Chapter 488 Eat Lychees

Chapter 488: Eating Lychees

The next day, an imperial decree arrived, summoning the Marquis of Taining to the palace to discuss affairs of state.

Yun Xunyu was weaving a peace knot for Cheng Ge at the time. Upon hearing the decree, he wasn't particularly surprised and gave a couple of derisive snickers.

Cheng Ge told him he'd bring him back some pastries from Moonlight Tower, then followed the palace attendants onto the carriage.

He dismounted at the palace gates and walked the palace corridors.

The afternoon sun blazed white on the blue stone slabs, casting his shadow short and squat beneath him.

He hadn't gone far when he spotted a eunuch up ahead, trailed by an empty sedan chair.

The eunuch scurried along, head bowed. Cheng Ge stepped aside, retreating to the edge of the corridor.

To his surprise, the sedan chair came to a smooth stop right in front of him.

The eunuch raised his head, his face split into a grin so wide his eyes crinkled into a mess of crow's feet.

He gave Cheng Ge a little bow and said, softly but with every word crisp and clear: "His Majesty, mindful of your lordship's condition, has graciously granted you a sedan chair."

Cheng Ge eyed the empty sedan—its dark gold frame glinting dully in the sun.

His eyelid twitched. He was about to say, "This minister's fully recovered," but the eunuch had already stepped aside, sweeping a hand in a "please" gesture.

Cheng Ge didn't argue. He hiked up his robes and climbed in. When the bearers lifted it, the ride was so smooth he barely felt a jostle.

Sitting inside, hands on his knees, he watched the red walls of the corridor slide past.

The hem of his court robes hung over the sedan's edge, swaying gently with each step.

Palace attendants scurried out of the way, bowing low to both sides of the corridor, not daring to look up.

From his elevated perch in the sedan, Cheng Ge could see the attendants' bowed heads clearly—like a row of quails with their heads shoved down.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

The sedan kept moving. He sat ramrod straight, but inside, it felt like a cat was clawing at his chest.

All this pomp and circumstance—you'd think he was the emperor.

In the Imperial Study, Zhou Mingqi was reading a memorial—the Northern Di's peace proposal.

This one was clearly more sincere than the one back when Hutuke was in power; every clause was spelled out in meticulous detail.

Zhou Mingqi's fingers traced slowly across the page, pausing at one line, then moving on. He picked up his teacup and took a sip, giving no sign of approval or rejection.

Fu Quan came in carrying a plate of lychees, green leaves still attached—each one plump and round, dewdrops beading on their red shells.

"Your Majesty, these lychees just arrived as tribute from the south. Have a taste."

As he spoke, he set the plate down by the Imperial Desk and went to top up the tea.

The backs of his hands were a mess of scars, old ones stacked on top of new.

His right leg was badly lame; with every step, his body dipped a little, giving him a slightly awkward gait.

When he turned to pour the tea, a big burn scar was visible on his left cheek, running from cheekbone to jaw.

The skin was wrinkled and puckered, tugging the corner of his mouth up a bit—an ugly sight.

Zhou Mingqi glanced at him. "No need for all that. Let Xiao Gui handle it. You're not well—go rest."

Fu Quan smiled. The scar stretched even tighter when he did.

"This servant's used to waiting on Your Majesty. Can't stand being idle." He set the teacup down softly, the bottom meeting the wood without a sound. "Just hope Your Majesty doesn't mind this servant being a bit clumsy these days."

Zhou Mingqi didn't say anything else.

He picked up a lychee and gave it a squeeze. The shell cracked open, revealing the pale, tender flesh, juice running down between his fingers.

He set the lychee on a small dish, glanced at Fu Quan, then at the plate. "Take some of these for yourself and have a taste."

Fu Quan was caught off guard for a second, then smiled again, bowing as he backed away: "This servant thanks Your Majesty for the gift."

Just then, a young eunuch's voice came from outside the door: "Your Majesty, the Marquis of Taining is here."

Zhou Mingqi set down the lychee, wiped his fingers on a handkerchief, and said unhurriedly: "Send him in."

Fu Quan stepped aside with the tea tray and asked quietly: "Your Majesty, should I have the kitchen start on dinner?"

Zhou Mingqi nodded, eyes still on the doorway, and said offhandedly: "Go on."

Fu Quan bowed and limped out, his footsteps soft, quickly swallowed by the swish of the door curtain falling back into place.

The Imperial Study went quiet for a moment, save for the candle flame flickering with a soft crackle.

Cheng Ge stepped over the threshold, walked a few paces with his eyes lowered, and gathered his robes to kneel.

Before his knees hit the ground, Zhou Mingqi's voice came from behind the Imperial Desk, casual and even: "No need."

Cheng Ge's knees froze mid-dip, then he straightened up smoothly, the motion so fluid it was like he'd never been about to kneel at all.

He'd only been going through the motions anyway. Since the emperor said skip it, he wasn't about to argue.

Zhou Mingqi looked at him and nodded toward the spot beside him: "Come here."

