Chapter 60: C60. Where Happiness Soars, The Sky Beckons.

Chapter 60

By late June, just a few days after Li Yao’s departure from Beijing, Li Yong found himself deep in the belly of Jinyiwei Prison, pressing a prisoner for answers. The interrogation took a deadly turn when the captive, somehow slipping free of his restraints, snatched a torture tool and dagger and lunged straight for Li Yong with brutal precision.

Though he twisted away from a killing blow, the blade sank into his shoulder, sharp and punishing. By the time the other Jinyi guards wrestled the man back into submission, Li Yong’s clothes were soaked in blood—an ugly crimson stain spreading across him like a dark omen.

On the battlefield, men bear wounds like badges of grit, but every slash, every stab carries a whispered threat. One wrong strike, and it’s over—a torn artery can bleed you dry in minutes, and a punctured lung can choke the life right out of you. Even if death doesn’t come instantly, the aftermath is treacherous. For Li Yong, it proved fatal. During his slow, aching recovery, sickness crept in like a shadow, snatched his breath, and dragged him to his end.

They brought him home—to the Ningguo mansion—his body a ghost of the man who once stood tall.

Word traveled fast. When Emperor Qianxing learned what had happened, he ordered his carriage prepared without hesitation, determined to see Li Yong in person. But Empress Dowager Cao, fierce and sharp in her caution, rushed to stop him.

"Your Majesty, you are still young," she urged, her tone edged with warning. "Assassins may yet lie in wait beyond these walls. To leave the palace so recklessly—what would come of it?"

The emperor’s gaze turned hard, his voice a challenge as much as a retort. “I have my imperial guards. If assassins believe they can take me, let them try.”

This was his capital, under his rule. If the emperor himself could not roam its streets freely, then what, exactly, was the power of his throne?

Ignoring the Dowager’s protests, Qianxing summoned two imperial doctors and mobilized a legion of imperial guards. The palace gates opened, and the emperor rode out with all the weight of his authority behind him.

At the Ningguo mansion, Li Yong’s wounds were being treated with expert hands. The physician applied golden medicine, its precious touch a desperate measure against decay. Though pale and slick with sweat, Li Yong managed to force a smile for his wife.

“These scratches are nothing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just like the wounds on the frontier.”

Meng’s eyes flashed, her anger cutting through his bravado. “Be silent,” she snapped. “You’ve fought one battle in your life. Spare me the heroics.”

Li Yong knew better than to argue.

The doctor, methodical and firm, gave his instructions. “It’s summer. The wound must stay dry; gauze will only trap the heat and worsen it.”

Meng etched the words into her mind like a vow.

But there was little time for rest or respite. Moments after the doctor departed, the emperor arrived, his sudden presence a storm rolling through the household.

Li Yong, still weak, pulled himself together with Meng’s steady support. His shoulder, bared and bloodied, spoke for the ordeal he’d endured, but it wasn’t weakness he offered as he stepped forward—it was respect, bound by a quiet strength.

Outside, Gu Min, the daughter-in-law, had been waiting in uneasy silence. Seeing her father-in-law emerge so frail yet resolute, her gaze fell to the ground, her heart sinking under a weight of sorrow she couldn’t shake.

And then, there he was—Emperor Qianxing himself—striding into the front yard with purpose burning in his steps. At his side stood Eunuch Wan, cold and watchful, and Yang Mingdong, the newly minted commander of the imperial guard, whose presence loomed like a silent warning.

The emperor’s arrival turned the air electric, a scene poised on the razor's edge of grief and power.

Yang Mingdong had spent far too long lingering in the shadow of Pan Maocai, watching the Pan family snatch up the credit for his sweat and skill within the Dongcheng Soldiers and Horses Division. It was downright criminal. At twenty-five, a man in his prime, Yang Mingdong possessed a raw, undeniable talent for the sword—a talent honed under the unforgiving guidance of his father. For all the nobility’s pomp, few generals could stand toe-to-toe with him. Yet, his pride, bold and brash as any young man’s, had proved his undoing when he dared aim for the 26th Guards Army. The officials, priggish and pricked by his sharp tongue and sharper attitude, cast him aside. Bitter but unbroken, he had landed among the Five Cities Soldiers and Horses Division—second-best but still standing tall.

