They had originally agreed to stay in Mianzhou for only a month, but Jun Mulan ended up remaining there for three.
It was not that the little prince’s spirit was still unstable. Rather, after being confined in the imperial palace for so long, she had finally found such freedom and ease that she was only too happy to delay their departure for a while longer.
Throughout those three months, Young Wen Zhuo stayed at Wangxiang Temple, keeping Young Shen Zheng company from dawn to dusk.
Young Shen Zheng always treated him as an equal. Every day, in his soft, indistinct little voice, he chattered away without pause.
Young Wen Zhuo understood only half of what he said, but he always listened quietly. He could not remember whether he himself had been so talkative at the age of two; he only felt that the prince possessed an astonishing amount of energy.
Wen Zhuo sighed softly. “His Majesty’s temperament really hasn’t changed at all.”
Shen Zheng immediately corrected him. “I’m only so chatty because I like you. In front of outsiders, I’m very aloof.”
The corners of Wen Zhuo’s lips lifted faintly, but he made no comment.
Whether it was true or not, the words were pleasant to hear.
Taking pity on the fact that eight-year-old Young Wen Zhuo had yet to enter school, Faji brought him the Three Character Classic and began teaching him to read.
Whenever he had free time, Young Wen Zhuo would sit on the sun-drenched stone steps, holding the book in his hands and reciting in a clear, measured voice.
Every day, Young Shen Zheng looked forward to playing with him. Only during these lessons could he force himself to be patient. He would obediently rest his head on Wen Zhuo’s lap, limbs spread wide as he lay flat, listening to the bright, ringing recitation until he gradually drifted into a sleepy squint.
Once Young Wen Zhuo had finished memorizing the Three Character Classic, the Hundred Family Surnames, and the Thousand Character Classic, Young Shen Zheng finally could not hold himself back any longer. He seized Wen Zhuo’s hand and declared with great seriousness, “You gotta teach me some beginner stuff too!”
Young Wen Zhuo stared at him in confusion.
Before long, the temple monks often heard the two children taking turns:
Young Shen Zheng: “How are you?”
Young Wen Zhuo: “Not bad.”
Young Shen Zheng: “Seven times seven?”
Young Wen Zhuo: “Forty-nine.”
Young Shen Zheng: “Can you drink water straight from the river?”
Young Wen Zhuo: “You can, but there may be bacteria and parasites.”
Young Shen Zheng: “What’s in it?”
Young Wen Zhuo: “Bacteria and parasites.”
Young Wen Zhuo merely thought he was accompanying the prince in play, unaware of what the words meant. But Wen Zhuo, who had lived through another world, found his heart softening as he listened, and the corners of his lips curved upward.
Even His Majesty had once been such a cute little nerd.
At first, Young Wen Zhuo was exceedingly nervous. Whenever he saw the prince, he would kneel to salute, not daring to raise his head.
Later, the prince insisted on kneeling beside him every time. Gradually, Wen Zhuo stopped saluting and merely called out crisply, “Your Highness.”
There was little to do for amusement at the temple. Most of the time, the two simply chased one another around. Young Shen Zheng was small, with short legs, and ran with a wobbling gait, never managing to catch up. Young Wen Zhuo would deliberately slow down, trotting around him in a circle while listening to him grumble anxiously, “My legs are too short right now! Just wait till I grow!”
At the time, Young Wen Zhuo naturally never imagined that one day he would be caught with ease.
Shen Zheng watched from the side, frantic with impatience. He wished he could go over and give his younger self a push, but he could not touch anything. All he could do was turn to Wen Zhuo and complain, “Queen, look at him! How can you bully a child?”
Wen Zhuo gently turned his face away and, imitating Young Shen Zheng’s childish tone, drawled, “I’m two years older than you. You should call me Big Brother.”
The months in the mountains passed in the blink of an eye. A letter arrived from the capital. Emperor Shunyuan inquired after the prince’s condition and urged Jun Mulan to set out for the palace as soon as possible.
Jun Mulan could delay no longer and had no choice but to bid Faji farewell.
But what to do with Young Wen Zhuo became a difficult question. Seeing how close the prince had grown to him, Jun Mulan had originally intended to take him back to the capital and make him the prince’s study companion.
Faji merely pressed his palms together and sighed. “Your Highness, he still has an unfinished worldly bond here.”
Jun Mulan could only abandon the idea.
Over those three months, she had also learned the truth: Young Wen Zhuo was not a son born to a concubine of the Wen family. He was the son of Lin Yingniang’s deceased husband. No wonder he had suffered so much cruelty in the Wen household.
