After Wen Xu fled in disarray, a brief calm returned to the entrance of Qixian Residence.
The diners gradually came to their senses. Someone let out a quiet cheer, and soon a rising murmur of discussion filled the entire hall.
Before long, the embarrassing story of the Young Master Wen being slapped in public and fleeing in disgrace would spread throughout Mianzhou.
The waiter looked at Wen Zhuo and the others, his expression completely transformed. The concern he had shown earlier had been replaced by utter reverence. Beaming, he said, “This humble servant was blind and failed to recognize that you gentlemen are honored guests from the capital! I’ll fetch the proprietor at once so he can attend to you personally. Please wait a moment!”
Wen Zhuo gave no reply.
Wen Zhuo quietly drew his swollen, aching palm back into his sleeve and lowered his eyes to the old man lying at the foot of the steps.
Liu Qiying cautiously rolled the old man onto his back and laid him flat on the steps. She did not dare to slap his chest or abdomen to help him breathe, merely placing two fingers against his wrist to feel for a pulse.
Though Liu Qiying was an untrained woman from the countryside, she had cared for Wen Zhuo’s chronically ill body for many years. Through constant exposure, she had picked up a rudimentary knowledge of diagnosis.
She pressed against the old man’s wrist and searched carefully. At first, she wondered if her own skills were lacking. Then she realized that his pulse was as faint as a candle flickering in the wind. She could no longer feel it.
“How is he?” Wen Zhuo asked.
Liu Qiying looked up at him but said nothing.
The light in Wen Zhuo’s eyes dimmed. He understood.
Just then, the old man’s eyelids trembled with difficulty. They slowly parted by a sliver, revealing eyes streaked with dark-red blood. He shakily lifted a hand, withered and thin as a bundle of kindling, and reached toward the blurry figure before him.
“My lord…” he breathed, his voice as faint as a dying whisper.
He had vaguely heard what had just happened and knew that the wicked Wen Xu had been driven away. In truth, he had no idea who Wen Zhuo was. But to a displaced tenant farmer like himself, anyone capable of frightening the powerful was surely an extraordinary person.
Wen Zhuo could hear that the old man was barely breathing out; no breath was coming in. He had little time left.
Ignoring the dull ache between his legs, Wen Zhuo slowly crouched down and said in a deep voice, “Speak.”
“My daughter… my Zhiwa… I sold… sold her to the Wen family so… so she could eat her fill. I scraped together… some money… wanted to buy her back, but they… wouldn’t let me see her. The money… the money…”
The old man’s words came in broken fragments. Each syllable seemed to exhaust the last of his strength. His gaunt, blackened fingers fumbled for a long while inside his tattered hemp clothes before finally pulling out a handful of broken chunks of incense.
Though shattered, the pieces still carried a cool, earthy fragrance. They were grayish white throughout—the rare and precious ambergris.
Summoning the last of his strength, he tried to pass the pieces to Wen Zhuo, but his wrist went slack, and the ambergris scattered across the ground.
“Incense… Zhiwa… ten steamed buns… I was late… I’m sorry… to her…”
When his final words fell silent, a tear slid from the swollen corner of the old man’s eye, washing away the blood caked on his face. The cloudy eyes abruptly lost all their light. His arm fell limp, and he made no sound again.
Liu Qiying hurriedly opened the old man’s clothing. His chest was shriveled, little more than skin stretched over bone, and scattered fragments of ambergris clung to it.
Beneath those fragments, two jutting ribs had caved inward, stained with dark-purple blood.
Wen Zhuo understood what the old man had meant.
Unable to feed himself, the old man had been forced to sell his daughter to the Wen family, hoping only that she might have a chance to survive.
But he had not given up. He had traveled all the way to the coast and searched for precious ambergris amid the raging waves.
No one knew how long he had searched. Perhaps the heavens had taken pity on him, for he had truly found a small piece.
He had intended to exchange it for silver at Mianzhou’s incense fair and buy back the daughter who had depended on him for everything. But when he begged to see her, he was refused and instead beaten viciously by thugs under Wen Xu’s orders.
