With Pen in Hand, I Slay the Spring and Autumn

He thought he had merely caught a sick sparrow. Little did he know that the person he had drawn into his arms was the true player of the game.

The eighth day of the first lunar month, a palace banquet.

Regent Pei Yuan sat beside the imperial throne. With a casual remark, "He's an eyesore," he had a third-rank official cut down on the spot. The hall was full of nobles in crimson and purple, all with their heads bowed. Only the faint, out-of-place scrape of a brush against bamboo slips sounded from one side.

Pei Yuan followed the sound and saw a white-robed court historian sitting in the shadow of a pillar.

"What are you writing?"

He walked over, the crimson hem of his robe sweeping the floor. At the sound of his voice, the young historian looked up. His face was pale, and his eyes were clear as ink. He did not answer, but calmly handed over the bamboo slip he had just finished writing.

Pei Yuan lowered his gaze and saw the words, sharp and precise:

"Eighth day of the first lunar month. At a palace banquet, Regent Pei Yuan wantonly murdered an official, acting with arrogant and lawless cruelty."

"Arrogant and lawless?" Pei Yuan chuckled. His fingers brushed the cold brush, then suddenly clamped around the wrist holding it. The hand was startlingly thin, as if it might snap at the slightest pressure.

"Your Highness," Wen Qinghua looked him straight in the eye. His voice was hoarse from chronic illness, but every word was clear. "The historian's brush is iron. It does not embellish the ruler's image."

Pei Yuan bent down and whispered in his ear, his breath dangerous. "What if I insist that you embellish mine?"

At that, Wen Qinghua suddenly began coughing. A sickly flush rose on his pale cheeks. Yet when he looked up again, there was a hint of pity in his eyes.

"Your Highness may kill me, then kill every historian in the realm. But later generations will begin their account of your crimes with this page. You will never have a chance to clear your name."

At that moment, Pei Yuan felt his heart skip a beat. He had never seen such a look: even before absolute power, this man dared to regard him with a judge's pity.

He snatched the bamboo slip away, only to see the man take another blank slip from his sleeve. In full view of everyone, he calmly wrote: "Regent Pei Yuan seized the historian's brush and attempted to destroy the record."

Pei Yuan's pupils contracted.

He suddenly understood that he could not kill him. At least, not by ordinary means.

In front of everyone, he tore up the page of history, scooped the coughing, blood-spattered historian into his arms, and carried him straight back to his residence.

"You like keeping records? Fine! Starting today, you'll live beside my bed and record everything, day and night, including how I sleep."

Possessive, scheming regent gong x aloof, chronically ill historian shou

"You hold the power of life and death, and I wield the brush that records history. You imprison me in your arms, and I carve you into the annals." HE

Theme: Fear no power; remain unsullied despite being mired in filth.