But putting herself in their place, Jun Mulan ultimately could not bring herself to forcibly sever the bond between mother and son and take the child to the unfamiliar capital.
“This child has had a hard life. I must trouble you, Master, to look after him.” Jun Mulan left behind a considerable sum of silver. “May he study diligently, make something of himself in the future, and one day break free of this cage.”
Faji smiled. “For Qinghe’s sake, this humble monk will treat him well.”
On the day they parted, Young Shen Zheng wept as though his heart were breaking. He tugged the white jade peace charm from around his neck and shoved it into Young Wen Zhuo’s hands.
“Don’t you dare forget me!”
Young Wen Zhuo’s eyes were red, tears striking the ground one after another. He possessed nothing of his own and could not even find a single item to give the prince in return. Choking back sobs, he could only repeat the secret phrases the two of them had recited together:
“Good mornin’... good night... miss you... not bad...”
Young Shen Zheng sniffled. “It’s not ‘not bad’!”
Young Wen Zhuo pressed his lips tightly together.
The carriage gradually moved farther away. Young Wen Zhuo chased after it for a long while, until the dust settled and the tracks of its wheels vanished from sight. Only then did he come to a dejected stop.
The months in the mountains had been like a beautiful dream—the rare gift of warmth in his bitter childhood.
Not long after Jun Mulan’s party departed, Wen Qimin’s former teacher returned from his travels. Upon learning that his beloved student had died young, he was overcome with grief. But when he learned that Wen Qimin had left behind a son, he found some small measure of comfort.
He sought out Young Wen Zhuo and, seeing his handsome features and resilient nature, imparted to him everything he had learned throughout his life.
For the years that followed, Young Wen Zhuo studied under a great scholar during the day and read by lamplight late into the night. He delved into the classics, histories, philosophical works, and literary collections, and his learning grew steadily deeper.
Time passed swiftly. In the blink of an eye, it was the eleventh year of the Shunyuan era.
Liu Kang suffered a crushing defeat in the southern border. The troops of Daqian sustained grievous losses, and the court no longer had the strength to continue fighting. It could only sue Nanping for peace under humiliating terms.
But Nanping demanded not only a massive payment in gold and silver. They also required Daqian to select one of its princes and send him there as a hostage.
The choice seemed obvious.
Emperor Shunyuan was suffering from a splitting headache. Pressing his swollen temples, he waved his hand wearily.
“Send the sixth prince.”
When the news reached Consort Yi’s palace, it struck like a bolt from a clear sky.
She rushed to the gates of the Qianqing Palace like a madwoman and knelt there without rising, pleading until her voice turned raw and bloody for the emperor to withdraw his decree and spare her and her son from being torn apart.
Emperor Shunyuan hid inside the hall for several days. At last, unable to suppress his anger any longer, he stormed out and pointed at her as he berated her harshly.
“The court supports you, and the people of the realm sustain you. Now that you are asked to have your son serve the common people of the world, is this how you repay me?!”
Consort Yi’s eyes were red. She stared at him with grief and despair, her voice trembling.
“Why Chen’er? Why must it be my child?”
“Who else do you expect to go?!” Emperor Shunyuan’s face was ashen with fury.
Consort Yi parted her lips. A certain name caught in her throat, but it was nothing more than a foolish, impossible hope.
After Jun Mulan returned to the palace with the fifth prince, the child had astonishingly shed his former foolishness. He grew cleverer and sharper by the day, his thoughts far beyond those of children his age. Even the lecturers of the Hanlin Academy praised him without end and placed great hopes on him.
What was more, he was the beloved grandson of the Marquis of Yongning and the son of Consort Liang. Both his talent and status surpassed those of Shen Chen. There was no possibility that he would be sent away as a hostage.
The third prince had the He Lian family behind him. The fourth prince was protected by Consort Zhen. The second prince was born to Noble Consort Cao. And the first prince was the empress’s legitimate son.
Only her Chen’er had no maternal clan to rely on and no ministers to support him. From the moment he was born, he had been the least conspicuous of the discarded sons.
She had struggled all her life, climbing step by step from a penniless seamstress to the emperor’s side. Yet in the end, this was the fate that awaited her.
Seeing her weep so pitifully, Emperor Shunyuan reluctantly came up with a ridiculous excuse.
“Chen’er is the youngest. Nanping will surely not treat him too harshly. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to bring him back.”
Who could possibly endure such a perfunctory lie?
Consort Yi, consumed by rage, let out a shriek and lunged at Emperor Shunyuan.
Seeing this, Liu Quan hurried forward and blocked her, shouting, “Imperial Guards!”
