Chapter 1#
Chapter 1#
In the first year of Shengde’s reign, New Year’s Eve.
The jailer of the Dali Temple prison shrank his neck, ladled up steaming hot wine, and gulped down a big mouthful.
Usually, alcohol was strictly prohibited in the prison, but today the cold weather made people’s noses drip like jade hairpins, and even the daily inspections were exempted.
After all, the new emperor had ascended the throne and granted a general amnesty. There was only one prisoner serving time in this prison.
“A great relief!” The heavy bowl was slammed onto the low table, spilling wine stains all over the floor. “When this traitor is shot through with ten thousand arrows, the common people will have good days!”
“As for the many evil deeds he has done, even skinning him alive and executing his entire clan would not be excessive.”
“Eh, he’s not a biological son. His family has long severed ties with him, and now they have even acted with righteousness, donating grain to help the poor. That’s why His Majesty has shown leniency.”
“Yes, I heard that the people of Bozhou were implicated because of him. Now there are tens of thousands of refugees, all thanks to his family’s relief.”
“I heard he himself accepted bribes worth tens of millions of taels, yet refused to give even a bowl of rice soup to the beggars at his doorstep.”
“The current emperor is wise, and the Grand Secretary is upright, so they won’t let this scoundrel survive the winter!”
……
The drunken shouts penetrated the narrow, dim prison cells and entered one person’s ears.
The straw mat soaked with snow and water was especially bone-chillingly cold. The oil lamp in the niche couldn’t illuminate this cramped, low cell.
That person leaned against the shadows, dressed in coarse linen ochre clothes, with loose black hair, utterly still.
A sliver of silver light slanted in from the skylight the size of a plate, solidification on his pale cheek. Only the occasional flutter of his eyelashes indicated that he was still alive.
Ever since his legs were broken by torture, he had maintained this position motionless for two days. Now his wounds had turned a black darker than the stone walls, numb and painless.
But broken as he was, he still held his head high with pride, straightening his back, making the thin frame in the shadows all the more pitiable.
“A noble arrives!”
A shout from the servant at the door startled the jailers, who stumbled backward, spilling wine and tipping over jars.
They scrambled to their feet, shook their dizzy heads, picked up the windproof lanterns woven from bamboo strips, and staggered to the prison entrance.
The servant minced forward, leading a noble adorned with a python robe and a jade belt. The fragrant tassels clinked, wafting a scent of herbal incense into the filthy prison.
“The noble wishes to see the death-row prisoner. Lead the way quickly, and keep your mouths shut!”
“Yes, yes…” The jailer wiped his flushed face and hurriedly replied.
On New Year’s Eve, a noble had come to see that unforgivable criminal?
Seeing the jailer’s drunken ugliness, the noble couldn’t help but frown, but due to his high status, he disdained to say more.
Soon, the bolt was drawn, and the servant burst into the cell, lighting a sesame oil lamp and slapping down a stack of yellow hemp paper covered in writing.
The lamplight was like a bean, cold and pale.
This was the first time Wen Zhuo had felt warmth since entering prison a month ago.
But because it was expensive sesame oil rather than pungent rapeseed oil, he knew the time had come.
“You little bitch, you got what you deserved today because of all the evil you did in the past!” The jailer spat curses, his face full of disgust, but turned to smirk obsequiously at the noble outside the cell door. “Thank you, Lord. This place is filthy, and the criminal is cunning. Please be careful.”
Xie Langyang stood tall and solemn, straight as a pine. His black boot tips stepped on the wet straw protruding from the cell door, his eyes fixed on Wen Zhuo’s left leg, where the bone was exposed and tendons were connected.
Wen Zhuo finally raised his swollen, stiff hand to gather the flickering flame, warming himself for a moment.
He also glanced at the yellow hemp paper—a stack of self-incriminating confessions written in his tone. Judging by the familiar handwriting, the writer was none other than Lord Xie outside the cell door.
Every word was measured, every sentence struck the heart, full of remorse and pain. Was this his style?
He sneered and leaned back against the stone wall, not saying a word.
The jailer was furious and made as if to whip him with the bloodstained lash.
“You eunuch-born bastard! You won’t even see tomorrow’s sun, and you still won’t bow to the Grand Secretary!”
Wen Zhuo simply closed his eyes. The firelight illuminated his face. Even in such suffering and dishevelment, his features remained delicate and beautiful, unattainably noble.
“Is he worthy?”
