Emperor Shunyuan departed, and the victory banquet came to an abrupt end.
As he left, Wen Zhuo carried off the little silver flask he had conveniently acquired, adding another item to his private stash.
Passing rows of low tables, he caught sight of Shen Chen forcing himself to remain composed, though his brows were knotted tightly together. Xie Langyang, meanwhile, looked utterly lost. He stared blankly after Wen Zhuo, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he called out involuntarily, “…Wanshan!”
Wen Zhuo turned his head away, cutting off the lingering echo of his voice.
All of Xie Langyang’s emotions lodged in his throat, so stifling that his chest ached.
He desperately wanted to ask Wen Zhuo when he had spun this inescapable web, but Wen Zhuo gave him only a solitary, distant back before turning to Xue Chongnian with a smile in his eyes.
After the banquet dispersed, Shen Chen strode up to Xie Langyang. Both men wore livid expressions, like two roosters that had lost a fight.
“Why?” Shen Chen was the first to speak, his voice hoarse.
“Why?” Xie Langyang murmured in repetition, his gaze vacant.
Their eyes met. Neither could find the words, and neither found an answer in the other’s eyes.
They racked their brains and pondered bitterly for seven days.
At last, Xie Langyang appeared before Shen Chen looking invigorated. In his urgency, he even forgot to bow.
“Your Highness! Perhaps we were wrong from the very beginning. Wanshan did not begin plotting everything only after he ran into you. He must have made arrangements in secret long ago.”
Shen Chen’s body jolted. A deep furrow appeared between his brows. “You mean he and Shen Zheng had been putting on an act before me from beginning to end?”
Xie Langyang sighed. “I know Wanshan’s temperament well. He never rests easy unless he has made absolutely certain of every detail. Mo Shu’s ending in our previous life was so tragic—how could he possibly relax his guard simply because we might have shown mercy?”
“But rebels are still rebels. What kind of trouble could they truly stir up? If he were really this capable, why did he not do the same in our previous life?” Shen Chen still could not accept that Wen Zhuo had played him so completely in the palm of his hand.
“Things came to light far too suddenly in the previous life. He had no chance to prepare!” Xie Langyang said urgently. “If we want to find the reason, we must begin with the details that never appeared in the previous life.”
“Details?”
The two sank into thought again. It was not until the sun had set beyond the window, spilling a wash of crimson light across the sill, that Shen Chen abruptly rose to his feet, enlightenment dawning upon him.
“Returning the remains home!”
Xie Langyang’s eyes flew open. “That’s right! Jun Dingyuan never did such a thing in the previous life.”
Understanding slowly dawned on Shen Chen. He rose from behind the desk and began pacing the room. “Wen Zhuo must have been the one who told him to do it—to make the return of the remains such a grand affair that every prefecture and province sent memorials praising him. Even if Father were furious, he could not possibly execute him at such a time. Otherwise, it would surely unsettle the people!”
“Just like the Spring Terrace chess tournament case—using public sentiment to build momentum. That is why Wanshan was not worried about letting Mo Shu enter the capital. He knew the Emperor would ultimately show leniency.”
Shen Chen stopped pacing again, suspicion clouding his face. “This may have saved the Jun family, but it would not necessarily have saved Mo Shu. Besides, Father’s expression that day… it was as though he clearly knew Cao Youwei had ulterior motives, yet deliberately chose to favor the Jun family instead.”
Xie Langyang clapped his hands as he laid out his analysis. “Gu Weizhi must have uncovered a great deal of evidence against the Cao faction during his investigation in Qianzhou. The Mohist assistance with repairing the dikes must also have reached His Majesty’s ears. Weighing the two against each other, the Cao faction was clearly a far greater threat than Mo Shu, who stood alone without support. And with the Crown Prince’s faction pressing so aggressively, Gong Zhiyuan and Luo Mingpu’s coordination became far too obvious. That is why His Majesty ultimately threw his full support behind the Jun family.”
Shen Chen nodded in deep agreement. “As expected of Minister Xie. That explains everything.”
Xie Langyang shook his head with a bitter smile. “I am unworthy of my title as top scholar, unworthy of serving as an adviser. Wanshan can discern His Majesty’s thoughts to such an extent—I am ashamed to compare myself to him.”