Amid the punches and kicks, the ambergris clutched against his chest had broken his ribs, driving the fragments into his lungs and ending his life.
The ambergris he had regarded as precious as his own life had become the blade that claimed it.
Wen Zhuo released the old man’s stiff, rough hand and picked up a small piece of ambergris, closing it in his palm.
He slowly rose and said to Liu Qiying, “Take some silver to the inn. While Wen Xu is still reeling, have them find a place to bury the old man.”
“Yes.” Liu Qiying hurried off to make the arrangements.
None of them were strangers to seeing people die miserably, nor was this their first encounter with famine and the devastation it brought. The suffering in this world took many forms, yet at its root, it was much the same.
The powerful abused their authority. The world was ruled by violence and injustice.
Wen Zhuo turned his head, only to find Shen Zheng looking deeply unnatural. Shen Zheng stared fixedly at the dead old man, at his hollow chest devoid of even a scrap of flesh, and at the ambergris shattered into powder.
For a moment, Wen Zhuo even thought that Shen Zheng’s consciousness had left his body. Shen Zheng seemed to be examining the absurdity and cruelty before him with a gaze Wen Zhuo could not understand—one filled with awe, yet also disgust.
“Bulu,” Wen Zhuo called him by his courtesy name.
Naturally, with the entire dining hall watching, he could not reveal the imperial surname of the Shen family.
It was a long while before Shen Zheng reacted. He exhaled heavily and forced a faint smile.
“Teacher, I really ought to be grateful that when I arrived, I was already—”
“Already what?” Wen Zhuo asked, his brows drawing together sharply.
Shen Zheng fell silent.
He had wanted to say that he was fortunate to have arrived in this world already a prince, living a life free from hunger and want. Though the imperial court was fraught with danger and the struggle for succession had grown increasingly perilous, that identity had still given him a broad stage and a thread of hope.
He could still fight his way out and change his circumstances.
Had he been born in this desolate place and reduced to a displaced beggar unable to feed himself, he dared not imagine how he would have struggled to survive within such a harsh system of rigid hierarchy.
He had grown up in the best of times. He had read plenty of history, yet had always regarded his own life as ordinary. Only after stepping into the Great Qian of several centuries ago had he truly understood that what he possessed was something unprecedented throughout the past thousand years.
A waiter accepted the silver and carried the old man’s body away for burial.
In truth, they would have dealt with the corpse even without payment. They could not leave it blocking the entrance and ruining business.
But with the silver, a straw mat could be exchanged for a coffin, allowing the old man a rare measure of dignity in death.
Shen Zheng watched the body disappear into the distance. Only then did his expression gradually settle.
He walked over to Wen Zhuo and, after catching his breath, said, “I’ll help you back to your room to wash and change your bandages first.”
But Wen Zhuo looked at him solemnly and said, “No. We should leave.”
Shen Zheng froze. “Why?”
“Lou Changsui, the prefect of Mianzhou, was once my colleague when I served in Bozhou. Now that people from the Liu family in the capital have arrived, Wen Xu will certainly inform Lou Changsui. Even if I have disguised myself like this, he can still recognize me.”
Shen Zheng was startled. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
Wen Zhuo looked puzzled. “What difference would it make? He merely knows me.”
A glimmer of hope flashed through Shen Zheng’s mind, and his spirits lifted despite himself.
“Then you two—I mean—could he perhaps—”
“Your Highness, not everyone is Gu Weizhi. Besides, enough time has passed for a person to become entirely different.” Wen Zhuo reminded him, “Do you remember the chessboard at the city gate? That was Lou Changsui’s pretext for identifying us. If he had some unspoken difficulty, he would not have been so wary of me.”
“Oh?” Shen Zheng suddenly understood.
It turned out that the chessboard had been intended to identify those with exceptional skill at chess. Wen Zhuo had seen through it from the start and concealed his abilities. Shen Zheng, whose chess skills were mediocre to begin with, had instead muddled through by sheer luck.
So the words Wen Zhuo had spoken with a smile back then weren’t praise at all, but mockery?
What a heartless cat.
Shen Zheng was torn between laughter and exasperation.
