By the time Xie Langyang was dragged into the Dali Temple prison, he was already too weak to walk. His limp body was held up by two guards, his feet scraping and dragging across the ground.
The prison had not been repaired in years. The narrow passage between the two rows of bars was full of potholes. As they hauled him along, one of his official boots was scraped off his foot and left forlornly in the mud.
They were high-topped official boots, lined with soft sheepskin and trimmed with black velvet at the opening—warm, hard-wearing, and reserved for the nobility. They were a symbol of status.
Xie Langyang’s cracked lips were bleeding. Pain made him groan faintly in his throat, his gaze clinging desperately to that boot. He pleaded indistinctly, “Give me back my court boot… Give me back my court boot…”
It was the last scrap of dignity within his reach.
But the guards ignored him. They gave him a vicious shove, then carried him to a moldy patch of straw in the corner and threw him down.
Xie Langyang hit the ground hard, the impact tugging at the wounds left by the beating across his back. Agonizing pain bored into him, making his scalp go numb and his muscles spasm. Only after a long while could he force a breath of foul air from his throat.
He slowly raised his head and looked around. A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
How absurd. This was the very cell where Wen Zhuo had been imprisoned before his death in his previous life.
The place was dim and cramped. The straw mat had been soaked through with snowmelt again and again, giving off a damp, rotten stench that refused to fade.
Back then, he had stood here, facing Wen Zhuo in his wretched state after being tortured. He had confessed his remorse to him, pouring out his heart, and finally handed him that stack of self-accusations filled with agonizing regret.
In a daze, Xie Langyang felt as though he had dreamed a long, endless dream. It seemed that everything since his rebirth was false; if he only opened his eyes again, all his troubles would vanish, and he would still be the high-ranking official burdened by heavy responsibilities and consumed by guilt.
Yet he closed his eyes and opened them again and again, and the one lying on the straw mat was still himself. The one who had suffered every humiliation was still himself.
At last, he understood how insignificant his struggles and anguish back then had been compared with this pain that cut to the bone.
At last, he dared to look directly at his own ugliness. He had been the one who harmed Wen Zhuo, yet he had not wanted to bear the crushing weight of his guilt. That was why he had portrayed himself as so pitiful.
As long as Wen Zhuo could understand and forgive him before he died, Xie Langyang could forgive himself with a clear conscience and continue living along the supposedly flawless path laid out for a son of an aristocratic family.
Xie Langyang clenched his fists and slammed them against the icy floor.
Why? Why had he been given a second life? Things were not supposed to turn out this way!
He vented his fury, pounding the ground until clouds of dust rose around him. Then he heard slow footsteps drawing nearer. A figure’s shadow slanted into the cell, blocking the faint glow of the candlelight.
He abruptly withdrew his hands, hiding his loss of control, and propped himself up to look outside.
There stood Wen Zhuo, wrapped in a cloak that was clearly a size too large. Its hem dragged all the way to the tops of his boots, enveloping his slender body from head to toe.
Xie Langyang recognized that cloak. It was the one Shen Zheng had been wearing when he arrived, yet now it was wrapped around Wen Zhuo.
“You’re still here. Did you come to watch me make a fool of myself?” Xie Langyang’s voice was hoarse, but he had already regained his composure. He was no longer as agitated as he had been during the court hearing.
Though he had confessed under brutal torture, he had not lost all hope. Shen Chen, Gong Zhiyuan, and Luo Mingpu were still outside; they would surely find a way to bring the truth before the throne.
Besides, framing a court official was a grave crime, but it did not necessarily warrant immediate execution. If he could be sentenced to exile, there would still be a chance for him to rise again someday.
And even after sentencing, there would be reviews and stays of execution. Emperor Shunyuan had less than a year to live. So long as he could endure eleven months, he might live to see a general amnesty.
Wen Zhuo looked down at him, one brow lifting slightly. “Do you not know that only after you confess to every charge and His Majesty issues his decree of grace will I be allowed to leave?”
Xie Langyang tried to push himself upright, hoping at least to preserve a shred of dignity. But the slightest movement tugged at the wounds across his body, twisting his features with pain.
He slowly exhaled, wrapping his sneer in his words. “I have already signed my confession and admitted guilt. I imagine you will be free by tomorrow.”
“Not yet.” Wen Zhuo raised a hand to draw his cloak more closely around himself. Catching Shen Zheng’s scent on it, the tension in his expression eased somewhat. “The interrogation is only half-finished. There is still your most important crime—the one you have yet to confess to.”
Xie Langyang abruptly raised his head, his eyes brimming with confusion as an intensely ominous feeling surged within him.
