Wen Zhuo had an excuse ready in an instant. He had always been good at adapting to circumstances.
“I—”
“Are you sure you want to lie, Teacher? If you do, you may not get another chance to see it.” Shen Zheng’s voice was gentle, yet he cut Wen Zhuo off with pinpoint precision.
Wen Zhuo pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Shen Zheng was even more perceptive than he had imagined.
Now that things had come to this, only two paths remained.
Either he gave up on investigating for the moment, brushed the matter aside, and looked for another opportunity later—or he could speak frankly, achieve his purpose at once, and put an end to his doubts.
But with the birthmark located where it was, finding another chance would be easier said than done. Besides, Shen Zheng was already on his guard.
There was one more thing Wen Zhuo did not want to admit: sneaking around and keeping his intentions hidden was truly unbearable.
So Wen Zhuo lifted his chin, his eyes blazing as he looked straight into Shen Zheng’s.
“I want to see the Fifth Prince’s pubic bone.”
The moment he said it, Shen Zheng understood.
He knew that this body bore a small, crescent-shaped red mark on the pubic bone. By coincidence, his modern self had an identical birthmark.
He and the Fifth Prince must be connected in some way. That was probably why he had crossed over into this body.
It seemed the theory that Nanping’s tomb raiders were involved was not entirely without merit. Wen Zhuo had still noticed clues in some of his words and had consequently begun to suspect his identity.
Unfortunately, the clever little cat did not know that he had crossed over as a soul. Checking the birthmark would be useless.
Shen Zheng withdrew the thumb he had braced against his waistband. His thick brows and deep-set eyes were hazy beneath the hot mist, as though they too were radiating heat.
“Does Teacher know what it means to look there?”
“I know you find it offensive, Your Highness, but I must see it today.” Wen Zhuo clenched his teeth, utterly determined.
“So this illness of yours was deliberately arranged, all to trick me into taking off my clothes?” Shen Zheng’s smile deepened.
“Yes.”
Shen Zheng was not angry in the slightest. Instead, he stepped forward until they were barely half a step apart, their breaths almost colliding.
Then he raised both hands and spread his palms, surrendering the initiative to Wen Zhuo.
“Then take a look yourself.”
Yourself?!
Did he expect Wen Zhuo to personally pull down the Fifth Prince’s underclothes?!
Though Wen Zhuo did his best to remain composed, his eyes flickered involuntarily.
Shen Zheng, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm and open, standing motionless as he waited.
Wen Zhuo drew a deep breath, abruptly turned his face away, and cautiously extended one index finger.
The moment he reached out, his fingertip pressed against Shen Zheng’s abdominal muscles. They were firm and sharply defined, their contours rising and falling faintly with each breath—something he had never touched before.
They were unexpectedly much hotter than his fingertip.
He hurriedly slid his finger downward. At last, it touched the silk waistband of Shen Zheng’s trousers.
After pausing for a moment, he steeled himself, pushed through the opening, hooked the first joint of his finger inside, and gently pulled, creating a narrow gap.
He quickly turned his face away, lowered his lashes, and swept his gaze across the opening.
Deep within the dense thicket, he could vaguely see a crescent-shaped red mark, exactly as Ge Wei had described.
There might be people in this world who looked alike, but if even their birthmarks were identical, then there was absolutely no possibility of coincidence.
Besides, Shen Zheng had had no idea what Wen Zhuo’s purpose was today. He had not even had time to forge anything.
The person standing before him really was the Fifth Prince.
Could it be that his soul had truly returned to its rightful body?
If so, might his own rebirth also be connected to Shen Zheng’s soul? Which of them was the cause, and which the effect—or were they causes and effects of each other?
Ever since his rebirth, Wen Zhuo had always sensed that some unseen force was pushing the Great Qian toward order after chaos.
Could it be this very force that had sent him, Shen Chen, and Xie Langyang back to that stormy night—and caused Shen Zheng to cast off his former dullness?
But this question was like Zhuang Zhou dreaming he was a butterfly. Perhaps it would never have an answer.
The heavy stone in Wen Zhuo’s heart finally fell, and he felt relieved. Yet his finger seemed to have been singed by fire, and he snatched it back.
Both his ears had turned as red as glistening pomegranate seeds. His entire body felt as though he had been soaked through in the hot spring, leaving him dizzy.
When he examined the pubic bone, he could not help seeing the quiet, slightly engorged length resting below it.
Even before it was fully roused, it possessed a startling presence.
Wen Zhuo’s thoughts turned into a tangled mess. Could it be because of his northern bloodline…? How could it be so impressively robust?
“Had enough?” Shen Zheng asked teasingly.
“…”
“Wanshan, why are your ears red?” Shen Zheng suddenly called him by his courtesy name.
“…Who gave you permission to call me Wanshan?”
“Did I pass your examination just now?” Shen Zheng pressed.
Wen Zhuo busied his hands, first straightening the ties of his inner robe, then reaching for the undergarment draped over the wooden rack.
“I was overthinking it. We can go back now.”
Shen Zheng caught him by the wrist and pressed his hand back down.
