Chapter 35: Terminally Love-Struck? Beyond Saving, Just Wait for the End (4)

Yang Lao bowed and accepted the order, silently admonishing himself to reconsider the emperor’s intentions and never again incur imperial displeasure as he had just done.

Qin Ye had no interest in building a harem. After browsing through the memories of the body’s former owner, he summoned people to bring in the imperial library’s books and began to read late into the night.

Yang Lao dared not offer unsolicited advice; he could only sit quietly alongside him, but he could not match Qin Ye’s stamina.

Unaware of the passing hours, Qin Ye read through the night, growing a bit weary, as everything was written in classical prose.

He picked out a few books and tossed them to Yang Lao, who had managed to keep his eyes open in the first half of the night but was utterly defeated by fatigue in the latter half.

“Instruct the officials at the Hanlin Academy to translate these books into the vernacular, copy them out, and deliver them to me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Despite staying up all night, Qin Ye was as lively as ever.

“Three, why are you so quiet?”

System Three: …

Could you please rein in your rampaging sword energy before asking that question?

How do you have the nerve to wonder why I’m not speaking? I’m a diligent, hardworking system—what did I do to deserve such torment?

System Three, now shriveled like a punctured balloon, was on the verge of tears.

“I really am too young and inexperienced. Next time, you pick the mission. As your team leader, assigned by your own father, do I not deserve at least the privilege of choosing my own tasks?”

Of course, you do. No one deserves it more than you.

After finishing, Qin Ye blocked System Three, for he had noticed the system’s pitiful state during their brief exchange. A little guilty, he chose to feign ignorance, playing the villain who complains first, then generously forgives, and finally, with a masterstroke, blocked the system.

He believed that by the time he unblocked it, System Three would have already magnanimously forgiven his minor transgression.

Qin Ye soon received the results from the Hanlin Academy.

Yes, the translations were excellent. Qin Ye was very satisfied.

So satisfied, in fact, that he sent the entire collection of the An Kingdom’s royal library to the Hanlin Academy for translation.

Originally, the officials at the Hanlin Academy were tasked with compiling and editing books, earning their credentials before going on to hold high office.

Translating difficult classical texts into plain speech was, in truth, part of their job.

As for the issue of expensive paper, Qin Ye reorganized the papermaking industry, established the Bureau of Heavenly Works, and promised titles of nobility for outstanding craftsmen—then left it at that.

Craftsmen with a chance at nobility?

Artisans across the land went mad with excitement.

The court officials, on the other hand, barely reacted.

For in the An Kingdom’s court, ever since the emperor’s grave illness—when he nearly died—and his subsequent recovery, everything had changed.

Once, the court would descend into chaos whenever the officials started arguing. If the fight got too intense, the emperor, seated high upon his throne, would simply ignore them.

Now, if the ministers quarreled and were about to come to blows, the emperor would leap down in a flash, grab two at once, and shout so thunderously that even the oldest ministers saw stars before their eyes.

Did the emperor wish to prevent his ministers from fighting?

No—he was blatantly taking sides. Those who supported him didn’t lose a single hair, while dissenters ended up battered and bruised, and he would then sternly rebuke them for disgracing scholarly decorum.

Fine, fine, fine—this job was truly unworkable.

The emperor’s voice would boom like thunder: “Stop fighting! Don’t fight here! If you must, take it to the training grounds where you can actually hurt each other!”

What kind of logic was that?

What kind of words were those?

?

Ministers went to Grand Chancellor Wen Ding’an, “My lord, you must speak for us—the emperor has gone too far!”

Wen Ding’an, unflappable and half-blind, replied, “What? You’re asking if I’ve eaten? Yes, I’ve had an egg, a chicken wing, and a bowl of rice.”

The ministers, seeking his support, were left speechless.

Why, when the Grand Chancellor was already so old and feeble, did the emperor refuse to let him retire and enjoy his twilight years?

After an exchange as fruitless as a conversation between chickens and ducks, they could only take their leave.

Now Wen Ding’an’s hearing was miraculously restored, and he smiled, waving as they left: “Come again next time.”

The ministers: …

Aside from these changes, Qin Ye’s behavior was not much different. He would sometimes personally supervise and drill the capital garrison.

If the soldiers performed well, he would distribute money, grain, and cloth on the spot.

Moreover, wherever he went, he took the crown prince with him.

The crown prince was utterly bewildered but obediently followed his father everywhere.

First, Qin Ye secured all military power to ensure his own safety. Then, by personally training the new army, he guaranteed he had elite troops under his command. Only then did he turn his attention to his love-struck children.

He left Huayang in the care of the empress, intending to check on her progress later.

Qin Yun, meanwhile, was kept at his side.

On the first day, Qin Yun accompanied Qin Ye to the capital garrison and, en route from the palace, rescued a girl disguised as a boy.

The girl was stubborn, her brow marked by a heroic spirit seldom seen in women.

In conversation, she boldly declared that women were not inferior to men and that she intended to become An Kingdom’s first female general.

Qin Yun praised her greatly, but failed to realize she was a girl.

