I Did Not Become Empress On Purpose - Chapter 8

Everyone had been dismissed. The unfamiliar main hall appeared vast and empty, leaving only the two people in the center, one seated and one standing.

With his head lowered, Bai Ruofeng felt somewhat drowsy. Since he had not responded earlier and there were now only the two of them left in the room, he lazily gave a yawn. He wanted to say something, but found himself at a loss for how to begin. Hesitating for a moment, he simply reached out and tugged at Fang Youcheng’s belt to pull him closer, signaling for him to sit down first.

“Brother Cheng?” he tested the waters with a soft call.

“I am here.” Fang Youcheng batted his hand away and obediently took a seat on the stool closest to the bed.

This prompt response effectively soothed the patient’s restless mood. Bai Ruofeng blinked, leaned his upper body forward, and raised an index finger with a mysterious air. “I dreamed of you.”

He noticed Fang Youcheng’s lip line suddenly tighten, his dark eyes fixing on him with a flicker of hopeful expectation as he silently waited.

“Do you want to know what I dreamed about?” Bai Ruofeng intentionally kept him in suspense, his clear eyes brimming with mischievous cleverness.

It did not sound like he had recovered his memories. Fang Youcheng’s tight lip line suddenly leaked a hint of a smile. “Judging by that look on your face, it does not sound like anything good.”

“As expected of Brother Cheng,” Bai Ruofeng praised, then nodded, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the headboard. “I dreamed that we were arguing. But as for when, where, or what we were arguing about, I do not remember a single thing.”

He pressed his index and middle fingers together against his slightly throbbing temple, his expression losing its previous playful banter as he fell into deep thought. His prominent nose bridge and pale lips appeared exceptionally sharp-edged at that moment.

In truth, he had left one thing unsaid: when he experienced that scene in the dream, an overwhelming certainty had taken root in his heart.

Strangely enough, he was certain that the person arguing with Fang Youcheng was him, rather than some unknown original owner whose existence was uncertain. The immersive sorrow and anger had traveled straight to his core, wrapping tightly around him in a suffocating, oppressive grip that left no room for air, making him nearly empathize completely with those emotions.

Because of this certainty, the unease of being cast into a massive mystery surged back up. The unfamiliar era, the suspected amnesia, and all the unknowns lacking a cause or effect left him entirely unable to find peace; he desperately wanted to know the full story.

Yet upon realizing that Fang Youcheng was his Brother Cheng and not someone else’s, his heart had somehow settled.

Here, at least, he was not entirely empty-handed.

“Brother Cheng, do you remember what we were arguing about back then?” Bai Ruofeng wanted to know, so he simply asked outright.

From his perspective, minor friction among friends was hardly unusual, but given Fang Youcheng’s usual tolerance and indulgence toward him, for the two of them to erupt into the kind of irreconcilable argument he had dreamt of was a rare occurrence indeed.

Especially since the panic and resentment filling his chest during the dream made it difficult for him not to care about what might have happened.

Yet regarding that matter, Fang Youcheng, who clearly knew something, remained silent, his expression growing steadily uglier. Seeing the icy, frost-like profile of the other’s face, Bai Ruofeng caught his breath as well. “Brother Cheng?”

“It is nothing worth remembering.” As direct as his question had been, Fang Youcheng gave a straightforward reply. “Ruofeng, what is forgotten is best left forgotten.”

What is forgotten is best left forgotten. The words were spoken so lightly that they felt entirely unreal.

Bai Ruofeng’s fingers twitched slightly. “Brother Cheng,” he furrowed his brow, looking somewhat distressed, “what if I never remember anything again, and can never recall any person or any event? What should I do?”

“What do you mean, what should you do?” Fang Youcheng lowered his gaze. He had already pondered this question countless times.

At that moment, his gaze fixed on Bai Ruofeng, sharp and straight enough to nail the other’s soul in place, as he spoke in a soft, steady narrative tone: “If you remember, you are Bai Ruofeng. If you do not remember, you are still Bai Ruofeng. Fundamentally, nothing changes; whatever was lost in the past can be made up for in the future. People are not meant to remember everything anyway; we all forget things gradually. You simply forgot a bit faster and a bit more than others.”

It was truly taxing for Brother Cheng to offer such a lengthy piece of comfort, Bai Ruofeng thought to himself, his eyes shining brightly as he looked at Fang Youcheng with curved eyes. Still, he found the words deeply reassuring.

