Wen Zhuo straightened slightly in his seat. With a flick of his fingers, he unfolded his fan segment by segment, his distinct knuckles and fingertips idly rubbing over its surface. There was a trace of caution between his brows. “And what does Your Highness intend to do?”
“Why is Teacher so guarded against me?” Shen Zheng looked him over from head to toe. His gaze settled on the fan swaying lightly in Wen Zhuo’s hand, and then he abruptly reached out and snatched it away. The folding fan landed feather-light in his palm.
He fanned up a faint breeze, a smile hidden in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I merely need Teacher to make an exchange with me.”
Wen Zhuo glanced at his now-empty hand, then at the fan turning nimbly in Shen Zheng’s fingers. He made no move to take it back, allowing Shen Zheng to keep it as he said earnestly, “This teacher still has a plate of dumplings left by Jiang Mannü at home, as well as half a jar of Tusu wine buried in the ground. Later, Liu Qiying will also make Eight-Treasure Thick Soup, milk cakes, steamed fish with willow greens, and Ten-Scenery Vegetables. What would Your Highness like to eat?”
Shen Zheng did not answer. The smile remained on his lips as his fingers stroked the ribs of the fan again and again. “Teacher only needs to tell me whether you will agree to the exchange.”
Wen Zhuo studied him suspiciously. “How can I agree when you have not told me what we are exchanging?”
Shen Zheng laughed. “That is precisely why it would not be easy. If I told you beforehand, wouldn’t it become a question with the answer handed to you?”
Wen Zhuo’s thoughts turned swiftly. This man had gone to the trouble of producing such a rare novelty; clearly, he wanted him to try it. Even if Wen Zhuo refused, Shen Zheng would surely rack his brains to place it before him in the end. Whatever this so-called exchange was, it could not be too difficult. It was merely an excuse to tease him.
As his teacher, Director Wen possessed the magnanimity and forbearance of an elder. He did not expose Shen Zheng’s little scheme. Instead, after pretending to ponder for a moment, he lifted his chin slightly, with a touch of haughty pride.
“Very well.”
Unfortunately, Director Wen understood the human heart—but not doms.
Shen Zheng raised his brows, his eyes lighting up. “Teacher has given his word. No taking it back.”
“A promise once spoken cannot be taken back.”
“Eat quickly. I’m afraid it’ll melt.” Shen Zheng wasted no time at all. He immediately pushed the earthenware jar toward him, thoughtfully offering him a spoon as well.
Wen Zhuo had never been one to refuse a new sweet, and this thing called cake was especially alluring—a marvelous flavor he had never tasted before.
He scooped up a spoonful and savored it carefully. “Soft as freshly fluffed silk; smooth as congealed cream.”
He took another spoonful and murmured in praise, “Sweet and fragrant, yet clean on the palate; it melts the moment it enters the mouth.”
A third spoonful followed. He narrowed his eyes contentedly. “Compared with chilled jujube cake, it is at least three parts softer and moister.”
Only after he had eaten more than half did he finally wipe the cream from the corner of his lips in satisfaction. “Though its appearance is less than impressive, its flavor is astonishing. How did Your Highness come up with it?”
Every movement Wen Zhuo made was elegant and proper, yet the hand holding the earthenware jar quietly drew it closer, fully claiming it as his own territory.
“I once saw someone make it. I’m glad Teacher likes it.” Shen Zheng merely watched him eat with patient attention, the tenderness in his words seeming almost tangible.
Only when Wen Zhuo truly could not eat another bite, leaving less than half a piece in the jar, did Shen Zheng slowly speak.
“Teacher has finished?”
“Yes. This teacher cannot eat any more.” Wen Zhuo nodded frankly, then pushed the earthenware jar toward Shen Zheng, offering him the remainder.
“Then I’ll dig in,” Shen Zheng said with a smile, offering that as a warning.
Having finished playing with the folding fan, he tossed it aside. His gaze drifted idly over the cream remaining in the jar, then settled meaningfully on Wen Zhuo’s chest.
Noticing his look, Wen Zhuo paused in slight confusion. “Why is Your Highness looking at me like that?”
One incense stick’s time later—
The brazier in the room burned brightly, its cozy heat melting the cream completely—into streaming sweat, spilled tears, and the secret threshold of pleasure.
At last, Shen Zheng released Wen Zhuo’s wrists, his eyes lingering unwillingly on the red marks his grip had left behind.
Wen Zhuo’s chest heaved violently. His undergarment hung crookedly from his shoulders, soaked through with sweat and clinging hotly to his skin.
