The Regent’s Little Emperor (58)
Xie Yunting felt as though his heart was drowning in a huge pool of helplessness.
He tried to maintain an unyielding expression. “Are you saying that you have the ability to obtain her?”
Chen Jingzhi fell silent, his eyes flashing with several complex emotions, both struggle, and happiness.
In the end, he confessed, “We like each other, does that still not count as obtaining?”
She wanted Xie Yunting to misunderstand that they were together.
He could only resign himself to play along with her.
If the ruler wanted the minister to die, the minister was not allowed to live.
As a matter of fact, he wasn’t actually blindly loyal.
Before, because the blind loyalty had a purpose, so he had pretended.
And now… ai, she didn’t want it, and he was offering it up with both hands.
Xie Yunting saw that the happiness in his eyes was not fake.
Their love was not fake.
They really were together.
Xie Yunting’s fingers twitched. He picked up the knife and embedded it into Chen Jingzhi’s abdomen.
Chen Jingzhi was in so much pain he shivered uncontrollably. His smile was somewhat strained. “Kill me, and you won’t obtain her.”
Only then did Xie Yunting discover what he had done.
He burst into laughter. “You’re wrong, I can get her. It’s fine even if I can’t get her heart. What are you, to think you can contend with me?”
Chen Jingzhi’s face was drained of blood, but his voice was still light and breezy. “You’re wrong. I won’t contend with you, who can only reach this point. I’m no worse than you, Xie Yunting.”
Xie Yunting stood up and looked at him, gloomy.
“What is the point of boasting like this. In the end, you lost. The one locked in the cell is you, not me.”
Chen Jingzhi’s face was dark and hard to understand. He said coldly, “The emperor is a woman.”
Xie Yunting didn’t look back. “So what?”
Chen Jingzhi clutched his abdomen, his hands bloody. But when he spoke his voice was completely steady. “Sooner or later someone will find out. What do you intend to do?”
Xie Yunting’s gaze became murderous. “Killing whoever knows isn’t that hard.”
Chen Jingzhi laughed weakly. “I didn’t think that you could be so naive. You’ve reached this point. If you don’t take the throne, you can only wait for civil war.”
Of those who supported Xie Yunting, which one wasn’t hoping for recognition of their meritorious deeds?
Only when Xie Yunting became emperor could they become esteemed ministers1 of the new dynasty.
If Xie Yunting delayed taking the throne, how could the people around him possibly agree?
The person who had attacked Bai Weiwei at that time was Xie Yunting’s capable and trusted aide, a loyal and outstanding minister.
Bai Weiwei had already become, in the eyes of Xie Yunting’s subordinates, a thorn in their side, a thorn in their flesh.
Xie Yunting walked out of the cell and gave him a glance. “This is my business. It doesn’t concern you.”
After that, Xie Yunting went out and instructed the eunuch next to him to call for an imperial physician to treat Chen Jingzhi.
The knife was short and the injury wouldn’t kill him.
But the pain was enough to torment him.
Back in the palace, Bai Weiwei was still asleep.
Her brows were knit tightly, and her lips pink and soft, but she lost her anger.
Xie Yunting leaned over the side of the bed, the look in his eyes somewhat greedy as he watched her.
He reached out and smoothed the furrow in her brows, then got into bed and carefully held her in his arms.
The posture was intimate, but also slightly cautious.
Bai Weiwei continued to sleep, unaware.
It was soft and warm in his arms, like a fire that didn’t burn.
Xie Yunting watched her during the night, feeling his irritable mood gradually calm down.
The outside was dark and heavy. The room inside was peaceful.
For the first time, Xie Yunting understood what people meant by “the years are quiet2.”
He later remembered what he had done to her.
She was happy beneath him.
1: 功臣: the minister who has performed outstanding service
2: 岁月静好[, 现世安稳]: the years are quiet, the world is stable. Written by Hu Lancheng when he was married to Zhang Ailing (the writer of “low to dust [to bloom]”), expressing his desire for a quiet and peaceful future.