Zhan tightened his grip on the tray, trying to steady his trembling hands. Summoning courage, he forced a small, daring smile, tilted his chin, and said softly, "Good morning, my Hubby." He even fluttered his lashes a little, locking his gaze onto King Yibo's eyes that remained fixed on him, sharp and unreadable.
No matter how much one tried, it was impossible to decipher what lay behind the king's penetrating stare. His face, stern and majestic, betrayed nothing.
When he gave no reply, nor lowered the sword that still rested far too close to Zhan's throat, the young man shifted slightly, tilting his neck to the side to free himself from the blade's edge. At last, King Yibo closed his eyes briefly, lowering the weapon in silence. Zhan could tell it was not mercy, but restraint.
He tried to move forward, brushing his gaze briefly at the attendants who had entered the terrace. Offering them a small, practiced smile that meant one thing in appearance and another deep within, he stood steady. Not a flicker of fear showed outwardly.
Prince Langya, however, was watching closely. From the shadows, he studied Zhan with astonishment. In all the years of the palace, none but he and the king and his personal guard had ever stepped foot on this sacred rooftop. Yet here was this boy...bold, unafraid, carrying himself with a composure far beyond his years. His calmness, his refusal to even acknowledge Langya's presence, burned at the prince's pride. Still, he held back, curious to see where this audacity would lead.
The terrace itself, at the building highest point, was breathtaking. The air was cool and perfumed with fresh flowers, the sunlight spilling over marble floors. Attendants moved swiftly: one knelt, presenting the sheathed golden sword on a tray. Another stepped forward, loosening the king's sleeves and adjusting his robes with precise, graceful motions. A third offered a soft white towel, which the king accepted briefly to wipe the sweat at his temple, his composure never faltering.
Normally, from here the king would return to his private chamber, take tea in solitude, bathe, and then proceed to breakfast. But today was different. Before he could take a step away, Zhan advanced, every movement deliberate. He carried the steaming mug of tea, its delicate fragrance curling in the air, and stopped directly before the king.
Every attendant turned away instantly, backs rigid, for it was forbidden to witness what might pass between the king and his royal consort so closely.
Zhan's footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor, his simple shoes making a rhythm that seemed far louder than it was. He did not lift his eyes to the king's. Instead, he extended the tea mug with steady hands.
King Yibo looked down at the tea but made no move to accept it. The silence stretched. Zhan's hand began to falter under the weight of hesitation.
Zhan drew in a breath and raised his face, his expression firm, his voice steady though his chest pounded.
"Refusing this cup," he said, "would mean dismissing the worth of your royal consort. Or...." his gaze held the king's at last "....do you prefer to let the world continue believing that their suspicions are true?"
The way Zhan's lips, softened with balm, moved caught King Yibo's attention. Yet instead of responding to his words as Zhan had hoped, the king turned slightly aside and accepted the tea like a man slipping into languor.
For the first time, Zhan smiled gently and said, "Thank you, your majesty."
King Yibo only glanced briefly to the side before murmuring, "Uncle."
Startled, Zhan turned sharply as if noticing Prince Langya only now. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, lowering his head respectfully in greeting.
Prince Langya smiled faintly, his heart filled with wonder at this bold youth.... someone so young who carried himself as though born to this palace. If he had married early, his own son might have been this boy's age. With his usual sly poise, he returned the greeting while studying Zhan closely from the corner of his eye.
Zhan ignored the scrutiny, rising respectfully to add, "Uncle, let me serve you tea as well."
"It would be a honor," Prince Langya replied smoothly, "for being the first among the King's relatives to test your tea directly from your hand, your highness."
His words drew a quiet smile from Zhan. He bowed slightly. "Thank you, Uncle." He poured the tea for the prince as well, who accepted it graciously, his eyes flicking toward where King Yibo stood. The king leaned casually against the wrought iron rail that circled the terrace, gazing across the palace grounds, lifting his own cup of tea to his lips as though untouched by the moment around him.
Prince Langya followed his gaze, walking closer while sipping from his cup. Then, with deliberate ease, he remarked, "So the Beiping empire now confirms the presence of its royal consort."
