Wen Zhuo slept unexpectedly soundly that night, so deeply that he didn't even dream. Perhaps he was simply too exhausted—having just endured the punishment of a thousand arrows piercing his heart, he now had to continue his battle of wits against Shen Chen and Xie Langyang.
He slept until the sun was high in the sky before opening his eyes and throwing off the blankets.
The charcoal in the brazier had already gone out, and his sweat had soaked through both his undershirt and the bedding.
From the eaves came the crisp, high call of a bird. A bead or two of rainwater left over from last night dripped from the lotus-patterned roof tiles.
The three-courtyard residence, modest in size, remained lush with overgrown grass and flourishing trees, full of charm and vitality. A couplet in ink hung on the courtyard gate, reading: "Where there is moonlight, ascend the terrace; where there is wind, take a seat."
Liu Qiying brought in a cup of heat-clearing tea. Wen Zhuo leaned forward, took a sip to rinse his mouth, and spat the leaves out. He asked, "Did you get it back?"
There was no court session today, so Liu Qiying had made a trip before noon—only to come back empty-handed. She shrugged. "No. They said Vice Minister Xie stayed at the Sixth Prince's residence all night and never came home."
Wen Zhuo wasn't surprised in the least.
Since Xie Langyang had decided that Shen Chen was the next enlightened sovereign, he would inevitably go all-in to protect Shen Chen to the bitter end.
Because Xie Langyang had reaped far too many benefits from Shen Chen's rise to power.
He had inherited Gong Zhiyuan's position as Grand Secretary, completely shaking off his father-in-law's control.
He had earned the reputation of being an upright and incorruptible official admired by scholars across the realm, without lifting a finger.
Shen Chen suppressed the consort clans but left the aristocratic families untouched—for Xie Langyang, this both advanced court reform and preserved his family's interests. A win-win situation.
He had gained a son of the Xie bloodline for nothing, and his relationship with the Gong family had grown warmer with time, all falling into place naturally.
And all he had sacrificed was a single Wen Zhuo.
"How is Shen Chen doing?"
"The imperial physician went to examine him, prescribed a warming decoction, had it forced down his throat, piled on the blankets, and changed the towel every half hour. Apparently nothing serious—he even responds when called."
As if she already knew exactly what Wen Zhuo wanted to ask, Liu Qiying had gathered all the details.
Of course, it also helped that the steward of the Xie residence was completely unsuspecting of her, even stuffing a bag of fresh fruit newly arrived from Nanzhou into her hands.
Wen Zhuo smiled casually upon hearing this.
How could Shen Chen possibly have really fainted? Such a cunning man—he was obviously faking illness.
No doubt Xie Langyang was still at his residence right now, and the two of them were already exchanging information and comparing notes.
But Wen Zhuo wasn't worried. With that stubborn, pedantic head of his, Xie Langyang would only hold Shen Chen back.
And Shen Chen, now forced to rely on Xie Langyang, was probably frantic with frustration while having to force a smile.
A private room had been opened at Shuyin Tower.
From its window, one had a direct view of the main gate of the Wen residence—even Liu Qiying's return to the mansion had been caught by Shen Chen and Xie Langyang's watchful eyes.
In his previous life, Shen Chen had come bearing fine tonic gifts, wearing a face full of guilt and concern, waiting in the study of the Wen residence for guidance.
But now, he no longer had any excuse to step through that door.
Shen Chen hugged a hand warmer, his body trembling weakly. Through chattering teeth, he asked Xie Langyang, who sat beside him in low spirits, "What did that servant woman go to do?"
Xie Langyang slowly shook his head. He truly had no idea. In fact, what he really wanted was to go into the residence himself to see Wen Zhuo—even if it meant being humiliated or struck, at least it would ease his conscience.
But he couldn't disrupt Shen Chen's plans.
Shen Chen sneered. "The Crown Prince sent a calligraphy piece by a sage of old. Prince Xian is vulgar—he sent money. The Third Brother, though, knows how to cater to someone's taste—he sent a beautiful woman. Pity he doesn't know that Wen Zhuo prefers the company of men."
A few veins bulged on the back of Xie Langyang's hand, and it took him a long while before they subsided.
Shen Chen continued, "Let's wait and see whether the Crown Prince's, Prince Xian's, and Third Brother's people get shown out."
By his calculation, it should be about time. Only after seeing that would he feel at ease enough to leave.
Inside the bedchamber, Wen Zhuo had simply wiped himself down and was tying the sash of his underrobe. As if he had anticipated it all, he asked, "Have we had visitors?"
Jiang Mannü was startled, blinking her big, bell-like round eyes. "How did you know, my lord?"
Wen Zhuo was in a slightly better mood, so he teased her. "Because your lord is smarter than you."
