Inside the teahouse, the flow of customers was bustling, when Shen Chen's body suddenly went limp and he toppled straight backward.
He had been suspicious of this and that, his emotions rising and falling, until his body finally exceeded its limits—he had fainted from fever.
It wasn't an act. He was truly unconscious.
Xie Langyang, with sharp eyes and quick hands, hurriedly caught him. He didn't dare delay, swiftly leaving the teahouse and galloping at full speed toward the palace.
By the time he emerged from Shunyang Gate, his whole body was aching and unbearably sore, his front and back robes soaked through.
Dazed and exhausted, he made his way back to his residence. The moment he stepped down from the sedan chair, the steward rushed up to meet him, saying that Miss Liu had come by but had missed him.
Liu Qiying—she had come looking for him?
Xie Langyang instantly forgot his weariness. A faint flicker of hope rose in his heart, like a small flame in the dead of winter, trembling as it lit up briefly.
Clinging to that single spark of longing, he hurriedly gripped the steward's arms, his words nearly stammering with emotion: "Speak quickly!"
He had completely forgotten his usual composure and dignity.
The steward hastened to explain: "Miss Liu said that, entrusted by Director Wen, she came to retrieve an item from you. I asked what it was, but she refused to say. My lord, if such an item truly exists, I'll find it at once and send it over."
The color drained from Xie Langyang's face.
He knew exactly what it was.
Back then, when Wen Zhuo was serving as an official in Bozhou, Xie Langyang had been informed, without the slightest foreknowledge, that the Xie family of Nanzhou had sent a betrothal gift from a thousand li away, and Gong Zhiyuan had forcefully taken it upon himself to marry Gong Yuwen off to him.
As if he'd had any say in the matter.
After the wedding, he discovered that the maidservants Gong Yuwen had brought were all spies placed by Gong Zhiyuan. His esteemed mentor wanted to ensure that he would serve the Gong family's purposes, never betraying them.
He hadn't dared to keep a single thing that belonged to Wen Zhuo.
The annotated books Wen Zhuo had written on were painfully donated to the academy. The money pouch, the hair crown, the silk tassels—those little trinkets—he'd had no choice but to take them to the pawnshop, exchanging them for grain to give to the poor, just to gain a hollow reputation for virtue.
Only one piece, "Ode to the Evening Mountains," he truly couldn't bear to part with. In secret, he had tucked it between the pages on his desk.
All those days, every blade of grass and every tree—only the two of them understood. He treasured it, cherished it.
It wasn't until the joint trial by the Three Judicial Offices that he was forced to hand over "Ode to the Evening Mountains."
In truth, Wen Zhuo's original crimes were already numerous enough to be beyond redemption, but Gong Zhiyuan insisted on extracting more fabricated offenses to showcase his own achievements.
He ordered Wen Zhuo to be strapped onto the punishment bench, hands and feet bound, with two heavy cudgels standing beside it. The chill emanating from them was enough to make Wen Zhuo shudder from a distance.
The rough movements of the yamen runners tore at Wen Zhuo's old wounds, and the ten scabbed-over fingers began to bleed once more.
Gong Zhiyuan said, "The cudgels will strike. When you confess to one crime, I'll give you half a moment's rest."
At the tenth stroke, Wen Zhuo felt a searing pain, and his left leg went numb. Unable to endure such brutal torture, he had no choice but to confess as they demanded.
He admitted to dallying with a singsong girl and sullying her reputation, to suppressing a Hanlin Academy editor and driving him to suicide, and to luring Xie Langyang into collusion, bearing a grudge after being rejected...
Item after item, they all matched his infamous reputation for debauchery—and yet they were nothing but nonsense.
A verbal confession alone wasn't enough for them. They insisted Wen Zhuo produce irrefutable evidence, and so "Ode to the Evening Mountains" became the perfect proof.
When Gong Zhiyuan came knocking, Xie Langyang was stunned. He couldn't believe that Wen Zhuo would actually expose this piece.
With trembling hands, he handed over the letter, preserved in perfect condition, without a single crease.
Gong Zhiyuan glanced at it only once, and his face darkened like a storm cloud overhead.
Who would treat a gift from someone they despised with such reverent care?
