A bolt of purple lightning split the sky, casting a ghastly shadow across the glazed tiles of the Cooling Pavilion. Beyond the windows, the sky had turned pitch-black—ominous and terrifying.
Raindrops the size of beans slammed against the steps and eaves with the force of a thousand stampeding horses. All the ministers gathered in the hall drew in sharp breaths, turning to look outside.
Just moments ago, after the morning court had ended, the Sixth Prince, Shen Chen, had drawn a comparison between the Han dynasty's customs and those of the present dynasty, declaring that same-sex love was nothing to be ashamed of. He urged Emperor Shunyuan to emulate the sage Emperor Wen of Han, to open up discourse and set the record straight.
Emperor Shunyuan, naturally, flew into a rage.
Since the founding emperor of the Great Qian dynasty, male same-sex love had been strictly forbidden—a legacy of years of continuous warfare that left the realm short of able-bodied men, requiring men and women to couple and multiply the population. Over time, same-sex love became taboo; every year, the authorities raided countless pleasure houses, and anyone caught selling male charms faced either thirty strokes of the cane or, in severe cases, exile.
Considering the Sixth Prince's youthful rashness and the fact that he had been led astray, Emperor Shunyuan decided on a light punishment to serve as a warning: he ordered Shen Chen to kneel before the Cooling Pavilion for three full hours. But no one had expected the sky to suddenly turn and bring rain.
Yet the emperor remained in a fury, and none dared plead on the prince's behalf. Emperor Shunyuan was notoriously stern as a father, and his moods shifted faster than one could turn a page. At this moment, he paid no mind to Shen Chen, drenched in the rain. Instead, he pulled his cabinet ministers into the Cooling Pavilion to discuss the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering.
The Spring Terrace Chess Gathering was a grand national event. Chess players from every prefecture would voluntarily journey to the capital, gather outside Huiyang Gate, and set up their boards for matches. The top three would be invited into the palace to receive personal commendation from the emperor and be granted the title of National Master.
But this year, the circumstances were different.
Word had it that Nanping, upon hearing of the grand event, intended to send three young prodigies to participate and compete against the Great Qian players.
"In my view, Nanping is deliberately trying to make trouble for us!" declared Minister of Rites Liu Chenming, indignant.
"Nanping just lost a battle at the border and was forced to return our Fifth Prince. They talk sweet, but in their hearts, they're still bitter," said Grand Secretary Gong Zhiyuan, keeping his composure. He took a sip of tea and said unhurriedly, "What's there to panic about? Our Great Qian is teeming with talent. We need not lose."
Minister of Revenue Bu Zhangyi said, "We must not take them lightly. Nanping has surely come prepared. If you ask me, we should simply summon the National Masters of past generations, disguise them as common folk, and have them play outside Huiyang Gate to guarantee a win."
Vice Minister of Justice Luo Mingpu countered, "But that would betray the very purpose of the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering. It's meant to be a celebration shared with the people. What fun is there for the National Masters to play among themselves?"
Bu Zhangyi retorted, "Is defeating Nanping not more important than your fun?"
Luo Mingpu sneered, "Minister Bu, if Nanping sends people every year, do we simply have no commoners participate every year?"
Bu Zhangyi seethed, "We'll worry about next year when it comes!"
The ministers bickered back and forth, their voices rising, until they were nearly ready to grab each other by the collar, each accusing the other of bringing ruin upon the nation.
Emperor Shunyuan, annoyed by their squabbling, waved his hand to silence them. Then his gaze fell upon Wen Zhuo, who sat farthest away.
"Wanshan, what do you have to say?"
Wen Zhuo had been sitting stiffly for an hour, completely unable to believe what had happened.
He had been on the execution grounds of the Imperial Way, the pain of a thousand arrows piercing his heart. Gone were the mountains-and-seas roars of the assembled ministers. Gone was the new emperor's cold, mocking, contemptuous gaze.