Seeing Jiang Mannü's lips press into a thin line, Wen Zhuo added, "But you are stronger than your lord. We each have our strengths."
At that, the thin line visibly curved upward into a smile.
Liu Qiying chuckled. "The Eastern Palace sent a household steward bearing the Crown Prince's introductory gift. Prince Xian's mansion sent a senior aide with gold leaves from the prince. As for the Third Prince's estate—they sent a comely singing girl, claiming she was to attend to your needs, my lord. I've seated them all in the front hall."
"Only them?"
There should have been Shen Zheng as well.
Now Liu Qiying was just as surprised as Jiang Mannü had been, but she recovered quickly and continued, "There was also that prince who recently returned from being a hostage. Though he's been left waiting outside the palace gates for a whole week now—His Majesty clearly has no desire to see this son who represents Great Qian's humiliation."
According to Great Qian's ceremonial rites, a prince returning to the capital must first enter the palace to pay respects to Emperor Shunyuan before he could meet with his birth mother or other relatives.
As long as Emperor Shunyuan refused to see Shen Zheng, the Marquis Yongning's household and Consort Liang, no matter how much they missed him, could not meet him.
Jiang Mannü scratched her head in confusion. "What does he want with you, my lord? Is it also about the Chuntai Go Gathering?"
Liu Qiying tapped her on the head. "This Fifth Prince left the capital at eight, spent ten years as a hostage, and has neither a residence nor a title. He's currently lodging at the guest house. He came today, naturally, to ask you, my lord, to put in a good word for him before His Majesty so he can enter the palace as soon as possible."
"He's so pitiful," Jiang Mannü said, not catching the intricacies of the situation, only feeling sympathy. "I heard he had a rough time down in Nanping too. The Nanping people made fun of him, ordered him to bark like a dog, crawl through dog holes, and do the filthy work of servants. If not for his uncle winning battles at the border, he'd have died in Nanping for sure."
Wen Zhuo sat on the bed, gaze fixed on the quilt, gently rubbing his fingers together as he once again pondered this man.
When Shen Zheng had left the capital, Wen Zhuo had not yet entered the court. And since Shen Zheng's return, Wen Zhuo had only seen him once. Of this man's affairs, he too knew only through hearsay, just like Jiang Mannü.
But there was one thing about this man that made him exceedingly useful—
He was the perfect weapon for revenge against Shen Chen.
Consort Liang was the legitimate daughter of Marquis Yongning. Consort Yi was an adopted daughter. Shen Zheng was the marquis's true grandson by blood, while Shen Chen was merely an adopted grandson.
That was precisely why Shen Chen in this life was most jealous of, most hated, and most obsessed over Shen Zheng. What Shen Zheng possessed by birthright, Shen Chen could only obtain through scheming, calculation, and exhausting effort.
If Shen Zheng were to gain favor at the Chuntai Go Gathering, wouldn't Shen Chen cough up blood in fury?
"Where did you place him?"
Liu Qiying hadn't expected Wen Zhuo to still ask about the Fifth Prince. "In the small flower hall next to the study."
The flower hall was reserved for receiving honored guests. Even if Shen Zheng had fallen out of favor, he was still a prince, and Liu Qiying knew proper decorum.
"Fur cloak." Wen Zhuo raised a finger, gesturing to the silver robe hanging on the clothing rack. "I'll go see the Fifth Prince."
The moment these words left his mouth, both Jiang Mannü and Liu Qiying froze.
"What about the Crown Prince's, Prince Xian's, and Third Prince's people?"
"Tell them I've grown too idle and lazy to remember so many instructions. If any of them wishes to relieve me of my worries, they are welcome to volunteer themselves before His Majesty."
If he didn't see Shen Zheng now, he might never have the chance again.
Because Shen Zheng was the greatest victim of the conspiracy at the Chuntai Go Gathering. Afterward, he would be imprisoned at the Fengyang Terrace, and then, one night, he would fall from the terrace to his death, his body smashed beyond recognition, wrapped in a straw mat and carried out of the city.
In the private room, a pot of hot tea had already run dry, yet the dried fruits on the side plate remained untouched.
Shen Chen furrowed his brow, growing anxious despite himself. "Why hasn't anyone come out yet?"
It was already past noon, the sun drifting westward. In his previous life, Wen Zhuo would have already dismissed the others from the manor by this hour and gone specifically to see him.
Wen Zhuo had been so ill he looked ready to collapse, yet he had still poured tea for Shen Chen with his own hands. Shen Chen could hardly describe the smug satisfaction he'd felt at that moment.
His heart climbed into his throat, and he rose unsteadily to his feet, biting his pale lips. "He couldn't possibly be choosing among those three, could he?"
