Chapter 13: Why Are You Here to Comfort Me?

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“No wonder he’s so good-looking and hasn’t had any romantic history all these years.”

“Do you think he’s really into men?”

Ju Chen took the handkerchief, wiped the corner of her lips, and gave a dry cough in response to the sudden question.
“Probably not.”

Lu Yun frowned slightly, confused:
“Then why hasn’t he ever gotten married?”

“Just hasn’t met the right person.”

Lu Feng appeared behind Lu Yun, pinched her ear, and lectured:
“If he really liked men, wouldn’t he have fallen for your big brother first?”

Lu Yun slapped his hand away and made a face:
“What if you’re just too dense to notice?”

Lu Feng sat down beside her confidently.
“Even if he’s not into women, you know me. If he liked men, would we be such good friends? Sharing a bed and everything?”

“You two shared a bed?” a nearby female disciple asked brightly.

“Back when he lived at Mount Peng, we’d often talk late into the night.” Lu Feng chuckled.
“Though it was mostly me doing the talking.”

Another disciple, unaware of the backstory, commented:
“It seems Lu Feng and the Lord of Mount Peng are really close?”

“Please. We’ve known each other for ten years—we’re basically childhood friends. I know exactly what kind of person he is.”

Lu Feng’s face softened with a smile as memories filled his mind, taking him back to the first time he met Song Mi when they were kids.

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At the southern border of the Eastern Capital, not far from the palace, lay a naturally beautiful range of mountains.

Around the mountains, wild white azaleas bloomed each spring, making the slopes look like a graceful fairy dressed in green with a white belt. The place was called Mount Peng.

Lu Feng was twelve that year, riding a small horse, trotting down to the meadow below the mountain to secretly practice archery where no one was around.

He squinted at the sky, aiming at a white crane resting halfway up the mountain.
He drew his bow and let the arrow fly—but it missed, and the crane flew off.

Frustrated, he waited at the foot of the mountain, hoping the crane would return.

Not long after, a boy in white robes, about his age, came down from the mountain holding a heavy sword.
“Did you hurt my crane?”

Lu Feng gave him a side glance.
“And what if I did?”

Without another word, the boy swung his sword at him.

Lu Feng eyed the skinny kid, thinking there’s no way someone that thin could wield a 30-pound sword. He assumed the boy was bluffing—so he charged at him confidently.

Only to be beaten in two moves.

From that fight, they became fast friends, and Lu Feng’s admiration for Song Mi grew endlessly.

Later, after much persistence, Song Mi agreed to be friends despite their rocky start.

At first, Lu Feng thought the whole “raising cranes” thing was just pretentious—a scholar’s whimsy. But when he finally visited Song Mi’s home, he found the guy had a whole zoo of white animals, from doves to even a white rhino.

Eventually, he realized why Song Mi kept so many pets—because he was the only one living in such a big house.

Now, thinking back on those days, Lu Feng sighed:
“All these years, he’s always been alone.”

This line wasn’t just to explain why Song Mi remained unmarried—it was also full of heartfelt sympathy from a brotherly friend.

Ju Chen felt the same and sighed alongside him.

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The Great Liang dynasty was governed under Confucian ideals of propriety, justice, kindness, and filial piety. But when it came to scandalous family dramas, none surpassed those of royalty.

The current Empress Dowager, Lady Cao, was once a concubine of Emperor Xining, the founding emperor.

He loved his first wife deeply, but she died young. One day in the imperial garden, he encountered Lady Cao, whose appearance resembled his late wife. In a moment of weakness, he brought her into the palace.

But her temperament was quite different from the woman he mourned, and she never received much favor.

When Emperor Xining died suddenly, the tradition of burying concubines with the emperor was still in place. As a childless consort, Lady Cao should have been buried alive in the tomb.

Coincidentally, that same year, Xining had summoned her for the first time in a long while—and she became pregnant.

A year later, she gave birth to Song Mi.

The next emperor, Emperor Tianxi, upon learning that the former concubine was pregnant with his father’s posthumous child, took her into the palace out of respect. But he fell deeply in love with her, and eventually, against all norms, made her his empress.

They had two children: the current emperor and Princess Xuyang.

Their love was legendary. Together, they ruled harmoniously, and the empire prospered.

But young Song Mi was in an awkward position.

His mother had married his half-brother.

By seniority, he was the late emperor’s son, so both the current emperor and the princess had to call him “Uncle.”

