Chapter Two: Fighting for a Breath of Dignity

Yu Hualiang let out a sigh and climbed into bed at a sluggish pace. Only then did he realize the quilt was too narrow; most of it was balled up in Lian Sheng’s arms. He tugged at the covers, and only when Lian Sheng loosened his grip did Yu Hualiang manage to squeeze himself in beside him.

Once settled, he realized that, thanks to the tea he’d drunk earlier, sleep eluded him. With someone at his side, he decided he might as well make small talk.

Cautiously, he asked, “Um, junior brother, you said you’re going back tomorrow—where exactly are you going?”

Lian Sheng replied, “You’re enjoying your leisure here in the Yu household, senior brother, but I still must labor day and night painting.”

Yu Hualiang felt a twinge of discomfort. Why did he always speak with a barb? He was beginning to not want to respond at all.

But then Lian Sheng’s tone shifted as he continued, “The palace selection for court ladies is coming up in a few days. We need to paint portraits for them quickly. We can’t afford to be careless—it concerns each woman’s future.”

Yu Hualiang was quietly impressed—these court painters were certainly put through the wringer, like modern photographers, having to retake portraits if the results weren’t flattering, then adjust them to whiten skin and lengthen legs. It really was exhausting work.

He said sympathetically, “That truly sounds tough.”

Lian Sheng chuckled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Ah, but it’s also a good time to make some easy money.”

Yu Hualiang, stung by the implication, asked, “Um… what do you mean by ‘easy money’?”

Lian Sheng clicked his tongue, turned to face him, and said, “Senior brother, are you really that dim these days? The palace is a web of complex relationships. If a court lady comes from a prominent family or is related to officials, you can be sure we’ll receive a generous gift.”

Yu Hualiang felt awkward—so even here, it was all about connections? He ventured another question, “And for those who don’t give you gifts, do you not paint them as well?”

Lian Sheng abruptly rolled over, showing a clear desire to end the conversation. “Of course not. That would be cheating the emperor.”

Yu Hualiang gave a quiet “oh,” and, as sleep crept in, drifted off into a hazy slumber.

It was Yu Hualiang’s first time sharing a bed with another man, and he felt nothing out of the ordinary—he slept like the dead. The pillow didn’t suit him, and he even began to snore.

Lian Sheng, who had hoped for a decent night’s sleep, was tormented to the point of wanting to kick him out of bed.

From the age of five, Lian Sheng had followed Yu Hualiang, becoming his closest confidant and the one who knew his past best. Yu Hualiang had been painting since he was three, especially adept at landscapes, able to imbue them with a subtle charm.

Master Yu doted on him, commissioning a special gold brush for him when he was six.

He carried that gold brush in his pocket, delighted, and would go up the mountain to admire the scenery.

That year, Lian Sheng was five. His family were rice merchants, and they had moved to the capital intending to settle and start a business. But a band of bandits attacked them; Lian Sheng fled with a servant.

He happened upon Yu Hualiang, who was sitting in a bamboo pavilion, dressed in embroidered blue brocade, a jade pendant at his waist, a jade hairpin in his hair, and a gold brush in his hand—clearly a child from a wealthy family.

Lian Sheng, battered and frightened, burst into tears at the sight of people. Rather than panicking, Yu Hualiang calmly instructed a servant to tend to him and sent another to fetch a doctor.

The servant accompanying Lian Sheng collapsed from exhaustion, barely able to utter a few words, almost causing Yu Hualiang’s death in the process.

Lian Sheng often felt haunted by this episode.

When he cried, Yu Hualiang hugged him and comforted him. Having just lost his parents, Lian Sheng found solace in the warmth of another child and finally dared to weep openly.

But then two more bandits caught up with them, this time casting their greedy eyes on Yu Hualiang, especially his gold brush.

Master Yu was coming up the mountain at that moment, and at Yu Hualiang’s side was only a single servant.

The bandits killed the servant, spattering blood across Yu Hualiang’s face, but he clung tightly to Lian Sheng and refused to let go, until the bandits seized his gold brush.

That brush was Yu Hualiang’s pride and joy, his most cherished toy. In the struggle with the bandits, the brush slipped from his grasp and stabbed into one bandit’s eye.

Blood and viscera spattered his hands. Yu Hualiang, only six, could not bear such a gruesome sight.

He stood there stupefied, staring dumbly at his own hands. Fortunately, Master Yu arrived in time, but from then on Yu Hualiang never painted again.

Lian Sheng was brought back to the household, acknowledging Yu Ming as his master, and lived with Yu Hualiang from a young age. Witnessing Yu Hualiang’s decline after that incident, Lian Sheng was wracked with guilt.

Now that Yu Hualiang had forgotten his past, Lian Sheng actually felt relieved—it was for the best.

Yu Hualiang’s bed was by the window, and every morning a shaft of sunlight would pierce his eyes, making it impossible to stay asleep.

He did as usual, rolling over to try to catch more sleep. Lian Sheng, awakened by the movement, opened his eyes to find Yu Hualiang’s face so close their noses nearly touched.

Yu Hualiang was strikingly handsome, fair-skinned, with wide, long-lashed eyes that seemed to smile even when closed, a straight nose, and lips like ice tinged with blood.

For a man, Yu Hualiang’s looks were exceptional—so much so that even Lian Sheng, a fellow man, found his heart racing and his cheeks flushing at the sight.

Flustered by his own reaction, Lian Sheng grew irritated. He’d never believed that affection between men could be contagious, so how had just one night in the same bed left him feeling this way?