Mortified and angry, his eyes still trembled faintly at the corners, while his body bore traces of their intimate friction.
“...This teacher will never trade with Your Highness again!”
Wen Zhuo swore it, then turned his head away and dragged the quilt over himself, wrapping himself up so tightly that not even a strand of hair was left exposed.
Shameless! Utterly shameless!
Propped on one elbow at his side, Shen Zheng lay watching him. The sensation from earlier seemed still to linger on his tongue: no creamy confection could match such sweetness, no soft jade such suppleness, no crimson cherry such vivid beauty.
Such a delicacy, with his hands bound and nowhere to flee, able only to let himself be taken as another pleased—being this ashamed now was only natural.
Shen Zheng gently embraced Wen Zhuo from behind. Slipping a hand beneath the quilt, he rested his palm against Wen Zhuo’s sweat-damp back and slowly stroked it, again and again.
“Teacher may be shy for now. I won’t rush you.”
After a brief pause, he leaned close to Wen Zhuo’s ear and added, “Though later, you’ll have to let me see how red it is.”
The moment those words left his lips, the person beneath the quilt gave a visible shudder. His muffled voice came out breathy:
“...This teacher merely ate some of Your Highness’s sweets. How can you be so excessive?”
Shen Zheng simply raised a hand and slowly pulled down the quilt Wen Zhuo was clutching so tightly. He kissed his damp lashes.
“Teacher enjoyed it just now too, didn’t you?”
Wen Zhuo’s body abruptly stiffened. His cheeks blazed as though on fire, and he did not dare meet Shen Zheng’s eyes. He only seemed determined to hurt himself, as if punishing himself for it.
Taking the opportunity, Shen Zheng caught the fingers that were struggling with the quilt and laced them with his own. His voice was as gentle as a quiet stream—
“Teacher likes me. That is why my excesses bring you pleasure. There is nothing shameful about it.”
“There is still a long road ahead. Teacher will have plenty of time to grow accustomed to it.”
“For now, we need to take off this undergarment and change into one that won’t chafe.”
—
Once New Year’s Day had passed and the bustle subsided, the capital gradually returned to its usual order.
Wen Zhuo rose from his bed and returned to the Hanlin Academy, once more the Director Wen whom others regarded with no small measure of awe.
He personally drafted the documents for the diplomatic mission, intending to submit them for the Emperor’s review. Yet, unsurprisingly, Emperor Shunyuan had Liu Quan receive them. He presumably did no more than glance them over before issuing a single word in reply: Approved.
Emperor Shunyuan still would not meet Wen Zhuo alone. Lin Yingniang’s death seemed to have drawn an invisible chasm between ruler and subject.
Wen Zhuo was not the sort of person who failed to read the room. After being denied an audience twice, he had no intention of provoking the emperor’s displeasure again.
Still, he had his own suspicions about the matter.
What Wen Xu had said before his death—that Lin Yingniang had received her imperial appointment because of him—could not have been true.
When the results of the palace examination were announced, he had ranked among the very best. Yet instead of being retained at the Hanlin Academy as a probationary compiler, he had been dispatched by a single transfer order to the remote prefecture of Bozhou.
That alone showed that, at the time, Emperor Shunyuan’s attitude toward him had been nothing like the trust and favor he enjoyed now. If anything, the emperor had not wanted to see him at all.
And yet, in that very same year, Emperor Shunyuan had traveled incognito to Mianzhou, happened to pass through Liangping County, happened to meet Lin Yingniang, and happened to grant her the title of Imperially Appointed Lady.
Even Wen Zhuo himself did not believe that a minor official sent off to some impoverished backwater could have received such treatment.
There was a contradiction here.
If the appointment had not been granted because of him, then because of whom?
Emperor Shunyuan had only learned of Lin Yingniang’s existence after Wen Zhuo passed the imperial examinations. If this favor had nothing to do with him, then Lin Yingniang should have received her title long ago.
Wen Zhuo set down his brush, his eyes narrowing darkly.
Wen Xu had also said that Emperor Shunyuan had asked whether Lin Yingniang had any brothers, and that if she did, he would grant them official posts as well.
Likewise, even Wen Zhuo—the son—had been overlooked and treated coldly. On what grounds would Emperor Shunyuan bestow offices upon men who had never even taken the civil service examinations?
It was not as though Wen Zhuo had never considered the darkest possibility. After all, his mother had been extraordinarily beautiful.
But if an emperor truly harbored improper intentions toward Lin Yingniang, taking a common woman into his possession would have been as easy as turning his hand.
Yet Emperor Shunyuan had returned to the capital alone, and the title he granted had been remarkably restrained. It was more like a casual bestowal of a small favor, with no thought of possessing her.
