The Flower Festival, the Garden Bureau… I promised to take you back.
The rain was the fine drizzle of early spring, pattering incessantly. The biting cold wind slipped into sleeves and slid down pant legs, stealing the last bit of warmth from one’s body. Mist shrouded the imperial city, and the smooth green stone bricks beneath their feet reflected the crystal gleam of rainwater. Rain threads strung together like curtains of beads under the high palace eaves, leaving streaks of water on the peeling vermilion walls.
A small oil-paper umbrella trembled in the wind and rain, adorned with a delicately painted red plum blossom. The moisture made it seem as though the blossoms were blooming on the surface, the petals vivid and ready to burst forth. The umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a young boy with a face like jade. He wore a brocade cloak embroidered with flowers, and the jade ornaments at his waist jingled crisply. However, his brows were furrowed as he wandered through the vast palace grounds. Arriving under a palace gate, he looked up.
Clearly still childish, he tried to appear mature, pressing his small mouth into a straight line.
This was his first time entering the palace, originally to attend a royal banquet. For days, he had been so anxious about it that he could neither eat nor sleep. To his dismay, not long after entering the palace, he was separated from his father and lost his way in the rain. The fault lay partly with the eunuch who had been inattentive and partly with Min Ji himself for being impatient and wandering off. The result was that, in this vast and unfamiliar imperial city, he was hopelessly lost.
The palace grounds stretched endlessly, and every path seemed familiar except for the names inscribed on the plaques above each gate.
With the banquet about to begin and countless tasks requiring attention, all the capable staff had been dispatched to their duties, leaving only the lower-ranking eunuchs, who busied themselves to avoid offending the nobles. Min Ji had no idea where he was but refused to admit defeat. Each time he saw a fork in the path, he would step through a gate, only to turn back upon realizing it led nowhere. Unknowingly, he strayed further into the depths of the palace. It was eerily quiet, with even the palace walls exuding a cold, desolate air.
Dusk was falling, rain blurring the view, and the scent of damp earth lingered in the air. Both his boots were thoroughly soaked, the cold water clinging to his calves. Frustrated by his bedraggled appearance on his first palace visit, he quickened his pace. Suddenly, he noticed a small potted flower by the wall. Its origin was unknown, and its pale purple buds stood alone in the rain, the slender green stem drooping under the weight of the water, swaying pitifully in the wind.
Min Ji crouched down and moved his umbrella over it. The purple flower seemed to regain its strength, stubbornly straightening up.
When he pulled the umbrella away, the flower drooped again. Repeating this a few times, it still stood defiantly with its tiny budding bloom. Min Ji extended a finger as if to pluck it, but his fingertip paused beneath the flower’s calyx. Changing his mind, he lifted its curved stem instead, muttering, “Just a little wildflower. How long can it bloom anyway?”
Before long, the palace would be filled with competing blossoms—roses, peonies—none of which were particularly cherished. How much less attention would such an insignificant little flower receive, doomed to be buried among the vast palace walls and return to the earth.
As he lingered there, he heard curses coming from the other side of the wall, sharp and harsh amid the spring rain. Moments later, someone was thrown out of a nearby doorway, rolling across the ground and hitting a carved stone doorstop, leaving a trail of blood trickling down.
It was a young eunuch in a gray-blue robe, his frail body making the garment look too long. The rain fell harder, and Min Ji could not tell whether the boy was crying. He simply saw him clutch his head as he crawled back up, kneeling in the mud to endure his punishment. The person who had thrown him out was a chief eunuch, his cheekbones sharp and his expression cruel. He held a wooden rod three feet long and struck the young eunuch hard.
“The son of a criminal—just skin and bones. A lowly slave, yet still acting like he’s a master!” The surrounding eunuchs laughed harshly as the chief eunuch passed the rod to another, his voice dripping with scorn. “If he broke a flowerpot today, he’ll smash the Emperor’s jade cup tomorrow! Imagine that!”
Someone echoed with a laugh, “Exactly!”
“Beat him!” the chief eunuch ordered imperiously.
