Chapter 48
Shen Nian had called out "Your Majesty," but he thought he must be dreaming. The Emperor should be in the palace right now—how could he possibly appear in his bedchamber, leisurely reading a book like this?
Though his mind was racing, Shen Nian's eyes never moved. They remained fixed on the man before him.
Qi Junmu set down the book and gave a light, unhurried "Mm."
That single sound shattered Shen Nian's illusions. His mind still foggy, he murmured, "Why are you here?"
Shen Nian's voice came out rough and hoarse. Qi Junmu found it grating to the ear. Instead of answering, he rose, poured a cup of warm water, and handed it over. "Drink some water first."
Shen Nian didn't move. He tilted his head up, his expression dazed and doubtful—utterly vacant, with none of his usual sharpness.
Qi Junmu looked at him, a faint frown creasing his brow. The cup changed course and was brought directly to Shen Nian's lips.
Shen Nian dropped his gaze to the warm water before him.
He was rather thirsty, and with his illness, his mind was still a muddled mess. In any case, by the time he came to his senses, he had already drained the entire cup of warm water from the Emperor's slender, fair hand.
Shen Nian blinked. Then blinked again. When the Emperor set the cup down and asked if he wanted more, he finally understood what had just happened—he had let the Emperor feed him water.
If anyone found out, gossip would be the least of it; calamity would surely follow.
Heat rose to Shen Nian's face, and a flutter of panic stirred in his chest. He tried to rise and beg forgiveness, but the moment his feet touched the floor, he realized his attire was hardly fit for company.
Now truly flustered, Shen Nian hesitated—half wanting to stand, half wanting to retreat to the bed.
In that moment of indecision, he lost his balance. Just as he was about to fall, the Emperor's hand steadied him firmly by the arm.
Summer clothes were thin to begin with, and with his fever, Shen Nian had been sweating profusely. His sleep had left his inner robe disheveled, and the sleeve on his arm had long since ridden up.
Qi Junmu's palm pressed directly against his skin. In an instant, Shen Nian went rigid, heat flooding to his face. He stood frozen, unable to move a muscle.
Every sensation in Shen Nian's body was concentrated on the place where Qi Junmu touched him. He couldn't tell if it was his own fever or the Emperor's palm that burned so hot—the skin on his arm felt both scorched and aching.
Qi Junmu watched the flush spreading across Shen Nian's cheeks and did his best to keep his composure.
Truth be told, in both of his lifetimes, he had never been this close to anyone. As for Wen Wan—forget it; he had never touched her person or her heart up close. At most, when she was unwell, he had taken her hand and placed it against his cheek.
Qi Junzhuo was the only one with whom he shared any closeness, but Qi Junzhuo had never lost his composure before him. Even when Qi Junzhuo had confessed in his place and entered the imperial prison to suffer punishment, when the truth was finally uncovered and he went to retrieve him, Qi Junzhuo had walked out on his own two feet, step by step.
Thankfully, touching Shen Nian did not repulse him. And the flesh on Shen Nian's shoulder was firm and solid—clearly the result of years of training.
These thoughts ran through Qi Junmu's mind, and his hand unconsciously gave Shen Nian's shoulder a small squeeze.
Shen Nian's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise.
Realizing what he had done, Qi Junmu quickly coughed to cover his embarrassment, pressed Shen Nian back onto the bed, and clasped his hands behind his back. "You are unwell. There is no need for formalities. Stay in bed."
As he spoke, he rubbed his fingers together behind his back, the scorching warmth still lingering at his fingertips.
Shen Nian lowered his gaze and leaned back against the headboard, pulling the thin quilt over himself. Though the heat had not yet left his face, his voice was calm once more. "Why is Your Majesty here? Has something happened in the palace?"
"No," Qi Junmu said, taking a seat on the chair beside the bed. "I simply came to see you."
It was the truth, but under the present circumstances, it sounded rather odd.
Qi Junmu composed himself and recounted the events before his departure from the palace. Finally, he said, "At that moment, I thought—only by Marquis Zhenbei's side could I truly find ease. So I left the palace to see you..."