“You need not belittle yourself, Minister Xie.” A faint smile appeared on Shen Chen’s face. Without any princely airs, he personally poured tea for the two of them, his tone cordial. “Now that we have seen through his scheme, we will be able to seize the initiative next time.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Xie Langyang accepted the cup with both hands and took a small sip.
“Still, that Nanping is to blame as well. Their thieving ambitions have not died. They insisted on sending spies into Jun Dingyuan’s camp, only for them to be caught red-handed. All they got in return was a pile of worthless bones meant to buy him a reputation.” Shen Chen’s words carried a barely concealed resentment.
Xie Langyang moistened his throat with tea, deliberately overlooking Shen Chen’s disrespect toward the soldiers. “Your Highness, how did General Jun deal with those spies in the previous life? Did he bring them back as captives to offer up at the ancestral temple?”
After all, it had happened three years ago. Xie Langyang did not remember the details clearly.
Shen Chen paused.
As he recalled it, there had been no presentation of captives. Jun Dingyuan had not brought back any prisoners at all.
Xie Langyang realized something as well and ventured, “Then General Jun must have executed them at the southern border. It cannot be that Nanping never sent spies in the previous life, can it?”
Shen Chen laughed at that. “No matter how capable Master Wen may be, he cannot possibly control Nanping. If he were truly that godlike, why not make Nanping submit to Great Qian?”
The two fell silent again.
After a while, Shen Chen said, “Later, the Grand Chancellor will likely probe you for information. Do not be nervous. All you need to do is ask him how he learned of your offhand whispers, and the matter will pass.”
“Master is already overwhelmed with troubles. As his student, to scheme against him like this... I am deeply ashamed.”
Shen Chen could not be bothered with Xie Langyang’s excessive concern for propriety and righteousness. “Though Master Wen outmaneuvered us this time, having the Crown Prince locked in Fengyang Terrace has removed one obstacle. Once someone is imprisoned in a place like Fengyang Terrace, there is no coming out again. Before long, Prince Xian will surely arrange for the Crown Prince’s death in secret.”
Xie Langyang’s hand jolted as he held his cup. A few drops of tea spilled over, scalding his fingertips.
He abruptly raised his head to look at Shen Chen.
With his back to him, Shen Chen spoke in a tone of absolute certainty. “At that point, the Grand Chancellor will have no choice but to support me. As for Prince Xian, we both know that the great gift prepared for him will soon arrive.”
“What does Your Highness mean?”
“Have you forgotten?” Shen Chen turned around, a trace of malice flashing in his eyes. “After I ascended the throne in the previous life, I discovered his disgraceful dealings in Mianzhou!”
Xie Langyang suddenly remembered. “Your Highness intends to expose it directly?”
“Of course. When the time comes, Wen Zhuo will surely be caught in a dilemma. If he conceals the truth for Shen Bi, a rift will arise between him and Shen Zheng, and their relationship as teacher and student will collapse of its own accord,” Shen Chen said with certainty.
—
Wen Zhuo was presently recuperating at his residence. He had never expected that Shen Chen and Xie Lang...
Seven days of pondering had still yielded no answer.
This time, the Crown Prince had been imprisoned on Fengyang Terrace and had not even been able to see Liu Changbai one last time.
Liu Changbai’s injuries had been too severe. Coupled with fear and anxiety, he ultimately failed to survive the night.
In consideration of his many years of service in assisting the throne, Emperor Shunyuan permitted him to be buried with the rites due an imperial tutor. Yet the officials, wary of the emperor’s lingering authority, were few and far between on the day of the funeral.
Wen Zhuo did go. He lit three sticks of incense, paid his respects, and quietly departed.
In his youth, Liu Changbai had risen to fame early, his character lofty and his bearing exceptional. Even during Emperor Kangzhen’s reign, he had been a keen blade in the imperial court.
The *Records of Qian* recorded how he repeatedly offered sound counsel and strove to correct the abuses of the age. Whenever he saw powerful nobles embezzling funds, he would impeach them without hesitation; whenever he encountered the people’s suffering, he would passionately submit memorials pleading their case.
