Chapter 2: Zhang Zhao

Chu Xi never thought of himself as someone who prized chastity, yet over the years, not a single person had truly caught his eye. So, despite his age, there were things he should’ve known that he simply didn’t. He acted purely on instinct, swept through the other’s mouth, then, once the moment had passed, pushed him away without hesitation.

The young eunuch was caught off guard and fell to the floor. A flash of confusion crossed his eyes, but he quickly composed himself and knelt down properly.
“I’ll fetch some water for Your Highness to rinse your mouth.”

His breathing was unsteady, slightly ragged. His pale complexion had flushed red from the lack of air. Chu Xi crossed one leg over the other, watching him with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a long moment before he spoke.
“Let’s start with why you mistook me for someone else.”

The eunuch lowered his gaze, looking properly remorseful.
“This servant knows his error. I’ve only recently entered the palace and haven’t had the fortune of seeing Your Highness before. That’s why I made such a grave mistake today. I beg Your Highness to forgive me this once, as it is my first offense.”

The overly practiced lines made Chu Xi’s teeth ache. He asked again,
“Which palace are you from, to be so blind?”

The eunuch answered calmly,
“I serve in the Eastern Palace.”

“Oh?” Chu Xi exaggeratedly nodded. “Very well then. Tomorrow I’ll personally escort you back.”

The eunuch couldn’t tell whether or not Chu Xi believed him, but either way, being escorted back was out of the question. He hurriedly replied,
“I wouldn’t dare trouble Your Highness. I’ll return myself so as not to disturb your rest. Please excuse me.”

He bowed and stood, preparing to leave.

Chu Xi glanced at him but said nothing, turning instead to pick up the cup of tea on the table. The tea had finally cooled to a pleasant temperature—rich in fragrance with a slightly bitter aftertaste. Chu Xi’s lips curved faintly. Then came a soft sound at the door. Without looking, he already knew what had happened.

The door had been locked from the outside.

Though the eunuch was eager to leave, he didn’t dare make too much noise. The First Prince’s notorious temper was well known—those who crossed him rarely escaped unscathed, if not dead.

The clattering went on for about the time it took to finish a cup of tea. Chu Xi hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and now he was starting to feel hungry. He called out casually,
“Serve the meal.”

The moment he spoke, the door opened. The palace maids had been waiting outside, knowing he hadn’t eaten. They filed in with trays of food. The eunuch sighed in relief and stepped outside—only to be met by a sword across his neck. The cold glint of the blade reflected in his eyes, forcing him to squint. There was no room for denial now—Chu Xi clearly had no intention of letting him leave so easily.

The eunuch didn’t hesitate. He turned and went back inside, returned to Chu Xi’s side, and said obediently,
“Your Highness, allow me to serve your meal.”

Once the food had been set down and the maids withdrew, only Chu Xi and the eunuch remained. Though he tried to look composed, it was obvious he’d never actually served anyone before. His eyes lingered longingly on the dishes as he asked,
“What would Your Highness like to eat?”

Chu Xi didn’t call him out. His gaze swept across the table.
“Tofu.”

Just as the eunuch picked up the tofu, a man entered, dressed in the uniform of the royal guards. It was Feng Li—Chu Xi’s personal bodyguard.

Feng Li approached and bowed with a steady voice,
“Your Highness, we’ve identified him. He’s the Rouran hostage prince, Zhang Zhao.”

He didn’t lower his voice. The quiet, even tone landed clearly in every ear present. Zhang Zhao’s hand visibly trembled, though he quickly regained control and calmly placed the tofu into Chu Xi’s bowl.

Chu Xi’s gaze landed on the hand before him—long, pale fingers, clean and bony, yet far too thin. Not an ounce of extra flesh. He nodded, and Feng Li took his cue to leave.

Once the guard exited, Zhang Zhao dropped to his knees without hesitation. Since he couldn’t keep it hidden, he might as well lay everything bare. It was a gamble either way—better to make it a bold one.
“Your Highness, please forgive me.”

It was the third time that night Chu Xi had heard those four words from his mouth. He was starving now, picked up a piece of tofu from his bowl, chewed thoughtfully, and finally asked,
“What exactly are you asking forgiveness for?”

Chu Xi remembered Zhang Zhao well. Ten years ago, Rouran had suffered a once-in-a-century blizzard. Not only did it decimate their livestock, but countless people froze to death. King Zhang Ze, with no other options, personally brought Zhang Zhao to the capital to present a letter of surrender to the Chu emperor—and left behind his most beloved ten-year-old son as a political hostage, in exchange for aid.

The Rouran people were born and raised on the plains—fierce and warlike. Chu’s forces had been repeatedly defeated by them. So when such an opportunity came, the emperor agreed immediately and sent the prime minister with relief supplies to aid Rouran.

But three years later, once Rouran had recovered, they reneged on the agreement and refused to pay tribute. The illusion of peace shattered. War was inevitable. The emperor, furious, had nearly executed Zhang Zhao as a warning—only relenting after the prime minister personally interceded. Zhang Zhao’s life was spared, but not without cost. The trauma drove him mad.

Zhang Zhao lowered his head in a deep bow.
“I was blind and mistook Your Highness for Prince Rui.”

