(Extra Story) The Lonely King 02

On Green Ridge Mountain, the scenery was beautiful, and a grand temple stood there, yet worshipers were few and far between. The reason was simple: soldiers were stationed at the foot of the mountain, and the procedures for going up to pray were extremely complicated.

Because up on that mountain lived a retired emperor.

Though Fang Qian wasn’t much of an emperor, the safety of an emperor was still a matter of grave concern.

A carriage slowly came to a stop before the checkpoint. The officer in charge of the guards looked impatient.

“Do you have a travel pass? Have you brought your household registration?”

The driver smiled ingratiatingly but had empty hands.

The officer frowned: “Don’t you know the rules? Scram, scram!”

Being assigned to guard this place was already annoying—little in the way of bribes, and no leaving one’s post without permission.

The curtain of the carriage opened just a crack, and a banknote was passed out from inside.

The officer’s eyes went wide. He stepped forward and snatched it up, his expression softening considerably: “I can issue the pass for you, but the household registration...”

The curtain opened a bit more, revealing an aged face. The face was beardless, but the eyes were so sinister they sent a chill down anyone’s spine.

For no reason at all, the officer felt a cold shiver run down his back.

“E-Eunuch Fu... you’re here to see the retired emperor, aren’t you?”

Fuhai said nothing.

The officer took the hint: “Everyone, move aside! Move aside!”

Though Fuhai no longer held an official position in the court, he had served two emperors. What was the officer—just a low-ranking commander—to dare offend Fuhai? What if the old eunuch still had connections with the Eastern Depot?

The carriage passed through the checkpoint at a leisurely pace.

Fuhai looked at the man sitting across from him, unable to suppress the excitement in his heart.

“Your Majesty... you... you really...”

Fang Zhiyi opened his eyes impatiently: “You’ve asked eight hundred times already.”

“Your Majesty, I’ve grown old, old, and my rambling has become excessive. I should be punished.” He gave his own face a light slap.

Fang Zhiyi didn’t pay it any mind, only letting out a sigh: “If you hadn’t retired, would things have been a bit better?”

Fuhai shook his head: “Your Majesty, let me be honest with you. Ever since the retired emperor took the throne, the Eastern Depot has continued to operate around him, but there are too many voices now. The network of spies has spread wider and wider. I truly couldn’t keep up.”

Fuhai gave a bitter smile: “You’ve seen for yourself—I’ve aged like this. How could I still scheme against them day in and day out? To save my own life, I stepped down willingly.”

Then his excitement surged again: “It’s just... it’s just that I never imagined Your Majesty could return from the dead! This is too...”

Fang Zhiyi studied Fuhai’s expression.

The man that Little Hei had found was originally just a farmer. Fang Zhiyi, after borrowing this body, had fixed himself up a bit until he resembled his former self by seven or eight parts, then changed into proper clothes and let his aura come through. That was about enough.

The first person he’d sought out was Fuhai, and when Fuhai saw him, he nearly scared himself to death on the spot.

Then Fuhai had ordered his servants to seize Fang Zhiyi, but one sentence from Fang Zhiyi made Fuhai hesitate.

“This emperor once said that Fuhai, you will surely live a long life, and so it has come to pass.”

Fuhai had remembered those words for many years. It was what the late emperor had told him when he had toppled the all-powerful Sima clan. Only the two of them knew of it.

In that moment, he believed.

When he learned the emperor wanted to see Fang Qian, he unhesitatingly ordered the carriage prepared and set off for Green Ridge Mountain.

Fuhai had always been a shrewd man. He knew that as things stood, the dynasty was already on the verge of collapse, but he didn’t care. He was a eunuch, after all—no descendants, no legacy. He’d live one day at a time.

But the moment he saw Fang Zhiyi, Fuhai knew: the Great Yong Dynasty’s fortunes were not yet spent!

If a dead former emperor could come back to life, then what was impossible?

Fang Zhiyi frowned: “That Fang Qian knows how to have fun, doesn’t he? Keep claiming he wants to become a monk—and this is how he does it?”

He didn’t say it without reason, because the carriage had been able to come straight up from the foot of the mountain. The mountain road had been leveled and paved!

Fuhai said: “It was the Em—"

Fang Zhiyi shot him a look. Fuhai gritted his teeth: “It was Emperor Xuze’s idea. He said he was worried about his father having trouble going up and down the mountain...”

“How filial of him!” Fang Zhiyi snorted coldly.

Fuhai felt uneasy inside. He didn’t know what this suddenly revived former emperor intended to do.

The carriage came to a steady halt. The monks who saw Fuhai step down said nothing, but when they saw him respectfully usher off a middle-aged man, they couldn’t help but be curious.

Fang Zhiyi didn’t even need to go looking. The moment he stepped through the temple gate, he spotted Fang Qian lounging lazily on a chair, soaking up the sun.

He was about to walk over when a monk reached out to block him.

“Amitabha, benefactor, Brother Huijue is in deep meditation...”

Fang Zhiyi nearly laughed in anger. In all his life, he’d never seen someone call an afternoon nap “meditation”!

The man was snoring!

But before he could lose his temper, Fuhai, who was at his side, suddenly struck out and slapped the monk across the face: “Do you know why I hit you?”

The monk clutched his cheek, his face filled with fury and indignation.

“Because... your head is too shiny, and it’s blinding my eyes!” Without Fang Zhiyi’s approval, Fuhai naturally wouldn’t reveal his identity.

The monk was shocked.

What kind of reason is that? But he did recognize Fuhai. When Fang Qian first came to the temple to become a monk, Fuhai had been at his side, and only later did he leave.

“I...”

Fang Zhiyi strode toward Fang Qian, and the monk tried to stop him, but Fuhai grabbed hold of him. Fuhai had learned some martial arts from Fang Zhiyi many years ago and had never let it lapse. The monk found he couldn’t break free, and if he pulled too hard, he feared he might hurt the old eunuch, so he could only shout: “Someone, come quick!”

By the time he shouted, Fang Zhiyi had already reached Fang Qian and delivered a kick.

Fang Qian went straight down to the ground.

He groggily scrambled up, muttering: “Huh? It seems I dreamed someone was kicking me.”

As he spoke, a few monks came rushing over in a hurry—they didn’t want this Emperor junior brother to be disturbed by some random stranger.

Only then did Fang Qian realize there was a man standing before him, hands clasped behind his back, backlit by the sun. He couldn’t quite make out the man’s face.

“Sleeping well, are you?”

Fang Qian nodded: “Pretty well. Who are you—?”

Several monks reached them and were just about to haul Fang Zhiyi away when Fang Qian’s pupils suddenly shrank to pinpricks. What was he seeing?!

“Father Emperor?!”

That “Father Emperor” froze the monks’ outstretched hands in midair.

Did the emperor just say what they thought he said?

Fang Zhiyi ignored them. He bent down and stared straight at Fang Qian: “I handed the throne to you, and you abandoned the government, abandoned the people, to become a monk? You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?”

Fang Qian was utterly dumbfounded. The man’s tone didn’t sound like his father, but the aura, the face, the... the sole of that shoe!

The monks watched as Fang Zhiyi grabbed his own shoe and brought it down on Fang Qian’s head and body in a relentless beating.

And all the while, Fang Qian was yelling things like “Father, I was wrong!” and “Father, please spare me!”

They dared not intervene.