Before Wen Zhuo could react, Shen Zheng had already brought his wrists together and clasped them firmly in one hand.
Shen Zheng practiced riding diligently, and a thin layer of calluses covered his palms. They felt rough and warm against Wen Zhuo’s skin, holding him fast.
His palm was damp with sweat.
“Your Highness… Your Highness!” Wen Zhuo’s voice trembled with panic.
“Mm, His Highness is listening.” There was a trace of amusement in Shen Zheng’s voice. He answered each of Wen Zhuo’s soft calls without fail, as though he already knew there would be countless more to come.
“Let go of me.” Wen Zhuo pressed his lips into a tight line.
“No.”
“I won’t… I won’t feel any pleasure just because you kissed my ears.” Wen Zhuo gritted his teeth, though he did not even know what he was struggling against.
“That is precisely why I have to hold your hands, Teacher. You want to resist, but you cannot move. You want to hide, but you have nowhere to go. All you can do is obediently endure wave after wave of stimulation, knowing perfectly clearly just how completely out of control you are.”
Shen Zheng pinched his reddened ear, speaking in a gentleness that was almost absurd. Yet his eyes burned like candle flames, desire smoldering darkly in the depths of winter—blatant and undisguised. It was as though they foretold the day when those desires broke free of their cage, and what kind of helpless abandon the person before him would be forced to endure.
“Don’t worry.” Shen Zheng’s fingertips slid to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly. “I’ll keep touching you, too, Teacher, so you’ll feel perfectly safe.”
Wen Zhuo was still wondering where, exactly, the safety lay when Shen Zheng bent down and took his earlobe between his lips.
A tingling numbness shot from behind his ear to the small of his back. His throat tightened, and he could not help arching his neck.
From childhood, Wen Zhuo had devoted himself to studying the sages’ classics without the slightest slackening. Only after he became an official in Bozhou had he found the time to seek out a few books about men.
Great Qian was conservative by nature, and books that were too uninhibited could not circulate openly. Wen Zhuo’s temperament was awkward as well; he never voiced what he wanted directly. His subordinates saw him leading a life of utter abstinence day after day and had no idea how to cater to his preferences.
Thus, all the books Wen Zhuo had ever encountered were restrained and implicit, beautiful and hazy. In them, two men understood one another’s hearts, their intimacy stopping just short of anything overt. Once the bed curtains fell and the red candles went out, everything became metaphor.
For all this time, merely interlocking fingers or leaning against each other while dressed in underclothes had been enough to send his soul reeling, his face burning with embarrassment and his heart utterly satisfied.
Later, after returning to the capital and entering the Hanlin Academy, he could not even find the books he had once obtained in Bozhou beneath the emperor’s watchful eye.
To prevent others from trying to arrange a marriage for him, he often visited the entertainment quarters and spent entire nights singing and drinking with the courtesans.
But they did nothing more than play music, play chess, and compose poetry. Fortunately, he possessed a face of peerless beauty. The courtesans merely assumed that their own looks were too plain to catch his eye, and never once suspected his preferences.
There were, in fact, illustrated books depicting men and women hidden away in the entertainment quarters, along with devices intended to heighten pleasure—things so bold they could make anyone blush. But Wen Zhuo felt no desire toward women. After flipping through a few pages and taking a cursory look, he set them aside and never touched them again.
Later still, he devoted all his thoughts to the struggle for the throne, pressing that secret corner of his heart even deeper into obscurity.
Therefore, Shen Zheng’s words completely overturned his understanding, battering against the walls of his reason.
He was too sensitive not to want to evade it, yet too helpless to resist as he gradually sank into it.
He did not know how much time had passed when a wind suddenly rose outside the secret passage. It howled against the great door, striking it with a resounding bang.
The abrupt sound reverberated through the silent stone passage and poured into Wen Zhuo’s ears. His heart clenched, and he began struggling wildly. Panic drowned him, only to be captured in turn by emotions even more overwhelming than panic.
His underclothes had long since been soaked through with sweat, clinging to his body—hot and cold at once—and making him tremble uncontrollably.
He wished he could bury himself completely, like the roots of a plant, and never emerge again.
But there was only Shen Zheng here.
Only Shen Zheng.
Damn Shen Zheng! Damn Shen Zheng!
Wen Zhuo was furious with him. He abruptly turned his head away from Shen Zheng’s approaching lips and tongue, and tears spilled uncontrollably down his face, sliding along his cheeks into the hollow of Shen Zheng’s neck.
He had actually become so shameless, so wanton, utterly lacking in scholarly dignity—like the bronze bell at Tanzhe Temple, struck until it trembled and hummed.
No. How could someone this depraved profane a sacred Buddhist temple?
Shen Zheng tightened his arms around him, his heart filled with indescribable satisfaction.