He was not someone of a cowardly nature by birth; receiving such affirmation from a friend simply brought a sense of relief to his heart. Having heard those words, his mind suddenly felt much clearer. Regardless of the role he had played here in the past or what he had done, whatever he needed to know in the future would naturally come to light.

Watching Bai Ruofeng sit unguarded on the palace bed and smile at him, Fang Youcheng felt a sudden rush of warmth flood his heart. Though he knew the other was completely oblivious, he still could not suppress his joy and excitement, unable to keep his mind from wandering toward the future he hoped for.

To rein in his runaway thoughts, Fang Youcheng rested his elbow on his hand and concentrated fiercely on more pressing matters. Out of a selfish desire, he hoped Bai Ruofeng would never return to the northern border. “There are currently no battles in the north. Once your body recovers, you should join the city guard.”

To his surprise, Bai Ruofeng lazily leaned back against the bed frame and flatly refused, “No! I am not going.”

The tapping finger paused slightly, a dark gloom blooming from within his silent eyes as Fang Youcheng slowly turned to look at Bai Ruofeng. “Could it be that you still wish to leave the capital and return to…” the northern border?

Unaware of what he was thinking, Bai Ruofeng smoothed out his quilt, slid down to lie flat, and rested the back of his head on his crossed arms. The sorrow and disappointment on his face had long since vanished, replaced entirely by an open and relaxed cheerfulness. “Why would I go to the city guard? My goal is to open a small shop by the city gates in the future.”

Fang Youcheng was genuinely taken aback by this unconventional response. He paused for a moment, showing no suspicion, but rather asking with hesitant curiosity, “Sell what?”

“Naturally, I will sell my favorite tofu pudding!”

Who could have anticipated such an answer? People usually heard of merchants desperately scheming to enter officialdom, but never of a general losing his mind to open a shop. Yet hearing this absurd declaration, Fang Youcheng felt as though a memory had been stirred. Unable to keep a straight face, the corners of his lips curved upward in an infinitesimally small arc, though he sternly rebuked in a rigid tone, “What an ambition!”

“Eh? Do not look down on it; making tofu pudding takes real skill.” Bai Ruofeng raised his right hand and began earnestly ticking off points on his fingers, looking thoroughly serious rather than joking. “Whether it is sourcing high-quality beans, putting in the physical labor to grind them, or measuring out the brine… there is profound learning in all of it. Once I build my own signature brand, establish a reputation, and open a few more branches to hire more people, I can just sit back as a hands-off boss and count money…”

Listening to him plan out his future with such earnestness, Fang Youcheng felt as though a small shop had genuinely materialized before his eyes. The image of Bai Ruofeng sitting there counting money did not feel out of place at all.

As he listened, the storytelling voice gradually grew softer. He looked over at Bai Ruofeng and noticed the other’s eyelids drooping, yet he was still stubbornly pushing forward his grand tofu pudding enterprise.

A sick person was always somewhat fragile, with limited energy that could only hold out for so long. Right now, the speaker was likely unaware of what he was even saying.

Fang Youcheng tucked the quilt around him. “Go to sleep,” he said softly, “have a good dream.”

And so he watched as Bai Ruofeng’s breathing grew steady and deep. The other rolled over, tucked both hands under the covers, and curled up on his side, looking rather well-behaved in his sleep.

If only the person were truly that well-behaved. Fang Youcheng raised a hand, his fingertips brushing aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen across Bai Ruofeng’s forehead, gently tucking the strands behind his ear to reveal that handsome face.

He had grown thinner, and his skin had weathered slightly; the sun and rain of two years on the battlefield had not turned him into a lump of charcoal, but instead made him look as though he had been steeped in a jar of honey.

When awake, this person’s face was always brimming with vitality, looking exceptionally attractive when he smiled like a little sun. But in Fang Youcheng’s eyes, that little sun was constantly seducing him.

His fingertips traced the air above the sleeping face, gliding from the cheekbones and brow bones across the straight bridge of the nose, coming to rest upon the somewhat pale, thin lips, tracing the contours of the sleeper’s face step by step.

His fingertip pressed down, kneading the lips of the entirely oblivious person.

Just as soft and pliable as imagined. Fang Youcheng’s gaze deepened; he wanted to slip his finger inside to experience the texture of that mouth that always managed to utter such astonishing words.

He wanted this person.

He wanted more.

Yet, in the end, he did not act on his wild impulses. Fang Youcheng withdrew his hand, his gaze sweeping over the exposed expanse of slender neck and collarbone protruding from the inner robe, radiating a startling heat.