More importantly, if Lin Yingniang truly had any entanglement with the emperor, that pack of rotten people in the Wen family would have exposed it long ago.
Liu Quan clearly knew some of the inside story. But Liu Quan was Emperor Shunyuan’s most loyal attendant. He might quietly lend aid to the next emperor, but he would never reveal Emperor Shunyuan’s secrets.
Wen Zhuo had the faint sense that this old affair was far more complicated than it appeared—perhaps one day, it would be enough to overturn everything.
However, until Shen Chen ascended the throne in his previous life, the matter had never come to light. Wen Zhuo gazed at the faded crimson corners of the palace roofs and thought that perhaps this life would be no different.
What weighed on his mind now was another, more troublesome matter.
Having returned to the twenty-third year of Shunyuan’s reign, he had repeatedly demanded *Rhapsody of the Evening Mountains* from Xie Langyang. But Xie Langyang either changed the subject or remained stubbornly silent, refusing to hand it over.
Perhaps Xie Langyang still clung to some unrealistic hope of restoring their former bond. Or perhaps he had long anticipated the current situation and deliberately kept that piece of evidence in reserve.
Either way, once Wen Zhuo forced him into a corner, Xie Langyang would ultimately betray him, just as he had in their previous life.
Wen Zhuo was certainly capable of dragging Xie Langyang down with him, but given what he had written, it would be difficult for Wen Zhuo to emerge unscathed.
To perish together with a petty man like Xie Langyang would be far too great a loss.
And then there was Shen Zheng...
He truly did not want that rhapsody to see the light of day—to appear before Shen Zheng. He did not want Shen Zheng to learn that he had once had such an unbearable past.
By trickery or by force, he had to settle the matter of “Ode to the Evening Mountains” once and for all before Xie Langyang and Shen Chen were driven into a corner.
Shen Zheng, however, knew nothing of Wen Zhuo’s hidden worries. Having received Emperor Shunyuan’s decree and been granted the authority to participate in state affairs, he was in high spirits.
Under imperial orders, Liu Kangren led the diplomatic mission out of the capital and back to Mianzhou. Shen Zheng entrusted Six Monkeys to his care.
The boy was sharp-witted and clever, calm and unflustered in a crisis—a talent worth cultivating. Shen Zheng intended to train him, and so sent him along with the mission to broaden his horizons.
Thus the new balance within the Grand Secretariat took shape. Gu Weizhi and Xue Chongnian replaced Bu Zhangyi; Tang Guangzhi and Gong Zhiyuan stood in opposition to Xie Langyang and Luo Mingpu; Liu Chenming had yet to choose a side; Shang Zhiqin openly and covertly worked against the remnants of the former Crown Prince’s faction. Emperor Shunyuan decreed that even Wen Zhuo, who had always been least interested in party politics, was to enter the Grand Secretariat and assist in governing the realm.
In the blink of an eye, spring arrived in the twenty-fourth year of Shunyuan’s reign. Thanks to Shen Chen’s early intervention, the plague of rats that had once claimed hundreds of thousands of lives in the capital never broke out. Everything seemed peaceful and secure.
Though Shen Chen held no authority to participate in government, Xie Langyang served as his voice at court.
Over the past few months, every major and pressing matter brought before Emperor Shunyuan—matters which, in his previous life, had required days of deliberation among the Grand Secretariat, the Nine Ministers, the court conference, the Six Bureaus of Censors, and the Censorate before a decision could be reached—was now answered by Xie Langyang at the very outset, the words rolling effortlessly from his lips.
Emperor Shunyuan was overjoyed. In scarcely a few months, he promoted Xie Langyang to the rank of Minister.
At last, the shadow that the Spring Terrace chess gathering had cast over the Xie family was completely dispersed.
From beginning to end, Wen Zhuo never exposed them, nor did he compete with Xie Langyang for the limelight. Until he could devise a foolproof plan, he did not mind leaving the two of them a breath of life.
By late spring, peach petals carpeted the ground, and unripe green fruit hung from the branches. Shen Zheng’s birthday arrived as well.
It was only when someone close to him reminded him that Shen Zheng suddenly realized there was such a thing as his birthday.
Wen Zhuo truly could not understand how anyone could forget his own birthday.
Yet he had prepared a birthday gift long ago: a hand-painted scroll depicting the day they had set out for the military camp, their small figures riding together beneath the rolling mountain ridges.
