For the next five days, the search throughout the city did not slacken in the slightest. Even when the guards delivered food and supplies to the Liu residence, they proceeded with increasing caution, afraid of exposing their whereabouts.
The few of them remained temporarily inside the residence, constantly wary of eavesdroppers beyond the walls. For the most part, they kept their voices low and their movements quiet.
Wen Zhuo often held a book in his hands and read from the first light of dawn until the crows called at night, wholly unaware of the passage of time.
If Shen Zheng had not forcibly pulled him to his feet every hour to make him move around, he could have remained seated in the same spot without budging for ages.
Wen Zhuo was utterly baffled by Shen Zheng’s theories about how “sitting for too long will damage your waist and lead to lumbar muscle strain, while reading in the dark will harm your eyes and cause your vision to deteriorate.”
When Shen Zheng tugged him to his feet yet again, Wen Zhuo patiently explained, “I have read this way since I was young, and have never experienced any discomfort.”
Shen Zheng’s frequent interruptions made it difficult for him to concentrate fully, greatly reducing the efficiency of his reading.
Yet Wen Zhuo did not blame him.
He thought that since he had already accepted Shen Zheng’s kiss and returned it, he ought to be tolerant of Shen Zheng’s restlessness.
“That’s because you’re still young, Teacher. But you must take precautions before problems arise.” Shen Zheng pushed him at an unhurried pace from the front courtyard to the rear courtyard, then turned around and walked back.
Wen Zhuo had momentarily let his guard down and forgotten to mark his place when closing the book. After searching for quite some time without finding the passage he had been reading, he finally could not help muttering, “If Your Highness had interrupted me like this when I was preparing for the imperial examinations, I doubt I would have even made it out of Mianzhou by now!”
“Oh?” Interest flashed in Shen Zheng’s eyes. “Then I’d very much like to hear how you studied when you were young.”
Shen Zheng himself had only come to his senses and begun studying seriously in high school. In primary and middle school, he had often outwitted his parents, never missing out on sports, video games, or any other form of entertainment.
But when he thought about it carefully, he was struck by how astonishing it was. Shen Zheng had been sixteen and starting high school when Wen Zhuo had already traveled to the capital to take the metropolitan examination, placing second overall and becoming the undisputed runner-up in the entire nation.
Before that, Wen Zhuo had needed to study diligently without pause, passing the civil examinations step by step—the licensing examination, the provincial examination—as though he had not enjoyed a single moment of leisure since learning to read.
Wen Zhuo’s expression remained calm as he slowly said, “I learned to read quite late. I did not enter a private school until I was eight. Most of my classmates were naturally gifted from a young age, and I was often ashamed of my inferiority. I had no choice but to make up for my shortcomings through diligence. Every day, I would study several additional pages beyond the lessons assigned by my teacher. I did not dare slacken in the slightest.”
“Eight?” Shen Zheng’s heart stirred.
The last time they had been at Chunlai Ward, Wen Zhuo had mentioned that the burn on his leg had also occurred when he was around eight.
Could there be a connection between the two? Had Wen Zhuo suffered the ancient equivalent of school bullying?
Shen Zheng knew that in this world, wealthy families, local gentry, and scholarly households usually hired teachers to instruct their children when they were four or five years old. Some prodigies could even compose poetry at the age of six. Wen Zhuo was right—beginning one’s studies at eight was indeed rather late.
“Yes.” Unaware of what Shen Zheng was thinking, Wen Zhuo continued trying to prove that his method of studying had been perfectly reasonable. “I would often sit in the school at the first light of dawn, burying myself in my books until the crows returned to their nests at night. There were no lamps in my room after dark, so I would collect scraps of candle that others had discarded. Even a piece no longer than a knuckle allowed me to read several more pages.”
As he spoke, he extended a finger from his sleeve to demonstrate the size of the candle stubs.
Seizing the opportunity, Shen Zheng took his hand and led him slowly onward, smiling as he said, “I remember that during the Han dynasty, Kuang Heng also studied day and night, reading every book he could get his hands on. Even the story of him chiseling a hole through a wall to borrow his neighbor’s light became a celebrated tale for the ages.”
But inwardly, he was thinking that Wen Zhuo’s birth family truly had serious problems.
Oil lamps had long since become commonplace in the Great Qian dynasty, and Wen Zhuo had been living in a wealthy household. How had he ended up reduced to scavenging discarded candle stubs just to read by their light?
“I was nowhere near as miserable as Kuang Heng,” Wen Zhuo said. His voice paused, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. He stole a glance at Shen Zheng’s expression. Only after seeing that Shen Zheng was listening intently did he cautiously continue, “At the time, my teacher was also my birth father’s teacher. He pitied my determination to study and often let me remain at the school, providing me with a lamp and hot tea.”
