Book 7: The Sovereign
Chapter 39: True Joy Before the Hall
There are all kinds of beautiful sounds in this world. These sounds can make listeners tremble from their eardrums to the depths of their hearts, as if struck by electricity, instantly evoking incredibly complex sensations. And because these sounds themselves are profoundly intricate and open to interpretation, they give rise to countless associations, making the experience even more multifaceted.
For instance, in a quiet rice field, the sound of field mice nibbling on roots resembles raindrops gently falling on a sandy shore. A village girl lost in unrequited love, sitting on the ridge of the field, hears these faint sounds—who knows whether her thoughts will drift toward infinite romance or its opposite?
Or the rustling sound—it might be a waterbird preening its feathers, or perhaps the sound of undressing, or even the murmur of intimate contact. Or, like the countless sword branches in the Sword Cemetery outside the window at this moment, planted upside down in the ground, swaying and clinking softly against each other under the dusk of Dongyi City and the sea breeze. The faint metallic chimes seem to emanate an aura of solemn killing, yet if one closes their eyes to listen, they might perceive the gentle charm of wind chimes.
The sound of tearing is one of the most familiar to humans—a byproduct of something fragile breaking. Like Qingwen tearing a fan, or Fan Sizhe tearing books in the past, or Fan Xian tearing off Yan Bingyun’s white robe in the guild hall of Shangjing City, carefully bandaging his wounds.
The magic of sound was on full display in the quiet room of the Sword Cottage. The two individuals, who had just been angrily and coldly attacking each other, fell silent and still at the sound.
A large tear had been ripped in the Little Emperor’s plain robe, running from the neck down to the abdomen, revealing the white undergarments beneath. It was like carefully peeling the shell off a pristine egg to expose the delicate contents inside, or like unwrapping a beautifully packaged gift box, tearing open the ribbon to glimpse the treasure within.
It was already late spring, and people wore light clothing. The Little Emperor was no exception. A torn piece of fabric hung from the bright yellow sash, looking somewhat comical, while the undergarments and the glimpse of white on the chest were strikingly conspicuous.
Fan Xian fell silent. He had to admit that his action was subconscious—a result of frustration after failing to prevail in the argument with the other party. Perhaps it was also a subconscious impulse to inflict cruelty upon this emperor. However, having actually torn open the emperor’s clothes and seen the smooth throat and the tender skin above the undergarments that unmistakably did not belong to a man, he was stunned, unsure of what to do next.
The Little Emperor’s Adam’s apple was only a slight protrusion, clearly altered by human intervention. Without the cover of clothing, it was impossible to escape Fan Xian’s notice.
She… was a she, not a he. Her chest, though still tightly bound by white cloth, betrayed her true gender at the edges of the fabric. Stubborn feminine traits, with a hint of overflowing soft subcutaneous fat, blatantly revealed her secret.
Fan Xian stared at her chest, marveling at the capabilities of the Northern Qi royal family. He wondered what material those white cloth strips were made of, able to conceal a pair of jade-like peaks so effectively that no one had ever discovered the secret.
“Hmm… after development, trying to bind them tightly becomes too difficult, and… it’s not good for the body.” His lips felt dry as he stared at that glimpse of white, unable to stop himself from imagining how the tender flesh beneath the white cloth strips was forced to deform, how much it suffered. He wondered how they would rejoice and leap for joy once they were allowed to breathe freely.
Leaping? Throbbing? Fan Xian was a functionally normal young man. While he had intended to use this method to shatter the other’s hardened exterior upon confirming the Little Emperor’s gender, now that he had verified it, he felt somewhat lost. Staring at her chest, he felt as if his own exterior was about to be shattered.
…
…
Her long, silky hair slipped from her ears to her shoulders. In that moment of tenderness, the Northern Qi Emperor felt a sense of bewilderment, as if the deepest shadows in her heart had dissipated with Fan Xian’s act of loosening her hair, no longer weighing heavily on her heart and making it hard to breathe. In that instant, she had given up, resigned to her fate, and even felt a faint joy that her hair could fall so softly.
Because the person before her was Fan Xian—the Fan Xian she had once adored and deeply hated, the Fan Xian who had recklessly revealed his tender side while intoxicated. The Little Emperor had no time to think. Subconsciously, she might have long considered that if anyone in this world were to discover she was a woman, Fan Xian would be the best candidate. After all, she had already revealed this truth to him once, though he had been unconscious at the time.
The Little Emperor’s subtle beauty and sorrow, her rare glimpse of femininity, and the only moment of her life where she returned to being a woman—all were tied to Fan Xian. She resigned herself to fate, even forcing herself to suppress the faint joy she felt in her disarray. But with a tearing sound, the front of her robe was ruthlessly ripped open by Fan Xian’s “Great Coffin-Splitting Hand,” exposing her never-before-seen body.
