Chapter 77: C77. Yunzhu, Trust Me And Wait for Me.

Chapter 77

As her brother returned to Beijing, Yunzhu couldn’t miss the undeniable glow radiating off Gu Min, her sister-in-law. It wasn’t just happiness—it was that sweet, almost intoxicating sparkle that lit up her entire face, the kind of glow that only love and deep satisfaction can bring.

For Yunzhu, aside from her parents, her brother and Gu Min were the closest example of a couple she truly admired. They exuded a genuine harmony that few could match. Liu Jing and Zhang Xingjian had their own kind of love too, but it came with a shadow of sorrow, a soft sadness etched in because of Zhang Xingjian’s lingering illness.

“Well, someone looks happier than they would at Chinese New Year!” Yunzhu teased, flashing a sly, knowing grin as she fixed her gaze on Gu Min.

Gu Min swatted at her with mock irritation, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, you little brat! Keep it up, and I’ll pretend you don’t exist the next time you show up at my door.”

Their banter flowed with an effortless rhythm, weaving through casual updates about life, Li Yao’s new job, and all the little trivialities that kept their worlds turning.

But then Gu Min’s tone shifted, laced with pointed curiosity. She leaned back, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Honestly, I figured the emperor would rein your brother in—station him somewhere in Beijing, maybe slap a deputy commander title on him to knock some sense into that fiery spirit of his. You know, tough love. But making him the commander of the Jinwu Vanguard? That seems… dangerous.”

The undertone was clear. If the emperor wanted to make life difficult for her husband, this appointment was the perfect storm waiting to happen.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned her sharp gaze back to Yunzhu. “Be real with me. Did your husband pull strings to get this in front of the emperor?”

Yunzhu met Gu Min’s probing look with a cool, measured smile. “It’s possible,” she admitted, her tone even but unreadable. “I asked him, but he didn’t say much. You know how he is.”

Gu Min exhaled, her suspicion lingering but unspoken. “Cao Xun’s solid. He’s not the type to seek credit for what he does behind the scenes. He keeps his head down, does the work. Dependable men don’t need applause.”

Yunzhu let the words drift through the air, in one ear and out the other. Whether Cao Xun had intervened or not was beside the point—what mattered was that she’d played her role perfectly. She was convinced her own tactful maneuvering was what kept the young emperor from throwing obstacles in her brother’s path, at least for now.

Men of consequence—whether kings, warriors, or schemers—placed great value on keeping their promises. A broken word? That was a stain no one wanted, unless forced to smear it.

The young emperor, barely thirteen yet already holding immense authority, was no exception. His promise held weight. And why tarnish that authority with unnecessary petty betrayals?

Upon further reflection, the Li family’s so-called conflict with the boy emperor was, at best, superficial—a bruise rather than a wound. Most of it stemmed from the late emperor’s decision to place Yunzhu’s brother as the second prince’s companion, a move that had clearly ruffled the young emperor’s ego.

But now? With her brother shipped off to Guizhou, her father back home, and the influential Gu family stepping out of court politics, the Li family was no longer a threat. That shift presented Yunzhu with a tantalizing opportunity. She knew how to seize the moment, capitalize on the young emperor’s fondness for her, and solidify her current standing.

The doubts that had once lingered about his feelings toward her had slowly unraveled. The truth was plain: the young emperor was barely more than a boy, still fumbling through the awkward haze of adolescence. Whatever affection he harbored was genuine—maybe immature, maybe naive, but real enough to be useful. And Yunzhu, with her sharp instincts and cunning charm, knew exactly how to wield it.

At that age, even the most seasoned and distinguished men—Cao Shao and Xie Lang among them—couldn’t help but show off, in obvious or cunning ways, to capture her attention. Perhaps it was the raw simplicity of youthful infatuation, untouched by the tangled mess of adult desires, that explained the young emperor’s behavior.

But even if the young emperor did let some inappropriate thoughts creep into his mind, he was nothing like that despicable Emperor Liang Wen, as Cao Xun so sharply reminded everyone.

During Liang Wen’s reign, the dynasty was rotting from the inside out. The man was a disgrace—ignorant, deceitful, and reckless. The rituals and music that once upheld the empire’s dignity were in shambles, replaced by scandal and shameless depravity. Liang Wen was like a shattered pot—worthless and beyond repair—so lost in his debauchery that he didn’t even hesitate to make moves on his own widowed aunt.