“You—” The jailer’s eyes bulged in disbelief, wishing he could beat Wen Zhuo to death right there to vent Xie Langyang’s anger. “My lord, this scoundrel is too arrogant. Let me teach him a lesson, and I’ll make him kneel and answer properly, daring not to be insolent!”
“My lord, please step aside. I’ll flay his skin!” Someone chimed in.
“Let me!”
“All of you, get out!” Xie Langyang’s face twisted, the resentment and gloom on his seal-like features pressing down layer by layer, completely devoid of his usual dignified elegance.
The jailer immediately stopped talking, unsure of what Xie Langyang meant, and could only retreat timidly.
Once the jailers had scurried away, the dignified Grand Secretary of the court suddenly went weak in the knees, thudding down to kneel before Wen Zhuo. His eyes were bloodshot, his heart full of bitterness—
“Wanshan, I’m sorry. My wife is pregnant. I really… had no choice.”
If the whole world saw this scene, they would either think Xie Langyang had gone mad or think they themselves had gone mad.
Since ancient times, honest officials and corrupt officials, loyal ministers and treacherous ministers have been irreconcilable.
How could a loyal minister kneel before a treacherous minister, weeping in guilt?
Wen Zhuo sneered as he looked at Xie Langyang.
In the blink of an eye, Xie Langyang had become disheveled. His official robe was soaked through with snow water, his black boots stained with mud, two streams of hot tears running down his jade-white face, and his fingernails filled with rotten wood shavings.
So heartbroken, as if it weren’t him who had impeached Wen Zhuo for framing loyal officials and harming the princes.
If he hadn’t experienced it himself, Wen Zhuo would find it hard to believe that the upright and honorable Lord Xie, the one who crossed mountains to pluck a camellia for him, would be the one to push him into an irredeemable abyss.
“You, wife, pregnant.” He enunciated each word slowly, as if trying to crush that flickering flame in his palm. “Lord Xie has certainly been in good spirits this past month.”
In the month of his trial, in the month of his torturous suffering, Xie Langyang’s official career had flourished, and he held a warm fragrance in his arms.
“I… I was exhausted and drank too much. I have no memory of it.” This statement seemed to cut precisely into Xie Langyang’s pain. His expression instantly fell, looking lost and dejected. “I would not regret dying, but the bloodline of my Xie family is innocent. His Majesty used this to coerce me… In this life, I am destined to fail you.”
“Xie Langyang.” Wen Zhuo smiled lazily. He picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, and signed the self-incriminating confession. Unfortunately, his hand was weak, his broken fingers powerless, no longer possessing his former elegance.
Then he threw the brush in front of Xie Langyang’s face, as if he couldn’t stand to look at it any longer: “If I could live another life, I would make sure you have no place to be buried.”
Seeing this deep resentment, some might think Wen Zhuo was wronged, that there was more to the story.
That would be a mistake.
He was indeed a detestable, hateful, deceitful and power-abusing treacherous minister, perfect for a man of integrity like Xie Langyang to overthrow.
But it was Xie Langyang who led him down this irreversible path of same-sex love, and in the end, it was Wen Zhuo who was left to wither alone.
Hearing this, Xie Langyang’s form trembled. All his melancholy turned into an ethereal hope: “I once thought that perhaps there could really be a Penglai mirage in this world, where there is a you and me who didn’t enter officialdom during the imperial exams. I would take you far away and never fail you again.”
That’s just talk. Whoever takes it seriously would be the biggest fool under heaven.
A man so devoted would not marry the daughter of the former Grand Secretary, nor would he get her pregnant.
Of course, he had many excuses: family mission, unrepayable teacher’s grace, bloodline continuation, no marital affection.
Wen Zhuo used to believe him.
Everyone said that Director Wen was promiscuous and flirtatious, dallying everywhere. But in fact, he had never had a relationship with anyone.
Wen Zhuo liked men. This was a taboo in the Great Qian Dynasty, and also his dead end.
Three years ago, the old emperor fell gravely ill, and the struggle among the seven princes officially began.
Among the old emperor’s many sons, the Sixth Prince Shen Chen was not the most talented.
The reason Wen Zhuo chose Shen Chen was because Shen Chen had argued before the old emperor that liking the same sex was not shameful, hoping that His Majesty would open up discussion and correct the public view.
At the time, the old emperor was furious and kicked him hard. Considering his youth, he punished him to kneel for three full hours in front of the Cooling Hall.