But the outcome was already sealed, so Gong Zhiyuan did not press further. In the courtroom, however, he wielded his words with maximum cruelty and venom, sparing no effort to strip Wen Zhuo of every shred of dignity.
"With such conclusive evidence before us, you are but a man in form, yet in truth a lowly eunuch's seed—daring to behave like a rutting beast, seducing Vice Minister Xie in an attempt to ruin his reputation!"
Xie Langyang stood just outside the door at that moment, feeling as though a knife had been driven through his heart—and even that could not compare to the agony he felt.
From inside, he heard Wen Zhuo reply, utterly indifferent: "If you say so, then so be it."
That reply spread faster than the wind. Before long, even the lowliest jailers at the Dali Temple were taunting him with the same humiliation.
The faint flicker of hope that had just begun to kindle was snuffed out in an instant.
All that remained was a slow, drawn-out ache, burrowing into the bone, one beating pulse at a time.
"Xie Lang, you're back so soon? Did everything go all right with the Sixth Prince?" Gong Yuwen emerged from the residence to greet him, dressed in a purple gown, her face bare of any cosmetics.
She reached out and undid his outer robe, then turned to instruct the steward beside her: "Steward Xu, go and prepare some light congee and simple dishes—nothing greasy. He's been up all night."
As the daughter of the Grand Secretary, Gong Yuwen displayed not a shred of arrogance or willfulness. Instead, she was reasonable, gentle, and composed, keeping her thoughts close to her chest.
Xie Langyang looked at her perfectly measured concern and said nothing.
He had always felt guilty toward Gong Yuwen—not only because she had been forced into this marriage and left to occupy an empty bridal chamber, blameless and alone, but also because, in a drunken lapse, he had broken the vow he made never to consummate the marriage.
When Shen Chen had moved to destroy Wen Zhuo, Gong Yuwen happened to discover she was pregnant.
Xie Langyang had been willing to die rather than submit to impeaching Wen Zhuo. But Shen Chen had told him that if he shielded Wen Zhuo, the entire Xie family would be implicated—and then the Gong family, Gong Yuwen, and the child in her womb would all be dragged down with them.
In those days, Xie Langyang felt as though he were being torn apart. He wished he could take his own life on the spot rather than be forced to make such a painful choice.
But that night, Gong Yuwen came to him of her own accord and urged him to follow his heart.
"How can His Majesty make you suffer like this? Don't worry about me and our child. You must save Director Wen. Since I married you, I will accept whatever ending comes. Willingly."
Xie Langyang could no longer hold back. He collapsed into her arms and wept with raw, wrenching sobs.
After a sleepless night, he finally made his decision.
He and Wen Zhuo could not owe Gong Yuwen any more than they already did—especially now that she was not just herself, but carried an innocent child within her.
He had made peace with everyone: his parents, his mentor, the new emperor, his wife. Everyone, except Wen Zhuo.
He would rather sink into hell forever and spend every lifetime repaying Wen Zhuo.
When Wen Zhuo was escorted away by the imperial guards, Xie Langyang did not dare turn back. He dared not meet his eyes. He dared not hear his voice.
He was crushed beneath the weight of imperial power, breathless and spent.
Until the very day of the execution, he believed this was an inevitable tragedy.
But in the Qingliang Hall, Wen Zhuo had posed a question that stumped him: How had Shen Chen known that Wen Zhuo was attracted to men? Yes—how had Shen Chen known?
In his previous life, when Shen Chen had made that outrageous claim before Emperor Shunyuan, Xie Langyang had been completely in the dark. It was only later, when Wen Zhuo helped Shen Chen to his feet and began to support his rise, that Xie Langyang belatedly accepted the decision.
Now he understood: Shen Chen had staged an elaborate self-inflicted ploy. So then—who had leaked this secret?
"Xie Lang?" Gong Yuwen noticed that he looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and fixed on her, and a faint unease crept through her.
"Yuwen, do you see your elder sister often?" Xie Langyang asked abruptly, his tone grave.
If the maids or informants in the residence had discovered it, they would surely have told Gong Zhiyuan, and when Gong Zhiyuan saw that piece, "Ode to Late Mountains," his expression would not have been what it was.
