He lingered greedily for one moment longer, but the wind slipped in through his open collar, and Wen Zhuo sneezed from the cold.
The three people in the courtyard all turned at the sound.
Liu Qiying’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the poorly fastened collar of his fur robe, revealing the edge of the inner garment beneath. Her anger flared at once.
“My lord! Did you deliberately put on so little just to come out and stand in the wind? Even if the old physician misses you terribly, tonight is New Year’s Eve. He has a family to spend it with too. Surely he can’t come here to celebrate your birthday.”
When Shen Zheng saw Wen Zhuo, his eyes lit up instantly. He strode straight toward the door, tossing Liu Qiying a single remark over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’ll educate your lordship myself.”
By the time he finished speaking, he had already slipped through the gap in the door. With one long arm, he scooped Wen Zhuo up and carried him effortlessly. Then he reached back and dropped the door bolt into place, shutting the biting winter wind firmly outside.
Shen Zheng had just ridden here on horseback, carrying the chill of the outdoors with him. His leather belt was practically frozen, and when it brushed Wen Zhuo’s ankle, Wen Zhuo shivered.
Before Wen Zhuo could say a word, Shen Zheng lowered his head and captured his lips. He kissed him slowly and thoroughly, pressing forward with every lingering caress.
“Why are you out in the wind again, hmm?”
“Are you no longer afraid of the pain, Teacher?”
“Not afraid of acupuncture anymore either?”
Only after carrying him to the edge of the bed did Shen Zheng briskly pull back the covers and tuck him in snugly.
Usually, at times like this, Wen Zhuo would blush crimson and turn away, curling up like a cat and refusing to admit how pleased and stirred he was. But today, the moment Shen Zheng set him down, he wrapped both arms tightly around Shen Zheng’s neck. He even took the initiative to lean forward and offer his lips for Shen Zheng to kiss.
This sudden enthusiasm made Shen Zheng pause for a moment. But he accepted Wen Zhuo’s initiative without the slightest hesitation, bending down to kiss him again for quite some time before taking Wen Zhuo’s cool wrist between his fingers.
“Looks like you missed me very much.”
“Mm.” Wen Zhuo answered in a low voice, yet his arms tightened around him as though he still feared Shen Zheng might disappear.
He desperately needed an embrace to reassure himself that seeing the person he had longed for on the first day of his birthday was real—that the surging delight and happiness in his heart were real too.
When Shen Zheng laid a palm against his back, he finally noticed that something was wrong. Wen Zhuo’s inner garment was damp, and the wind had chilled it until it was icy cold.
“Why are you sweating so much?” Shen Zheng’s heart clenched. He hurriedly raised a hand to feel Wen Zhuo’s forehead. “Are you ill?”
Wen Zhuo closed his eyes and murmured, “I went to bed early last night. In my dream, a strange monster frightened me terribly.”
Only then did Shen Zheng relax. He stroked Wen Zhuo’s loose hair again and again.
“So a monster came causing trouble and scared my teacher?”
“A little.” After taking a moment to steady himself, Wen Zhuo slowly opened his eyes. The faintest trace of moisture still lingered in them. “I never thought Your Highness would come. The palace must be busy all day on New Year’s Eve.”
“Mm. I have to go to Fengxian Hall during the hour of the Snake to perform the ancestral rites and offer the three ritual offerings. I must be there.” Shen Zheng answered as he smoothed the disordered strands of hair from Wen Zhuo’s brow.
Wen Zhuo lowered his eyes, restraining his emotions.
“Every word Your Highness speaks and every step you take is bound by ancestral teachings and ritual law. It concerns far more than your own conduct and comportment. You should not have come.”
In truth, he had very much wanted Shen Zheng to spend his birthday with him. He had even wanted to keep vigil through New Year’s Eve together, nestled close at his side. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not bring himself to say any of it. All he could do was utter words he did not mean while tightening his arms around Shen Zheng’s neck.
Catching sight of the effort in his arms from the corner of his eye, Shen Zheng could not help laughing. He rubbed his hands together to warm them before gently lifting Wen Zhuo’s face and making him look at him.
“Teacher, when you saw me just now, weren’t you happy?”
“I was, of course, happy, but—”
“Then don’t say those things.” Shen Zheng cut him off, his gaze growing exceptionally serious. “Wanting to spend your birthday with you was a decision I made only after careful consideration. I can bear the consequences myself. All you need to do is be happy. If you keep being so understanding, in time I’ll grow accustomed to your giving way and stop noticing when you feel wronged.”
