Shen Zheng quickly typed out a reply to his advisor: “All right, Professor. I’ll revise it right away.”
He then shoved open the study door, sat down in front of the computer, and pulled up his graduation thesis.
His paper had taken a rare surviving historical text, The Separate Collection of the Spring Terrace, as its point of departure. Taking an unconventional approach, he had boldly argued that the officially compiled histories of the final three years of the Great Qian Dynasty’s Shunyuan era were entirely untrustworthy. They concealed a politically catastrophic disaster that had been deliberately erased, and the person who ultimately secured the throne and enjoyed its fruits—the very person who had personally buried the truth—was the culprit behind it all.
In the past, the thesis could have been called a penetrating, groundbreaking contribution to historical scholarship.
But now, after taking only one look at the title, Shen Zheng felt his temples begin to throb.
History had been twisted onto an entirely different course by his own hand. His thesis was now completely at odds with reality.
Sure enough, the moment his advisor saw his reply, he called.
“When you proposed your topic, you told me that the Shunyuan era was the most obscure and poorly documented period, with plenty of room for research. That’s why I agreed to let you write on it. Now take another look at what you’ve submitted! Other scholars base their work on official histories, but you’ve gone and treated a wild historical miscellany as gospel!”
“I searched every major academic database and couldn’t find the Separate Collection of the Spring Terrace you cited. What I did find was a book called Secrets of the Spring Terrace, excavated last year from the Wukan tombs in the south. It’s the sort of palace gossip and dark speculation compiled by ancient book peddlers, and you actually included it in your thesis?”
Shen Zheng found it a little hard to breathe.
What kind of preservation miracle had occurred in Wukan for this copy of Secrets of the Spring Terrace to survive?
“I’ve told you again and again: stop obsessing over baseless romantic scandals involving historical figures. Your research needs breadth and weight. The Kangzhen Rebellion and the Shunyuan era’s Seven Princes’ Struggle for the Throne—aren’t either of those excellent topics? I’m beginning to wonder whether you’ve ever seriously read the History of Qian at all. Do you even want to graduate?”
Shen Zheng could only admit his fault. “I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t think it through. Don’t worry—I’ll send you a new outline tonight.”
Seeing that his attitude was sincere, his advisor’s tone gradually softened. He knew that Shen Zheng had always ranked first in his year; his only problems were that his mind was too unconventional and he was far too daring.
“There’s always been some controversy among later scholars over the relationship between Emperor Hongyu and Wen Zhuo as recorded in the History of Qian. If you insist on writing about people, avoid that subject. Otherwise, the other professors may pick holes in it during your defense and accuse you of having a weak theoretical foundation.”
Shen Zheng was baffled. “There’s actually any controversy about that?” He had thought the truth was obvious enough.
His advisor flipped through a few pages of the book on the other end of the phone and read aloud a passage from the History of Qian:
“For all matters of military and state, the Emperor invariably consulted Zhuo before making his decision. Though Zhuo wielded great authority, the Emperor trusted him without reservation and showed him unwavering favor. In the third year of Hongyu, when Zhuo was presented with the red robes of the auspicious ceremony, the Emperor personally went out to receive him and returned with him to Qianqing Palace, where they spent the night together. Thereafter, he treated him with the rites accorded to a consort, permitted him to enter and leave through the central gates, ride in a palanquin within the Forbidden City, and come and go through the inner palace. His favor was extraordinary.”
Shen Zheng had not yet had the chance to read this passage written by Zhu Xiwen, but from the tone alone, he could tell it was exactly the historian’s usual style: restrained and suggestive.
Though historians were supposed to be faithful recorders, their choice of words inevitably carried some personal emotion. The wedding between him and Wen Zhuo had shaken the entire court and drawn the gaze of the world, yet Zhu Xiwen had recorded it in a mere twenty-odd characters.
Shen Zheng was incredulous. “Isn’t that already perfectly clear? What is there to argue about?”
“The controversy concerns the terms ‘auspicious ceremony’ and ‘rites accorded to a consort.’ Wen Zhuo was the chief minister of the Hongyu era and the foremost of all civil officials. ‘Auspicious ceremony’ didn’t necessarily refer to a wedding; it could also describe the grand ceremony of appointment as chancellor. As for the passage that follows, many scholars today believe that the character meaning ‘consort’ was being used as a phonetic loan. In other words, it described exceptionally generous treatment, not an empress.”
After listening, Shen Zheng nearly laughed in exasperation. He replied with absolute certainty, “That’s wrong. Wen Zhuo was Emperor Hongyu’s empress. There is no controversy whatsoever.”