But fortune, seductive as she is ruthless, had finally smiled his way this year. Yang Mingdong had hunted down a fugitive, cracked open a case that no one else dared touch—a case so distasteful it earned him a rare nod from Emperor Qianxing himself. That wasn’t all. His commanding skill in the martial arena, raw and relentless, turned heads at court, and before he knew it, the title of third-grade military attaché was pinned to his chest.

Now, Yang Mingdong stood resplendent in crimson—a uniform whose deep red had once draped the shoulders of the famed Li Yao. He took his position at Emperor Qianxing’s right hand, his stance bold and unyielding. Yet beneath that polished exterior, an unease coiled and hissed. The Emperor’s history with the Li family was no secret; Li Yao’s fate cast a long shadow, dark and heavy. Yang Mingdong knew well that rising fast from nothing came with its dangers. Resentment bred in those bitter left behind.

Still, fortune had been kind enough to throw him a lifeline. Cao Xun had taken him aside, offering words as sharp as they were practical: Serve the Emperor with everything you’ve got. See yourself as his sword, his shadow. Fulfill every demand to perfection, and none—no matter how powerful or spiteful—will dare sneer at you. It was sound advice. Yang Mingdong, hardened by years of swallowing his pride, adjusted with a speed that turned envy into grudging respect.

Even when Duke Ningguo and his wife cast lingering looks at his bright, polished attire, he held his ground. His composure was unshakable, his pride sheathed but deadly.

“Your Majesty has arrived,” came Li Yong’s voice, smooth yet tired, as he lowered his head and sank to his knees before the Emperor. “Forgive the trouble of coming so far to meet us.”

The Emperor, though notorious for his frigid demeanor, couldn’t help but pause at the sight of Duke Ningguo’s grievous wound—a wound bleeding through layers of silk and pride. His brows knitted together. “How, Duke Ningguo, does a man of your caliber fall to the blade of a mere prisoner?”

Li Yong turned, a wistful smile curling at his lips as his voice softened. “Age, Your Majesty, robs a man of sharpness. As I reviewed the case, a memory of the late emperor struck me. I… lost myself to it, and the prisoner, well, took his chance.”

Sorrow flickered across Li Yong’s handsome face as he invoked the late emperor’s name, his striking features crumpling into a picture of grief. Tears brimmed, unbidden yet calculated, and spilled freely before the gathered audience. Even in his middle years, Li Yong’s beauty remained undiminished, though hunched by injury and weighed down by emotion. The sight stirred something in Emperor Qianxing, even as he came to relish witnessing the Duke’s fall.

For a fleeting moment, the Emperor faltered, the ghost of his father’s favoritism clawing at his resolve—his father who had showered the Li family with privilege, his father who would bend and break to see Li Xian shine. But that moment was brief. Hardened by bitterness and legacy, Emperor Qianxing steeled himself once more, his heart cold and unyielding.

Yang Mingdong, watching silently, knew better than anyone—this court was no place for the weak or the soft. And in this game of power, survival belonged to those willing to play with fire and blade.

The imperial doctor was ordered to take another look at Li Yong’s wounds, and when the severity of the injuries was confirmed, Emperor Qianxing’s lips curled in satisfaction. Turning to Li Yong, he declared with a smooth, casual authority, “The Duke of Ningguo can rest easy and focus on recovery. For now, the Jin Yiwei will be placed under Shen Kuo’s command until you’re well enough to pick up where you left off.”

Li Yong bowed his head with practiced obedience, his voice steady but strained. “Thank you for Your Majesty’s consideration. I’ll do all I can to recover quickly and return to serve the Emperor.”

But as Emperor Qianxing’s sharp gaze lingered on Li Yong’s battered form, his mind offered a different, darker verdict: it might be better if the Duke stayed broken and bedridden for the rest of his days.

The formalities wound to a close, and Emperor Qianxing turned to leave. Leading his entourage through the gates of Duke Ningguo’s residence, his steady march slowed—his attention yanked elsewhere.

Two figures were hurrying toward them, their silhouettes quick and urgent. Yunzhu and Lian Qiao, their skirts swishing and faces flushed, had arrived in a flurry of anxious movement.

