TVAAMRF Chapter 31

Chapter 31 – Tyrant 3

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Hearing the strange question, the servant instinctively glanced at the sun outside. “It’s almost Wei time, Young Master.”

Su Anjing snapped impatiently, “That’s not what I asked! I want the year and month!”

The servant flinched and whispered the answer, convinced his young master had been possessed by an evil spirit. He breathed a sigh of relief when Su Anjing dismissed him and hurried away.

Su Anjing stared at his pampered hands and his intact body, finally realizing he had been blessed with an incredible stroke of fortune. He had been reborn, returned to his eighteenth year.

This was heaven’s mercy upon him.

This time, he would live better.

He clenched his fist, his face brimming with greed and ambition.

In his previous life, the Imperial Hospital had chosen him to prepare medicine for the Tyrant. Terrified and unwilling, he had run to his grandmother, weeping and begging her to intervene. She had replaced him with his illegitimate younger brother, Su Tang, who had been born on the same day.

The thought of his illegitimate younger brother, Su Tang, being sent to the palace, possibly to meet a gruesome end, naturally filled him with guilt. But to sacrifice himself? Absolutely not. He silently watched as Su Tang was forced to drink a drugged potion, knocked unconscious, and thrown into a sedan chair to be taken away. Su Tang, he thought, don’t blame me. I didn’t want this either. I have a mother to care for, and my father expects me to make something of myself. You were practically a servant in our household anyway. Going to the palace might give you a chance. If you truly cure the Tyrant, riches and glory will surely follow. And if… if you die, I’ll build you an empty tomb.

Having rationalized his actions, he turned around and went out to play with Prince Jin again. Their initial encounter had been accidental. The prince, so upright, handsome, and gentle, had instantly made his heart race. Since the previous dynasty, male-male relationships had been quite prevalent, and love between men wasn’t entirely condemned by society. However, noble families still prioritized lineage, and with both parties being male, marriage was impossible, throwing everything into chaos.

Su Anjing was completely consumed by his love for Prince Jin, wanting only to be with him. When he discovered that Prince Jin reciprocated his feelings, he was overjoyed and even more determined not to enter the palace and throw himself into that fiery pit. He had such high hopes for their future, never imagining that Prince Jin had only ever used him, solely to seize the throne and secure the support of their Marquis’s Estate.

Blinded by love, Su Anjing believed no one could compare to Prince Jin. He convinced himself that overthrowing the Tyrant was a righteous cause, for the good of the people, completely ignoring the beneficial policies Xiao Chengyan had implemented after ascending the throne. Though cruel, the Tyrant was an effective ruler.

The Tyrant had been aware of their conspiracy all along, choosing not to alert them prematurely so he could crush them all at once. When their plot was exposed, Prince Jin betrayed the Marquis’s Estate, pushing them forward to divert the Tyrant’s attention while he fled with a dozen guards.

Su Anjing’s heart turned to ice. He died with his eyes wide open, unable to find peace.

In his previous life, he had witnessed Su Tang enjoying the Tyrant’s exclusive favor, basking in wealth and glory. All of that should have been his. He was meant to be the Tyrant’s “medicine,” the one cherished above all others.

Earlier, when he had asked his personal servant the time, he learned that Su Tang had already entered the palace.

Su Anjing nervously gnawed at his fingernails, his face contorted with bitterness as he muttered darkly, “Why couldn’t this have happened a few days earlier? I would have been the one entering the palace…”

At that moment, a servant entered the room, cheerfully announcing, “Young Master, Prince Jin has come to visit!”

Normally, Su Anjing would have been overjoyed at this news and rewarded the servant generously.

But this time was different.

The young master sat on the couch, his long hair disheveled and obscuring most of his face as he remained shrouded in shadow. After a long pause, he replied coldly, “I know.”

His tone was not merely indifferent; it dripped with loathing.

The servant shivered and lowered his head to attend to him.

Having been reborn, Su Anjing had no desire to associate with the despicable Prince Jin. Although the An Yuan Marquisate had once been a prestigious founding noble house, its descendants had squandered their wealth, accumulating massive debts and even embezzling hundreds of thousands of taels. If Su Anjing hadn’t cultivated extensive connections and maintained a close relationship with Prince Jin, attracting merchants eager to curry favor and help cover the losses, his father, the An Yuan Marquis, would never have allowed him to associate so closely with the prince.

Given the current state of the Marquis’s Estate, if the imperial court were to investigate, they might even lose their noble title. Therefore, even though Su Anjing now knew Prince Jin’s true nature, he couldn’t afford to openly confront him. He had to maintain a facade of cordiality.

