Chapter 10#

No. 10 chapter#

After returning from the teahouse that day, Shen Chen lay ill in bed for two days before slowly regaining consciousness.

This bout of wind-cold was both sudden and severe, causing him no small amount of suffering. When he recalled his past life, a mix of emotions churned within him.

He braced himself against the pillow as he tried to get up, but his fingers inadvertently brushed against the corner of a book. After a moment of daze, he pulled out a copy of The Book of Lord Shang from beneath the pillow.

The pages were pristine, the characters clear, and it had been well preserved. Flipping it open, he saw that the annotations had reached the section “Opening the Blocked” (Kai Sai) in the passage: “The sage does not imitate antiquity, nor does he abide by the present. Imitating antiquity will cause one to fall behind the times; abiding by the present will block the course of change.”

This meant: do not blindly copy ancient methods, nor be bound by current institutions. Copying antiquity would lag behind developments; clinging to the present would miss opportunities. Only through reform could the state grow strong.

This was Shang Yang’s advocated view, and also a maxim that Shen Chen believed in.

Because the Great Qian Dynasty revered Confucianism, it regarded this book as “harsh and unkind, treating the people as enemies” and thus banned its circulation among the common people and the imperial clan. Only the Crown Prince could study this book under the guidance of virtuous teachers, but even then, he had to discard its dross and select its essence, constantly critiquing its extreme methods.

Shen Chen had read this book in secret. He never felt that its severe punishments and harsh laws—weakening the people to strengthen the state—were in any way extreme. He believed that only such methods could enable the Great Qian to pacify the Nine Provinces and unify all of China.

Unfortunately, he was merely a weak and powerless prince, with lofty ambitions but neither the eldest nor the legitimate son.

But he refused to accept fate. No matter how harshly heaven treated him, no matter how many times he had to tread this bloody path, he was determined to ascend the throne!

Consort Yi had stayed in the room these past few days, silently weeping. Her crying grated on Shen Chen’s nerves.

His mother was originally the daughter of an embroiderer from Nanzhou. Having inherited her mother’s fine embroidery skills, after the embroiderer’s death, she was nearly forcibly taken as a concubine by a passing merchant.

The matter was heard by the Marquis of Yongning, who was returning with his troops from Mobei. Moved by her misfortune—“guilty for possessing a treasure”—he rescued her from the merchant, adopted her as a righteous daughter, and let her accompany his own daughter.

Thus, Consort Yi did not enter the Marquis’s estate until she was seventeen, having received no education befitting a young lady of a noble house, let alone training in martial arts from childhood like Consort Liang.

There were not so many miraculous tales of sudden enlightenment and complete transformation. Consort Yi had read few books and knew nothing of building connections. All she had was the petty cunning to slip into the emperor’s bed at opportune moments. In the great matter of vying for the throne, she was utterly useless to Shen Chen.

She couldn’t even find a way to plead for her son before her husband.

Shen Chen had originally sympathized with his mother, believing she struggled to survive in the cracks and endured bitterness, deserving of care and kindness.

But as time passed, he grew weary.

So many years had gone by, and she never sought self-improvement or progress.

Take now, for example. She had been crying in the palace for two days without thinking to help Shen Chen keep an eye on Wen Zhuo’s movements or the changes at court.

Thus, by the time Shen Chen learned that his father—the Emperor—had summoned Shen Zheng, and that this matter involved the Cao family, the Crown Prince, Liu Qiying, and Wen Zhuo, two days had already passed.

Such a huge shift, yet he had not learned of it in time. This left Shen Chen unsettled and anxious.

Now he had lost the Way and few allies. He dreaded taking one wrong step, losing the initiative, and then stumbling into a cascade of errors that would ultimately separate him from the throne.

“Stop crying, Mother!” Shen Chen said irritably.

Startled by his shout, Consort Yi was stunned.

For some reason, this son who had always been courteous, thoughtful, and caring had suddenly become bad-tempered and gloomy, sending chills down her spine.

