The young emperor’s health was even worse than he had imagined. After a bout of coughing, the corners of his eyes were already flushed red, his lips stained like rouge, as if he had just been crying.

His appearance, too, far exceeded his expectations.

Adam Brooks was known as the most handsome man in the capital, and at present, an interest in handsome men was considered fashionable. But after enduring countless hints—both subtle and overt—from other men, Adam Brooks had grown almost disgusted with any man who harbored improper thoughts about him.

When he was tied up, murderous intent had already ignited in his heart. Upon realizing he had been sent to the emperor’s bed, his killing intent only intensified. Even if it meant committing treason and implicating his entire clan, he would make this foolish ruler pay!

Yet he never expected that this wasn’t the emperor’s idea, nor that the emperor would be so strikingly beautiful.

Adam Brooks maliciously used the words “strikingly beautiful” in his mind to describe the emperor, as a way to vent the anger he had been suppressing.

Such a beautiful young emperor, whose first glance at him was one of disgust—surely he didn’t like men either?

If Brian Clark knew what he was thinking, he would probably be speechless; Adam Brooks was clearly homophobic.

In the original novel, one was a straight man, the other homophobic—how did they end up together in the end?

Adam Brooks was beautiful, but not in a feminine way. His beauty was the epitome of masculine handsomeness: as bright as the moon, as clear as a high wind, with a heroic spirit between his brows, and a tall, athletic build like a poised leopard.

If Brian Clark could choose, this was exactly the kind of body he liked—handsome and healthy. Compared to Adam Brooks, his own current appearance actually lacked a bit of heroic vigor.

Adam Brooks remained silent, and Brian Clark assumed he was still uncomfortable. With a sigh, he casually sat at the bedside. “If I remember correctly, your father is a Langzhong in the Ministry of Rites, isn’t he?”

Such a casual tone, coming from the emperor, would make anyone being spoken to feel incredibly honored.

Adam Brooks was untied, and respectfully got off the bed to bow to the emperor. “Your Majesty remembers correctly.”

Brian Clark sized him up discreetly, waved his sleeve, and had someone bring a chair. He also put on an outer robe and sat at the desk where he usually handled state affairs.

“Your father once wrote me a memorial, discussing the management of the Yellow River floods,” the emperor said with a smile. “I still remember its contents clearly. Though there were some shortcomings, it was still a good plan. But at that time, I had lost power and couldn’t implement it immediately.”

Adam Brooks unconsciously furrowed his brows.

His father was quite knowledgeable about flood control, and he had read that memorial himself. To be frank, he thought his father’s memorial was the most ingenious solution in the world. Yet this emperor, who had never even left the palace, was now saying it had shortcomings?

The future statesman lowered his head and asked in a deep voice, “May I ask Your Majesty to enlighten me?”

Brian Clark didn’t stand on ceremony. He quickly found Adam Brooks’s father’s memorial among the many documents. Seeing this, Adam Brooks relaxed a little—at least the emperor truly cared.

“The Yellow River floods have been a headache for every dynasty. Lord Chu’s memorial made three points: first, prevention before the flood; second, rescue during the flood; third, disaster relief after the flood,” Brian Clark’s finger moved along the text, and Adam Brooks unconsciously looked where he pointed. “Emperor Taizong of Tang established granaries to prepare for bad years, which was a good start. The Tang dynasty developed water conservancy, and the Western Han’s ‘Jia Rang’s Three Strategies’—I’m sure your father is well-versed in them: first, diverting the river; second, splitting the flow; third, raising and reinforcing the existing embankments…”

The emperor spoke unhurriedly, sharing his thoughts bit by bit. When inspired, he picked up a brush and drew the bends of the Yellow River—the turbulent waters became calm and obedient under his hand.

He spoke with ease, a smile on his lips.

Adam Brooks was almost stunned. He hadn’t expected the emperor to have this side to him. His sharp mind made it easy to understand the emperor’s meaning, and it was precisely because he understood that he was so surprised.

After finishing, the emperor realized his hands and feet were icy cold. The tip of his nose was tinged with a pitiful red. Only after someone brought a hand warmer did he finally relax.

He glanced at Adam Brooks, who was deep in thought, a mischievous glint flashing at the corner of his mouth. He paced slowly, then suddenly asked, “Adam Brooks, do you know what kind of Great Heng I want?”

I’m about to start recruiting top talent!

*

Adam Brooks wrapped in the cold night wind, returned home late. He silently refused his family’s concern and locked himself alone in the study.

He sat in the study the entire night. When the sky grew cool and the sound of birdsong drifted in through the window, he realized dawn had come.

Adam Brooks stood up and opened the study door. The early morning air was cold and fresh, and his throbbing head instantly calmed.

The emperor has a mind like a mountain.

After a night of contemplation, he had come to this conclusion.

He was not as weak and useless as he had thought. No, the emperor might be weak, might not control the military or even the inner court, but within that frail, sickly body was the budding form of an ambitious and enlightened ruler.

Suddenly, the image of the emperor hunched over and coughing from the night before flashed through Adam Brooks’s mind.

Pale, slender fingers gripping the silk bedding, his hand almost buried in the covers.