After the Corrupt Official Was Coveted by the New Emperor - Chapter 2

“Have you heard? Ji Rong is dead!”

“The new Emperor stripped him of his title the moment he took the throne. Once the most powerful man in the court, second only to one and above tens of thousands Ji Rong is now nothing more than a rat everyone wants to beat.”

In the tea house, a traveler asked curiously, “After Ji Rong was deposed, how did he end up dead?”

“He never did a good deed in his life. He murdered virtuous officials, abducted common women, and made enemies everywhere. Once his official hat was taken away, there were plenty of people lining up for revenge.”

“So, is he actually dead or not?”

“Who knows? He is probably already dead, tossed into some mass grave. How could the new Emperor allow him to live?”

Bang!

The sound of a hand slamming against a table was followed by a sharp scolding.

“Nonsense!”

The crowd turned to see a young man pointing at them and shouting, “Pure fabrication! Cursing someone to death in broad daylight; have you no decency?”

The onlookers looked at each other in confusion.

“Young Marquis, Young Marquis,” a servant behind the youth pulled at him, whispering urgently. “Please, do not be angry. If the Old Marquis finds out, he will punish you again.”

A passerby also slammed the table and countered, “Ji Rong committed countless crimes. If he is dead, he is dead! If not in a grave, where else could he be?”

The youth had almost been calmed down, but hearing this, his fury flared up again. He launched into a tirade; if his servants had not held him back, he would have come to blows.

The first floor of the tea house descended into a noisy brawl, accompanied by the sound of porcelain shattering on the floor.

Ji Rong stared boredly at the teacup in front of him. The tea leaves had already settled at the bottom. Sitting by the second-floor window, he could hear everything below with perfect clarity.

“What is this for?” Ji Rong yawned. “Did you bring me out of the palace just to listen to this?”

Across the table, Qi Zhaoxuan, dressed in black plain clothes, lightly raised a finger. A subordinate immediately stepped out of the room, and moments later, the noise downstairs vanished completely.

“You were the one who chose this tea house,” Qi Zhaoxuan stated calmly.

“It is stifling,” Ji Rong said, setting down his cup. “I am going out for some fresh air.”

As soon as he stood up, two guards immediately fell in step behind him.

Ji Rong arched an eyebrow and looked at Qi Zhaoxuan. “What is the meaning of this?”

Qi Zhaoxuan lowered his eyes to take a sip of tea, his voice steady. “Imperial Father has extensive social connections. It is not guaranteed that someone will not recognize your silhouette.”

“To ensure your safety, it is better if you do not travel alone.”

Ji Rong caught the playful glint in Qi Zhaoxuan’s eyes; it seemed the Emperor had seen through his thoughts entirely. He glanced at the guards behind him and remarked with a sarcastic smile, “It certainly is dangerous.”

“Then keep close,” Ji Rong chuckled. He snapped his folding fan shut and said, “Let us go.”

A pale green traditional dress flashed before Qi Zhaoxuan’s eyes. The scrolling patterns wound across the fabric, and the hem swayed gently with every step.

Qi Zhaoxuan’s throat constricted, his eyes hiding a trace of darkness. Ji Rong’s neckline was elegant and long, and the skin of his cheeks was so pale it seemed translucent. A few stray strands of dark hair fell against his skin, making one itch to reach out and brush them away.

“Put on the veiled hat,” Qi Zhaoxuan said suddenly.

Before Ji Rong could react, the attendant Li Youde immediately handed over a veiled hat. The white gauze obscured his face, leaving only a small section of his neck visible. Qi Zhaoxuan pressed his tongue against his right cheek, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Your Majesty, the Young Marquis requests an audience,” a palace servant reported.

As the door opened and closed, Ji Rong brushed past Fan Qing.

Ji Rong’s eyes tilted slightly, his gaze falling on Fan Qing through the protection of the veil. Fan Qing was younger than him—only eighteen this year—and still carried a touch of innocence untouched by hardship. In the moment their gazes crossed, Ji Rong saw a flash of doubt on Fan Qing’s handsome face. However, the look lasted only a second before Fan Qing moved past him, looking straight ahead.

Sensing something, Fan Qing turned back, but the pale green figure had already disappeared around the corner. He muttered to himself, “Why does that person look so familiar?”

The door closed again, and Ji Rong looped back from the corner.

Guards stood at the door. Seeing Ji Rong about to open it, they tried to intervene, but Ji Rong stopped them. He shooed the guards away and pushed the door open just a crack. Blurred conversation drifted out from within.

“Your Majesty, I came today to ask: where is Ji Rong?” Fan Qing asked bluntly.

Though he did not believe the rumors, his friend’s official position had indeed been revoked by the man before him. Even facing the Son of Heaven, Fan Qing could not muster a pleasant expression.

“Has the Young Marquis not already heard the rumors?”

Fan Qing suddenly grew agitated. “Those are just baseless street rumors!”

“Young Marquis!” Li Youde interrupted. “Do not lose your decorum before the Emperor.”

That poor kid, Ji Rong sighed inwardly.

