Wei frowned at her words, puzzled. His gaze on Wen Fuyue held a trace of bewilderment. Why had she called him “the dog‑emperor” again? Women’s moods were an enigma.
He felt a little forlorn.
Wen Fuyue flinched under that uncommon, odd stare. Her scalp prickled. She set down the tray and, with more ceremony than usual, offered, “Your Majesty, would you like to try? Concubine Lan and I just made these—osmanthus cakes.”
“Mm.” Wei nodded with restrained manners, plucked up a piece, tasted it, and looked at her. “Not bad. Fragrant.”
“...Thank you for the compliment, Your Majesty.” She answered dutifully.
She was thinking, I’m so bored lately. I really admire Wei — locked up in the palace all day, he must be used to this. I want to go outside. When will I ever get the chance?
Wei heard the thought as plainly as if she’d said it. He turned and met the quick flash of restlessness and weariness on her face and did not miss it. He considered for a moment.
Wen Fuyue, listless, sat staring at the osmanthus tree and took another bite.
“Fuyue—would you like to go out and see the city?” he asked abruptly.
“Mm!?” She blinked, startled, eyes wide. “Can we?”
“Of course.” He was pleased by the surprise in her eyes; a faint smile curved his mouth. “How about tomorrow?”
“Yes—yes—yes!” She couldn’t let such an opportunity pass. She nodded so fast her gratitude shone in her gaze.
Finally—she could go out! She was dying of boredom; she didn’t care for palace life’s comforts if it meant being trapped like this. She wanted fresh air, street noise, and the messy life beyond the walls.
Wei listened to the rushing tide of her thoughts and watched the smile bloom on her face. Amused, he turned to Anfu and said, “Anfu, make the arrangements. Tomorrow I will take the Noble Consort out.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Anfu managed to keep his expression in check, though his eyes on Wen Fuyue were full of admiration. The Noble Consort had really done it—had coaxed the Emperor into going out. After being cooped up for so long, he deserved a break.
The next morning.
“Wontons hot—one bowl to start your day, heavenly and warm!”
“Steamed buns! Fresh! Even the Emperor enjoys them!”
Wen Fuyue gaped at the bustling long street, marvel on her face. She turned to Wen Yu. “Wen Yu, did we bring any silver?”
Wen Yu’s expression instantly fell. The excitement drained from Wen Fuyue like water from a bowl. “We didn’t bring any?”
“Your Highness, I—” Wen Yu began, face full of guilt, and immediately went to kneel.
Wen Fuyue helped her up. “It’s my fault. I should have told you earlier.”
Wei stood aside, oddly superfluous, as if he weren’t there. Had the Noble Consort left him just to escort her and never spend a coin? She’d treat him like a miser, drag him outside, and expect him to foot no bill? The thought made him almost laugh at their two-facedness. Seeing the regret on Wen Fuyue’s face, he snorted softly, “This is the first time I’ve realized I’m a stingy old skinflint in my consort’s eyes.”
She thought, What? Wei is offering to pay? Wow—how generous of him!
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said without hesitation, quick to accept.
The words died in his throat. He watched the gratitude on her face, the rush of thoughts that followed it, and felt a small constriction in the chest. He cleared his throat. “Anfu, give her money. And—after we leave the palace, to avoid trouble, don’t call me ‘Your Majesty.’ Understood, Fuyue?”
What else could she call him?
Wen Fuyue paused, thinking it over. Under his cool gaze she finally said, “Very well, Wei Gongzi.”
Wei—what? He stared, incredulous. He had offered to take her out and provide money, and she called him “Wei Gongzi”?
“Say it again,” he challenged.
She shrank a little under his almost murderous look, chewed on it for a long moment, then managed, with difficulty, “Xianggong.”
He blinked, then nodded, satisfied. “All right. Fuyue, buy whatever you like.”
“Xianggong” was awkward at first, but soon it grew natural, as easy as eating.
“Xianggong, may I go see that stall?”
“Xianggong, I want a sugar figurine.”
“Xianggong—”
Anfu exchanged a look with his apprentice and felt his teeth ache at the repeated, practiced “xianggong.” The Emperor seemed in surprisingly good humor today.
By noon, Wei asked, “Are you hungry?”
She nodded, and he led her to a restaurant that looked particularly lavish.
The Jin‑Yu House.
Wen Fuyue stood under the wooden eaves and stared, stunned by the opulence. Even she, a lay observer, could tell the materials were top quality; the sunlight made them glow. Guests came and went in extravagant dress—everybody seemed wealthy or well‑placed. People glanced with mild surprise at the masked figure beside the woman in a bamboo hat.
Wei heard her thoughts. He guided her inside, produced a small jade token, and said casually to the attendant, “This little inn was opened when I was still crown prince. Fuyue, try it today.”
She almost choked on the thought that the Emperor had business interests. An emperor could own a restaurant? She pictured ministers flocking here to eat: What a way to make a fortune.
Wei, noticing her mental scattershot imaginations, tapped his temple and added lightly, “No one else knows it was mine.”
Had she been too obvious in her expression? Embarrassed, she realized he might have read that too. It was unnerving—being an emperor felt a little like being under a mind reader’s scrutiny.
“Sheesh—Xianggong, you’re amazing.” She managed to squeal.
When the dishes were placed, Wei took the little jade token back and tossed it toward her. “Here. Hold it. You’re always staring, like it’s precious.”
She clutched the jade card in her hand, giddy and speechless, a grin stretching across her face until she could finally laugh out loud. Over a simple token, she was happier than if she’d received a crown.
Wei felt a faint warmth at that. Anfu leaned in and murmured in his ear, “Your Majesty, the Chancellor is waiting outside and wishes to speak with you.”