The Emperor trailed off again. Even he felt those words sounded strange in this setting.
Hearing this, Shen Nian's heart gave a violent leap—yet he kept his expression unchanged and said with a light laugh, "And yet this humble subject fell ill and could not even greet Your Majesty at the gate. That Your Majesty has not held it against me is already grace beyond measure."
Once Shen Nian spoke, Qi Junmu found the familiar rhythm of their interactions once more, and the earlier awkwardness faded away.
He smiled as well. "You are ill, and I came without notice. If anything, the fault is mine. Why would I blame you?"
The heat on Shen Nian's face had largely subsided, though the tips of his ears remained faintly pink. When he smiled, he was warm as polished jade—his hair disheveled, his clothes rumpled, a far cry from his usual immaculate bearing. Add to that the weakness of illness, and he carried a fragile, striking beauty unlike his usual self.
Qi Junmu, by contrast, looked as he always did—cool and crisp as frost, and when he smiled on occasion, it was like a thousand flowers bursting into bloom.
Neither spoke again, yet the silence was not uncomfortable.
Before long, a soft knock came at the door. Ruan Jiqing's voice followed: "Your Majesty, the congee is ready. Shall I bring it in now?"
The two inside had not lowered their voices, and Ruan Jiqing had caught fragments of their conversation from outside. He had not moved then—he was waiting for the right moment.
Now was that moment. The voices inside had fallen silent, and it was time for his entrance.
Qi Junmu raised his voice slightly. "Come in."
Ruan Jiqing entered with a beaming smile, carrying the congee. Catching sight of Shen Nian reclining against the headboard, he said with great sympathy, "My lord, it has only been a few days and you've already thinned out. Your servants said you've barely eaten these past two days, so His Majesty had this congee prepared."
His few words stirred a faint ache in Shen Nian's heart. His resolve to keep the Emperor at arm's length wavered once more.
At that moment, Qi Junmu rose. "Ruan Jiqing, attend to Marquis Zhenbei's washing and see that he eats something warm."
Ruan Jiqing blinked and cast a questioning glance at the Emperor—such an arrangement was hardly proper.
Shen Nian quickly declined: "Your Majesty, I dare not. This humble subject will manage on his own." Ruan Jiqing was the Emperor's personal attendant—in all of Da Qi, aside from the Empress Dowager, who would dare command him? If word got out, people would say Shen Nian had designs on the throne. Even if he had no wish to die, others would surely fabricate charges to have him killed.
"In your current state—weak as a kitten—just forget it." Qi Junmu said flatly. "Ruan Jiqing is my personal attendant. He knows his bounds and will attend to you well."
Ruan Jiqing, ever skilled at reading the room, quickly chimed in: "My lord, His Majesty is showing you care. You see, aside from this servant, there's no one else in this courtyard fit to tend to you. When His Majesty first arrived, your household staff were all at leisure—not a shred of respect for rank. And with you ill, they showed not a trace of concern. His Majesty was furious on the spot. They're still kneeling in the courtyard now, awaiting your judgment once you wake."
Ruan Jiqing's words were a mix of truth and lies, but his tone was utterly sincere.
Qi Junmu was indeed angry—angry enough to make those people kneel in the courtyard to reflect on their actions. It wasn't just because Shen Nian was ill; more than that, someone had actually tried to use the excuse of serving tea to get close to the Emperor.
Still, Ruan Jiqing wouldn't have called them ill‑mannered just for bringing tea. But when they served it with flirtatious glances and coy smiles, only a blind man could miss what kind of dreams they were chasing. He suspected they'd been reading too many popular romances—all hoping to go from maidservant to imperial consort.
If the Emperor truly cared for beauty, there were plenty of palace maidens trained for that very purpose; any one of them could attend to him. Ruan Jiqing thought to himself that some people really did have the audacity to daydream—their imagination knew no bounds.
Even the Empress didn't dare entertain such fancies these days.
Qi Junmu was the Emperor. He held the power of life and death over everyone in the realm. But this was, after all, the Marquis Zhenbei's residence, and the servants belonged to Shen Nian. So he did not go beyond that in punishing them.
No comments:
Post a Comment