Wen Zhuo's forehead brushed gently against Shen Zheng's knee. Through the silk, he could feel a dry sort of warmth, though he suspected his own ears were burning even hotter.
Shen Zheng looked down at him, and before he knew it, his palm reached out, stroking the dark hair. It was smooth, soft, like a breeze rippling over a waterfall, scattering silken strands all around him.
Wen Zhuo rested his head with great caution, his earlobes a delicate, pretty pink, like polished jade, almost translucent in the light.
He wondered if they would taste sweet if he put his lips to them.
Shen Zheng's Adam's apple bobbed hard. The heavens and earth might not have moved, but all the blood in his body was stirring.
Even as he savored the moment, he lavished Wen Zhuo with ample emotional validation: "Teacher truly is unmatched. 'Cloudy mountains loom, rivers run deep and wide; your grace, like the mountains and waters, stretches far and beyond.' In all my time at Nanping, I never met a sage as willing to correct his faults as you. Today, I am truly moved."
Wen Zhuo curled his fingers tightly around the hem of his sleeve, wishing he could bury his face entirely.
He was attracted to men. Contact like this made his mind wander to inappropriate places.
But Shen Zheng was so upright, so honorable, still quoting Fan Zhongyan's verses to praise him.
He pretended to be nonchalant: "As long as you know it in your heart, there's no need to keep saying it."
"How could that be? How else am I to express my boundless admiration for my teacher?" Shen Zheng smiled, and with his fingertips, he touched Wen Zhuo's reddened earlobe.
From outside the door, Gu Weizhi's clear, bright voice rang out: "I've ordered the food!"
Wen Zhuo started, springing up like a startled crane.
By the time Gu Weizhi pushed the door open, Wen Zhuo was already sitting upright, his expression serene, as if nothing had happened at all.
Shen Zheng, meanwhile, leaned against the edge of the table, one hand holding his stone, the other lazily twirling a strand of hair as fine as a thread of rain.
Gu Weizhi was naturally open and above-board, completely oblivious to the subtle tension that had just hung in the room. He sat down with ease, back straight, and casually picked up a piece of jujube cake.
This time, Shen Zheng didn't bother with the hurt expression he'd been wearing before. He smiled so warmly that Gu Weizhi began to wonder if he was eating strangely, and slowed down his chewing.
Shortly after, the dishes arrived.
Gu Weizhi clearly knew Wen Zhuo's tastes well; many of the dishes he'd ordered were on the sweeter side. But Wen Zhuo didn't indulge himself, taking only two or three bites of each dish, maintaining his refined scholarly demeanor.
Shen Zheng couldn't help but think: twenty-four years old. In the modern era, that would be grad school age, some still as innocent as children. But in ancient times, a person was expected to be tempered into maturity by then.
The meal passed most pleasantly. Gu Weizhi prattled on about matters in Bozhou, and Wen Zhuo listened intently, recalling the difficult yet joyful times they'd shared.
When Gu Weizhi paused for breath, Wen Zhuo shifted the conversation to the situation in the capital, so Gu Weizhi could be mentally prepared.
Finally, Wen Zhuo said: "When you return to the envoy residence, keep an extra watchful eye on the Nanping group. See if they truly never sleep, and what's so odd about them."
"I understand," said Gu Weizhi.
A few days later, Gu Weizhi sent word, his tone carrying a hint of gravity.
Following Wen Zhuo's instructions, he had made a round near the Nanping players' quarters every hour. After several days of surveillance, he discovered something strange.
The room's lights went out for only one hour each night at most, and remained blazing bright the rest of the time. The three Nanping players, since entering the residence, had kept to themselves, shut in their room all day, never stepping out even once, and having no contact with outsiders.
The capital was bustling with life — theaters, brothels, taverns, teahouses, all manner of delights. The Spring Terrace Weiqi Meet was to last more than twenty days, and this was the trio's first mission to the Great Qian Empire. By all logic, they should have been curious about the foreign scenery. Their patience, their stillness, reeked of something suspicious.
As for the envoy himself, he seemed more normal. Occasionally he'd leave the residence for a stroll, or send a servant to buy some local delicacies. But he never lingered long outside, always hurrying back within half an hour, as if afraid the three players might get into trouble.
Gu Weizhi also mentioned that the servants, when emptying the chamber pots, noticed the three players' urine was slightly red and gave off a strange odor, quite unsettling to behold.
Being detail-oriented, Gu Weizhi had taken a sample and quietly brought it to a physician in the city for examination.
After inspecting it, the physician diagnosed: "This is the symptom of bloody urine. It's certainly not from external injury. It's a sign of drug toxicity damaging the kidneys and agitating the blood, burning the meridians. Aside from hematuria, they would also experience rashes, abdominal pain, and hair loss. They must stop taking the medicine immediately and take Zhibai Dihuang Pills, cogongrass rhizome, and lotus node to detoxify, or else they may not survive three years."
Wen Zhuo understood in his heart, and instructed him: "You must not tell anyone about this. Give the servants and the physician some silver to keep their mouths shut. If word leaks out before the Spring Terrace Weiqi Meet concludes, I will not be lenient!"
