Ch 121: Transmigrated to become a Koi Husband

Hearing Qin Zhao’s question, Jing Li froze for a moment, then turned his gaze away.

…He’d slipped up.

Jing Li stayed silent, but seeing his reaction, Qin Zhao seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He pulled Jing Li into his arms, lying down together as he said slowly, “I should have realized sooner… I used to think you just didn’t want me to go to the capital because you were afraid it would be too taxing. But in truth, you were worried about my safety, weren’t you?”

Jing Li still didn’t respond.

He lowered his head, fingers lightly gripping the edge of the blanket. He didn’t nod, but he didn’t deny it either.

“When did you figure it out?” Qin Zhao asked.

“…A long time ago.”

“How long?”

“…I don’t remember,” Jing Li whispered, lips pressed tightly together.

It wasn’t that he was deliberately evasive—it was just that, if Qin Zhao wanted an exact timeline, even Jing Li himself couldn’t pinpoint it.

Because it truly had been a long time.

The first hints of suspicion had likely arisen after Qin Zhao achieved the prestigious “Triple Top Scholar” title.

Living under the same roof, it was impossible to hide everything. After that accomplishment, Qin Zhao often spent long afternoons or evenings alone in the study. It was around that time that Jing Li began to notice the ashes of burned papers in the brazier there.

He had a hunch that Qin Zhao was hiding something from him, but he didn’t ask.

Jing Li never believed that love required unconditional honesty. He respected Qin Zhao’s choices and pretended not to notice, refraining from asking questions. But some things couldn’t simply be ignored, no matter how much he tried to feign ignorance.

The peculiarities only grew more frequent.

There was Xiao Yue, who came to stay with them temporarily; the increasingly deferential attitude of the Gu family toward them; and, more subtly, the slight changes in Qin Zhao’s demeanor and decision-making.

Jing Li remembered every detail of their life together with clarity: the origins of that strange poison Qin Zhao carried, the poem he recited at the Mid-Autumn poetry gathering, and his reaction upon learning Jing Li’s true heritage at Yun Guan Temple… All these scattered moments, though insignificant on their own, came together to form a single undeniable answer.

An answer Jing Li was reluctant to face.

Qin Zhao lowered his eyes, quietly watching the youth curled up in his arms. Jing Li lay beside him, his body slightly hunched, as if trying to hide himself. He always did this—retreating inward when faced with things he didn’t want to confront—yet he forgot to mask the anxiety and unease written all over his face.

Qin Zhao leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Jing Li’s trembling eyelashes.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said softly.

After so many years together, Jing Li didn’t need to explain much. Qin Zhao could read everything from his reactions.

Qin Zhao had never thought the return of his memories had significantly impacted him. He continued treating Jing Li the same way he always had—with care, attentiveness, and an effort to shield him from the hardships of the world.

He thought this approach would make Jing Li’s life easier, safer.

But in truth, it had backfired.

The arrogance and pride that came with the return of his memories had subtly placed Jing Li and himself on unequal footing. He had assumed, condescendingly, that Jing Li should be sheltered by him, leading a carefree and simple life.

But he had forgotten—true partners were meant to stand together, shoulder to shoulder, through everything.

In recent days, Qin Zhao had tried to shoulder everything alone, keeping his burdens hidden from Jing Li. But his attempts at secrecy had been poorly executed. Jing Li had noticed, had figured it out, and, out of respect, kept his worries to himself, silently fearing and fretting for Qin Zhao.

For Qin Zhao, wasn’t this also a kind of pain?

For the first time, Qin Zhao felt regret for his actions.

“I’m sorry.” It was the second thing Qin Zhao said. “You’re right, Xiao Yu. I was being presumptuous.”

Jing Li’s eyes trembled slightly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jing Li said hastily, grabbing Qin Zhao’s hand, a little panicked. “I didn’t mean it like that. Whatever decisions you make, I’ll always support you. I just… I just want you to take care of yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself…”

“You don’t need to explain so much to me.” Qin Zhao pulled him into his arms, resting his chin against Jing Li’s head and rubbing it gently. “I know you’re worried about me. I understand.”

