Wen Zhuo suddenly realized something in a panic.
The hot-spring pool was deeper than waist-height, his toes unable to find the bottom. His entire body was supported by Shen Zheng.
Wen Zhuo spent his days holding a brush and composing grand essays with ease, but his arms possessed little brute strength and lacked endurance.
When he abruptly felt himself being forcefully opened, Wen Zhuo panicked and quickly tightened both arms around Shen Zheng, instinctively trying to pull himself higher.
But his skin was slick with sweat, impossible to grip, and he had little strength to spare. Before long, he began sliding downward inch by inch.
His legs thrashed wildly, splashing water throughout the pool like a drowning man making one final struggle for life.
He could only plead urgently, “Your Highness… slower!”
Shen Zheng, however, remained unyielding. He let Wen Zhuo slide all the way down before suddenly exerting his strength and locking an arm around his waist, fitting him tightly against his own body.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
Shen Zheng brushed aside the damp hair clinging to Wen Zhuo’s cheek. His fingertip rubbed across Wen Zhuo’s lips, pressed into a taut line, while his dark gaze locked firmly onto him, seriously admiring the panic, curiosity, and astonishment on his face—as well as the longing hidden deep within his eyes.
“Wanshan, you’re beautiful.”
“Especially when you’re trapped by the rites governing ruler and subject, forced to bow against your will, enduring the pain, yet unable to escape.”
He lowered his head, his lips grazing Wen Zhuo’s flushed ear.
“You’re brilliant beyond compare, unmatched in wit and strategy. In court, you can command events as though everything were already in the palm of your hand. Yet you have no way to free yourself.”
“Because the one punishing you is the student you personally chose—the Heir Apparent you personally supported.”
His fingers stroked over the place where Wen Zhuo was suffering.
“It’s warm from the blows, its rosy color evenly spread, full and smooth like a ripe peach. The moment I cover it with my palm, it trembles.”
Shen Zheng’s voice grew hoarser. His five fingers tightened and kneaded.
“I want you so badly that I could bind you to a bed, imprison you in the Eastern Palace, and make sure you could never escape for the rest of your life.”
But his tone shifted as he tugged loose the last tie on his own clothing.
“However, your punishment isn’t over yet. How could I give you a reward?”
With every word, Shen Zheng pressed him downward.
Once, then again… more than a hundred times.
Where’s the reward?!
Wen Zhuo glared up at him in indignation. His misty eyes were red with grievance, but the anger that had just risen within them was quickly dissolved and shattered by the billowing heat.
The last of his stubbornness vanished. He could no longer control himself and began to weep, his tears seeming determined to soak through his already drenched undergarments all over again.
The sensation was too unfamiliar, too intense.
Though he had willingly bowed before Shen Zheng, this was the first time he had ever been treated this way.
Shen Zheng was truly gifted, making it feel as if all his internal organs had been shifted out of place.
In his daze, he suddenly thought of the day Shen Zheng had taken him riding across Mount Qingping.
The horse’s back had jolted violently, the saddle rubbing his thighs raw. Evening had fallen, and the pounding of hooves filled his ears. He had narrowed his eyes and glimpsed a sliver of rainbow; the next instant, he had watched helplessly as he plunged into a vast darkness that seemed to swallow mountains and rivers.
He closed his eyes and endured it. The horse’s rising and falling back moved like green veins beneath him, tearing his clothes into disarray. The fierce evening wind scraped across his chest until the long dragon of the mountain range lay across the wilderness and his very soul trembled.
Trapped in boundless mud, he could no longer maintain his dignity and recklessly cried out.
After the long ride, his lower body had gone numb. At last, he tried to wrench his arms free and blindly clawed at the bluestone beside the pool, begging the water he feared most to part and make a path for him to catch his breath.
But he had no skill in the water. The waves stubbornly blocked him, while the hot spring, wrapped in steam, burned his entire body until the heat and redness intensified.
His feet slipped. His fingertips had barely managed to catch the bluestone tiles at the edge of the pool when the faint hope that had arisen was shattered. Shen Zheng seized him by the waist and dragged him fiercely back.
No matter how he kicked and struggled, he was no match for Shen Zheng’s rigorously trained body.
His resistance was as laughable as a feather.