Before him now was an aged Emperor Shunyuan, surrounded by the cabinet ministers in simmering rivalry, and outside the Cooling Pavilion, a still-kneeling Shen Chen, who remained a prince.
He had truly returned to the twenty-third year of Emperor Shunyuan's reign.
Perhaps it had something to do with the strange celestial light he had seen at the moment of death—but he did not know whether anyone else had been sent back to this moment along with him.
Suppressing the shock roiling within him, Wen Zhuo waved the folding fan in his hand, forcing himself to recall the events of his previous life in his mind. After a moment's thought, he put on a look of innocence. "Everyone has their own opinion and can't stop arguing. I'm not even a cabinet minister. If Your Majesty calls on me now, aren't I just making enemies?"
At that moment, all the other ministers were trapped in the waiting quarters, damp and cold. Wen Zhuo alone had been granted the special privilege of joining the cabinet in the Cooling Pavilion for tea and shelter from the rain—a testament to his extraordinary favor.
"You and your schemes!" Emperor Shunyuan coughed into his sleeve, jabbing two fingers at Wen Zhuo. "If it weren't for your wild, dissolute behavior that tarnishes my reputation—with your position as the head of the Hanlin Academy, you'd have been in the cabinet long ago. No, you must give me your answer today!"
Wen Zhuo quickly lowered his eyes, hiding the shadow beneath his lashes, and let out a helpless sigh, as if he no longer even had the strength to wave his fan.
"Your subject—obeys."
But he knew full well: it was precisely this air of indifference toward power that made Emperor Shunyuan rely on him so heavily.
An emperor grows old and begins to fear replacement, fears the erosion of his authority. Whoever so much as eyes his throne becomes a thorn in his side—biological sons included.
Gong Zhiyuan stopped sipping his tea, lifting his aged eyelids to silently study Wen Zhuo.
If Wen Zhuo entered the cabinet, the first position to be threatened would be his own. The head of the Hanlin Academy was a rank-one official; the emperor would at the very least grant him the role of second Grand Secretary. And Wen Zhuo was only twenty-four this year—his rise was steeper than a ladder to the heavens. It was enough to make anyone jealous.
"Don't be so reluctant. I recall you're quite skilled at chess yourself," Emperor Shunyuan said, eyeing him.
Wen Zhuo had no choice but to respond, "Yes, Your Majesty. Your subject believes the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering should proceed as planned, with the common folk participating as usual. If Nanping sends players, we simply meet them. If we panic over this, we'd only make a laughingstock of ourselves. Our Great Qian has revered the art of chess for over a century—masters emerge from every generation. Nanping is only beating its chest to look fierce."
He dared to speak thus because he knew with certainty: this contest, Great Qian would lose.
This was no simple test of chess skill. It was a conspiracy brewing for a long time.
He continued, "Still, we shouldn't be completely unguarded. The famous old National Masters can't make public appearances, but we can have them each pick a few promising disciples to participate. As long as the Nanping players don't make it into the top three, no one can accuse Great Qian of bullying."
Emperor Shunyuan nodded after hearing this. "Sound reasoning. If Nanping wants to come, let them. It'll give our people the chance to curb their arrogance!"
It was practically the same point Gong Zhiyuan had made, but the emperor hadn't responded a whit. Wen Zhuo said it, and the emperor praised him. As the Grand Secretary, Gong Zhiyuan felt his dignity slightly wounded.
Before his old face could fully sour, he noticed his son-in-law, Xie Langyang, who served as Vice Minister of Personnel, looking even more troubled.
Gong Zhiyuan couldn't fathom why.
Today's cabinet meeting had been a battleground between the Crown Prince's faction and Prince Xian's faction. Yet Xie Langyang, as if he had lost his soul, had remained silent the whole time—only stealing glances in Wen Zhuo's direction, not even paying attention to the emperor's words.
Xie Langyang was still staring, and Gong Zhiyuan felt an itch of awkwardness.
