zheng thought about it seriously, then smiled with genuine delight.
“Wanshan, you really do understand me.”
But he did not reach any further. Instead, he pulled his hand back, slowly and methodically tying each of the fabric ties one by one, before drawing the person into his arms and letting Wen Zhuo lie on top of him. "During the national mourning period, I must behave myself, and my teacher must behave himself even more. We will wait until your health is fully recovered for everything else. Go to sleep now."
With that, Shen Zheng reached out and tugged the thin cord by the bedside. A round glass cover dropped down, snuffing out the oil lamp, and the entire room instantly sank into quiet darkness.
Wen Zhuo had long grown used to this contraption called a switch.
During the remaining days of his convalescence, Wen Zhuo truly stayed well-behaved. The only thing that caught his attention was that several times Liu Chenming had urged Shen Zheng to ascend the throne, but Shen Zheng had politely declined every time. As the Grand Secretary, Wen Zhuo could not stand by and stay out of the matter, so he personally drafted a Petition Urging the New Emperor to Take the Throne, earnestly requesting the new sovereign to ascend the great treasure as soon as possible.
Shen Zheng sat right beside his bed as he wrote the entire document, even grinding the ink for him. The next day, Wen Zhuo held the petition in both hands and presented it to the throne with heartfelt sincerity.
Shen Zheng put on a show of unrolling the scroll to read it carefully, his brows furrowed for a long time, before he let out a deliberately helpless soft sigh and nodded in agreement.
Once the whole performance was over, the two of them could barely hold back their laughter.
Next came the preparations for the grand enthronement ceremony. Amid all the complicated, tedious procedures, Wen Zhuo completely forgot about that "wait until later" promise.
The twenty-fifth year of the Shunyuan era passed, and the first year of the Hongyu era arrived.
It was to be Hongyu, not Shengde.
Inside the Western Warm Pavilion of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, all the old belongings of Emperor Shunyuan had been cleared out. On the display shelves sat ancient books that the Grand Secretary was particularly fond of, such as *The Essentials of the Zhenguan Reign*, *On the Middle Way*, *The Monasteries of Luoyang*, and *Records of the Strange and the Unseen*.
Next to the imperial couch, a small, lockable cabinet had been newly carved. It was exquisitely made and discreet, with the key held solely by the new emperor—no one else knew what was hidden inside.
At Shen Zheng's first regular court audience after ascending the throne, the atmosphere in the imperial study took on a brand new look.
He issued an edict ordering the Ministry of Justice, the Censorate, and the Court of Judicial Review to deliberate together and revise the *Great Qian Legal Code*, removing all outdated, harsh, and cruel punishments.
These included not just the statutes that penalized romantic relationships between men, but also the mandatory beatings that had to be administered before a commoner could sue an official, or a wife could sue her husband, and dozens of other such clauses, each enough to stir up considerable unrest.
Emperor Shunyuan, in his lifetime, had criticized Shen Zheng for indulging in affection with men, claiming that he could never answer to the ancestral rites and laws, nor to the Great Qian legal code.
If he could have seen Shen Zheng's resolve today, he would have been utterly shocked. Shen Zheng had never intended to answer to anyone. The changes he wanted to make went far beyond that single clause, and the benefits he intended to bring were for all the suffering people across the realm.
When the news of these lenient policies came out, the entire court was in an uproar. Several stubborn old ministers looked as if their family graves had been dug up, and immediately cried out in deep distress, "Your Majesty, you must not do this!"
But the emperor had so many things he planned to do that for a moment, the old men stammered incoherently, not knowing which clause to argue against first.
They could not make their case, but Wen Zhuo could argue it perfectly.
Calmly, Wen Zhuo stepped out from the ranks of officials, citing classics and historical precedents, waging a verbal battle against the cluster of old conservatives, and leaving them so red-faced and speechless that he successfully paved the way for Shen Zheng's new policies to be implemented.