Just then, a eunuch announced that Vice Minister Xie was requesting an audience.

Shen Chen’s eyes lit up. Hastily throwing on his robe and stepping into his shoes, he ordered, “Quickly, invite him in! Brew some tea—the best tea!”

Now, the only card he held was Xie Langyang. He had to keep a firm grip on it.

Xie Langyang, true to expectation, brought him the news he most wanted to hear.

“Your Highness was burning with fever yesterday and unconscious. I came to visit but did not wish to disturb, so I left,” Xie Langyang said as he entered. He knelt and performed the grand salute—the same one he had once used for Emperor Shengde in the previous life.

Shen Chen quickly helped him up with both hands, his face showing concern and care: “Minister Xie, there is no need for such trouble and toil. I know your heart.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Receiving such imperial grace, Xie Langyang bowed once more.

“Just in time. I was about to seek you out. I heard that Cao Fangzheng has been thrown into the Imperial Prison for the crime of great disrespect. This matter involves Fifth Brother and Wen Zhuo. How did they get mixed up together? And that Liu Qiying—what is her role?” Shen Chen was so anxious that he didn’t even stop to drink water, his throat burning with pain.

“My mentor is frantic about this affair. The Crown Prince, having suffered the loss of his mother, values family ties deeply. He is determined to save Cao Fangzheng. But the party of the Wise King is watching closely and refuses to budge. I fear he cannot be saved.”

Xie Langyang recounted the matter in full. Though he, too, was shocked by how events had unfolded, it looked more like an accident. None of those involved showed signs of having been reborn.

Shen Chen braced himself against the table’s edge, a trace of worry crossing his face. “So you’re saying Fifth Brother unintentionally protected the people of Wen’s household that day?”

“Yes.” Xie Langyang nodded.

Shen Chen suddenly grabbed Xie Langyang’s arm, his eyes bloodshot, as if the vessels might burst: “Minister Xie, do you think Wen Zhuo might repay that favor? Could he help Shen Zheng at the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering? That way, he would repay the favor and get back at me at the same time—killing two birds with one stone! That must be it! Wen Zhuo will definitely help Shen Zheng!”

“Your Highness… Your Highness!” Xie Langyang quickly stopped Shen Chen from spiraling. “Do you remember? In the previous life, the Fifth Prince did nothing at all.”

He did nothing. In fact, he had hidden in the guest house throughout the entire Spring Terrace Chess Gathering without participating. And yet, the blame still fell squarely on him.

It was simply that he was dull-witted and had ties to Nanping. The Eight Veins descendants, and even Emperor Shunyuan himself, needed someone to take responsibility.

As for evidence…

Once the suspicion was set, evidence could naturally be found.

Shen Zheng did not do anything wrong; his very return to the capital was itself a mistake. He only needed a gentle push, and he would fall like a broken kite.

Who gave the push didn’t matter. What mattered was that once there was a pusher, no one could save him from this death trap.

Not even Wen Zhuo.

Shen Chen was sharp. A quick turn of thought, and he grasped the deeper meaning in Xie Langyang’s words. Yet the unease in his heart lingered: “What if Wen Zhuo secretly prompted him? At his audience with the Emperor, he could expose the underhanded dealings of the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering. That would make the Emperor order a full investigation into the Eight Veins and break this deadlock!”

Xie Langyang slowly raised his eyes, a weight of gravity in his brow. He shook his head, his voice tinged with bitterness: “When Shen Zheng met the Emperor, he did not breathe a single word about the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering.”

As for this disabled prince, Xie Langyang felt mostly sympathy.

It seemed he was born to bear debts—the debt of the Great Qian’s insufficient national strength. He was sent to Nanping to suffer humiliation for a full decade. Barely able to return, he encountered the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering and, in a muddle, became the scapegoat for the Eight Veins.

How innocent was Shen Zheng!

Xie Langyang still remembered his dazed and timid expression during interrogation, as he foolishly stumbled into one trap after another.

The presiding judge had already been bribed by the Crown Prince, the Wise King, and the Third Prince. During questioning, they deliberately led him on, every sentence venomous.

