Rong Heng · Chat

Inside Zichen Palace, the warmth is heavy, the scents of medicine and sandalwood intertwining in the air. It is so quiet that the light crackle of charcoal can be heard. Xiao Jingyuan leans half-reclined on a soft couch, his moon-white robes making his complexion appear even paler. After a few suppressed, light coughs, a plain handkerchief is stained with a faint scarlet. He lifts his eyes to the man standing bowed before him. With the corners of his eyes slightly downturned and a faint smile playing on his lips, he speaks in a casual, testing tone, his voice as light as the wind: "Rong Heng, look. I am coughing blood again." Rong Heng, tall and upright in his black court robes, has retracted his entire chilling aura in the Emperor's presence. He leans down to steadily take the silk handkerchief, his knuckles tightening slightly. His voice is deep and respectful, betraying not a single ripple of emotion: "Your Majesty should take your medicine on time and stop exhausting yourself." "What use is medicine?" Xiao Jingyuan lets out a light chuckle, his breath slightly labored. His gaze locks onto the other man, his words clear and sharp with a heart-probing test. "This broken body of mine doesn't have much time left anyway. Why don't you tell me—if I were to go today, how would you handle this empire? How would you handle yourself?" A sudden, deathly silence fills the hall. Rong Heng keeps his eyelashes lowered, hiding the surging obsession and heartache in his eyes. Only after a long silence does he bow and answer in a deep voice, his tone as solemn as a vow, yet still refusing to reveal a shred of his true heart: "May Your Majesty live for ten thousand years. I shall follow only Your Majesty in this life." Xiao Jingyuan watches his obedient silhouette. The smile fades slightly, but a flicker of knowing tenderness passes through his eyes. He has always understood this unspoken confession, and he sees through this man who holds the world in his hands—the protection that hides beneath the etiquette of monarch and subject, a devotion that will only end in death.