In the Study

Proofreader/Editor: Nene Yashiro

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In the emperor’s study, where the warmth of the heated floors kept out the winter chill, young children read without feeling the biting cold outside. The emperor valued the education of his sons, and he specifically selected the great scholar Song Ci to teach them, bringing in boys of similar age from officials’ families to accompany the princes in their studies.

Gu Zhenguan, fair and charming, had not yet developed his later heroic bearing at age twelve. His round, rosy face was endearing, though his indifferent nature meant few sought him out for fun. Today, dressed in a light blue embroidered robe, he looked adorable but was drowsy in the warm room, resting his head on his hand.

Song Ci, the teacher, didn’t call him out. After all, a learned Confucian scholar like him wasn’t thrilled to teach such young children. But he found himself torn between amusement and frustration at Gu Zhenguan, who dared nap while the princes earnestly took notes, occasionally asking questions. The supposed troublemaker here was actually their study companion.

“Gu Zhenguan, tell us your understanding!” Song Ci said with a steady voice, looking at Gu Zhenguan, who was nodding off to his right.

One of the princes nudged Gu, waking him with a start, and he shot an annoyed look at his companion before standing up like a puppet on a string, his expression blank. With no help from the nearby prince, he merely shrugged, smirking slightly as he ignored the question.

Gu Zhenguan was kicked by the Fourth Prince, hissing in pain. He shot an irritated look at the prince before getting up unsteadily, like a puppet on strings.

With a dazed expression but a calm demeanor, he turned to ask the Fourth Prince’s tutor about the question. The Fourth Prince, annoyed by Gu’s arrogant behavior in the palace, naturally refused to answer. Unbothered, Gu smirked slightly, which made even Song Ci, despite being a well-composed teacher, clench his teeth in frustration.

Song Ci reminded him, “From Mencius, the Exhausting One’s Mind, Part II— share your understanding.” ^[1]Mencius’ The Exhausting One’s Mind, Part II – explores the concept of cultivating moral character and virtue

Gu Zhenguan responded with an “Oh,” then tilted his head to glance at Han Zhen across from him before saying, “I don’t know, Teacher!”

Song Ci nearly lost his composure, only managing to hold himself together because he had been somewhat prepared. Staring at Gu Zhenguan with blazing eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that this little rascal was utterly ruining his reputation as a renowned instructor, so much so that even the usually calm and composed Grand Tutor looked visibly annoyed.

“Stay after class, and I will go over it with you again,” Song Ci said through gritted teeth.

Gu Zhenguan gave another casual “Oh,” nodded, and sat down, propping his head on his hand and idly doodling.

When class ended and everyone had dispersed, the Fourth Prince disdainfully pulled away his long sleeve that had been pinned under Gu’s arm, frowning as he left. Han Zhen gathered his books, and his attendant, Chief Eunuch Li Sheng, took them and carefully stored them away before escorting Han out.

Song Ci, not wanting to lose his dignity in front of a child, realized that dealing with Gu Zhenguan required both firmness and gentleness. Though he had put the boy on the spot earlier, he knew he’d also need to show some leniency to smooth things over. However, as he looked at Gu, still scrawling nonsense across his paper, Song Ci’s face darkened. Who had sent this little rascal into the palace? Song Ci was visibly frustrated.

Gu Zhenguan, oblivious to his teacher’s simmering anger, was now awake and, apparently bored, smudging the ink all over the paper and blowing on it playfully.

Watching the boy waste good ink like that made Song Ci feel like a parent watching their child’s favorite possession being ruined. He wondered how such a notorious minister could produce such a wild child and still send him here as a study companion!

“Gu Zhenguan, if you don’t explain today’s lesson, you won’t be eating dinner!” Song Ci declared sternly as he walked up to him.

With his large, dark eyes sparkling, Gu Zhenguan replied, “I’m not worried; my mother will make sure I have snacks to eat!”

Seeing his carefree expression, as if to say, “Don’t worry about me, Teacher; I won’t starve,” made Song Ci’s blood boil. Refusing to back down, he pulled Gu from behind his desk, making him stand beside it.

“If you can’t give a proper answer, you won’t be going home tonight,” Song Ci threatened, then quickly added, “And your mother won’t be coming for you either, and your father might even punish you!”

Gu Zhenguan scoffed to himself, thinking, ‘What kind of scholar are you, acting like a street thug, threatening a kid like this?’