No one reminded Shen Zheng, because everyone wanted him dead.

Yet he knew nothing. As he was dragged to the Phoenix Sun Terrace, he stubbornly asked, “Does… does Father not believe me either?”

“Didn’t mention it?” Shen Chen’s heart suddenly eased. With that relief, his thoughts became clearer, and he recalled a crucial point.

“I was overthinking. How could Wen Zhuo help Shen Zheng? In the previous life, it was he who devised the scheme to frame Shen Zheng. You and I both know this. He must have his concerns. If he leans toward Shen Zheng, we can reveal this to Shen Zheng. Even if the concept of rebirth is vague, it would sow discord between them.”

Xie Langyang lowered his eyes: “I think so too.”

In truth, he didn’t believe they had to kill Shen Zheng to secure the support of the Marquis of Yongning’s estate. But both Wen Zhuo and Shen Chen thought so.

He almost wished Wen Zhuo would actually give Shen Zheng a hint this time—at least spare his life.

But Wen Zhuo didn’t.

Wen Zhuo’s heart was harder than winter ice. Xie Langyang no longer expected compassion from him.

“Though Wen Zhuo didn’t push this time, Shen Zheng has offended the Crown Prince. It’s his own short-lived fate. To be absolutely safe, I need you, Minister Xie, to hint through Grand Secretary Gong that the Crown Prince can frame Shen Zheng,” Shen Chen instructed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get involved himself, but Gong Zhiyuan kept him at a distance and wouldn’t believe his words.

Xie Langyang, however, enjoyed Gong Zhiyuan’s trust. If Xie recommended someone to take the blame, Gong would not suspect.

Xie Langyang’s eyes shot open.

What was going on?!

Why had the task Wen Zhuo performed in the previous life fallen to him now?

He was of pure nature, steeped from childhood in the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, aspiring to be an upright scholar-official. How could he stoop to such a dark and dirty trick!

“Your servant—”

“Minister Xie, don’t forget: on the final losing board with Nanping, your Xie clan also has a stake.”

Xie Langyang’s mouth opened, but he was speechless.

Shen Chen softened his tone, using the benevolent cadence he would adopt after ascending the throne: “It’s settled. Minister Xie hasn’t eaten, has he? Stay and have a meal with me.”

Xie Langyang was in turmoil; how could he eat? Forcing himself to hide his panic, he lowered his head and mumbled, “Your servant… wouldn’t dare disturb Your Highness’s rest. I shall take my leave.”

Still retaining full courtesy, Xie Langyang folded his hands, bowed, and retreated somewhat awkwardly from Shen Chen’s chambers.

Shen Chen watched him go, a faint smile on his lips.

These past two days, Wen Zhuo had specially requested sick leave.

In his previous life, when it rained, his whole body ached, yet he had forced himself to attend court. This time, he felt nothing at all, and he didn’t want to go anyway.

First, he didn’t want to be dragged into the Cao Fangzheng case by the Crown Prince’s faction and forced to take a stance. Second, he needed to race against time to reconstruct the chess game and negotiate terms with Shen Zheng.

Though Emperor Shunyuan was ill, his eyes were not blind. He knew there must be something fishy about Liu Qiying’s involvement in this case. Cao Fangzheng, though arrogant, wouldn’t stir up trouble for no reason.

But Wen Zhuo’s image as a dissolute playboy was deeply ingrained. It was no big deal for him to have hidden a “rouge thief” in his residence in Bozhou. Emperor Shunyuan would rather indulge him.

So, as long as the “rouge thief” wasn’t brought up, the case would likely be settled as “humiliating a prince” and “showing great disrespect to the emperor.”

It was said that in court, Gong Zhiyuan was so furious his beard flew up and his chest heaved; he nearly came to blows with Bu Zhangyi, grabbing each other’s collars.

Luo Mingpu racked his brains for an entry point, hoping Emperor Shunyuan would fully investigate Liu Qiying—perhaps she really was a rouge thief, which would at least give Cao Fangzheng a chance to redeem himself.

