Wen Zhuo moved away from him quickly and deliberately, as if afraid of catching a madness.
Acting? Or genuine?
In truth, Wen Zhuo's shock was no less than what he'd felt last night.
Shen Zheng knew about the humiliation, yet his words and manner now showed not a trace of sluggishness or terror. Could he too be a reincarnated soul?
But did a reincarnated idiot become a degenerate?
Why was Shen Zheng's rebirth unrelated to the solar eclipse? Aside from himself, Xie Langyang, and Shen Zheng, were there others who had returned to this moment? Would others be reshaped like Shen Zheng had been?
Too many riddles remained unsolved; until he discerned the pattern, Wen Zhuo decided never to let Shen Zheng know he had also been reborn.
After a long silence, Wen Zhuo wrapped his fur robe tightly around himself. “Your Highness, what do you mean by this? Why would I humiliate you?”
Shen Zheng suddenly fixed a probing gaze on him, as if asking 'Don't you know?' — but it lasted only a blink before he withdrew it.
“Fine, then. I suppose we grave-robbers aren't used to seeing things from this angle.”
With that, he didn't push further. Instead, he quickly rubbed his numb, kneeling legs and rose from the cushion on his own.
Only when he stood did Wen Zhuo truly feel how tall he was.
Once, Shen Zheng had always hunched his neck and curved his back, flattening his height for no reason. Now, standing straight before him, that bloodline inherited from Marquis Yongning finally showed itself.
Marquis Yongning originally belonged to the old northern desert clans; his ancestors had intermarried with foreign bloodlines. That distant strain, untouched by generations, had condensed entirely into Shen Zheng.
So among all the princes, Shen Zheng had the most striking features: sharply sloping temples, a high-bridged nose, brows steeped in ink — dense, heavy, and fierce. His black hair was bound by a simple jade crown, yet the ends still curled slightly, rough and untamed.
Handsome, truly. Thin, also truly.
That jawline was like a drawn war-bow, taut and ready, with no room for spare flesh. His throat was so lean that the blue veins and bones showed beneath the skin. Compared to the plump, elegant princes of the capital, ten years as a hostage had carved him with sharp, angular edges.
But… what did he mean by 'grave-robbing'?
Shen Zheng tossed the words off casually, and Wen Zhuo was stunned. He hadn't expected the man to harbor such a shameful secret. For a moment, he even forgot the pressure Shen Zheng's standing posture brought.
So this was how the Southern Ping people humiliated the Great Qian prince — those tales of menial labor weren't baseless after all. They'd meant to drain the Shen imperial clan's virtue, how utterly vicious!
No wonder Shen Zheng wasn't used to this perspective — he must have spent most of his days looking at prone corpses rather than standing living people.
“Was someone forcing you to do the grave-robbing, Your Highness?” Wen Zhuo asked.
Shen Zheng couldn't help but laugh. It was an easygoing smile, yet his eyes remained frank enough to be unsettling.
“Not really. I happen to like it.”
Even for a man of Wen Zhuo's intelligence, the information was far too much at once. His brows knitted tight.
Perhaps when a person lives long in suffering, their mind twists into something deformed.
“A hobby?”
“You could say so.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“In Great Qian, seems like you're the only one.”
“Such virtue-destroying deeds, Your Highness — you'd do well to keep them few.”
“What a shame…”
Shen Zheng burst into laughter, shaking his shoulders.
“What's wrong?” Wen Zhuo was baffled by the amusement.
Without warning, Shen Zheng leaned in close and brushed his calloused fingertips across Wen Zhuo's cheek. “Didn't expect Director Wen to be so adorable.”
Wen Zhuo's hands were busy clutching his fur robe; he couldn't spare a moment to block the touch — a clean hit.
The sensation of those fingertips lingered on his face long after, and his mind went off like fireworks, the word adorable scattering everywhere. For a moment, he even forgot to push the man away.
At the teahouse.