"Yes!"
Over the following days, Wen Zhuo climbed the Watchtower daily to observe the matches. Below, black and white stones clashed in a death match, but he seemed entirely detached, indifferent to the chaos.
Because so many devoted admirers were painting his portrait, he had already switched five folding fans and changed into three fur robes.
When idle, he'd gaze up at the sky, eyes vacant, feeling bored — he even thought about summoning two singing girls to play a tune nearby.
Of course, the moment he suggested it, the cabinet ministers shot it down. The Crown Prince and the Prince Xian factions, who usually clashed like fire and water, were now in rare, unanimous agreement.
"Director Wen, there's only one day left. Even if you want to indulge yourself, please hold out a little longer!" Luo Mingpu said in exasperation.
Wen Zhuo didn't take offense. "Fine, fine. For the sake of Minister Luo's face, I suppose I'll bear with it a while longer."
Beside him, Bu Zhangyi sneered: "The games below are at a critical juncture. The three Nanping players use wicked, unpredictable tactics, and none of them have been eliminated yet. Our Great Qian's carefully selected elites from the eight factions have lost several men already. Director Wen, you don't seem even the slightest bit concerned for the nation!"
Wen Zhuo raised a hand, and his attendant, catching the signal, bent forward and offered a warm, damp towel.
He took it slowly, wiped his fingers, then picked a large, plump longan from the fruit tray, peeled the paper-thin skin, and slid the translucent flesh between his lips. After a long pause, he said coolly: "Lord Bu jests. I'm not like you gentlemen, brimming with energy, entangled with the eight factions in webs of interest. What would I have to be anxious about?"
That remark tore away the cabinet's fig leaf. Bu Zhangyi's face flushed red, but he bit his tongue and said nothing in reply.
Wen Zhuo had never taken sides before — neither ally nor enemy. There was no point in making an enemy of him over a few sharp words.
A sudden burst of hurried footsteps echoed across the chess grounds. A soldier raised a wooden placard and shouted: "Nanping player Mu Er wins by three and a half points!"
Before the words had even settled, the Watchtower erupted in murmurs. Before the ministers could digest this news, a second soldier arrived, his voice just as booming: "Nanping player Mu San wins by four points!"
Two consecutive wins landed, and the air grew heavier.
But the third cry followed close behind: "Nanping player Mu Yi wins by four and a half points!"
Another win!
Now the officials on the Watchtower could no longer stay seated. They rose in unison, craning their necks, desperate to see which of their own had fallen.
"It's the Cheng, Xiao, and Yang sects that have lost!"
"But that's Yu Shaoqing of the Cheng sect! The legendary chess prodigy who shook Yuzhou—how could he lose to Nanping?"
"And Zhou Mingze of the Xiao sect—isn't he equally a darling of heaven? Raised personally by the founder of the Xiao sect!"
"The young general of the Yang sect trained for half a year by five national champions, mastering the true essence of all lineages—and even he was broken here!"
Gong Zhiyuan's expression grew heavy. He turned his head and asked Commissioner Xie behind him in a low voice, "How many rounds is this now?"
"Your Excellency the Chief Grand Secretary... the eighteenth."
Gong Zhiyuan's heart sank hard.
With the eighteenth round over, only six survivors remained in the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering. Nanping had not lost a single player, while on the Great Qian side, only the prodigies of the Xie, Shi, and Helian sects were left.
To be fair, these three were undeniably among the elite of the chess world, but when it came to true skill, they were not necessarily stronger than the other sects. Facing the Nanping players, their chances were dire.
Gong Zhiyuan's face was so dark it seemed to drip ink. He lowered his voice and demanded, "How could this happen!"
Commissioner Xie was already pale as death. With a trace of bewilderment, he said, "Lord Grand Secretary, Nanping seems to have thoroughly studied the secret chess manuals of the Xiao, Song, Cheng, Yang, and Zhu sects. Based on these matches, Mu Yi countered the Xiao sect with the Song sect's techniques, Mu Er countered the Yang sect with the Xiao sect's techniques, Mu San countered the Cheng sect with the Zhu sect's techniques—they struck each sect's fatal weakness in every single game!"
A surge of rage shot to Gong Zhiyuan's head. He grabbed Commissioner Xie by the collar of his official robe, dragged him into a corner of the viewing platform, and hissed through gritted teeth, "Tell me the truth—how many sects' chess manuals did you sell to Nanping?!"
Commissioner Xie's legs nearly gave way from fright, his voice coming out like a cracked gong as he hastily defended himself: "I... I only stole the Shi sect's manual—you know this—they belong to Prince Xian's faction..."
Gong Zhiyuan: "Then what about the other sects?!"
Commissioner Xie: "Heaven as my witness, it wasn't me!"
Gong Zhiyuan knew things had gone terribly wrong.
All of them—openly and covertly, each harboring their own agenda—had, without coordination, hit upon the same scheme: using Nanping as a blade to crush their political rivals, reaping the spoils from the sidelines.