Later, Emperor Kangzhen fell gravely ill. Several of his brothers coveted the throne and sought to eliminate his two sons. It was Liu Changbai who stepped forward, protecting Emperor Shunyuan while he was still Crown Prince, painstakingly maneuvering through a court rife with flashing blades and hidden threats until he had supported Emperor Shunyuan’s ascension.
He had known years of dazzling brilliance, his edge laid bare and his life resplendent with achievement. Yet even he could not avoid being drawn into the whirlpool of factional strife in his final years, staining the reputation he had built over a lifetime.
But since ancient times, who had ever truly managed to remain utterly incorruptible and wholly impartial?
Even if someone did manage it, others might not believe them. In this world, no one could ever be accepted by everyone.
Liu Changbai had at least been granted a burial befitting an imperial tutor. The Cao faction was not so fortunate.
Overnight, that corrupt parasite which had entrenched itself in Great Qian for decades became souls beneath the executioner’s blade. The authorities publicized the Cao faction’s crimes throughout the realm, and the common people praised the decision fervently, declaring that Great Qian was at last beginning to glimpse the light of dawn.
Though Shen Zhen’s teachers had all been demoted and had their salaries docked, they remained in office. Emperor Shunyuan could not immediately find enough experienced replacements for them, and besides, Prince Xian’s faction still needed them to keep it in check.
Mo Shu, too, was quietly released. Emperor Shunyuan even assigned him a post at the Divine Timber Works, allowing him to work openly with wood and, before long, devise a useful contraption to aid his legs.
At last, the green-crowned pears in the Wen residence had ripened.
Wen Zhuo lounged in a reclining chair beneath the pear tree, enjoying the cool shade as he directed Jiang Man’nü and Liu Qiying in picking the fruit.
“A-Liu, of the pears we pick, make three out of ten into candied fruit. Last year’s batch wasn’t sweet enough, so sprinkle in more sugar this year,” he said lazily, his voice soft with contentment.
Standing atop a ladder with pruning shears in hand, Liu Qiying clipped the branches as she reminded him, “My lord, His Highness said you should eat sweets in moderation.”
Wen Zhuo selectively ignored her and went on, “Make another three out of ten into autumn pear paste. Mash them a little finer. The stuff they sell outside is far too expensive; making it ourselves is much more practical.”
Jiang Man’nü held a bamboo basket to catch the pears. Turning her head, she said, “My lord, His Highness once said that your... dietary structure was unhealthy, and that you should eat less, uh... processed food.”
Wen Zhuo simply closed his eyes and continued, “Another three-tenths should be made into pear ice candies. Once the weather turns cold, there will be fewer vendors setting up their stalls, and we won’t be able to get any.”
Liu Qiying: “…”
The Jiang barbarian woman: “…”
A figure flickered beyond the shade of the trees. Liu Qiying turned her head and saw that it was Shen Zheng. One of the servants in the residence must have spotted him and let him in directly.
“Your Highness—” Liu Qiying had just begun to greet him when Shen Zheng raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
Wen Zhuo remained oblivious, his eyes still closed. “Your Highness this, Your Highness that. You’re my stewards, so you’re to listen to me. As for the remaining tenth, stew it into soup every day. I’ve always liked it.”
Shen Zheng moved lightly and silently to the side of Wen Zhuo’s reclining chair. With a smile playing at his lips, he looked down at him.
Dappled shadows from the broken sunlight lay across his face. The soft hair beside his ears trembled lightly in the breeze. His long, waterfall-like hair had been loosely tied up with a ribbon, and his broad sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, revealing slender, fair arms.
Wen Zhuo rested his head on one arm, his legs slightly curled. His lashes were folded like returning birds drawing in their wings, casting faint shadows beneath his eyes.
Shen Zheng sometimes found it strange. Wen Zhuo was exceptionally particular about propriety and keeping his distance around him—even in the height of summer, he dressed himself impeccably. Yet in front of Liu Qiying and Jiang Manü, he was entirely unrestrained.
Shen Zheng could only assume that the three of them were simply too familiar with one another—perhaps even comrades who had faced death together—to have any concern for avoiding impropriety.
Liu Qiying gave Jiang Manü a meaningful sidelong glance and deliberately raised her voice. “My lord, if His Highness asks us about it again, shall we just pay lip service while doing the opposite?”
Jiang Manü waved her hands frantically, trying to stop her.
How could she scheme against their lord like this?