Shen Chen's forehead burned again. He sipped tea to cool himself while keeping his eyes glued to the Wen mansion gate, refusing to look elsewhere.
“Why hasn't he come out yet?” He'd already been waiting past the agreed time.
Shen Chen was like a startled bird — grappling with both the fear that someone else had won Wen Zhuo's favor and the suspicion that Wen Zhuo was toying with him, deliberately keeping him on edge.
This time, Xie Langyang offered no comfort. His own strength was nearly spent.
Staring at the familiar Wen mansion gates, and recalling the massacre that had happened here a month prior — the fire burning down the doors, blood staining the stone steps — a dull ache rose in his chest again.
He was too restrained, rarely came here. On the night the oil fire consumed those gates and crimson covered the steps, he regretted deeply: why hadn't he visited more? Why had he feared Gong Zhiyuan so much? Why had he always made Wen Zhuo wait?
When Wen Zhuo built his estate, Xie Langyang had helped him pick the lot. It wasn't close to the Vice Minister's residence — a half-hour on foot, faster on horseback, though Wen Zhuo didn't know how to ride.
Wen Zhuo had been a little disappointed; he'd wanted to buy near Xie Langyang, but Xie Langyang didn't want his lover to cross paths with his wife, stirring up jealousy.
In truth, Gong Yuwen was a considerate, gracious woman. She'd known from the start that Xie Langyang married her out of deference to his teacher's kindness, so on their wedding night, she'd lifted her own veil, helped conceal the truth from Gong Zhiyuan, and gently allowed Xie Langyang to keep his heart elsewhere.
A pity Wen Zhuo could be unreasonable, even fierce. Even knowing Gong Yuwen was blameless, he always put on a vengeful show, talk of killing Gong Zhiyuan's whole family on his lips.
Xie Langyang often suffered headaches from the situation, so he simply avoided bringing the two together.
Just then, a woman walked past the gate holding a small child. The boy pointed at the two imposing stone beasts by the door. “Mother, look — big dogs! Big dogs!”
The woman patted his head and corrected him. “Silly boy, those are qilin. Big officials' gates always have stone qilin.”
Xie Langyang didn't realize he'd smiled.
Suddenly he felt the urge to stand on the rooftop and shout: Not dogs, not qilin — bixie, a pair of bixie he had bought for Wen Zhuo.
He had indeed advised Wen Zhuo that as Director of the Hanlin Academy, placing a pair of qilin or lions would better suit his rank.
By Great Qian law, officials of second rank and above could place lions at their gates.
But Wen Zhuo didn't like them. “Bixie have a better meaning: it guards wealth, only takes in and never spends out. We're set for retirement.”
Xie Langyang had said helplessly, “You're a rich squire's son, raised in comfort since childhood. Why are you as money-grubbing as some poor household?”
Wen Zhuo hadn't answered then, seeming a little uncomfortable. But Xie Langyang hadn't pressed further; he simply commissioned the pair of bixie for him.
Laughing turned to sadness. Wen Zhuo had worked so hard to save up for his old age, believing he'd live long — never knowing his life would end at twenty-seven.
If Xie Langyang had known there were only a few years left, he'd never have married Gong Yuwen no matter the difficulty — and squandered those years with Wen Zhuo in cold stubbornness.
Xie Langyang's chest ached. He raised his teacup to soothe himself when the mansion gate swung open.
Shen Chen: “He's out!”
A broad-shouldered, imposing woman stepped out first, her arms thick as bamboo, her voice husky: “Gentlemen, sorry for the wasted trip, and please don't take offense.”
The Crown Prince's steward, a man of inflated pride, snorted coldly and swished his sleeve as he stormed off.
Behind him, the Prince Xian's chief aide had better decorum: he tugged his goatee, gave Jiang Mannü a nod, shot a glare at the steward's back, and then walked the other direction.
