Chapter 294 is good.

When Zhou Heng came out of the East Warm Pavilion, this was the scene he saw—the monarch of a country, dressed in a worn black casual robe, his hair casually tied up, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing two sections of his wheat-colored forearms stained by the northern sun and frost, his left hand holding the corner of the paper, his right hand holding a pen, carefully applying patches of green of varying shades to the paper.

Rain dripped from the eaves, weaving a dense curtain of water that separated the corridor and the courtyard into two different worlds.

Outside the water curtain is a hazy sky, a damp ground, and flowers and trees battered by wind and rain; inside the water curtain is a dry, warm little world, filled with the unique scent of paint and Xuan paper.

Zhou Heng stood under the corridor for a while, watching Xiao Jue paint.

His painting skills weren't particularly good; the composition was somewhat rigid, and the colors were a bit too vibrant. However, it was clear that he was meticulously depicting the subject, applying each leaf repeatedly until the color was so intense it almost dripped off the paper.

The banana plant under his brush became a dark green blotch, looking like an ink stain from afar and still an ink stain up close. Yet he was very satisfied with the painting, and there was even a hint of a carefree smile on his lips, a smile that Zhou Heng rarely showed.

That smile made him look several years younger, like the boy chasing rabbits in the back mountains of Floating Cloud Manor, rather than an emperor who ruled half the country and killed countless people.

Zhou Heng walked over, sat down next to him, and peered at the painting. "What's this?"

"Banana leaf." Xiao Jue's tone carried a hint of pride, as if he were saying, "Look how well I drew it."

Zhou Heng glanced at the ink stain again. "...Does a banana plant look like this?"

Xiao Jue paused, turning his head to look at him with a "what do you know?" expression. "Look at those leaves, aren't they green?"

"It's green," Zhou Heng nodded.

"Is it big?"

"It's very big."

"Is it upright?"

"...It's vertical."

Xiao Jue turned back and continued drawing. "That's a banana tree. Who cares what it looks like?"

Zhou Heng had nothing to say, so he leaned against a pillar and watched the rain.

The rain grew heavier, and the curtain of water hanging from the eaves changed from thin lines to thick lines, splashing onto the bluestone floor under the corridor, creating tiny, fleeting water droplets.

The water droplets splashed on the stone slab, breaking and opening again, opening and breaking again, like countless invisible hands constantly turning the same book that can never be finished.

After Xiao Jue finished painting the banana tree, he put down his brush, picked up the paper, and examined it for a long time.

Whether he was satisfied or not, he looked at it for a long time, then turned the paper over, flattened it, dipped it in ink, and began to write on the back.

Then he put down the pen, rolled up the paper, and stuffed it into his sleeve. Zhou Heng watched him do this. "It's so ugly," he said, "what's the point of keeping it?"

Xiao Jue glanced at him, reached out, grasped Zhou Heng's wrist, and slowly rubbed his thumb on the thin skin on the inside of his wrist bone.

Zhou Heng did not ask any further questions.

He leaned against the pillar, feeling the lines on the thumb on his wrist, the calluses on the person's fingertips, and the warmth of the person's palm.

In the past, Xiao Jue would spend his time looking at maps, reviewing memorials, summoning ministers, and dealing with endless government affairs.

He had no time to paint, no time to daydream under the eaves, no time to hold his lover's wrist and sit in the rain, doing nothing, thinking nothing, just listening to the rain and feeling the warmth in his palm.

But now that he has a little stolen leisure time, he is busier than the emperor who used to be working at high speed every moment.

He was busy pushing the things that he should have personally handled onto others, busy stuffing the memorials that he should have personally reviewed into the cabinet's desk, busy painting a banana tree that was not clearly a banana tree under the corridor of the Qianqing Palace, and busy rolling up a piece of Xuan paper with messy drawings and stuffing it into his sleeve, as if it were some kind of extraordinary treasure.

Zhou Heng sometimes thought that perhaps Xiao Jue never wanted to be a wise ruler.

All he wanted was a quiet place to stay after the war, someone to talk to, a pen to scribble with, and a rain shower to listen to all day long outside the window.

Zhou Heng leaned on his shoulder, listening to the rain, and closed his eyes.

He thought, if this is what a tyrannical ruler is like, then being a tyrannical ruler isn't so bad.