Haiyingsen (3)

Summary: This chapter introduces the Emperor and the Director of the Intelligence Bureau, revealing the stories of their fathers.

The empire's subjects generally believed that Emperor Gratian was unparalleled in beauty.

It was like the tranquil, pure white first snow flowing under the lonely moonlight, and also like the dazzling, fiery golden magma lying dormant deep within the earth's roots, waiting to erupt—a fusion of extreme desire and extreme beauty, a sea of ​​stars, a universe, a netherworld, light and an abyss. Gazing at the emperor, you seemed to be simultaneously gazing at the grandest, most clamorous light and the deepest, most deathly darkness. How can language describe the essence of "beauty"? When "beauty" takes on a concrete form and sits before you, you forget language. Like the primordial beauty of heaven and earth, the chaos of creation, and the natural universe, human language can only clumsily imitate it. An old man, leaning on a cane and panting, follows behind, calling out, "Wait for me!" But the object of that beauty, yearning to be conveyed, has already flown away to some unknown place.

The concept of "beauty," beyond the reach of human language, was something the emperor, sitting on a brightly lit marble balcony, reached out to tease a plump old gray cat. The cat's eyes were golden-brown, and its fine whiskers trembled in the clear air. It sneezed softly, flicked its tail, and brushed away the emperor's hand. Soft gray fur peeked out from between the emperor's long, slender, jade-white fingers. His long, golden hair cascaded down like a lion's mane, lazily spreading across the sun-baked, fragrant wooden chair. A section of the emperor's wrist rested on the black stone table, its smooth surface reflecting the sunlight.

“Not like him.” A marble sculpture of a head was revealed as the silk slid off. The emperor gently shook his head.

"He doesn't look like Caesar."

The artist wiped the sweat from his brow. He was the 999th sculptor the emperor had hired in the past seventeen years. “What’s not right? Your Majesty, I can adjust it. The nose? Should it be higher? Oh, no, the eyes? The eyes should be more expressive, but not too big… Good. The jawline, the angles should be gentler, but Your Majesty, General Ganymede’s face is sharp. I’ve carefully studied all the photographs you provided. Oh, my apologies! Your Majesty! I shouldn’t have argued with you…”

The emperor raised his hand. The artist fell silent. The emperor leaned back in his chair, looking exhausted. "It's alright. It's not your fault. I... I can't quite remember his face either. The photographs, the ones he left behind, don't really look like him."

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in," the emperor said.

The artist was packing up his knives, pliers, and paints. "You can go now. Go tell the internal affairs department to send someone else."

"Yes, Your Majesty." "May I ask what should be done with this head?"

The emperor looked at the marble statue on the tiled platform.

"Smash it. Throw it away."

A servant stepped forward and carried it away. Two men in imperial military uniforms emerged from the darkness, flanking the artist. They needed to take him to sign a confidentiality agreement. "For the past six months, you haven't been to the palace, haven't seen the emperor, don't know anything about General Caesar Ganymede, haven't seen his photograph, and haven't sculpted any statues of him. For the past six months, you've been helping the environmental protection department of Zeus City design plant arrangements. Do you understand?"

The man in military uniform handed him a payslip stamped with the official seal of the environmental department. "This is your payment."

"Of course. Of course. It's my pleasure." The artist clutched the pay slip, crumpled it into a ball, stuffed it into his pocket, put on his hat, bowed hastily, and left.

Minister of State Caligula entered and stood motionless before the Emperor. A perfect military posture.

"Is this Caesar and Yang Luo's child? They're already so big."

"Yes. Your Majesty, I have compiled some information about his recent activities. Please take a look."

“The boy who went to a hotel with him last time,” the Emperor said, flipping through a photograph. He paused when he said “hotel,” seemingly amused, a chuckle in his voice. The photograph showed a laughing boy helping another boy, who was unsteady on his feet, walk towards a shopping area near the brightly lit Haiyingsen Central University campus under the night sky. The unsteady boy had probably been given a few drinks by the first boy. “I heard he’s sick?”

"Yes. He's been on our watch list ever since he first met Theodosius five years ago. Theodosius is always with him, and there's no one else around. Since Theodosius entered a social welfare institution at the age of seven and was raised by the government, he has always been withdrawn. The testimonies of the institution's caregivers and later kindergarten teachers are basically consistent. He doesn't like to talk and hates physical contact with others. Five years ago, he met Ye Wanzhou, and things changed. Regarding Ye Wanzhou's illness, we have notified the local medical institution in Haiyingsen to provide him with special treatment."

One of the royal physicians even made a special trip for him. If it weren't for His Majesty's eagerness to help the boy, it would only be because the boy was Theodosius's lover—a subject of the Empire's surveillance.

“He’s a friend of Caesar’s child, isn’t he?” The emperor pondered for a moment, “just like I was with Caesar back then.”

