Chapter 37: Terminally Love-Struck? Hopeless Case, Just Await the End 6

Compared to the Empress, who was trembling with anxiety beside her, Huayang herself felt nothing at all.

Qin Ye had not truly punished her, not even a verbal warning. He merely beckoned her forward, had her sit at his side, and remarked coolly, “From now on, you are not to target the hostage prince from Yun.”

“I understand. Father Emperor is magnanimous, able to tolerate what most cannot. To Father, the kingdom behind the hostage prince is insignificant. As for the prince himself, though he hails from the defeated side, he is but a youth; naturally, Father would not deliberately humiliate him. It was my own narrow-mindedness before; I admit my fault and shall treat him fairly from this day forward.”

What a clever child, Qin Ye thought. But in truth, the original Huayang had been delighted at the prospect of Yun Loutai becoming a cripple—such an outcome would dash Yun’s last hope completely. Qin Ye simply found it too much trouble to torment a mere child.

Thanks to Qin Ye’s intervention, Xie Fanghua never crossed paths with Yun Loutai. After the palace banquet, Huayang visited Yun Loutai to apologize; once she had spoken her piece, she turned to leave, regardless of his response. From then on, she never deliberately targeted him again. In fact, when others bullied Yun Loutai, she was the one who impartially upheld justice.

Time slipped by, and in the blink of an eye Qin Ye had been emperor for several years; the story’s protagonists, too, had grown up.

After Qin Ye’s pronouncement, Yun Loutai's days were, in fact, rather pleasant—far better than the life he had known in Yun. Yet as he matured, emissaries from Yun began reaching out to him. Their message was always the same: he was Yun’s sole hope, the crown prince, destined to revive his homeland.

No sooner had the Yun envoys spoken with him than word of their conversation reached Qin Ye’s ears. “No originality at all—just the same old script,” he mused.

That it was so easy for Yun’s people to enter the palace and see Yun Loutai was, of course, by Qin Ye’s design. These years, he had devoted himself not to intrigue, but to the people’s well-being: the widespread cultivation of potatoes and sweet potatoes that would thrive on any land, the development and refinement of weaponry—bows, crossbows, firearms—and shipbuilding. Already wealthy, Anguo grew even more so. The dazzling glassware produced by the imperial workshop fetched extravagant prices and was coveted by nobility at home and abroad. There was innovation in textiles and tools as well.

The books Qin Ye had read in the modern world now proved their worth. He also drilled the troops, sending the well-trained capital garrison to clear out mountain bandits with great success. Their strict discipline—never slaughtering the innocent or claiming false merit, nor ravaging the countryside—won Qin Ye widespread acclaim and bolstered his prestige.

During this time, the crown prince title was rescinded. The Empress tried to intervene, but before she could act, her own father persuaded her to give up her schemes.

Huayang still refused to marry, and Qin Ye supported her wish to choose her own husband. Unless she found someone herself, no forced marriage would be imposed upon her.

Qin Yun, stripped of his title, was briefly downcast, but when he saw that his position and Qin Ye’s affection remained unchanged, his disappointment faded. Free from his old burdens, he drew closer to Qin Ming, and the two became fast friends. It seemed he had come to respect and admire Qin Ming greatly.

Qin Ye had all but forgotten the plot of Bai Juan, when the story at last began to unfold.

Qin Ye maintained a calm, unreadable expression as he watched the scene below: ministers and noblewomen knelt, weeping and wailing.

“My lord, I have treated my husband’s daughter as if she were my own. Now, the girl of our Xie family has been sullied by the hostage prince, her innocence destroyed. My heart is torn asunder. Are we simply to have our girl cut off her hair and consign herself to a nunnery?”

Xie Yuan bowed his head, trying to pull his wife back, but she slapped his hand away, and he hastily withdrew. Though she knelt, Lady Xie’s impassioned words were undiminished.

When she finally quieted, Qin Ye spoke with measured indifference: “What is it you seek, Lady Xie?”

“I beg Your Majesty to grant a marriage for the Xie family girl.”

“Oh? You’ve already found her a match, have you? Even if, as you say, she has been compromised, has lost her virtue—this man is still willing to take her?”

“No, Your Majesty. I beseech you to bestow marriage between our daughter and the hostage prince of Yun.”

Xie Yuan closed his eyes, feeling a desperate urge to let everything collapse, to accept exile and death on the borderlands.

“How about this: once they are wed, I send the hostage prince back to Yun, and your daughter may go to Yun to be their empress.”

Lady Xie was startled, instinctively protesting, “That cannot be.”

Xie Yuan was just about to breathe a sigh of relief—at least his wife knew her limits—when her next words froze him in place.