The emperor paused, unbidden. His steps faltered just enough to betray the weight of his stare.

The truth was undeniable: the Li men—Li Yong, Li Yao, Li Xian—were insignificant to him, irrelevant pieces on a crowded board. But her? This aunt from the Li family shimmered like forbidden poetry, radiant and unreachable.

Yunzhu was like a splash of vivid color spilling across a barren, lifeless canvas. Something about her presence left him unsettled, breathless, an unspoken hunger churning in the hollow of his chest. He could suddenly understand why his uncle, Cao Shao, had lost his mind over her—why he’d clung to her image like a man drowning. A woman like that? A man would take her for himself without apology, even if she belonged to another, even if she bore children of another man’s name.

The carriage stilled. Yunzhu stepped down with effortless grace, fully aware of the emperor’s presence and the weight of his gaze. Her expression was poised, calm—a woman as composed in a storm as she was under the sun. She carried no fear, no visible grief, only a piercing concern for her father and a quiet reverence for the young emperor before her.

Yunzhu’s voice rang soft but sure as she dipped her head with just enough precision to mark respect. “I pay homage to the Emperor.”

But Qianxing’s voice cut through, silken and firm. “My aunt needs no such formalities.”

The slightest bow of her knees sufficed before her luminous gaze darted toward the main courtyard, where her father lay in recovery. There was impatience in her restraint, like a caged swallow aching to fly, but she waited for the emperor’s word—obedient and dignified all at once.

“Auntie,” he said, feigning tenderness as if he cared for more than propriety. “The lord is gravely injured. You should go to him.”

Only then did Yunzhu sweep forward, her movements brisk but fluid—more command than haste.

Emperor Qianxing’s eyes followed her, dragging over every detail as her figure disappeared through the courtyard gates. Her gown fluttered behind her like a banner caught in the wind, and for the briefest moment, he stood rooted, watching—his mind racing and thoughts coiling, dangerously alive.

*

For the first time in her life, Yunzhu was confronted with such a raw, brutal injury—flesh torn, blood seeping, a grotesque mess that made her stomach turn and her heart clench.

Her father, Li Yong, looked at her silently as she broke down, sobbing harder than his youngest son had when they left Beijing behind. The room was empty but for the three of them—just him, his daughter, and her spiraling grief.

In a voice rough but steady, Li Yong murmured, “Stop crying, girl. This isn’t some accident. I did it deliberately. Better I resign on my own terms, tear myself away with a shred of dignity intact, than wait for the Emperor to cast me aside like a dog.”

Through her tears, Yunzhu spat back, “I’d rather see you stripped of every ounce of dignity than see you maimed like this.”

But her father only huffed, calm and dismissive, “This? It’s a scratch, nothing more. Fushan has taken wounds far worse and came out alive—and he’s half my age. I’m not afraid.”

Those words hit her like a slap. Unable to take any more, Yunzhu tore herself from her father’s side, burying her face in her mother’s embrace, letting her grief pour out unchecked.

Meng shi, her mother, ran gentle fingers through Yunzhu’s hair, her voice carrying a mix of weariness and relief as her gaze fell on Li Yong’s battered form. “Alright, your younger brother is on his way to Guizhou, your elder brother has gone to Fuzhou, and now your father has no choice but to stay here and recover. For the first time, the Emperor won’t have reason to strike at us again. I can breathe. I can finally breathe. My only worry now… is you.”

Because the entire capital knew it—Duke Ningguo’s estate would never reclaim its former glory. The vultures were circling. The young women Yunzhu once cowed with a single glance would sink their claws into her now, biting with cruel words, smug jeers, and their newfound boldness. And it made Meng shi’s blood run cold.

But Yunzhu—Yunzhu’s tears had dried, her eyes blazing like twin flames of defiance as she snapped, “Let anyone dare mock me now—I swear I’ll tear them apart where they stand.”

Her mother stiffened, voice laced with quiet alarm. “Please, Yunzhu. We’re barely holding together as it is. Fushan can protect you, yes, but he’s a man of power and reputation—he won’t let that be dragged through the mud. If you make trouble, they’ll turn to him, and trust me, he might endure it once or twice, but beyond that? You’ll wear him down. You’ll drive him away.”