His advisor grew stern. “What did I just say? No one in historical research should speak in absolutes! You weren’t there to witness it yourself.”
Shen Zheng thought to himself, I wasn’t merely there. I personally married him.
Then he said, word by word, “Professor, others may not be able to say so with certainty, but I can. Emperor Hongyu and Wen Zhuo were deeply in love, devoted to each other until death.”
His advisor was already used to Shen Zheng’s bold confidence—even when it came to arguing with the dean of the School of Literature. He could only chide him while offering a reminder. “Don’t assume that just because you’re also named Shen Zheng, you can pass judgment on the ancients. You can write about it, but be mindful of your wording. Also, you previously cited a wild historical account claiming that Emperor Shunyuan passed the throne to Shen Chen on his deathbed. The sixth prince merely took advantage of the chaos to launch a rebellion, which ended in his defeat and death. Emperor Shunyuan had always intended to give the throne to the Crown Prince. There’s no dispute about that passage, so change it immediately.”
Shen Zheng raised an eyebrow.
The truth behind the coup to purge the court and “restore order” had not been passed down after all. He really had been too popular with the people.
That was probably for the best.
He readily agreed. “You’re right. I’ll definitely revise that section.”
Although he knew better than anyone what had truly happened during the final three years of the Shunyuan era, academic writing required citations and evidence. He could only grit his teeth and bury himself in Zhu Xiwen’s magnum opus.
“Let’s see what you’ve written about me.”
Shen Zheng opened the history book and bent over his desk to study it. He became so absorbed that he lost track of time. It was only when a notification popped up in the lower-right corner of the computer screen announcing that it was seven in the evening that he suddenly came to his senses.
Oh no!
He and Wen Zhuo had entered the modern world at noon. Since then, Wen Zhuo had eaten nothing but two popsicles.
Without a second thought, Shen Zheng tossed aside his keyboard and strode toward the bedroom.
He reached out and twisted the doorknob, but it did not budge.
The door was locked.
Slightly surprised, Shen Zheng tapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. “Wanshan, you must be hungry. What would you like for dinner?”
Inside the bedroom, Wen Zhuo was holding the tablet. He had heard Shen Zheng’s voice long ago, but remembering those unspeakably embarrassing rules, his shame and irritation had yet to fade. For a moment, he did not know how to respond, so he simply remained silent.
“Have you gone to sleep?” Shen Zheng pressed his ear to the door. He could vaguely hear a video playing inside, but there was still no answer.
“I’ll buy some seafood congee and a few light steamed dishes. How does that sound? There’s also a dessert here called an egg tart. It’s soft, sweet, and fragrant. I’m sure you’ll like it. We’ll get a box of those, too.”
At the mention of egg tarts, Wen Zhuo felt a little less tense. He was hesitating over whether to let the matter drop when he heard Shen Zheng draw a quiet breath outside the door and call out, “Hey, Liu Qiying.”
The video stopped instantly, and that sweet little whirlpool sprang into existence with a whoosh.
“I’m here.”
Shen Zheng asked, “Is the person in the room asleep?”
The sweet voice of Liu Qiying replied, “Haha, no! He’s watching Immersive Mukbang: Thirty Popsicles in One Sitting. Would you like me to call him for you?”
“!”
Wen Zhuo’s hand jerked in shock. He slapped the tablet onto the bed, his face turning pale as he struggled to recover from the fright.
He simply could not understand how this black iron box could behave like a real person, knowing exactly what he was doing and what he was watching.
It had no eyes or ears, no divine sense, yet it could see through a person’s heart and know everything. It was utterly absurd!
“What... what exactly are you?” he demanded of the tablet, his voice trembling slightly.
Outside the door, Shen Zheng heard him clearly and raised an eyebrow.
“Why won’t my teacher answer me? And why has he locked the door?”
Wen Zhuo stared fixedly at the tablet that had finally fallen silent, afraid it might suddenly speak again. He stole a glance at the bedroom door and forced himself to remain calm. “I have no desire to discuss matters with Your Majesty today. Your Majesty need only attend to the affairs of state.”
Shen Zheng detected something amiss in his tone. After mulling over the fact that he had spent three hours in the study, he figured he might have neglected his empress. He softened his voice and coaxed, “Teacher, you haven’t eaten since noon. You should have something. I’ll show you pictures of the dishes, and you can choose what you want, all right?”
“No need. I have no appetite whatsoever.”
Shen Zheng paused. Helpless, he released the doorknob and deliberately adopted a stern tone. “I command you to open the door at once.”