Su Tang, after transmigrating to this world, was sent to the imperial palace and inexplicably appointed as an Imperial Consort. A multitude of palace attendants catered to his every whim, practically feeding him with a silver spoon. He was once again living the ultimate salted fish life, on the verge of being corrupted by this decadent feudal existence.

Life was bliss: eating, drinking, playing, sleeping… well, except for the nightly… exertions. Still, he wasn’t exactly suffering.

At first, Su Tang reveled in this luxurious life, his complexion glowing and his spirits high. But after a while, he found himself slumped on a soft couch, longing for his phone and computer. The ancient world had its own forms of entertainment, but none could replace video games, anime, or novels!

Thus, Su Tang, the salted fish, transformed into a dead salted fish, listless and withered.

Xiao Chengyan, observing Su Tang’s languid state, suddenly grew irritated. He gripped Su Tang’s chin and demanded in a low voice, “What’s wrong with you? Who has upset you?”

Su Tang looked up, utterly bewildered. “…?”

Xiao Chengyan said coldly, “Who? Gu will kill them for you.”

Su Tang: “…???!”

The palace attendants serving the Imperial Consort immediately knelt, trembling with fear.

Su Tang quickly shook his head. “I’m fine. No one has upset me.”

Xiao Chengyan scoffed. “Do you think Gu is blind? You look like a dead fish.”

Su Tang instinctively touched his face. This man’s tongue is venomous, but he’s too perceptive. I tried my best to hide it.

Yet Xiao Chengyan had still sensed his mood and was staring intently, demanding an explanation for his unhappiness.

Forced to improvise, Su Tang shifted his gaze to the window. “…The weather has been poor these past few days, with constant rain. Many of the flowers outside have withered, which makes me feel rather melancholy.”

Xiao Chengyan frowned. “Just that?”

Su Tang nodded, his expression so sincere it could fool anyone. To deceive others, you must first deceive yourself. The ancients were deeply emotional, composing poetry under the moon and appreciating flowers with wine. Feeling down because flowers were battered by wind and rain—surely that fit right in with their customs?

But Su Tang had forgotten that ancient speech often carried hidden meanings. Even when unintended, listeners were prone to read between the lines.

Upon hearing Su Tang’s words, the Chief Steward immediately assumed Su Tang was lamenting his own fate through the flowers. He might be favored by the Emperor now, but what about the future? Would he, like those blossoms, eventually face neglect and be battered by the storms of life?

The Chief Steward mused, “This eldest illegitimate son of the Marquis’s Estate isn’t entirely foolish, but he’s undeniably naive to imagine the Emperor would pity him.”

However, Su Tang’s remark prompted Xiao Chengyan to order the rain-battered flowers removed. Soon, countless meticulously cultivated rare blooms were brought in to delight the Imperial Consort.

The Little Eunuch, who led the flower-moving team, smiled obsequiously. “Your Highness, these were specially sent by His Majesty for you. Look at this green peony—its jade-like petals shimmer with dewdrops. It’s a peerless treasure among chrysanthemums. There are only two such pots in the entire palace, and both have been brought here.”

Su Tang gazed at the blooming chrysanthemums with a peculiar expression. As a modern Chinese man, he couldn’t help but recall a popular song that perfectly captured his recent predicament:

The chrysanthemums wither, leaving wounds scattered across the ground…

He sighed wistfully. “Relying on youth and lacking restraint… you’ll pay for it later, Big Brother. Even my back is starting to ache.”

Noticing the melancholy in Su Tang’s eyes, the Little Eunuch grew anxious, fearing he hadn’t fulfilled his task properly and would incur the Emperor’s displeasure.

“Your Highness, why the sigh? Has this servant done something wrong?”

Su Tang shook his head, said it was nothing, and entered the palace hall.

Since transmigrating to this era, he had been frustrated by the lack of modern entertainment. He had requested the System to exchange his lottery prizes for a smartphone, but the System refused, citing inconsistencies with the world’s rules. Smartphones shouldn’t exist in ancient times. Su Tang pleaded and wheedled, but the System remained firm. Finally, unable to resist his persistence, it compromised: he could have half an hour of smartphone use, provided he hid under the covers and wasn’t seen.

Whether he won the prize depended entirely on his luck. Unfortunately, Su Tang’s luck was notoriously bad.

Today, with little hope, he tried the lottery again.

Then…

A smartphone materialized in his palm!

Wow!!!

Su Tang was ecstatic. He sprawled on his bed and indulged in his new toy.

Though only for half an hour, it was enough to revive his spirits!

When Xiao Chengyan returned, he found his Beloved Consort, now refreshed, lounging lazily on the beauty couch and snacking. This sight finally brought him some satisfaction. He preferred seeing Su Tang relaxed and carefree; being near him eased his mood and lessened the severity of his headaches.