Their side had stolen the Shi sect's manual and sold it to Nanping, so Prince Xian's faction could naturally have stolen the Xie sect's. As for Third Prince—that man was vicious and cunning; he had probably betrayed every other lineage just so the Helian sect could stand alone at the top.
At this point, there was no turning back.
Jun Dingyuan had just won a glorious victory on the frontier, lifting the prestige of Great Qian, and here they were--losing spectacularly at the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering, throwing all face away. The contrast was too glaring. This affair could not end cleanly; someone would have to take the blame.
But if they truly investigated to the bottom, it would be a scandal that rocked the entire court, tearing down factions left and right. The eight lineages would be thrown into chaos, with both Crown Prince and Prince Xian losing men and influence alike—a mutual destruction.
And those young talents... their lives most likely could not be saved either.
Commissioner Xie had realized the magnitude of the stakes as well. He trembled as he spoke: "L-Lord Gong... save the Xie sect, save my son Xie Qian!"
Gong Zhiyuan shoved him away with one hand, his gaze drifting toward Bu Zhangyi in the distance.
Bu Zhangyi's face was as grim as still water. Though he continued to lock horns with Gong Zhiyuan as always, both could see the anxiety, the fear, the trepidation in each other's eyes.
The muscles in Gong Zhiyuan's jaw tightened. He had no mind to hate Bu Zhangyi now. They had to find a way out—either stage an improbable comeback and take the top three positions tomorrow, or find a scapegoat to bury this scandal completely.
Up on the viewing platform, the officials' expressions were frantic; their usual air of dignity had vanished entirely.
Wen Zhuo, however, acted as though he saw none of the silent battles and undercurrents around him. He scooped five longan fruits from the plate into his palm, then took them with him as he left.
"How strange," he said. "On other days, you gentlemen would have scurried away faster than rabbits, yet today you all seem happy to stay until the very end with me?"
Meanwhile, in the Hall of Nourishing the Mind, Emperor Shunyuan coughed up blood once more. The Crown Prince and Prince Xian were busy performing their filial duties at his bedside, absent from Huiyang Gate, but the other princes were scattered about, observing the situation.
They, too, could feel the brewing storm.
Among the princes, only Shen Chen felt a frenzy of near-insane delight.
Because everything happening before him was unfolding exactly as he remembered!
The point in time he had traveled back to—the secret chess manuals of every lineage had already been leaked for over half a year. Whether it was rushing to retrain the eight sects' prodigies or trying to reclaim the manuals from Nanping, it was far too late now.
And tomorrow's draw—he remembered it distinctly. The three Nanping players would be drawn precisely against the three Great Qian players, and Great Qian would lose without a doubt!
This was a fact no one could overturn. Even Wen Zhuo, with his peerless schemes and brilliant mind, could not defy heaven and change fate.
Tomorrow, Great Qian's face would be dragged through the mud. When the emperor's wrath descended, someone would have to bear the blame—and Shen Zheng was the perfect candidate.
A cold, savage smile, far too mature for his age, crept across Shen Chen's outwardly pure and innocent face.
Wen Zhuo, Wen Zhuo—you think you can shake me?
The Imperial Observatory said my stars align perfectly, that I bear the image of one destined to inherit the throne. I, Shen Chen, am Heaven's mandate!
Shen Chen turned around, his smile dripping with menace: "Minister Xie, tomorrow all rests on your shoulders. Do not disappoint me."
Xie Langyang's body stiffened. It took a moment, but he finally raised his hands in a salute, his voice hoarse: "Your servant... understands."
By the time Wen Zhuo reached the eastern pavilion of Guanqi Street, he had just finished eating the last longan.
Inside the elegant chamber, Shen Zheng had rolled up his sleeves and was copying out the three chess games from memory for the sixth time, not a single move out of place.
He flexed his somewhat stiff arms, a faint series of cracks emitting from his joints.
Wen Zhuo found that the chunk of stone known as a "dumbbell" did indeed seem to work some wonders—Shen Zheng appeared noticeably sturdier than when they had first met.
Wen Zhuo caught sight of the smooth lines of his forearm muscles, the veins raised on the back of his hand, and silently averted his gaze.
"Tomorrow is the final battle," Wen Zhuo said. "I have done everything I can. The rest is your battlefield."
His eyes—alluring yet sharp—hid a glint of cold steel beneath their charm. His fingers curled together, the pit of the fruit in his palm gleaming as if he were holding a chess piece.
Shen Chen, Xie Langyang—in this game of imperial succession, struggle all you like, pride yourselves all you will. In my eyes, you are but mayflies racing against heaven and earth, caught in a snare whether you look up or down.
I will make you watch with your own eyes as your delusions turn to ash, as your kith and kin are severed from you, as you sink forever into the mud and dust, into the abyss of utter ruin!
Shen Zheng flicked his sleeves aside and came to stand beside him, the quiet, plain chessboard behind him, light slanting across its surface, shadows laid bare without concealment.
"Don't worry. I won't let my teacher down."