But the thought of his mother’s disappointed, gentle reprimand made him take it seriously. He shook off Song Ci’s hand and began to speak passionately.

“Mencius said: ‘The people are the most precious, the altars of the state come next, and the ruler is the least important. Hence, if one gains the favor of the people, they become emperor; if they gain the favor of the emperor, they become a noble; if they gain the favor of a noble, they become a courtier. When a noble endangers the altars of the state, he is replaced. If, despite proper sacrifices and clean offerings, there is still drought or flooding, then the altars themselves are replaced.’ This means that the people are most important, the altars representing the state come next, and the ruler is the least significant…” ^[2]Mencius – was a Chinese philosopher, politician, and Confucian scholar.

“I didn’t ask for a recitation; I wanted you to interpret it in your own words!” Song Ci said with narrowed eyes.

Gu glanced at him. “I wasn’t finished yet, Teacher; why are you in such a hurry?”

“Then continue!” Song Ci said, gritting his teeth.

“Mencius believes that both the ruler and the state can be replaced, but the people cannot. Therefore, the people are the most important. ‘The people’ is a collective concept, which means that, as a group, they are more important than the ruler. However, as individual people, how can a single commoner compare to a ruler? Mencius doesn’t address this, so it’s hard to say. But from my perspective, while Mencius sees the people as most valuable, I think a capable ruler is equally important. After all, if a ruler values the people but lacks the ability to help them, he’s just a mediocre leader. So, in my view, putting the people first requires a wise and virtuous emperor. Otherwise, if the people revolt, the ruler’s power will be meaningless!”

Song Ci nodded thoughtfully; while Gu’s initial statements matched those of the other students, his later remarks were more insightful. This young man had depth, proving that the esteemed Prime Minister Gu had not raised a mere troublemaker.

“If you had such thoughts, why didn’t you answer earlier?” Song Ci asked, puzzled.

Gu scoffed, saying, “Oh, Teacher, in this room of potential heirs to the throne, why would I say something that could cause suspicion? I value my life and don’t wish to get involved in politics!”

Song Ci chuckled. Here was a cunning fox in the making, though not yet as skilled as his elder counterparts. He patted Gu on the shoulder and said, “I see you spend a lot of time with the First Prince; it seems you have a clear intention.”

Young Gu crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Oh? Just because I’m close with someone, you think I’ve chosen sides? That’s quite the assumption, Teacher.”

Song Ci wasn’t easily deceived but, observing Gu’s young face and sharp mind, he sighed, “He’s not a bad choice, but be careful. The First Prince may be mature, but his intentions run deep. When the birds are gone, the bow is put away; surely, you understand the risk?”

Gu frowned slightly. “If I stand beside him, why would there be any opponent to worry about? I think you’re mistaken, Teacher.”

Song Ci didn’t argue further. In his eyes, the future was uncertain, and Gu’s current closeness with the First Prince might be nothing more than a temporary alliance. Little did he know that his words would one day become a prophecy.

Han Zhen leaned against the crabapple tree outside, his gaze distant and deep. When Gu Zhenguan exited the hall and noticed the snow on his shoulders, he thought of the tutor’s advice but merely chuckled and didn’t take it to heart. To him, the future was long, and he’d never stand in opposition to the First Prince.

Gu Zhenguan walked over, smiling, and brushed the snow off Han Zhen’s shoulders. “It’s so cold outside—why didn’t you wait in the hall?”

Han Zhen held Gu Zhenguan’s warm hand, purposefully letting his cold fingers chill him a little. Gu Zhenguan flinched, unable to break free from Han Zhen’s grip, as Han’s strength was greater.

“Why didn’t that Chief Eunuch Li Sheng bring a hand warmer? Doesn’t he know his master’s freezing out here?” Gu Zhenguan, usually calm, let his irritation show in front of Han Zhen.

Chief Eunuch Li Sheng, looking pained, knelt immediately, saying, “Young Master, you don’t know—Master wouldn’t let us bring him one! I just sent it back. Shall I fetch it again?”

Chief Eunuch Li Sheng’s playful reply made Gu Zhenguan laugh and playfully called him a “sly servant,” then let it slide.

Han Zhen’s cold expression softened slightly as he led Gu Zhenguan toward his quarters, hand in hand.

Gu Zhenguan laughed, “The First Prince seems different today. Normally, you don’t like me pulling you around like this. So why are you breaking your own rule?”

