I've Decided To Be This Tyrant's Dark Moonlight - Chapter 84

Night. Wei Ying’s ears were filled with Gong Dou Ji’s frantic chatter, while inside the emperor’s bedchamber there was nothing but laughter and merriment.

Eunuch Fushou heard his majesty’s cheerful laughter and nodded in relief.

Ever since Her Ladyship entered the palace, she had always been able to bring joy to His Majesty. That was good.

Though the laughter gradually began to change in nature, laced with gasps, soft moans, and faint cries for mercy, Fushou thought: it was no big problem.

He clasped his hands together, a small smile tugging at his lips.

A guard at his side glanced at the chamber doubtfully. “Eunuch, I think I heard His Majesty’s voice… is that alright?”

Fushou flicked his wrist delicately, orchid fingers raised, and said with satisfaction, “Ah, you don’t understand. Tonight, His Majesty has grown.”

That night, Yunshao grew up.

She spent the whole night listening to what might as well have been a crosstalk performance. The next morning, when she woke up, her mind was still hazy, caught between blazing heat and dizzy confusion.

At dawn, Yunshao opened her eyes. The one beside her was still sprawled fast asleep.

She leaned close to Wei Ying, gazing at the girl’s quiet sleeping face. Unable to help herself, she smiled, wanting to plant a gentle kiss. Yet she hesitated, afraid of being presumptuous with such beauty. After a long while, she finally gathered her courage and leaned in—“Mwah~”

But she didn’t land her kiss.

Wei Ying suddenly woke, pinning down the emperor who was about to stir up trouble. She lazily murmured, “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

Yunshao chuckled sweetly, “Morning, Yingying. Yingying, mwah!”

Wei Ying: “No more mwah. Your Majesty should look at the memorials first.”

Yunshao finally remembered the mountain of documents piled up on the table. Her face darkened, and she climbed reluctantly out of bed. Picking up the vermillion brush, she bent over the memorials, looking for all the world like a student being forced to get up at dawn to rush through homework.

The one in hand was about the drought in the north.

The emperor frowned. Every autumn and winter, droughts were common. By routine, local administrations were supposed to distribute stored grain for relief. After so many years, the process had become smooth and efficient.

But not long ago, she had received a report from a county clerk: in Hanzhou, the officials of Changping County had colluded with merchants. The government used official funds to buy grain at full price, but the merchants delivered the lowest grade—grain mixed with gravel and sand.

The local officials suppressed the matter and forbade subordinates from pursuing the merchants.

Whatever other foul dealings there were, the result was the same: disaster-stricken peasants had only watery gruel—so thin it was hardly different from plain water.

Yunshao sighed and set the memorial aside. She had already dispatched men to the disaster area, and the clerk’s report had been confirmed; reality was even more tragic.

Yet the memorial sent to her now declared: The drought has passed, the people are unharmed.

Fury rose. She bit the brush handle and scrawled across the memorial in bold strokes:

You are a turtle bastard! You are a scoundrel! Why don’t you bring your head to see me?!

Before leaving her, her teacher had warned: against the Gong faction, she must advance slowly, not act in reckless haste.

Over the years, Yunshao had come to understand. First, the Gong clan held high office and great power; press them too hard, and they might risk everything, bringing disaster to the nation.

Second, from lowly clerks to higher officials, many were entwined with the Gong faction. They covered for one another, deceiving and concealing together, until the memorials reaching the emperor’s desk reported nothing but a laughable peace and prosperity.

For years, she had gradually clipped away the Gong faction’s wings. Yet so many accomplices still remained, feasting on the people’s flesh.

If the court was to be cleansed, then the Spring Examinations must proceed smoothly next year. Only by injecting new, young blood into the rotting bureaucracy could this decaying dynasty be revived.

Otherwise, she would be forced to watch the one she loved collapse before her eyes.

Yunshao gripped the vermillion brush tightly, pale knuckles showing faint blue veins. The tip trembled under pressure, leaving crimson flecks on the yellow memorial paper—like bloodstains.

Just like that day, beneath the grape trellis, speckled with red.

Her lifelong nightmare.

A pair of hands suddenly settled on her shoulders, and a familiar voice spoke behind her: “Your Majesty, why are you daydreaming?”

Yunshao closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her face bore a gentle smile. Turning, she looked at Wei Ying and smiled. “Just thinking of state affairs. The drought in Hanzhou is severe, the people suffer; Bei Jue stirs restlessly, perhaps preparing for invasion; the Spring Examinations remain unsettled; reforms are blocked…”

But the moment she saw Yingying, all her troubles seemed to scatter.

Yunshao’s smile softened. “Yingying, are you hungry? What do you want to eat? Osmanthus wine?”

Wei Ying shook her head, sitting down beside the emperor and lowering her gaze to the memorials. She had noticed Yunshao’s unusual expression earlier, which was why she had risen from bed, only draping an outer robe over her white underclothes. The plain fabric traced her slender curves.

Yunshao stared, entranced, and sighed, “Sluuurp—”

Wei Ying: …

Yunshao’s cheeks flushed, but her smile was tender. She tugged at Wei Ying’s collar, fingers slowly sliding inward. “Yingying, spring nights are short and the sun rises fast. Why don’t we enjoy ourselves while we can?”