"Don't worry, Your Highness." Xie Langyang steadied him. "Perhaps Wen Zhuo is doing this deliberately. In his heart, he looks down on all three of them."
This wasn't mere speculation on Xie Langyang's part—Wen Zhuo had told him so personally.
In his early years, when Wen Zhuo had first entered officialdom, he'd harbored genuine ambitions. During his three years in Bozhou, he had truly lived up to the ideal of owing nothing to heaven above and nothing to his conscience below.
But upon returning to court, he'd discovered that bringing glory to the Great Qian dynasty was nothing but wishful thinking.
Before ascending the throne, Emperor Shunyuan had survived three assassination attempts, which rendered him incapable of trusting anyone. The battle-hardened Marquis Yongning had been trapped in the capital until his fighting spirit was worn away. The brilliantly talented Duke Liu had been ignored, sidelined, and ground down until his edge was dulled.
The Emperor believed in the doctrine of the golden mean, seeking only to ensure future historians recorded no single fault of his. Whenever anyone urged him to implement new policies or clean up the government, he grew anxious and restless, so agitated that he would even stop holding court.
Wen Zhuo was a man who knew how to adapt. Once he understood the situation, he set aside his grand ambitions, buried himself in the classics, and drifted through life as if it were all a game.
Emperor Shunyuan, in turn, grew increasingly at ease with him, promoting him four ranks in four years until he reached the position of Hanlin Academy Chancellor—two ranks higher than even Xie Langyang, who had been carefully groomed by Gong Zhiyuan from the very start.
Wen Zhuo held no hope for Emperor Shunyuan's reign, but he still harbored some expectations for the next one. Otherwise, a mere slogan like "open the roads of counsel, set right what is heard" wouldn't have been enough to make him bypass what was near for what was far, choosing Shen Chen instead.
This was also why Xie Langyang was certain Wen Zhuo had no other option. Though Shen Chen was fickle-hearted, he was different from Emperor Shunyuan and all the other princes. And besides—what kind of flaw was fickleness in a ruler?
To reach the flower hall, one had to pass the study.
Crushed stone paved the path before the steps, carp leaped in the shallow pools on either side, and a fresh breeze carried the crisp fragrance of pear blossoms.
The main door stood wide open, thin paper panes in the windows letting light through, and Wen Zhuo glanced inside as he passed.
In his previous life, Shen Chen had sat in that study and told him how hard survival was within the harem. His birth mother, Consort Yi, was the sworn sister of Consort Liang, and her origins were utterly humble.
Consort Liang was violently ill-tempered and often mistreated both mother and son. To survive, Shen Chen had been forced to swallow his pride and address Consort Liang as his mother while calling his own biological mother "Aunt Yi."
He would run to Consort Liang's chambers every few days, asking after her health, massaging her shoulders and kneading her legs with all due diligence. Yet despite all that, the moment she learned Shen Zheng was returning to the capital, Consort Liang immediately reverted to her old ways, tormenting them both again.
Such endless torment—truly too painful to speak of with others.
As he'd spoken, a few bitter tears had fallen from his eyes, and with that face of a stubborn, honest seventeen-year-old, he'd made Wen Zhuo feel his pain as if it were his own.
That was why Wen Zhuo had done as he asked and taken revenge on the newly returned Shen Zheng.
But now, Wen Zhuo only wanted to praise Consort Liang for her vile temper. If only she'd explode like a powder keg, that would be just perfect.
Passing the study, Wen Zhuo headed for the flower hall.
As he walked, he asked, "Did the Fifth Prince enter the manor all timid and cowering, afraid to lift his head?"
Jiang Mannü said, "You guessed exactly right, sir!"
"And was he startled by a bird's cry, scared so badly he dove under a table?"
"Exactly!"
Just the same as the previous life.
Wen Zhuo drew his sable cloak closer. The thin, soft silk, ruffled by the wind, clung to his inner robes, faintly revealing the fair skin beneath.
He ought to have dressed properly to meet Shen Zheng, but his reputation for dissolute living preceded him—there was no need for such formality when meeting that poor wretch born with five deficiencies.
The flower hall of Wen Manor wasn't as imposing as the study, but it was quiet and elegant nonetheless.
Surrounded by lush trees and flowers, a curved pond held a few water lilies, and at its center stood a four-cornered pavilion. Inside were four soft cushions and a low table. Before the arched entrance sat a folding screen painted with green mountains on both banks and jagged, craggy rocks.
He'd just rounded the screen when he saw a figure kneeling on a cushion in the pavilion, back turned to him. Though the spine was lean, the shoulders were broad and the back straight, sitting with perfect posture—a pleasure to behold, no two ways about it.
Wen Zhuo: "?"