So, she was stunned. Her gaze began to涣散, rendered speechless by the intense shock and crisis. She stared blankly into Fan Xian’s eyes, her entire body stiff and unmoving, her hands clenched tightly in anger, trembling uncontrollably and causing the wooden bed beneath her to creak.
The Little Emperor made no move to cover her chest, allowing the spring scenery to gradually seep through the white cloth and fill the room. She stared at Fan Xian with fury and hatred.
She noticed Fan Xian’s gaze fixed on her chest, a look in his eyes that she found deeply repulsive. Then, she heard his comment about the development of her breasts. A flush of embarrassment and anger rose from the corners of her eyes, gradually spreading across her cheeks, reaching her ears, then her neck, and finally even the snow-white skin above the white cloth began to tinge with a faint, alluring pink.
The dusk gathered outside the window, but it was far less striking than the vivid redness on the Little Emperor’s body. Fan Xian narrowed his eyes, his right hand seemingly moving on its own as it reached below the Little Emperor’s chin. With a flick of his finger…
He removed the disguise at her throat. Once the fake Adam’s apple was gone, even though her chest was still concealed beneath the white cloth, her entire demeanor softened, gradually taking on the qualities of a young girl.
Fan Xian carefully studied her eyebrows, her eyes, leaning closer to her as if admiring a unique treasure, remaining silent all the while. He was truly astonished. How had a woman managed to deceive the entire world for twenty years, reigning as emperor of Northern Qi without anyone discovering even a hint of the truth?
Her eyebrows had been thickened since childhood, and it seemed some medication had been applied to her eyes to stabilize the emotions in her gaze. As for her demeanor and mannerisms, they were likely the result of rigorous training imposed on the Little Emperor by the Northern Qi Empress Dowager from a young age.
Fan Xian, driven by a spirit of inquiry, was captivated by one of the world’s greatest secrets, which was why he leaned closer and closer. But he failed to notice that although the Little Emperor stood rigidly by the bed in anger, the fury in her eyes gradually faded, turning into resentment, then into indifference.
The young Emperor of Northern Qi was a woman! Although Fan Xian had guessed this three years ago, unless the two of them were alone in a quiet room, he would never have been able to verify it in his lifetime, much less use it to his advantage. Never mind how he would exploit the greatest weakness of the Northern Qi Empress Dowager and the Emperor in the future; merely confirming this shocking secret was enough to excite Fan Xian.
And just then, a fist—definitely not as big as a sand bowl—suddenly appeared right before Fan Xian’s eyes. The skin on the fist was smooth and tender, with faint blue veins visible, evidence of its strength, long-gathered momentum, and swift speed.
With a dull thud, two streams of blood flowed from Fan Xian’s nostrils. Annoyed, he covered his nose and glared fiercely at the young Emperor, whose fist was still extended straight out. He thought to himself that it wasn’t a nosebleed provoked by this flat-chested woman, so it wasn’t too embarrassing.
Despite his near-peak ninth-level martial arts skills, he had been struck on the nose by a young female Emperor who had only learned some mediocre techniques from Wolf Peach. This was, in fact… utterly humiliating. If he hadn’t been so absorbed, so shocked, and so curious about the young Emperor’s face, eyebrows, eyes, and chest, he would never have taken this punch.
The young Emperor slowly retracted her fist and said coldly, "In all my life, no one has ever dared to insult me so. Those who underestimate me will pay the price."
Her words were imposing, matched with her naturally imperial face, the faint mockery at the corners of her lips, and an aura of authority without anger, she indeed carried a certain presence. However, at this moment, the young Emperor’s front robe was completely torn, strips of cloth hanging limply from the bright yellow sash, looking utterly disheveled. Yet she still maintained this demeanor, which seemed rather absurd.
Fan Xian did not laugh. After wiping away the blood from his nose, he said calmly, "I won’t hold this punch against you, but I don’t want it to happen again. Don’t forget, you are a woman."
You are a woman.
These words struck hard into the young Emperor’s heart, throwing her into turmoil, twisting her innards with anguish, filling her with fear and despair. Even the disheveled black hair drifting by her lips seemed to sense her emotions, slipping into her mouth as she bit down on it fiercely.
Fan Xian was stunned by her look of despair. He was not a soft-hearted person, but he had never imagined that the young Emperor of Northern Qi would one day appear so pitiable. In recent years, the governance of Northern Qi’s court and its various affairs had proven this female Emperor’s capabilities. Despite the immense pressure from Southern Qing’s monarch and officials, she had managed to maintain Northern Qi’s stability. For this alone, Fan Xian had to give her high marks for her ruling skills.
