From CEO to Concubine

The words came out more bitterly than Yan Zheyun intended. The emperor had left him to his own devices for quite some while and he'd had the time to ruminate on the best course of action after Wu Bin had departed. The waiter had returned to lead Yan Zheyun to this new room where dinner was waiting for him but he had no appetite and didn't feel like putting on a front. 

What was expected of him now? He could only think of one reason why the emperor would plan for him to watch something like that, since His Majesty had no idea that this helpless little slave would be in possession of one of the greatest secrets about Meiyue Tower. Before walking into this room, the emperor must have been wondering whether Yan Zheyun would pretend he'd been here all along, playing the part of the obedient little lover as he waited for the emperor to return. Or whether he would choose to come clean and confess that, "Hey, the mysterious owner of Meiyue Tower, who I totally don't suspect Your Majesty of being, by the way, showed me something cool, let me tell you all about it."

If Yan Zheyun chose to hide the contents of Wu Bin's conversation, he could already see a list of conclusions the emperor was going to jump to. Perhaps he would be mistaken as a spy for the Wu Household, or to be plotting against the throne to take revenge for the Yan Family.

Conversely, if Yan Zheyun reported the ongoing association between Scumbag 2 and the Wu and Guo Households today, he would pass whatever annoying test he was being subjected to again. 

Not that the emperor even needed him to know what had been said. That wasn't the point of this arrangement. Yan Zheyun was certain that there had been as many imperial spies eyeballing Wu Bin's private room as there had been people in it. 

At any rate, Yan Zheyun hadn't planned on lying to the emperor about his observations. But that didn't mean he enjoyed being prodded at repeatedly to see where his allegiances lay. He could understand the need for paranoia in a position as risky as the emperor's but he couldn't appreciate having it turned on him. Perhaps a more understanding 'wife' might but Yan Zheyun couldn't even write out any of the so-called female virtues from memory. 

He wasn't the empress, was just a concubine, right? This gave him a license to be spoiled, right? Surely a pampered concubine would justifiably be upset if the lover who had held him in his arms just yesterday treated him like a potential traitor today? 

His ex-job in the Wu Household had trained him to become a natural at crying on cue. If he ever transmigrated back home and discovered that his company had gone bankrupt in his absence, he could always make a new living by acting in tragedies. But today, the burning in his eyes came easier than normal and thought it might have a bit to do with the frustration of dealing with so much politics in the inner palace combined with a new 'relationship' that wasn't so much as blossoming as going awry. 

"What's this?" the emperor murmured, stroking the pad of his thumb right beneath Yan Zheyun's eye, where the skin was still dry but pink at the corners like the tips of peach blossom flowers. "This sovereign hasn't said anything and Yan Yun is already upset?" 

Yan Zheyun lowered his lashes but peered up through their thick dark sweep to meet the emperor's gaze. He couldn't envision what he looked like exactly but from the way the emperor's throat shifted subtly beneath his high collar, he was guessing that he was particularly appealing on his knees right now. 

His lips wobbled as he pulled them defiantly into a frown but his voice was subdued as he mumbled, "If Your Majesty wants a subject to die, a subject will have no choice but to die." (1) 

The thumb still stroking his face trailed over his cheekbone to cup his cheek in a large, warm palm. 

"Yan Yun is throwing a tantrum?" he asked lightly. "You're not this sovereign's subject, you're this sovereign's concubine." He tried to coax Yan Zheyun back onto his feet but Yan Zheyun could sense that he still had a bit of leeway to kick up a small fuss. He wasn't sure why he was being indulged because if this were happening to him, he would have tossed whoever it was out of his office by now. But at least to the emperor, his behaviour still hadn't overstepped the boundaries of a favoured spoiled pet. 

He could afford a little petty stubbornness. 

"All right," he said, still refusing to get up from the ground, lovely lips still twisted into a moue of displeasure. "Since Your Majesty insists on testing Yan Yun, I have no choice but to—"

The rest of its words stuck itself in his throat as the emperor bent over to brush his lips feather-light against the corner of Yan Zheyun's eyes, where his agitation had deepened the pink flush into an arresting red that looked like it had been painted on for the pleasure of admiring. 

"Yan Yun." The emperor's mouth was hot as he spoke against Yan Zheyun's temple and Yan Zheyun squirmed subconsciously, from the ticklish feeling against his skin and his heart. "That branch of philosophy has been misconstrued. If a sovereign 'gives his life up' for his country and his people, then he is a good sovereign and it is the duty of his subjects to follow in his example. But if a sovereign dedicates himself to selfish gain, then why should his subjects sacrifice themselves for his whims? An emperor's rule should be absolute insofar as he is absolutely in favour of his kingdom." (2)

In just a few sentences, the emperor explained his ideal view on governance. On the surface, this might seem like a non-sequitur to the little petty argument Yan Zheyun was trying to have with him, but Yan Zheyun could read between the lines. Hesitatingly, as though he was still debating whether to forgive or not, he reached up and placed a hand on the emperor's shoulders, feeling the firm muscles beneath the black robes contract, wrought with tension. 