Then Wen Zhuo’s pale face curved into a faint smile. In an unhurried tone, he said, “You circulated two scandalous booklets throughout the capital, each purporting to reveal secrets of the inner palace. One slandered Consort Chen, claiming he was originally a man and yet had won His Majesty’s heart, remaining unforgettable to him. The other defamed me, claiming that because I resemble Consort Chen in appearance, I alone have received His Majesty’s favor. On the one hand, you accused me of the vice of male love; on the other, you fabricated malicious rumors and insulted His Majesty’s sacred name. That is why you cannot be allowed to live.”
Xie Langyang’s pupils contracted sharply. A chill seeped from the gaps between his joints. Forgetting the agony of his wounds, he crawled on hands and knees to the door and shook the cold wooden bars with all his strength, roaring through clenched teeth, “You’re lying! I didn’t do it! I have never done such a thing!”
Seeing Wen Zhuo merely regard him coldly, he suddenly came to his senses. Cold sweat drenched his entire body as though poured over him.
“So this is your true poisonous scheme! You have manipulated the Emperor and borrowed his imperial wrath to condemn me to death! Wen Zhuo, what a vicious heart you have!”
So that was it...
The reason the Emperor had so suddenly changed his attitude was because of those two rumors!
The rumors had collided with the case of the *Wanshan Fu*. The Emperor had mistaken Wen Zhuo for nothing more than a pawn, believing that this affair, from beginning to end, had been aimed at himself—at the honor of the imperial house.
An emperor’s rage demanded a scapegoat. And whether or not Wen Zhuo truly desired men, once he was bound up with the Emperor’s reputation, he had to be “innocent”!
This scheme had cut off every path left to him!
Wen Zhuo quietly savored his fury, despair, and helplessness before speaking lightly. “Shout and scream as much as you please in here, but who will believe you? Oh—and I nearly forgot to tell you: Gong Zhiyuan was exposed on the spot by Bu Zhangyi for conspiring, during the Spring Terrace chess tournament, to frame the Fifth Prince. He has long since become a prisoner awaiting interrogation. Every member of the Gong household has been thrown into prison as well. He can barely save himself now—he no longer has the means to save you.”
“Shen Chen is still being held in the rear quarters, cut off from all contact with the outside world. He knows nothing. Luo Mingpu is practically desperate to sever all ties with you now, and you still delude yourself into hoping he’ll lay down his life for you?”
Every one of Wen Zhuo’s words was a dagger, stabbing into Xie Langyang’s heart and shredding the last vestiges of hope he had left.
His hands slipped abruptly from the wooden bars and fell heavily to his sides. His whole body collapsed onto the straw mat, his gaze vacant.
After sitting there in a daze for a moment, he suddenly lunged toward Wen Zhuo, screaming hysterically, “I never did any of it! This is a monstrous injustice, and I will never confess to a crime I didn’t commit! Do you hear me? You can rot in this prison alongside me—I would rather die than let your scheme succeed!”
“Never did it?” Wen Zhuo laughed in delight.
He allowed Xie Langyang to clutch at the hem of his robe, his knuckles standing out as he vented his hatred to no avail. Then, with merciless relish, he said, “Have you forgotten how that stack of confessions was written? What difference does it make whether you did it or not? The only thing you can look forward to in this prison, day after day, is punishment in ever more ingenious forms. Sooner or later, you’ll confess. You’ll admit to everything.”
“You want me to waste away here with you? Fine.” Wen Zhuo leaned forward slightly, his gaze settling on Xie Langyang’s swollen, bruised face. His voice was cruel, filled with vengeful satisfaction. “I’ll stay right here and watch you endure, one by one, every torment and humiliation I suffered in my previous life. How could I bear to miss such a splendid moment?”
Wen Zhuo’s thirst for revenge finally shattered Xie Langyang completely. Tears poured from his eyes, mingling with the blood and grime on his face. He pressed his forehead hard against the rough wooden bars and let out a wail of despair unlike any he had ever made before.
“Wanshan, please, let me go! For the sake of the bond we formed when we first met on Qingping Mountain, let me go! People aren’t plants or trees; no one can remain unchanged. But my feelings for you back then were utterly sincere—you know that…”
Wen Zhuo took a small step back and yanked his robe free from Xie Langyang’s grasp.
“I had no idea you thought me so softhearted.”
“Wanshan! Wanshan!” Xie Langyang struggled forward, reaching after him, but caught nothing but empty air.
Having seen enough of his haggard misery and despair, Wen Zhuo said no more. He turned and walked away.
In truth, he was exhausted as well. The words had been satisfying to say, and the sight had been gratifying to behold, but the moment he stepped into his own cell, the strength he had been forcing himself to maintain immediately withered away.
He had always been frail. After the repeated emotional upheavals of the day and the energy he had expended, he had barely slumped onto the straw mat before sinking into a deep, drowsy sleep.
During that time, the gaoler came several times to replenish the lamp oil. Candlelight danced across Wen Zhuo’s face, yet he never stirred.