Wen Zhuo finally broke down. He buried his face against Shen Zheng’s shoulder and sobbed, refusing to think about what fate awaited him moments later, as though that self-deception could protect him.
At this point, Shen Zheng instead quieted. He no longer said those teasing, provocative things.
He merely stroked Wen Zhuo’s dark hair as it spread across the water, letting it drift like tangled vines before the savage waves struck it into disarray.
A hazy, childish look gradually clouded Wen Zhuo’s eyes. Amid the madness, he unexpectedly sensed an indescribable pleasure.
Delight swelled like spring water overflowing its banks.
He stopped sobbing loudly and only whimpered softly, his entire body trembling.
After a long while, he uttered a sentence he himself hardly dared believe—
“Your Highness… again.”
Shen Zheng gave a low laugh and granted his wish, stirring up waves within him without any wind.
“Does it feel good?”
Shen Zheng gazed down at him, his eyes dark and deep.
Wen Zhuo hurriedly covered his face with the remnants of his undergarment. Only after a long moment did he unwillingly hum, “Mm…”
“Is this the reward?” Shen Zheng asked again.
“Mm…” He took several breaths, then could not resist peeking through the thin cloth as he asked in return, “For Your Highness, is it?”
Shen Zheng pulled him close by the neck and bent down to kiss him deeply. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Like receiving the most precious treasure in the world.”
The sun sank toward the western horizon, and the warmth of the hot spring began to fade.
Wen Zhuo curled up on the wooden couch beside the pool, his entire body so weak and exhausted that he could barely summon any strength. He let Shen Zheng ladle warm water over him and carefully wipe away the mugwort fragrance clinging to his skin, little by little.
His lashes drooped, his gaze languid.
Only the place behind him continued to contract faintly of its own accord.
The aftershocks refused to subside.
Shen Zheng caressed the overlapping finger marks scattered across his body, nearly covering him from head to toe. He looked unbearably pitiful.
At last, Shen Zheng’s gaze settled on the two old burn scars. His heart ached, and he could not stop himself from bending down, gently supporting them and pressing his lips against them.
Wen Zhuo suddenly felt a soft, cool touch upon the old scars and jerked his eyes open.
He was still ashamed, still unable to speak of them.
“Your Highness, you mustn’t!” Wen Zhuo murmured, trying to push him away, but he no longer had the strength even to lift his hand. The instant his fingers touched Shen Zheng’s lapel, they went limp.
“You may,” Shen Zheng said, refusing to listen. With countless light, scattered kisses, he covered the scars left by all those years, trying to mend the wounds in Wen Zhuo’s heart.
A tingling itch traveled from the scars up his spine. Wen Zhuo could only clutch the edge of the couch, closing his eyes and lowering his lashes.
He shed every bit of his disheveled dignity, leaving himself utterly exposed before Shen Zheng, with nothing concealed.
Suddenly, his fingers were gently lifted. A cool object was slipped over his finger bone. Before he could recover, the embrace behind him loosened. Shen Zheng moved around to face him and slowly knelt before the wooden couch.
Wen Zhuo’s heart jolted. He abruptly propped up his upper body and stared at him in a daze.
When he saw Shen Zheng drop to one knee, Wen Zhuo felt the crushing weight of the rites governing ruler and subject descend upon him, almost robbing him of breath.
He was a subject—how could he allow the Heir Apparent to kneel before him? It was an outrageous offense against all propriety!
He hurriedly reached for Shen Zheng’s arm, but could not pull him up. He then tried to support his weakened body and slide off the couch to kneel beside him.
Shen Zheng held him firmly in place and said solemnly, “Tomorrow is your birthday. At dawn, I must go to Father Emperor’s chambers to pay my respects, and I won’t be able to see you until the court session at midmorning. But all the officials will be present then, so I cannot reveal anything. There is no one here, and it is quiet at this moment. I can only take the opportunity now.”
Shen Zheng knelt upright, without the slightest trace of humility. Instead, his gaze was devout and tender, overflowing with love.
“In later generations, this is the customary ritual for asking the person one loves to marry them. I kneel on one knee, offer you this ring, and beg Wanshan to love me.”