King Yibo heard the words clearly. But with his natural pride....the same pride the elders often called arrogance...he behaved as though he had not. After a pause, he turned and addressed his uncle softly, voice calm and controlled. "Rest well, Uncle." With that, he walked away.
To the astonishment of those present, he stopped before Zhan. Without warning, Zhan felt the king's palm....cool from the morning breeze....slip firmly into his own. Zhan's eyes widened as his breath caught, but King Yibo wasn't even looking at him. He only began to walk, and Zhan, tethered by that strong grip, had no choice but to follow, like a camel led by its reins.
Their steps fell in perfect rhythm....Zhan's light and hesitant, the king's steady and regal, unhurried like a ruler who had nothing to chase. Each time Zhan set his foot down, the sensor hidden in the terrace floor announced his identity. Each time Yibo stepped, it did the same.
At the palace doors, the guard dropped instantly to his knees in deep salute. King Yibo merely raised a hand in acknowledgment and continued on, still holding Zhan's hand tightly, as though entrusted with something precious he would not let slip.
★★ … ★★
Elsewhere, Barrister Aas had already heard whispers of what had occurred. They said he bore a striking resemblance to Barrister Lie Hua, the very man whose friendship had once bound them together. Though their voices and habits differed, the likeness was undeniable.
That was why the group had forced him into training, threatening his family and warning him they'll killed Barrister Lie Hua. Under such coercion, Barrister Aas had no choice but to comply. They gave him Lie Hua's car keys and dossiers, ordering him to take over his role. Every movement of his, they warned, was under their watch. One mistake, one hint of disobedience, and his family....or Barrister Lie Hua....would pay the price.
Reluctantly, Barrister Aas steadied himself, realizing resistance was futile. He still had work to finish and promises to keep, and survival was now his only path forward.
They gave him the address to go to. When he set out, he soon noticed their motorcycles and cars tailing him at every turn. Closing his eyes briefly, he drew in a sharp breath, releasing it only when he parked exactly where they had ordered.
Clutching Barrister Lie Hua's briefcase tightly, he stepped out of the car, forcing himself to remain calm, even as sweat gathered at his brow.
The large mansion was given a brief glance before the man turned toward the path indicated to him through the earpiece in his ear. With a slight nod of his head, as if acknowledging unseen instructions, he walked toward the door.
★★ … ★★
Inside the imperial palace, around nine in the morning, a disturbing piece of news spread: the sudden disappearance of Prince Maiqing. He was the uncle of Prince Langya and the grand-uncle of King Yibo. Only yesterday, at court, he had spoken words of criticism against the king after the morning session.
The report of his disappearance came from his family. At first, it was assumed he remained within the palace walls, since he had reportedly gone to the temple at dawn but never returned. But when he failed to appear at his residence and his children, after searching every place they expected to find him, discovered no sign of him, they finally raised the alarm.
Guards and attendants scoured every corner, yet there was no trace of him. CCTV footage confirmed his departure from his quarters, but showed no sign of his return. The guards at the palace gates swore they had seen no one exit, and every hidden passage was searched....still, not a single clue of his whereabouts was found. The mystery baffled everyone.
When the news reached Prince Deng and Prince Langya, who were together at the time, they exchanged glances before both turned away, smiling faintly. With studied nonchalance, Prince Deng continued their earlier discussion about Zhan.
"This boy is far more cunning than he looks," Prince Deng said. "The very news of his survival two days ago already stirred my mind. Now, what you've told me only confirms that he has stepped into this palace with intent."
Prince Langya chuckled softly. "Well, that only means he has given us what we wanted. He has brought himself straight into our snare."
Prince Deng inclined his head, his smile sharp with arrogance. "Exactly. We'll strip away his youthful boldness, grind down his reckless confidence, and he'll finish our work for us.... without even realizing he's caught in a trap."
"And when shall we begin?" Prince Langya asked, his gaze fixed on his kinsman.
Prince Deng shrugged lightly, lips curling. "It won't be long. But we'll need one more key piece."
"The one already in our hands?" Prince Langya asked in surprise.