“Was I too impulsive in insisting that you save that old man?” Shen Zheng sighed. “We failed to save him and only brought trouble down on ourselves.”
“No.” Wen Zhuo shook his head. “I wanted to teach him a lesson anyway. Since things have come to this, we’ll deal with whatever comes our way. At least now we know that vagrants exist—and that people really do sell their children.”
When the proprietor of Qixian Residence heard that distinguished personages from the capital, even more exalted than the Wen family, had arrived, he hurriedly threw on a brocade robe, straightened his cap, and rushed over from the rear courtyard.
He ran to the entrance, planted his hands on his hips, and looked left and right. “Honored guests? My lords?”
The waiter wore a miserable expression. “They were right here just now. How did they disappear in the blink of an eye?”
The old bookkeeper raised his eyelids and drawled, “They left some time ago, all four of them together. If you ask me, they were probably con artists. They frightened Young Master Wen into running away, then slipped off before the Wen family could come looking for them.”
“You good-for-nothing!” The proprietor, bitterly disappointed, slapped the waiter over the head.
The waiter shrank his neck and protested, “They looked so imposing! Even Young Master Wen was scared into fleeing. How was I supposed to know they were frauds?”
Shen Zheng carried Wen Zhuo on his back while Liu Qiying took hold of Taibai’s reins. The group darted into a deep, narrow alley.
Towering walls stood on either side, with tightly packed rooftops overhead—a perfect place to conceal their movements.
Jiang Mannü was responsible for making contact with the guards who had entered the city. She informed them to spread out and lodge at different inns, awaiting further orders.
“Which way should we go?” Shen Zheng asked. He was worried about Wen Zhuo, who had been traveling nonstop, whose injury had flared up again, and who had yet to eat. On top of that, he had just struck someone so hard that his hand had swollen.
Lying against Shen Zheng’s shoulder, Wen Zhuo surveyed Mianzhou’s tangled maze of alleys and pondered for a moment. “I remember there’s a ruined temple in the eastern part of the city called Haipo Temple. It has long since fallen into disrepair, and no one worships there anymore. Let’s take shelter there for now.”
“Once you’re settled, I’ll have the guards send food and water buckets over from the inn,” Liu Qiying said.
They were hurrying along when a faint sound suddenly came from behind them. A short, wiry figure darted out and blocked their path.
Upon closer inspection, the person was a boy, though thin as a rail. He had a round head, narrow cheeks, and a pair of bright, star-like eyes that gleamed with the sharp cleverness of a little monkey.
Lowering his voice, he said urgently, “I saw everything that happened at Qixian Residence just now! Come with me. I can hide you somewhere. I guarantee the Wen family won’t find you!”
Wen Zhuo and Shen Zheng exchanged a glance, both wary.
The boy stamped his feet anxiously, repeatedly looking back toward the mouth of the alley. “Believe me, I won’t hurt you. You’re good people!”
Wen Zhuo considered the matter for a moment. Jiang Mannü was following close behind; if the boy led them into a trap, she would notice immediately. They could then turn the tables and use the trap against their enemies.
They might be the mantis stalking the cicada, but they had an oriole waiting behind them.
So Wen Zhuo said, “Follow him.”
The boy visibly relaxed. He spun around and darted deeper into the alley, clearly familiar with the terrain.
Meanwhile, Wen Xu covered his swollen cheek and grimaced as he hurried back to the Wen residence.
The moment he crossed the vermilion gates, he nearly scared the steward out of his wits.
“Young Master! What happened to you? Who had the audacity to hurt you in Mianzhou?”
Wen Xu spat out a mouthful of blood. When his tongue touched a loose tooth, pain and fury surged through him, and tears immediately welled in his eyes. He shouted as he charged inside, “Big Brother! Big Brother! I ran into people from the Liu family in the capital just now. They’re… they’re insatiably greedy! All I did was tell them we weren’t selling them any incense, and they beat me into this!”
As Wen Xu cried out in pain, several servants hurried around him. Some helped strip off his dirty clothes, others wiped away the blood, and another held ginseng tea to his lips. It was plain to see that he was pampered and indulged at home, living in extreme luxury.
