Chapter 12#
Chapter 12#
The light falling into the study dimmed. Wen Zhuo looked up; Liu Qiying had already withdrawn. Shen Zhi stood at the doorway, arms crossed, observing him.
Sunlight draped over Shen Zhi, outlining a hazy, fringed silhouette.
For some reason, Wen Zhuo caught a glimpse of a long-lost solemnity in Shen Zhi’s eyes—a distant, detached perspective, as if searching for some dusty traces upon him.
Perhaps it was those eyes, inherited from the Marquis of Yongning, that were too deep. Wen Zhuo nearly shuddered under that gaze before the look quietly vanished.
Without waiting for an invitation, Shen Zhi stepped inside, letting out a laugh. “What a pity.”
Unexpectedly, this was the opening line. It disrupted the train of thought Wen Zhuo had rehearsed in his mind, and he couldn’t help asking, “What pity?”
Shen Zhi’s gaze swept over Wen Zhuo’s collar. “Why isn’t the Head of the Academy wearing his undershirt today?”
The air in the room grew still.
Unlike the casualness of last time, Wen Zhuo now presented himself in the role of an advisor. His robes were neatly arranged, the crossed collar reaching straight to his collarbone, and the azure hem draped all the way to his ankles.
He decided not to probe what metaphor Shen Zhi might have intended by mentioning the undershirt, because this man seemed to have grown a bit twisted after his rebirth.
“Your Highness, do you know why I summoned you today?” Wen Zhuo said, unconsciously reaching for his collar again to ensure it was fully fastened, before meeting Shen Zhi’s gaze.
“You’ve even prepared chairs this time—shouldn’t be anything bad, right?” Shen Zhi smiled.
Four sandalwood chairs were placed side by side in the study, their seats polished to a glossy shine. Shen Zhi walked straight to the one nearest Wen Zhuo, unhurried. Flipping the hem of his robe, he sat down smoothly, crossing his right leg over his left without a wasted motion.
As he leaned back, his spine tilted slightly, and his right knee pushed the silver-gray robe into a shallow arc. The posture seemed utterly casual, yet it carried an undeniable weight of authority. But when one looked at his face, he was still smiling. These two contradictory qualities somehow didn’t feel jarring on him.
“Back at the Hall of Martial Valor, you really didn’t mention the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering.”
“Didn’t you tell me not to?”
“And you trusted that I wouldn’t deceive you?”
“Well, I did save Miss Liu after all. The Head of the Academy wouldn’t be so heartless toward me, would he?”
Wen Zhuo paused, then lifted his captivating eyes. “His Majesty the Emperor is unwell. The Crown Prince and the Worthy Prince have long been locked in strife, yet neither is a man of lenience. I want a word from Your Highness: Do you truly only wish to be a prince enfeoffed in a distant borderland?”
Shen Zhi asked earnestly, “Can I?”
“No,” Wen Zhuo replied coldly, uttering the word slowly.
Shen Zhi was unsurprised. “Seems I don’t have much choice either.”
“So is Your Highness a man of lenience?”
“Actually, I have a pretty good nature. My temper is stable, and I’m generally positive and healthy, except…”
“Except what?”
“I have some peculiar preferences in matters of love.”
“…”
Wen Zhuo was silent for a moment.
Matters of love had nothing to do with him, as long as they didn’t affect the grand plan.
“How is Your Highness at chess?” Wen Zhuo loosened his sleeves and sat up a bit straighter.
All members of the Great Qian imperial family knew how to play chess, but Shen Zhi had left the palace at the age of eight. Wen Zhuo needed to understand his foundation.
“Hmm… Amateur level in the Youth Go Competition?” Shen Zhi answered objectively.
Wen Zhuo picked out the key point from that baffling statement: amateur.
That was understandable—after all, there was no widespread culture of playing chess in Nanping, and Shen Zhi later developed a passion for tomb-raiding.