"He's of no real consequence," Prince Deng dismissed. "At best, he clears the path. The thread I see leading us to our true target lies elsewhere. There is no proof of his escape from the king's late consort's death, but we'll use the opportunity. This time, your wife will play her part for us."
"At this stage, we should change our method," Prince Langya cautioned. "Jasrah is shrewd. If we push her too much, she may begin to suspect something."
"That would only happen if you give her reason to, Langya. For years we've used her and she's seen nothing...why should now be any different? Just keep your eyes open."
Prince Langya said nothing more, only dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment.
★★★ …
Once they had walked some distance from the palace guards, Zhan abruptly yanked his hand free, scowling. King Yibo didn't bother to turn his head or glance at him, striding on with calm majesty, each step measured as though he owned the ground itself.
From the corner of his eye, Zhan glared, silently grumbling in his heart. (On the surface, he looks like some harmless monk, with that innocent face. But even demons would step aside when they saw what lies within. Anyone who can snuff out lives and still sleep soundly deserves every name one could give him....monster, tyrant, devil...it all fits.)
Zhan muttered under his breath, bitterness carved across his face, "I will definitely deal with you, King Yibo."
At that exact moment, King Yibo's lips curved faintly. He had clearly caught Zhan's last words.
King Yibo sat silently when he reach his chair, his gaze fixed on the empty spot where his tea was usually placed. Nothing was there. With a faint sigh of weariness, he leaned back into the chair, though his mind was far from at rest. The sharp eyes of that young man and the strength of his presence kept lingering in his thoughts.
That tea had become almost a necessity for him. If he didn't drink it, the discomfort would weigh heavily on his body and mood, dragging him into a restless state that only he himself fully understood but never voiced aloud.
He tried to endure, reminding himself he had already taken some earlier. But when the uneasy feeling he dreaded began to rise within him again, he exhaled sharply and pressed the alarm that summoned his most trusted attendants.
Within minutes....barely three....a servant entered, dropping to his knees respectfully.
"Your command is my duty, Your Majesty."
King Yibo gave no reply at first. He let the silence stretch, letting his authority fill the room with its weight. Only after a long pause did he finally speak in a low, deliberate tone:
"Why was the tea not brought today?"
The servant bowed his head even lower, his voice trembling.
"It was an order… from the male royal consort."
"An order?" King Yibo repeated in his mind, narrowing his eyes. What is he playing at, that boy… that ghost-like figure… His thoughts stopped short. Without another word, he turned his face away, his voice even but firm.
"I want the tea. Now."
The servant bowed even deeper, startled but eager to obey, then hurried off.
King Yibo's expression remained perfectly composed, concealing the storm beneath. Yet the way his fingers tapped once against the armrest, the slight narrowing of his eyes, made it clear....this was no trivial matter.
Meanwhile, Zhan had been trying his best to act indifferent about the earlier incident between them. But it was impossible to ignore the lingering trace of King Yibo's fragrance. Even though the scent was faint, mixed with another different perfume today, it had unsettled him completely.
He caught himself lifting his hand to his nose again and again, sniffing unconsciously, then pulling back with irritation, only to repeat it. In the end, unable to stand it, Zhan rushed to the washroom to scrub his hands with soap. Yet the stubborn fragrance refused to fade. Only when he deliberately took one of King Yibo's used bottles of scent and rubbed a trace onto his hand did it finally settle.
Trying to distract himself, Zhan picked up his book to resume studying. But his thoughts were restless. His eyes fell on his phone beside the book... clearly brought by whoever had left both items for him.
Usually, whenever he wanted to communicate, he would install a new whatsapp before speaking, but today felt different. He adjusted the settings, then searched for Sir Mulan's contact. The man wasn't online. Zhan frowned. He needed to talk today, not leave messages.
"Should I give him a flash call?" he muttered to himself. He hesitated, then dialed. The call rang out with no answer. His unease deepened.
He tried again. This time, the call was answered, but no one spoke. Only silence.
Zhan's chest tightened. Controlling his frustration, he spoke again, his voice betraying eagerness. Still, no reply... only the sense that someone was listening.