With great care, he used the dark hair at his temples to conceal Wen Zhuo’s flushed, damp ears, then chuckled and teased, “Such a grievance.”
Wen Zhuo, furious from embarrassment, opened his mouth and bit down on Shen Zheng’s shoulder. He exerted force again and again, silently venting his anger.
Shen Zheng let him bite. His palm gently patted Wen Zhuo’s back as he said, “Teacher, do you know what I felt just now?”
The tips of Wen Zhuo’s teeth eased slightly. Secretly, he pricked up his ears.
Shen Zheng lowered his head and kissed the crown of his hair.
“The moon fell into the water, then hung wet and dripping from my body. I wanted to hide him away and make him mine alone.”
Wen Zhuo’s lashes fluttered back and forth. He refused to admit how pleased he was, but he did draw his teeth back in satisfaction.
Shen Zheng removed his outer robe and wrapped Wen Zhuo tightly in it, covering even his ears completely. Then, with a single exertion of his arms, he lifted Wen Zhuo and carried him out.
-
With New Year’s Eve approaching, the Three Judicial Offices had reached a verdict.
Prince Xian, Shen Bi, had used the transport of tribute goods as a pretext to pursue private profit. The evidence was conclusive. Bu Zhangyi and Tang Guangzhi had colluded with him, exploiting the common people, and were likewise beyond forgiveness.
The case implicated even more people than the Cao faction’s case. Following the trail, Luo Mingpu arrested every male member of the Liu family suspected of helping dispose of the stolen goods, without missing a single one.
When the case files were presented to Emperor Shunyuan, he ordered the confiscation of all the Liu family’s properties, which were to be transferred to the national treasury. Prince Xian was stripped of his title and reduced to commoner status, then exiled to Zhangzhou, never to return to the capital for the rest of his life. Bu Zhangyi and Tang Guangzhi were stripped of all offices and honors, beaten with one hundred strokes, sentenced to three years of penal servitude, and permanently barred from official service.
On the day Prince Xian left the capital, dawn had barely broken. He deliberately took a detour to the imperial mausoleum to kneel and pay his respects.
It was the last time he would ever set foot in that forbidden royal ground. Dressed in plain white robes, he stood upon the spirit path, frost hanging from the branches, and gazed from afar at the mottled, yellowing Fengyang Terrace.
Shen Zhen had been confined to Fengyang Terrace for nearly half a year. He had lost his freedom, yet remained within the familiar capital. Shen Bi, meanwhile, had been reduced to a commoner and sent far away to Zhangzhou. Though he was not trapped within a space barely large enough to turn around in, he would never have a chance to return.
They had fought one another for years, staking life against life, gradually losing themselves amid power and authority. Now, neither of them could say whose ending was the better one.
The bell tower rang once more.
A palace guard came to report that Prince Xian had left the imperial mausoleum and was on his way to Zhangzhou.
When Emperor Shunyuan heard this, he received no consorts and rejected every petition. He locked himself inside the Hall of Mental Cultivation and kept the doors closed for an entire day.
Thin coils of dragon’s-blood incense drifted through the hall, yet its fragrance could not fill the vast loneliness within.
Only after Shen Bi had ceased to pose any threat, when he was no longer worth fearing, did Emperor Shunyuan finally and faintly remember that insignificant thing called paternal love.
But his soul had long since been shattered. He was incapable of loving anyone. From beginning to end, he had been nothing more than a tool for perpetuating imperial power.
The following day, the sky was clear and bright.
The Imperial Astronomical Bureau hurried into the palace and petitioned for an audience.
“Your Majesty, this subject has observed the North Star. It lies to the left of the Imperial Star, its radiance shining brightly and illuminating the region between the Dipper and the Ox. It is an omen that the succession of the realm is proceeding in proper order, and that Your Majesty’s sacred reign will endure for generations.”
The Treatise on Astronomy recorded that the North Star was also known as the Crown Prince Star. When the star shone brightly, it signified a virtuous heir and a secure foundation for the state.
Emperor Shunyuan knew that Heaven was once again hinting that he ought to establish a crown prince.
In the past, whenever this happened, he would either evade the matter or fly into a rage. This time, however, he merely closed his eyes. After a long while, he slowly said, “I know.”
His sons were few. Surely he could not truly drive them away from his side one by one?
After drinking the medicinal broth, Emperor Shunyuan dismissed the attendants. His gaze fell upon Liu Quan, who stood waiting nearby. “There are only five sons left at My side now. Tell Me—which of them should I choose as Crown Prince?”
At those words, Liu Quan hurriedly set down the teacup in his hands and dropped to his knees with a thud, lowering his head as far as it would go. “Beneath a sage father, how could there be an ordinary son? All of Your Majesty’s imperial heirs possess the bearing of qilin and phoenixes; each is outstanding and unmatched. This servant’s eyes are clouded and his knowledge shallow. How could he possibly distinguish between them?”