But this dynasty? Oh, it’s a different beast entirely. Decorum here isn’t just encouraged—it’s sacred. The empire flourishes under a golden calm; the streets are safe, the people are content, and peace reigns supreme. The young emperor isn’t so foolish as to forget the weight of his every move.

And let’s not forget: Emperor Liang Wen’s uncle was dead when he ran amok, but Cao Xun? Cao Xun is very much alive, standing strong as a close ally to the young emperor. On top of that, the Empress Dowager Cao watches the palace like a hawk, missing nothing.

So how on earth could the young emperor dare to cross that line?

How could he even think about acting so recklessly?

*

With her brother’s return, Yunzhu finally felt a brief, delicious reprieve from the gnawing tension that had been coiling around her heart. For the first time in what felt like forever, she could let herself breathe.

After dining at her parents' home, she drifted back to the quiet embrace of Dingguo Mansion, intending to rest — only to sleep straight through until dusk. When Yunzhu woke, hazy with sleep, Cao Xun was already there, lounging at her bedside in comfortably disheveled attire, looking every bit the man who knew his place in her world.

Her vision sharpened as she blinked away the drowsiness. She propped herself up, her voice still soft with slumber. “What time is it?”

Cao Xun’s lips curved just enough to tease. “I arrived just in time to find you sprawled here, thoroughly spent from outwitting your mother and the others at cards.”

She shot him a look that could’ve been a reprimand — if she hadn’t been too sleepy to make it sting.

Unbothered, Cao Xun reached for her jacket, pulling it over her shoulders, his touch deliberate and lingering.

Yunzhu stirred, shifting upright, and that’s when he noticed it — the faint red marks gracing her cheek, pressed into her skin from sleeping too long on one side. As she leaned forward to fasten the clasp, his fingertips brushed over those marks, trailing slow, feather-light against her face.

Her breath caught, the ticklish burn of that touch unsettling her in ways she wasn’t ready to name. A faint panic flashed in her eyes as she mumbled hastily, “I’m hungry.”

Cao Xun withdrew his hand, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knew exactly what she was doing. “Fine,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Let’s eat.”

Dinner was a simmering pot of soup, fragrant and spiced, steam curling and rising between them like something alive. Cao Xun sat close — too close — picking out the choicest bits of meat for her, one after another, as though his sole focus was ensuring she ate to satisfaction.

Yunzhu ate until the fine sheen of sweat dotted her brow, the heat from the meal making her face flush.

But just as the comfortable rhythm of their evening settled, Cao Xun broke it with a single, unrelenting declaration. “The Japanese pirates are growing more brazen in Fujian. The Emperor has ordered me to lead the suppression. I leave at dawn tomorrow.”

The words hit like a slap of ice water. Yunzhu froze, her gaze darting to his face as if trying to read whether he was serious. “What?” Her voice held a tremor of disbelief. “Why you? There are dozens of generals. Why must you be the one to go?”

The Japanese pirates had been a lingering nuisance, yes, but not a threat grand enough to divert someone like Cao Xun — a man who carried the Emperor’s trust as his Royal Uncle. He wasn’t just any general; he was the one the young Emperor leaned on. This made no sense. Not unless…

Cao Xun looked at her, resigned. “I recommended plenty of others. The Emperor refused. He trusts me alone.”

Something clicked. Yunzhu’s mind reeled back to the Lantern Festival that past winter. She remembered the Cining Palace, remembered standing there with Pan Shi. The young Emperor had stolen glances her way more than once. Glances that lingered. Glances that felt heavy with intentions she hadn’t — couldn’t — address at the time.

Her blood ran cold, a sharp tremor rushing through her, coiling tightly at her core. That little emperor. That audacious, scheming little ruler.

So this is how he plays.

“Why have you gone pale?” Cao Xun’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. His hand found her cheek, his touch steady, grounding, dragging her focus back to him.

But she couldn’t unravel this yet. Not now. She didn’t have the strength to match wits with scheming emperors, nor the composure to pretend she wasn’t utterly undone by the thought of Cao Xun leaving.

So, without warning, she moved. She pressed herself against him, her arms looping around him as she held on, as if by sheer force of will she could keep him from going. Her voice broke, trembling with urgency she couldn’t mask. “I don’t want you to go.”

The words were raw, unfiltered, a plea that echoed everything her heart couldn’t put into words.