The steward of the Crown Prince's palace led a veiled singing girl with her head bowed, glancing back every few steps as if reluctant to leave. But when he saw Jiang Mannü plant herself in the doorway, hands on her hips and face set in a scowl, he could only clasp his hands, sigh, and take his leave.
Just as Xie Langyang had predicted, Wen Zhuo chose no one, and the gifts were all returned unopened. It seemed he had no intention of meddling in the rivalry between the eight lineages.
After three pots of tea had been drained, Xie Langyang rose. "Your Highness, allow me to escort you back to the palace. Consort... Consort Yi must be worried by now."
He had nearly called her the Grand Empress Dowager as he had in his past life, but Emperor Shunyuan was still alive, and such a title would have been inappropriate now.
Shen Chen's stomach gurgled loudly—he could no longer hold out. He set down his coin tip and turned, leaning on Xie Langyang for support. But just as they reached the stairs, he stopped abruptly.
"Where is Shen Zheng?"
Xie Langyang was stunned. He had nearly forgotten the Fifth Prince.
Shen Chen suddenly twisted his head around, the muscles in his cheeks stiffening into an almost unnatural shape.
"Shen Zheng hasn't come out yet."
"Your Highness..."
"Do you think Wen Zhuo is deliberately defying me? He means to protect Shen Zheng!"
"Your Highness..."
"Shen Zheng is the most critical piece in the Spring Terrace Chess Tournament! If he doesn't die, how can Marquis Yongning's son, Jun Dingyuan, ever swear wholehearted loyalty to me!"
"Your Highness, you are also the Marquis Yongning's grandson," Xie Langyang said with a frown, emphasizing the point.
Shen Chen's fever had clouded his head, and he could barely contain his emotions. He fired back immediately: "That's different! Even if Shen Zheng is a born waste, as long as that blood grandson of his exists, what room is there for an outsider like me!"
Creak—
The vermilion gates of the Wen residence opened once more, and Shen Zheng walked out with easy strides. Only, on his thin, handsome face sat a glaring, unmistakable handprint, drawing stares from passersby.
But he showed not a hint of embarrassment. He tilted his head up to squint at the sun, then wiped a thumb across the corner of his mouth, feeling the sting crawl up along his right cheek.
He clicked his tongue. "Your Director Wen, he doesn't play fair."
A pause, then he added with a hint of resignation: "He touched my chin first."
Liu Qiying took in his half-discolored face, her delight poorly concealed, her voice carrying a note of mischief: "A rare opportunity, and you've gone and offended our Director instead. Your Highness, do you not feel regret?"
Even she still found what had just happened hard to believe. In all her years, this was the first man who had dared to flirt with Wen Zhuo.
Shen Zheng tucked his hands back into his sleeves, utterly unruffled. "It's fine. He was never going to help me anyway."
Liu Qiying thought to herself: And you know that how?
"Our Director has always been too lazy to concern himself with disputes among princes."
"Oh? That's not necessarily true."
"Your Highness doubts it?"
"Whether I doubt it or not doesn't matter. It's plain fact." Shen Zheng shifted the topic with a sigh. "But to be honest, has your Director offended someone? The books really don't do him justice—not even a third of his charm."
"Books?"
"Plain Annals."
Liu Qiying raised an eyebrow, already more or less figuring it out: those little pamphlets that circulated in the streets and alleys, full of baseless nonsense, writing freely about court officials and palace ladies. The authorities had banned them any number of times, but they simply refused to die out.
"Your Highness should read fewer of those trashy books. They give a false impression of our Director. Granted, he has an unconventional style, a sharp tongue, and may seem hard to get along with—"
Liu Qiying's tone was unmistakably partial, and when she got to this point, her voice softened a fraction: "—but his heart is soft."
Shen Zheng felt a surge of admiration rise from the pit of his stomach. "Ho, young lady, that's quite the filter you've got on. If your Director counts as soft-hearted, then diamonds might as well be called soft."
"I mean it in the literal sense, not the Microsoft sense," he added.