After their meal, Xiao Chengyan began reviewing official documents. His face, which had softened slightly thanks to Su Tang’s presence, gradually darkened again. A murderous intent crept into his eyes, his sinister gaze piercing through the scrolls as if he wished to slaughter the ministers behind them.

At that moment, the palace attendants held their breath, terrified that even the slightest sound might draw the tyrant’s wrath upon them.

Whoosh.

In the deathly quiet hall, where a pin drop could be heard, a distinct puffing sound suddenly broke the silence, startlingly out of place.

It was Su Tang, holding a teacup. The tea was too hot, so he had blown on it to cool it down.

Xiao Chengyan turned at the sound, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Su Tang like a wild beast on the verge of frenzy, radiating palpable danger. “Beloved Consort,” he said coldly, “come here.”

Su Tang glanced at him in confusion, set down his teacup, and walked over.

Before he could steady himself, a long arm yanked him into Xiao Chengyan’s lap.

Su Tang startled, sitting stiffly, convinced the tyrant was about to do something. After a tense moment, he realized Xiao Chengyan was simply holding him like a living pillow. Relief washed over him, and he lazily leaned back, settling comfortably into Xiao Chengyan’s embrace.

Whenever Xiao Chengyan grew irritable from reading some censor’s memorial, his headache throbbing with murderous intent, he would tighten his grip on the man in his arms, idly play with Su Tang’s fingers, or lower his head to nuzzle Su Tang’s nape, forcing himself to calm down.

Su Tang gradually realized he was being treated like a cat to be petted. When the Tyrant was in a bad mood, he would squeeze Su Tang’s paw pads or nuzzle him—the perfect stress reliever.

Now that he understood his role, Su Tang relaxed even further, nearly melting into a puddle in the Tyrant’s arms. He sat limply, boneless, as if he might slide right off the table if not for the Tyrant’s arm firmly around his waist.

Bored, Su Tang reached for the pastries on the edge of the desk.

Sensing movement in his arms, Xiao Chengyan assumed Su Tang was trying to leave. His brows furrowed, and he tightened his grip, pinning Su Tang against his chest. “Don’t move,” he commanded, brooking no argument.

Unable to reach the dish, Su Tang pointed at it. “I want some snacks.”

Xiao Chengyan’s frown softened slightly, though he didn’t release Su Tang. Instead, he brought the plate closer to the edge of the desk, within Su Tang’s reach.

Su Tang picked up a piece and slowly nibbled, savoring the imperial chef’s exquisite craftsmanship. The fragrance lingered between his lips and teeth, making each bite more delightful than the last.

After finishing two pastries, he glanced sideways at the Tyrant’s cold, perfect jawline. Watching the Tyrant handle state affairs while he himself snacked nearby filled him with a twinge of guilt. After a moment’s thought, he picked up a peach blossom cake and pressed it against Xiao Chengyan’s lips.

Xiao Chengyan, lost in gruesome fantasies, paused when he noticed a delicate, flower-shaped pastry near his lips. Even before tasting it, the sweet aroma had already touched his lips.

Instantly, Xiao Chengyan frowned in distaste, overwhelmed by the cloying sweetness. He opened his mouth to declare, “Gu doesn’t eat this,” but Su Tang seized the opportunity, shoving the pastry into the Tyrant’s mouth.

The Tyrant’s face remained cold and expressionless.

The air hung still for a moment.

Forced to swallow the sickly sweet peach cake, the Tyrant’s eyes darkened with a menacing glare. He devoured the pastry and then clamped his teeth onto the fingers that had been holding it, preventing Su Tang from withdrawing his hand.

Su Tang yelped in shock.

Holy shit, is this Tyrant a dog?!

Su Tang struggled, furious and wanting to punch him, but as he moved, his gaze fell upon the distinct bite mark on the Tyrant’s neck, visible beneath his collar. Guilt washed over him.

After all, he himself had left that mark. He had drunk the Tyrant’s blood—was it really so unreasonable for the Tyrant to bite him in return?

Instantly, Su Tang went still, obedient.

Yet the Tyrant’s mood inexplicably soured further. He seemed displeased by Su Tang’s sudden docility, as if it made him seem distant, timid, and just like everyone else.

A murderous intent flickered in the Tyrant’s eyes, bloodshot with crimson veins.

Since you’ve displeased me, I’ll just kill you.

The Tyrant parted his lips, about to issue an order, when a fluffy head nudged his shoulder, nuzzling affectionately. The head lifted, starry eyes gazing up with a hint of pleading. “Your Majesty,” Su Tang said, “I’m getting bored just staying here all the time. Why don’t you have someone teach me archery and horseback riding?”