His words were frank yet earnest, leaving Wen Zhuo speechless for a moment.
“Are you still tired?”
Wen Zhuo shook his head.
“Then change and get up. Come make wax flowers with me.” As he spoke, Shen Zheng had already reached out to undo the ties of his underclothes, giving him no chance to object. “I’d originally planned to make an entire treeful while you were asleep and surprise you with it. But I’m actually happier with you here to do it together.”
For once, Wen Zhuo did not stop him. He let Shen Zheng undo the ties until the last one came loose. Only then could he no longer contain himself. His ears flushed red as he retreated beneath the quilt, leaving only his eyes exposed.
“Your Highness, my clothes are kept in the third compartment of the wardrobe.”
His damp underclothes had been hung on the clothes stand to dry. Shen Zheng went to the wardrobe and took out a clean, dry set.
Wen Zhuo extended an arm to take them, but Shen Zheng lifted the quilt and slipped inside instead. Ignoring his embarrassment, he insisted on dressing him himself.
Only after pulling tight and smoothing every tie from collarbone to waist did Shen Zheng murmur, “Didn’t I say before? From now on, whenever I’m here, I’ll be the one to dress you.”
Wen Zhuo’s cheeks burned. After a long while, he finally managed to say, “…But Your Highness’s hands are cold.”
Shen Zheng laughed. “You know they’re cold now. Why were you standing behind the door secretly watching me just then?”
Wen Zhuo thought to himself that he had not watched for very long. It was simply that the scene had been so beautiful, he could not bear to look away.
He let Shen Zheng wrap him in his robe. Even his ears were covered snugly beneath his hat, leaving him looking like a dumpling all bundled up before he finally stepped outside again.
The servant had already melted the red wax. Steam billowed from the red liquid in the earthenware bowl, only to be swept away in an instant by the icy wind.
“Ah! That’s hot!” The servant had barely set the bowl on the stone table before jumping back, clutching his ears to cool his hands.
“Hurry. Don’t wait for the wax to set.” Shen Zheng took a small pinch of soap beans and dissolved them in a bowl of warm water. He moistened his fingertips, dipped them into the melted wax until only the first knuckle was covered, then swiftly lifted his wrist and gently pinched the wax onto a branch of the pear tree.
The wax solidified the instant it met the cold. As his fingertip withdrew, a delicate, crystal-clear red plum blossom bloomed upon the bare branch.
“Oh! So this is what a wax flower looks like. I’ve seen people make them before!” Jiang Mannü watched with eager fascination. Without a thought for the consequences, she plunged her finger into the melted wax and immediately let out a howl as the heat scalded her.
She gritted her teeth and refused to pull her hand back, forcing it down onto a tree branch. The wax stuck to her fingertip, however, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get it off. She stamped her foot in frustration. “What’s going on? Why is it stuck?”
Liu Qiying stood nearby, giggling. Following Shen Zheng’s instructions, she quickly dipped her finger in soapy water, then reached into the wax again. With a twist and a pull, a tiny, delicate wax flower came away neatly on her fingertip.
“You have to dip your finger in soapy water first. Otherwise, your finger won’t be slippery enough, and the wax won’t come off.”
“Fun, fun! You two young ladies, let me try too!” The young servant was itching to have a go. He copied them, wetting his finger before rising onto his toes to pinch wax onto a higher branch.
Though his technique was clumsy, he still managed to form a few crooked, misshapen petals.
Jiang Mannü took one look and immediately sneered. “Your fingers are too thick. What you made isn’t pretty at all.”
The young servant refused to back down. “You’ve got some nerve saying that, Jiang-jiejie. You still haven’t made a single flower!”
Snow fell in a soft, steady hush, while red plum blossoms dotted the branches. It was almost as though their fragrance drifted through the air, conjuring the feeling of spring.
Standing on the steps, Wen Zhuo watched them make merry, bickering with one another and occasionally scooping up snow from the ground to toss at each other. His eyes curved into a smile.
He had always preferred to hide indoors and rarely joined in such games. But now, carried along by the festive excitement, he couldn’t help rolling up his sleeves and extending a fingertip to dip into the soapy water.
“Hiss! Jiang Mannü wasn’t exaggerating. It really is hot.” The heat of the wax made Wen Zhuo jerk his hand back, but he still pressed the wax onto the nearest branch. A moment later, a four-petaled plum blossom remained amid the snowy scene.
Shen Zheng immediately leaned over and took his hand, gently rubbing his fingertip. “Let me see. Mm, it’s really red from the heat.”