Coincidentally, a torrential rain fell, like awls and arrows. Wen Zhuo held an umbrella and walked to the front of the hall, pulling Shen Chen’s cold hand.
Shen Chen’s eyes were red, and he fell into Wen Zhuo’s arms, sobbing, “Teacher Wen.”
Thinking of Xie Langyang, who had never been involved in factional struggles and was unwilling to take anyone as a student, Wen Zhuo agreed, “Mm.”
Shen Chen’s legitimate wife and Xie Langyang’s wife were sisters, so naturally, Xie Langyang also became Shen Chen’s man.
This made Wen Zhuo mistakenly believe that they were working toward the same goal.
Xie Langyang was upright and strict with himself. Wen Zhuo couldn’t bear to let him fall into the scheming of the succession struggle.
So whoever Shen Chen feared, he eliminated.
Whatever money Shen Chen coveted, he seized.
Whatever power Shen Chen wanted, he took.
After all, being a pure minister was Xie Langyang’s lifelong wish.
“Get out.” Wen Zhuo said to Xie Langyang.
Xie Langyang crawled closer to the cell door, tears streaming along the bridge of his nose. Trembling, he reached out to touch Wen Zhuo’s broken left leg: “Believe it or not, I just want to keep looking at you…”
But he knew very well that once the self-incriminating confession was submitted, Wen Zhuo would die.
This death warrant was written by his own hand and personally delivered.
On the day of execution, the snow had just melted, and the round sun hung in the sky. A line of imperial archers in silver armor with red scarves covering their faces ran to the front of the hall, arrows in hand.
Wen Zhuo’s limbs were bound to a stake, and a large circle was drawn in red ink over his heart.
Shen Chen walked up to him. The once timid, startled boy finally shed his disguise: “I forgot to tell you, Teacher. The woman Jiang Man from your mansion tried to break into the prison and was hacked to death by the Left Guard, then fed to wild dogs. Your steward Liu Qiyang gathered a petition of ten thousand names to plead for you, but he was slit throat, bled out, and his head hung at the South Gate.”
The person before him was never the boy shivering in the rain, never the good student who wept and cried, “I only have Teacher Wen.”
A line of tears flowed down his frozen cheeks, like a red-hot iron slicing into his flesh.
Wen Zhuo laughed until he coughed.
How strange. He was known for seeing the subtlest signs and being a living Zhuge Liang. How had he been deceived by this pack of beasts?
When he had laughed enough, he forced back his nausea and said, “Shen Chen, if I could return to the twenty-third year of Shunyuan, the one sitting on this throne today would not be you.”
“Teacher can regret it in the next life.” Shen Chen’s eyes were cold and wolf-like, revealing his ruthlessness. Then he flicked his robe, turned, and stepped onto the supreme seat Wen Zhuo had seized for him.
The eunuch screeched, “The time has come! Archers!”
All the ministers prostrated themselves and shouted, “Eliminate the traitor, stabilize the state!”
The shouts came from all directions, converging into a monstrous wave that violently battered Wen Zhuo’s eardrums. Then, a sharper, more piercing sound broke through the shouting, cutting through the air—
Pfft!
The arrowhead pierced through Wen Zhuo’s flesh, sinews, and bones, bursting out from his shoulder blade and clattering to the ground.
He only felt a warmth at his shoulder, and then violent pain exploded from deep within, spreading to every nerve.
The second arrow, the third…
Blood soaked through his prison clothes. The biting wind had just frozen the torn wounds when they were melted again by hotter blood. He lost even the strength to groan in pain.
In the end, it was nothing more than this.
On the verge of death, Shen Chen walked over through the pool of blood, wearing that expression of disgust that was both familiar and strange, and cruelly crushed his last shred of pride.
“As a man, willingly lying beneath another, you truly disgust me.”
Wen Zhuo was nearly numb, his vision gradually invaded by uneven black spots.
Just then, the sky suddenly changed!
The round sun hanging high was suddenly swallowed by a patch of shadow, and the earth grew dim in an instant.
The ministers looked up, frightened by this solar eclipse, only to see a sliver of celestial light suddenly leak from the center of the shadow, slashing straight down, cutting through the central axis of the imperial palace.
Wen Zhuo dimly saw the vermilion walls, high tiles, and long steps before him shatter with a roar, and from the crack came the sound of a downpour of rain.
And standing with him on that central axis were a ashen-faced Xie Langyang and a frowning Shen Chen.