At the end of the scroll, he had inscribed: “May we be trees deep in the mountains, our every branch entwined as one.” After deliberating over the signature for a long while, he wrote only, in restrained fashion: “Having met my Zhong Qi, I offer this to my kindred soul.”
The instant Shen Zheng saw the painting, his eyes lit up with startling brilliance. He admired it for a long while, unable to put it down, before carefully keeping it close at hand.
That night, Shen Zheng ought to have stayed at the Yongning Marquis’s Residence, while Wen Zhuo ought to have retired at the Wen residence. Yet in the secret passage at the hour of the ox, several candle lamps flickered around a round stool placed in the middle.
Shen Zheng sat upon it straight-backed and proper. Wen Zhuo approached, looped his arms around Shen Zheng’s neck, and buried his face in the hollow of his shoulder.
Wen Zhuo kept reassuring himself: it was only because it was Shen Zheng’s birthday—not because he himself was shameless and wanton!
Shen Zheng kissed the crown of his head, his ear, the side of his neck. These were gestures they had done countless times before, yet today Wen Zhuo trembled lightly. His clothes were neat and immaculate, but beneath them lay a hidden secret. Though he had only just soaked in hot water, he now felt as though he had been stripped bare and cast into a snowdrift.
Shen Zheng’s rough fingertips traced gentle circles behind him, and the only thing he could do was hold Shen Zheng tighter.
There was nowhere for him to retreat to. His whole heart hung suspended in midair; no longer did he call him “Your Highness”—instead, he could only choke out Shen Zheng’s name in a low whimper.
It was as if all sensation had been taken over completely. His balance, his wavering reason—everything was tied to that single place.
Shen Zheng’s fingers were long, so long that they filled him with a faint sense of panic. Instinctively, he tried to brace himself against Shen Zheng’s shoulders and rise, but Shen Zheng calmly pressed him back down.
And when sweat and tears streamed down his face, Shen Zheng merely withdrew his drenched right hand and fastidiously straightened the hem of his robe for him.
Wen Zhuo was bewildered. He could clearly feel that Shen Zheng’s desire for him was on the verge of bursting forth, yet Shen Zheng remained restrained.
Hooking a finger around the leather belt at Shen Zheng’s waist, his knuckles flushed hot and red, he could not help lifting his eyes to ask, “Whose birthday is it supposed to be—mine, or Your Highness’s?”
Shen Zheng could not help but laugh. Taking hold of his hand, he said with amused interest, “So you’re not embarrassed anymore?”
“Don’t be in such a hurry, Teacher. We have plenty of days ahead of us.”
Wen Zhuo did not know just how many days lay ahead. He only knew that Shen Zheng was like King Goujian—truly capable of enduring.
On the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, a night of unceasing rain thoroughly quenched the summer heat in the capital. The countless ravines of the Qingping Mountains filled with rainwater, which came surging into the Dragon River.
Overnight, the river rose several feet, completely submerging the Coiled Dragon Pillar.
Such a sight occurred once every few years. Among the common people, it was said that the gates of the underworld had opened, and that the resentment of orphaned ghosts and wandering spirits left behind in the mortal realm had churned the river into turmoil.
Thus, whenever this time came around, the entire capital was steeped in solemnity.
Guiding the souls of the dead across became the highest priority. Burning spirit money and paper effigies was the most common practice. At times, one could also see ritual altars erected along the Dragon River, where people jumped over ropes, beat cracked gongs, danced with peachwood swords, drank liquor, and sprayed blood-red incantations from their mouths.
The wealthy merchants and great clans were even more lavish, sparing no expense to invite Taoist priests from the surrounding regions to set up altars, hold purification rites, and conduct ceremonies for the dead.
Even the imperial court, swept along by popular sentiment, attached considerable importance to the matter.
Whenever the Coiled Dragon Pillar was submerged, the Bureau of Astronomy would establish eighteen flame-offering sites from Yongding Gate to the foot of the imperial city walls. The fires there burned day and night. Commoners could take flame from these sites to light paper lanterns, then set them afloat on the Dragon River—to illuminate the road to the Yellow Springs and rescue the souls drowning in the sea of suffering.
This custom came to be known as the Dragon River Fire Festival.
And wherever ghosts and gods were involved, all manner of frauds and charlatans inevitably gathered.
At some unknown time, a row of “immortals” would appear seated atop the dikes on both banks of the Dragon River. Each was dressed in tattered clothes, with a patched straw mat spread before him and a hemp-cloth banner planted beside him. A few nonsensical words scrawled upon it were enough for him to claim that he could divine the future and dispel ill omens for others.
In Wen Zhuo’s previous life, something momentous had indeed happened during the Dragon River Fire Festival.