“Since we’re here, stay and soak. Otherwise, the money will have been wasted.”
This private courtyard was not cheap. Usually, scholars came in groups of three or five so they could split the cost. The money the two of them were spending today was enough to cover several months of an ordinary family’s expenses.
Wen Zhuo hesitated for only a moment before Shen Zheng raised a hand and pulled off his undergarment. He did not choose the inner robe, instead changing directly into a loincloth.
His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long, straight legs were thus all revealed.
As a modern man, Shen Zheng truly was not used to wearing something resembling a nightgown in the hot springs.
When Shen Zheng took the initiative to open the carved wooden door, Wen Zhuo had no choice but to follow.
Steam drifted above the bathing pool. Smooth, rounded pebbles lined the shore, while several clumps of grass dotted the edges.
Shen Zheng stepped into the pool, set the tea and snacks on the grass beside the bank, and let the clear spring water wash over his legs. He sighed in contentment.
Wen Zhuo stood at the edge with his head bowed. At last, he removed his socks and placed his bare feet on the damp bricks, moistened by the rising steam.
When Shen Zheng turned around, he immediately caught sight of those feet that had never known the sun. Their fragile whiteness blended with the rippling water. Even the steam seemed to carry an air of desire.
Wen Zhuo cautiously tested the temperature with his gleaming toes. Startled by the heat, they curled at once, while his lower legs tensed into taut, straight lines.
Shen Zheng had no particular fetish for feet, but everything about this man was too beautiful. It was as though each detail had been carefully outlined and delicately rendered by the gods.
He watched that breathtaking beauty sink into the hot spring, petals brushing against him as ripples touched him in turn. The loose inner robe quickly soaked through, clinging firmly to the curves of Wen Zhuo’s waist and hips, like a greedy spiderweb refusing to release its prey.
Shen Zheng knew his gaze had become somewhat brazen. The hazy steam probably could not conceal it, either.
Sensing this, Wen Zhuo simply took one deep breath and submerged himself, leaving only the tip of his nose and a pair of dark, watery eyes above the surface.
Mist-dampened beads clung to his lashes. His loose hair spread through the water, transforming into ink, into silk, into a thread meant to provoke.
“…Why are you looking at me, Your Highness?” Wen Zhuo blew out a string of bubbles, only then realizing that his lips had been beneath the water. He hurriedly straightened and asked the question.
Crystal-clear droplets rolled down his porcelain-white throat and fell into the pool, as though even the water had been infused with his fragrance.
“The pool is spacious. Why are you huddled in one corner, Teacher?” Shen Zheng did not answer. He feared that if he spoke exactly what was in his heart, he might say something fatal.
Wen Zhuo hugged his knees and obediently crouched in the water, like the quiet grass standing by the pool.
“I’ve been somewhat afraid of water since I was young.”
Still, he did not mind as much when the water was scented with flower petals and medicinal herbs.
Shen Zheng looked over the hot spring, which came only to the height of his thighs, and thought that it was only natural for a little cat to be afraid of water.
Simply soaking was rather boring. No matter how luxurious an ancient bathhouse was, it still could not compare with the amenities of a five-star hot-spring hotel.
Shen Zheng suddenly rose, sending a string of droplets flying. He walked toward the wooden cabinet by the wall, ignored the blatantly explicit bronze phallus and jade bells without even glancing at them, and took only the long amber ladle.
He weighed it in his hand, then walked back.
Why did this thing look so much like the ladle from a ramen shop? Why had it been placed among all these items used in the bedchamber?
Shen Zheng was accustomed to taking something with him when he bathed, using it to scoop up water and splash it over himself. This was the only thing in the courtyard that looked suitable.
Wen Zhuo, however, had already risen warily, his brows drawing together. “Your Highness, what are you doing with that?”
“Scooping water.” With a smile in his voice, Shen Zheng bent down, dipped the ladle into the clear spring, and flicked his wrist, splashing the water toward Wen Zhuo.
Wen Zhuo hurriedly turned his head aside, but droplets still spattered across him. He was rendered speechless.
“Your Highness doesn’t know what this is used for?”
Shen Zheng looked puzzled. “Why don’t you tell me, Teacher?”
Wen Zhuo choked on his reply. He turned away, crouched back down in the water, and said softly, “In any case, Your Highness should put it down.”
“I saw something similar in Nanping. It was either used to serve soup or scoop water. Does Great Qian have some other custom?” Shen Zheng simply stepped into the water and walked behind Wen Zhuo. Bending forward, he asked with great interest, “I would be grateful if Teacher could enlighten me.”
The moment Shen Zheng leaned closer, a shadow fell across Wen Zhuo’s eyes. That approaching presence gave him the illusion that Shen Zheng had already enveloped him beneath his body.
“This thing… this thing is actually a toy used for amusement in the women’s chambers. It is used to strike the buttocks for pleasure.” Wen Zhuo’s cheeks burned, and he was mortified beyond words.
“Oh?” The ancients certainly knew how to have fun.
