At exactly half past eight, one of the trusted attendants responsible for tidying King Yibo's bedchambers arrived, carrying a small chest that had just been delivered from Dowager Ruyan's quarters. It contained the items meant for Zhan's use.
Her heart pounded violently, dread already crawling through her veins. She knew too well what she might find inside... just as it had been with the previous royal consorts who never survived the night.
She pushed the door open gently, whispering "Your Highness?" though she expected no reply.
There, upon the bed, lay Zhan...still, wrapped in a soft duvet. Relief did not come. Instead, fear made her freeze. She stepped forward to set the chest down, but her breath caught as Zhan suddenly shifted, turning slightly in his sleep.
The chest slipped from her hands and crashed onto the floor. Staggering backward, trembling so hard she could barely move, she stumbled toward the door until she managed to fling it open and flee.
Startled by the noise, Zhan opened his eyes, rubbing them before patting the mattress in confusion. "This… is definitely the bed," he thought, astonished. He had fallen asleep on the floor...so how had he returned to the bed?
Pushing the blanket away, he sat up quickly, catching a glimpse of the fleeing maid's robe vanishing beyond the door.
"Who was that? What did she want? And how in the world did I end up back in this bed?" he muttered, running his hands through his hair before lowering his face to his robe. He inhaled, startled by the faint fragrance clinging to the fabric.
"Damn… this scent is real?" he said aloud, lifting the cloth to his nose again in disbelief.
Elsewhere in the palace, the maid's frantic escape sent a wave of shock through the court. Whispers spread instantly...the male royal consort was alive. At first, most who heard it froze, doubting their own ears. Then disbelief turned into tense wonder.
Even Dowager Taihou and Daneen were shaken when the news reached them. Almost at the same moment, both reached for their phones, desperate to confirm whether Zhan had truly survived. Daneen's call went through first.
Still dazed by the strangeness of waking in bed when he'd collapsed on the floor, Zhan hesitated before answering the ringing phone. On the screen flashed the word "Mamy."
He pressed it to his ear. "Good morning, Mamy."
On the other end, Daneen sucked in a sharp breath, her voice trembling. "Son…"
"Yes, Mamy," Zhan replied firmly, his tone steady, showing none of the fear and chaos swirling in her own voice. His mind was still caught on the mystery of who had returned him to the bed, and the strange woman he had glimpsed fleeing.
Tears spilled silently down Daneen's cheeks. She closed her eyes, overcome, sinking to the floor as if her body could no longer hold the weight of her relief.
Zhan frowned, hearing nothing but quiet breaths. "Mamy? Mamy, can you hear me?"
There was no reply. Assuming it was a connection problem, he ended the call and tried again...but before he could, another call came through. Dowager Taihou.
He hesitated a moment, then answered.
Hearing Zhan's voice so clearly brought tears to the Dowager's eyes. She sat down heavily, overwhelmed, her lips trembling as she whispered words of gratitude under her breath.
Zhan wanted to ask questions, but something in her tone held him back. He listened in silence, bewildered. What in the world is happening?
At that very moment, a knock came at the door, accompanied by the sharp press of the dokr bell. Zhan turned toward the sound, hesitant to respond, until the bell rang again. Straightening the duvet around himself, he finally called out for them to enter.
The same maid returned, this time carrying a small tray with a teapot. With her head bowed, she placed it carefully where it belonged and dropped into a low curtsy.
"Good morning, my lord consort. May your day be filled with peace."
Zhan, watching her, barely moved his lips in response. She was used to this kind of silence and didn't mind his lack of words. Bowing again, she said softly,
"My lord consort, it is time for your bath. Afterwards, breakfast will be waiting with His Majesty."
It seemed for a moment that Zhan wouldn't reply, but finally he gave a small nod.
"Go, I'll come out."
"Your command is mine to follow. But forgive me... I will prepare the bathwater for you."
"Leave it. I'll do everything myself."
The maid had no choice but to obey. She rose and left quietly, for obedience was the only power they had. Zhan followed her departure with his eyes, his mind flooding with questions he couldn't quite hold back. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself, then rose and made his way to the bathroom.
The memory of what he had faced in the bathroom the night before haunted him, and his lips tightened as he opened the door. But everything was spotless. The air smelled faintly of the same fragrance he had noticed the previous night.
He inspected every corner more thoroughly than before, and when nothing seemed out of place, he shrugged slightly, as if to say, whatever comes, let it come. He prepared warm water for his bath, pouring in liquid soap and scented oils laid out on the shelves...clearly arranged for King Yibo's use...but Zhan slipped into it anyway, sinking deep into the steam.
By the time he was finished, he dressed in a perfectly tailored white robe that shaped his figure like porcelain. A blue belt cinched to his slim waist, and an outer robe of visible light-blue draped over his shoulders with an effortless elegance.

He frowned a little at the absence of his own familiar perfumes, then noticed a glass cabinet by the mirror filled with fragrances. One by one, he applied them to his clothes until he was satisfied the scent was strong enough to linger in every corner of the palace.
Admiring his reflection in the mirror, Zhan smiled and winked at himself playfully.
"Not bad at all… Mah's youngest son, looking sharp," he murmured, giving himself a salute.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the hall. A distinct fragrance, unmistakable and unique to one man in all of Beiping empire, filled the air. King Yibo stopped abruptly as he reached for his food, his pale eyes flashing toward the doorway.
