Rong Mu gasped sharply. He brushed the flower from his cheek, and golden stars immediately dotted his white hair.
The flowers kept falling. Lying beneath the tree, he was soon covered in a golden blanket.
Rong Mu opened his eyes slightly. He pulled up a strand of his white-to-purple hair, looked at it, then let it fall aside in defeat.
He knew that along with this secondary transformation, Bijiangxue was sharing something with him through empathy.
It was the past of the one who had once lived in Tingzhi Palace. It was the root of Shang Cizhou’s greatest pain, the thing he least wanted to remember, the very reason he had lost his memories.
The sharp pain in his chest gradually subsided. Rong Mu’s eyes went blank.
But why did Bijiangxue insist on making him know all of this?
A sweet, fruity fragrance of candied hawthorn still seemed to linger between his teeth. Beneath his ornate mask, Rong Mu’s eyes blinked slowly.
In a daze, he heard the clear sound of water, making his eyelids heavy. He knew his current state was strange, but he also knew that if Shang Cizhou couldn’t find him, it would be an even bigger problem.
…Could the person who had helped him escape unscathed? With skill like that, they would surely be one in ten thousand even in Nandai.
“Bijangxue, Bijangxue... you've really put me in a bind today..."
Rong Mu was alone and helpless now, just like the owner of that voice from years ago.
The only difference was that he was not the self-sacrificing Nandai slave of that time, and Shang Cizhou was no longer the immature Crown Prince of Great Shang.
He had enough power and capability. He controlled every corner of Great Shang. As the emperor above ten thousand, with authority that blotted out the sky, if he truly wanted to find someone, he could search the entire city within half an hour.
After his surroundings slowly calmed, Rong Mu finally felt a trace of his spirit return. He sat beneath the osmanthus tree, wondering if he could use this time to change his hair back.
But perhaps because this was his first secondary transformation, no matter how long he focused, his hair showed no sign of changing color. It remained white as snow, cool and silky in his palm, carrying a heartbreaking fragility.
Rong Mu knocked his head against the tree trunk in frustration a few times, then silently prayed to the heavenly way to favor and protect him, to make everyone who had seen him forget his appearance. Please, please.
Let them all think it was merely a grand dream.
Rusty bells hung from the red cords around the tree, chiming as they swayed. Threads of purple light carried green-white fireflies up into the night sky, drifting down toward the bustling city.
Jingle, jingle.
Rong Mu was unaware of it all.
His thoughts wandered. What should he say when he saw Shang Cizhou? Should he just say that he had turned his hair white from anger? But how would he explain this demonic purple?
In the distance, several courtyards away, a gate was shoved open with a bang. The guards’ footsteps were chaotic. Rong Mu thought he heard Li Suichuan’s hurried voice.
“…Your Majesty, the hidden guards have provided clues. He should be here."
Rong Mu heard someone make a soft sound of acknowledgment. Footsteps sounded on the blue stone bricks, the tread of brocade boots was especially distinct and heavy. But there was only this one set of footsteps. It seemed the other guards had been ordered to stay behind.
Shang Cizhou turned a corner, and a massive osmanthus tree filled his vision. The tree seemed centuries old, the red blessing cords around it had faded. That intensely familiar floral fragrance struck his nose even more clearly.
His eyes moved, and he walked toward the corner of colorful cloth visible behind the tree.
The light motes that had flown toward the city earlier swirled around the emperor, but no matter how they tried, they could not penetrate him. Finally, they sank into the earth in grievance.
Rong Mu drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. He clenched his damp palms so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The man’s footsteps stopped behind the tree. Rong Mu thought he heard Shang Cizhou speak. “Tingzhi, is that you?”
Rong Mu swallowed silently, unable to speak.
His hair moved in the wind, tickling against his ear. In the darkness, the conspicuous white strands gradually dimmed and faded into pure black.
Shang Cizhou seemed to laugh softly. He circled around from behind, his eyes turning slowly, and the youth in festival robes gradually filled his vision.
Rong Mu heard Shang Cizhou slowly, slowly let out a breath.
“Ah, so you were here. I was wondering what I would do if I couldn’t find you. Tingzhi, you saw me just now. Why did you run?”
Rong Mu paused. The gold-and-silver-threaded hood sat atop his head, and with the slightest movement, golden osmanthus stars fell from it.
…This tyrant really was triggered by my running away. He’s a bit... off right now.
The firefly-like lights around the osmanthus tree had dispersed at some point. Shang Cizhou approached slowly. “Tingzhi, you told me to wait for you, but you never came. To find you, I sent out everyone I could. But don’t be afraid. I had them all wait outside.”
Rong Mu truly wanted to travel back in time, grab the Fourth Prince by the collar, and ask him. Why did you have to target the “Nandai slave” who was the apple of someone’s eye? Look at what you’ve done, turning a perfectly good emperor into this over the course of ten years!
The hood atop his head was tapped gently, shaking down more osmanthus flowers. Rong Mu watched as Shang Cizhou slowly crouched down, carefully and lovingly brushing fallen leaves from his robe.
Only after finishing did Rong Mu hear Shang Cizhou’s chest rise and fall slowly. From above, he lifted a slender hand and pushed back the hood.
The night wind seemed to carry the distant fragrance of a hundred flowers, mingling with scattered golden petals that swirled around the two of them. Rong Mu looked straight into the emperor’s eyes.
At this moment, the man’s pupils seemed to be pools of thick, indissoluble black ink. Though his expression held a smile, the depths of his eyes contained a terrifying possessiveness and obsession.
Rong Mu opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the other gently touched the tasseled mask on his face, then took the small wooden tub Rong Mu had been cradling in his arms.
Shang Cizhou glanced at him, then slowly looked down at the round wooden tub held in one hand. He stroked it and said in a slow, measured tone,
“I was worried to death. I found you… my little lotus.”
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