“There are some things I should’ve told you from the start.”

“Let me tell you a story.”

“Many years ago, during the reign of the late emperor, a prince of a collateral royal line was granted the title of king. His family had been loyal for three generations, his forebears all diligent ministers with distinguished achievements. Born into a noble household, he was well-versed in literature from a young age and greatly admired by the late emperor, to the extent that they formed a deep, mentor-like bond.”

“Later, the emperor became addicted to medication and fell gravely ill. During his illness, the empress’s faction seized the opportunity to consolidate power, even plotting treason. Chaos reigned within the court and beyond, and even the prince’s family was implicated. His father and relatives were imprisoned. Desperate, he pleaded with the emperor for mercy, but the emperor said, ‘Others can save you for a moment, but they cannot save you for a lifetime.’”

Jing Li looked up, blinking in surprise.

Why did that sound like shirking responsibility?

Was that really something an emperor should say?

“You think it’s problematic too, right? But he had no choice back then,” Qin Zhao sighed. “In hindsight, the late emperor must have foreseen what would happen. As far as imperial strategy goes, his level of mastery was unmatched—neither the later regent nor the current emperor could compare.”

“After that day, the late emperor issued a decree, naming his only son, a twelve-year-old boy, the crown prince and entrusting him to the care and tutelage of the Prince Rong.”

Jing Li understood immediately. “He was creating a balance of power?”

“Exactly,” Qin Zhao said. “With the empress’s faction growing stronger, the emperor’s only solution was to cultivate a force capable of countering it.”

And the Prince Rong was the perfect candidate.

Not only because of his extraordinary talent but also because he had no other choice. If he didn’t overthrow the empress’s faction, he couldn’t save his own family.

Moreover, the offer the emperor made was incredibly enticing.

The young Prince Rong had been proud and ambitious. To him, the emperor’s offer was a chance to save the nation and its people while proving his worth. No one could resist the allure of such power and recognition.

“But the emperor miscalculated one thing,” Qin Zhao said softly.

Jing Li asked, “What?”

“He didn’t live to see his plan succeed.”

Prince Rong did not disappoint expectations. He quickly built a power base capable of rivaling the Empress’s faction. However, the late emperor’s illness was far too severe, and not long after issuing the decree, he passed away.

With the late emperor’s death, the young crown prince smoothly ascended the throne. As his teacher, Prince Rong was tasked with overseeing the court, becoming the regent with unparalleled authority. The Empress, now the Empress Dowager, and her faction fell into complete decline, never able to challenge the regent again.

Qin Zhao’s tone was calm as he recounted the story. Jing Li listened quietly, and when he finished, he asked softly, “What about his family? Were they saved?”

Qin Zhao closed his eyes briefly. “No.”

“Many lives were lost in that power struggle, and many events were beyond anyone’s control. Nearly a hundred members of Prince Rong’s family perished. In the end… only he survived.”

Jing Li’s eyes reddened instantly.

He buried his head in Qin Zhao’s embrace, clutching tightly at the blanket, as though trying to suppress an overwhelming and suffocating emotion.

“There’s no need to grieve,” Qin Zhao said gently, stroking his hair. “He has a new family now, and people he wishes to protect. There’s no reason to dwell on sadness. Perhaps it’s precisely because he’s so afraid of loss that he doesn’t want those he cares about to be caught in the chaos.”

“He wanted so desperately to protect the people he loves that he neglected their feelings, causing them to worry and feel hurt.”

“He knows he was wrong now, Xiao Yu. Forgive him this once, will you?”

In the end, Jing Li couldn’t get any sleep that day. Qin Zhao had far too much to tell him—stories of his past, the plans he’d been making recently. They talked for the entire afternoon.

It wasn’t until a little fish fry came scratching at the door with soft cries that the two snapped back to the present.

When the door opened, they found Ah Qi standing awkwardly in the doorway, his face full of apology.