He rose from the desk, his azure robe cascading like a waterfall. He smoothed the creases in his clothes as he said, “In the capital, from the ministers down to minor officials, there are over fourteen thousand men. Among them, three-tenths are descendants of the eight great clans. The best among them have pledged allegiance to the Crown Prince, the Worthy Prince, or the Third Prince, like monkeys clinging to a tree—sharing glory and ruin. You’ve been away from court for ten years, with only the idle Marquis of Yongning and the border-guarding Jun Dingyuan at your disposal, yet you know little about the factions at court.”
He raised his chin with a touch of pride, a vibrant arrogance flickering in his brows and eyes. “I, Wen Wanshan, passed the child examination at thirteen, topped the provincial examination at sixteen, placed second in the palace examination at seventeen. In three years as a prefect in Bozhou, I reached the fifth rank. In four years at the Hanlin Academy, I became its Head. I only touched a chess manual after entering officialdom, but soon I was titled National Chess Master. My prose and poetry are well-regarded. By any measure, I am fit to be an imperial tutor, teaching you to win the realm. If you are willing, then let today’s matter be settled.”
Shen Zhi’s expression turned somewhat subtle. He remained seated, unmoving.
Wen Zhuo frowned. Every prince of Great Qian would have longed to take him as a teacher and gain his support. It was he who had never been willing to teach anyone.
That spark of wounded pride crackled like an oil lamp’s ember.
He could choose not to give, but Shen Zhi could not choose not to accept.
Seeing Wen Zhuo’s lips press dangerously together, Shen Zhi finally rose, bracing himself on the armrest. His smile deepened a little.
“Don’t be angry. I just want to ask: with such excellent qualifications, why did the Head of the Academy choose me?”
“Your Highness, who do you think I should have chosen?”
“Father has quite a few sons. Didn’t the Head fancy any of them before?” Shen Zhi asked.
It seemed the great beauty’s judgment was lacking. If he had, like Xie Langyang, chosen to assist the future Emperor Shengde, he would have earned the merit of supporting the true ruler and wouldn’t have ended up with an infamous reputation for eternity.
Wen Zhuo said flatly, “Your Highness can consider this a gamble—that what you said that day came from your heart.”
Shen Zhi raised two fingers. “I can swear: from the day I started school, this is the education I received.”
It seemed modern societal values had a remarkable effect on an ancient man.
So now, he was to ally with the great traitor and, in the bloody struggle for the throne, overthrow the legitimate Emperor Shengde and the famed minister Xie Langyang?
Wen Zhuo felt too embarrassed to mention it, but he had heard that at six, Shen Zhi spent three months memorizing a single poem, “Thoughts on a Quiet Night”—what kind of education had he received?
Wen Zhuo: “I trust Your Highness.”
Shen Zhi didn’t rush into the formal bow. He bargained for himself again: “Can I call you ‘Senior’?”
“Senior? What is that?” Wen Zhuo was confused.
“A study mentor,” Shen Zhi improvised.
“No. It sounds too much like a fellow disciple.” The disdain was clear in his tone.
Shen Zhi: “…” Not easy to fool.
But he switched tracks quickly: “Fine, but I really am not used to kneeling. Can we hold the disciple-worshipping ceremony according to Nanping’s customs? I’m unfamiliar with Great Qian’s rules.”
Wen Zhuo’s brow furrowed. Remembering that Shen Zhi had spent longer in Nanping than in Great Qian, he hesitated, then relented: “What is Nanping’s ceremony?”
“Wait a moment!”
Shen Zhi’s robe whisked past as he dashed out of the study.
A white pear tree leaned slantingly in the courtyard. He broke off a grass stem from under it, and without a pause, his fingers twisted the stem, looping it around a few times until it formed a ring about the size of a finger.
Before the wind could blow it away, he had already turned and run back into the study.
He approached Wen Zhuo, and without any shame, said, “Give me your hand.”
Then, with great gravity, he added, “In a moment, I’ll ask if you are willing, and you say ‘I am.’ In Nanping, this ceremony is extremely solemn—no turning back once it starts. Otherwise, it’s an insult to the illustrious Saint Cupid.”