With a kick, he sent the still-sleeping Yu Hualiang tumbling to the floor.

Yu Hualiang dreamed he was falling into hell, waking abruptly to find himself on the ground. Dazed, he got up to see Lian Sheng dressing.

His own clothing was in disarray, his chest half-exposed, but he yawned nonchalantly. “Leaving so early?”

Lian Sheng shot him a look. The sight only made his heart pound faster, so, to mask his agitation, he snapped, “What else? Should I wait for you to get up?”

Was he complaining that Yu Hualiang slept in too late? Still groggy, Yu Hualiang couldn’t quite parse his meaning and yawned again. “I won’t see you out, but remember to close the door behind you.”

Then, lazily, he crawled back under the covers to resume sleeping.

Unable to vent his frustration, Lian Sheng mischievously pulled the quilt over Yu Hualiang’s head before leaving.

Yu Hualiang, half-suffocated, woke again, pulled the quilt down, and fell back asleep, not knowing how long he’d been out before a servant came to wake him.

His servant, Mo Cai, was dark-skinned—almost as if he were made of ink—and had served Yu Hualiang long enough to know his ways.

He was hardly studious and often accompanied Yu Hualiang on his aimless outings. Only Master Yu could keep Yu Hualiang in check; at home, it was Mo Cai who acted as lookout when Yu Hualiang and Ah Liu met in secret.

To Ah Liu, Yu Hualiang was gentle and considerate—he truly treated him as a woman, so much so that even Mo Cai, his servant, was impressed. Yu Hualiang was thoroughly committed to his “forbidden love.”

Bending over with a cheerful grin, Mo Cai wrung out a towel and handed it to his master, asking carefully, “Young master, since Young Master Lian Sheng ruined your plans last night, do you want me to fetch Ah Liu again tonight?”

Yu Hualiang thought, “Fetch him again? I’ve no interest in these effeminate young men.”

With a stern expression, Yu Hualiang replied, “No need. I’ll go find him myself later!”

Mo Cai was startled. “Young master, you still dare go to him…?”

His voice grew quieter, afraid Yu Hualiang would take offense and hit him.

Yu Hualiang sighed. “I’m going to buy his freedom so he can live the life he wants…” After all, that was “Yu Hualiang’s” last wish.

Mo Cai, worried, secretly sighed. His young master truly seemed to have lost his mind.

In fact, since coming here, Yu Hualiang hadn’t left this room—a pity, really, to miss out on the beauty of ancient architecture.

He’d always disliked the cold; frail since childhood, a chill easily brought on illness, which was why he preferred to stay indoors.

But when Mo Cai heard his master wanted to go out for some fresh air, he found his clothes and warmed them by the stove. Yu Hualiang felt a warmth in his heart—having a brother like this in the modern world would be wonderful.

When Yu Hualiang smiled at him, Mo Cai shivered; his master gave Ah Liu the same look…

Bundled in five or six layers, Yu Hualiang stepped out the door, only to retreat immediately—it was freezing!

Why was it so cold in ancient times?

Mo Cai, exasperated by his young master’s laziness, said, “Young master, just move around a little and you’ll warm right up.”

He had a point; Yu Hualiang couldn’t stay cooped up forever—he was eager to explore. He did ten push-ups on the bed and collapsed with exhaustion. This body was alarmingly weak.

Mo Cai, watching his odd antics, asked in surprise, “Young master, what are you doing?”

“Playing soccer.”

It’s hopeless—young master’s lost his mind…

After a bit of exercise, Yu Hualiang finally took his first step outside. The wind was still biting. Mo Cai draped a padded coat over his shoulders.

Yu Hualiang gave him another warm smile, sending chills down Mo Cai’s spine.

Seeing Mo Cai shivering, Yu Hualiang generously shared the coat with him, slinging an arm around his neck to wrap them both.

Mo Cai paled with fright, his voice trembling, “Young master… I know you’re dashing and handsome, but I really don’t swing that way… Please spare me…”

Yu Hualiang almost spat blood. He patted Mo Cai’s shoulder and said seriously, “Ahem. I’ve sworn off that path. No need to worry.”

Mo Cai clearly didn’t believe him, following his addled young master with a look of resignation.

The Yu estate was truly beautiful; every corner could inspire a painting. The carved railings of the corridor were exquisite, red lanterns glowing against the snow, making the scenery even more striking.

The rock gardens were perfectly placed, high and low, staggered yet harmonious, dusted with snow to evoke distant mountains.

By the pond grew two magnolia trees, their branches arching over the water—it was easy to imagine how beautiful this place would be in summer.

Noticing a large hole in the pond’s ice, Yu Hualiang laughed, “Did I make that when I tried to drown myself?”

Mo Cai answered, “Young master, you’d best stay away from there.”

Was he still traumatized?

Despite its beauty, the grounds were empty.

Passing through a stone archway, they finally heard some sounds.

Yu Hualiang wanted to join the bustle, but Mo Cai clearly wanted to dissuade him.

“Young master, perhaps you shouldn’t go over there.”

“Why not?” Wasn’t that still part of the Yu estate? Did they have co-living arrangements in ancient times?

Mo Cai, annoyed, explained, “Master Yu’s favorite disciples are painting there. They know you can’t paint as well as they can… They all look down on you.”

“Ridiculous! Master Yu is my father—uh, I mean, my father! Who would dare look down on me?” Yu Hualiang, after all, was the very image of a rich young master and couldn’t believe anyone would dare insult him.

One must stand up for oneself—there was no way Yu Hualiang would back down.