Wen Zhuo had a face that was simply too beguiling—eyes like peach pits, brows like distant mountains, like a white camellia beneath evening haze, or a beautiful immortal within a glass chalice. Every flicker of expression could make one easily lose focus.
Thank heavens he was a man. Otherwise, he'd surely be a demon that could topple the court and ruin the dynasty.
"Hengze, is there anything you wish to say?" Gong Zhiyuan deliberately called him out.
Only when his father-in-law invoked his courtesy name did Xie Langyang finally tear his gaze away. He moved his lips and said distractedly, "I have nothing to say."
After answering Gong Zhiyuan, Xie Langyang couldn't help but look toward Wen Zhuo again.
By now, the torrential rain had been pouring for a full two hours, and Shen Chen had been outside soaking in it for just as long.
In his previous life, Wen Zhuo had pleaded with Emperor Shunyuan halfway through the Spring Terrace Chess Assembly. The Emperor, though displeased, could not withstand Wen Zhuo's silver tongue—he cited classics and drew upon precedents, finally stirring the sparse remnants of paternal affection within Emperor Shunyuan. That was how Shen Chen was spared a severe illness.
Of course, Wen Zhuo was the only one who dared interrupt Emperor Shunyuan's deliberations. Had it been anyone else, they would have been silenced before they could even appeal to his emotions, for Emperor Shunyuan truly cared little for Shen Chen.
On the day Shen Chen was born, it happened to coincide with the death anniversary of Consort Chen. Emperor Shunyuan was consumed by grief and did not even glance at him. When he heard that the newborn was sallow all over and might carry a congenital condition, the Emperor merely gave a detached order to summon a physician.
As he grew older, Shen Chen had neither maternal relatives to support him nor court officials to rally behind him. Even Gong Zhiyuan, who had married his daughter to Shen Chen, did not believe he could become emperor.
Xie Langyang was stunned to find himself back in the past, and even more alarmed that events were taking a wrong turn.
Wen Zhuo still hadn't pleaded for him!
Could it be...
Another series of muffled thunderclaps rolled through, shaking heaven and earth, as if the heavens themselves were furious, with no sign of letting up.
"Oh dear, this rain is getting heavier and heavier." Liu Quan, the chief eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, peered through the window panes, his tone carrying just the right measure of concern.
Kneeling before the stone steps was a bedraggled figure, drenched through, robes caked in mud, swaying precariously under the downpour—none other than the Sixth Prince, Shen Chen.
A few young eunuchs stood at a distance, hesitating and not daring to approach, left to watch helplessly as the prince endured the torrential storm.
In such heavy rain, each drop striking the body felt like a stone, sending bone-deep chill through the joints and searing pain across the back.
Shen Chen was on the verge of losing his mind!
He had clearly endured countless hardships, cleared every obstacle, and ascended to the supreme throne—only to find himself, a mere month after taking the seat of power, struck by a flash of white light and hurled back to the most humiliating, miserable moment of his life.
Those three years had been like a breathtaking dream, and when he woke, he had nothing left.
He hadn't even had the chance to cultivate the dignity and bearing of an emperor!
Shen Chen's rage and confusion had no outlet. The open courtyard was utterly empty save for him; even the eunuchs had taken shelter under the eaves, watching him with sighs and sneers.
He had no idea how long he had been kneeling. His legs were already throbbing with numbness, his body shaking uncontrollably. In a moment of carelessness, his teeth caught his tongue, sending a sharp pain through him and filling his mouth with blood.
He vaguely remembered that his previous life hadn't been this unbearable, because the moment his knees went numb from kneeling, Wen Zhuo had come out with an umbrella to retrieve him.
Where was Wen Zhuo?
Shen Chen suddenly lifted his eyes toward the Qingliang Hall, warm and glowing with lamplight. He saw figures moving inside, flames flickering, and a faint hope stirred in his heart—it should be soon.
According to his memory, Wen Zhuo should be coming out to protect him by now.