Irritated, he clicked his tongue and muttered under his breath.
"I can't stand being ignored. That's why I prefer doing things myself rather than relying on anyone. Whoever picked up this call is just another gatekeeper standing in my way. If not for the twist of fate that threw me into the hands of that ruthless King, I'd be out there chasing my own career in journalism instead of being treated like this. Hmph. Just wait....sooner or later, I'll see that tyrant fall. Even if only once, I'll take the throne for myself, and when I do, I'll strip this power away of every official, every guard, every citizen of this empire…"
Zhan thought he heard the faint sound of a chuckle from his phone's receiver. Quickly, he pulled it out and glanced at the screen...just in time to see the call ending. His eyes widened as he covered his mouth in surprise, then muttered to himself:
"Wait… that laughter… it really sounded like it came from the phone. Was it real?"
He glanced around the room, but of course, he was alone.
"Oh, Zhan… one of these days your mouth is going to get you into trouble. It must have been Sir Mulan who answered instead, and here I was just rambling nonsense without realizing."
He sat, chin resting in his palm, cursing his own carelessness. Then, as if on impulse, he picked up the phone again. To his relief, Sir Mulan was now online, and had even answered his greeting with a polite Good day.
Zhan hesitated...should he reply, or just let it go? A cautious part of him advised: You know it wasn't him who picked up earlier. Don't push it. Just move on. Convinced, he smiled faintly and opened the message.
Sorry, you called when I wasn't nearby. My assistant answered in my place.
That was Sir Mulan's reply. Reading it, Zhan's heart instantly felt lighter. He even laughed softly and wrote, "So I was right after all?."
Sir Mulan responded again: It's fine, Your Highness.
Zhan frowned and quickly typed back: Don't call me that 😣.
Sir Mulan brushed it off with another message: So, did you find what you were searching for?
Zhan replied: Almost. But honestly, Sir Mulan, there's something strange happening here, and it's unnerving. These people act as though they're sorcerers, working with shadows I can't explain.
What do you mean? You're scaring me, your highness.
"You haven't heard anything yet," Zhan typed quickly. Last night, I left the King's chamber and went back to the one they said were mine. But this morning I woke up right back in his section of the palace! And the room I slept in...though it was elegant...looked as if a brawl had taken place there overnight. I swear it was spotless before I fell asleep.
Fighting? In the chamber? Sir Mulan ignored the earlier details and latched onto this last part.
Exactly! And strangely, that doesn't bother me. What I want to know is how I was taken and brought back without even realizing it.
That really is suspicious. But tell me... what steps have you taken so far?
Nothing yet, Zhan admitted. For now, I'm only trying to trace the strange scent I found on my body. If it turns out he sent his men...or whatever else he uses...to drag me back, it may mean he wants me silenced.
Sir Mulan replied with an emoji...🤭...as if holding back laughter.
Zhan's response was sharp: This isn't funny. If something happens to me before I expose this tyrant, the real loss will be yours, Sir Mulan, and the people of Beiping. Don't forget that.
You're right. I understand. Just keep telling me everything. I've already prepared a section of my special report dedicated to this case, but everything must be handled carefully.
Zhan smirked at the message, his tension easing a little. Good. At least I'll be heard while I'm still alive. By the way, did you notice how calm the King was during that bomb incident? Not even the slightest sign of worry. Honestly, I almost wanted to strangle him myself just so everyone could have some peace.
Wait....are you serious, your highness?
I'm dead serious. And stop calling me 'Your Highness.' I hate it. What kind of title is that anyway?
Forgive me....you've earned it. After all, being the royal consort isn't a small matter. I'm only bold enough to speak with you this freely because of your sharp thinking.
Zhan rolled his eyes at the screen and replied with a pair of emojis: 🙄😏. Then, with a smile, he shut off his data connection.
From his end, Sir Mulan stared at Zhan's string of emojis, trying to suppress his laughter. But in the end, he failed, and a wide smile broke across his face, teeth flashing as he muttered inwardly, youth truly is a sweet thing.
Seeing that Zhan had switched off his data, Sir Mulan did the same, choosing instead to settle down in silence and reflect carefully on everything they had just discussed.