From deep within the mansion—an estate so lavish it rivaled a prince’s palace—someone slowly emerged.
He was in the prime of life, yet his complexion was pale and bloated, fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes, and heavy bags hanging beneath them. He looked as though wine and women had already hollowed out his body.
Wen Ze held a tobacco pipe between his lips, drawing on it and exhaling pale smoke. Through the swirling haze, it was clear that one of the ties on his upper robe had been fastened incorrectly, while his thin trousers hung loosely around his waist. He had obviously just emerged from the arms of a beauty.
Seeing Wen Xu’s battered, swollen face, Wen Ze showed not the slightest concern. Instead, he gave a mocking laugh and lifted a hand to brush ash from his pipe.
A servant immediately stepped forward and bent over, arching her back to serve as a stool. Wen Ze casually draped his weakened body over her and asked lazily, “You said the Liu family? People of Prince Xian?”
He was far calmer than Wen Xu. Narrowing his eyes, he thought the matter over and quickly sensed that something was wrong.
Minister Bu had sent Prefect Lou a secret letter only a few days earlier, saying that the court had dispatched the Fifth Prince and the newly appointed governor-general to Mianzhou to borrow grain. The city was now on tenterhooks, and Prefect Lou had been told to prepare himself and pray for the best. At a time like this, Prince Xian’s faction would be avoiding Mianzhou at all costs. Why would they send members of the Liu family to attend an incense fair?
“You weren’t tricked, were you?” Wen Ze asked.
Wen Xu covered his face, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he argued, “No, impossible! He said he had connections in the Hanlin Academy. He even knew Wen Zhuo, and he knew about the Liu family’s secret sale of tribute goods!”
Wen Ze had been leisurely smoking. At those words, he abruptly straightened, and the languid expression vanished from his face, replaced by solemnity.
Wen Xu was often duped because he was an idiot, but anyone who could reveal the secret dealings involving tribute goods was no ordinary con artist.
“Where are those people now?” Wen Ze asked, his voice low and heavy.
“Qixian Residence!”
Wen Ze rose unsteadily from the servant’s back, tossed his pipe to an attendant, and barked at several burly laborers in the courtyard, “Gather a squad and go to Qixian Residence at once. Seal it off. Without my orders, no one is to be allowed to leave!”
He walked down the steps, glanced at Wen Xu’s once-delicate face, now swollen beyond recognition, and spat harshly, “Useless! Come with me to see Prefect Lou. You will tell him exactly what happened.”
Wen Xu did not dare defy his legitimate elder brother. Enduring the agony in his face, he hurried after him and asked hesitantly, “B-Big Brother, should we send someone back to Liangping County to inform Father? I was beaten this badly. He ought to avenge me!”
“Get lost!”
The roar silenced Wen Xu at once.
When Wen Ze and Wen Xu arrived at the prefectural office, they only had to announce themselves before being courteously ushered inside.
Before long, the rapid thunder of hooves and the clatter of heavy armor rang out beyond the prefectural office. A line of constables, carrying clubs and wearing sabers at their waists, arrived at Qixian Residence in a grand procession and surrounded the place so completely that not even a drop of water could pass through.
The constables searched every room, questioning each diner and guest in turn. They even turned over the kitchen stoves and searched the roof beams, but there was no sign of the four people.
The proprietor was so frightened that he nearly lost his soul. Bowing repeatedly, he forced a smile and said, “Constables, those people weren’t staying here at all. They left long ago!”
After finding nothing, Wen Xu’s vivid and impassioned descriptions soon saw two wanted portraits plastered across the streets and alleys of Mianzhou.
One depicted a sickly man with a sallow complexion and a mole by his cheek. The other showed a tall young gentleman whose face was concealed behind a black cloth.
“Take a good look! Whoever finds these two swindlers will receive a handsome reward from Young Master Wen!” The constable hammered on a bronze gong and shouted at the top of his voice.
The youth led Shen Zheng and the other two through a series of winding turns in the narrow alleys, eventually arriving at a residence near the prefectural offices.
Wen Zhuo looked up at the house.
