SRAD Chapter 6

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[Six] [Extra • Past Life]

On the twelfth day of the twelfth lunar month in the fifth year of the Tianqi reign, the Marquis of Dingbei led his army back to the capital, successfully quelling the rebellion. The treacherous ministers and rebels were all executed, and Consort Chen ended her life in her palace with a length of white silk.

Upon his return to court, the Emperor declared a seven-day suspension of court affairs—an unprecedented decision in his five years of diligent and tireless rule. Even when the Empress Dowager passed away, he had only rubbed his weary temples and announced a three-day mourning period.

Wrapped in his cloak, the Emperor stood in silence beneath the palace walls, watching as the guards retrieved a bloated and deformed corpse from the river. Several arrows were lodged in the body's back, their wounds long since drained of blood and now pale from the water’s immersion. The corpse still wore the imperial yellow dragon robe, hastily stripped from someone else in a moment of panic.

In the depths of winter, the river’s ice-laden waters must have been unbearably cold.

The Emperor crouched down without a word, carefully severing the arrow shafts. He allowed no one else to interfere as he painstakingly extracted the arrowheads from the wounds. Then, he removed his own cloak and wrapped it tightly around the lifeless, pallid form on the ground.

The swollen, disfigured face was damp, its features delicate yet faint. The lips were tinged with a bluish-purple hue. From his sleeve, the Emperor drew a handkerchief. His hands remained steady, unaffected by the biting wind as he gently wiped the face clean. The surrounding guards lowered their gazes, so no one saw the silent tears that fell, moistening the face the Emperor had just so carefully wiped.

Duan Mingzhang recalled how, half a year ago, this very person had first entered the palace and, while waiting in a side hall for an audience, had eaten a bowl of yogurt meant for Consort Chen. The favored concubine, assuming that the bold and handsome young man was the Emperor’s new favorite, had flown into a jealous rage and ordered him to be dragged out and beaten severely. By the time Le Ping arrived, Rong Huaizhen had already taken several hard blows.

The Emperor confined Consort Chen and personally visited the injured Rong Huaizhen. Feverish and half-conscious on the sickbed, Rong Huaizhen had gazed at him dreamily and muttered, "You’re really good-looking."

He found himself indulging Rong Huaizhen in a way he never had with anyone else. No one had ever spoken to him so brazenly, no one had ever stolen glances at him whenever they could, and for years upon years, no one had dared to call his name aloud.

That night, beneath a sky lit by the cold glint of steel and blood, Rong Huaizhen had suddenly thrown himself into his arms. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes bright with urgency as he called his name: "Duan Mingzhang."

At that moment, warm lips touched his own, but before he could react, a sharp pain struck the back of his neck, and his vision went black.

By the time he regained consciousness, Rong Huaizhen was gone.

He had watched, helpless, as hardened men who never shed tears on the battlefield wept bitterly while cradling the lifeless body of their younger brother.

They blamed themselves—if only they hadn’t caught a cold, if only they hadn’t submitted their leave requests, if only they hadn’t been delayed on the road, if only they had returned a day earlier… But in this world, there were no “ifs.”

He had no words to console them. Rong Huaizhen had died for him, and he was the true culprit.

The rebellion was quelled. The Emperor remained the Emperor. Like all his predecessors, he presided over a palace rife with hidden currents and complex intrigues. No one spoke to him with sincerity anymore, and he had no truth to share with anyone. Only the ever-loyal Le Ping knew that every year, on the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the Emperor would sit in silent vigil before a grave, remaining there until dawn before quietly leaving.

Outwardly, he seemed unchanged from before.

Except that from that year on, he never again celebrated his own birthday.

Because the day after his birthday was that person's death anniversary.

Author's Note:

[Some Random Thoughts]

Why is the setting a low-EQ uke + an even lower-EQ seme?

Huaizhen was so single-mindedly devoted that he truly believed he was doomed to die—because if the Emperor ever faced danger again, he was certain he would give up his life for him without hesitation.

As for the reborn Emperor? His mind was filled with all sorts of convoluted schemes. He wanted both a stable kingdom and to dote on his beloved every day. Whatever Huaizhen liked to eat, he would provide. If Huaizhen was unhappy, it must be someone else's fault. He even enthusiastically bestowed a noble title upon him, convinced that this would ensure their hearts were aligned—just waiting for Huaizhen’s older brothers to return so he could propose marriage.

Re-read the earlier chapters with this in mind, and you’ll see just how ridiculously sweet this story actually is—this is my heartfelt recommendation as a reliable author! 

T/N: Please support my ko-fi page, thank you💮💮💮