Though Su Tang was a self-proclaimed “Salted Fish,” without his computer or phone, he was truly bored out of his mind. Since he was stuck in ancient times anyway, he wanted to experience riding and archery firsthand. Learning those skills would be so cool! He’d always been captivated by the male leads in historical dramas who could shoot through willow leaves from a hundred paces, and he couldn’t help but imagine himself doing the same.

The Tyrant’s murderous intent froze at the touch of Su Tang’s head. He seemed to forget everything else, only feeling the soft contact against his chest.

Thinking the Tyrant would refuse, Su Tang continued to nuzzle him affectionately, just as he always did, smiling sweetly and pleading with a coaxing tone.

Xiao Chengyan finally snapped out of his daze. He pushed Su Tang away coldly. “Enough,” he said. “Gu will arrange for your lessons. Stop pestering me.”

Satisfied, Su Tang settled back comfortably. But even sitting grew tiresome, so he wriggled out of Xiao Chengyan’s arms and lay down beside him, casually using the Tyrant’s thigh as a pillow.

Even Xiao Chengyan, the man known as the Tyrant, was at a loss for words at Su Tang’s audacity.

Is this what he meant by “timid as a mouse”?

The Chief Steward had been standing with his head bowed these past few days, repeatedly shocked by the Imperial Consort’s unrestrained behavior. He constantly feared Su Tang would provoke the Emperor and be killed in the next instant. Yet, Su Tang always managed to miraculously escape danger. Could it be that the Emperor actually enjoyed his boldness and unconventional demeanor? After all, others had tried this approach before, only to meet a swift end.

Now, the Emperor frowned and coldly summoned the Chief Steward.

The Chief Steward hurried forward, his head bowed, thinking, This is truly the end.

Instead, Xiao Chengyan said, “Bring a blanket.”

After the blanket was brought, he draped it over Su Tang, making him more comfortable as he slept.

The Chief Steward: “……”

True to his word, the next day Xiao Chengyan personally appointed Commander Zhao of the Imperial Palace Guard to train Su Tang.

Commander Zhao came from a family of martial generals. From childhood, he had vowed to protect his country. While his elder brothers and his general father guarded the frontiers against barbarian incursions, he served in the palace, protecting the Emperor.

Commander Zhao was fiercely loyal and full of righteous fervor, but he also harbored a touch of old-fashioned machismo. When he received the Emperor’s command, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of resentment. As the palace commander, his duty was to maintain order and security, not to entertain the imperial consorts. Deep down, Commander Zhao despised Su Tang—a man willing to submit to another’s will, a disgrace to his manhood.

Though a skilled martial artist, Commander Zhao came from a simple family with harmonious relationships. His mind, unburdened by political intrigue, focused solely on protecting the Emperor. Unaware that Su Tang had been sent to the palace as a Medicinal Human, he assumed the man had voluntarily entered the imperial court to seek wealth and power.

At the Military Training Ground, Commander Zhao, his muscular frame radiating authority, stood as Su Tang’s temporary instructor. His stern expression and intimidating presence made him seem unapproachable. The little eunuch accompanying Su Tang paled under his gaze, his voice trembling as he warned, “Your Highness is His Majesty’s most beloved consort. If you were to be injured, His Majesty would be heartbroken.”

Commander Zhao scoffed dismissively. “His Majesty has only one consort. If not him, who else would be the most beloved? Besides, injuries are inevitable on the training ground. Though His Highness is an Imperial Consort, he is still a man, isn’t he?”

The way Commander Zhao spoke implied that admitting fear of injury or pain would make Su Tang less of a man.

Su Tang wasn’t offended. After all, palace intrigue dramas often said that those who openly expressed their malice were easier to deal with. The truly dangerous ones were those who smiled sweetly to your face while plotting behind your back. Though Commander Zhao was somewhat rash, in the story, he was the Emperor’s most loyal retainer during the Male Lead’s coup, shielding his sovereign with his own body until his dying breath, never wavering or betraying him.

For this reason, Su Tang held him in rather high regard, mentally labeling him as “ally” and “teammate.”

Su Tang smiled and said, “Commander Zhao speaks truly. A true man sheds blood, not tears. How could he fear pain? Moreover, a skilled warrior wouldn’t allow himself to be injured.”

Hearing the first part, Commander Zhao thought Su Tang wasn’t entirely spineless, showing some backbone and spirit. But the last sentence struck him as arrogant. “Swords and arrows have no eyes,” he scoffed inwardly. “How could anyone fight for real and avoid injury? Ridiculous! He’s clearly here to learn some flashy moves, put on a show, and curry favor with the Emperor.”

Thinking this, Commander Zhao’s expression darkened further. He thrust a bow into Su Tang’s hands and said impatiently, “Your Highness came to learn archery, didn’t you? Enough talk. This humble servant will demonstrate how to draw the bow and shoot.”