Fan Qing had always been on good terms with him, and being pampered by the Marquis of Ning’an, he was somewhat lawless. He actually dared to raise such a sensitive topic directly to Qi Zhaoxuan’s face. Since they were longtime friends, they were incredibly familiar. Even though Ji Rong was currently in women’s clothing and wearing a veil, there was a chance Fan Qing might recognize him. That was why he had walked so quickly after their brief encounter.

Ji Rong felt a sudden wave of emotion. Truth be told, after his “death,” Fan Qing was likely the only one who would be sincerely heartbroken. As for the others, those who hated him were mostly dead, and the rest were just ordinary officials with no conflict of interest.

My reputation was just too poor, Ji Rong smiled. No one else would be saddened by his passing.

The conversation inside was drawing to a close. Hearing Qi Zhaoxuan dismiss his guest, Ji Rong quietly closed the gap in the door. His two dutiful guards followed him back down to the first floor, never straying a step.

Though Fan Qing had caused a scene earlier, the tea house was bustling with commoners, and it soon returned to its usual noisy atmosphere. Ji Rong found a seat in a blind spot on the second floor and quietly observed his surroundings. Wearing the veiled hat saved him a lot of trouble; he did not have to worry that looking around would arouse the guards’ suspicion.

“There is a pastry shop next to the tea house. Go buy some,” Ji Rong commanded lazily.

The guard hesitated.

“What, are you worried I will run?” Ji Rong asked.

“I would not dare,” the guard stammered. Realizing he was not the only guard there, he eventually left, though he still felt uneasy.

That pastry shop was famous in the capital. At this hour, it would be crowded; he would not be back for a while. Ji Rong sipped his tea slowly, his gaze drifting until he found the person he was looking for. His eyes locked onto a specific spot.

“I have had enough tea,” Ji Rong said, setting down his cup. “Go ask your master when we are leaving.”

“But,” the other guard hesitated. If he left, Ji Rong would truly be alone. He asked awkwardly, “My Lord, perhaps we should wait?”

Ji Rong replied, “Your master surely has many secret guards hidden around this tea house. How could I possibly escape?”

The aura of someone long steeped in the imperial court could not be hidden even by a veil. Ji Rong calmly rotated the teacup in his hand. Even though the man before him no longer held any office, the guard felt an inexplicable pressure. Cold sweat broke out on the guard’s forehead as he was caught in a dilemma.

“Never mind,” Ji Rong said, no longer pressuring him.

The teacup was empty. He beckoned a tea house waiter over. As the tea poured slowly from the pot, Ji Rong’s fingers tapped the side of the table several times. The position was hidden from the guard but visible to the waiter, and the sound of the tapping was perfectly masked by the splashing water.

The waiter left after refilling the tea. Shortly after, the guard who had gone to buy pastries returned.

Ji Rong asked casually, “You two have not been serving as the Emperor’s guards for very long, have you?”

“In response to My Lord, we were just transferred last month.”

No wonder, Ji Rong understood. Qi Zhaoxuan had specifically assigned two inexperienced guards to follow him just to see what moves he would make.

Ji Rong gave a short laugh. His slender, white fingers—with a hint of pink at the tips—picked up a pastry with deliberate slowness. The shop lived up to its name; the taste was indeed excellent. But Ji Rong was not very hungry. He ate only a small piece before setting it aside.

He had just finished wiping his fingers clean with a handkerchief when he looked up to see Fan Qing, looking frustrated, coming down from the second floor with his servants. Although Ji Rong was tucked away in a small corner, if Fan Qing wanted to leave through the main door, he would inevitably pass by.

Perhaps because Ji Rong had just come out of Qi Zhaoxuan’s private room, Fan Qing only gave him a strange look before walking straight past.

“When did the Emperor get a woman? I have not heard any news from the palace.”

“Wait,” Fan Qing’s bizarre train of thought led him somewhere strange. “Could it be?”

Fan Qing’s mumbling was not loud, but it was not quiet either—it was just enough for Ji Rong to hear clearly. Given Fan Qing’s inexplicably abnormal brain, his guess certainly would not be anything good.

But since I am wearing a veil, nobody knows who I am anyway.

Ji Rong tossed his folding fan up and caught it, his mood suddenly brightening. Since Qi Zhaoxuan liked to act the part of a magnanimous ruler who was indifferent to women, he might as well help tarnish that saintly reputation a bit. He had nothing to lose.

With his mood lightened and his business concluded, Ji Rong did not even protest when Qi Zhaoxuan led him directly into the carriage without a word of where they were going. Once back in the carriage, Ji Rong removed the veiled hat, revealing his exquisite face.

A simple hairpin held his hair, with a few dark strands falling naturally beside his cheeks. His jawline was clean, his brow bone was high, and the corners of his eyes tilted slightly upward. His long, thick lashes were like small fans, casting soft shadows under his eyes when he looked down. His skin was cold and white as porcelain. Every feature was perfectly placed, as if meticulously carved. He looked cold yet gentle, and his habit of slightly curling his lips added a touch of defiance.