When a husband is about to leave on a long and dangerous journey, it’s only natural for his wife to grow pale with worry, her mind twisting with restless thoughts and fears.

Cao Xun smirked and gave her back a firm pat, his tone confident but teasing. “I have no choice but to go. If you can’t bear the thought of us being apart, I’ll take you with me.”

Yunzhu’s heart caught, but her mind shot straight to her brother. The young emperor—arrogant, entitled, and insatiable—wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to exploit her husband’s absence. If Cao Xun discovered that Yunzhu had chosen to follow him and left her brother vulnerable, he would rage. The emperor’s vengeance would fall on her brother like a blade, merciless and swift.

“I understand,” Yunzhu murmured, her voice low and steady, though her mind churned. “But no general would drag his wife into the thick of a battlefield.”

Cao Xun’s gaze hardened with resolve. “Fair enough. Then I’ll deal with these Japanese pirates quickly and return to Beijing. To you.”

Yunzhu nodded, though her thoughts swirled elsewhere, and Cao Xun left her standing there, distracted and alone.

The evening stretched on with preparations, and Cao Xun disappeared into his study, reappearing only at the second watch of the night. Yunzhu lay in bed, feigning sleep, her breathing soft and steady as she listened for him. She felt him hover over her—close enough to catch the warmth of his breath, the faint heat of his presence.

For a moment, she wondered if he’d take the chance to devour her like he had so many times before. Instead, he merely brushed his lips across hers—quick, restrained—and slipped into bed, falling fast asleep beside her.

Her eyes fluttered open the moment he turned away.

Should she tell him?

The last time Cao Xun discovered her involvement with the young emperor, his fury had been ice-cold, his words cutting and accusing. He’d warned her to keep her distance, clearly aware of the emperor’s intentions. But if she dared confess what the emperor now desired—that he lusted for her—would Cao Xun even believe her? Or would he accuse her of inviting such attention with her charms and subtle smiles?

If she dismissed the situation lightly, he’d mock her. If she treated it gravely, he might see her as a stain on his honor—a foolish woman who’d invited disgrace into his house. And men like Cao Xun were never hesitant to cut away a problem, even if that problem happened to be their wife. It wouldn’t be hard to concoct a story of a “sudden illness” claiming her life.

No, she couldn’t risk it.

The entire night, Yunzhu lay there in silence, restlessness gripping her body as she weighed every option, every possibility. When morning finally broke, her head ached from sleeplessness and worry.

Cao Xun requested her help packing his things before he left for the Governor’s Mansion—his official duties demanding attention before his departure to war. But Yunzhu couldn’t bring herself to care for the mundane task. She turned the job over to the maids and locked herself away in their chamber, her mind teetering dangerously between fear and strategy.

There was no one she could confide in—no one to whom she could even utter Cao Xun’s name without consequence. Her father? He’d be horrified, certain she’d been careless with her allure and shamefully tempted the emperor. Her mother? She’d drown in worry, unable to offer anything but tears. And her brother? Her hot-blooded brother would storm straight into the palace and deliver the emperor a blow for his insolence—unthinkable madness that would see him dragged through the streets and executed before her eyes.

Bitter laughter bubbled in Yunzhu’s throat, though it held no humor. She was trapped—cornered like a bird in a gilded cage. What move could she make that wouldn’t shatter her entire world?

Her heart ached, but her mind stayed sharp, knowing this game with the emperor was only just beginning. And as the days unfolded, she’d need to tread carefully—flawlessly—if she wanted to survive.

She was utterly, completely alone. No one was coming to save her, no helping hand would appear from the darkness.

Did the young emperor reassign Cao Xun to Fujian purely by chance? Perhaps it had nothing to do with her at all. Or maybe—just maybe—he’d entertained a selfish desire, a fleeting, wicked notion he would never dare voice aloud. After all, what man would act on such a thought if his rival was sent away?

But Yunzhu knew better than to hold the young emperor’s character in high regard. She couldn’t afford naïve illusions. So what was the worst that could happen? Let’s call it what it was: the emperor taking what he wanted.

Her reputation? It wasn’t trivial, but she knew how to pick her battles. On matters of true consequence, she refused to compromise her dignity, her soul. And yet—if protecting her family meant bending in the face of this grim reality—she would swallow the bitter pill. She’d negotiate with the emperor, make her peace with Cao Xun afterward. If it was a one-time act, a stain hidden away, then so be it. The emperor, after all, would have his pride to consider. A man like that would cover his tracks.

