BLPSG Chapter 100: gege

After Xie Bufeng ascended the throne, he had no intention of changing the era’s name.

If the officials hadn’t repeatedly submitted memorials urging him, he probably would have continued using the previous era name, Tianchu.

But this year, as soon as Wen Qingci returned to Yongdu, Xie Bufeng immediately began pushing to change the era name.

Although it wasn’t yet the end of the year, making such a change now was somewhat improper according to ritual norms.

But the entire court seemed to have grown accustomed to Xie Bufeng’s way of doing things.

In the end, the Wei Dynasty officially changed the era name to Qing’an early, on the day of the Autumn Equinox.

Everyone knew that this era’s name was changed by His Majesty for Lord Wen, who had just returned to Yongdu.

In principle, changing an era name is a matter of great significance, and even an emperor cannot do it on a whim.

But this time, not only did the civil and military officials not object, even the common people raised no objections at all.

—The events at Lianhe had already spread throughout the entire Wei Dynasty.

Over the past half‑year, Wen Qingci not only taught Solving Crises in the Apricot Forest to the imperial physicians, he also spread the entire text among the common people.

And the first person to undergo surgery, General Anping, not only recovered from his illness, but after resting in Yongdu for several months, he rode back to the northern frontier by year’s end to resume his post.

When people heard this, they were amazed.

The rumors circulating in the Yongdu marketplace that day were not an isolated case.

At this point, the entire population of the Wei Dynasty whispered privately that Wen Qingci was a star‑immortal descended from the heavens to save the suffering.

With such a divine reputation, Wen Qingci’s medical theories spread rapidly throughout the realm.

Naturally, none of this happened without Xie Bufeng’s quiet support behind the scenes.

*

In the blink of an eye, another winter‑spring transition arrived.

The She‑ri Festival was finally approaching.

The ritual of offering sacrifices to Heaven and Earth would be held at the foot of Mount Yi.

Everyone from the Taishu Palace arrived a day early.

Inside the dark‑gold carriage, a thick layer of fur blankets had been laid out.

The walls were padded with cotton, shutting out the cold air and all outside noise.

No incense was burning inside, yet a faint bitter fragrance lingered in the air.

“…Your Majesty, have we arrived?”

Wen Qingci opened his eyes groggily and realized the carriage had already stopped. Everything outside was silent except for the soft sound of falling snow.

At some point, he had fallen asleep leaning lightly against Xie Bufeng’s shoulder.

Xie Bufeng set aside the memorial he had been reading and pulled the fox‑fur cloak back up over Wen Qingci’s shoulder.

“We’ve arrived. Rest a little longer,” Xie Bufeng said, lifting the ginger soup warmed on the brazier and placing it into Wen Qingci’s hands. “It’s snowing outside—be careful not to catch a chill.”

Wen Qingci gently lifted the curtain and saw Mount Yi draped in deep blue and snow, standing like a deity at the edge of the sky.

Clouds drifted low in the air like ink wash.

Amid the wind and snow, a low mound could be faintly seen.

There were no trees on the mound; the bare brown earth looked desolate.

Wen Qingci had been to Mount Yi during the Fengshan ceremony, but there had been too many people then, and as an imperial physician he couldn’t move freely. He hadn’t noticed this place at all.

“What is that?” Wen Qingci couldn’t help asking.

Xie Bufeng’s fingers slid slowly through his hair. “That is the Chen Mausoleum.”

“…So that’s the Chen Mausoleum.” Wen Qingci murmured softly.

From the moment the deposed emperor ascended the throne, he began massive construction to build his own tomb.

Unexpectedly, more than twenty years passed and the tomb was still unfinished when he died beneath the Yin River Canal.

Xie Bufeng’s gaze followed Wen Qingci’s out the window.

The young emperor in his black cloak gently rubbed Wen Qingci’s neck and frowned slightly.
“It’s an eyesore here. Why not have it filled in?”

He spoke, then withdrew his gaze, not bothering to look at it again.

But Wen Qingci slowly sat upright and shook his head.
“The Chen Mausoleum was not easy to build. It would be a pity to bury it. Let it remain.”

Over the past half‑year, Wen Qingci’s most important task had not been teaching Solving Crises in the Apricot Forest to the imperial physicians, nor preparing for the festival, but recovering his health.