He enclosed Wen Zhuo’s fingers in his palm. “But Teacher’s flower is prettier than everyone else’s.”
Wen Zhuo looked up at him in puzzlement. “It’s clearly the same as everyone else’s.”
Shen Zheng studied the quivering little blossom carefully. In his heart, he thought: Not the same at all. It clearly looks like a soft, fluffy cat’s paw print.
The little courtyard of the Wen residence was filled with warmth and laughter. Meanwhile, on the eastern side of the imperial city, the high-walled residence of Vice Minister Xie lay shrouded in gloom.
Xie Langyang had spent half the night lying in bed fully clothed, yet he opened his eyes punctually at the hour of the regular court session and could no longer fall asleep.
He fumbled around for a cup and poured himself some cold tea left from the night before. He had only taken a sip when he accidentally choked on it and broke into a fit of coughing.
There was no one else around, and the light was dim. He stepped across the icy floor tiles and walked to the study, where he took from a hidden compartment deep within the bookshelf the copy of the *Wanshan Rhapsody* he had carefully preserved.
In truth, he knew every line by heart. Even so, he still used the faint light filtering through the window to examine the text stroke by stroke, wanting to make out every turn of the brushwork—as though doing so might allow him to touch the brilliant figure from all those years ago.
Ten long years had passed, seeming like another lifetime. When he suddenly looked back, Xie Langyang’s heart began to ache beyond his control.
He could not help bending over, one hand braced against the desk as his shoulders trembled faintly. Several drops of scalding tears struck the cold, dim air.
He knew that today was Wen Zhuo’s birthday. He remembered the last time they had seen each other on New Year’s Eve in his previous life, before his execution.
He had failed to gain Wen Zhuo’s forgiveness. The knife he had driven into the heart of the man he loved had also left him wounded beyond repair.
For the sake of his family’s honor and his official career, he had always proceeded with utmost caution, treading as if on thin ice. He had never dared indulge his desires or loosen the restraints he had placed upon himself.
Yet in the end, step by step, he had still lost the person he most longed to have.
The sea of suffering was impossible to endure. New Year’s Eve was like a heavy hammer, brutally piercing the calm façade he had maintained all these years. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cast everything aside and go to Wen Zhuo’s side, to pour out the pain and affection he had borne for so long—just as he had during the hunt at Qingping Mountain, when he had won even the slightest measure of leniency.
He abruptly raised his head. His eyes fixed unblinkingly on the window paper, a rare and resolute fire burning in their depths.
It was not yet dawn. It was still too early for him to concern himself with rules and propriety. Today, he would step out of the prison that had confined him for ten years and indulge himself for once.
With that decided, Xie Langyang strode out of the study and headed straight for the manor gates.
But just as he dismissed the servants and led his horse from the hitching post, an urgent female voice came from behind him—
“Xie Lang, what are you doing up so early?”
Gong Yuwen had evidently hurried out after hastily throwing on an outer robe. Her hair was disheveled, and traces of sleep still lingered on her face.
“I have something to attend to. Go back inside first.” Xie Langyang glanced at her, but continued lowering his head to pull free the door bar.
The wind suddenly grew fierce. It pressed against his forehead and tugged at his robes, making every step seem especially difficult. Yet his heart filled with a long-forgotten exhilaration—the moving sense that, at last, he could defy every obstacle in his path.
“We’re supposed to pay Father a visit during the hour of the Snake,” Gong Yuwen reminded him hesitantly from behind, shivering in the cold.
“I know.” Xie Langyang did not turn around. One foot had already crossed the threshold.
Gong Yuwen fell silent for a moment, then suddenly called after him in haste, “Xie Lang, go and do whatever you want. You needn’t worry about me, and you needn’t worry about Father, either. I’ll find a way to handle it!”
Xie Langyang’s steps came to an abrupt halt. He turned sharply and saw Gong Yuwen standing in the wind and snow, her small face reddened by the cold and her hair in complete disarray. Even so, she still struggled to offer him a smile.
His heart softened with a rush of guilt, and for one instant he nearly thought, Forget it.
But today was Wen Zhuo’s birthday—the only day in ten years on which he had dared to summon his courage.
He closed his eyes, hardened his heart, and waved at Gong Yuwen, signaling for her to go back inside. Then, without another hesitation, he swung himself onto the saddle and galloped away.
Only after his figure had vanished completely did the false smile on Gong Yuwen’s face fade. She stared coldly at the closed manor gates.
A journey that should have taken half an hour was shortened by Xie Langyang to a quarter of an hour.