But if he grew bold, greedy, daring to demand more, then everything would unravel. The truth would burst through the seams, undeniable and ugly. And Yunzhu? She’d fight him with teeth bared. Because when that moment came, her family would never stand idly by while she was devoured.

So as night crept over the city once again, Yunzhu hardened herself. Her heart, calm and cold, was like a still pool. She had braced for the worst. She was unafraid now—let the storm come.

At midnight, Cao Xun returned.

Yunzhu’s expression was laced with reluctance. She knew it; this night might well be the last they shared as husband and wife. A general departing for war deserved her prayers, even if it was for his peace, his safety—far away from her.

"Everything is ready," she said softly, deliberate, offering him a small, steady smile. “Check to see if there’s anything you’re missing.”

Cao Xun looked at her, his eyes lingering—seeing more than he said. His smile, faint but warm, reached her before his words did. He took her hand in his. “There’s no need. Go rest.”

She followed him into their chamber anyway, silent as the walls around them.

He said nothing. Did nothing. He only embraced her from behind, as if her warmth alone was enough. He held her there, the quiet stretching between them like a chasm he wouldn’t cross. And slowly, the weight of exhaustion dragged Yunzhu down. She succumbed to sleep.

Morning arrived, sharp and bright. The sound of Cao Xun rising pulled her awake, tugging her out of her restless dreams. She sat up, watching him.

“Go back to sleep,” he said, turning to her, his voice low but firm. “I’m heading to the palace before I leave. You don’t need to see me off.”

But Yunzhu couldn’t rest now. Not today. For the first time in all their years as husband and wife, she stayed by his side. Her hands moved with purpose, helping him dress, straightening each piece of his attire with unspoken care. For her, this small act—this simple, intimate farewell—was perhaps the only thing left to give.

The crimson of his official robes clung to him like a teasing paradox, sharpening his youthful edge despite the years he carried. There was nothing severe or imposing about the man—no hard angles of command, no brute authority that screamed dominance. Instead, his charm simmered beneath his gentle grace, drawing respect like a low-burning fire.

Yunzhu, the prized daughter of Duke Ningguo, never once let herself be the type to worship a man—certainly not blindly. Her upbringing had etched a fierce pride into her very bones, one that demanded equality, demanded respect.

She felt no regret for tying herself to Cao Xun. She had chosen him with clear eyes and a steady hand, and he knew how to soothe her vanity when the occasion called for it.

Life, though, was a fickle beast—forever tilting the scales.

Wrapped in his rich, crimson uniform, Yunzhu pressed herself close to him, her arms curling around his waist in one final embrace. “Stay safe,” she whispered, the hushed plea betraying more concern than she wanted to show.

Cao Xun’s fingers found her hair, toying with it absently before his voice cut through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk. “Do you think so little of me, Yunzhu? That you’d rather suffer some reckless king’s pursuit than lean on me, than trust me to handle it?”

The words landed with a sharpness that made her stiffen, her grip faltering.

But he didn’t let her pull away. His hand—steady, possessive—pressed her head down, keeping her close as his other arm lingered with a gentleness that belied the tension between them.

The moment stretched, thick and electric. Yunzhu’s pulse pounded as she waited, the anticipation swirling in the air between them like smoke.

Then came his sigh—long and heavy, as if the weight of it might crush the room itself. “You’re letting your imagination run wild,” he murmured, his voice a deep, deliberate hum. “Don’t let it lead you to ruin.”

He paused, letting the silence sit just long enough to make her chest tighten. “When I leave from the capital,” he added finally. “The Emperor wouldn’t dare summon you in these last few days of the month. And if he does? Play sick—nothing too dramatic. Just enough to keep yourself out of reach.”

“February,” he promised, his tone darker now, alive with a quiet resolve, “I’ll find a way to turn his gaze elsewhere.”

“Yunzhu,” he said, softer this time, the intimacy of her name on his lips searing through her, “trust me. Just wait for me.”

Before she could respond, he tilted her head and brushed a kiss against her hair—soft, lingering, and far too fleeting. And then, just like that, he slipped away, leaving her there—adrift in a storm of frustration, longing, and the faint, stubborn spark of hope.

——— TN:

Stupid Yunzhu indeed.