So he had actually hidden it well, arousing no suspicion in anyone. The only person he let his guard down around was Gong Yuwen, whom he considered one of his own.
Gong Yuwen was startled by his question, her lashes trembling faintly before she answered hesitantly: "Occasionally... you know how bored I am in the residence. My sister takes pity on me."
"Have you told her about what happened between me and Director Wen?" Xie Langyang stepped forward, suddenly grabbing her wrist.
Gong Yuwen winced in pain, letting her outer robe slip loose. In her fright, she hastily shook her head, looking deeply wronged as she raised three fingers in a vow: "No, how could I tell her? She would tell Father, and Father would scold you!"
Xie Langyang, seeing her on the verge of tears, grew uncertain again.
Perhaps the problem lay in the Wen residence. Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü knew about it as well. Jiang Mannü was simple-minded and reckless in her actions—she would easily let a secret slip.
He shouldn't have been so impatient and taken his anger out on Gong Yuwen.
"I'm just worn out. Please don't mind what just happened." Xie Langyang released her and bowed slightly in apology.
"Hey, no need!" Gong Yuwen quickly ran off, refusing to accept the bow. She wiped her tears with her sleeve and smiled at Xie Langyang without a hint of resentment.
Xie Langyang forced a smile back.
-
In the Wen residence.
Wen Zhuo had changed into a robe of jade-white and emerald, and was shouldering a hoe, digging up the white camellias from the flower field by the roots.
After winter, the flowers had withered away completely. Refusing to bloom properly in the comfortable spring, they insisted on suffering through the cold—Wen Zhuo disliked them.
It was only because Xie Langyang had said he resembled those flowers—pure and white—that he had grudgingly planted this patch.
Now there was no reason to keep them.
Wen Zhuo was not one to look back. This was hardly the first time he had been cast aside; if he had been fragile and easily broken, he would have died before ever reaching boyhood.
But he was a man who held grudges. Every stroke, every line of his past life, he remembered with perfect clarity. He would drive them, step by step, into utter ruin.
His heart seethed with vengeance as he dug with all his might, strands of black hair caught between his lips. But after only a few swings of the hoe, he was too tired to keep going.
He tossed the hoe aside and called for help.
No one answered. Both servants had gone to see that bastard off—which surprised Wen Zhuo.
Was Shen Zheng so well-liked?
He didn't see it.
It seemed he was short on manpower.
Wen Zhuo mused about hiring a few more servants and raising a private guard for assassination, revenge, and striking down political rivals.
But then he snapped back to reality, realizing he was no longer the great treacherous minister with a fortune of ten thousand gold, wealth rivaling a nation.
He reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from his lips and accidentally touched the spot Shen Zheng had caressed. His lashes trembled again and again, and the memory replayed in his mind.
If this truly was a rebirth, could Shen Zheng survive the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering?
The conspiracy appeared to be an external threat, but it was truly an internal plague, rooted deep within the Great Qian court.
The rivalry among the eight chess lineages had festered for generations, and now it was on the verge of coming to a head. The three youths sent by Nanping were skilled Go players, but to claim they could defeat all of Great Qian undefeated was pure fantasy.
Yet Nanping had seized upon the fractures of the eight-lineage conflict, penetrating Great Qian like a sieve without lifting a finger.
The eight factions, each hoping to secure victory, racked their brains to steal chess techniques from one another and leaked them to the Nanping players, hoping to make the other factions lose to Nanping and suffer humiliation and public scorn.
Everyone tried to play the same game, and in the end, they all messed it up. Not a single Great Qian player emerged victorious, and Nanping swept all three top spots.
What was supposed to be a grand chess tournament for Great Qian ended up fattening Nanping's pockets and showing off their national might.
Emperor Shunyuan was so enraged that he took to his bed for three days, throwing the entire court into panic.
The disciples of the eight factions among the officials knew exactly what had happened, but none dared speak up, only offering dry platitudes urging the emperor to look on the bright side.
Someone had to take the blame for this, especially the Xie, Shi, and Helian factions, who had lost in the final round.
But the pillars of those three factions had each pledged allegiance to the Crown Prince, Prince Xian, and the Third Prince respectively.
After much deliberation, there was only one option: find a scapegoat.