Despite his gruff tone, Commander Zhao proved to be a meticulous instructor. He patiently guided Su Tang on how to grip the bow, position his fingers, and apply force.

Commander Zhao raised Su Tang’s arm and explained, “Since Your Highness has little experience with bows, I’ve prepared a Two-Stone Bow for you. I could manage this at ten years old. Now, I can fully draw a Three-Stone Bow. As they say, ‘The bow like a full moon, the arrow like a shooting star.’ With diligent practice, Your Highness might surpass me one day.”

The remark was clearly sarcastic. Given Su Tang’s slender arms and legs, Commander Zhao doubted he could even draw a third of the bow’s weight.

A One-Stone Bow required 120 jin (approximately 144 pounds) of draw weight, making the Two-Stone Bow equivalent to twice Su Tang’s weight.

Su Tang felt an overwhelming urge to back down right then and there.

But that would be too humiliating. While Commander Zhao was speaking to the palace attendants, Su Tang surreptitiously turned away, hoping to secretly test his strength while the Commander’s attention was elsewhere.

The result was disastrous. Su Tang strained with all his might to draw the bow, his face contorted with effort. The arrow flew out and landed right in front of his feet, nearly hitting his toes.

…It was a truly pitiful sight.

Su Tang’s eyes widened in disbelief. How could he be so utterly hopeless? Even a child could probably outshoot him.

Su Tang wanted to burst into tears.

Just then, Commander Zhao, the notoriously strict and fast-paced instructor, ordered him to practice. The Commander had noticed Su Tang’s earlier attempts. As a martial artist with keen senses, he had anticipated Su Tang’s poor performance—no, Su Tang had actually performed even worse than expected.

However, facing one’s failures directly was essential for understanding one’s weaknesses. By making Su Tang shoot in front of him, Commander Zhao intended to correct his flawed posture and force him to build arm strength. A man should never be so frail.

Su Tang reluctantly stepped forward, his face a mask of self-abandonment. He closed his eyes, casually drew the bow, and then…

He effortlessly drew the bowstring all the way back?

Huh???!!!!!!

Su Tang froze.

Commander Zhao’s eyes widened in astonishment, his pupils shrinking to the size of copper bells as he stared at Su Tang’s frail frame and slender arms. How is this possible? he wondered. When he was ten, he could draw a Two-Stone Bow to its full draw, but that was because he ate voraciously, grew rapidly, and possessed the strength of an ox. Even then, he was already as tall as Su Tang, and his father had praised him lavishly for it.

Such remarkable strength at such a young age! Legend had it that Yue Fei could draw a Three-Stone Bow weighing three hundred catties. After his father’s praise, Commander Zhao had believed he would surpass Yue Fei himself.

But now, Su Tang had shattered his understanding of strength. After effortlessly drawing the Two-Stone Bow, Su Tang eagerly reached out to Commander Zhao, requesting a Three-Stone Bow to test his limits.

With another powerful pull, he drew the bowstring taut once more!

Commander Zhao was dumbfounded. Is this kid even human?!

Despite his delicate appearance, no matter how Commander Zhao scrutinized him, he couldn’t detect any extraordinary strength. Am I going blind? Commander Zhao’s mind reeled, and he nearly lost his footing.

This world had become too fantastical.

The once timid Su Tang, after drawing two full bows and surpassing the scornful Commander Zhao, had not only shed his timidity but had also become emboldened. Chest puffed out and eyes gleaming like twin galaxies, he eagerly declared, “Four-Stone Bows, Five-Stone Bows—Ben Gong wants to try them all! I want to see what I’m capable of.”

Commander Zhao’s face was a blank slate, his movements as weightless as a drifting soul. He even forgot to summon his men, retrieving the Four-Stone Bow and Five-Stone Bow himself. Standing beside the seemingly delicate Imperial Concubine, he watched her draw both bows to their full extent, her arms steady and her expression showing no strain.

After drifting in a daze for some time, Commander Zhao finally regained his composure. His gaze toward Su Tang had completely transformed, now filled with a mixture of terror, shame, and profound admiration. “This humble servant’s eyes have been clouded by ignorance,” he stammered. “I never imagined Your Highness possessed such divine strength. I am utterly humbled.”

With sincere conviction, he knelt on one knee, offering Su Tang a respectful salute—a stark contrast to his earlier mockery.

Martial artists revered strength above all else. Commander Zhao had initially dismissed Su Tang as frail, but Su Tang’s sudden display of power shattered his prejudice. The sheer contrast between his expectations and reality left him stunned, his attitude shifting instantly to one of awe and a desire to nurture this hidden talent. He nearly wanted to bundle Su Tang up and take him back for proper training.

