With the greatest danger weighing on his heart finally removed, the taut string that had held Wen Zhuo tense for so many days slackened. Then illness came for him, lingering for quite some time.
The white Go stone that had once accompanied him into the Dali Temple prison was left beneath the straw mat, mingled with the iron filings Xie Langyang had crushed that day.
Perhaps it would one day see the light again; perhaps it would remain forever unknown. Yet it had indeed borne witness to the fall of a man in high office, and to this desperate gambit of staking everything on death in order to find a way to live.
Shen Zheng interrogated Xie Langyang every night. When it grew late, he naturally had no time to return to the palace and instead stayed at the Wen residence to keep Wen Zhuo company.
He would have Wen Zhuo lean against his chest, hold the bowl of medicine, and feed it to him spoonful by spoonful.
Wen Zhuo found this somewhat helpless. Though ill, he was hardly an old man at death’s door; drinking medicine was a trivial task, one he could manage perfectly well himself.
But whenever he tried to reach for the bowl, Shen Zheng would gently swat his fingers away and continue feeding him at an unhurried pace.
After two or three such attempts, Wen Zhuo began to understand. Shen Zheng greatly enjoyed the process—especially the sight of Wen Zhuo parting his lips slightly to take the tip of the spoon into his mouth, then delicately extending his tongue to lick the corner of his lips after he had finished.
People’s quirks came in all shapes and forms. When Wen Zhuo worked with ink and pigments, he had to listen to the murmur of running water before he could fully focus. Before studying, he needed to wash and groom himself until he was perfectly clean, or else he would grow restless and distracted. Shen Zheng’s particular preference happened to be centered on him, but Wen Zhuo decided to respect it.
After each dose of medicine, Shen Zheng would also follow the method the old physician had taught Liu Qiying, massaging Wen Zhuo’s acupoints to ease his body.
At first, Wen Zhuo made a token protest, saying that His Highness was busy all day and that such minor matters could be left to the servants.
But before he had even finished speaking, Shen Zheng had already removed his inner robe, his warm palm settling over Wen Zhuo’s back.
Wen Zhuo simply closed his eyes and gave in, letting Shen Zheng’s fingertips roam over his back, kneading the sore, swollen points—and taking the opportunity to feel around elsewhere as well.
For the first day or two, Shen Zheng had still been mindful of Wen Zhuo’s illness. He put on a show of sleeping in the side room, claiming he was afraid of disturbing Wen Zhuo’s rest.
By the third day, however, he had simply made himself a spot on Wen Zhuo’s bed, solemnly declaring that he was offering his body to keep Wen Zhuo warm.
Wen Zhuo had been drowsy and half-asleep at the time, too tired to expose his little scheme. He merely lifted one eyelid and murmured, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Then Shen Zheng gathered him into his arms, his bare upper body pressed against Shen Zheng’s firm chest.
As he had said, Shen Zheng was truly warm—more effective than a brazier. Every morning, Wen Zhuo would wake with a fine layer of sweat on his back, and even his cold ailment eased somewhat because of it.
Liu Qiying had not been idle, either. Every day, she devised new nourishing dishes for Wen Zhuo, determined to rescue his dangerously low weight.
Yet his cold ailment had not faded, and his body still felt heavy and uncomfortable. He truly could not eat much, so whatever food remained invariably ended up in Jiang Mannü’s stomach.
During the days Wen Zhuo spent recuperating, he gained little weight, while Jiang Mannü grew ever more round and well-fed.
And besides, Xie Langyang had far less backbone than he imagined.
Days of interrogation had long since drained him of all strength and shattered his resolve. After enduring only six days, he could no longer hold out and admitted to writing those two secret and forbidden volumes.
It was not that he did not understand the consequences of confessing. It would likely implicate three generations of his family. But he no longer had the strength to resist; he wished only to suffer a little less.
In a bid for a sliver of survival, Gong Zhiyuan also truthfully confessed to Xue Chongnian that the scheme to frame Shen Zheng had in fact first been proposed to him by Xie Langyang, who had then shared it with Bu Zhangyi.
There were witnesses who could prove it: Marquis of Yongning Jun Guangping and Wen Zhuo. Both had seen Xie Langyang deliberately ascend the Guanlin Terrace to speak with Gong Zhiyuan in private.