Then Wen Zhuo said indifferently, “Yes. Just tell him I’ve eaten that protein and those vitamins—lots of them. Every day.”
Shen Zheng stood with his hands behind his back, smiling in a way that was neither quite a smile nor quite anything else.
No one would believe it if they heard it: the infamous grand traitor of history was, in fact, a cunning little cat who secretly snuck off to eat freeze-dried treats behind his back.
Liu Qiying ignored Jiang Manü’s softhearted attempts to stop her and continued, “And what if His Highness finds out and gets angry? What if he comes after us?”
“His Highness wouldn’t—” Wen Zhuo suddenly stopped.
He remembered what Shen Zheng had said to him on horseback that day, when they had left the military camp. A strange, subtle flutter stirred in his chest.
Before he could think more deeply about it, a low, teasing voice suddenly sounded beside his ear.
“Who says I wouldn’t?”
Warm breath brushed against his ear, and a tingling sensation shot straight down to his waist. Wen Zhuo’s shoulders and back suddenly drew tight, and he opened his eyes in an instant.
Shen Zheng was close enough to touch, gazing at him with evident interest. Those deep, intense eyes seemed even more animated than usual—as if they could speak, as if they were overflowing with emotion. And yet Wen Zhuo knew that this was simply a gift bestowed upon Shen Zheng by the heavens, and had nothing to do with anyone else.
“Why has Your Highness come again?” Wen Zhuo’s breathing was uneven. He feigned irritation and glared at Liu Qiying, his eyes full of reproach.
Liu Qiying turned back to continue trimming the pears, entirely without remorse.
Jiang Manü could only spread her hands helplessly.
Seeing that Wen Zhuo showed no sign of reflecting on his own actions and had instead taken his anger out on someone else, Shen Zheng gave him no room to maneuver. Wen Zhuo could only adjust his position in aggrieved silence, straighten his clothes, and maintain his stiff, old-fashioned decorum.
“Father asked me to thank the Headmaster, didn’t he? So here I am, thanking you every day.” Shen Zheng tilted his head with a light smile. “Who knew I’d catch the Headmaster being hypocritical—deceiving his student and failing to lead by example?”
Wen Zhuo’s ears instantly flushed red, the color seeming poised to spread all the way down his neck.
He was no saint. How could he possibly be without faults? Those iced pear candies were simply too delicious—resisting them was hardly humanly possible.
Avoiding Shen Zheng’s gaze, Wen Zhuo pushed him away and forced himself to remain composed. “This matter is indeed your teacher’s fault.”
Shen Zheng slowly straightened, waiting for him to continue.
Wen Zhuo tidied his robes, loosened the ribbon binding his hair, and redid his topknot, changing the subject. “Did Your Highness come today because there has been progress on that lower-limb exoskeleton?”
Shen Zheng raised a brow. “That’s all?”
“What?” Wen Zhuo asked, puzzled.
“After admitting you were at fault, shouldn’t there be a punishment?” Shen Zheng sounded almost expectant.
Wen Zhuo lifted his head to gaze at the blazing sun. Though it had begun to slope westward, its heat had not diminished. With a sigh, he said, “A day without reading leaves one’s heart feeling wanting. Your Highness should return for now. I must go to the study and review my books.”
With that, Wen Zhuo gathered up his robes and made to flee.
It was a rather flimsy excuse, but still better than staying and humiliating himself further. Another day, he really ought to hang a bell at the doorway—so that any tall person passing through would strike it and give warning.
Shen Zheng immediately caught hold of his arm, suppressing a laugh. “All right, Teacher. With Mo Shu’s guidance, the secret passage is more or less complete. I want to take you through it.”
Wen Zhuo stopped at once, astonished. “So quickly?”
“Yes. We made it a little narrow in order to finish it sooner, but it should still be wide enough for two people to pass one another. If you find anything unsuitable, we can have them alter it.”
“Let’s go take a look!” Wen Zhuo turned and headed straight for the inner courtyard.
The entrance on his side was hidden beneath an unremarkable wooden panel, covered with a thin layer of loose earth to avoid drawing attention.
When they arrived, Wen Zhuo gathered his sleeves and gripped the handle set into the stone slab. With a hard pull, the loose dirt rustled down, revealing a pitch-black opening. Cool, damp air rushed up to meet them.