Yet Commander Zhao hadn’t completely lost his senses. Remembering Su Tang’s status as an Imperial Consort, he felt a pang of regret. “With such extraordinary abilities, why does Your Highness not join the military and serve the nation? To remain confined to the inner palace is a grave waste of your talents.”

Commander Zhao frowned, as if recalling something. “The Marquis’s Estate must have forced you into this, didn’t they? That’s the only explanation. What true man would abandon his ambitions to languish in the inner chambers? I’ve heard your life in the Marquis’s Estate was worse than that of a servant, constantly subjected to bullying. That’s why your divine strength wasn’t properly nurtured. The An Yuan Marquis is utterly inhuman! You’ve suffered terribly!”

Su Tang listened to Commander Zhao’s impassioned defense, his feelings complex. The man was genuinely trying to find a reason for his strange strength, and his condemnation of the original Su Tang’s father was justified—abusing one’s own son was indeed inhumane. But this was a matter of moral character; the truly inhuman one was standing right before him! His half-vampire nature was the source of his peculiar strength!

Commander Zhao continued to rail against the An Yuan Marquis, lamenting how his blindness had deprived the nation of a martial talent. He insisted that Su Tang should have been trained from childhood.

But Su Tang wanted to wave his hand and say, “Enough. I’m just a half-vampire, my strength comes and goes, and I grew up in peaceful times. I could never face enemies on the battlefield. This Salted Fish can barely survive beside the Tyrant.”

Still, Su Tang found Commander Zhao’s straightforward sincerity rather endearing.

For several days, while Xiao Chengyan attended to state affairs, Su Tang practiced archery at the Military Training Ground. However, the Tyrant had decreed that Su Tang must return before him. The Tyrant expected to find Su Tang in his palace upon his return.

Therefore, the palace attendants would always remind Su Tang to return early. Sometimes, when Xiao Chengyan finished court early and Su Tang, engrossed in practice, lingered, Su Tang would have to rush back like a whirlwind.

Between practice sessions, Su Tang also chatted with Commander Zhao. Since Zhao came from a military family, Su Tang, unsure what else to discuss, naturally brought up military strategy. Before transmigrating, Su Tang had been deeply interested in history during high school, devouring unofficial accounts and historical novels. He was particularly fascinated by ancient warfare—battles where outnumbered forces triumphed through cunning tactics, campaigns that reshaped eras, and legendary commanders who defied the odds.

Su Tang shared his knowledge of military strategy, weaving in examples from historical battles. Commander Zhao was increasingly impressed, exclaiming, “How does Your Highness know all this?”

Su Tang improvised, “I stumbled upon a book long ago, but I can’t find it now. If you’re interested, Ben Gong will share everything I remember.”

Commander Zhao clasped his hands in gratitude. “Your Highness’s insights are invaluable. I will record them all and inform my father and elder brother, who guard the frontier.”

Su Tang waved his hand, embarrassed by Commander Zhao’s formal bow. He had merely shared a few stories, nothing more.

But Commander Zhao insisted, even mentioning it to the Emperor. He showered Su Tang with extravagant praise, acting like an ancient idol fan, spewing endless rainbow-colored compliments.

Thus, one day after court, Xiao Chengyan went to the Military Training Ground.

Su Tang wore simple, fitted martial arts attire. The sleeves and pant legs were cinched tight, and a black belt accentuated his waist. Though lacking the ostentatious grandeur of court robes, his appearance radiated a different kind of charm—a dashing figure on horseback, exuding heroic vigor.

Grasping his bow, Su Tang smoothly drew it taut. Instead of firing immediately, he focused intently on the target, aiming precisely before releasing the arrow. It flew straight and true, piercing the bullseye.

Two more arrows followed, each striking the bullseye with such force that the target trembled for several moments.

Noticing the Emperor standing silently nearby, Commander Zhao hastily bowed. After the Emperor told him to rise, he eagerly exclaimed, “Your Majesty, witness Your Highness’s remarkable archery skills! After only a few days of practice, he hits the bullseye seven out of ten times, with the remaining arrows landing close. His strength is even more astonishing—he can fully draw a Five-Stone Bow!”

Commander Zhao’s excitement was like that of a fangirl gushing about her idol, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Xiao Chengyan, however, remained impassive, seemingly unimpressed.

He approached Su Tang step by step, his face expressionless. Su Tang noticed him, lowered his bow, and smiled. After practicing archery all morning, his face was flushed from the sun, and a thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. “Your Majesty, what brings you here?”

Xiao Chengyan reached out and touched Su Tang’s feverish cheek. “Zhao Yi said you’re learning well.”

Su Tang’s eyes narrowed with smug satisfaction, his expression practically begging for praise, though he feigned nonchalance. “Is that so? I think it’s just average.”