Yunzhu whipped her head around, sharp as a blade, and sneered, “Who says I need his protection? Let the men fight their petty battles—just so long as they don’t kill each other, no one cares. Why can’t I fight back if someone provokes me? What law says I can’t? And if Fushan thinks it’s too much trouble, I’ll make it easy for him—I’ll leave. I’d rather cut him loose than ever bow to anyone. No man will ever keep me in chains. That’s a promise.”

Meng shi opened her mouth to reply but found no words—only silence.

Li Yong, tired of their heated exchange, gestured weakly. “Enough, both of you. You came to see me—so come closer. There’s no point keeping your distance.”

But Yunzhu couldn’t bring herself to move, to look at him any longer. One more glance at that mangled injury and her anger would break open again, spilling over like molten fire. And she wasn’t ready for that—not yet.

*

Cao Xun got wind of the news, but there was no slipping away from his post without official permission. The moment his workday ended, he swung himself into the saddle and rode hard to Duke Ningguo’s mansion.

He already had a good idea why his father-in-law was bedridden, so when he arrived, he wasted no time offering a firm and practical plan for recovery.

Lowering his voice, Li Yong confided, “The situation is delicate. Don’t meddle directly—just play the part of an uncle, nudge the Emperor into wisdom, and keep your influence steady. That’s all we need from you.”

Cao Xun gave a curt nod. “You have my word, Father-in-law. I’ll handle it carefully.”

Li Yong turned to his daughter and firmly told her to leave with her husband that night—no need to stir gossip or attract unwanted eyes.

But Yunzhu wasn’t having it. She outright refused to budge.

Cao Xun didn’t waste breath arguing. He swept her off her feet—literally—and marched her toward the exit. The servants scattered their gazes, suddenly finding the ground far more interesting than the bold spectacle unfolding in the courtyard.

Mortified and indignant, Yunzhu wriggled in his arms and struck his shoulder. “What’s wrong with me staying a few nights? My father’s hurt!”

Cao Xun didn’t so much as flinch. His voice was cold, his tone edged with ice. “And what exactly are you doing by staying here? Are you a doctor? Have you suddenly become more competent at nursing than your mother-in-law?”

Yunzhu’s temper flared. “At least I can sit by his side, so I don’t spend every second worrying about him!”

His answer cut sharper than steel. “I didn’t marry you so you could cling to your family every waking hour. I married you to take care of me.”

The words landed like a slap. Yunzhu froze, staring up at him, disbelief clouding her face as his dark, unsmiling expression bore into her. She resisted even harder, limbs twisting in protest.

But her fight was in vain. Servants, guards, and even nosy neighbors caught every second of the quarrel, every word carrying through the air like fuel to a fire. In their eyes, Cao Xun was overbearing, Yunzhu helpless—a tragic victim swept up in a domineering man’s grip. And when the carriage rolled away, their whispers were quick to follow, everyone left wondering what fiery showdown was unfolding behind the closed curtains.

Yet, reality was far less scandalous.

Inside the carriage, Cao Xun didn’t let her go. Instead, he pulled Yunzhu close, letting her fists and sharp words strike him as she vented her anger. Once they were out of sight, his voice softened, the cold edge replaced by an unexpected warmth. “I had to put on a show—for your father’s sake, for the household’s safety.”

Yunzhu’s fight ebbed out of her like air from a punctured balloon. She stared at him with fiery resolve. “So what? Does this mean I can never go home again?”

His tone eased further, brushing over her anger like a balm. “Of course not. You can visit during the holidays. I just don’t want you exhausting yourself over this.”

Her voice sharpened again, unrelenting. “So I’m expected to let people mock me? To bow my head and be submissive just to keep trouble off your back?”

Cao Xun didn’t hesitate. His words came smooth and steady, resolute. “No. I don’t care about their opinions. I only care about you. If you’re happy, then nothing else matters.”

Yunzhu fell quiet, his words wrapping around her like a tether—steady, unyielding, and impossible to ignore.

———TN:

I’ve wrapped up retranslating all 10 chapters for today—finally. I’ll catch you tomorrow.