Andrew Smith's heart gave a sudden jolt, and he almost jumped up in shock. He hurriedly lowered his head and stammered, "Your Majesty, I was out of line..."

Brian Clark liked such lively, youthful, and energetic young men. He smiled, "Pingchang Marquis, there's no need for this. Little Andrew is genuine and sincere—a good child."

After a few words of praise from the emperor, the Pingchang Marquis had his son withdraw. Andrew Smith walked out of the pavilion in a daze. Eric Carter was outside, constantly peering in while the guards stood watch. Seeing him come out, he quickly waved.

Andrew Smith walked over, and the two of them glanced at each other, then silently headed into the crowd together. After a few steps, Andrew Smith suddenly stopped, looked around, swallowed nervously, and turned to Eric Carter, saying, "Tell me, did you get a good look at His Majesty's face last time you entered the palace?"

Eric Carter nodded lightly. "Why? Did you see him this time too? Aren't you always the one who listens to your father the most?"

Andrew Smith scratched his head and chuckled, not answering the question. Instead, as if tossing a bomb out of nowhere, he said, "How about we work together to find an artist? I want to..." He pointed to the sky, and though he was scared, he still felt an incredible thrill. "I want to have that person painted."

Eric Carter jumped in shock. "Are you crazy?!"

"I'm not crazy," Andrew Smith winked at him. "We won't have the artist paint from life. The eyes and brows are with me, the nose and lips with you. If we want to see the portrait, we just meet up and put the pieces together. On normal days, we can hide it in our bedrooms. Who could ever find out?"

Eric Carter swallowed hard. The image of His Majesty from that fleeting glance flashed through his mind. When he met Andrew Smith's gaze, they both knew—the plan was set.

Chapter 3

Brian Clark finished half a pot of fine tea, and the cuju match outside was nearly over. He slowly pushed himself up from the stone table, the backs of his jade-like hands showing pale blue veins from weakness. Brian Clark coughed into his fist a few times and waved off the attendants who wanted to approach. "It's nothing."

The Pingchang Marquis looked at him with concern. "Your Majesty, your health has only just recovered. You mustn't catch a chill. Please take care of yourself."

Brian Clark curled his lips into a smile. Though his body was frail, his smile was as vibrant as a hundred flowers in bloom. "Ginseng, deer antler, tortoise shell—not just those, but tiger bone, lingzhi, cordyceps... I dare say, no one in the world treasures their life more than I do."

"Pingchang Marquis, truly, no one in the world cherishes life more than I," Brian Clark said, suddenly laughing with delight. "The medicinal herbs are precious, but I must say, they really don't taste good. Every time I take them, I want to throw in a whole basket of licorice to mask the flavor."

The Pingchang Marquis couldn't help but sigh inwardly at the whims of fate. His Majesty had endured so many years in hiding, with patience and depth beyond ordinary men, and such an open and cheerful heart. Why did Heaven insist on giving this young emperor such a frail body to hold him back?

He followed with a few laughs and spoke gently with the emperor for a while longer.

Soon, someone came to report the outcome of the match. Brian Clark listened and nodded. "Reward them."

The captain of the guards glanced at the sky, then stepped forward to quietly urge Brian Clark to return to the palace. In the Great Heng dynasty, morning court was held every other day. Today, with no official business, Brian Clark had come to watch the cuju match. He had originally wanted to take a stroll around the capital, but with their persuasion, he gave up the idea, left a few palace attendants behind, and, protected by the guards, boarded the carriage.

The Pingchang Marquis respectfully saw the emperor off. Just as he was about to take his son home, he heard that his son had gone off somewhere with the Minister of Revenue's eldest son. The Pingchang Marquis was startled, his anger rising again, and he returned home alone with a stern face.

*

It was nearly dark when the Pingchang Marquis's heir finally returned home. The marquis had someone wait in the front courtyard, and as soon as Andrew Smith stepped through the door, his father called him into the study.

"Only after His Majesty left today did I find out you had already left early," the marquis said angrily. "You dared to leave before His Majesty? You really have some nerve!"

Hearing his father mention the emperor, Andrew Smith swallowed nervously, afraid of being found out. He quickly said, "Father, guess what I saw today? While I was out on the street, I saw that rascal Owen Reed galloping through the busy market. He was being way too arrogant!"

The Pingchang Marquis frowned. "Riding a horse through the market? That's unacceptable. I must write a memorial to report this to His Majesty."

Andrew Smith quietly slipped out of the study and finally breathed a sigh of relief once back in his own room. He ordered everyone out, shut the door, lit a candle, and carefully spread the warm painting he had hidden in his robe onto the table.

Privately keeping a portrait of the emperor was an act of high treason. How could the imperial visage be so casually hidden in the bedroom of a mere young scholar?

As the heir of the Pingchang Marquis, Andrew Smith naturally understood this. But he simply couldn't help himself. He felt so excited and thrilled—when facing the emperor, he was scared and anxious, but when he had to look away, he felt reluctant and unwilling.

He had no ill intentions, nor did he plan to use the portrait for anything bad. He just thought His Majesty was so handsome that it would be a shame not to capture it on paper.

Andrew Smith moved with utmost care. In the painting was a man of extraordinary nobility. The man's eyes and brows were described by Andrew Smith and drawn by the artist, while the lower part of the face was rendered in faint ink to disguise it. Other than him and Eric Carter, no one would know that part of the portrait was of the emperor.