Xiao Chengyan actually praised him. “It’s quite impressive, but…”

Su Tang’s lips curved upward in delight, but he quickly suppressed the smile at the unexpected twist. “But what?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

Xiao Chengyan stroked Su Tang’s cheek, his voice low and teasing. “But your stamina is lacking. You cried for only a short while last night and fainted twice.”

Su Tang froze, then his face turned crimson.

Holy shit, this man is…

Isn’t he supposed to be an ancient? How can he be so shameless?!

Emperor, my ass! He’s nothing but a rogue!

And… why did I faint? Doesn’t he know the reason better than anyone?!

Su Tang was furious. He pressed his bow against Xiao Chengyan’s chest and roared, his face flushed with anger, “Shut up! Don’t say another word!”

The palace attendants standing some distance away hadn’t heard their exchange, but Su Tang’s shout drew their attention. Several of them witnessed the Imperial Concubine poking the Emperor’s chest with a bow, nearly giving themselves heart attacks. Their faces turned deathly pale.

But the brutal rage they expected never materialized. Instead, the Tyrant burst into laughter, as if thoroughly amused. His hearty laughter echoed across the Military Training Ground, a sound so cheerful and unfamiliar that it washed away much of the usual gloom from his face, revealing a rare glimpse of the vitality befitting his coming-of-age years.

Commander Zhao and the palace attendants: “……” Has His Majesty gone mad?

Su Tang felt the same way, nearly blurting out a retort. Fortunately, his reason prevailed, and he managed to suppress the urge, though his face burned even brighter.

Commander Zhao, though a martial man with a straightforward and bold personality, was no fool. One couldn’t reach his position without brains, and his instincts were razor-sharp.

At this point, the Chief Steward, who knew the Emperor well, had noticed Xiao Chengyan’s special favor towards Su Tang, but he believed it wouldn’t last. Commander Zhao, however, instinctively felt that Su Tang held an extraordinarily important position in Xiao Chengyan’s heart, one that no one else could rival.

Commander Zhao, who had already admired Su Tang, now felt an even stronger desire to cultivate a good relationship with him. While loyal to the Emperor, he disapproved of his tyrannical tendencies. If someone could temper the Emperor’s temper and curb his indiscriminate killing, Xiao Chengyan’s natural abilities would undoubtedly make him a wise and enlightened ruler.

Commander Zhao glanced at Su Tang and approached with a smile. “Your Highness, weren’t you eager to learn horsemanship and archery? Archery requires years of dedicated practice, but horsemanship can be started now.”

Su Tang’s attention immediately shifted, his eyes sparkling with eagerness and anticipation. “I can ride a horse now?”

Commander Zhao silently observed the Emperor’s expression before nodding and leading Su Tang to the royal stables to choose a horse.

The imperial stables were meticulously maintained by specialized staff, housing purebred warhorses of exceptional quality. Their thick manes gleamed with health, and their powerful limbs radiated vitality.

Su Tang’s eyes immediately locked onto the chestnut-colored stallion. Its dark, bright eyes and slightly raised chin exuded a wild, proud air. Its fine chestnut coat shimmered in the sunlight.

This was the legendary Akhal-Teke, renowned for its incredible endurance and speed. It was said to be able to travel a thousand li in a day, and its shoulders would sweat blood-like fluid, giving it its name. In reality, the Akhal-Teke’s thin skin allowed the blood flowing through its veins to be easily visible during exertion. Moreover, the sweat glands in its shoulders and neck were highly developed, causing sweat to first dampen and then soak these areas. For chestnut-colored horses, the localized dampness intensified their coat’s color, creating the illusion of “bleeding.”

Commander Zhao quickly noticed Su Tang’s interest and chuckled. “Has Your Highness taken a fancy to Chi Xue?”

Su Tang nodded.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t teach you, Your Highness,” Commander Zhao said. “Chi Xue was tamed by His Majesty himself and only obeys his commands.”

Su Tang instinctively turned to look at Xiao Chengyan.

Xiao Chengyan approached Chi Xue and stroked its smooth mane without a word, as if waiting for Su Tang to beg him.

Su Tang, despite his pride, quickly darted to Xiao Chengyan’s side, gazing up at him with pleading eyes. In a hushed, rapid voice, he begged, “Your Majesty, please, just let me ride him once.”

Xiao Chengyan lowered his gaze to meet Su Tang’s, paused for a moment, then replied, “You may, but wait until evening.”

Su Tang immediately understood what Xiao Chengyan meant. His eyes widened in indignation, his cheeks flushed with anger, and he turned to leave. But before he could take a step, a pair of hands gripped his waist, lifting him momentarily into the air before setting him down on the horse’s back.