Gratian closed the stack of documents. The screen dimmed. A few lines of small, gray text flickered. It read: Theodosius. Wake up at 7:29 AM, have breakfast at 8:00 AM. Go to class. Lunch at 12:00 PM, study in the library in the afternoon. From 4:00 PM to 10:00 PM, off-campus activities: law firms, banks, shopping malls, bars, sports facilities. After 10:00 PM, return to the dormitory, briefly visit Ye Wanzhou, break the curfew in the middle of the night, and secretly leave the dormitory…

"My life is fairly regular. I just like to fool around at night." A slight smile played on the emperor's lips. The cat jumped out of his arms, and the loose robe draped over the man, the air rustling through it, revealing the emptiness beneath.

Caligula didn't move.

The emperor gestured for him to continue.

"Your Majesty, the surveillance of Theodosius began when he was a toddler. The reason I have recently briefed you on this matter is because I have discovered some highly unusual signs. On his first day at Haiyingsen Central University, Theodosius had a brief conversation with Ms. Ye Yuanjun, the Minister of Education of the Old Alliance under the Empire; furthermore, during his four years at university, he had at least ninety unregistered absences from the campus, and among his friends..."

"Just state your conclusion."

"We suspect that he is colluding with underground terrorist organizations of the old alliance and is attempting to assassinate the emperor."

The emperor was in a daze for a while.

"Really? Does that child want to kill me?"

"I see." The emperor lowered his eyes. The big gray cat ran even further away and stood on the other end of the balcony, its paws gripping the beam, sticking its rear end out towards Gratian.

"Caesar, come here quickly. Come to me."

The cat tilted its head, meowed, raised its nose, closed its eyes, and leaped away.

"Just follow your procedures."

"As ordered. Your Majesty."

It went surprisingly smoothly. Caligula saluted the emperor, the heel of his military boots clicking crisply.

"Your Majesty, it's time for your injection. You didn't take your medication on time yesterday, and your results are bad again today."

After the Minister of State left, a little boy with red curly hair peeked out from behind the curtain. His cheeks were rosy, like bright little apples. The boy was carrying a medicine box.

"Very well, my little doctor." Gratian sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and exposed his pale, thin arms to the sunlight, the bones at the joints so sharp they seemed ready to cut.

"Octavian, has the Minister of State inquired about my condition?" The Emperor suddenly asked, as the medicine was injected into a dark blue vein from a gleaming silver syringe.

Octavian flinched, steadying the needle. "No...no, Your Majesty. Lord Caligula asked me, but I didn't tell him!"

The emperor nodded and smiled at the boy. "Thank you, Octavian."

"Your Majesty, I just returned from the medical department. They said they've updated the system and have some treatment plans that are more suitable for you. It's just that using artificial intelligence to treat you might be more effective. Perhaps I could request the medical department to switch to them..."

"No. I don't like robots."

“I apologize for my intrusion.” Octavian didn’t look up, his gaze fixed intently on the clear liquid in the glass tube. After the injection, Octavian helped the Emperor smooth his hair and pushed out a self-propelled chair. The Emperor, impatient, frowned, and, supporting himself on his arms, walked to the bedside, leaned back, sat down, and placed his legs on the bed. After doing this, a fine layer of cold sweat appeared on the Emperor’s forehead. Octavian fetched a basin of water and wiped away the blush used to enhance the Emperor’s complexion. Pale pink lip gloss smudged on the damp cloth. The Emperor bit his lower lip; the lip gloss shimmered, making him look no different from a healthy person.

"Your Majesty, please rest well. I'll be going now." The boy turned off the light. The dimming device blocked out the sunlight, and in the darkness, the boy glanced back. The emperor's long, bright golden hair flowed like waves on the sea, bobbing with the deep water. The shimmering light of the waves was dazzling. The boy quickly turned back, his eyes welling up with tears. He sniffed. The courtyard corridor was brightly lit, the sunlight warm, and spring flowers and birdsong filled the air.

Octavian secretly hid in the corridor and cried. "Eh? Minister of State... Your Excellency Caligula, you haven't left yet?"

Caligula was an efficient and pragmatic man, and he was standing under the flower bed in the courtyard, a lush spider plant obscuring most of his figure. The man straightened his black and red military uniform, the gold trim on the cuffs swaying slightly. “Your Majesty can undergo transplant treatment.”

"What kind of transplant? An organ?"

"You are a doctor, Your Excellency Octavian. The transplant I'm referring to certainly doesn't mean organ replacement, but rather Your Majesty's brain—transplanting the brain and neurons together into a new body. Or, going further, using methods similar to those used in creating artificial intelligence, simulating Your Majesty's consciousness, recording it on a chip, and installing it into a computer. In fact, the State Department is currently exploring an idea that sounds somewhat insane, but I believe it might be feasible. The Empire is currently developing the central region of the Milky Way, which is rich in stellar resources, and can convert a portion of stellar energy into energy to support the continued operation of Your Majesty's consciousness..."

"You mean to turn His Majesty into a computer! Or a supercomputer powered by a star!"

"That's right. A more conservative approach would be to first remove his brain from his current broken body."

"You're going to kill His Majesty!"