With Xie Bufeng and Song Junran watching him closely, he had barely left the city gates of Yongdu.

Like any modern person, Wen Qingci was curious about the structure of ancient imperial tombs.

After a moment’s pause, he couldn’t help saying, “I’d like to take a look. Would Your Majesty accompany me?”

As he spoke, his dark eyes suddenly brightened.

Look at the Chen Mausoleum?

Xie Bufeng frowned. Having grown up in a tomb‑keeper’s settlement, he had no interest in visiting the deposed emperor’s tomb.

But if Wen Qingci wanted to go, how could he refuse?

“Of course.”

…

A cup of tea later, Xie Bufeng helped Wen Qingci down from the carriage.

The snow had not stopped, and the cold was biting.

In addition to his cloak, Wen Qingci wore a fox‑fur coat.

The pale fur at the collar covered most of his chin, leaving only his dark eyes and the red cinnabar mark visible.

Wen Qingci had come here out of curiosity, but upon approaching the Chen Mausoleum, he discovered that the Empress Dowager had arrived before him.

She was standing there holding the hand of Xie Fuyin.

Besides Mingliu, there were two others at her side.

One was Eunuch Zhao, who had already left the palace.
The other was a woman Wen Qingci found unfamiliar at first glance.

When they saw Xie Bufeng and Wen Qingci approach, they immediately bowed.

Only when Wen Qingci noticed the woman’s short hair did he recognize her—she was the former Consort Wen, mother of the deposed emperor’s youngest fourth prince.

Her family, the Zhong’an Marquisate, had been implicated in the noble rebellion and collapsed overnight.

She herself had been sent to the imperial temple by Consort Lan and forced to become a nun.

If not for seeing her today, Wen Qingci would have nearly forgotten she existed.

Her hair had grown to her shoulders now; she must have left the temple some time ago.

When a new emperor ascends the throne, a general amnesty is customary.

Wen Qingci guessed she had regained her freedom then.

…However, the rebellion had not affected the rest of the harem.

The deposed emperor’s other consorts from noble families had all retained their ranks.

Only Consort Wen had been sent to the temple under the charge of “offending the imperial carriage.”

But now… not only did she bear no resentment toward the Empress Dowager, she was even holding an umbrella for her, appearing very close.

Wen Qingci felt puzzled, but did not show it.

The Empress Dowager seemed to sense his confusion.

She did not explain directly. Instead, her gaze fell on the unlowered dragon‑severing stone at the entrance of the Chen Mausoleum.

She rubbed Xie Fuyin’s head as the child waved at Wen Qingci and Xie Bufeng, then turned back and asked:

“Lord Wen, do you remember that shortly after you entered the palace, a palace maid died in the harem?”

Of course Wen Qingci remembered.

The maid’s body had been thrown into a well, frightening many people.

The deposed emperor had flown into a rage and ordered an investigation.

But nothing was ever found, and it became an unsolved case.

“I remember,” Wen Qingci said with a nod.

As he spoke, his gaze fell on Eunuch Zhao standing nearby.

Wen Qingci’s mood suddenly tightened.

He had long wondered how Eunuch Zhao and Consort Lan had ever come into contact.
One was a consort of the inner palace, the other a close attendant at the emperor’s side.
Both were cautious by nature… no matter how one looked at it, they didn’t seem like people who would casually share something as grave as regicide with each other.

…Judging from the atmosphere today, he would likely learn the truth.

Sure enough, the Empress Dowager let out a long sigh. After a few seconds, she said, “To be honest, this matter is not only related to me, it is tied to every consort in the harem.”

“Mother, what do you mean by that?”
This time, even Xie Bufeng, who had been silent, spoke.

The Empress Dowager slowly closed her eyes, as if sinking into memory.
“Physician Wen, do you remember where that palace maid was serving?”

“The Hundred‑Craft Pavilion.”
Though the incident had happened years ago, it remained deeply etched in Wen Qingci’s mind.

“Correct. The Hundred‑Craft Pavilion — where the design plans for the Chen Mausoleum were stored.”

With that, the Empress Dowager finally opened her eyes.