Chi Xue, disturbed by the unfamiliar rider, stamped its hooves and snorted restlessly. But the moment Xiao Chengyan mounted behind Su Tang, taking hold of the reins, the stallion calmed instantly.

Commander Zhao, witnessing this, couldn’t help but understand that His Majesty intended to personally teach Su Tang to ride. Feeling superfluous, he excused himself, instructing the palace attendants to maintain a respectful distance.

This was Su Tang’s first time riding. Perched atop the towering warhorse, he suddenly lost his balance when Chi Xue reared its hooves. With nothing to hold onto, he panicked, convinced he was about to fall.

But then Xiao Chengyan mounted behind him, taking the reins. His arms wrapped firmly around Su Tang’s waist, pulling him securely against his chest.

Su Tang suddenly felt no fear.

Chi Xue’s saddle was designed for one rider, but now two people were sharing it, making the space cramped and forcing them to sit very close together.

Su Tang’s hips and thighs were pressed tightly against Xiao Chengyan’s, their body heat seeping through the thin fabric of their clothes, feeling almost scalding against his skin.

At first, Su Tang had been absorbed in the novelty of his first horseback ride and hadn’t noticed the intimacy. But as time passed, the closeness became increasingly apparent, making him intensely uncomfortable. It felt as if ants were crawling all over him, an unbearable itch concentrated on his back, hips, and thighs.

Though they had shared far more intimate moments, being this close in broad daylight felt awkward to Su Tang. He tried to lean forward, creating some distance between them, but when the spirited horse suddenly quickened its pace, he involuntarily lurched backward, pressing tightly against Xiao Chengyan’s scorching chest once more.

After a brief struggle, Su Tang gave up, resigning himself to ignoring the discomfort and focusing on the thrill of riding. Before long, he even found the horse’s pace too slow. Turning to Xiao Chengyan, he asked, “Your Majesty, aren’t Akhal-Tekes supposed to be incredibly fast?”

“Chi Xue must be feeling stifled going so slowly. Why not go faster?”

Xiao Chengyan paused, then asked in a deep voice, “Are you sure?”

Su Tang nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than Xiao Chengyan cracked the whip. Chi Xue reared up on its hind legs, muscles tensing like a coiled spring, then surged forward like an arrow, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

Terrified, Su Tang clung to Xiao Chengyan’s arm, his mouth filling with wind. He felt certain he was about to be thrown off and trampled to death.

But…

He had to admit, this speed, this wind-whipped frenzy, was fucking exhilarating!

After the initial terror subsided, Su Tang began to revel in the thrill of riding a fast horse. His blood surged with excitement, making him feel like the king of the world! He felt so inflated with confidence that he could practically fly to the heavens!

His face flushed crimson with exhilaration, Su Tang gradually grew dissatisfied with merely being a passenger. He wanted to hold the reins himself, controlling the magnificent steed—faster when he wanted, slower when he pleased.

Tentatively, he reached out and asked, “Your Majesty, may I try?”

Normally, a novice rider like Su Tang, who had never touched a horse before, shouldn’t be allowed to meddle. But a tyrant earns his title through capricious whims and unpredictable actions, defying all conventional logic.

Xiao Chengyan casually agreed, handing the reins to Su Tang.

Su Tang mimicked Xiao Chengyan’s earlier movements, attempting to control the horse. But Chi Xue, wild and untamed, was far from gentle. Sensing the rider’s inexperience, the horse grew restless, kicking up dust with its hooves and accelerating into a gallop.

Unaware of the danger, Su Tang, who had been wanting the horse to run faster, mistakenly believed Chi Xue understood his intentions. His eyes lit up with exhilaration as they raced across the training ground.

Suddenly, Chi Xue veered sharply, charging straight toward the Military Training Ground’s perimeter fence. Panic seized Su Tang. He instinctively yanked on the reins, desperate to stop the horse, but Chi Xue continued its reckless gallop, its hooves pounding relentlessly, completely ignoring his commands.

Su Tang’s mind went blank with terror. Frozen in fear, he could only cling to the reins, his eyes fixed on the rapidly receding scenery and the looming fence. Just as collision seemed inevitable, Su Tang squeezed his eyes shut, his voice rising in a desperate cry—”Xiao Chengyan!”

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Translator’s Note:

It’s been a month! Oops, I’m really sorry for the absence. The good news is that my play performance was successful! But it’s a pity I couldn’t update on time because it’s now my final exam period. I’ve got so many final exam projects. Huhuhu please help me!! Does anyone know how to write a sociolinguistics essay after writing field notes on people speaking?! I’m dying here! The deadline is getting closer!

Anyway, I managed to update one chapter to show you that I’m still working on it, even in the middle of all this chaos.

Thank you~

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