Only then did Wen Zhuo lower his eyes to his finger. A delicate ring encircled his finger bone, fitting it perfectly. Its surface had been finely carved and polished, adorned with a single piece of southern red agate, vivid and warm.
His heart stirred in an instant, his eyes growing warm, and he was about to wrap his arms around Shen Zheng's neck and press himself closer.
But quick-witted and blessed with a remarkable memory, a thought suddenly struck him. He tilted his head to stare at the ring on his finger, a flicker of doubt crossing his brow. "But Your Highness once said that the ceremony for taking me as your teacher at Nanping..."
Shen Zheng could no longer hold back a laugh, his eyes brimming over with tenderness. "That's why I said, I have long been smitten with you, my teacher."
"Your Highness?!"
Shen Zheng leaned in to seal his lips, stopping this sharp-tongued little "cat courtier" from haggling over that old score.
By the time he had kissed the other man senseless, and they had sunk back onto the bed, Shen Zheng stroked his temples gently with pity, whispering, "Happy birthday, Wanshan. May every birthday of yours be a joyous one."
"Mm..."
It was nearly dusk by the time Wen Zhuo finally stepped out of the Eastern Palace.
Rumour had it that he had suddenly come down with a cold, feeling weak all over and drowsy. And the Crown Prince, who revered his teacher with utmost care, had personally escorted him out of the Forbidden City in the same palanquin sedan, and helped him into that red-lacquered small sedan chair.
Wen Zhuo leaned in Shen Zheng's embrace, his body too limp to sit straight, keeping his neck tightly covered.
He had always been of a frail constitution, catching colds and falling ill every winter, so no one inside or outside the palace suspected a thing. No one knew the dishevelled state he was in beneath his bright red official robes.
When they arrived at the Grand Academy Administrator's residence, Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü came out to greet him together.
Liu Qiying still had flour on her hands from making stuffed dumplings. After listening to the young servant's worried rambling, she was taken aback. "My lord is ill?!"
Wen Zhuo was too embarrassed to deny it, so he just pretended not to hear, and walked unsteadily towards the back courtyard.
Jiang Mannü hurried to help him into the bedroom, lit the charcoal brazier, and helped him remove the cumbersome official robes and accessories.
Liu Qiying immediately noticed that his undergarment was noticeably looser, a full size too big.
She narrowed her eyes and thought to herself. Seeing Wen Zhuo slip under the covers, yawning and about to fall asleep, she teased him suddenly, "My lord was full of energy this morning at court, how did you fall ill in the afternoon? It's New Year's Eve, the old physician will be hard to summon. Shall I send for him now to give you acupuncture?"
Wen Zhuo poked his head out from under the blanket, his voice hoarse. "No need."
Jiang Mannü, simple-minded and unaware of the hidden truth, grew anxious. "That's no good! It's bad luck to be sick on your birthday! You don't have to worry about the money. The old physician said he gives our regulars a special friendly price!"
Wen Zhuo's soft eyes narrowed, flustered and exasperated, and he called out weakly, "...Liu Qiying!"
Liu Qiying snickered, pushing Jiang Mannü out the door. "Alright, alright, our master is fine. Go on and make your best scallion oil pancakes, won't you?"
New Year's Eve arrived. The sky was just barely bright, the morning mist had not yet lifted, when firecrackers began to go off nonstop, scattering red firecracker scraps everywhere.
The Forbidden City had been thoroughly swept clean, the steps of the Danzao platform spotless, and red silk ribbons tied to the bare branches in the Imperial Garden.
Most surprisingly of all, Emperor Shunyuan, who had been bedridden for days with a lingering illness, had broken his high fever all of a sudden, and was much clearer in spirit.
Seeing Shen Zheng standing respectfully at the bottom of the steps at dawn to pay his respects, the emperor's face softened. He patted Shen Zheng on the shoulder, rare warmth of a father in his manner.
Among all his sons, he found Shen Zheng more and more pleasing these days. Calm and measured, clear and competent in handling state affairs, he was far better than Prince Xian who indulged in power plays, or the deposed crown prince who was mediocre and useless.
In a moment of trance, he even began to wonder, was the young Shen Zheng really that unpromising? Had he really been right to send him away to Nanping all those years ago, not to see him for a full decade?