The little fish fry had woken precisely two hours after his nap and stubbornly insisted on finding his daddy. No amount of coaxing could dissuade him. Having upset Jing Li the day before, Ah Qi didn’t dare risk upsetting the young master now, so he had no choice but to bring him back.

“You may go,” Qin Zhao said, waving a hand helplessly.

Ah Qi, likely never having felt this aggrieved in his life as a shadow guard, quickly retreated.

Meanwhile, the little fish fry stretched out his arms toward Jing Li, demanding a hug.

Jing Li picked up the child and brought him into the room, unbothered by the additional “third wheel.” “Where were we? Why did you meet with Deng Tianyou? Weren’t you afraid he’d betray you?”

“He’s the top scholar I personally selected, someone I cultivated. I understand him well,” Qin Zhao explained. “Besides, he holds some power in the capital. Once we arrive, he’ll be useful.”

Jing Li gave him a skeptical look, clearly hesitant to fully trust this reasoning. Qin Zhao coughed lightly and added, “Last night, I had my old subordinates set up an ambush near here and outside his residence. Even now, those men haven’t withdrawn. If he shows any signs of disloyalty, he won’t live to return to the capital.”

Jing Li let out a soft “Oh.”

That was more reassuring.

Meeting with Deng Tianyou was a risky move, and if Qin Zhao had truly gone in unprepared, Jing Li would have been far more concerned.

Qin Zhao glanced at Jing Li and tentatively asked, “Don’t you think my methods are too ruthless?”

Avoiding his gaze, Jing Li focused on untangling his hair from the little fish fry’s grasp. “It’s necessary, isn’t it? If you don’t take precautions, you’d be putting yourself in danger. I understand…”

“You don’t have to force yourself,” Qin Zhao said with a gentle smile, raising a hand to caress Jing Li’s face. “Anything that makes you uncomfortable—don’t look, don’t listen, don’t involve yourself. Leave it all to me.”

Qin Zhao didn’t want Jing Li to change for him. On the contrary, he loved Jing Li just as he was. His words weren’t meant to seek Jing Li’s understanding or approval, but simply to ease his worries.

“I’ll adapt. Just give me some time,” Jing Li replied earnestly.

“Alright,” Qin Zhao said. “I just want you to know, it’s okay if you never adapt. Staying as you are now—trusting what people say and being fooled by a single pastry—is just as endearing.”

“…That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” Jing Li muttered softly.

Qin Zhao chuckled.

“Look who’s talking,” Jing Li said indignantly. “You were the same, trusting that dog of an emperor. Do you still refuse to believe he’s the one who sent people after you?”

Qin Zhao’s smile faded slightly.

“I don’t know,” he said, turning his gaze toward the window, his expression thoughtful. “Sometimes I wonder if being born into an imperial family means you’re destined to be more scheming and harder to see through than others.”

The room fell quiet, the atmosphere growing heavier. Only the little fish fry remained oblivious, giggling in Jing Li’s arms. When Jing Li stopped him from pulling his hair, the child turned to tugging at his clothes, nearly tumbling out of his lap in the process.

“Don’t move around so much; we’re talking about important matters,” Jing Li scolded as he caught him.

Qin Zhao didn’t seem bothered and reached out his arms. “Come here. Let me hold him for a bit; you must be tired.”

“Umm…” The little fish fry blinked, then turned to Jing Li first for approval.

Qin Zhao sighed helplessly. “This little one has been ignoring me all day since waking up. I think he knows I upset you.”

“Is that so?” Jing Li looked down at the child and asked, “Are you ignoring your dad today?”

The little fish fry nodded seriously.

Jing Li: “…”

“Why?” Jing Li asked.

The child replied, “Bullied Little Dad.”

Jing Li exchanged a glance with Qin Zhao, both amused and exasperated. “Your dad didn’t bully me. Why do you think that?”

“Did too!” the child said with a pout, hiding in Jing Li’s arms. “He made Little Dad sleep in the water.”

The little one puffed up his cheeks and declared indignantly, “No bullying Little Dad!”