Emperor Shunyuan stared at him, then slowly shook his head with a smile. “Must you speak so formally with Me as well?”
Liu Quan raised his head, a smile of precisely measured propriety on his face. “This servant does not mean to be distant from Your Majesty. Your Majesty is endowed with Heaven’s wisdom and attends to all under Heaven with sagely brilliance, yet even You find this matter difficult and troubling. As for this insignificant servant, he is all the more blind and helpless.”
Emperor Shunyuan knew that he was placing Liu Quan in a difficult position. The smile gradually faded from his face, and his eyes drifted toward the halls outside. With a melancholy sigh, he said, “Only you know the events of those years clearly. Had Consort Chen been able to bear Me a son, the Crown Prince would certainly be him by now. Alas…”
Liu Quan slowly lowered his eyes.
“It must be almost New Year’s Eve.” Emperor Shunyuan rubbed his brow, exhaustion weighing on his voice. “I am terribly fatigued, so We will not hold a grand banquet this year. Instruct the Imperial Kitchen to bestow eight dishes upon each of the civil and military officials. Let Consort Zhen and Noble Consort Liang discuss and decide on the dishes.”
“Yes.” A touch of festive cheer, brought on by the approaching New Year, appeared on Liu Quan’s face. He had just turned to step out of the Hall of Mental Cultivation when—
“Wait.”
Emperor Shunyuan closed his eyes. His voice was so faint that it nearly vanished beneath the crackle of the charcoal fire. “Bestow an extra serving of pea cake upon the Fifth Prince.”
Liu Quan’s eyelid twitched. “This servant obeys.”
—
On the final day of the twelfth lunar month, snow fell. Fine, soft flakes blanketed the streets and alleys.
Although the people had suffered through locusts that year and their lives had become somewhat more difficult, they had managed to grit their teeth and endure it. The day before New Year’s Eve, every household still followed the old customs. Red lanterns were hung beneath the eaves, wine jars buried in the cellar were dug out, and the Tusu wine brewed half a year earlier was placed upon the dinner tables. Everyone hoped that a cup of it would drive away evil and illness and usher in a smooth and fortunate new year.
By coincidence, Wen Zhuo’s birthday fell on New Year’s Eve. There were not many people in the Wen household—only two female stewards and two stable hands who also served as coachmen—but at this time each year, the residence was filled with a rare warmth.
Liu Qiying had simply dragged Jiang Mannü into staying up all night. Steamer baskets were stacked layer upon layer over the stove, filled with dishes for New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.
She also unearthed the spring couplets she had written long ago and, standing atop a stool, pasted them throughout the residence. At the main gate, she respectfully put up the fierce-faced door guardians Qin Qiong and Yuchi Jingde. Finally, she found two strips of red silk and tied them around the necks of the pair of stone pixiu outside the gate.
By the hour of chou, Wen Zhuo had already retired, yet candlelight still shone from the kitchen in the rear courtyard.
Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü were gathered around a chopping board, folding dumplings. It was easy to tell their dumplings apart. Liu Qiying had nimble hands, and the dumplings she made were small and delicate, their pleats even and neat. Jiang Mannü was rougher by nature; hers were all round and swollen, and many had split open, their filling oozing through the cracks.
Holding a dumpling with a torn wrapper, Jiang Mannü placed it on the board while repeatedly craning her neck to peer toward Wen Zhuo’s room. She muttered, “The Master went to sleep awfully early tonight.”
Liu Qiying kept her hands moving as she rolled out another round sheet of dough. Casually, she said, “Let him sleep. He’s always catching cold, and his body is as fragile as glass—one touch and it breaks. Where would we find an old physician during the New Year?”
“Oh,” Jiang Mannü replied. Then she suddenly remembered something. “Tomorrow is the Master’s birthday. What a pity His Highness has to remain in the palace with His Majesty and the consorts and can’t come. If His Highness were here, our residence would certainly be much livelier.”
Liu Qiying’s hand paused abruptly as she rolled the dough. Then she lowered her eyes and said in an unconcerned tone, “Isn’t this how we spend it every year? In the past, didn’t Vice Minister Xie never come on the Master’s birthday either?”
“Why did you suddenly bring up Vice Minister Xie?” Jiang Mannü scratched her head. Without noticing, she smeared the flour on the back of her hand across her forehead, making herself look comically ridiculous.
Seeing her like that, Liu Qiying could not help but burst into laughter. She covered her stomach and crouched on the floor, taking quite some time before she could straighten up again. “I mean, it’s New Year’s Eve. Everyone has to stay with their own families for the reunion. Vice Minister Xie’s family is at the Vice Minister’s residence, and His Highness’s family is in the palace. In the end, neither of them is free to do as they please.”