The attendants standing in the chamber immediately dropped to their knees, trembling as if frozen in place. Two things terrified them. First, the realization that the male consort....who everyone believed would be found lifeless like those before him...was in fact alive. Second, the scent clinging to Zhan's body. That fragrance belonged to King Yibo alone, recognized across the kingdom.
Zhan seemed unaffected by their unease. He walked boldly into the grand sitting room, ignoring their bowed heads and frightened stares. One attendant rushed forward to pull out a chair for him. Zhan sat with calm ease, finally raising his eyes toward King Yibo for the first time.
King Yibo, however, kept his gaze fixed on the food before him, as though Zhan's arrival meant nothing.
Zhan clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, turning instead to the maid arranging dishes at his side. He pointed lightly with a finger at what he wanted. When she finished, she lowered her head and stepped back to stand with the others.
Despite the outward calm, Zhan felt suffocated. King Yibo's commanding presence filled the entire place, pressing on him like an unseen weight. Still, with a quiet steadiness, he lifted his chin, daring to steal a glance in the King's direction....just as King Yibo himself lifted his gaze and their eyes finally met.
"Who are you?"
King Yibo was the first to speak, his voice resonant, his gaze unwavering on Zhan as though his words had not been uttered aloud but simply born from the silence between them. If not for the slight movement of Yibo's lips, Zhan might have doubted he had spoken at all.
The sharpness of Yibo's eyes threatened to strip away every fragment of Zhan's composure. Instinctively, Zhan tried to soften his gaze, narrowing his eyes slowly, but Yibo mirrored him...his own features tightening, his face showing not the slightest trace of leniency.
With effort, Zhan tore his eyes away, shutting them briefly before opening them again on Yibo, his own expression now firm and guarded. Yet the weight of Yibo's stare pressed down with such intensity that Zhan finally looked aside, offering no answer to the question posed.
"Good morning… hubby," Zhan said at last, his voice carefully measured, an attempt to divert from the piercing inquiry.
Yibo did not stir. He offered no reply, his silence cutting deeper than words. Zhan, unsettled, dared to glance his way again. The sight of Yibo's beautiful face unsettled him further....beauty that was undeniable, the kind that disrupted carefully laid defenses. It was the kind of beauty that people across the realm spoke of with awe. Still, Zhan was not wholly surprised; after all, Dowager Taihou's elegance was legendary, her beauty unshaken despite her years.
And there was Dowager Ruyan as well... his grandmother, the one who had bathed Yibo's late father. Though Zhan had never seen his father, not even in portraits, the grace of Dowager Ruyan and of her line made it clear that the former king must also have carried extraordinary charm.
Then Yibo's voice came again, low and cutting through Zhan's musings:
"What is your goal in life?"
The six words jolted Zhan from his thoughts. He looked at Yibo, startled by the bluntness of the question. Under the weight of Yibo's unwavering gaze...eyes sharp enough to make dishonesty impossible...Zhan turned his face slightly aside, frowning. This is your chance, a voice in his mind whispered.
Gathering himself, Zhan spoke with measured steadiness. "I am no one but a subject beneath your rule, Your Majesty. My ambition in life is no different from that of a ruler who seeks to bring fulfillment to his people....though perhaps from a humbler place. A leader rules with two faces: strength for his nation, and compassion for his people."
The candor of Zhan's reply startled Yibo, though his expression betrayed little. Indeed… this man is a strange being, Yibo thought. Outwardly, he turned away with the same composure as before, lapsing into silence.
Zhan, thinking the conversation had ended, resumed eating in quiet, though he could feel the weight of Yibo's presence.
At length, Yibo spoke again, his tone carrying an almost prophetic weight:
"To toy with your own life is not weaken your strength. Escaping your dead in history this morning does not guarantee survival."
The words struck Zhan deeply, their gravity undeniable. And though he had not planned to answer, his lips parted with quiet resolve, his eyes still lowered:
"True, my king. Yet fate is something one cannot deny."
Yibo lifted his cup of tea with unshaken dignity, sipping without offering another word. The silence between them thickened. Zhan let it stand, stealing a sideways glance at him from time to time... the refined curve of Yibo's hand, the pale skin, the clean line of his long fingers against porcelain.
He pulled his gaze away, unsettled, unwilling to admit how the sight had caught him.
Yibo, as though unbothered, exuded authority without effort. Yet within himself he acknowledged the strange pride, defiance, and dignity of the man before him. Even as Zhan kept his composure, the presence of King Yibo... the weight of his gaze, his quiet dominance....pressed like a storm upon him.
Zhan had come into Beiping Palace with a purpose in his heart, yet nothing could erase the truth: Yibo's his king. Whatever secret intentions he harbored, respect could not be feigned nor withheld.
And though Zhan had once thought he might despise this king even more face to face, his heart betrayed him now. The sight of that face, the aura of that presence, refused to let hatred take root.
He drew in a deep, controlled breath.
Then Yibo's voice came again, interrupting his thoughts...sharp, deliberate:
"To wrestle with fate in the name of power is to fall. Do you see? What you hold… is only what you truly have."
At that, Yibo raised his eyes, fixing Zhan directly in his gaze.
Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