Liu Qiying: "?"
Jiang Mannü grew anxious: "I'm not lying! He really was under the table just now!"
Wen Zhuo naturally knew Jiang Mannü wasn't lying. He studied the figure in silence.
There was much about his rebirth he still hadn't figured out. Shen Zheng's changed posture might be because he'd arrived at a different time this visit, or perhaps the changes he'd made last night had set off some chain reaction.
But it was also possible he was overthinking things. In a moment, when Shen Zheng saw his icy, forbidding expression, his imposing aura that spoke without anger, his overweening arrogance born of immense power—he'd shrink back in fear, face flushing red, unable to form words.
Wen Zhuo loosened his cloak and finally stepped up onto the pavilion's platform, positioning himself at a height to look down at Shen Zheng from the side.
True to being born of a general's daughter, even kneeling, Shen Zheng came up to Wen Zhuo's ribs.
He was close now—too close, perhaps. Just then, a cross-draft swept through, lifting the hem of Wen Zhuo's inner robe, and by sheer chance, it brushed against Shen Zheng's neck, carrying the warmth of his body and the unique scent of his medicines.
Shen Zheng's throat tightened, and he swallowed slowly.
Wen Zhuo thought to himself, Ah, so he's scared already?
So he moved directly in front of Shen Zheng, closing the distance even further. His loose, ink-black hair slipped over his shoulder and swayed before Shen Zheng's eyes, a few strands accidentally brushing against Shen Zheng's lips.
Shen Zheng lightly licked the spot the hair had touched, and beneath his deep brow, his eyelid twitched.
Wen Zhuo understood. He felt amused.
So nervous, is he?
He remembered facing Shen Zheng in the last life in exactly this posture, paying back to that woman's son what Consort Liang had done to Consort Yi and Shen Chen.
That time, Shen Zheng had trembled all over, pale as paper, filled with rage and shock, wishing desperately for a crack in the earth to crawl into and escape.
Now, scrutinized from above by the most powerful minister in the court, Shen Zheng must be consumed with anxiety, legs quaking.
But Wen Zhuo wasn't there to humiliate him this time.
Wen Zhuo leaned in slightly, his alluring eyes curving into a smile, white teeth parting gently as he asked in clear, crisp tones: "Do you want to be emperor?"
The joke hid a genuine question—his usual style. If Shen Chen had witnessed this scene, there wasn't a single hair on his body that would lie flat.
"Ah?"
Shen Zheng seemed surprised by the question. The single syllable came out low and pleasing to the ear, with no trace of fear.
Wen Zhuo frowned. Could the question have been so shocking that Shen Zheng had been stunned senseless?
Wen Zhuo extended his index finger, pressing it against Shen Zheng's lean chin. With a slight pressure, he slowly tilted Shen Zheng's face upward. "Look at me."
Shen Zheng's gaze followed the force of that finger—from the swaying hem of Wen Zhuo's inner robe, to the sash wrapped around his waist and knotted at the side, to the collar that, thanks to its master's careless nature, was somewhat loose.
From this low angle, when the wind lifted the inner robe, one could catch a glimpse through the soft silk of two small, delicate peach-pink buds, there and gone in an instant.
And higher still, that face—the ultimate weapon against any admirer of beauty, a face that ran roughshod over human aesthetic sensibilities.
After all, this body had just turned eighteen, so Shen Zheng couldn't help but feel his blood surge and his nose grow hot.
Wen Zhuo stared at the blood dripping down, utterly caught off guard: "?"
Shen Zheng's eyes, dark and dense as ink, fixed on him like grappling hooks. His gaze was as piercing as a blade, threatening to slice through thin garments, leaving him completely exposed with nowhere to hide under the bright, open sky.
Perhaps it had been too long since he'd faced such a look, so Wen Zhuo found himself momentarily bewildered.
Shen Zheng remained kneeling, still bleeding, yet the aura around him was distinctly different from his past life.
What exactly was off?
Shen Zheng, for his part, remained perfectly composed. He lifted a finger to wipe away the hot blood, staring at his fingertip with a helpless chuckle.
I'm literally wearing underclothes, and still something like this can set me off.
Wen Zhuo withdrew his hand, took a step back, and wrapped his robes around himself in thought.
Why was Shen Zheng bleeding? What exactly had triggered him?
Could it be those words—"Do you want to be emperor?"
Indeed, for any prince, such a question would be earth-shattering, enough to stir strong emotions and send blood rushing hotly.
Wen Zhuo successfully convinced himself. Relieved, he sneered: "It's merely the word 'emperor'—"
But Shen Zheng waved his hand: "Forget the emperor talk for now. The urgent matter is this—please, right this instant, thoroughly humiliate me."
Wen Zhuo: "..."