But he waited until the figures stopped moving inside, until even the eunuchs dispersed—and still, no one came out.
Why hasn't Wen Zhuo pleaded for me yet? Why hasn't he come to help me up? Had all those carefully crafted lies he'd told been for nothing?
Or... was he not the only one who had come back from the execution grounds?
Shen Chen shuddered violently.
Liu Quan waited a moment, and seeing that Emperor Shunyuan had not taken up the topic, he glanced outside once more, then unceremoniously withdrew his gaze and ordered someone to refill the tea of Wen Zhuo, whose cup had gone empty.
Though Liu Quan privately wished to plead for Shen Chen, he knew full well that Emperor Shunyuan had not yet calmed down, so the plea had to be measured and restrained—above all, he could not implicate himself.
"Thank you, Eunuch Liu." Wen Zhuo extended five fair, flawless fingers to lift the teacup, lowered his gaze and gently blew away the wisps of steam, then unhurriedly took sip after sip.
Liu Quan smiled. "Lord Wen seems quite fond of this tea."
Wen Zhuo drank until his lips were rosy and his body warmed through. Setting down the cup, he chuckled. "This is the Songluo tea from Huizhou Prefecture, isn't it? The color is like a white pear, and drinking it feels like chewing on snow. Truly, only here at His Majesty's court can one taste such a thing. I only wish I could take some home with me."
In his previous life, he had been so consumed with worry for Shen Chen that he never properly savored the Songluo tea. He had lingering old injuries, and whenever it rained, his joints ached sharply and he could not sleep through the night—he had to warm himself thoroughly before finding any rest.
Because he had helped Shen Chen up from the torrential rain, he had been bedridden in pain for seven full days afterward, barely able to endure even attending court.
Indeed, sitting here drinking hot tea was far more comfortable.
Emperor Shunyuan shifted his gaze to glare at him, his mind as clear as a mirror. "Don't you dare hint at me. The things you've wheedled out of me are hardly few."
When Wen Zhuo hung his head in feigned shame, Emperor Shunyuan waved his hand dismissively, looking like a man plagued by a difficult little imp. "Fine—take it, take it, take it! If it's not enough, just ask me for more!"
Wen Zhuo's brows immediately curved into a smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Xie Langyang was frantic.
Shen Chen was still out there suffering, while Wen Zhuo sat there leisurely savoring his tea.
He knew that Shen Chen had wronged Wen Zhuo, but from ancient times, the state came before the minister, and the sovereign before the subject. Outside knelt the future Emperor Shengde. The grounds before Qingliang Hall were open and unprotected—what if a stray bolt of lightning struck him?
He wanted to say that since they had been given this chance to start over, it meant there were still many opportunities to change things. He was willing to work with Wen Zhuo, side by side, to make Shen Chen retract his decree.
But for now, the priority was to get Shen Chen back on his feet.
With that thought, Xie Langyang, throwing caution aside and not caring if he aroused suspicion, leaned forward across the table and spoke in a low voice: "Wanshan..."
"What is it that Lord Xie wishes to say?" Wen Zhuo sat as steady as a mountain, not even turning his head toward Xie Langyang. Just then, Liu Quan brought the Songluo tea over, and Wen Zhuo focused entirely on savoring its aroma.
"I have a thousand thoughts I wish to share with you, but it has already been two hours—the most pressing matter—" To prevent others from overhearing, Xie Langyang leaned even closer to Wen Zhuo's ear.
But Wen Zhuo immediately pulled away from him, looking puzzled. "Lord Xie, speak up. Is there something between us that others shouldn't hear?"
Xie Langyang was taken aback. He hadn't expected Wen Zhuo to say such a thing, and for a moment, he was at a loss.
Now even Gong Zhiyuan found it strange, and Emperor Shunyuan knit his brows. "Does Minister Xie have something to say?"