So the emperor wasn't as calm as he made himself out to be. It was nice to know that he had an effect. 

"So is testing Yan Yun's loyalties for the sake of your people or out of self-serving whim?" he asked, slightly snidely, although he made sure to keep it under wraps so that he didn't push at the emperor's limits too hard. 

He felt the emperor sigh against him. "Five years ago, when your…" He sounded like he was about to say something monumental. Yan Zheyun's ears pricked up but the emperor changed his mind and the direction of the conversation. "Yan Yun might not be aware of the state the country is in but my Ye Kingdom is plagued by the dual threat of civil trouble and foreign aggression. If this sovereign were to be careless now, were to fall, there is no guarantee that my successor would stand between my civilians and their ruin. Does Yan Yun comprehend what this sovereign is trying to say?" 

Third time's the charm and all that. When the sovereign tried once more to lift him, Yan Zheyun let him, leaning heavily on the arm supporting his waist as he rose from the floor, brushing the dust off the folds of his robes before straightening up in the emperor's loose embrace. 

"Your Majesty means that you would like this concubine to be understanding of Your Majesty's difficult position,"—he purposely stopped using the correct self-address to emphasise his point—"but Your Majesty also said that Yan Yun is your concubine, not your subject." 

The arms around his waist squeezed gently as he heard the emperor let out a soft huff of laughter. His eyes were as dark as always as they traced over the features on Yan Zheyun's face but there was a hint of fondness in them that both perplexed Yan Zheyun and sparked a tiny bit of happiness in him. 

"Yan Yun is right, of course," the emperor soothed. 

This serious, severe man, the Son of Heaven, who sat on the dragon throne and was subject only to the will of the gods, seemed more capable of emotion than Yan Zheyun had thought. 'Since ancient times, it has been known that the emperor's family is a heartless one.' If this saying were true, the emperor did not need to pander to Yan Zheyun's mood, no need to explain his motivations with patience to a bratty concubine who didn't know what was good for them. 

But he had. Yan Zheyun wasn't sure what this meant but he was willing to take it. Maybe things would always be hot and cold if the person he was sort-of-but-not-quite dating was the ruler of a country. Maybe he would just have to learn to get used to that. 

"Your Majesty is apologising for upsetting Yan Yun?" he mumbled. 

The emperor hummed in agreement. "This sovereign promises to trust Yan Yun from now on." 

"Yan Yun believes Your Majesty," Yan Zheyun lied. Although he pretended not to see things from the emperor's point of view, he wasn't truly a mindless pouting lover that had felt spurned. Well, not entirely anyway. He could see where the emperor's over-the-top cautiousness was coming from, could relate to it personally and would advocate for it in any situation that didn't have it directed against him. 

They'd only known each other for a handful of months, and there were too many circumstances that pitted them against each other. Hence, he knew that expecting the emperor's unconditional trust at this point was unrealistic. He wasn't the only one telling falsehoods today. 

Forget it. He leaned forward and pressed his cheek into the crook of the emperor's neck, breathing in the lingering scent of that familiar incense on his robes. "Your Majesty must be hungry by now," he murmured. "Shall we have dinner?" 

"Yan Yun has waited for long, the food isn't hot anymore." Slight grooves appeared on the emperor's brow and Yan Zheyun could guess that he was considering instructing the waiters to replace the lukewarm food with a fresh serving, weighing up his concubine's comfort against the waste. 

His smile turned genuine as he tugged the emperor over to the seats. "If it's good enough for Your Majesty, it's good enough for Yan Yun," he said. This was true. Back when he'd been slogging away to step out from his father's enormous shadow and build something that was uniquely his own, he'd skipped meals or eaten cold sandwiches or sushi for the sake of convenience more often than he could count. As a slave in the Wu Household, his fare had been meagre at best. 

In comparison, this couldn't be considered suffering at all. 

Over dinner, he recounted what he'd overheard Wu Bin and the Guo Family, unhesitatingly implicating the fourth prince since he was already certain that someone else would report this to the emperor later anyway. He made sure to keep his story verbatim, not hiding any details but not embellishing anything either. 

The emperor listened to him intently, interjecting now and then to ask questions. "Did Yan Yun guess that this sovereign planned for you to see that or..."

At the tentative reminder, Yan Zheyun's mouth twisted with displeasure again. "Your Majesty has underestimated Yan Yun," he replied shortly. "Yan Yun guessed that Your Majesty wouldn't be comfortable carrying out business in any establishment outside the imperial city that Your Majesty didn't own." 