The cell was damp and cold to begin with, but Shen Zheng’s heavy cloak lay over him, making him inexplicably feverish. His underclothes clung stickily to his back, unbearably uncomfortable.
One arm had gone numb from being pressed against something hard. He wanted to change position, but his entire body felt weighted down, impossible to move, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not open his eyes.
He did not know how much time had passed when someone began gently shaking him. At last, the person simply lifted him from the ground and held him securely in their arms.
The sensation of being suspended in midair jolted him awake. His eyes stung with dryness and pain, and it took quite some time before he could barely adjust to the light around him.
He tried to speak, but his throat hurt terribly, as though it had been stuffed with a wad of water-soaked gauze. Not a sound came out.
The first thing he saw was Shen Zheng’s face.
Those eyes and brows were still deep and striking, but his eyelids were creased with exhaustion, and a faint stubble had appeared along his jaw. Clearly, he had not slept in a very long time.
Wen Zhuo raised a hand and lightly touched his fingertips to Shen Zheng’s lips. He wanted to call him Your Highness, but only a weak breath of sound escaped his throat.
Shen Zheng leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. His voice was low and tender. “Father has yet to regain consciousness. There was no time to seek his permission. Your body is too weak to endure this place, so I’ll take you out first.”
Wen Zhuo’s thoughts came rushing back. He hurriedly grabbed Shen Zheng’s arm and forced out two hoarse words. “…You can’t.”
“This place is full of Xue Chongnian’s men. Luo Mingpu is too busy looking after himself to dare say anything. Besides, Father already intended to pardon you. Whether it happens a day earlier or later makes no difference.” Shen Zheng would not brook any argument. He kicked open the cell door and carried Wen Zhuo out in great strides.
Wen Zhuo was so weak that even a gentle push would have left him swaying. How could he possibly argue with Shen Zheng? All he could do was lean limply against him as Shen Zheng carried him through the prison corridors.
Unexpectedly, when they reached a corner, they were spotted by Xie Langyang, who was lurking in the shadows.
The pain from his caning was unbearable. Blood had long since glued his clothing to his flesh, and the slightest movement tore through him like a knife. Worse still, despair clung to him so tightly that he could not sleep at all.
Now, seeing Shen Zheng carrying Wen Zhuo past him, the grief and fury filling his chest finally found an outlet. A fierce desire for revenge surged within him, sending blood rushing to his head until he could no longer restrain himself.
Clutching the bars of his cell, he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, “Shen Zheng! Shen Zheng! I laugh at your foolishness! You don’t even know what kind of cold-blooded, ruthless person you’re carrying in your arms!”
Shen Zheng came to an abrupt stop. Turning his face, he fixed a cold, heavy gaze on Xie Langyang inside the cell.
When Xie Langyang saw that he had indeed captured Shen Zheng’s attention, he began to laugh wildly. His laughter was shrill and heartrending as it echoed through the prison. “You think the plot to frame you at the Spring Terrace Chess Assembly was Gong Zhiyuan’s scheme? You’re gravely mistaken! It was the person in your arms!”
All traces of weariness vanished from Wen Zhuo. He had never been more clearheaded, yet the warmth drained from his hands and feet in an instant. Even his heart felt as though it had been plunged into icy water.
So this was why he had done everything in his power to deal with Xie Langyang—why he had never dared let Shen Zheng learn the truth.
In his panic, he actually tried to cover Shen Zheng’s ears. But the moment his hands touched them, he realized how foolish the gesture was. It was nothing more than attempting to cover the ears while stealing the bell.
Xie Langyang had already thrown caution to the wind, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Absurd, is it? Yet that is the truth! Why else do you think he has been able to calculate everything with such precision, or why he remembers all three chess matches so clearly? He and I are both reborn. In our previous lives, he was the one who caused you to be confined to Fengyang Terrace, where you ultimately fell to your death!”
Wen Zhuo truly panicked.
The notion of rebirth might sound preposterous, but he was not without his flaws. If Shen Zheng connected the clues, it would be the most reasonable explanation of all.
He had long since fallen completely in love with Shen Zheng. He could never accept Shen Zheng’s hatred—never accept seeing this sincere love shattered.
In the end, the world had presented him with a problem even he could not solve. When the heart was involved, reason was easily thrown into disorder.
He hurriedly hooked a finger into Shen Zheng’s collar and forcefully drew his gaze back to himself. His mind raced as he desperately searched for an excuse. He had intended to offer a silver-tongued defense, but his throat was so swollen and painful that even forming words was difficult.
Cold sweat dampened his temples in his anxiety. He clutched Shen Zheng’s collar tighter and tighter, his voice trembling as he lied guiltily, “...Xie Langyang suffered too much punishment and has lost his mind... Don’t listen to him!”