Wen Zhuo had never mentioned these things to Xie Langyang.
During their journey to the capital for the examinations, Wen Zhuo had once thought about telling him. But whenever he wanted to share memories of Mianzhou’s scorching summer ground, the damp bedding during the rainy season, or the bone-chilling cold of Wangtiangou in winter, Xie Langyang would show little interest.
Xie Langyang preferred discussing the land reforms that Emperor Shunyuan had failed to implement, policy essays and the classics, the rules of calligraphy, the lofty court and the difficulties of governance, as well as the nation’s many ailments.
Whenever these subjects came up, Xie Langyang would be filled with righteous indignation and speak at length.
On the rare occasions when their conversations were less serious, Xie Langyang would tell him what astonishing new work had appeared at Yellow Crane Tower, describe Nanzhou’s prosperity as being akin to the splendor of Dongjing, or share amusing stories about “the company of accomplished scholars, with no common men passing through the door.”
It was true that Xie Langyang had shown him a world he had never encountered before, given him a profound understanding of the aristocratic classes, and even taught him the techniques of the Xie family’s style of chess.
But Wen Zhuo had also been forced to bury those humble, unspeakable memories deep in his heart, all so that he could accommodate Xie Langyang’s polished and lofty topics of conversation.
“Your birth father wasn’t Wen Yingjing, was he?” Shen Zheng asked carefully, choosing his words with caution.
“My birth father was named Wen Qimin. He was once the youngest licentiate in all of Mianzhou, and everyone said he had a brilliant future ahead of him.” Wen Zhuo’s tone was flat, as though he were recounting someone else’s story. “After he married my mother, I was born soon afterward. Because he was devoted to his wife and young son and could not bear to leave us, he never went on to take the provincial examination. But when I was two, he accidentally fell into a river and died.”
These were things his teacher had told him later. Wen Zhuo himself had no memory of them.
“Wen Yingjing was the head of the Wen family. He pitied my mother’s loneliness and hardship, so he took her as a concubine. A year later, Wen Xu was born.”
“No wonder.” Shen Zheng finally understood.
No wonder Wen Zhuo felt no affection for the Wen family and even seemed to harbor a faint hatred toward them.
As the son of a concubine and an outsider by birth, Wen Zhuo had been dependent on others while living under Wen Yingjing’s roof. His circumstances must have been awkward and difficult in the extreme.
And what of his mother? Had she been able to protect him?
Wen Zhuo, however, had no desire to discuss the matter further. He turned around and began walking back. “Enough. I’m going to read.”
Shen Zheng hurriedly blocked his path. “It’s already dark. Reading now will give you glaucoma.”
“Give me what?” Wen Zhuo asked in bewilderment.
Shen Zheng changed the subject. “The food box hasn’t arrived yet. I’ll teach you a new game.”
Wen Zhuo had no choice but to let Shen Zheng drag him into the courtyard.
Shen Zheng bent down and smoothed out the sand on the ground. Then he found a few stones of various sizes near the corner of the wall. He gave the smaller ones to Wen Zhuo and kept the larger ones for himself.
Looking at the sand and stones children played with, Wen Zhuo could not help thinking that, unlike in his previous life, he had never realized how much loving a man could interfere with one’s studies.
Shen Zheng crouched down and used a twig to draw a grid of intersecting lines on the ground. “I’ll explain the rules only once, so listen carefully, Teacher. There will be a punishment for losing later.”
When Shen Zheng put it that way, Wen Zhuo listened attentively.
“The rules are simple. In one sentence: connect five pieces in a row.” Shen Zheng tapped the grid with the twig. “You can connect them horizontally, vertically, or diagonally. Whoever completes a line of five first wins.”
Shen Zheng thought to himself, I haven’t practiced much Go, but I’ve been secretly playing Gomoku in class since I was a child. Surely I can still win.
Wen Zhuo thought, The rules are exceedingly simple. There is no difficulty at all.
As expected, Shen Zheng won the first three rounds. Wen Zhuo’s instincts from playing Go were too deeply ingrained, and he was unfamiliar with this style of play. For a while, he could not grasp its finer points.
But starting with the fourth round, Shen Zheng suddenly felt the pressure mounting.
Wen Zhuo was exceptionally perceptive and soon grasped the trick of the game. The two of them went back and forth, advancing cautiously, as the grid they had drawn across the courtyard grew longer and the stones scattered around the corner gradually ran out.