It was absurd, of course, to suggest that breaking a flowerpot meant the boy would someday break the Emperor’s jade cup. It was nothing but an excuse to vent their frustrations. Min Ji turned to look, seeing the punished eunuch trembling, silent as he knelt in the rain. The boy’s silence only encouraged their cruelty. One eunuch stepped forward and kicked him over, then reached out a hand toward his groin.
The young eunuch recoiled in terror, clamping his legs together, but the man still grabbed him. He sniffed his hand mockingly and sneered, “Oh, look, the little master pissed his pants again!” The crowd burst into laughter as the man stepped on the boy’s robe and nudged his shoulder with his foot, narrowing his eyes. “Little master, call me ‘father,’ and I’ll get you a change of clothes.”
“I’m not, I’m not…” The young eunuch tried to protest, but they silenced him by lifting him roughly and beating him.
Whether it was one or two flowerpots did not matter. What mattered was the inverted status. He had once been a “master” but now, having fallen from grace, was reduced to a slave like them. For no reason, with no hatred, they targeted him simply because they found him displeasing. It seemed that by degrading and tormenting an eight-year-old boy, they could feel their own sense of superiority.
The large, intricately carved door blocked Min Ji from view. When he stood up and walked over, the eunuchs were so engrossed in their cruel game that they did not notice him at first.
That was until he stepped forward, holding his umbrella, and said, “Stop.”
A child, rescuing another child.
The chief eunuch was about to scold him but caught sight of the jade ornaments at his waist, engraved with the imperial “Min” character, and the exquisite jewelry around his neck. His anger instantly turned to fear as he bowed and scraped. Those who did not recognize him asked quietly who he was. Upon learning that he was the son of Minister Min, they all fell silent, trembling with dread.
Minister Min was a pillar of the court, in his prime, and even the Emperor had to show him some respect. As the legitimate son of the Min family, this boy was treated almost like a prince. Unless they were truly reckless and blind, who would dare provoke Minister Min’s family?
Min Ji looked up and saw that the plaque read “Garden Bureau,” a place responsible for tending flowers and plants—second only to the Laundry Bureau in its insignificance. He had always admired his bold and carefree second cousin from the Ji family and emulated him to a fault. Thus, he despised these lowly bullies who relied on borrowed authority. Being young, he also had the courage to act recklessly and commanded, “However many strikes you gave him, hit yourselves the same number.”
At such a tender age, his voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried the unmistakable tone of authority that came with his status.
Not long after, the sound of slapping echoed repeatedly within the Garden Bureau.
The young eunuch lay face down on the ground, unable to get up, his ears buzzing to the point where he couldn’t hear what was being said. He only noticed that the rain seemed to have stopped, so he opened his eyes. Above him was a delicate yellow umbrella with plum blossoms painted on it. Following the hand that held the umbrella, he saw the person standing there—and froze, staring blankly upwards. Water dripped from his hair into his mouth, icy as it slid down his throat, leaving him momentarily breathless.
…He recognized Min Ji.
It had been at a private banquet where he hid timidly behind his father, watching from afar as people drank and mingled. Min Ji had entered through the main door then, walking beside Minister Min. Not long after sitting down, Min Ji had drawn a crowd of other noble boys, all equally elegant and refined. Even among the most distinguished young masters of the capital, Min Ji stood out as extraordinary.
His father brought him over to pay respects, but he couldn’t even manage a proper congratulatory greeting. The noble boys laughed at him for being unsophisticated, leaving him burning with shame. Only Min Ji had jumped down from his seat, pulled a piece of candy from his pocket, and stuffed it into his mouth. Pulling him close, Min Ji said, “Come on, let’s look at the lanterns!”
The entire evening, he had followed Min Ji everywhere—admiring the lanterns, tasting the sweets, savoring candy that was sweeter than anything he’d ever had. He ran until he was breathless, watching Min Ji swing a wooden stick and mimic swordsmanship. He didn’t know how to do anything, not even how to praise properly, but he had been so happy. For the first time, he experienced the capital’s grandeur and wonder.
It was also the first time he learned that “Ji” meant the clear skies after rain.