A moment later, the deranged Consort Yi was dragged away and taken into custody by the Imperial Guards.
Over the years, Young Shen Zheng had gradually grown taller. His arms and legs had become increasingly agile; not only was he proficient at riding and archery, he had even developed a respectable hand at brush calligraphy.
He often thought of Young Wen Zhuo in Mianzhou, so he would take up his brush and write letters, entrusting them to messengers bound for Liangping County—
“Are you well in Mianzhou? Has anyone bullied you? Do you still remember what I taught you? The palace is so heavily guarded that I can barely take a step outside. These days, I can hardly even remember what you look like.”
Letters from the capital arrived quickly, but the replies from Mianzhou were always slow to come.
Slow, but solemn.
“Thank you, Your Highness, for your concern. I am safe and in good health, and I have never forgotten your teachings—not for a moment. If Your Highness is trapped within the palace and unable to take a single step, then I shall come to you, no matter how far the journey.”
Shen Zheng leaned over Wen Zhuo’s shoulder and pointed at the reply, whispering, “This is so shippable.”
“What is?” Wen Zhuo was examining Young Shen Zheng’s handwriting in detail. The young man’s brushwork had only just begun to mature, yet its strength was already hidden within the strokes. Rarely had handwriting looked so handsome—as handsome as the person himself.
Shen Zheng took the opportunity to wrap an arm around his waist and sighed, “Wanshan has such a magnificent bearing. When we finally meet, won’t the younger me be utterly smitten?”
Wen Zhuo gave him a sidelong glance and said matter-of-factly, “Does Your Majesty think you aren’t charming?”
Shen Zheng raised a brow, bent down, and kissed him on the lips. At the same time, he covered Wen Zhuo’s eyes with his palm. “Stop looking. I’ll never be able to write like this in my entire life.”
Wen Zhuo’s lashes trembled against his palm. His breathing had been thoroughly disrupted by the kiss, yet he still muttered, “If I’d known this would happen... I would never have given you that copybook back then.”
Young Shen Zheng was still immersed in the excitement of the words “I shall come to you, no matter how far,” completely unaware that the two people beside him had long since become so intimate that they had forgotten the world around them.
In the fourteenth year of Shunyuan’s reign, the metropolitan examination was held as scheduled.
Young Wen Zhuo bid farewell to Faji and Qinghe at Wangxiang Temple, then took one last look at Lin Yingniang before shouldering his pack and setting off for the capital, traveling thousands of miles.
He journeyed by day and lodged by night, taking a full month to make the trip.
Just after entering Liangzhou, the weather suddenly turned bitterly cold. With few travelers on the official road, he accidentally took a wrong turn—and then happened upon a band of robbers. The small amount of money in his pack was stripped from him.
Fortunately, he had kept the white jade peace clasp hidden against his skin, and the robbers failed to notice it. Otherwise, losing the gift Your Highness had given him before their parting would have been an offense he could never atone for.
With no other choice, he traded his outer robe for a few bits of silver. Hunger became his constant companion, and he survived on one meager meal after another until he finally reached the outskirts of the capital.
By the time he arrived at the foot of Qingping Mountain, he was cold, hungry, and exhausted.
Fortunately, with the imperial examination approaching, innkeepers throughout the realm were being generous and welcoming to scholars who had traveled from afar. They were willing to offer them lodging in exchange for a piece of calligraphy, which could later be hung in the establishment to glorify it should the scholar place on the examination.
By chance, heavy snow had been falling for days, freezing the roads. Countless scholars were stranded outside the capital. Because of his refined features and extraordinary bearing, Young Wen Zhuo was allowed to stay at the Yuelai Inn. However, there were no private rooms available, and he could only squeeze in with the inn’s workers.
He was even less willing to enter the capital recklessly. Without a single padded garment to keep him warm, he felt the cold pierce to the bone even while remaining inside the inn all day.
The snow grew heavier that day. The court was in recess, and no lectures were being held at the Hanlin Academy. Young Shen Zheng, who rarely had free time, was bored to death. He took only two attendants with him, urged his horse forward, and rode out of the Forbidden City.
Snowflakes drifted across the sky. Few people could be seen on the road, and the horse’s hooves crunched over the snow, creating a strangely pleasing rhythm.
The biting wind scraped across his fair cheeks, leaving several red marks, yet only accentuating the sharpening lines of his brows and eyes and the spirited grace of youth.
“Your Highness, slow down!” one of his attendants called anxiously from behind.
Young Shen Zheng did not stop. Instead, he tightened the reins and urged his horse on faster, heading straight for Huiyang Gate.