The courtyard was far from grand. There were only two tiers of bluestone steps before the entrance, with neither guardian stone lions nor vermilion paintwork. The two wooden doors were narrow; when closed, they were scarcely wide enough for a single person to extend both arms.
Above the lintel hung a wooden plaque bearing the two characters “Liu Residence,” their gray surface dulled by age.
More startling still, an official seal had been pasted across the center of the doors. The black ink was still clear: “Sealed by the Mianzhou Prefecture. Unauthorized entry will be prosecuted.” Its master had evidently met with imprisonment.
The youth drew a small knife from his robes and carefully scraped open the edge of the seal. He gently pushed the door ajar, then slipped inside and motioned for Shen Zheng, Wen Zhuo, and Liu Qiying to follow.
He then went beneath the old locust tree outside the courtyard, crushed a green caterpillar between his fingers, and used its sticky fluids to reattach the seal. His movements were practiced, and afterward there was no sign that it had ever been disturbed.
Once he had finished, he went around to the rear courtyard and squeezed through a dog hole.
The residence was not large, consisting of only two courtyards and six rooms. The flowers and plants in the rear courtyard had long since withered, with only a few old trees still showing signs of life.
Two long spears stood in the corner of the front hall. A thick layer of dust covered their red tassels. Clearly, no one had wielded them in a long time, yet the shafts gleamed with oil, plainly having been wiped down and carefully tended countless times.
The sun was sinking in the west, leaving only a thin smear of pale blue on the horizon. Any later, and they would be unable to see a thing.
This sealed residence was an excellent hiding place. It had rooms to shelter them from the wind and rain, a well that had not dried up, intact bowls and dishes, and dry, sturdy beds.
Still, for an imperial prince and a high-ranking official to be reduced to hiding in the former residence of a disgraced minister was rather absurd.
“While there’s still enough light to see, Teacher, let me apply some medicine first.” The sole drawback was that they could not light lamps at night. Lou Changsui was likely searching from house to house even now.
Before long, Jiang Mannü also slipped inside.
She had confirmed that all thirty guards had entered the city. They were scattered among the inns throughout Mianzhou, the farthest no more than fifteen minutes away on foot, and could be summoned at any time.
She had also brought back a clean basin of water and a food carrier from the inn. Inside were still-warm dishes, allowing them to eat their fill.
Without accepting anyone’s help, Shen Zheng personally swept the bed clean and spread his own clean clothes over it to serve as a makeshift bedsheet.
He then carefully carried Wen Zhuo to the bed and helped him sit down. After removing the garments stained with blood, he washed his wounds with clean water, reapplied the medicinal powder, and changed him into a set of dry clothes.
Wen Zhuo broke into another cold sweat from the pain, his body trembling involuntarily. This time, however, he managed not to shed any tears.
Once everything had been put in order, Shen Zheng poured the dirty water into the rear courtyard. By then, night had fallen completely.
Liu Qiying gave most of the food to the youth. After thanking her, he carried the food box to his own room and began wolfing down the meal. Clearly, he had not tasted such delicious food in a very long time.
Taking advantage of the faint remaining light, Wen Zhuo ate two bites in the darkness before setting his chopsticks down.
The small piece of dragon-saliva incense was still tucked inside his robes. It was cold and hard, as though constantly reminding him of the old man’s final hope.
The old man had never managed to see his daughter one last time. In such an absurd, lowly, and muddled manner, he had lost his life.
He had not even known whom he was trusting, to whom he was entrusting his request, or whether that person would be able to ransom his daughter.
Yet, somewhere beyond human understanding, Heaven had made its arrangements.
That person was Wen Zhuo.
Wen Zhuo was in pain and exhausted, yet he could not sleep. The room was filled with a faint smell of dust and the subtle trace of incense. Outside, the night sky was black and heavy, without a single star.
From time to time, constables ran through the alleys, torchlight flashing past. Clearly, the search was still under way.
Only after the sound of their footsteps faded did Shen Zheng speak softly.
“I once read a book about a prosperous age plagued by hunger. A group of Westerners had come here, drawn by its fame, but they did not find the land Marco Polo had described—a place of gold everywhere, wealth, and civilization. Instead, the common people were gaunt and sallow, eating scraps and leftovers. Everywhere they looked, they saw poverty and backwardness.”