Jiang Mannü sidled up to Liu Qiying, her voice pitched so low it was practically a whisper, voice dripping with curiosity: "What's the Plain Annals? What's a filter? What's a diamond? And what's 'mah-kro-sawft'? Is he praising the Director?"
Liu Qiying herself had no idea what Shen Zheng was talking about, but she could read the mockery on his face. She put on a cold front. "Your Highness, do take care on your way out."
At that, the teasing on Shen Zheng's face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of mild trouble. "May I ask... where exactly am I supposed to go?"
Jiang Mannü was blunt: "Back to where you came from, I'd think."
Shen Zheng: "If I said I came from Tsinghua, would you believe me?"
Liu Qiying stared at him, expressionless. "Since Your Highness already knows it's Tsinghua Lodge, why ask?"
Shen Zheng raised an eyebrow. "Your Great Qian's guest lodge is really called that?"
Across the street, an anxious Shen Chen was sprawled over the windowsill.
His eyes had gone sore from staring. Suddenly he hissed: "Xie Qing! Did you see Fifth Brother's face?"
Xie Langyang had seen it, but Shen Chen's excitement weighed on his chest like a millstone.
He had always maintained that Wen Zhuo bore responsibility for the Fifth Prince's death.
But just now, Shen Chen's viciousness had been fully exposed—saying that Shen Zheng needed to die...
In the past, Xie Langyang thought Wen Zhuo's methods overly cruel, while Shen Chen at least held some brotherly regard for the Fifth Prince. Now looking at him, he saw that Shen Chen was perhaps the most eager of all. The youthful panic and naiveté seemed like an act.
Xie Langyang's voice was dull. "Yes, Your Highness. I saw. Wen Zhuo has no intention of helping him."
Shen Chen's taut nerves finally loosened.
He leaned back, collapsing into a chair, a laugh threading through his words: "This is just like before. Wen Zhuo slapped Shen Zheng for me—"
Then his expression shifted slightly. "Wait." he said, frowning. "Something's off."
Xie Langyang dearly wished Shen Chen would go rest and stop brooding, when he heard Shen Chen mutter: "Shen Zheng seems different from his last life."
In front of the mansion, Jiang Mannü let her legs go, moving as if she had wind-fire wheels strapped to her feet, and shot back into the inner courtyard in a flash.
Standing before Wen Zhuo, her breath utterly even, she gave a crisp report: "Director, the Fifth Prince asked if we could send him off. He just returned to the capital and can't remember the way to Tsinghua Lodge."
Wen Zhuo let out five flat words: "Still a fool, as ever."
Jiang Mannü lifted her eyelids like a little thief stealing a look at Wen Zhuo's face, then added quietly: "He did seem to compliment you, Director. Maybe we should send him off after all?"
Just before, Shen Zheng had frantically rummaged through his clothes and managed to scrape out a sandalwood bracelet from Nanping—not expensive, but novel in design—and handed it over without a hint of reluctance. As they say, you can't go wrong with a gift.
"His tongue's gotten cleverer, has it." Wen Zhuo dismissed it with a wave of his hand, signaling he had no desire to discuss the man further. "Do as you please."
Once Jiang Mannü had run off with the order, the flower hall fell quiet, leaving only Wen Zhuo.
He paced two circles around the four-cornered pavilion, then suddenly sent a cushion—the one Shen Zheng had knelt on—flying with a single kick.
Cute?
Absurd!
That word was rarely used for men. Even more rarely for him.
Because he wasn't cute. Inside, he was dark, his methods base, and his foundation poisoned. So when Shen Chen demanded it, he could without a shred of guilt become the despised treacherous minister.
If anything, Shen Chen hadn't dragged him down—they were birds of a feather. After all, Xie Langyang would never help Shen Chen with deeds like those.
That bastard Shen Zheng, his behavior was so frivolous! Elimination. It had to be elimination!
Wen Zhuo bared his teeth as he flicked at his burning red ear.