But there had been so many people at the banquet that Min Ji had never even asked his name. It was normal that he didn’t remember now.
…
Min Ji bent down to pull him up and asked if he could stand.
At first, he couldn’t, but he took a deep breath and sprang up like a startled rabbit—so hard that he bumped into the edge of the umbrella. The impact jarred Min Ji’s arm, numbing it and bending one of the umbrella ribs.
“What are you doing with such force?” Min Ji exclaimed regretfully, fiddling with the damaged umbrella rib. Then he lowered his gaze to the blood-streaked face of the young eunuch. It was a sorry sight—his hair plastered to his face and blood smeared everywhere. Clicking his tongue, Min Ji pulled a handkerchief from his robe. “You’re filthy. Wipe yourself.”
The young eunuch refused to take it, so Min Ji wet the handkerchief with rainwater, grabbed him, and roughly wiped his face. Finally, a cleaner face emerged—a remarkably pretty boy. Unlike the snowy, flawless look of his Ji cousin, this boy’s beauty carried a shy frailty, his neck soft as if he couldn’t lift it properly. It reminded Min Ji of the weak little purple flower by the wall.
The eunuchs, after slapping themselves, learned that Min Ji had gotten lost. They immediately invited him inside to take shelter from the rain and sent someone to inform the banquet hall to fetch this young “Buddha.” Min Ji walked halfway into the bureau but turned around when he noticed the young eunuch was gone. Worried the boy might have been dragged off for more punishment, he hurried back to the gate.
There, he saw the young eunuch sitting quietly on the threshold, hugging the potted purple flower. He was carefully braiding a stray lock of hair, twisting it into a small plait and tucking it onto his head.
“Why aren’t you going inside?” Min Ji asked, waiting until the boy finished his hair.
The young eunuch startled, blinking up at him as if surprised that he had returned. Then he lowered his head, tugging nervously at his clothes, unable to explain. He disliked this place, feared it, and would rather sit outside in the rain than go in to face those people. After a long hesitation, he stammered, “I…I’m watering the flower…”
Having just entered the palace, he hadn’t yet learned to refer to himself humbly as a “slave.”
“This flower is yours?” Min Ji asked. The boy nodded slightly and whispered an “mm.” Min Ji chuckled and sat back down. “Then I’ll keep you company.”
The two boys sat side by side before the door, shielded from the rain by the eaves. Min Ji was older, and as a child from an influential family, he was more mature than most. Having overheard the eunuchs mention that the boy was the son of a criminal, he felt some sympathy for his situation. Watching him fuss over the little plant, Min Ji thought that people were like the flowers they kept. He turned to ask, “What’s your name?”
The young eunuch’s fingers paused over a fragile leaf. After a moment, he said in a very soft voice, “Lian… Yunsheng.”
“Lian Yunsheng,” Min Ji repeated. “Yunsheng, like the ‘cloud rising to the sea tower’?”
The young eunuch blinked again, then gave a quiet “mm.”
The wind picked up, and when Min Ji noticed Lian Yunsheng shivering, he untied his brocade cloak and casually tossed it over him. The cloak still carried the warmth of spring, and the heat seeped into Lian Yunsheng’s body. The young eunuch was indeed freezing, yet he stayed silent, wrapping himself in the cloak without daring to turn his head to look at Min Ji, as if he were an insignificant wisp of mist.
Neither of them spoke. Suddenly, a loud “Achoo!” broke the silence.
Lian Yunsheng felt a sudden warmth below and panicked. He immediately grabbed the hem of his robe with both hands, pulling it down tightly, his legs clamped together as if glued. His face was so red with shame it seemed he might bury it into the ground.
Min Ji rubbed his nose and turned to look at him, recalling the eunuchs mocking him earlier for wetting his pants. Surprised, he blurted, “You… again?”
The young boy’s eyes turned red instantly. He shrank back several times in embarrassment, trying to stand but too fearful of making things worse. His face was so flushed it seemed he might cry. Min Ji saw him trembling and reached out to steady him. Although he liked to pretend to be mature, his age betrayed him. He fumbled for a moment, unsure how to console someone, and finally stammered, “Don’t… don’t cry. I don’t mind it.”