He simply reached up to pull the quilt higher, tucking it right beneath the other’s chin.

Why had he ended up arguing with Bai Ruofeng to the point of nearly severing ties back then?

The question had even been posed by Bai Ruofeng himself; this fellow was always so crafty. Fang Youcheng thought with a cynical irony. He had once bared his heart to the other. Secular society never tolerated such unnatural affections, let alone between a monarch and a subject. Though he had prepared himself mentally, the sheer shock and terror on the other’s face remained burned into his heart like a scar to this day.

Unsurprisingly, Bai Ruofeng had first rejected him, and then fled.

Unexpectedly, Bai Ruofeng had demanded a promise from him, hoping the two of them could remain good brothers for a lifetime.

He could have reined in his emotions and played the role of the devoted brother alongside Bai Ruofeng for a lifetime.

If that woman had not appeared.

If Bai Ruofeng had not attempted to have the late emperor bestow a marriage upon him.

Merely recalling that memory stirred an uncontrollable surge of devouring fury and violence within his chest.

Bai Ruofeng responded well to softness rather than force; acting like he used to back then would only drive them further apart. Fang Youcheng rubbed his aching temples, slipped his hand beneath the covers, and gently grasped one of the other’s hands. That single, insignificant action was enough to fill the vast emptiness in his heart.

“I will not let that happen again,” Fang Youcheng said to the sleeping figure, his eyes dark and unreadable.

A few light taps echoed from outside the door. Fang Youcheng’s gaze sharpened like a viper clinging to its beloved prey, binding tightly around it as though desperate to swallow it whole into his belly and make it entirely his own.

The dull knock sounded once more. Fang Youcheng lowered his gaze, dusted off a crease on his lapel, and stepped out of the palace doors.

His personal eunuch, Chunfu, braced himself against Fang Youcheng’s freezing glare and was forced to report, “Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager has brought people toward the Changle Palace.”

The current Empress Dowager was not Fang Youcheng’s birth mother, but rather the new empress elevated by the late emperor a few years prior. She currently had an infant in her care, Fang Youcheng’s only half-brother by the same father, Fang Weining.

Since Fang Youcheng harbored designs on Bai Ruofeng, he had long since prepared an escape route for himself. For the sake of that infant, he was willing to grant her the title of Empress Dowager and allow her to raise Fang Weining to adulthood.

If she were wise enough, she could sit comfortably in this position of supreme honor beneath one person and above all others until the end of her days.

Yet the Empress Dowager clearly lacked self-awareness. First, she had bypassed him to interfere in the new emperor’s selection of consorts, and then, upon hearing that someone was residing in the Changle Palace—traditionally reserved for past empresses—and discovering that the new emperor had skipped court today specifically to remain in the Changle Palace, she instantly lost her composure.

Fang Youcheng summoned Tang Yan and instructed him, “This is not a quiet place to recover from an illness. Take him back to the marquis estate,” he paused, “and remember to bring the Divine Doctor along as well.”

The him in question went without saying.

“This subordinate obeys. I shall complete the mission,” Tang Yan bowed solemnly and turned to leave.

The corridor grew quieter. Chunfu lingered nervously nearby, not daring to utter a sound.

Fang Youcheng stood with his hands clasped behind his back beneath the eaves, quietly waiting for the arrivals. His facial features were deep and well-defined, his expression a mix of regal dignity and brooding gloom, with his half-closed eyes suffused with an unpleasant haze of displeasure.

Palace matters aside, Bai Ruofeng woke up to find that every time he regained consciousness, he had been moved to a new location. He could not help rubbing the bridge of his nose, feeling a depressed suspicion that he might have been reincarnated as a pig to be able to sleep right through being hauled from place to place without waking up.

The Divine Doctor had already been settled by Tang Yan, and the moment Bai Ruofeng woke up, a bowl of piping hot, pitch-black medicine awaited him.

Bai Ruofeng glared at the terrifying bowl of medicine for a moment, took a deep breath, pinched his nose, and gulped it down. The moment the bitter herbal decoction hit his stomach, he hastily snatched up a preserved fruit prepared by Steward Yuan to suppress the lingering bitterness on his tongue.

At that moment, Tang Yan entered to report, “Young Master, the young lady is here.”

Bai Ruofeng still faintly recalled fragments of his dream. Setting aside questions of blood relations, Bai Yueying had certainly shown him genuine care. “My sister is here?” His eyes curved into a smile, far more sincere than before. He propped himself up on the bed into a sitting position and urged eagerly, “Hurry and let her in.”