“Killed? No. You misunderstand. Removing the brain and transplanting it into a new body does not constitute murder. I do not intend to bear the crime of regicide. Please do not make unnecessary accusations, Your Excellency Octavian.”

"No! No! I disagree! His Majesty would never agree. He loves his body; he would rather die than..."

"Love? If only love could save His Majesty the Emperor and maintain the rule of the Galactic Empire."

"Your healing will only make him suffer more."

“Dr. Octavian, I am not discussing with you whether this plan should be implemented, but rather how to implement it.”

The boy sneered. "I hate your plan! You want His Majesty dead, you want him to suffer, and you want to use his body as a cog in your machine to achieve your ambitions. I will report this to His Majesty and have you all dismissed!"

“Go ahead and say it,” Caligula said calmly. “However, the official document from the Ministry of State requesting His Majesty to extract his brain and place it in a new container will soon be presented to His Majesty.”

Whether His Majesty agrees or not is His Majesty's own business.

“It’s his own business,” Caligula agreed. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “And you, Dr. Octavian? Why are you crying?”

The boy froze. He covered his eyes with his hands; his eye sockets were swollen, and red blood vessels spread around his eyeballs like a spider web.

"You know the emperor is dying, don't you?"

The boy didn't speak, tears streaming down his face, dripping from between his fingers. "I...I can't bear to part with His Majesty..."

Caligula approached, patted the boy on the shoulder, and pulled him into his arms, softly comforting him, "There won't be any problems. We have a way to save him. He may not want to leave this body, after all, it was given to him by Caesar Ganymede. Oh, never mind him. We can implant the emperor's brain into a container and erase the painful memories. That way, he can be healthy and happy forever. Gratian will always be our emperor."

“'Gratian will always be our emperor.'”

The boy repeated the proverb-like question, "You...you really won't harm His Majesty? Are you really doing this for his own good?"

“Really.” Caligula quietly straightened up. The intelligence agents arrived, standing in the shadows of the courtyard, waiting for the Minister of State to pass by. One of them closed his pocket watch; the old-fashioned watch cover made a sharp, clear sound, startling the birds in the courtyard.

"I don't believe you!" The boy shoved the Minister of State aside and ran away.

The large gray cat, its golden-brown eyes coldly fixed on Caligula, leaped forward, and darted into the emperor's room. The cat parted the emperor's thick, slightly curly golden hair as if tearing open a ball of golden yarn, its paws nudging his sideburns. His face was hot; the emperor was fast asleep. The cat tugged at its master's collar, and on his clean, white neck, a pendant fell out. It was a marble pendant, half-broken, with a very simple carving.

"My Sun, Gratian"

The cat peered over with its round, brown eyes, and the person on the bed groaned. His embrace was too hot. The cat meowed in protest and hopped away.

“Caesar…” came a murmur from the bed.

The cat pricked up its ears, reluctantly crawled back inside, and rubbed its little head against the emperor's chin. Its rough tongue licked the emperor's bare wrist, which was exposed outside the blanket; it was wet. The emperor frowned and pulled his hand back under the blanket. The cat was satisfied. It curled up its paws and snuggled close to the warm emperor. After a loud sneeze, the cat twitched its whiskers, purred softly, and fell asleep.

"Should we apprehend that boy, Your Excellency?"

The intelligence officer, carrying a pocket watch, emerged from the shadows of the woods and the corridor. Octavian, Emperor Gratian's appointed physician, wielded considerable influence within the medical department.

“No need,” Caligula said. “Let’s go. We’ve already wasted enough time today.”

The hostility and disregard shown to him by that big gray cat had really made him uncomfortable, the Secretary of State thought. "Hmph, Caesar..."

Queen Drusilla led Crown Prince Alexander over. "Is His Majesty awake? Alexander says he misses his father."

“No, Your Majesty. He has just rested.” Octavian stopped and answered politely.

The Empress could not hide the disappointment on her face.

"Your Majesty the Queen."

The noblewoman, adorned with jewels, was startled and turned to see the Minister of State standing in the corridor where they were.

"Forgive my impertinence, but you and Prince Alexander should not disturb His Majesty. His Majesty is not the Crown Prince's father."

"How rude of you!"

"I am merely stating the facts. Your child is a substitute pushed out by the nobles, a puppet for the future emperor, turning the Galactic Empire into their private property. This child is an old human with numerous genetic defects, only slightly improved after treatment, and not even related to Your Majesty by blood. What right does your child have to inherit the empire? By your crippled ex-husband with a limp right leg?"

Drusilla's face flushed red and then paled. "My child is the legally recognized heir to the throne of the Galactic Empire!"

"Ranked after His Majesty's biological children."

“Gratian has no children,” the queen sneered.

“We can make one for him.” Caligula took out his notebook and made a note, writing “gene cloning” after the line “brain transplant to the Galactic Computer,” and then carefully drew a question mark. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

This time he was really leaving. Octavian greeted the Crown Prince. Alexander ignored him, his expression blank.

——tbc——