After calming him down, Min Ji’s curiosity got the better of him. “How does this happen?”
“…,” Lian Yunsheng sniffled and lowered his head. Because it was Min Ji who asked, he found it hard to refuse an answer, though it was deeply embarrassing. Quietly, he said, “I… I don’t know. After purification, I was like this. The steward said it was because the cut didn’t heal properly and left a problem. When I get scared, I… wet myself easily. Because of this, I couldn’t go anywhere else and was sent here to tend the flowers.”
Min Ji, ignorant of hardship and unaware of such things, suddenly fell silent. He regretted asking, seeing now that it had upset the boy again. Desperate, he rummaged through his sleeve and pulled out a piece of dragon-beard candy. He unwrapped the oiled paper and stuffed it into the boy’s hand. “It’s fine. I’ve heard people say this happens sometimes, but it gets better when you grow up.”
Lian Yunsheng stopped crying immediately, staring at him blankly. “Really?”
How would Min Ji know anything about eunuchs? He had only said that to comfort him. Seeing Lian Yunsheng looking at him so earnestly, Min Ji felt guilty, as if he were lying. But he couldn’t bear to tell him it wasn’t true, so he awkwardly nodded and swallowed his discomfort. “Yes, really. It’ll definitely get better.”
The little eunuch, foolish as he was, believed it. Tears still streaked his face, but he smiled.
Min Ji sneezed again and shivered involuntarily. Sitting on the threshold with Lian Yunsheng had left half his body soaked by the rain. His legs felt as though they were encased in ice, his boots filled with water. He longed to curl up by a fire. Unable to sit any longer, he stood and stomped his feet, saying, “My father must be looking for me. I should go. Do you know the way?”
Lian Yunsheng quickly stood up, hugging his flower tightly. “I… I do.”
Min Ji opened his umbrella. “Then let’s go.”
Lian Yunsheng glanced back as if to ask permission from the steward, but Min Ji had already started down the steps. “Why care about them?” Min Ji said dismissively. Lian Yunsheng hesitated briefly, then hurried after him, hobbling slightly as he followed a step behind.
Min Ji turned and saw him looking like a drowned rat. Frowning, he said, “How can you lead the way if you’re behind me?”
Lian Yunsheng quickened his pace and ran ahead. Only then did Min Ji feel satisfied, stepping forward and sharing half the umbrella with him.
The palace was vast, but no matter how complicated the paths, they would eventually lead to an end. After crossing the Imperial Garden, they encountered a group of eunuchs and guards sent to search for Min Ji. The moment they saw him, they hurriedly greeted him as “Second Young Master Min,” flustered and fearful. Seeing this, Lian Yunsheng quietly stopped walking, retreating as Min Ji was surrounded by attendants fussing over him.
Min Ji turned back and, after much effort, spotted the little eunuch among the crowd. On a whim, he pushed through the people and ran back to him. “Do you want to leave the palace?” he asked suddenly.
“Huh?” Lian Yunsheng blinked his pretty eyes in confusion, unsure what he meant.
Min Ji explained, “I’ll talk to my father. I’m sure he can bring you out. You’re just being beaten here anyway. You can come to my house and be my study companion.” It wasn’t uncommon for noble families to keep eunuchs, and given the Min family’s status, taking in a crying boy from the Garden Bureau was no trouble at all.
But before he finished, Lian Yunsheng’s eyes welled up with tears again. Min Ji panicked. “Why are you crying again? You don’t like being a study companion? What do you like, tending flowers? You can come and be my flower boy… Just don’t cry. I hate it when people cry!”
Lian Yunsheng pursed his lips as if trying to hold back his sobs, but the tears still fell uncontrollably. He wiped them away with the back of his hand repeatedly.
Min Ji sighed like a little adult and handed him the umbrella. “Anyway, just wait. I’ll come back for you.”
Lian Yunsheng clutched the oil-paper umbrella Min Ji had shoved into his arms, watching dizzily as he was surrounded and whisked away. Before long, the rain stopped, and evening fell. A strip of deep blue sky appeared, speckled with stars like scattered pearls. The dragon beard candy in his hand melted into a sticky lump. He lifted his palm and licked it, whispering to himself, *“Min Ji, Min Ji.”* It really did mean the clear skies after rain.
