Zhao returned to gazing at the coal fire, Wēn’s words still pressing against his thoughts. Of course I want little ones, he muttered inwardly. Who wouldn’t? His frustration deepened with each breath. His mind shifted back toward Xuánmóu, toward his sudden appearance and slick words. What is he really up to? But the emperor was too weary to wrestle with shadows any longer. One drama at a time. 

His eyes wandered across the room to the quiet figures peppered in the lamplight—eunuchs and servants who never left his side. His gaze settled on his head eunuch, Gonggong Shucheng. 

“Why don’t you take a seat,” Zhao said suddenly, his voice soft but carrying through the chamber. “All of you. Have a seat. It is an order.” 

The eunuchs and attendants froze. Shucheng’s eyes widened. “Majesty, that is most inappropriate!” he protested. 

Zhao’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “The night has grown late. I cannot dismiss you, and you will not leave me. Please, meet me halfway.” 

— ➿ — 

Zhao had watched Shucheng serve his father with unshaken devotion, trained under the old head eunuch who had once said: “To preserve your life, you must remember your place.” 

That lesson had not fallen on deaf ears. Shucheng had never stepped out of line. He was there before Zhao rose each morning, guiding him gently but firmly through his rituals; there still when the emperor retired each night, a quiet guardian who outlasted even the candles. 

Shucheng sighed, then bowed his head with a faint smile. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” 

At once, the room stirred. Servants folded themselves carefully onto cushions or even the bare floor. The crack of weary joints, the sighs of relief, filled the silence. Zhao closed his eyes briefly, breathing in the small sound. 

At least I can give the knees here rest.  

— ➿ —  

Updated 11/26/25

Next Episode — Chapter 6: Imperial Melancholy

In another wing of the palace, a sigh drifts through silk and moonlight — and a lonely heart begins to stir.