At the time, Gong Zhiyuan did not yet know that Xie Langyang had already confessed to a far more fatal crime—one sufficient to implicate the entire Gong family, bringing them all under prosecution. Nor did Xie Langyang know that, at the threshold of life and death, the man he both revered and feared—his mentor and father-in-law—would shift every last crime onto him, utterly ruining his name.
With Xie Langyang’s case resolved, Shen Zheng had no further reason to linger in the capital.
He spent one final day with Wen Zhuo, as he had before: feeding him medicine, massaging him, and accompanying him as he basked in the sun in the courtyard. They spoke of affairs of state, then of spring blossoms and autumn moons.
At last, in the early hours, once Wen Zhuo had fallen soundly asleep, Shen Zheng quietly lifted the covers and rose. Without alerting a single person, he left the Wen residence, mounted his horse, and hurried back to Jinhai.
A little over twenty days after his return to Jinhai, the Songzhou mutiny was completely quelled. Its ringleaders were beheaded and displayed to the public, while more than three hundred river-transport officials received severe punishment for exploiting transport laborers and embezzling funds and grain.
The common people along the route, as well as the resentful transport laborers, were compensated with the confiscated assets of the corrupt officials, greatly easing the anger in their hearts.
Some of the young and able-bodied transport laborers were reorganized into a naval force and were training day and night. The Songzhou River once more resumed its former bustle, and Mo Shu returned to the capital with his mission accomplished.
Emperor Shunyuan was overjoyed. He even rose from his sickbed to hold court in person.
As he watched the familiar faces in the court grow fewer and fewer, a fleeting sense of disorientation passed through him. Yet it was swiftly overwhelmed by his delight at the successful reform of river transport.
For his capable handling of the matter, Mo Shu was promoted by Emperor Shunyuan to Vice Minister of War.
Only after returning to the capital did Mo Shu learn of all that had taken place there during this time.
His brows immediately drew together, and a trace of reproach flashed through his eyes. He shook his head at Jun Dingyuan. “Huaishen, how could you all keep this from both His Highness and me? Never mind me—but the Headmaster was imprisoned, while His Highness was kept in the dark by every person close to him. How do you think that made him feel?”
Jun Dingyuan’s handsome face stiffened slightly. He paced back and forth in the courtyard, his armor clattering sharply. “The Headmaster told us not to say anything. He has always planned every move flawlessly—how could we dare presume to be clever? If we made matters worse and ruined his arrangements, who could bear that responsibility? Still, His Highness has already lost his temper over this since returning to the capital. Thinking back on it now, as his uncle, perhaps I should have concealed it in order to protect him. But as his subject, I truly should not have kept anything from His Highness.”
Mo Shu seized his arm, turned his face toward him, and forced him to meet his eyes. With a solemn expression, he said, “His Highness is far more broad-minded than most, and he treasures family ties deeply. Fortunately, the Headmaster came to no harm in the end, so let this matter pass. Listen well: if His Highness should one day ascend the throne, we, as his subjects, must never again overstep our bounds. Even if you are His Highness’s maternal uncle, put yourself in his place. If one day my life hung by a thread, yet you were kept in the dark by the other generals, then—”
Mo Shu paused, abruptly released him, and let out a sigh. For the first time in his life, he found himself at a loss for words. “No, that is not an appropriate comparison…”
Jun Dingyuan immediately grew alert. Seeing Mo Shu trying to evade the matter, he strode in front of him and pressed him fiercely, “Why is it inappropriate? You and I are brothers in all but blood, and His Highness and the Headmaster have likewise faced life and death together!”
Startled, Mo Shu pushed helplessly at his shoulder, but only pursed his lips and said nothing.
Meeting Mo Shu’s pair of clear, unclouded eyes, Jun Dingyuan finally understood. Disbelief crept across his face. “Senior Brother, you noticed it long ago, didn’t you? His Highness has… feelings of that sort for the Headmaster.”
Mo Shu turned his face away, avoiding his gaze. Rubbing his brow in resignation, he said, “Huaishen, His Highness’s private affairs are not for us to discuss.”
Jun Dingyuan paid that no heed. He grabbed Mo Shu by the arm and forcibly dragged him toward the study. “There is no distance between you and me. Just pretend I am talking to myself. Today, you must tell me—when did you first notice? And why have you kept it from me all this time? My nephew harbors such thoughts; how can I, his uncle, possibly rest easy?”
“Huaishen! You are being utterly unreasonable!”