Qi Zhaoxuan gazed at Ji Rong greedily, his invasive gaze scanning every inch of his skin. The rumors always said Ji Rong was capable of every evil, but he felt that Ji Rong was beautiful and bright, like the moon everyone yearned for. Meanwhile, he felt like a wretched man hiding in the gutters, only able to greedily and repeatedly attempt to possess his “Imperial Father” where the moon could not see.

He had lived these hidden days for too long, until finally, not long ago, he was able to pull this moon down from the sky and into his arms. No one could see him; he belonged only to him. Qi Zhaoxuan knew these methods could not stand the light of day, but so what? As long as he could hold him in his arms and keep him in his world forever, what did morality matter? He was the Emperor; he owned everything, but he only ever wanted Ji Rong.

Ji Rong thought they were returning to the palace. After all, Qi Zhaoxuan had not been on the throne long, and there was a mountain of messes left by the former Emperor for him to clean up. He should not have much free time. However, the rumbling of the carriage wheels did not last long before it came to a halt.

Ji Rong asked, “Are we not going back to the palace?”

“It is a rare outing,” Qi Zhaoxuan said, his eyes downcast to hide the swirling emotions within. The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I am buying you some daily necessities for the future.”

“?”

Qi Zhaoxuan leaned forward slightly, picked up the veiled hat, and personally covered that face. Like a precious treasure, he could not allow anyone else to glimpse it.

Qi Zhaoxuan whispered, “Imperial Father is so beautiful; you must not be seen by others.”

Ji Rong frowned. Though the white gauze cut off his vision, the look in Qi Zhaoxuan’s eyes from the last moment remained burned into his mind. Qi Zhaoxuan’s pupils were dark and heavy, carrying a damp, cold stickiness. In the heat of summer, it gave him an inexplicable chill.

Before he could react, Qi Zhaoxuan took his hand and slowly led him off the carriage. Through the faint white gauze, he saw a hand with distinct knuckles. He could feel the calloused fingers rubbing against his hand—an intimate, teasing gesture that sent a wave of numbness through half his body. A light floral scent suddenly drifted to Ji Rong’s nose. As Qi Zhaoxuan led him step by step over the threshold, the floral scent grew stronger.

Ji Rong finally looked up. “A rouge shop?”

Qi Zhaoxuan held him with one hand while the other selected lip rouge from the shelf. He replied, “I heard this rouge shop is quite good.”

Ji Rong saw that Qi Zhaoxuan had already opened a jar of lip rouge—a bean-paste color that was not overly bright but not dull either.

Ji Rong cursed directly, “Are you sick?”

Qi Zhaoxuan ignored him, dabbed a bit on his fingertip, and asked, “Will Imperial Father try it?”

“Yo—Your Majesty?!”

A voice abruptly interrupted them.

An obvious look of annoyance crossed Qi Zhaoxuan’s face. Ji Rong looked toward the sound; it was the Imperial Censor and his wife.

It seems this rouge shop is indeed quite good.

He felt a moment of awkwardness, but then remembered the veil would keep his identity hidden and quickly relaxed. Ji Rong watched the Imperial Censor standing there like a wooden chicken, his eyes narrowing as he began to scheme. Even through the veil, Qi Zhaoxuan could tell this man was likely cooking up some devilish idea.

Sure enough, a moment later, Ji Rong leaned against him as if he had no bones. Nearby, the Imperial Censor’s eyes widened to their limit as he stared in shock. Ji Rong feigned weakness, nesting in Qi Zhaoxuan’s arms. His slender fingers lightly gripped Qi Zhaoxuan’s collar. Using a voice that was not loud but just enough for the Imperial Censor to hear, he whispered, “Your Majesty.”

Clatter!

The bottle in the Imperial Censor’s hand dropped to the floor. Ji Rong almost laughed out loud. He had faked a feminine voice, and with the surrounding noise, it was hard to tell truth from fiction, but the tone of dependence was unmistakable.

You want to buy me lip rouge, right? Go ahead, buy it. There goes your perfect image.

He raised his head triumphantly, only to see that instead of being angry, a trace of a smile had flashed through Qi Zhaoxuan’s eyes.

“?”

Qi Zhaoxuan looked away, ignoring the stunned Imperial Censor. He had the shop assistant wrap up a large pile of items, then gave the Imperial Censor a brief glance before leading Ji Rong away.

The Imperial Censor stood frozen in place, utterly bewildered. The Emperor? A woman? Outside the palace? No! Where did the Emperor get a woman, and why is he personally accompanying her to buy rouge outside the palace?

But the Imperial Censor let out a sharp intake of breath. Why did that woman’s silhouette look so familiar?

“What is wrong?” his wife asked, seeing his deep frown.

The Imperial Censor replied, “Nothing.”

Despite his words, doubt remained in his heart. The person’s figure—why was there an indescribable familiarity to it? It was like… it was like…

A fog shrouded his mind, and the figure remained hidden within it, preventing him from remembering who it resembled. He took one last look at their retreating backs.

That silhouette; it really was incredibly familiar.