But Emperor Shunyuan coughed, pretended to be deaf, and simply wouldn’t take the bait regarding Liu Qiying.

The Crown Prince’s faction could see that Emperor Shunyuan was afraid of implicating Wen Zhuo. Such blatant favoritism left them utterly helpless.

Wen Zhuo wasn’t at court, but he had his ways of gathering information.

Inside and outside the palace, people flocked like carps crossing the river, eager to curry favor with him.

“His Majesty sent me to deliver some nourishing supplements to you, sir, and orally instructed you to rest and recover without worry,” said Ge Wei, a young eunuch under Liu Quan of the Directorate of Ceremonials, with fawning attentiveness.

“Cough, I humbly thank His Majesty for his grace.” Wen Zhuo feigned illness, reclining in his armchair, slightly lifting his neck.

Liu Qiying cleverly slipped Ge Wei two taels of silver, then quietly stepped aside.

Without needing Wen Zhuo to ask, Ge Wei started chattering on his own: “Don’t worry, sir. Though the Wuying Hall is in an uproar, His Majesty never brings up Miss Liu, not even a single word about you. In my humble opinion, this matter is over.”

Wen Zhuo suddenly let out a soft laugh. He propped his head on one hand, half-reclining languidly against the chair’s backrest, his exposed arm like creamy jade, resting in the flowing sleeves of his robe.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Even a eunuch without roots was softened by Wen Zhuo’s laugh. Ge Wei quickly averted his eyes: “You, sir, are asking about…”

“His Majesty summoned the Fifth Prince. What did they talk about?”

Nothing could be hidden from the Directorate of Ceremonials, and Emperor Shunyuan hadn’t intended to hide it anyway.

“Yes, nothing particularly important. But the Fifth Prince was especially amusing and talkative. He even sang a little tune—said it was about father-and-son affection—and made His Majesty laugh.”

Wen Zhuo’s eyes flickered, and he sat up straight. How strange! Shen Zheng, without anyone guiding him, had managed to make Emperor Shunyuan laugh?

He asked curiously: “What tune?”

He no longer dwelled on the incongruity of “amusing and talkative” paired with Shen Zheng; he just assumed that after rebirth, Shen Zheng had somehow opened a meridian.

“Er… It’s called ‘Listen to Father’s Words.’”

Wen Zhuo’s brow gradually furrowed. He had served as an official for many years and heard countless refined and rustic melodies, but he had never encountered such a blatantly fawning song title.

“Composed by the Nanping Office of Music?”

“It should be. The Fifth Prince hasn’t been anywhere else all these years.”

“What were the lyrics?”

“Eh… It started with: ‘Little prince, do you have many questions? Why are others showing filial piety in the palace…’ Then came something like: ‘Listen to your father’s words, don’t make him hurt; want to grow up fast, to protect him…’ The rest, your servant truly can’t recall. The Fifth Prince sang quickly and his enunciation was blurry.” Ge Wei felt embarrassed.

Wen Zhuo was silent for a long time.

The courtyard was so still that only the sound of wind rustling through leaves could be heard.

Maintaining his calm composure on the surface, Wen Zhuo secretly shook off a wave of goosebumps: “I see. Did the Fifth Prince mention anything else?”

If Shen Zheng had brought up the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering, it would mean he didn’t trust him. Then there would be nothing more to say, and Wen Zhuo could choose someone else.

“Just some small talk, nothing else.”

“He didn’t mention the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering?”

“Not a single word about it.”

Wen Zhuo lifted his chin slightly, a measure of satisfaction and surprise flickering in his eyes.

Did Shen Zheng truly trust him that much?

But on second thought, it was only fitting. After all, he himself had a bewitchingly good appearance. How could Shen Zheng know the darkness beneath that skin?

Wen Zhuo smoothed his sleeves and ordered: “Go tell the Fifth Prince to come to my residence at noon tomorrow. If he’s late, I won’t wait.”