But Lian Yunsheng waited and waited—until Min Ji became Min Xuefei, until the flower-tending boy from the Garden Bureau became the lofty *Assistant Supervisor* of the Palace Bureau. Lian Yunsheng never saw that promise fulfilled. Instead, he heard Min Xuefei call him “Little Plum Fairy” under the plum trees of Huanfu Palace; instead, they met in confrontation, swords drawn, with Min Xuefei pointing at him and sneering the word “eunuch.”
The delicate yellow umbrella had grown old, and the dragon beard candy had turned moldy. Dozens of springs and autumns passed, hundreds of rains and snows cleared, yet Yunsheng never reached the Sea Tower again.
Min Xuefei was transported back to that snowy night of the palace banquet. Snowflakes swirled, crimson plum blossoms bloomed fiercely. Half-drunk, he leaned lazily against the plum tree, grasping someone’s wrist and asking the flower-holding “Plum Fairy” before him for their name. The person’s pretty eyes, faintly moist, blinked as they opened their mouth. A soft fog of white breath gathered before their lips as they replied:
“Lian Zhi.”
The plum blossoms fell, the snow turned to rain, and the water dripped endlessly. A small purple flower in the corner bent its frail neck, swaying as it bloomed. Min Xuefei suddenly felt his limbs stiffen. The wrist he held slipped away inexplicably. He rose to chase after it, stumbling straight into a blinding blur of white mist.
A faint breeze swept past, carrying an unnamed fragrance.
He awoke lying on his canopy bed, staring at an oil-paper umbrella hanging on the opposite wall.
Lian Zhi sat beside him, holding an embroidered silk fan adorned with orchids, gently fanning him. Seeing him finally open his eyes, Lian Zhi’s tense brows slowly relaxed, and he exhaled a soft breath before saying quietly, “…You’re awake. The imperial physician said you fainted from overwork and irregular eating habits, overheating in the bath. I sent someone to your residence before dawn to report your absence from court. It’s still early—just after dawn. Sleep a little longer. I’ve already ordered the morning meal to be prepared. When you wake, eat something before returning.”
After a moment, he added, “Court affairs are busy, but you can’t neglect your meals. Your wounds have only just healed, and you need proper rest. Leave unnecessary matters to the servants—there’s no need to handle everything yourself.”
Min Xuefei, groggy, watched Lian Zhi’s lips move without fully comprehending his words. The sound of rain lingered in his dreams, pooling like spring water. Scattered memories floated across it like duckweed, forming the image of a wildflower. Lian Zhi kept speaking, but Min Xuefei suddenly croaked, “…Lian Yunsheng.”
Lian Zhi flinched, the fan in his hand freezing mid-motion.
Min Xuefei said wistfully, “Lian Yunsheng, I remember now. That year, I took you to see the lanterns. The Flower Festival, the Garden Bureau… I promised to bring you home.”
Lian Zhi froze, like a skinned deer left bare under the harsh sun. The red tassel of the fan twisted tightly around his fingers. The tearful eight-year-old boy of the past was now in a position of power, no longer bullied by anyone. Yet across countless nights and days, it was that one fleeting, forgotten promise—an empty hope Min Xuefei himself no longer remembered—that carried him through layers of darkness and to the place he stood today.
This was the only person who had ever left him a sliver of light. Once Lian Zhi grasped it, he never let go.
Min Xuefei murmured, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean not to come. I… I fell ill with a fever and was bedridden for days. I forgot many things from that time.”
Lian Zhi smiled faintly. “It’s fine.”
Somehow, Min Xuefei felt a heavy guilt pressing down on him. If he had never promised, it might have been better. But he had—and by failing to keep it, he had given hope only to extinguish it. He called again, “Yunsheng…”
“Feng Jian said Yunsheng’s fate was thin, and my birth name was too light to bear it. So, they changed my name to Lian Zhi. Later, at Huanfu Palace, you said ‘Lian Zhi, Lian Zhi—one shared branch.’ I suddenly liked that name very much.” Lian Zhi paused before continuing softly, “It’s better not to remember. If you knew that I grew up to be someone who manipulates power and distorts the truth, you’d be disappointed. You’d regret wanting to take me back.”