Jun Dingyuan was enormously strong. After struggling several times, Mo Shu still could not break free. He silently looked up at the heavens and thought: I have yielded to him for more than ten years. Perhaps today, I should simply beat my junior brother flat once again.
Not long after Mo Shu’s return to the capital, the various projects in Jinhai had also begun to fall into place.
Following Wen Zhuo’s advice, Shen Zheng reorganized the Maritime Trade Office according to the Song dynasty model, placing it directly under the Ministry of Revenue. He further established five trading ports—Jinhai, Mianzhou, Pingzhou, Lianzhou, and Yongzhou—and set about promoting overseas commerce. Mianzhou would serve as the first trial; if all went smoothly, the remaining ports would follow its example.
At the same time, a Coastal Defense Office was established to patrol Great Qian’s shores and safeguard merchant vessels traveling to and fro.
With Gu Weizhi overseeing the Ministry of Revenue, and with the Ministry of Personnel no longer hindered by Xie Langyang, the subordinate officials of both the Maritime Trade Office and the Coastal Defense Office were selected from candidates recommended by Wen Zhuo. They were capable, upright scholars from humble backgrounds—men whose service would benefit the state.
These men had not initially been Shen Zheng’s confidants, but having received such recognition and favor from him, they would naturally devote themselves to his cause.
In addition, Shen Zheng proposed the creation of a Customs Office, specifically responsible for issuing harbor-entry permits, regulating prohibited goods, and investigating and suppressing maritime smuggling.
At present, when overseas trade remained limited, this department might not seem especially important. Yet he firmly believed that customs would one day become a matter of the utmost significance.
Emperor Shunyuan read the memorial and, with a sweep of his brush, approved it.
Ten days later, Shen Zheng officially returned to court. Great Qian’s maritime enterprise had, at last, fully taken shape and been put into practice.
At last, toward the end of his reign, Emperor Shunyuan accomplished a feat none of his predecessors had managed. It would go down in history, becoming an achievement that could never be erased from the record of his life.
Shen Zhaoxi had been diligent all his life, yet mediocre all his life. Now, at last, he was worthy of the name Emperor Kangzhen had given him: virtue shining brightly, decrees clear and just, achievements reaching across the four seas, and the realm peaceful and secure.
Before the La Festival, the Directorate of Celestial Observations selected an auspicious day when the heavens were clear and not a cloud veiled the Purple Enclosure. Emperor Shunyuan then issued an imperial edict formally making Shen Zheng Crown Prince. Shen Zheng took up residence in the Eastern Palace and was ordered to participate in Grand Secretariat deliberations and assist with the governance of the state.
He also appointed Guo Pingmao, Lan Jianghe, and Wen Zhuo as the Crown Prince's three preceptors. They would teach Shen Zheng how to judge and employ people, control the larger situation, handle practical affairs of state, and govern and pass judgment on matters of policy.
As Emperor Shunyuan's vigor gradually waned, he even entrusted Shen Zheng with reviewing the memorials. Thus, the Daqian court officially adopted a new arrangement: the Crown Prince drafted responses to memorials, the three preceptors assisted and corrected them, and the emperor made the final decision.
As one of the Crown Prince's preceptors, Wen Zhuo could finally visit Shen Zheng openly and without concealment.
After resting for a month, he had recovered completely. He was even a little fuller than before his imprisonment, the gauntness around his brows and eyes having faded to reveal a warmer, more refined air.
The day after the La Festival, once the morning court had dispersed, Shen Zheng specifically invited Wen Zhuo to the Eastern Palace for a private conversation.
Completely unsuspecting, Wen Zhuo exchanged a few words with Gu Weizhi about the miscellaneous affairs of the Grand Secretariat, then followed the long avenue through the imperial palace toward the Eastern Palace, his mood relaxed.
Though the day was cold, the sky was clear for ten thousand li. The palace grounds were filled with a tranquil air.
He even paused beneath the eaves for a moment to admire the birds perched on the roof tiles. The palace city, with its red walls and green-glazed roofs, its solemn and imposing presence, had never seemed so refreshing and pleasant to him.
Upon entering the Eastern Palace, he first encountered Huang Ting.
Huang Ting had since resumed his post as Director of the Eastern Palace. His brows were bright with confidence, and when he saw Wen Zhuo, he hurriedly bowed with a smile.
“Director Wen.”
Wen Zhuo smiled as well. “You’ve had to arrange the schedule for court discussions these past few days and deal with all the tedious practical matters. You’ve worked hard.”