In the afternoon light, they could make out a crude wooden ladder fixed along the side of the entrance, descending into the depths below. But farther down, their vision was obstructed.
“There hasn’t been time to build steps yet. I’ll go down first.” With that, Shen Zheng bent over and stepped onto the ladder. After only two or three rungs, he jumped down.
The ladder’s creaking stopped abruptly. Shen Zheng’s voice drifted out from the darkness. “Come down, Teacher.”
Wen Zhuo looked at the ladder with some apprehension. It had been far too long since he had climbed up or down anything. Such things had been ordinary in his childhood, but now he found himself hesitating.
He gripped the sides of the ladder tightly, lowered his gaze, and cautiously extended one leg downward.
The ladder was thick and sturdy. Perhaps Shen Zheng had become especially solid from all his training; in any case, when Wen Zhuo stepped onto it, it did not make the slightest sound.
The foundation from his childhood was still there, after all. Wen Zhuo’s nervousness quickly faded. He even began to feel that there was no need to build stairs at all—the ladder was perfectly convenient.
Then Shen Zheng said, “If you’re afraid, shall I carry you down, Teacher?”
Something stirred in Wen Zhuo’s heart. In the mingled light and shadow, his eyes, too, seemed veiled in darkness.
For reasons he could not quite name, the sole of Wen Zhuo’s boot, firmly planted on the ladder, silently shifted back an inch. His toe slipped against a rung, producing a rapid clatter.
Sure enough, the very next instant, a solid chest caught him. One arm stretched across his chest, while the other supported his backside, lifting him down from the ladder.
Damp air swept over him, and Wen Zhuo shut his eyes in embarrassment.
He truly was awful. At the slightest stir of his heart, he began plotting against people—not only his enemies, but those on his own side as well.
His illness was growing worse. He seemed to be growing ever fonder of Shen Zheng’s embrace, yet instead of restraining its advance, he was drinking poison to quench his thirst, endlessly indulging his own dark desires.
Once was enough.
“Put me down,” Wen Zhuo said softly.
But Shen Zheng did not seem in any hurry to let go. Supporting Wen Zhuo, he gave him a light bounce in his arms and remarked to himself, “Now I can pick Teacher up without any effort at all. Though really, it’s because Teacher is too light.”
No lamps had yet been lit in the secret passage, and the darkness was profound. Wen Zhuo could not make out Shen Zheng’s expression; he could only sense his presence through sound and touch.
The air was thick with the smell of earth, mingled with the chill of the underground, making his skin tighten.
The passage was narrow enough that, with his arms outstretched, he could touch both walls. Yet the ceiling was quite high—clearly built to accommodate Shen Zheng’s height.
Shen Zheng’s chest was warm, and through the thin layers of cloth, it drove away the damp chill entirely.
Those arms were strong and firm as well, squeezing Wen Zhuo’s chest until it felt slightly tight. And the hand supporting him beneath his backside made his entire body feel unbearably awkward, heat blazing across his cheeks.
His Highness had yet to discover the shameful sort of thoughts Wen Zhuo harbored toward men.
Wen Zhuo swore that all he had wanted was a simple hug. He had never meant to be so wanton.
“Teacher likes sweet soup, sugar cubes, and chilled date cakes,” Shen Zheng’s voice sounded in the darkness, serious beneath its softness. “But whenever you fall ill, those things always make it linger for a long time.”
Perhaps the cramped darkness gave one a sense of safety. Or perhaps it was because Wen Zhuo was so quiet now, obediently curled up in his arms. Shen Zheng found himself wanting to say things he did not quite understand himself.
His breath brushed Wen Zhuo’s ear, his voice echoing between the narrow walls. “In this era, medicine is primitive and hygiene is lacking. Even a minor illness can be fatal. I’m very afraid that one day, I’ll be helpless against the germs I never used to care about.”
“Teacher, live to be a hundred, all right? Promise me, and I’ll put you down.” There was laughter in his voice, but the threat was delivered with perfect frankness.
Wen Zhuo’s heart suddenly began to race, pounding more fiercely than the echoes in the passage. For one brief moment, he even felt that Shen Zheng had presented him with an impossible choice.
“…All right.” He cautiously forced the single word out between his teeth.