She looked toward the dragon‑severing stone and said in a low voice,“The Chen Mausoleum was not only built for the deposed emperor himself — it was built for all of us. I only learned this by accident when I saw the plans. From beginning to end, the deposed emperor intended for every consort to be buried alive with him.”

As she spoke, she clenched her silk handkerchief tightly, her face turning pale.

The Empress Dowager came from a noble family. Her father had been Minister of Works, and her elder brother a master architect.
Having grown up around such things, she naturally understood architectural drawings.

Thus, when she accidentally saw the Chen Mausoleum plans in the Hundred‑Craft Pavilion, she immediately realized: the mausoleum was far too large….large enough that the emperor had reserved coffin chambers for every consort.

Most chilling of all, the mausoleum had three layers of dragon‑severing stones.
These stones, once lowered, could never be raised again, not only preventing outsiders from entering, but preventing those inside from ever escaping.

Xie Zhaolin had intended for all his consorts to die with him.

After speaking, she turned and nodded to Eunuch Zhao, then said hoarsely,
“When I discovered this, I was terrified. Fortunately, Eunuch Zhao appeared and helped conceal it for me…”

Her voice grew dry.

Even the lively little Xie Fuyin sensed something was wrong and fell quiet.

Eunuch Zhao had been responsible for the emperor’s daily care, and he had also gone to the Hundred‑Craft Pavilion that day.

When Consort Lan realized the true purpose of the mausoleum, her face had gone deathly pale, sweat beading on her forehead.
Her hands trembled, and she could barely speak.

Seeing Eunuch Zhao, she thought she was doomed — but unexpectedly, he knelt and offered to cooperate with her.

The matter of the Yin River Canal had been well hidden by the emperor.
It was only that day that she learned the truth from Eunuch Zhao.

“So that’s how it was…” Wen Qingci murmured.

No wonder the deposed emperor, even in madness, remained obsessed with the Hundred‑Craft Pavilion, constantly going there to look at the plans.

Everything… had begun there.

Eunuch Zhao, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke softly:
“No one knew when the deposed emperor might die. To be fully prepared, I often copied the mausoleum plans behind his back.”

The Chen Mausoleum had been under construction for more than twenty years.
There were hundreds upon hundreds of drawings.
Copying them was not something that could be done in a day.

“Unexpectedly… that day, a palace maid saw me. She shouted that she would report it to the emperor.”

If the emperor learned that Eunuch Zhao had been copying the plans, he would investigate thoroughly — and the entire harem would be thrown into chaos.

His voice was hoarse from the wind and snow outside the mausoleum,
but every word reached Wen Qingci clearly.

So the palace maid that day… had been killed by Eunuch Zhao.

Every event since Wen Qingci entered the palace had been tied to this.

Only then did Wen Qingci notice that Mingliu, standing beside the Empress Dowager, was holding a thick stack of papers.

—They must be the mausoleum plans.

After Eunuch Zhao finished speaking, the Empress Dowager stepped forward, took the plans, and burned them one by one before the mausoleum.

Orange flames rose into the snowy sky.

The densely drawn lines on the paper vanished in an instant, turning to ash and scattering in the wind.

Wen Qingci couldn’t help coughing lightly.

“Beloved, the wind is strong here. Let’s move elsewhere.”
Xie Bufeng frowned and held the umbrella in front of him.

But Wen Qingci slowly shook his head.
“Wait a moment, Your Majesty. Stay with me here a little longer.”

As the plans burned to ash, the final knot in Wen Qingci’s heart finally unraveled.

Nearly two years had passed since the deposed emperor was executed by Xie Bufeng.

But only now, as the ashes drifted away, did the past truly begin to fade.

It drifted away from his heart—

“What use is such a grand tomb?”
Consort Wen, now Dowager Consort Du….finally spoke.
“In the end, he still died beneath the river.”

She even let out a cold laugh.

“Dowager Consort Du, mind your words,” the Empress Dowager reminded with a frown.

Dowager Consort Du?

Wen Qingci (文清辞) thought for a moment and realized that Consort Wen’s real name was Du Qingyun (杜清韵).

As the mother of the fourth prince, she had automatically risen to the rank of Dowager Consort after the deposed emperor’s death.

And… for reasons unknown, Xie Bufeng had made her name a national taboo.