Huang Ting quickly waved his hands in modest denial. “Not at all, not at all. His Highness is in the Duanben Study practicing his calligraphy and waiting for you. He even sent all of us out. Director, you should go in.”
The Duanben Study was the Crown Prince’s private study, distinct from the Hall of Literary Brilliance, where lessons and lectures were held.
Even then, Wen Zhuo thought nothing of it.
He continued straight ahead, turned through a covered corridor, and soon arrived at the Duanben Study, which stood very near Shen Zheng’s sleeping quarters.
He knocked twice before pushing the door open. Sure enough, the scent of ink reached his nose.
Shen Zheng had one hand braced on a round table and was holding a brush dipped in ink, sweeping it freely across the xuan paper.
His posture was as striking as ever—carefree and elegant, like a jade tree in the wind. Unfortunately, Wen Zhuo found his calligraphy impossible to praise. Written vertically, the characters’ greatest achievement was managing not to tilt while remaining roughly uniform in size.
As he walked closer, Wen Zhuo casually offered some advice. “Having observed Your Highness’s calligraphy these past few days, I see that it has made no significant progress. Perhaps you began practicing too late. If Wang Xizhi’s copybook is too difficult to imitate, Your Highness might set it aside for now and choose an easier model to begin with.”
Shen Zheng continued writing with complete concentration, leaning slightly over the table. His tone was relaxed.
“I’m copying my teacher’s handwriting.”
“Mine?” Wen Zhuo paused in surprise, then added, “That may be somewhat difficult. How about I create a simple, easy-to-learn copybook for Your Highness, to help you get started?”
As he spoke, he had just reached the desk. Tilting his head, he casually looked over, wanting to see which of his calligraphy pieces Shen Zheng had been copying.
And so he saw the ten slips of paper he had prepared for Shen Zheng earlier; the faintly raised veins on the back of Shen Zheng’s hand as it braced against the desk; and an amber-colored long spoon lying quietly in one corner of the tabletop.
Why was that thing sitting so brazenly on the desk?!
A sense of foreboding immediately rose in Wen Zhuo’s heart. Pinching the edge of his sleeve, he quietly lifted his feet and began to retreat while Shen Zheng was not paying attention.
Yet before he had even turned halfway around, a young eunuch slammed the doors shut with a bang, extinguishing the last trace of daylight in the hall.
Wen Zhuo spun back around sharply, only to see Shen Zheng set down his brush and slowly straighten to his full height, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that was not quite a smile.
“Why is Teacher running away? These ten slips are written very well. I’ve copied them three times already and memorized every one.”
A faint flush instantly spread across Wen Zhuo’s cheeks. His gaze darted everywhere—at the desk, at the cracks in the floor, and finally up toward the rafters—as he forced himself to say calmly, “Your Highness, I suddenly remembered that there are urgent matters awaiting me at the Hanlin Academy. I shall take my leave.”
Shen Zheng walked toward him, his gaze traveling up and down as he admired his beautiful wife today.
An ink-black jade belt cinched his slim, resilient waist. His immaculate cross-collared robe hugged his porcelain-pale, delicate neck. He looked refined and dignified, like an elegantly spreading pine branch.
A black crown gathered all his dark hair, leaving only a few soft, downy strands falling beside his temples. His restless eyes were like ink bamboo glistening with dew, bright and luminous.
Clever enough, quick-witted enough—just as one would expect of a little cat.
Smiling, Shen Zheng asked, “Teacher, are you certain you still want to lie?”
Shen Zheng’s smile had always been gentle, but today Wen Zhuo caught a faint, barely perceptible danger beneath that gentleness.
This was bad.
His heart tightened slightly. He did not dare meet Shen Zheng’s eyes. Excuses that normally came to his lips with ease now seemed to have vanished, leaving him without the slightest confidence.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Shen Zheng tilted his head and looked at him—at the guilt in his eyes, the way his gaze kept evading him, the faint embarrassment at the corners of his lips, and that trace of pride he could not conceal.
Director Wen, who had spoken with such righteous conviction and eloquence in court earlier, was now tongue-tied, utterly intent on escape.
“I’ll give Teacher one more chance.” Shen Zheng’s voice was low, carrying a sternness that allowed no evasion. “Why were you running just now?”
Wen Zhuo clenched his official robes even more tightly. At last, his lashes lowered little by little.
“Your teacher… is in the wrong.”