Xie Langyang saw that Wen Zhuo was truly determined to ignore Shen Chen's fate, and sweat beaded on his forehead. But to someone who knew the future, protecting the new emperor was the duty of a minister. So, casting aside all hesitation, he steeled himself, rose to his feet, and knelt before Emperor Shunyuan.
"Your Majesty, I have read the words of the sages, which say that parents, in treating their children, should naturally cherish the talented and virtuous, but should also show compassion for the foolish and stubborn. The Sixth Prince is foolish and stubborn, and as sovereign, it is right for Your Majesty to punish him. But I beg Your Majesty, as his father, to show him a measure of compassion."
At these words, Wen Zhuo burst out laughing.
What Xie Langyang said was almost exactly the speech he himself had given in his previous life.
Back then, it had taken him great effort to dredge up that passage from the Yan Family Instructions, which he had read ten years prior. Xie Langyang certainly knew how to pick up ready-made goods.
However, Wen Zhuo's laugh gave Emperor Shunyuan pause—he stopped pondering the deeper meaning of Xie Langyang's words and instead asked curiously, "What are you laughing at, Wanshan?"
Wen Zhuo swayed his fan as he rose to his feet, catching sight of Xie Langyang staring at him with wide eyes and shaking his head.
Xie Langyang was truly desperate now, because he could see that Wen Zhuo wasn't just refusing to help—he was about to throw a wrench in the works.
Unfortunately, Xie Langyang's eloquence had never matched Wen Zhuo's, and Wen Zhuo paid not the slightest heed to his warning glances.
“The Emperor is the father of all people, not the father of one man alone. What the Sixth Prince said was reckless and treasonous—harmful to the very foundation of the state and contrary to the laws of the court. The Emperor’s punishment of him is an act of compassion for the common people. The ancients also said: ‘When one should be admonished yet is rewarded, when one should be scolded yet is indulged, even a child of discernment will grow up unable to tell right from wrong and lacking all reverence.’ This is what is meant by a strict father’s love hidden within rebuke. How can you, Lord Xie, fail to appreciate the Emperor’s wise and heartfelt intentions?”
This passage means that if a child is praised when he should be cautioned and indulged when he should be reprimanded, he will grow into an adult with no sense of right or wrong and no fear of consequence.
Having said this, Wen Zhuo sat back into his chair with unhurried grace, muttering as if to himself: “I do recall that after ‘Even the dull-witted and stubborn deserve pity,’ the next line reads: ‘For those who show favoritism, though they intend to enrich, they in fact bring ruin’—the point being that parents must treat their children with fairness and cannot show partiality. Lord Xie’s reading of the classics is quite superficial, I’m afraid.”
Xie Langyang was rendered speechless on the spot, and in an instant, hot sweat crawled down his back.
Wen Zhuo’s smiling yet venomous rebuttal left his mind utterly blank—especially that phrase, “reckless and treasonous”… Wen Zhuo had so calmly called same-sex love a reckless and treasonous thing.
And that was precisely the bond they had hidden with such care, the affection they treasured above all else.
In truth, Emperor Shunyuan had no such profound intentions. He was simply angry—and when he was angry, he punished. As for the welfare of this timid, unwelcome son of his, the Emperor had never given it a single thought.
But no one disliked flattery, and Wen Zhuo’s interpretation suited his mood perfectly, so he rebuked Xie Langyang without mercy: “Lord Xie, your scholarship is not nearly as solid as Wanshan’s. Go back and sit down!”
“Your servant… is ashamed.” Xie Langyang bowed his head in kowtow, stumbled against a table leg on his way up, and only then collapsed back into his seat.
He understood now—pleading for mercy was something only Wen Zhuo could do. For anyone else, it was a wasted effort.
At this moment, Wen Zhuo formed no factions, coveted no power, amassed no wealth. He spent his days in idle leisure and pleasure, and in the eyes of Emperor Shunyuan, he was one of the few loyal and impartial ministers—and in practical terms, a minister of immense, sweeping influence.
But… did Wen Zhuo truly hold no feeling for him at all now?