Han Zhen stopped, and the chill around him seemed to mix with the wintry air. Seeing his troubled expression, Gu Zhenguan held back his jokes, tilting his head to listen.

After a long pause, Han Zhen quietly asked, “Zhenguan, if I wanted to claim that position, would you help me?”

Gu chuckled, picking a plum blossom from nearby, twirling it. “That’s a risky bet, one wrong step, and it’s game over. I’m not one for gambling. Why would you ask me to do something so difficult?”

Han Zhen didn’t seem angry, only muttering, “I thought things were different between us, Zhenguan. I thought you’d stand by me.”

Recalling Song Ci’s words from earlier, Gu Zhenguan felt a chill in his heart, but seeing Han Zhen’s vulnerable and forlorn expression, he couldn’t help but feel pity. Unsure whether it was compassion or something deeper, he instinctively stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Han Zhen’s slim waist, offering comfort.

“Empress Jiayi may be gone, but I’m still here. I’ll always be with you, so don’t worry.” Gu Zhenguan gently patted Han Zhen’s back, knowing the harshness of Han Zhen’s current situation and how much he needed someone by his side on this dangerous, treacherous path.

Han Zhen returned the embrace and murmured, “Zhenguan, if one day I’m forced to do something I don’t want to, something that might hurt you… would you forgive me?”

Younger and shorter than Han Zhen, Gu Zhenguan nestled into his chest, chuckling softly.

“Zhenguan, I’m serious. If one day I hurt you, would you forgive me?” Han Zhen urgently sought an answer, pushing Gu Zhenguan away to look directly into his bright, dark eyes as he pressed the question.

Gu smiled, seemingly unconcerned. “Then why do it? Can’t you just not hurt me? I understand what’s important and won’t act impulsively.”

Looking down at him, Han’s gaze lingered on Gu’s yet-unmatured face, and he said, almost emotionally, “My mother died because of me, and my grandfather’s family fell in their struggle to protect me. Those who want to protect me always end up hurt. I fear that one day, I might be forced to hurt you too, Zhenguan.”

Gu Zhenguan was surprised by Han Zhen’s rare words and sorrow. Typically, Han Zhen kept his world closed off like ice, even if he allowed Gu Zhenguan inside. But there were still places Gu Zhenguan could never touch, like his mother and his ambitions.

Without getting the answer he wanted, Han Zhen cast one last, deep, desolate look at Gu Zhenguan before turning and walking away alone in the snow. Gu Zhenguan stood frozen beneath the plum tree, but just then, the Third Princess, Yang Cheng, who had been hiding in the tree, shook a branch and covered him in snow.

“Haha! Got you at last, Gu Zhenguan! Now I can leave satisfied. Goodbye!”

Worried Gu Zhenguan might retaliate, Yang Cheng quickly jumped down and ran into her nanny’s arms, glancing back nervously to make sure he wasn’t chasing her.

The cold snow down his neck startled Gu Zhenguan, and he thought of Song Ci’s advice and Han Zhen’s hopeless expression as he left. Clenching his fists, Gu Zhenguan resolved that his chosen brother would never betray him. Since he was already entangled in this game, he couldn’t withdraw easily. Helping Han Zhen would be worth the risk; he didn’t believe Han would truly harm him.

After all, they were the only people in this cold palace so similar, so drawn to each other. If he couldn’t wholeheartedly trust someone who was almost another self, what else could he rely on here?

To find a worthy companion for life or a true confidant to stay by his side—Gu Zhenguan wasn’t some timid boy. His father had once set sail fearlessly, so how could he, his father’s son, be too afraid to risk it all?

“Hey, First Prince! Wait, I know how to answer you!” Gu shouted, lifting his robe and running after him.

But in the end, the First Prince never heard his pledge of loyalty. Gu Zhenguan slipped in the snow that day, was taken back to his family’s estate, and spent the following days bedridden with a high fever. The illness left him pale and dazed, and the matter slipped from his mind entirely.

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Author’s Note: Ah, little Zhenguan didn’t believe that “little ice block” could truly be so heartless. See? Fooled, heartbroken, betrayed, and now, a desire for revenge and a counterattack!

“Dear readers, could someone pop up and say hello? Lanlan here is talking to herself, feeling parched from all this self-monologuing. Have you all abandoned me? Could it be that I’m actually Xiao Guanguan? *Clutches collar in mock fear~*