Twenty years of living in disguise and her imperial life had undoubtedly twisted the young Emperor’s psyche to some extent, but this distortion was still within controllable bounds. On the contrary, because she constantly had to guard against her secret being exposed, she had become exceptionally cautious and steady, possessing a composure and maturity far beyond her years.
Even when Fan Xian had restrained her, she had shown no panic. Yet when Fan Xian ruthlessly reminded her that her secret could become known to the world by tomorrow, she finally broke. Her hardened shell shattered into countless fragments, like a seashell crushed under a heavy rock.
The young Emperor’s gaze was venomous and furious, yet within it lay a strange tranquility—a deathly stillness. Behind this calm, two traces of madness gradually emerged.
Fan Xian had seen this expression before—in the instant before Princess Li Yunrui’s death. His heart tightened, and he slowly lowered his hands, ready to act at any moment.
The young Emperor’s expression was wooden. She parted her lips, letting her black hair slip down, and said in an icy voice, "I am not someone who can be threatened."
She thought she could guess what Fan Xian would do after learning her secret. With such a monumental secret in hand and the capabilities of the Overwatch Council, it would be easy to shake the foundation of Northern Qi’s imperial rule. The entire northern part of the world would descend into chaos because of this revelation.
"You cannot use me. If you expose this matter, I will have no value left to be used… If you keep it hidden, why would I ever allow you to use me?" The young Emperor glared at Fan Xian with venomous hatred.
Fan Xian remained silent for a long time before slowly lowering his head and saying, "What I ask for is not much—just for you to be more obedient…" He curled his lips in self-mockery. "After all, you are a woman. No matter how capable you are, in certain critical aspects, you will never withstand hardships as well as us foul men. To achieve great things, relying on you is impossible."
The young Emperor narrowed her eyes. "It seems you’ve already planned what comes next. But why would I ever listen to you?"
As she spoke, a look of resolve flashed in her eyes, filled with fierce determination. She pulled out a small dagger from somewhere in her sleeve and stabbed it fiercely toward her own chest!
…
…
Upon entering the Sword Cottage, Fan Xian felt a sense of security. He hadn’t taken the young Emperor seriously, nor had he searched her person. After all, he knew she was a woman and didn’t want to push her too far. It never occurred to him that she would still have a dagger on her, reserved for suicide.
Had the Northern Qi Empress Dowager given her this dagger when she was very young? For some reason, a faint sense of sympathy welled up in Fan Xian’s heart—sympathy for this female Emperor before him. Living in constant fear, afraid that her gender would be discovered, unable to live like an ordinary woman—what joy could there possibly be in such a life?
In a flash, he closed the distance, flicking his finger to strike the young Emperor’s wrist.
Clang! The small dagger fell to the floor. But a fierce glint flashed in the young Emperor’s eyes as her left hand silently triggered a hidden crossbow in her sleeve—swish, swish, swish! Three bolts shot out.
…
…
A strange cry from Fan Xian sounded in the room. He saw him twist his body violently by the bedside, rolling like a gray dragon, narrowly avoiding three poisoned crossbow bolts at the last possible moment! The bolts had already torn his clothes slightly, but fortunately, he was still wearing the uniform of the Overwatch Council underneath. Otherwise, that single strike would have been enough to injure him.
Fan Xian grunted and immediately pushed the Little Emperor down onto the bed, pressing her shoulders with both hands. Enraged, he threw a punch that landed squarely on her cheek.
His anger stemmed from the fact that he had just begun to feel a sliver of sympathy for this female emperor, only to nearly fall victim to her sneak attack. It was then he realized that, after all, she was an emperor—a being beyond the categories of man or woman. Faced with the greatest crisis of her life, she would stop at nothing, even at the cost of her own life, to kill him.
Blood trickled from the corner of the Little Emperor’s lips, but she did not lose consciousness. Proud and resentful, she lay on the bed, staring up at Fan Xian, who was straddling her, and said, “If you have the guts, kill me!”
※※※
Of course, Fan Xian would not kill her. Having uncovered her secret, he knew that as long as he could truly subdue her heart, this ruler of a nation would become his third greatest asset in this world, after the toolbox and Uncle Wu Zhu.
But how could one subdue a stubborn, intelligent emperor who had lived as a man for twenty years and possessed the resolute decisiveness of a man?
Fan Xian understood the saying that the shortest path to a woman’s heart is through her vagina. Straddling the Little Emperor, he could feel the unmistakable softness and resilience of a woman beneath him, and he knew how暧昧 and suggestive their current position was. However, he was no rapist, and he did not believe that raping the Little Emperor of Northern Qi would truly help him achieve his goal. Based on his understanding of her, if he were to let her go afterward, she might simply wash herself with hot water as if bitten by a dog, cut off all contact with him, and thwart any follow-up plans he had.