The room fell silent. A moment later, the lock clicked softly, and the door was slowly pulled open.
Shen Zheng secretly smiled. As expected, this trick worked best on his feudal little cat.
Though Wen Zhuo was clearly unwilling, his expression was already composed. He knelt on the carpet, pressing a shallow mark into its surface, and bowed his head as he reported, “I have overstepped.”
Suppressing his laughter, Shen Zheng crouched down and gently lifted his chin with one finger. “Why did Wanshan lock me outside, and why are you angry?”
Wen Zhuo looked up, his eyes plainly filled with indignation. “Your Majesty doesn’t know?”
Shen Zheng shook his head.
Wen Zhuo’s voice was calm. “I asked ‘Hi, Liu Qiying.’ She said that people in the modern world have no custom of needing to spend every night entwined together while on vacation. Even when boating on a lake, one certainly isn’t permitted to lean against the railing, remove one’s clothes, and let another do as he pleases. Yet Your Majesty deceived me, saying that undergarments in later generations cover nothing. As for the rest, must I explain it all point by point?”
Shen Zheng knew perfectly well that he was in the wrong, and now he felt thoroughly guilty. He reached out and lifted Wen Zhuo from the carpet.
Stroking the dark hair falling over Wen Zhuo’s shoulder, he admitted frankly, “I did deceive you before, Teacher. I admit my mistake. Please don’t be angry anymore.”
Wen Zhuo remained silent, his expression still severe. Though egg tarts sounded tempting, he was not a man without principles.
Seeing his expression, Shen Zheng realized that his apology had not been sincere enough. He immediately straightened his attitude. He went to the wardrobe and brought back a loose set of pajamas, then searched through the house and eventually found a long, straight ruler he had used in elementary school in the storage room.
“These are called pajamas. People in the modern world wear them at home. You can wear mine for now; tomorrow I’ll take you to choose a pair that fits. Everything I said before was only because I was being playful. My wife is simply too tempting, and I couldn’t help myself.”
His tone shifted. “But a mistake is still a mistake. The Regulations of the Eastern Palace state: ‘One must not conceal the truth or embellish one’s errors and reject remonstrance. If one deceives one’s teacher or uses sophistry to argue, the Imperial Tutor may hold a ruler and discipline him, correcting his words and conduct.’ I am willing to abide by this regulation. There is no discipline ruler in the house, so this is the only thing I have. Please punish me as you see fit. Once you’re done, we’ll eat, all right?”
Shen Zheng lightly pinched Wen Zhuo’s wrist, handed him the ruler, and openly spread his palm.
Wen Zhuo gripped the ruler and muttered, “That is the Regulations of the Eastern Palace. Now that Your Majesty has ascended the throne, you are no longer bound by them. I cannot commit such an act of gross disrespect.”
“I permit it. The teacher may punish me; the empress may punish me,” Shen Zheng replied at once. He coaxed Wen Zhuo into striking him while finding him a justification. “This is the later world, not Da Qian. Wanshan is merely my wife here, so it isn’t an act of gross disrespect.”
The sweet, soft voice of “Liu Qiying” suddenly rang out. “Haha, so this young gentleman from Da Qian is the empress! I’ve only ever heard of one male empress. Are you called Wen Zhuo?”
“...”
Shen Zheng leaned over and switched off the tablet.
A moment later, Wen Zhuo sat upright on the bed with the ruler in hand, still maintaining a respectful attitude as he drew Shen Zheng’s palm toward him.
“This is acceptable,” he muttered quietly.
Shen Zheng gazed at him with a smile. “Mm.”
The first stroke was delivered in genuine anger, and it was not light. But immediately afterward, Wen Zhuo raised his eyes to sneak a look at Shen Zheng’s expression. Only after seeing that Shen Zheng’s face remained unchanged and his attitude was still sincere did he say softly, “I am punishing you not to be harsh, but to set your heart and character straight.”
“Yes.” Shen Zheng nodded cooperatively.
By the second stroke, the palm had begun to redden, and Wen Zhuo’s heart softened at once.
He knew perfectly well that Shen Zheng’s tastes were merely a little unusual. Seeing how embarrassed Wen Zhuo was, Shen Zheng had resorted to this method only because he wanted to grow closer to him.
“Your Majesty, you must not deceive me again,” Wen Zhuo said.
“I promise. From now on, I will conceal nothing from Wanshan.”
Wen Zhuo tossed the ruler aside, bent down, and pressed his face against Shen Zheng’s palm, rubbing against it. His voice softened. “In that case, I am hungry. I would like to eat some egg tarts.”