With his body recovering and his mind clearing, Emperor Shunyuan suddenly remembered a crucial matter.
When he was sick, only Liu Quan had been left to attend to him. Only Consort Zhen and Noble Consort Liang had been allowed to come near to visit him, no other irrelevant people were granted an audience.
So he had completely forgotten that Shen Chen and Shen Ting were still locked up in the back storage chamber.
Even an emperor longed for his family to be reunited on such a day of universal celebration. So he quickly passed on a verbal edict, ordering people to bring Shen Chen and Shen Ting out.
Shen Chen had been trapped in the back storage chamber for over four months. He was so thin that his bones could barely hold his flesh, and his once bright dimples were no longer full of cheer, only haggardness and emaciation left.
For more than a month, he had not received any news from the outside world at all. Gong Jinjin had not come to see him, and he had no idea if Xie Langyang's plan had succeeded, if Wen Zhuo had been convicted, or if Shen Zheng had been dragged into the mess too and fallen out of the emperor's favour.
Reluctant as he was to admit it, he had a bad feeling in his gut.
Escorted by the imperial guards, he walked out of the back storage chamber, only to be met head-on by the festive New Year atmosphere. The red silk ribbons glowed under the sunlight, stinging his eyes.
Along the way, lanterns and decorations hung everywhere, and the palace maids and eunuchs walked briskly, exchanging auspicious greetings.
The accompanying eunuch whispered to him, "Your Highness, the Emperor has just recovered from his illness. Today he will personally preside over the New Year's Day court ceremony. At the full hour of the snake, all members of the imperial clan and all civil and military officials must assemble in front of the Fengtian Palace for the audience. Please hurry back to your prince's quarters to freshen up, don't be late for the hour."
Shen Chen looked up at the sky. There was still an hour left.
He just could not understand, now that there was no Crown Prince and no Prince Xian in the palace, who else but his father could preside over it, why did the eunuch have to emphasize it so much?
When he got back to his prince's quarters, he stepped through the door fully intending to question Gong Jinjin sharply about why she had not sent him any news for all these days. But when he looked up, he saw Consort Yi sitting in the hall, her eyes swollen red from crying.
Shen Chen's heart sank sharply, a bad premonition creeping over him.
Consort Yi, seeing him, finally found an outlet for all her pent-up grief. She threw her arms around him and wailed at the top of her lungs, "Chen'er, we're done for! It's all over!"
Shen Chen held his swaying, nearly fainting mother, his fingers trembling. "What's done for?!"
"Bu Zhangyi testified that Grand Secretary Gong framed the Fifth Prince," Consort Yi sobbed, barely able to get her words out. "The Emperor was furious, and has imprisoned the entire Gong clan in the Imperial Prison. Jinjin, as the prince's legal wife, was spared the death penalty by the Emperor's grace, but her title as prince's consort has been stripped away. She has been sent to a nunnery to shave her head and become a nun, and is never allowed to return to the palace for the rest of her life!"
"What?!" Shen Chen's pupils contracted sharply, as if struck by a thunderbolt. He pushed Consort Yi away, staring at her in utter disbelief.
Consort Yi was not done with her lamenting. "Minister Xie's fate is even worse. The Emperor says he framed Wen Zhuo, fabricated rumours, and slandered the Emperor's good name. He has issued an edict to execute his entire clan..."
With a clang, Shen Chen collapsed onto the floor, the back of his head hitting the doorframe hard enough to make stars burst across his vision.
"Impossible!" he roared, his face flushing bright red. "That 'Ode to Wanshan' is real! How could it be a frame-up?!"
In his past life, he had ascended the throne openly and fairly as Emperor Shengde, the rightful ruler chosen by heaven. How had he ended up in such a miserable state in this life?
Consort Yi wept bitterly. "We all fell for Wen Zhuo's treacherous scheme. Everything from the moment he was thrown into prison was carefully planned!"
Shen Chen's blood rushed to his head, his face crimson, his teeth grinding together so hard they ached.
But he had to force himself to calm down. He slammed his fist heavily onto the table, shaking the cups and plates off, which shattered into shards across the floor, his knuckles bruising dark purple.
"What scheme?!"
Consort Yi stammered, "I... I don't know."
Shen Chen's eyes rolled back, and he fainted dead away.