Even his own name had become a taboo as well.

Since “Wen” (雯) and “Wen (文)” were homophones, she could no longer use the character 雯 after her promotion.

Already full of resentment toward the deposed emperor, Du Qingyun (杜清韵) simply used the title “Dowager Consort Du (杜太妃)” instead.

She came from a noble family and was an only daughter, she spoke without restraint.

“Alright, alright, I’ll listen to Sister Su!” Dowager Consort Du laughed.

“Sister Su?”
This time, it was Xie Fuyin who was curious.

In all her life, she had never heard anyone call her mother that.

“Of course,” Dowager Consort Du bent down and told the little princess,
“Our families were close for generations. I always called her Sister Su. Besides, Sister Su once saved my life.”

“Wow—” Xie Fuyin’s eyes widened.
“How did Mother save the Dowager Consort?”

Children her age were endlessly curious; she wanted to know everything.

Not only Xie Fuyin, Wen Qingci was curious too.

He watched as Dowager Consort Du sighed softly.
“No one knew when the burial order would come. Leaving the palace and shedding the identity of a consort was the safest path…”

Her family had been executed, and she had once foolishly begged the emperor for mercy on behalf of the marquis’s heir.

Because of that, the then‑Consort Lan — now the Empress Dowager — used the opportunity to send her to the temple as a nun.

Once her hair was shaved, all worldly ties were severed.

She was no longer the emperor’s wife, nor a consort — but a disciple under the protection of the Buddha.

The burial decree no longer applied to her.

“I see…” Xie Fuyin nodded, half understanding.

She was clever, but still only a child; such matters were difficult to grasp.

The snow beneath Mount Yi fell harder and harder.

After hearing the story, Xie Fuyin quickly lost interest and began running around, catching snowflakes in her hands.

The weather was poor today. After looking at the mausoleum, Wen Qingci and the others turned back with their umbrellas.

“A‑choo—!”
A gust of cold wind blew past, and Xie Fuyin, running ahead, suddenly sneezed loudly.

Seeing this, Wen Qingci hurried forward, bent down, and handed her a handkerchief.
Then he tightened her cloak for her.
“Your Highness, be careful not to catch a cold.”

Then he noticed her embroidered boots — half soaked through.

“Your Majesty,” Wen Qingci paused, then turned to Xie Bufeng behind him, speaking naturally,
“The princess’s shoes are wet. You should carry her.”

The Empress Dowager and Dowager Consort Du wore heavy, elaborate clothing, making it difficult to walk in the snow.
Eunuch Zhao was elderly.

Looking around, Xie Bufeng was clearly the best choice.

As he spoke, a snowflake landed lightly on Wen Qingci’s eyelashes.

His eyes were full of warmth and expectation.

Xie Bufeng’s heart trembled.

“Alright.”
He opened his arms and lifted Xie Fuyin securely into his embrace.

His movements were practiced and steady.

Wen Qingci took the umbrella and held it with his right hand, walking beside them.

Xie Fuyin’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Your Highness, why are you so happy?” Wen Qingci asked.

“Because Brother hasn’t carried Fuyin in so long!”
She stretched her hand out from under the umbrella, trying to catch snowflakes, and blinked her round amber eyes.
“Brother is so tall. Will Fuyin grow this tall when she grows up?”

“Yes,” Wen Qingci replied naturally, “as long as Your Highness eats properly.”

“Okay!” Xie Fuyin’s eyes lit up even more. “Then Fuyin wants to eat the food Lord Wen makes!”

Wen Qingci smiled, but before he could nod, the person holding Xie Fuyin frowned and said,
“Physician Wen is already too tired every day. Whatever you want to eat, I’ll make it for you.”

It was late winter now, the final days of the magnolia blossoms.

Yet Xie Bufeng never mentioned wanting to taste magnolia porridge again.

Wen Qingci had assumed that now that he was emperor, he no longer cared for the things he liked as a youth.

He never expected the real reason to be this.

“Brother can cook?”
Xie Fuyin, arms around Xie Bufeng’s neck, looked at him with wide curiosity.

“Yes,” Wen Qingci answered with a smile, “His Majesty is quite talented.”