The conditions here were crude. The stones were uneven in size and difficult to distinguish, while the lines on the ground were noticeably crooked. Not only did the two of them have to remember the exact positions of their own pieces and silently correct the distorted lines in their minds, they also had to survey the entire board, anticipate their opponent’s moves several turns ahead, lay traps everywhere, and guard against every possibility.
Liu Qiying and Jiang Manü watched from the side, clicking their tongues in amazement as they hurried about gathering more stones.
Wen Zhuo and Shen Zheng were both completely absorbed, saying not a word as their eyes remained fixed on the ground.
Night deepened. The last glimmer of light at the edge of the sky gradually faded, and the grid on the ground had spread to roughly the size of a bed, with stones scattered across it in a dazzling array.
Only then did Shen Zheng manage to connect five stones in a row.
He secretly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing full well that if they played another round, he would no longer have the advantage of going first.
“I lost.” Wen Zhuo slowly rose to his feet, his brows faintly furrowed, his gaze still fixed on the gray, indistinct ground as though he were replaying the game in his mind.
That cat took everything far too seriously!
Shen Zheng decided to put an end to it. He stirred up the stones and disrupted the grid on the ground, ignoring Wen Zhuo’s startled expression. Without giving him a chance to object, he took him by the wrist and pulled him off to dinner.
As the night grew deeper, the two of them washed themselves quickly in the dark before lying down together on the hard bed.
The sky, which had been dark and heavy, had unexpectedly parted tonight, allowing a few strands of pale moonlight to spill through. The cool radiance drifted in through the cracks in the window paper like gentle falling snow.
Wen Zhuo hunched his shoulders slightly. He could feel that the temperature in Mianzhou had been dropping with each passing day. According to his childhood memories, it would grow even colder in the days to come—and the change would come quickly.
He quietly tugged at his sleeves, drawing his hands inside them, and gazed at the frost whitening the window paper. “Your Highness, it should happen within the next day or two.”
“Mm.” Shen Zheng was not asleep either, and answered in a low voice.
Though they appeared to be passing their days idly at the Liu residence, a heavy stone had always weighed on their hearts.
The success or failure of this venture would be decided within these few short days.
Wen Zhuo thought that if Liu Kangren truly had been wronged, and they managed to resolve the crisis smoothly, Duke Liu’s predicament would be resolved as well.
Even under these circumstances, Shen Zheng had shown mercy toward Liu Kangren. Duke Liu would be overwhelmed with gratitude. By then, the forces of the Three Garrisons, the Ministry of War, the northern frontier, and the southern border would all rally to Shen Zheng’s side. Even if he was not the Crown Prince, he would be one in all but name.
It was not suitable to discuss such weighty matters in the middle of the night. Wen Zhuo changed the subject and asked softly, “Your Highness said earlier that there would be a punishment. What punishment?”
At that, Shen Zheng froze. He had nearly forgotten about it.
He had only said it offhandedly at the time, but now that the cat had willingly leapt into the tiger’s jaws, how could he let him off so easily?
“The punishment is…” Under the moonlight, he gazed at Wen Zhuo’s smooth, pale profile. His voice was deep and gentle, seemingly leaving room for protest, yet carrying an irresistible allure. “The teacher will be my ‘Bamboo Wife.’ Tonight, you are not allowed to move. You must obediently let me hold you to sleep.”
The so-called Bamboo Wife, also known as the Green Slave, was an elegant summer cooling item woven from bamboo strips.
As Huang Tingjian once wrote in a poem: I have no red-sleeved beauty to entertain me through the night; just so, I seek the Green Slave’s cooling embrace.
“…”
Wen Zhuo was silent for a moment. Then he suddenly lifted his head, rubbed himself against the fur robe, and slowly buried his face against Shen Zheng’s chest. His loose black hair spilled down like a stream, flowing over Shen Zheng’s throat and neck.
Shen Zheng immediately tightened his arms, holding him firmly against his chest.
The unique, tranquil fragrance of medicinal herbs clinging to Wen Zhuo drifted over, and Shen Zheng gathered it all beneath his palms.
His pulse raced, and heat spread unbearably through his body. It seemed that only the sliver of “coolness” in his arms could offer him even the slightest relief.
Wen Zhuo truly did not move at all, allowing Shen Zheng’s palm to wander and stroke along his back.
Shen Zheng’s heart swelled with honeyed delight. He pulled over the thin garment lying to one side and draped it over his “wife,” unable to resist sighing, “Teacher, if you keep being this obedient, I’ll certainly grow more and more presumptuous in the future.”
Wen Zhuo closed his eyes. Beside his ear was the steady, powerful beat of Shen Zheng’s heart—a rhythm thrown into disarray because of him.
In the thick darkness, he concealed the tips of his ears, which were burning dangerously hot.