As Wen Zhuo spoke, his lashes lowered involuntarily. Though his body rested against Shen Zheng’s embrace, he was as rigid as a block of ice.
Shen Zheng did indeed bring his gaze back to him, but he gave Wen Zhuo a meaningful look.
Wen Zhuo’s heart sank to the bottom. There was only one thought left in his mind—
I’m finished!
Seeing that Wen Zhuo had truly panicked, Xie Langyang finally tasted a trace of long-awaited satisfaction. At last, the stifling rage he had been holding in found an outlet.
He cried out with grief and fury, almost maniacally, “Wen Zhuo, so you know fear after all! Shen Zheng, does he know that in his previous life, he was guilty of countless crimes? You, the Third Prince, and Duke Liu all perished by his hand! He is nothing like the pure and gracious man you believe him to be—”
“I know.”
Shen Zheng’s voice was cold and cutting as he interrupted him calmly.
“He... he...?” Xie Langyang abruptly stopped speaking and stared blankly at Shen Zheng. Unable to believe what he had heard, he could only hear a buzzing in his ears and wondered if the pain of his punishment had driven him into a hallucination.
Wen Zhuo also raised his eyes sharply, astonishment and bewilderment filling them.
Holding Wen Zhuo in his arms, Shen Zheng slowly turned around and walked step by step toward Xie Langyang. Parting his thin lips, he began to recite in an unhurried voice:
“...In the twenty-third year of Shunyuan, for the sake of my own selfish interests, I fabricated evidence and falsely accused the Fifth Prince, Shen Zheng, causing him to suffer wrongful persecution. He was confined to Fengyang Terrace, where he ultimately fell from the tower and died. Such an act of harming an imperial heir is condemned by Heaven and earth alike, and my crimes are beyond forgiveness.”
Xie Langyang shuddered violently. His blood seemed to freeze in an instant. When he looked at Shen Zheng again, it was as though he were gazing upon a vengeful ghost reborn.
Every word was unmistakably from the confession Wen Zhuo had written for him in his previous life.
Taking in the terror that had instantly appeared on Xie Langyang’s face, Shen Zheng remained unmoved and continued reciting:
“Yet I persisted in evil and grew ever more vicious. I even enlisted a heretical Taoist to perform a wicked soul-summoning ritual in order to eliminate the Third Prince, Shen Ting. Because Duke Liu stood in the way of my desire to seize his lands, I secretly devised a poisonous scheme that drove his entire family to ruin.
“My offenses go even beyond these. The entertainer Yu Ru refused my attempt to take her by force, so I callously had her strangled to death. I also forcibly seized and defiled the wife of a Hanlin Academy compiler, destroying all human decency. Though I have never married, I indulged in sensual pleasures and surrounded myself with countless women. I repeatedly abducted common women by force, until the mere mention of my name made everyone in the streets tremble with fear...
“The small acts of kindness I once showed were all false adornments. I now recognize the enormity of my sins and willingly submit to the punishment of having ten thousand arrows pierce my heart. I ask only that my sentence be carried out swiftly, so that the laws of the state may be upheld. Every word written here is true. I humbly submit this confession for your judgment.”
Xie Langyang braced himself against the ground and scrambled backward, his eyes nearly shattering with terror. “You… you’re a reborn person too!”
The moment the words left his mouth, he shook his head violently and muttered to himself, “No, that’s not right. You clearly died—”
Shen Zheng had died young in his previous life. Even if he had been reborn, there was no way he could have known about the self-accusation Wen Zhuo had written to him later in life.
Could it be that Wen Zhuo had already confessed everything to Shen Zheng?
“I know all of this. I’ve known it for a long time.” Shen Zheng’s voice was cold and heavy as he looked at Xie Langyang’s stunned, twisted expression. “What exactly did you think you could accomplish by dredging up these old accounts?”
Xie Langyang was shaken to the core, yet utterly unwilling to accept it. “You know he’s that kind of person, and you still—”
“Yes. I know exactly what kind of person he is, and I still fell for him.”
Shen Zheng took a step forward. The pressure radiating from him grew even more oppressive, nearly suffocating Xie Langyang. “But after observing him day after day, I’ve already formed a fairly clear idea of how much truth there is in that self-accusation. In my view, the one who falsely pinned every last crime on him is the hypocritical, despicable wretch who truly makes me sick!”
Xie Langyang’s face turned ashen. His lips trembled, yet he could not produce a single word of rebuttal.
He could neither understand nor believe it. How could Shen Zheng accept someone who had once harmed him? How could he bear no grudge and still choose to love a man like Wen Zhuo?
Why was everything he himself had once minded and despised—everything he had deemed contrary to the teachings of the sages—of no consequence at all to Shen Zheng?
If only he had been able to accept every part of Wen Zhuo without reservation back then, would he have avoided ending up disgraced and ruined like this today?