Wen Zhuo rested his head on a soft bundle and turned toward Shen Zheng’s deep silhouette in the darkness. His voice was light and subdued.
“Daqian is no longer as prosperous as it was during the reign of the founding emperor. Nanping watches us hungrily from the south, the Tartars have invaded repeatedly from the north, and natural disasters have struck year after year. Truly, the empire is beset by troubles within and without.”
Shen Zheng gave a quiet laugh and turned as well, facing Wen Zhuo. Though neither of them could make out the other’s features or expression, they lay there looking toward each other.
“The book wasn’t talking about Daqian, but the situation is much the same. Wealth and strength have never benefited the people at the bottom. They live without the slightest dignity, while the law is little more than a dead letter. Look at all those diners in the restaurant. When they saw violence being committed in the street, they simply lowered their heads and kept eating. Not one dared to speak up for justice. After the wastrel had been beaten away, they laughed and cheered, treating it as entertainment. Of course, this isn’t their fault. What makes people cold, selfish, and blind to suffering is the absence of law and order. As the book said, the ones who truly need taming are not the common people, but the rulers. The rulers should be locked inside a cage made of law.”
Wen Zhuo remained silent for a long while before saying, “The person who wrote a book like that and dared to say such things is a traitor. He deserves to be shackled and displayed in public.”
Shen Zheng deeply respected that Wen Zhuo, born in this era, would hold such thoughts. Imperial authority weighed heavily upon the people, and ideological restrictions had sunk deep into everyone’s bones. Even the most learned scholars found it difficult to break free from that cage.
His fingers twitched. He very much wanted to touch Wen Zhuo’s solemn face, but when the moment came, he cautiously withdrew his hand.
“All I hope is that, no matter what position I occupy, I can be guided by these principles: ‘Constantly strip away needless harshness, and always hold compassion close to heart; temper stern governance with thoughts of relief, and whenever a crime is doubtful, always choose leniency.’ I have always known what sort of world I wish to create.”
Wen Zhuo stared blankly.
He remembered Emperor Shunyuan in his youth. Back then, the emperor had been open-hearted and forthright, sincere with others. Though uninterested in court affairs and devoted to mountains and rivers, he had nevertheless won the people’s support.
Yet the world was fickle. Once he ascended that highest throne, he had ultimately become a cold and suspicious ruler, wary of capable ministers.
And Liu Changbai, who had once molded him into the kind of sovereign he believed fit to rule, had eventually died at the hands of that very suspicion and coldness.
Throughout history, there had been far too few rulers capable of holding compassion in their hearts and extending grace to their people.
“This is a regulated poem by Yu Shinan, written at the emperor’s command. It praises Emperor Taizong of Tang for his benevolence and caution in administering punishment,” Wen Zhuo said softly.
“Mm. I’m very fond of Emperor Taizong of Tang.” Shen Zheng rested his head on his arm, his voice carrying a hint of laughter.
“And I’m very fond of Your Highness like this.” Wen Zhuo lowered his eyes, his fingertips gently rubbing the fur robe beneath him.
Two strips had been cut from that robe to make leg guards for him.
Shen Zheng’s nerves jumped. He lifted his neck slightly, his breathing cautious and tense. “What did you say, Teacher?”
The night was too dark for him to make out Wen Zhuo’s expression. He could only hear a trace of an indescribable tremor in his voice.
The surroundings were so quiet that the only sounds were their breathing. Every pause carried a profound, unspoken meaning.
Wen Zhuo flattened and stretched out the bundle beneath his ear, then gently tugged it toward Shen Zheng as his lashes lowered inch by inch.
Feeling half the “pillow” being pushed toward him, Shen Zheng sighed inwardly. It was probably Wen Zhuo’s way of changing the subject.
But being able to share a bed and pillow with the cat was wonderful enough.
He relaxed his arm and rested his head against the edge of the bundle.
When he closed his eyes, his nose nearly brushing Wen Zhuo’s, he heard Wen Zhuo’s voice sound once more, slowly drifting through the darkness.
“I like it when Your Highness is like this, too.”