Amid the swirling snow, most of the shops had already closed for the day. The only exception was Granny Wang’s red-date lianggao stall on the street corner, its cooking pot still steaming.
Shen Zheng glanced to the side and called loudly, “Granny Wang, save me a portion of red-date lianggao!”
He then flicked a silver tael toward her. It landed squarely in Granny Wang’s palm, while he himself had already ridden out through the city gate.
“Your Highness! Don’t go any farther. The snow is heavy in the mountains—it’s dangerous!” His attendants urged their horses after him.
“There are too many rules in the palace—they’re suffocating! I finally get the chance to play in the snow, so leave me alone!” Young Shen Zheng was too delighted to listen to their warnings. He urged his horse farther and farther away, galloping all the way to the foot of Qingping Mountain.
Qingping Mountain rose in ranges upon ranges, stretching for thousands of miles. Now, every peak and valley was draped in silver, its jade-like branches and trees creating a magnificent scene.
He stopped and gazed at it for a long while, until his hands and feet went numb with cold.
When he casually swept his gaze across the surroundings, he spotted several buildings in the distance, smoke rising from their chimneys.
Even if he had to return to the palace, he would at least warm himself up first. Young Shen Zheng immediately turned his horse around and rode toward the buildings.
Only when he drew near did he see that it was an inn. Though it stood in a desolate area, it was not small.
He dismounted, tossed the reins to an attendant, lifted the padded curtain, and stepped inside.
The firewood was burning brightly, but with so many people packed inside and drafts leaking through the windows, the room was not particularly warm. Still, the chorus of scholars reciting their texts filled the place and drove away some of the chill.
Numerous candidates bound for the capital were crowded around the tables and benches. All of them were wrapped in padded coats, hunched over their books as they studied.
Yet amid that vast crowd, Young Shen Zheng’s gaze fixed on one person at once.
The man wore only thin clothing. His hands were stiff with cold, but he still bent over his desk and wrote with complete concentration, occasionally breaking into a cough. Each bout of coughing brought an unnatural flush to his cheeks.
Something slammed hard into Shen Zheng’s heart, and he could no longer look away. Even when an inn servant came forward to greet him, he seemed not to hear a word.
He had just begun to step forward when a richly dressed young master came down from the private seating area upstairs, evidently having watched for some time before finally gathering the courage to approach.
“Brother, you have come all this way in such freezing weather. Why are you dressed so lightly?” the young master asked warmly and courteously, though his eyes remained fixed on Young Wen Zhuo’s elegant face.
Unwilling to reveal the embarrassment of his empty purse, Young Wen Zhuo set down his brush and replied with calm dignity, “Books and history are enough to delight the heart; why toil and exert oneself?”
The young master’s eyes lit up with delight. As he removed the warm fur cloak from his shoulders, he laughed and said, “Then I can only say, ‘Burdened by illness, I long for the countryside; with the people of my district in distress, I am ashamed to accept the court’s salary.’”
As soon as these words were spoken, the scholars around them all raised their heads and glanced over.
Though the line expressed the sentiments of a benevolent man, spoken on the eve of the examination, it carried a hint of arrogance—as if he were already certain that he would pass the examination, enter government service, and draw a salary from the imperial court.
How could Young Wen Zhuo accept such an expensive fur cloak? He hurriedly rose to refuse it. “Thank you for your kindness, brother, but I can endure a little longer. There is no need to go this far.”
The young master was helpless. “Then please allow me to say, ‘I am ashamed to dwell in such a lofty residence, having never seen the common people live in comfort.’”
The gazes of those around them grew increasingly complicated. There was envy, jealousy, and disdain among them. Though his clothing and bearing clearly marked him as a young master from a distinguished family, openly announcing that he lived in a grand residence was undeniably rather showy.
As the two of them continued to exchange refusals, the white jade peace clasp slipped out from beneath Young Wen Zhuo’s collar.
He had no time to continue declining the cloak and hurriedly stuffed the clasp back inside his robe.
Anyone could tell at a glance that the object was worth a fortune, utterly out of place with his current shabby circumstances.
The man offering the cloak was clearly knowledgeable about jade. He froze at once.
But at that very moment, Young Shen Zheng’s eyes suddenly lit up.
His heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it might burst from his chest. He had no thought for etiquette, propriety, or the eyes of those around him. He hurried forward, opened his arms, and pulled Young Wen Zhuo tightly into his embrace.
Young Wen Zhuo was startled and had just begun to struggle when he heard the delighted voice of the boy, who was slightly taller than him: “How are you!”
He immediately stopped struggling and simply remained quietly in his arms, his eyes bright as the moon, his smile radiant.
“...Not bad.”