But practically speaking, the royal family was one big, happy household—except for him, the prestigious outsider.

Now, to avoid marriage, people even misunderstood him as being gay.

The more Lu Feng thought about it, the more frustrated he felt. He turned to the group of gossiping young girls:
“He’s not as forgiving as you think. If you have too much time on your hands, maybe stop spreading rumors about him.”

“Or else, don’t blame me for what happens.” He glared at Lu Yun with a stern voice.

Lu Yun rarely saw her brother so serious. She pouted and muttered:
“Got it.”

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The sun dipped below the hills, and the evening breeze rolled in.

Ju Chen borrowed the kitchen from the dining hall and spent all afternoon cooking. She beamed with pride as she carried out a steaming tray of golden milk cakes.

She quickly sealed them in a food box to keep them warm and ran off toward Song Mi’s residence.

But the gatekeeper said that Lord Peng hadn’t returned since visiting the Empress Dowager that morning.

Ju Chen, still holding the food box, sat in front of the residence, staring up at Mount Li, lost in thought.

Suddenly, she heard a faint sound of gravel falling from above.

She looked up—and saw the proud and beautiful white crane standing atop the wall. It met her gaze, spread one wing gently as if beckoning, then leapt to another tile, glanced back at her, and continued forward, bathed in the golden glow of sunset.

Ju Chen immediately followed, weaving through winding paths and blossoming flowers, until she finally saw him.

He lay reclined on a granite boulder, eyes closed, basking in the last light of the day.

Ju Chen approached quietly, holding the food box before her, and sat beside him in silence.

For a moment, all was peaceful.

Song Mi opened his eyes and saw her leaning over him, quietly gazing. Her long lashes cast faint shadows across his face.

“You came looking for me?” he asked gently.

Ju Chen coughed and quickly averted her gaze.
“I had study duty with Her Majesty this afternoon. Before I left, she asked me to bring you this.”

She placed the box beside him and opened it—revealing the warm golden milk cakes, still steaming and shaped like peonies.

Seeing the heat still rising, she relaxed.

Song Mi, leaning on the rock, raised an eyebrow and asked:
“Why are you trying to comfort me?”

Ju Chen froze.
“I’m not…”

But Song Mi exposed her lie word by word:
“You’re not on study duty today. That’s scheduled for tomorrow.”

She blushed. How could he even remember such a small detail?

He rose and spoke calmly:
“I’m not that foolish. If she were the caring type, we’d have made up long ago.”

Their relationship had always been distant.

Ju Chen smiled guiltily:
“I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just felt responsible—for the argument between you two, and the misunderstandings about you. I couldn’t rest easy.”

Song Mi looked her in the eye and said:
“It wasn’t because of you.”

His conflict with the Empress Dowager ran deep.

Ju Chen had always thought of Song Mi as calm and collected, never one to lose his temper in court. But with the Empress Dowager, he was like a lit fuse—ready to explode.

“If you know how she is, why provoke her?” she asked.

“Why should I always be the one to yield?” Song Mi paused.
“I want her to understand my position.”

“What position?”

He glanced at her, eyelashes lowered.
“I don’t want to get married. Not yet.”

Ju Chen’s heart skipped a beat—as if scratched by a cat’s paw.

Of course, she hoped he wouldn’t marry too soon. But she dared not show her delight too openly.

Then Song Mi asked:
“How did you even know about these cakes?”

Ju Chen bit her lip.
“I was afraid that palace maid from last night had seen me and might be suspicious, so I went to investigate. I found out she was sent by Her Majesty to deliver snacks to you.”

Ju Chen looked at him, her eyes clear and bright:
“She was worried you’d get hungry while reviewing state papers, so she made these herself.”

Song Mi paused. The explanation clearly touched him.

He usually disliked sweets, but the creamy filling of golden milk cakes was the only one he liked. After learning this, the Empress Dowager had taken special care to learn how to make them herself.

Moved, Song Mi fell silent for a moment, then asked:
“Then how do you know how to make them?”

Ju Chen’s eyes flickered slightly:
“Is it so strange that I do?”

“Very strange,” he replied.

“Do I not look like someone who can cook?” she asked, feeling a bit wronged.

“Not at all.”

Ju Chen huffed.
“You really can’t judge a book by its cover.”

Song Mi gazed at her steadily. The corners of his lips, straight all day, finally curled into a soft smile.