Min Xuefei didn’t know what to say, so his gaze fell to Lian Zhi’s waist. “Your illness is better.”
He referred to the affliction that made him startle easily. Lian Zhi’s brows relaxed slightly, as though discussing something long past. “I grew up. Small frights and scares no longer bother me. It healed naturally.”
To be sheltered in peace, untouched by wind and rain—this was one kind of healing. To endure isolation and hardship, to tighten every nerve, walking on eggshells until one could no longer be shaken—this was another. Clearly, Lian Zhi was the latter. Among tens of thousands of palace eunuchs and maids, all were like drifting reeds in a storm. If they couldn’t rise to the peak, they would be swallowed by the tempest, leaving only a lingering grievance.
Lian Zhi stood and fetched the freshly laundered and dried robes from the rack, handing them to Min Xuefei before excusing himself. “If you can’t sleep, rise when you wish. I’ll check on the morning meal.”
Min Xuefei got up slowly, swaying slightly as he dressed. As he reached his desk, he accidentally knocked over an old case of books, sending yellowed pages scattering to the floor. He began gathering them one by one, only to notice a scrap of paper bearing his name. Curious, he flipped through it. Most of it was muddled, dreamlike ramblings, along with torn pages from petitions denouncing him and letters secretly investigating his affairs.
In his early days at court, Min Xuefei had been reckless, unaware of the subtleties of politicking. Arrogant and unrestrained, he offended many, and petitions criticizing him had piled up. Looking back now, he could only laugh at it.
At the bottom of the pile was an old confession, years past, personally penned by Hanlin Scholar Wan Rui, accusing him of forming factions, overstepping authority, and engaging in personal agendas—grave crimes that, if attached to someone else, would simply be an unbearable smear. But if such charges were leveled against Min Xuefei, even if the Emperor did not believe it immediately, the accusations would still hang like a blade over the Prime Minister’s household.
Yet he had never heard of this matter, nor had he suffered any consequences, which could only mean one thing: someone had intercepted it. Not just this one incident—there were many. Thinking back carefully now, Min Xuefei realized that so many tasks he had undertaken, which had seemed remarkably smooth at the time, had clearly been aided by an unseen hand.
“Lord Min, eat something—” Lian Zhi pushed the door open, only to freeze when he saw Min Xuefei holding the box of documents. Quickly placing the food tray down, he hurried over to snatch the box, hastily stuffing it back into the bookshelf crevice.
Min Xuefei walked over and trapped him against the bookshelf, his voice low and heavy. “Lian Zhi.”
Lian Zhi swallowed nervously. Knowing that Min Xuefei and Wan Rui had been close friends, he assumed Min Xuefei was reopening the matter. Closing his eyes tightly, he blurted, “He was wronged, but he wasn’t as innocent as you think. He feared death to the extreme—before even facing torture, he confessed a mix of truth and lies! You gave him your heart and soul, but he dragged you down while he was in prison! Besides, Feng Jian wanted him dead, even hoping to drag others down with him. You asked for my help—what was I supposed to do? Helping him would have meant harming you!”
“It’s not about Wan Rui,” Min Xuefei interrupted. “It’s everything else. Have you been helping me all these years?”
Lian Zhi said nothing.
“That coward feared death. What about you?” Min Xuefei’s voice suddenly rose. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve deceived the Emperor, committed corruption, and exceeded your station! You help this one and that one—who will save you in the end? Do you expect someone who couldn’t even remember your name—Min Ji—to save you?”
“…”
Min Xuefei lifted his hand, his throat tightening with a dry, aching pain. “…For what? Just because I promised to take you away back then? A promise I didn’t even remember, and yet I…”
“No, no…” Lian Zhi leaned his forehead against the wooden shelves, his voice muffled. “When my father was imprisoned, everyone avoided us like the plague, terrified of being implicated. It was the Prime Minister who intervened for my father, saving the lives of a hundred members of the Lian family. And you… you always helped me when I needed it most—whether sincerely or casually. I remember Lord Min’s kindness. I remember *your* kindness. No matter what, I owe that debt.”