Holding the amber-colored long-handled ladle, Shen Zheng tapped it lightly against his palm. Water droplets clung to it, and the crisp sound rang out sharply in the quiet private courtyard.
“I don’t understand. Striking the buttocks is supposed to be a punishment—how did it become a form of amusement?” he asked deliberately.
Wen Zhuo had only heard about it himself. As for why women enjoyed it, he did not understand either.
“Perhaps it is punishment in name only, while the true purpose is amusement. The force used is probably very light… I’m not certain.”
Even after explaining, he still found the subject difficult to mention. He wished he could plunge headfirst into the water and curl up like a turtle.
Shen Zheng secretly found it amusing. His little cat did not even understand this, yet he had called Shen Zheng licentious and unrestrained. Zhu Xibang, may you die a terrible death!
“I see.” Shen Zheng smiled. “For something minor, like pretending to be ill and deceiving someone, one could administer a little punishment.”
The tips of Wen Zhuo’s ears grew hot. He cast Shen Zheng a sidelong glance, only to find that Shen Zheng was merely playing with the object. After tapping it twice more against his palm, he returned it to its place, with no hidden insinuation at all.
They remained in the pool for a while longer. Outside, a light autumn rain began to fall. Raindrops struck the eaves with a soft, unintrusive patter, making the courtyard even more pleasant.
Wen Zhuo grew drowsy. With one arm resting on the edge of the pool, he let his head loll into the crook of his elbow and drifted into a light sleep, his slightly curled hair brushing against his neck.
He had always been more prone to sleep than others, especially when the weather turned cold.
The tea and pastries on the tray had already gone cool. Shen Zheng rose quietly and carried them outside, instructing the shopkeeper’s assistant to warm them. When he returned, he found Wen Zhuo sleeping peacefully. He crouched beside him and gently brushed his fingers over Wen Zhuo’s cheek.
“Wanshan, staying in the water too long can make you dizzy from lack of oxygen. Wake up.”
Wen Zhuo slowly opened his eyes, his gaze hazy. “Are we going back?”
“After you eat something.”
Wen Zhuo did as he was told. Perhaps he had soaked for too long; the moment he stood, his vision went black. His body swayed, and he fell toward the water.
With a loud splash, water flew in every direction, scattering even the flower petals floating on the surface.
Shen Zheng was caught off guard and failed to grab him. Just as he was about to enter the water and pull Wen Zhuo up, his gaze inadvertently fell upon the inside of Wen Zhuo’s thigh.
There were two faint reddish marks, each about the length of a finger joint. The skin there looked markedly different—thin and taut.
Shen Zheng’s heart jolted, and he froze where he stood.
Wen Zhuo instantly came fully awake. Before he could rise out of the water, he hurriedly drew his legs together and clutched his soaked undergarment tightly over himself.
When he stood again, he was in a sorry state. His wet hair clung to his cheeks and eyelids, dripping steadily.
“I don’t want to eat anymore. Let’s go back now.” His voice was tense. The more self-conscious he felt, the more awkward he became.
Shen Zheng recovered. If he had not been mistaken, it was a burn. The edges of the scar had long since blended into the surrounding skin, leaving only a faint redness beneath the surface that had lingered through the years.
But under normal circumstances, who would ever be burned in such an intimate place?
“Is this why you never allow anyone to attend to you while you bathe or change?” Shen Zheng asked softly.
Wen Zhuo’s entire body shuddered. He said nothing, but his palm clenched tightly over his thigh. Then he turned and hurried toward the changing pavilion.
Shen Zheng followed close behind.
“Did someone else cause this injury?”
Wen Zhuo remained silent, but his back suddenly tensed, like a bow drawn to its limit. His gaze grew colder as well. He resembled a hedgehog reacting to danger, ready to prick anyone who came near.
Only the restraint imposed by their relationship as sovereign and subject held him back.
Sensing the sensitivity beneath Wen Zhuo’s anger, Shen Zheng immediately pulled off his own outer robe and stepped forward, draping it over Wen Zhuo’s drenched shoulders.
He gently stroked Wen Zhuo’s rigid back with his palm.
“I’m only concerned about you, Teacher. If you don’t like it, I won’t mention it again, all right?”
His palm moved slowly back and forth, while his soft, coaxing voice never ceased. At last, Wen Zhuo’s guarded posture eased, and his stiff body gradually relaxed.
After a long while, he finally spoke. His tone was so calm that it was almost as though he were talking about someone else.
“I don’t remember clearly. I think I was eight. I was already quite grown.”
How could eight years old be considered grown?
If this had happened in modern times, a child who suffered such abuse—especially an injury in such a place—would certainly have led the hospital to call the police.
Shen Zheng’s thoughts churned violently. Hadn’t it been said that Wen Zhuo was the son of a wealthy local gentleman, born into a prosperous household that valued education so highly it had spared no expense to hire learned tutors for him? That was why he had acquired such knowledge early and gradually earned a reputation for his talent.
With a family background like that, how could something like this have happened?
“Your Highness, your robe is wet.” Wen Zhuo suddenly lifted his eyes to look at him.
Your eyes are wet, too.
Why?