Wei Ying caught her hand immediately. Yunshao wasn’t surprised, still smiling as she picked up a dry brush from the rack. Her voice turned honey-sweet: “I read a phrase in a book, but I don’t quite understand it. Yingying, would you explain it to me?”

Wei Ying’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What phrase?”

Yunshao replied, “A brush that gives birth to flowers.”

Wei Ying frowned slightly, unsure of what scheme she was plotting.

Yunshao raised her brows in mock astonishment. “Ah, so Yingying doesn’t know either? Then lie down, and let me teach you.”

Suddenly Wei Ying remembered. She seized Yunshao’s wrist: “Your Majesty, that book you mentioned—what kind of book is it?”

Yunshao blinked innocently.

Wei Ying finally recalled reading a certain sinful source—containing not only brush gives birth to flowers, but also floating blossoms and drifting petals, wielding brush, scolding tongue, riding dragons, taming phoenixes, flower paths and lingering guests… In short, a book filled with endless poses and… content.

That notorious smut, The Record of Enchantment, once abandoned in the imperial library.

She stared at the emperor. Good heavens. Not only had she stolen her storybook and fobbed her off with a Buddhist sutra, but secretly she’d been studying it diligently.

Yunshao lifted the dry brush, its soft rabbit hair tickling lightly across Wei Ying’s back. Wei Ying jolted as if shocked, hurriedly rubbing her face with her hands to clear her head, then snatched the brush away without mercy.

Yunshao sat obediently atop the desk. Sunlight streamed from behind, gilding her in pale gold.

She tilted her head, smiling. “Yingying, come do something fun with me.”

Wei Ying replaced the brush in its rack and walked off. Halfway, she realized it looked like she was fleeing in panic. So she turned back, dipped another brush in ink, and drew a mustache at the corner of the emperor’s lips.

Smug emperor!

Yunshao let her draw without complaint. When Wei Ying put the brush down, Yunshao caught her sleeve. “Yingying, stay and have breakfast with me, won’t you?”

Wei Ying had no reason to refuse.

The palace maids and eunuchs who served breakfast all kept their heads lowered, terrified of being executed by an emperor who had sprouted whiskers overnight.

But Yunshao’s mood was radiant. She personally served Wei Ying food. “Yingying, you were tired yesterday. Eat more.”

Fushou: yoooooooo!

The fatherly heart in him was stirring wildly.

His Majesty… had finally grown up!

He hurriedly ordered the chefs to prepare more dishes, big bowls of them!

Wei Ying slurped a noodle and asked thoughtfully, “Your Majesty, why don’t you like to hold my hand? You only tug my sleeve.”

Yunshao froze, her eyes brightening with a misty sheen. She looked at her blankly.

Wei Ying blinked. “Could it be… you were never close to your teacher either? Not even holding hands?”

Yunshao’s face turned pale. She raised her voice: “That’s not true! Not at all. My teacher and I were very close. She adored me! The first time we met, she gave me a bundle of candied chestnuts. She held my hand to the lantern festival, stroked my head, and often… hit me.”

Wei Ying: “She often hit you? And that means she liked you?”

Yunshao bit her lip. “But I liked it. Anyway, we were very close, often holding hands…” She sighed wistfully, a trace of loneliness clouding her face. “It’s just… Yingying has forgotten it all.”

But then her expression brightened again, smiling joyfully. “Still, the days ahead are long. One day, I’ll help Yingying remember our past.”

Wei Ying looked at her for a while, said nothing, and lowered her head to sip her noodles again.

Yunshao dropped the teasing, quietly eating her meal. Only Fushou hopped about happily, running in every few minutes to ask if they were hungry, if they wanted more food, if they’d like some pastries, or a bowl of wontons.

Even Yunshao, usually patient with him, grew annoyed. “We don’t want anything! Leave us alone! Don’t come in again.”

Fushou glanced at them, smiling blissfully. “Yes, Your Majesty. As you command. If you need anything, just call me—I’ll be right outside guarding you~”

Yunshao: “…Don’t guard! By imperial decree, go to bed!”

Wei Ying: “Eunuch Fushou treats you very well.”

It was obvious that beyond loyalty, there was affection too.

Yunshao lowered her eyes and said softly, “He has served me since I was young, watched me grow up. We’re close.”

Wei Ying wanted to pry more, but just then Fushou came scampering back in. Yunshao frowned helplessly. “I said, I don’t want food! I don’t want pastries! I don’t want more rice!”

Fushou waved anxiously. “No, Your Majesty, Your Ladyship—it’s not that. News just came: Concubine Xiao is gravely ill!”

Wei Ying shot to her feet. “What?”

Fushou: “Severe abdominal pains. No one knows the cause. Several accompanying imperial physicians could find nothing. The Noble Consort has already taken Concubine Xiao, galloping to a nearby town to seek treatment.”

Abdominal pain, a nearby town?

Wei Ying recalled—in the original plotline, around this time Xiao Qianxue miscarried. But the problem was, she wasn’t pregnant now. What was there to miscarry? Nothing?

Did the power of the script really need to work this hard?

She pulled out the orange card she had drawn, glanced at it, and ordered Fushou to ready the horses. She strode quickly outside.

The emperor set her chopsticks down and hurried after.

Fushou scampered behind them. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty—your mouth is still covered in ink!”

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