All the civil and military officials in the court were shocked to realize that Lord Wen's usual laid-back demeanor had been a disguise all along, and that beneath it lay a sharp, bold, and forthright disposition.
Shen Zheng watched his beloved with undisguised admiration. Wen Zhuo bore the talent to lift the world, yet had been forced to conceal his sharpness during Emperor Shunyuan's reign—only now, at last, could he reveal a fraction of his true ability and ambition.
"The Grand Secretary speaks most rightly. I am deeply gratified. If none of you can even outdebate the Grand Secretary, then do not come crying to me in front of the throne!"
With that sharp rebuke, he dismissed the court.
The sharp, forthright Grand Secretary stepped into the new emperor's palace quarters completely unprepared.
Shen Zheng had asked for his preferences for every piece of furnishing here, and even the books on the display shelves had been moved over from Wen Zhuo's own study.
As soon as the palace doors were shut, Wen Zhuo cast off the restraint he had shown in front of others. Twisting open a white porcelain bottle on the table, he popped a marshmallow into his mouth as he said to Shen Zheng, "Those old ministers will never let the matter of revising the laws rest. The local squires and elders in the provinces will probably put up fierce resistance too. If this starts to damage Your Majesty's reputation, we will need to take firm measures to strike a bit of fear into them."
Shen Zheng nodded slightly. "I have it all under control. Whether it is promoting the policy that allows both boys and girls to attend village schools and take the imperial examinations together, or permitting men to marry each other, we are bound to shake deeply ingrained beliefs that the people of this realm have held for generations. Difficulties are inevitable."
Wen Zhuo had already eaten two marshmallows and still craved more, so he reached for a third, completely ignoring the note on the bottle that said no more than two a day. "In the later era Your Majesty comes from, do men and women take the imperial examinations together?"
Shen Zheng looked down to see him swallow the third marshmallow and stretch his fingers toward a fourth, the corners of his lips lifting in a soft smile. "Yes, but there are so many top scholars every year in that era, no one is as unique as Wanshan."
Wen Zhuo pulled his hand back, fell silent for a moment, then said softly, "If Great Qian could be like that, maybe my mother could have traveled to the capital to take the imperial examinations alongside my father."
Shen Zheng's heart ached with tenderness. Some regrets, even as the years pass, never fade away. Wen Zhuo must have wondered countless times what his life would have been like if he had grown up in a full, harmonious family with both parents by his side.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Wen Zhuo, stroking his back gently again and again.
Wen Zhuo rested his chin on Shen Zheng's shoulder, his round eyes flicking to the side in surprise. "Your Majesty, why did you suddenly hug me?"
"Is Wanshan sad?"
Wen Zhuo thought about it carefully. The hardships of his childhood had long faded, leaving only a faint trace of regret.
"Your teacher is not sad."
Shen Zheng kissed his earlobe gently, his voice low and soft. "Then I am the one who is afraid Wanshan will be sad."
The faint sourness in Wen Zhuo's heart was instantly filled with warm sweetness. His gaze drifted, landing on the locked small cabinet beside the imperial couch, and his curiosity was piqued. "What is in that cabinet? Your Majesty never mentioned it before."
Shen Zheng loosened his hold on him a little, his expression full of unspoken meaning. "Since you have asked, then let us discuss something a little unruly."
Wen Zhuo, who had lived two lives and was a master at reading people's expressions, immediately sensed that something was wrong. He straightened his posture and turned to hurry out the door. "Your teacher suddenly remembers that there is a mountain of official documents waiting to be processed in the Imperial Secretariat—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Shen Zheng easily lifted him up over his shoulder.
The new emperor spoke in a perfectly solemn tone. "I grant the Grand Secretary a half-day's leave. You will rest on the couch, accompanying me."
The Grand Secretary, who had never been much of a fighter, soon found his official robes removed. Just moments earlier he had been protesting that this was completely against all proper rules, but in the next breath he was blushing bright red and scrambling under the dragon bed covers, pulling the silk high to hide his entire face.