“Your Majesty, Fanghua’s fate is ill-starred. If Your Majesty truly wishes it, my other daughter, Fangzhi, is virtuous and capable. Should she marry the hostage prince and become empress of Yun, it would not bring shame upon Anguo.”

Qin Ye nearly laughed aloud.

No, in fact, he did laugh aloud.

Lady Xie, oblivious, laughed with him; only Lord Xie looked utterly bereft.

When his mirth subsided, Qin Ye sighed. Some plotlines are simply inescapable.

A single edict was issued: Lord Xie stripped of office, Lady Xie arrested and imprisoned for deceiving the sovereign. After all, Lady Xie was never Lord Xie’s legitimate wife, but merely a favored concubine. Lord Xie had truly dared to present a concubine as his proper wife before the emperor.

Qin Ye did not endorse the current system of hierarchies, distinctions of birth, or the concept of wives and concubines. Still, that did not mean he would tolerate being made a fool of.

As for the heroine, she had suffered under her stepmother’s oppression, her marriage prospects ruined, and now was being falsely accused of illicit relations with the hostage prince and pushed into ruin. So, she resolved to take revenge on the Xie family and Anguo.

It was under such pressure that she faked her own death, disguised herself as a man, and sought her fortune through the imperial examinations.

Now that Qin Ye had avenged her against the Xie family, she could hardly turn her vengeance upon Anguo itself.

Qin Ye thought to himself: What a cunning little fox I am.

The Xie family’s downfall drew little notice—no one even bothered to discuss it. Yet Qin Yun stormed in to confront Qin Ye.

“Father, what crime did Lord Xie commit, that you should dismiss him from office and imprison his wife—a woman, frail and defenseless?”

Qin Ye was in the midst of copying calligraphy from Qiu Ruhai. No wonder two emperors had vied for this man—Qiu Ruhai’s script was exquisite, and Qin Ye had commissioned several pieces for himself, spending his leisure hours practicing.

Qin Yun burst in, unstoppable; the attendants dared not lay hands on him, for though he was no longer crown prince, he had not suffered the fate of other deposed heirs. On the contrary, he enjoyed even more of the emperor’s affection, their relationship no different from that of any ordinary father and son.

Had he still been the crown prince, the attendants might have dared restrain him; now, favored as he was, none dared bar his way.

Never challenge the patience of an indulgent old father—especially when that father is the emperor. That way lies disaster for the whole family.

Qin Yun was full of bluster, but Qin Ye, unhurried, finished his calligraphy before looking up. “What did the Xie family girl say to you?”

“Fanghua said nothing, but Fangzhi came to me. Only then did I learn what had happened. Father…”

Qin Ye found it all rather tiresome.

How much more endearing Qin Yun had been in his youth. Now, he seemed to have lost all sense of boundaries.

“Enough,” Qin Ye said, and at once the boundary-less boy fell silent.

Still dissatisfied, Qin Yun trailed after Qin Ye like a shadow, muttering, “You owe me an explanation, at least.”

“It seems you and the Xie family girl have quite the rapport.”

Qin Yun blushed. “It’s… it’s all right.”

“You like her, but does she like you?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“And what’s your own sense? Do you think she likes you?”

The easy, fatherly tone lulled Qin Yun out of his initial, Fangzhi-stirred anger.

He pondered for a moment, face falling. “I’m not sure. She feels both distant and close, all at once.”

“How so?” Qin Ye picked up another sheet, brush in hand, conversing with a casual air.

“Fanghua doesn’t know who I really am. She thinks I’m just a distant relative of the royal family, of little importance. When the Xie family fell on hard times, she told me nothing. It was her sister, Fangzhi, who sought me out, thinking my royal status might help.”

Qin Ye couldn’t help but laugh out loud, pausing in his calligraphy to watch his son and ask, smiling, “You never looked into the Xie family’s affairs?”

“Father, I truly like Miss Fanghua. How could I investigate her family? That would be disrespectful.”

Qin Yun was perfectly earnest.

Qin Ye grunted, unable to suppress his laughter.

The Emperor of Yong'an had few heirs. His Empress, mistress of the harem, was a broad-minded woman for whom the emperor’s affection mattered little, and so harmony prevailed among the concubines.

As one of only two imperial children, Huayang’s status was unmatched. In the palace, only the Empress and the emperor himself could instruct her; the other consorts, though her elders in name, would never dare demand her respect—unless they had a death wish.

Qin Yun, as the emperor’s legitimate son and sole surviving child, had been named crown prince in his youth and raised with all the expectations and moral instruction of an heir.

Within the palace, peace reigned: there were no siblings vying for favor, and the only princess was his full-blooded sister.

Qin Yun had learned all the great principles, all the ways of governance, and possessed the finest virtues. As a gentleman, he was exemplary. As a crown prince—as a ruler—he was, perhaps, too hesitant and indecisive.