Cheng Ge stepped up and stood at the side of the Imperial Desk, hands at his sides, back ramrod straight.

His eyes landed on the plate of lychees on the desk, then slid away to Zhou Mingqi's face.

Zhou Mingqi leaned back in his chair, still holding the Northern Di peace proposal, not looking at him. His eyes stayed on the page, like he was lost in thought.

"Feeling better?" Zhou Mingqi asked, his voice unhurried, fingers tapping lightly on the paper.

Cheng Ge gave a slight bow: "Thanks to Your Majesty's concern, this minister has made a full recovery."

Zhou Mingqi nodded, set down the peace proposal, and glanced at the young eunuch nearby. "Fetch a chair."

The young eunuch scurried over with a chair and set it beside the Imperial Desk, directly facing the emperor.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Cheng Ge gave his thanks, gathered his robes, and sat. As his back hit the chair, that familiar ache flared up again—he swallowed it, keeping his face neutral.

Zhou Mingqi handed him the peace proposal, his voice even: "This is the Northern Di's peace proposal. What do you make of it?"

Cheng Ge took it with both hands and bent his head to read. The page was packed with clauses, worded with utmost deference.

The terms for border trade were listed with perfect clarity—horses, furs, and medicinal herbs in exchange for tea, silk, and porcelain. Every item was assigned a quantity, written out in meticulous detail.

His gaze swept from the first line to the last, flipped a page, scanned it once more, then closed the peace treaty and placed it back on the Imperial Desk with both hands.

"I believe," Cheng Ge chose his words carefully, his voice low but steady,

"mutual trade would benefit both nations. The Northern Di have horses and furs, while the Great Zhou has tea and silk. Trading what each has for what each lacks would benefit the people and bring stability to the border.

Years of on-and-off fighting have brought untold suffering to the people. If we can seize this chance to let the people recover and rebuild, it would be a good thing indeed."

Zhou Mingqi listened, neither nodding nor shaking his head, his fingers tapped lightly on the table twice, so softly it seemed he was lost in thought.

After a few breaths, he reached out, picked up the peace treaty, and set it at the corner of the Imperial Desk.

"In that case," Zhou Mingqi took a sip of tea, his gaze shifting over the rim of the cup, "then I'll have to trouble you, my dear minister, to lend a hand with the upcoming talks between the two nations."

Cheng Ge's heart lurched, but his face gave nothing away. He rose, clasped his hands in a salute, and said steadily, "I accept the order."

He thought, assisting is assisting—no big deal, just a few extra trips to the Ministry of Rites.

He was about to take his leave, his mouth just opening, when Zhou Mingqi's voice rang out again.

"Stay for dinner."

Cheng Ge's mouth, halfway open, shut again.

He looked at Zhou Mingqi, who had already lowered his head to read another memorial, as if the words were casual—stay or not, it was entirely up to him.

Cheng Ge stood before the Imperial Desk, stuck between leaving and staying, paused for two seconds, then plopped back down into the chair.

Cheng Ge didn't sit idle either. While Zhou Mingqi reviewed memorials, Cheng Ge handed them over and occasionally ground ink.

The ink in the inkstone was nearly dry, so he picked up the small water pot, poured a few drops in, and slowly ground the inkstick—not quite skilled, but not unfamiliar either.

The candle flame flickered, casting his shadow on the wall, where it blended with the emperor's shadow until the two were hard to tell apart.

Zhou Mingqi finished one memorial, set it aside, picked up another, read a few lines, then suddenly stopped and glanced at Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge was grinding ink, head lowered, the inkstick tracing circles on the inkstone, round after round, unhurried.

His lashes drooped, casting a fan-shaped shadow beneath his eyes, and the candlelight caught his profile, clearly illuminating the faint flush on his cheeks.

Zhou Mingqi looked at him for two seconds, then looked away, said nothing, and reviewed another memorial.

When he finished, he set his vermilion brush on the brush rest and reached for a lychee from the plate.

The lychee shell was still red, its green leaves still beaded with water, spinning half a turn between his fingertips.

He cracked a seam with his thumbnail, pried it open along the split, and the shell broke in two, revealing the tender white flesh.

Juice trickled down his fingers, dripping onto the Imperial Desk and leaving a small dark stain.

He peeled the shell back, exposing half the fruit, pinched it between his fingertips, and turned to offer it to Cheng Ge's lips.

Cheng Ge went still.

The inkstick was still tracing circles on the inkstone, but his wrist had halted, as if someone had pressed pause.

He looked down at the lychee, then up at Zhou Mingqi.

Zhou Mingqi's hand was still extended, the lychee pinched between his fingertips, neither pulling back nor pushing forward.

It just hung there, an inch from Cheng Ge's lips, unhurried.

Cheng Ge's throat bobbed. He didn't have time to think, slowly opened his mouth, and took the lychee in.

The flesh melted on his tongue, sweet, and the juice slid down his throat, cool and refreshing.

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