“Then, Your Highness… be as presumptuous as you please.”
—
The moon hung high above the treetops, and silver frost blanketed the official road outside the city.
Suddenly, the heavy thunder of iron hooves shook the treetops. A black steed tossed back its head and let out a long neigh toward the moon.
As the clouds of dust slowly dispersed, the captain of the Imperial Guards raised a hand and tore away the red silk veil covering his face. His sharp eyes, cold and severe as blades, fixed upon the men blocking the road.
In the middle of the official road, two guards sat upright on horseback. The one in front had a broad, square face and looked travel-worn.
When he saw the captain’s uniform, he clasped his fists solemnly and called out, “We have been waiting here for you, Captain, for quite some time!”
The captain of the Imperial Guards cast a cold glance toward the relay station beside the road, its lamps glowing a dim yellow, then slowly lowered his right hand toward the saber at his waist. “Who are you? How dare you intercept an official courier from the imperial court?”
“We are guards under Lord Wen, the Governor-General of the Southern Inspection Tour!” the guard replied, neither servile nor overbearing.
The captain’s hand paused on the hilt. Looking more closely, he saw that both men wore the specially issued waist badges of the grain route, and that they spoke with the accent of the capital.
The tension in his expression eased slightly, and he slowly returned his saber to its sheath. “What important matter requires you to wait here?”
“Have you come bearing His Majesty’s decree?”
“I have.”
“My lord, Lord Wen, is currently in Ying and Jing Prefectures overseeing disaster relief. He happened to learn of Liu Kangren’s cruelty toward the people and was outraged as well. He wishes he could immediately appear before His Majesty and request an imperial decree to give justice to those who starved to death!” The guard’s tone was earnest. He reached into his robes, withdrew a delicately crafted ivory tablet, and held it up. “We respectfully ask that you rest for a few days at the Gezhou relay station. Once Lord Wen has finished dealing with the relief efforts, you may personally deliver the imperial decree into his hands.”
The captain dismounted, accepted the tablet, and examined it closely. After checking several details and confirming that it was indeed the token of a first-rank official, he respectfully handed it back. Yet suspicion still lingered on his face.
“But I am acting on His Majesty’s oral command and must deliver the decree to Mianzhou at once, where Liu Kangren is to be executed immediately. How can I delay here?”
The guard answered calmly, “You must know that at court, His Majesty personally appointed Lord Wen as Governor-General of the Border Inspection Tour. He bears the authority to tour Mianzhou in the Son of Heaven’s name, and possesses an imperial commission as proof, granting him control over all officials in Mianzhou.”
“That is true.” The Imperial Guard captain was naturally aware of this.
“Lord Wen is tied up in Ying and Jing and cannot be in two places at once. He also knows that the situation in Mianzhou is complicated and its waters run deep. Fearing that the imperial will might not be properly carried out, he specifically sent us here to await you. We respectfully ask that you rest for a short while and enter Mianzhou together with Lord Wen, ensuring that nothing goes wrong.”
The argument was watertight—reasonable and entirely plausible.
With His Majesty’s imperial commission as assurance, Lord Wen’s authority already surpassed that of the local officials in Mianzhou. It would indeed be more prudent for him to receive the decree personally and handle the matter.
Besides, the captain had been traveling day and night for many days and was already exhausted. Being able to rest at the relay station for a few days would be a welcome opportunity.
Furthermore, he had only agreed to remain after seeing Lord Wen’s official tablet. Even if the matter were investigated later, it would not be his fault.
“You have my thanks.” The captain clasped his fists with a smile, mounted his horse, turned it around, and rode toward the Gezhou relay station.
When the party arrived, the captain presented the relay token and official documents as required. After carefully checking them, the relay officer hurried out to welcome them inside.
Two guards stepped forward and exchanged a few casual pleasantries with the postmaster. “You’ve had a hard time of it too, Postmaster. We were here some time ago and left two carriages in your care. We’ve troubled you to look after them for quite a while.”
“Not at all, not at all. I’m merely doing my duty!” the postmaster replied with a hurried smile. “May I ask when Lord Wen will need those two carriages? We’ve been maintaining them with the utmost care.”
The guard smiled. “Probably when they return to the capital. Lord Wen and the Fifth Prince are currently in the two prefectures of Xing and Jing.”
The postmaster sighed repeatedly. “The Fifth Prince and Lord Wen truly are working tirelessly for the people. What dedication!”
The commander of the Imperial Guards had heard every word. His last trace of suspicion vanished, and he went to the bedroom to rest, feeling completely at ease.
The two guards exchanged a glance. One of them quietly slipped away and rode through the night, racing ahead to deliver the message.