★★… YIZHOU VILLAGE ★★
Thanks to Grandfa's return and his steady presence, Mah's health had begun to improve. She could even speak a little now, sometimes joining in small conversations.... especially whenever Zhan's name came up, which it often did.
It wasn't that hardship had made them forget him... far from it. Zhan was imprinted in their lives, constant in their hearts. They followed every rumor of his supposed death with dread, clinging still to hope that he lived.
By now, it was nearly three months since Zhan had vanished into the Beiping Empire.
That day, as usual, Mah and Wei Po were working in the courtyard. Most of the labor fell on Mah, though her frail body was unfit for it. Grandfa had left earlier to attend the burial of an old villager. Mah hurried through her chores, the blazing sun overhead making the work almost unbearable. Their region bordered the desert, so the heat pressed down on them heavily, though rivers nearby gave some relief. Still, compared to other provinces blessed with cool waters, Jing City....the heart of the Beiping Empire....felt scorched and harsh.
A call of greeting at the gate made Mah pause and glance over. Wei Po stepped forward, muttering, "I think it's more of your Father's endless visitors. But he hasn't returned yet… what should we do?"
"I was wondering the same," Mah said. "Perhaps I should peek outside...what if it's someone important?"
Before Wei Po could reply, Grandfa's own voice answered the greeting, saving her the trouble. "Oh, thank goodness, it's him," Wei Po said, smiling toward Mah.
Grandfa entered, his face lit with warmth. After they welcomed him and asked after his health, Wei Po quickly inquired if all was well.
Still smiling, he lowered himself into a seat. "Bring me something to sit on. It's only Zeng, the neighbor's man from the Song family." His eyes flicked briefly toward Mah as he spoke.
Wei Po brought him what he asked for, even a cup of water, while Mah quietly returned to her task.
★★… IMPERIAL PALACE ★★
Zhan, still scowling in frustration, threw on a light coat over his ropes and left his chambers. His arrival in the sitting room coincided with the messenger delivering King Yibo's order for another round of tea. The words reached the servants in the kitchen just as Zhan entered.
Shock showed briefly on his face...he hadn't expected it. But he quickly masked it, giving the servants only a sidelong glance before looking away as if nothing had happened.
The kitchen staff nearly dropped their utensils in fright. For the royal consort to appear unannounced among them could very well cost them their posts if anything went wrong. But the sharp tension on Zhan's face, the way he carried himself with an authority beyond his years, made them bow their heads and keep still.
"Show me the ingredients you use for His Majesty's tea," Zhan demanded.
Hands trembling, they laid everything out before him. He studied each item closely, his sharp gaze dissecting every detail. Only when he had finished did he finally look up, his expression tightening.
"What if I require ingredients beyond these....what then?"
Startled, they stammered out that anything else could be brought immediately.
"Then I wish to meet whoever supplies them."
Without waiting for a reply, Zhan began preparing the tea himself, relying on his own methods instead of the standard mixture meant for King Yibo. Every move was calculated...part of his quiet resolve is to unsettle the King, to press back against his control.
When the brew was ready, he poured it into a new polished teapot with all its proper accompaniments. One of the servants hastily stepped forward to carry it, and Zhan allowed her, though his eyes never wavered from the path ahead. He didn't know exactly where to find King Yibo.
At the small sitting room, the servant stopped short, waiting at the doorway. That was her limit. Zhan understood. With a silent nod, he took the tray himself.
It wasn't fear of King Yibo that made his heartbeat quicken. No....it was the weight of what might unfold once he crossed that threshold.
Two long minutes passed before Zhan pushed the door open with calm precision. The glass panel slid aside at his touch, yielding without resistance. With quiet steps, he entered.
NB
It's all Xiao Zhan pictures. 😀

Grandfa, Mah father and Zhan Grandfa.

Wei Po, Mah mother and Zhan Grandma.

Mah, (Song) Zhan mother.

Babiy (Xiao Zinnu) Zhan father.

Huan, Zhan elder brother.

Juan, Zhan elder sister.

Feng, second Zhan elder sister.
Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