“Then next time Brother cooks, can you call me? I want to taste it with Lord Wen too~”

“Of course,” Xie Bufeng nodded, then suddenly added, “And from now on, don’t call Qingci ‘Lord Wen.’ It sounds too distant.”

In his heart, Wen Qingci was already family.

For Xie Fuyin to call him “Lord Wen” felt strange.

“I understand…”
Xie Fuyin pouted, troubled. “Then what should I call him?”

Wen Qingci was a man — she couldn’t call him “sister‑in‑law.”
So what should she call him?

While she struggled to think, Wen Qingci, holding the umbrella beside them, suddenly smiled and said,
“Your Highness, I am in my twenties. Naturally, you should call—”

Before he could finish, the emperor turned, looked into those dark eyes, and cut him off:
“Qingci, are you deliberately trying to claim seniority and take advantage of me?”

Wen Qingci cleared his throat and lowered his head guiltily.

Xie Bufeng then turned to his sister and instructed,
“Call him Brother Qingci.”

“Hahaha—okay! Brother Qingci!”
Xie Fuyin’s laughter was crisp and bright, like a tiny silver bell echoing across the snowy plain.

Wen Qingci, holding the umbrella, couldn’t help smiling as well.
He lifted his gaze and said,
“Your Majesty, why don’t you follow the princess’s example and call me that too?”

He swore he hadn’t meant to take advantage earlier.

But once the emperor said it, Wen Qingci couldn’t resist teasing back.

His voice was still gentle and clear as always, but his tone carried a rare lightness.

“Very well,” Xie Bufeng actually agreed.
He turned his eyes toward Wen Qingci, gaze deep, and said in a low voice,
“In private, I shall call my beloved minister that. How does that sound?”

His tone was calm as usual, but the slight upward lilt carried a subtle implication that sent Wen Qingci’s heart into disarray.

A flush rose instantly to his cheeks.

Wen Qingci coughed lightly and turned away as if nothing had happened, looking out over the snowy landscape.

The magnolia‑painted umbrella was small, barely enough for two people.

Their bodies were pressed close beneath it, brushing lightly together as they walked.

A faint smile curved Xie Bufeng’s lips.

The sharp, cold aura he usually carried seemed to melt away.

He was tall and long‑legged, normally striding quickly —
but today, he slowed his pace… and slowed again…

Although she sometimes feared her brother, Xie Fuyin was still a child, unburdened by adult restraint.

Seeing Xie Bufeng smile, she couldn’t resist reaching out from under the umbrella, scooping a handful of snow from its surface, and smearing it across his cheek.

Xie Bufeng’s face instantly turned white, as if someone had smashed a cake against it.

He froze on the spot.

Snowflakes drifted down like goose feathers, blurring the world into white mist.

Xie Bufeng frowned instinctively and raised a hand to wipe the snow away.

—Would this ridiculous appearance ruin the image he had in Wen Qingci’s heart?

He turned toward Wen Qingci without thinking.

Seeing his serious expression, Xie Fuyin suddenly remembered her brother’s status.
She stiffened, withdrawing her hand nervously.

“Uh… Your Majesty, I—I…”

Was she in trouble?

Just as she was about to apologize, Wen Qingci, standing to the side, suddenly laughed.

He reached up, scooped a bit of snow from the umbrella just as she had, and smeared it onto the other side of Xie Bufeng’s face.

As Wen Qingci prepared to repeat the attack, Xie Bufeng suddenly reached out and gently caught his wrist.

His gaze deepened instantly —
as if he meant to swallow Wen Qingci whole.

“…Y‑Your Majesty?”
Sensing danger, Wen Qingci instinctively stepped back half a step, slipping outside the umbrella.

At that moment, Xie Bufeng’s fingers slowly slid across Wen Qingci’s palm.

A faint, delicate tingling shot from his palm through his entire body.

Wen Qingci shivered lightly at the sensation.

“Oh my!”  Xie Fuyin, still in Xie Bufeng’s arms, covered her eyes.

And in the next moment, Xie Bufeng gently wiped the snow he had taken from Wen Qingci’s palm onto the tip of Wen Qingci’s nose.

Then he pulled him back under the umbrella, leaned close to his ear, and whispered:

“Be careful not to catch a cold… gege.”