Jiang Mannü felt that there was something strange about mentioning those two together, but she did not think too deeply about it. She merely tore off a lump of filling and stuffed it into the dough wrapper, muttering, “That may be true, but His Highness and Vice Minister Xie are still different.”
The corners of Liu Qiying’s mouth curved upward. She nodded lightly. “Yes. I think so too. They are different.”
Wen Zhuo slept very poorly that night.
He had fallen back into the dark, sunless cells of the Court of Judicial Review. Bone-chilling cold mingled with the numb agony, seeping thread by thread into his lungs until the pain curled him into a ball. He no longer even had the strength to beg for death.
New Year’s Eve was his birthday, but no one remembered anymore.
Water dripping from the eaves had frozen into ice. Even the distant, muffled sound of firecrackers became a lash striking his eardrums, making his entire body tremble.
Clutching his ruined leg, he let pleas spill from between his lips and teeth. On his birthday, his only wish was for the pain to lessen, for him not to be tortured again.
He had thought he would endure that birthday in loneliness and silence.
But Xie Langyang came.
In all the years they had known each other, it was the only time Xie Langyang had appeared on his birthday. Yet he had brought with him that heavy stack of self-accusations.
The moment Wen Zhuo saw the words written upon them, he knew what his reputation after death would become.
His birthday gift was an everlasting infamy, delivered by Xie Langyang’s own hand.
He had said many harsh things, putting on an air of disdain and composure. But after Xie Langyang left, he could not control his trembling.
The sesame-oil lamp had not been taken away, but scarcely any oil remained. He struggled to move his body closer, watching helplessly as the flame gradually dwindled and dimmed, until it finally went out altogether.
The world around him sank once more into boundless darkness and cold.
He had clearly been frozen numb, yet somehow it seemed the pain could grow even worse, as if every bit of warmth he had received had merely been the illusion of a dying flash of light.
“Ah!”
Wen Zhuo jolted awake from his dream. Tears silently streamed down his face, and sweat had soaked most of his bedding, which was now beginning to feel cold.
He drew deep, ragged breaths. Only after a long while did he gradually break free of his terror and recognize that he was in the Wen residence, in his own room.
The faint sweetness of steamed cakes lingered around his nose, while the soft hiss of falling snow sounded beyond the window. He slowly raised his head and looked outside, only to see that the sky had already begun to lighten.
It was likely around the hour of mao. New Year’s Eve had arrived.
All at once, he felt an intense urge to see the sky outside, to look at the red lanterns hanging beneath the eaves, the vigorously burning stove in the kitchen, and the steaming dishes giving off tantalizing aromas.
He threw back the covers and felt around for his fur-lined robe, wrapping it around himself before slowly moving down from the bed.
He had just pushed the door open by an inch when a cold wind swept snowflakes into his face. He hurriedly turned his head and narrowed his eyes, but through the rustling wind came the familiar, low voice of a man.
“Don’t wake him. I slipped out of the palace without telling anyone. I still have to return after delivering his birthday gift—the rules in the palace are terribly tedious.”
Wen Zhuo’s heart jolted. He hurriedly forced his eyelids open and, through the narrow crack in the door, looked outside in disbelief despite the biting wind blowing straight into his face.
That tall, jade-like figure standing with his back to him instantly set his eyes alight.
Snowflakes clung to the tips of his lashes, melting into icy droplets that slid down the corners of his eyes, yet he remained completely unaware.
Shen Zheng stood with his back to him, snow blanketing his fur-lined cloak. His ribbons fluttered in the wind, making the hazy dawn seem vivid and searingly real.
Liu Qiying deliberately lowered her voice. “But, Your Highness, shouldn’t you be in the Hall of Heavenly Veneration listening to the Master of Ceremonies recite the praises at the mao hour?”
“Yes.” Shen Zheng’s voice was nonchalant. “Father’s health isn’t good, so he didn’t come. I took the chance to sneak away.”
Jiang Mannü was so startled that she nearly dropped the hand warmer. Her voice rose a little before she hurriedly covered her mouth. “What? If His Majesty finds out, won’t he punish you?”
“Then let him punish me. At worst, I’ll copy the Imperial Admonitions a few times and kneel before the ancestors in the Hall of Ancestral Worship. Your lord only has one birthday a year—how could I not come?”
A smile rippled through Liu Qiying’s eyes. “Then what birthday gift have you prepared for him, Your Highness?”
Shen Zheng lifted his chin, his tone growing even more smug. “You’ll find out soon enough. Come on, help me light a few candles. When he wakes up, we’ll give him a surprise.”
Standing behind the door, Wen Zhuo listened to their conversation in the courtyard, lowered his head, and hurriedly wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