Wen Zhuo looked at him with a hint of wariness. He had never heard of Nanping’s saint. But before he could think further, Shen Zhi very naturally lifted his robe and dropped one knee to the ground.
One knee?
Shen Zhi suddenly smiled, then reached for Wen Zhuo’s wrist.
Surely taking this small liberty was harmless?
Wen Zhuo hesitated, but unwilling to offend the saint, he didn’t dodge.
Then he watched, dumbfounded, as Shen Zhi put the freshly woven grass ring onto his finger without any objection.
The grass ring had a dry, fragrant scent. It circled his finger, slightly too large.
“Head of the Academy, are you willing?”
Wen Zhuo stared at the grass ring. It felt strange.
But he chose to respect Nanping’s ceremony and uttered two words: “I am.”
“Good.” As soon as Shen Zhi spoke, without giving any room for reaction, he pulled Wen Zhuo’s fingertip and pressed his lips to it.
Wen Zhuo felt a warmth touch the base of his finger, accompanied by the dry roughness of lips, like hot oil from a lamp splattering on his skin, startling him.
He widened his eyes, his knuckles tensing sharply as he tried to pull his hand back.
Shen Zhi held it firm, not letting him break free. His voice was like a stone striking a bluestone step: “Don’t move. Such a solemn ceremony—surely the Head of the Academy isn’t going to change his mind at the last moment?”
As he spoke, his warm breath seeped through Wen Zhuo’s fingers, wrapping around the tender skin inside, stirring a shame Wen Zhuo had never felt before.
“…Of course not.”
Too strange!
Nanping was utterly outrageous!
Catching a glimpse of his shocked and suspicious expression, Shen Zhi, taking advantage, kissed the crevice between his fingers twice more.
So innocent.
How had he ever turned bad? How had he become so wicked?
Afraid of pushing him too far, Shen Zhi stopped while he was ahead. He dusted off the residual dirt from his knee and said in a proper tone, “Alright. From now on, the Head of the Academy is my old…” He paused deliberately before finishing unhurriedly, “…teacher.”
Wen Zhuo, finally free, snatched his hand back as if burned, quickly tucking it into his sleeve, his five fingers rubbing together in distress.
Shen Zhi’s breath still lingered, making his knuckles stiff.
But his face remained calm, pretending to be worldly. He steadied his voice: “Saint Cupid above. Since you have taken me as your teacher, I will do my utmost to plan for you from now on.”
Shen Zhi’s eyes rested on his tightened sleeve. Holding back a laugh, he said, “Thank you, teacher.”
“After the morning court tomorrow, at the East Tower on Guanqi Street. Recite Zhao Shixiu’s poem. Someone will lead you to a private room. I’ll teach you chess,” Wen Zhuo said.
“Why not at your residence?”
“I have people watching here.”
What Xie Langyang and Shen Chen could think of, Wen Zhuo could think of too. He knew better than anyone how important the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering was for Shen Chen. For Xie Langyang to fulfill his loyalty, he would surely exert effort in that direction.
For now, the priority was to lull the watchers of Xie Langyang and Shen Chen until the crucial game.
“Until the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering is over, you cannot come again.”
“Oh…” Shen Zhi drew out the syllable in acknowledgment.
Wen Zhuo said slowly, “In a moment, I’ll have to drive you out. Let today be seen as you trying to curry favor, and I rejected you.”
“Wait. How exactly do you plan to drive me out?” Shen Zhi finally had a bad feeling.
Wen Zhuo tilted his head. Those eyes, like black glass, settled quietly on Shen Zhi’s cheek.
A moment later.
Standing outside the Wen residence, his left cheek burning, Shen Zhi found it both laughable and lamentable.
No dom should be more miserable than him—get a little sweetness, and immediately have to pay it back.
Inside the study, Wen Zhuo frowned at the grass ring on his finger. He pulled it off, swung his arm, and waved it twice toward the courtyard.
But in the end, he let his hand drop and placed the grass ring back on the desk as it was.
He flicked his sleeve and muttered disdainfully, “Nanping! A barbaric land!”