“Right,” Chu Xi sneered. “And what business do you have with him?”

Zhang Zhao composed his expression and answered seriously,
“My attendant, Dongli, is gravely ill, and I had nowhere else to turn. I heard that all the important figures would be in the Eastern Palace for the Crown Prince’s birthday, so I thought I might try my luck.” He paused, then added, “Dongli came to the palace with me ten years ago. He’s the person I trust most. He’s been running a high fever for three days and is already delirious. If not for a matter of life and death, I wouldn’t have dared intrude. If any punishment is due, let it fall on me alone. I beg Your Highness to show mercy and save Dongli.”

His words were sincere, his eyes reddened, tears welling at the corners. When he bowed again, they finally spilled over, darkening the floorboards beneath him.

Chu Xi’s hand holding the chopsticks stilled. He glanced at the kneeling figure—careful not to mention Rouran, or his homeland. Every word had been carefully chosen. His behavior was bold, his speech cautious. A flicker of amusement crossed Chu Xi’s eyes.

He called out calmly,
“Feng Li.”

Feng Li reentered and bowed.
“Your Highness.”

“Send Shao Ning to take a look.”

Feng Li acknowledged and turned to go, but Zhang Zhao hurriedly said,
“Your Highness, the road to the southern compound is difficult. Let me guide him.” Then, realizing his overstep, quickly added, “I’ll return right after.”

Feng Li glanced at Chu Xi’s expression and immediately understood. He rejected the request curtly,
“Your status is sensitive. Best not to move around.”

Zhang Zhao caught the meaning behind his words. Fearing he had angered Chu Xi, he quickly apologized.
“That was thoughtless of me. Forgive me.”

Chu Xi looked up at Feng Li, who nodded slightly and left.

Now only the two of them remained.

Zhang Zhao bowed again.
“Thank you, Your Highness, for your mercy. I will never forget this great kindness. If there is a next life, I’ll repay you as a beast of burden if I must.”

Chu Xi looked down at him from above.
“I don’t believe in the next life. If that servant of yours is so important, then his life will cost yours in return.”

Zhang Zhao thought for a moment and answered calmly,
“If that is Your Highness’s will, you may take my life whenever you wish.”

His unwavering response pleased Chu Xi.

“Get up.”

Zhang Zhao obeyed. Chu Xi looked at the seat across from him and gestured,
“Sit. Eat.”

Zhang Zhao complied, taking the seat across from Chu Xi. But there were no spare utensils—only the ones he’d used earlier while serving. He hesitated, then glanced at the only untouched set on the table.

Chu Xi noticed.
“If you want them, take them. Didn’t you have the guts just now? What are you afraid of now?”

Only with that permission did Zhang Zhao take the bowl and chopsticks.
“Allow me to serve Your Highness his meal.”

“Serve? I’ve got hands of my own. Enough with the pleasantries—they’re tiresome. Eat. You’re fussing like a woman.”

Zhang Zhao said no more. He picked up his bowl and began eating quietly.

Chu Xi had always eaten alone. Suddenly having someone at the table made him unusually observant. Zhang Zhao ate slowly, but it was clear he was intentionally slowing himself down—his chewing was quick. Understandable. A hostage prince from a defeated nation could hardly expect comfort. The fact he’d even survived this long in the palace meant someone had shown mercy.

The table was filled with dishes, but Chu Xi noticed one thing—Zhang Zhao never touched anything he had already tasted. So Chu Xi deliberately tried every dish on the table and waited to see what Zhang Zhao would do.

Zhang Zhao seemed to catch on and simply finished the plate of cabbage in front of him. Though his bowl was empty, he didn’t set down his chopsticks.

Chu Xi knew what he was waiting for. He set his own down, and almost simultaneously, so did Zhang Zhao. Chu Xi felt annoyed.
“Don’t be so stiff around me. Watching you is exhausting.”

Zhang Zhao replied obediently,
“Yes.”

Chu Xi kicked his stool in irritation.
“I said stop being so stiff. Can’t you understand plain words?”

Zhang Zhao’s knowledge of Chu Xi came from second- or third-hand rumors, but it seemed they weren’t exaggerated—his temper was truly bad. The kick had real force; Zhang Zhao nearly fell but managed to steady himself on the table.
“I’d like to check on Dongli.”

“No.” Chu Xi glared at him and refused flatly. “From now on, without my permission, you’re not to leave Ruyi Pavilion.”

“…Yes.”

Zhang Zhao responded softly and silently analyzed Chu Xi’s words. Was he being taken as a pet? With Chu Xi’s favor, perhaps he could escape the southern compound. To survive, Zhang Zhao had long stopped caring about his body. This wasn’t what he originally planned—but it wasn’t far off either.

At this point, his appearance was all he had left to offer.

Zhang Zhao made up his mind. He rose, walked over, and crouched down in front of Chu Xi, lifting his gaze to meet his. His eyes were striking, catching the candlelight like glittering gems. His voice was low,
“Will Your Highness be resting soon? May I help you wash up?”

He reached for Chu Xi’s collar, fingers grazing his throat ever so lightly—only for Chu Xi to grab his wrist, eyes dark.

In their locked gaze, Zhang Zhao caught the flicker of unrest in Chu Xi’s expression.