The Little Emperor struggled beneath him. Having been raised as a boy since childhood, her physical strength far exceeded her martial arts skills. For a moment, Fan Xian was caught off guard and nearly thrown off.
Seeing the blood at the corner of her lips and the hatred in her eyes, Fan Xian felt a surge of irritation and anger. He lowered his voice and growled, “You’re such a troublesome woman! You tried to kill me, so I had to retaliate!”
“Retaliate against me?” The Little Emperor suddenly stopped struggling and threw a punch at Fan Xian’s disgustingly handsome face, shouting furiously, “How dare you even think of raping me!”
Fan Xian dodged the sly punch, his anger finally boiling over. Feeling utterly wronged, he roared, “You’re the one who drugged and raped me back then! And now you have the nerve to accuse me of raping you!”
The Little Emperor’s expression changed. Whether it was because she recalled what had happened that summer in the ruined temple outside Shangjing, her strength seemed to wane. But she was no ordinary person—she had mastered the role of emperor to perfection. She knew she could not show weakness to Fan Xian now, or she would be forever suppressed by him. With all her might, she lowered her head and slammed it toward Fan Xian’s chin, trying to reverse their positions.
Hearing the words “that summer,” the Little Emperor went mad, launching a frenzied assault on Fan Xian—biting, twisting, pinching, and punching. It was unclear where this small frame found such ferocious energy and endless strength. Fan Xian had no intention of killing her, and for a moment, he was thrown into disarray. Red marks appeared on his arms through his clothes where she had bitten him, and his anger flared. He slapped her body, much like he would spank Fan Si Zhe.
Perhaps those secretly observing the drama at the Sword Hut would wonder why Young Master Fan didn’t simply knock the Little Emperor unconscious.
The reason was simple: an unconscious person would always wake up. If Fan Xian couldn’t make the Little Emperor submit, all his risks would have been for nothing.
There was another reason he couldn’t voice: wrestling with a female emperor like children, their cheeks brushing, clothes entangled, limbs intertwined, felt… like the waters of West Lake, gently swaying, gradually lapping against the boat, or the bed, and the hearts of those upon it.
The two engaged in a close-quarters combat on the bed, much like judo. Those familiar with judo know that grabbing clothing is an essential move, but even the sturdiest clothes can eventually tear.
Thus, the Little Emperor’s white cloth, made of some unknown material, finally snapped, producing the second tearing sound in that dim room.
Fan Xian, now pinned beneath her, found his vision filled with a vast expanse of snowy peaks. His gaze grew distant, thinking to himself that she was not just a woman but a truly remarkable one.
…
…
Red plum blossoms adorned the snow. The man and woman playing in the snow were exhausted. The Little Emperor, disheveled, sat astride Fan Xian, pinning his hands, completely unaware that her bosom was partially exposed, fully visible to Fan Xian. In this position, it seemed more like the Little Emperor was raping Fan Xian.
The black hair at the Little Emperor’s temples was damp with sweat, clinging together. Paired with her straight eyebrows, it gave her a uniquely elegant beauty. The world revered her as an emperor, never daring to look directly at her, and even if they did, they would never see her in any other light. But at this moment, in Fan Xian’s eyes, she was utterly and completely a woman. Watching this scene, he felt an unprecedented thrill—a woman both strong and vulnerable, an emperor by identity, a woman forever unwilling to be subdued, now intimately connected with him.
Astride Fan Xian, the Little Emperor didn’t notice that he had suddenly fallen silent. Nearly out of strength, she had no idea what the future held for her or for Northern Qi. Despair filled her heart, and the weight of the past twenty years left her utterly exhausted. She longed to lie down and rest, but her identity as the emperor of Northern Qi made it impossible.
She suddenly felt pathetic, blinking helplessly. With that blink, drops of sweat slid down her black hair and fell onto Fan Xian’s chin, like oil igniting a fire, stirring the flames in his heart.
“Was this the position in the temple?” Fan Xian asked hoarsely, his eyes fixed on her face so close to his and the gently quivering snowy peaks.
The Little Emperor gripped his hands weakly, her head bowed in despair. A wave of sorrow, resentment, and anger washed over her. She suddenly lifted her head, glaring fiercely into Fan Xian’s eyes. Whether she was recalling the events in the temple or resolving to make a decision for herself in the midst of her imperial reign—no matter how insane or absurd—she lowered her head and pressed her thin lips against Fan Xian’s, biting down hard. Blood bloomed like flowers between them. The Little Emperor suddenly remembered her first menstrual period, filled with the same confusion, anticipation, fear, excitement… and despair she felt now.