The horse’s hooves crushed the snow, slipping several times and nearly throwing him from the saddle, but he refused to slow even a fraction.
For the first time, he felt that the distance between the Wen residence and the Vice Minister’s manor was so unbearably far—far enough to consume a person’s entire lifetime.
The heartbeat in his chest was so frantic that it made his eardrums ache. By the time he reached the gates of the Wen residence, he had nearly tumbled from his horse.
Both his hands had long since gone stiff, and he could barely keep hold of the reins.
But he had no time to worry about frostbite. He hurriedly brushed the snow from his robes, wiped the rime from his brows and lashes, then lowered his head to look at the white-and-green jade cord in his palm, carved in the shape of a camellia. A sudden, inexplicable anxiety seized his heart—the unease of one approaching home after a long absence.
He drew a deep breath, climbed the stone steps, and knocked on the gate.
<i>Knock, knock, knock!</i>
The wooden door did not stir, and no one answered from within.
Xie Langyang knitted his brows and waited patiently for a moment before knocking again, harder this time, making an even louder racket.
Still, no one answered.
It was New Year’s Eve. The residence ought not to be empty. Could the entire household have fallen asleep?
He clearly remembered that Wen Zhuo was from Mianzhou, where customs differed from those of the north. Thus, the Wen household had always followed Jiang and A-Liu’s habits: on the night before New Year’s Eve, they would light the fires and warm the stoves in the kitchen, in hopes of ushering in good fortune and a festive year.
Unable to suppress his impatience, Xie Langyang tightened his grip around the jade cord, mounted his horse again, and turned toward the small rear gate of the Wen residence.
The snow outside the back gate lay even deeper. When he dismounted, his boots trampled the fresh powder into disarray. Before he had even reached the eaves, a burst of hearty laughter drifted from within the courtyard.
“What are we supposed to do about those high branches?” Jiang Mannü asked bluntly. “Do we need to fetch a ladder?”
“You really are hopelessly boorish,” Liu Qiying teased. “Why not just carry someone up there and put them in place?”
“Exactly!” Jiang Mannü slapped her thigh. “Xiaodong, keep a steady hold on the ceramic bowl. A-Liu, sit on my shoulders and I’ll carry you!”
“Can one person really manage all that?” a servant boy asked.
“Your Highness can carry Master together with you!” Liu Qiying suggested slyly. “The two lightest people here are me and Master.”
“Ridiculous. How could I sit astride His Highness’s shoulders?” Wen Zhuo scolded, his face stern.
Liu Qiying ignored him and called out loudly, “Your Highness, is that all right?”
Shen Zheng’s voice came with a laugh. “Of course. It’s an excellent idea.”
Immediately afterward came Wen Zhuo’s short cry of surprise. “Your Highness… slowly! Don’t lift your teacher so high!”
“Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you,” Shen Zheng coaxed.
All the blood in Xie Langyang’s body seemed to freeze in that instant. His palm slackened, and the jade camellia cord fell into the snow with a sharp <i>crack</i>.
The revelry within the courtyard was like willow branches soaked in water, lashing him viciously across the face until it burned.
He was an unnecessary outsider, standing miserably beneath the eaves, utterly unable to intrude upon their laughter and merriment.
He had tossed and turned sleeplessly for an entire night, then rushed here in a fever of emotion—only to discover that no one had been waiting for him.
Without him, Wen Zhuo could still laugh so freely, just as he had when they first met.
And yet Xie Langyang understood less and less. Wen Zhuo and Shen Zheng had known each other for barely a year—how had they grown so close, as though the boundaries between teacher and student, lord and subject, had been cast aside entirely?
Even if Wen Zhuo was somewhat domineering by nature, Shen Zheng was a prince of the imperial court. How could he abandon the rules of the palace to fool around with Wen Zhuo in this little courtyard? How could he allow a subject to be so irreverent as to sit upon his shoulders?
Xie Langyang staggered backward, his face as pale as paper, an indescribable unease surging through his heart.
“Day has broken!”
The fine snow suddenly ceased, and a long fissure split the horizon. Dawnlight poured down like the Milky Way, blanketing the entire courtyard.
Wen Zhuo’s eyes widened slightly. Facing the trees ablaze with gold and crimson, he couldn’t help but look again and again.
A slightly rough palm quietly took his hand. “Xia Fu has always been a carver of jade. Wanshan, happy birthday—and happy New Year as well.”
Wen Zhuo curled his fingers, pressing them firmly against the thin calluses in Shen Zheng’s palm. He truly felt happy.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