Qin Ye: …

Kid, when it comes to the heroine, you’ve got sharp eyes—no one in court could tell she was a woman, but you not only saw through her, you also covered for her.

For everyone else, you’re as blind as a bat?

Yes, the girl was arranged by Qin Ye, but her temperament was genuine.

Her father was a great general of An Kingdom, and her ambition was to shoulder his burdens and defend the frontier, as she was his only child.

Qin Ye gave her this chance, letting her participate in the capital garrison’s drills on the condition that she gain Qin Yun’s trust—ideally, to wrap Qin Yun around her finger and then mercilessly abandon him.

Let him taste the bitterness of love.

The result? None at all.

Han Ying, the general’s daughter, openly stated that although the crown prince was admirable, he was not her type, and she was not his; she simply could not fulfill the emperor’s commission.

In truth, she did not want to deceive the crown prince, who treated others with sincerity.

Before meeting the heroine, Qin Yun seemed a model heir—perhaps not a paragon, but at least a capable and respected prince.

Qin Ye had to admit, the boy seemed decent enough.

Thinking that Qin Yun might still be salvaged, Qin Ye invited him to play chess and chat.

“Yun’er, you’re already thirteen this year.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Have you ever considered what kind of wife you’d like?”

Qin Yun’s delicate, precociously mature features flushed pink. “I will leave it to Father’s decision.”

“Speak your mind. There’s no one else here—why put on an act?”

Having spent some time with his father, Qin Yun had come to understand him better and grown more at ease in his presence.

It wasn’t that the former emperor had treated him poorly—he valued Qin Yun, but what he valued most was his status as crown prince and his capacity to shoulder the responsibilities that came with it.

Qin Ye, however, regarded him simply as a boy.

Though, truth be told, the content of the “White Silk” scrolls nearly made Qin Ye cough up blood in frustration.

Prompted by Qin Ye’s words, Qin Yun pondered for a moment and then spoke his true thoughts.

“I hope to meet someone I truly love, to spend a lifetime with her, devoted and unwavering.”

No wonder he’s the male lead—in a patriarchal, feudal society, such unconventional views are rare indeed.

After speaking, Qin Yun waited anxiously for his father’s anger, but Qin Ye’s expression remained calm.

“Yun’er, you’ve always been clever; you must know what your words imply.”

After a pause, Qin Ye continued in a measured tone.

Qin Yun lowered his head. “Yes, Father, I understand.”

His address reverted to the formal “your son,” marking the division between ruler and subject.

“So, if you met the one you truly love, the throne would mean nothing to you but a burden?”

Qin Yun knelt. “I would not dare.”

“You would not dare, indeed.”

Qin Ye frowned, finally setting aside his chess piece.

Qin Yun had already given considerable leeway, but Qin Ye still couldn’t outplay him—any further moves would be futile.

He decided to stop, reasoning that Qin Yun had offended him first, so it wasn’t cheating—almost perfect, really.

After sending Qin Yun away, Qin Ye tucked his hands into his sleeves and asked, “Do you think the crown prince can still be saved?”

Wen Ding’an, supported by attendants, emerged from behind the screen.

But he remained silent, affecting the pretense of a loyal minister who would never presume to comment on imperial family matters.

Qin Ye snorted and ordered him taken away, sending along a box of his own enhanced health pills.

The Wen family had met a tragic end, and the former emperor had felt guilty toward them. Qin Ye wanted the old man to enjoy a peaceful, healthy old age.

Of course, Wen Ding’an’s good health meant Qin Ye could continue squeezing every drop of use from him.

After dispatching Wen Ding’an and the crown prince, Qin Ye returned to the palace, this time summoning the heir of the Prince of Yue, who since entering the palace had been tutored in isolation.

The young heir, Qin Ming, was close in age to Qin Yun.

The former emperor had only had children late in life, a son and a daughter. By the time he ascended the throne, he was already mature, which allowed him to stabilize the court. The Prince of Yue’s eldest son, more than a decade younger, was born not long after the emperor’s second son.

Yet Qin Ming had always remained unknown.

After getting to know him, Qin Ye realized that Qin Ming’s obscurity was intentional: the Prince of Yue did not want to attract attention or arouse the emperor’s suspicion, so he deliberately made his son seem mediocre.

In truth, compared to Qin Yun, Qin Ming was more suited to the royal family.

He saw things clearly, was loyal and affectionate, knew how to weigh priorities, adapt, and accept responsibility.

“These days, I have not forbidden your father from visiting, nor have I stopped you from going home, yet you have chosen to stay in the palace and study diligently. I imagine you have come to your own decision.”

Qin Ming knelt and bowed. “My father advised me to recognize my place and never harbor ambitions to contend with the crown prince.”

“But you do not wish to heed your father’s words.”

“That is correct. I dare not betray my loyalty, but if Heaven offers and I do not accept, I will be punished.”

The youth raised his head, his face strikingly similar to Qin Ye’s, his eyes alight with unwavering ambition.

His clear voice rang out firmly, perfectly reflecting his resolve.