That scapegoat was Shen Zheng.
Shen Zheng had been a hostage for ten years. Claiming he had colluded with Nanping would be far more believable than anyone else—perhaps those three young men had even met Shen Zheng while in Nanping.
As a prince, Shen Zheng could plausibly have gotten his hands on the chess manuals of every faction; no one would have thought to guard against him.
Shen Zheng was dull-witted, so as long as the interrogation was laced with traps, he would stumble into the pit of his own accord.
Most importantly, Shen Zheng was the maternal grandson of Marquis Yongning. If he did not fall, how could the Yongning Marquis's household devote their hearts and souls to supporting Shen Chen?
And at the root of all this, Emperor Shunyuan was unwilling to admit Great Qian's defeat, preferring to blame traitors rather than chess skill. Using this to sling mud at Nanping suited him even better; he would not go out of his way to overturn the case.
This was the first scheme Wen Zhuo devised for Shen Chen.
So for now, Shen Zheng was useful—but also dangerous. If the old affair were dredged up, Wen Zhuo would find himself in deep trouble.
In truth, he had never intended to kill Shen Zheng. Shen Zheng had rendered meritorious service as a hostage for ten years—merit offset guilt, and he did not deserve death.
Phoenix Terrace was a place specifically meant to confine imperial relatives. Food, clothing, and lodging were all provided without worry; Shen Zheng would be no worse off than hiding behind the doors of his own residence every day.
With Wen Zhuo's scheming, Shen Chen would ascend the throne before long, and then Shen Zheng could be released to live out his remaining years in peace.
But Shen Zheng fell to his death from Phoenix Terrace.
At the time, Shen Chen had wanted to strike against Duke Liu, and Jun Dingyuan was firmly opposed, all but on the verge of breaking with the Sixth Prince's faction. That was why Xie Langyang always suspected that Wen Zhuo had pushed Shen Zheng off the tower to completely sever the Marquis Yongning's household from any lingering hopes.
Wen Zhuo had not done it, and even he didn't know whether Shen Zheng's death was an accident or murder.
But later, under brutal interrogation by the Three Judicial Bureaus, he confessed against his will.
If Shen Zheng survived this time around and reviewed the possibilities, would he guess what Shen Zheng's previous life had done?
Wen Zhuo was mulling over this when he suddenly heard a light clatter on the green tiles of the outer wall. Before he could tell what it was, a figure vaulted over—"thud"—landing on the churned-up earth. It was Jiang Mannü.
Jiang Mannü was soaked in sweat, her steps stumbling, her round bronze-bell eyes filled with anxiety, her lips chapped and peeling.
The moment she opened her mouth, she shouted: "Sir, A-Liu is in trouble!"
Wen Zhuo's expression turned icy in an instant, and he ordered: "Give me the essentials."
Jiang Mannü had clearly sprinted the whole way back. She struggled to catch her breath and, with her not-overly-large brain, tried to sum up the key point.
"We were escorting the Fifth Prince back to his residence when we ran into that official Cao from Qianzhou at the gate. He knew full well it was a prince, but he still blocked the entrance and refused to let us pass, saying something like, 'Since when does Great Qian have such a shabby-looking Fifth Prince?' A Liu couldn't stand it, so he quipped back, 'Some people's eyes are stuck on their arses—they only recognize fine clothes, not the man wearing them.'"
"But it turned out that Officer Cao was related to the imperial family! He ordered his men to seize us. We couldn't very well fight with official guards, so we could only shove and struggle. In the chaos, they caught sight of the mark on A Liu's chest! And as for that Fifth Prince—he's a real piece of work. The moment we were surrounded, he vanished into thin air. Now A Liu is being held at the residence. I had to fight my way out to come and report to you, sir!"
"You mean Cao Fangzheng, the Imperial Uncle and the Crown Prince's maternal uncle?"
After hearing this, Wen Zhuo's glass-clear eyes darkened with a hint of menace.
A mere local third-rank provincial judge, and he dares to act like he's above the law here in the capital?
Wen Zhuo brushed the dust from his palm and straightened the sleeves he had rolled up. "No need to panic. Ready the carriage. I'd like to see just who's so tired of living that they'd dare lay a hand on my people."