“Maybe to you, those were just trivial matters, but to me, to the Lian family, they were life-saving miracles. To us, you were our living bodhisattva.” His long-buried words spilled out like a flood, as though a weighty bottle had finally been emptied of its murky water, leaving him light and weak. In a faint voice, he murmured, “…You were my bodhisattva.”
Min Xuefei instinctively turned Lian Zhi around, as if straightening the neck of that small, drooping purple flower. His hand brushed the other’s cheek—it was soft, like well-kneaded dough, damp with moisture. The cloying sweetness of overnight incense still lingered in the room. His thumb rubbed under Lian Zhi’s pale, bluish eyes, watching as the boy’s trembling lashes fluttered under his touch.
At this moment, standing before him was not the formidable *Assistant Supervisor* of the palace, but the same little eunuch from years ago, braiding flowers outside the Garden Bureau’s gate.
Unmasking the truth of these many years, Min Xuefei realized that the seemingly untouchable Lian Zhi had been trampled by him all along, reduced to tears time and again—at Huanfu Palace, on the carriage, and now here. Lian Zhi, fragile as a flower branch waiting for someone to place it gently in the soil, looked at him with such sorrow that Min Xuefei thought, *This is it. I survived Wan Rui’s accusations only to be undone by this little crybaby’s tears.*
Before he could fully process it, he leaned in dreamily, pressing his lips softly against Lian Zhi’s, his tongue teasing gently.
Lian Zhi’s eyes widened in panic, those beautiful peach-blossom eyes staring blankly. This was something he had never dared to hope for, never thought he would receive—kindness, tenderness, warmth—all coming too suddenly for him to react. The stolen kiss in the carriage had already used up all his courage for a lifetime. He had resolved never to be entangled with Min Xuefei again, yet here they were, Min Xuefei’s unfamiliar tongue invading his mouth, leaving him completely stunned.
Frozen in place, his mind went blank, and then… he felt a familiar warmth spreading below.
Lian Zhi shoved Min Xuefei away abruptly, pressing his back against the wall, his face buried as his ears turned crimson.
Min Xuefei stumbled back, momentarily dazed before he realized what had happened. Like a boy ignorant of love and intimacy, he leaned in clumsily, lifting Lian Zhi’s robe slightly to check. Lian Zhi clamped his legs shut, reaching out to pull him back, but it was too late. His face burned with shame, and he wished he could dig a hole and bury himself alive.
Min Xuefei, clueless and awkward, muttered, “It’s fine. Just a few drops… Why are you scared of this too…”
He bent down to retrieve a porcelain chamber pot, gesturing for Lian Zhi to use it. Lian Zhi stammered, “It’s… it’s dirty.”
“You didn’t say it was dirty when you served me at Hot Valley Palace.” Min Xuefei pinched his waist lightly and bit his earlobe, making Lian Zhi tremble and collapse weakly into his arms. Soon, a faint trickle of sound came from the chamber pot.
Min Xuefei looked surprised. “Not bad. From now on—”
Lian Zhi, eyes damp and smoldering, glared at him, cutting him off.
“…We’ll deal with it later.” Min Xuefei sighed, fastening Lian Zhi’s robe and helping him onto the bed. Realizing he was still recovering from his back injury, Min Xuefei sat dumbfounded on the low stool where Lian Zhi had spent the night, quietly sharing a bowl of shredded meat congee with him.
By the time the sun had shifted westward, Min Xuefei finally left the *Assistant Supervisor*’s quarters. Wandering aimlessly through the streets like a ghost, he could still taste the faint bitterness of medicine on his lips and feel the smoothness of Lian Zhi’s waist lingering on his palm. Suddenly, it hit him: he had done something outrageous.
Min Xuefei—after a single trip to the palace, a fight, and a dream—had somehow ended up becoming… part of the eunuch faction!