He hinted that he knew who the true owner of Meiyue Tower was, even though he deliberately misled the emperor into thinking he'd deduced this through logical reasoning rather than the rare nugget of information he'd received from Lixin, who was the shoddiest pair of golden fingers to ever exist. 

The emperor had the grace to look embarrassed, at least. "Yan Yun is smart," he murmured.

Whether this was a compliment or not remained to be seen. 

No servants were present in the room but the emperor didn't seem to mind filling in their role of adding food to Yan Zheyun's bowl. He didn't seem to have problems with the cold food either, eating quickly and cursorily in a manner that sat at odds with his regal upbringing. Yan Zheyun had noticed this before during that one other meal they'd shared but then, he'd assumed it was because the emperor was rushing back to work. Now that he knew this was just the emperor's habit, he couldn't help but think back onto the numerous scars that littered the emperor's body. He'd once trailed fingertips over the ridges and bumps, marvelling at how many there were. Surely the imperial city's guards couldn't be so ineffectual that so many assassins could have taken a stab at the dragon body. 

This most precious being under the skies lived in the grandest house and wore the finest robes. But he ate like a soldier and bore the wounds of a soldier. Yan Zheyun hadn't heard about this. He wondered just how much more there was to find out about this curious, dichotomous man. 

Yan Zheyun concluded his summary before adding with quiet petulance, "Your Majesty, the Wu Household blames Yan Yun for the…state their big young master is currently in and vent their frustrations on my old friends, who are still bound by slave contracts." He looks up in earnest. "Yan Yun wishes to save them." 

The emperor's expression darkened. "The Wu Family's oldest son falls far short of the expectations this sovereign held for him and that is through no fault but his own. Still, the current laws on slavery are such that this sovereign cannot just step in and demand Wu Shengqi surrender his slaves up." His lips pressed into a serious line as he considered Yan Zheyun's request thoroughly and Yan Zheyun was struck again by how handsome he was. It wasn't just in terms of his appearance but also in his behaviour, in how honourable he was towards his people, in how sincere he was towards his duties. 

"Leave it to me," the emperor concluded at length. "This sovereign will think of something."

[Ah, shit,] Yan Zheyun thought, with a helpless laugh. He'd reminded himself again and again that it was a bad idea to invest too many emotions in this farce of a relationship but he could tell he'd boarded a sinking ship.

This rueful feeling was exemplified when they left Meiyue Tower and headed towards the river for a leisurely stroll. The willow trees that lined the banks were still barren, although their long sweeping branches (2) still hung with a desolate elegance, like the fall of hair over a widow's face as she mourned for her lost love. It wasn't an image that blended in with the festivities of the background but must have suited the emperor's true purposes because Head Eunuch Cao, who had been following behind next to the carriage, chased up to them with a floating lantern in his hands. 

"Young Master Huang," he said, his usual affable warmth replaced by an unusual sombreness. "This old subject wasn't sure if you'd forgotten or…" 

The emperor hesitated before accepting the flower lantern. It was shaped like a lotus and once the candle within was lit, had glowing crimson petals. Due to reasons of pollution, many cities, such as Yan Zheyun's, had restrictions on where and how man lanterns could be floated. His family didn't participate in this particular tradition at every Ghost Festival either but Yan Zheyun knew a bit about the custom nonetheless. For example, he knew that in addition to carrying the wishes of the person who set it down, it also took with it the longing remembrances the living had for their dearly departed. 

Tonight was the 15th of the month and there was a full moon overhead. Although it was inauspicious to send regards to the dead on the last day of the new year, there was no rule stating that it was forbidden. 

"Wait here for me," the emperor murmured, smoothing Yan Zheyun's hair down before walking towards the river edge on his own. 

Yan Zheyun watched him go. His eyes didn't leave the emperor's retreating back as he asked Head Eunuch Cao, "Is His…is that for…" The words scratched against his throat as he tried to force them out. 

"Ah. That's for Young Master Huang's relative. Young Master Yue, please don't think too much."

Head Eunuch Cao gave him a reassuring smile but it was of poor comfort. 

A relative? 

[After marvelling at the vast expense of the oceans…] Yan Zheyun had caught a glimpse of the starting few characters of a famous poem, written on the petals of the lantern in an unbridled cursive that he recognised and associated to Meiyue Tower. 

…other waters are no longer worth looking at. After becoming intoxicated by the clouds and rain of Wushan, a similar sight elsewhere can no longer move me. (3)

A relative? If this was the sort of poem one wrote to a mere relative, Yan Zheyun would eat Cao Mingbao's stupid Head Eunuch hat.