Chapter 15#
No. 15 chapter#
Two days remained before the Spring Terrace Go Tournament began, and Huyangmen Avenue was already being prepared. The ward officials drove away the nearby vendors, clearing a playing field large enough to accommodate several thousand spectators.
Spring was rainy, so a canopy was erected over the field to ensure the matches wouldn’t be interrupted mid-game.
Go players from various prefectures had gradually arrived, filling every inn and tavern in the capital to overflowing—the bustle rivaled that of the imperial examinations.
Shang Zhijin said the Ministry of Works had spent some money setting up the stage at Huyangmen and needed reimbursement.
Shunyuandi looked at Bu Zhangyi.
They were both part of the Virtuous Prince Faction—what difference did it make whose pocket it came from? Bu Zhangyi quickly said, “Reimburse, reimburse. I’ll immediately check the accounts with Minister Shang.”
Luo Mingpu seized the opportunity to say that the Ministry of Justice was also short on funds—the rats had gnawed the wood in the prison cells, and a major rodent extermination was urgently needed.
Bu Zhangyi immediately began complaining: “Money is needed everywhere. The Ministry of Revenue has no surplus grain left. Please, brothers at the Ministry of Justice, hold on a little longer.”
Luo Mingpu fumed: “My Ministry of Justice handles legitimate business!”
Bu Zhangyi: “What are you saying? Isn’t everyone here handling legitimate business?”
Luo Mingpu: “Bu Zhangyi, you’re doing this on purpose!”
Bu Zhangyi: “Luo Mingpu, you’re slandering me!”
And so their daily court hair-pulling began again.
If one said that factional struggles were lofty and remote, what did winning or losing have to do with common folk?
This was precisely where it mattered.
In the twenty-fourth year of Shunyuan’s reign, an unprecedented rat plague broke out in the capital, infecting hundreds of thousands, and the dead piled up like mountains.
Corpses lay uncollected in every street and alley.
But even knowing this in advance—so what?
When nothing was happening, the struggles continued as before. As for taking precautions beforehand, that was something to consider only after gaining power.
Some mistakes were bound to happen. They happened to individuals, and they happened to nations. A wrong decision—even if everyone knew it was wrong—would be pushed forward until it could go no further, because in many people’s minds, execution was far more important than right or wrong.
The person on the dragon throne tapped the armrest, expression weary, looking as if he wanted to escape this noisy place.
“Wanshan.”
“Your servant is here.”
“I have heard that a player from Nanping has arrived in the capital and was making a racket outside the four great Go academies, speaking with arrogance and treating all our Great Qian players as if they were nothing. Is this true?”
Wen Zhuo lowered his eyes. “It is indeed true.”
Shunyuandi suddenly smiled. “The people of Nanping—still so ignorant of the heavens and the earth. No need to bother with them now. Once the Spring Terrace Tournament begins, let them witness the profound foundation of our Great Qian Go tradition and understand what it means to be the bone and marrow of a celestial dynasty!”
Wen Zhuo curled his lips, but Shunyuandi didn’t catch the mockery in his eyes. “Then when I meet the Nanping envoy tomorrow, I shall convey Your Majesty’s gracious pardon to them.”
At this moment, Shunyuandi still had no idea that due to the intertwining interests between the Eight Veins and the princes, Great Qian would ultimately suffer a crushing defeat.
And he would, burying his head in the sand, ignore the accumulated ills within the court and government, and crudely place the blame for all these consequences on that unfamiliar son of his.
As soon as court was dismissed, Wen Zhuo was about to keep his appointment with Shen Zheng when he was waylaid by members of the Eight Veins faction in the court.
“President Wen, how about I accompany you tomorrow to meet the Nanping envoy? The disciples of my Shi Clan have long been sharpening their blades—itching for a fight.”
“Add my Helian Clan to that. I hear those three genius youths from Nanping are only nineteen. At such a tender age, what accomplishments could they possibly have? All bragging, nothing more.”
“Our Great Qian is teeming with talent. The founders of the Eight Veins were already in their thirties when they established their schools. Can the Nanping people surpass them?”
“Exactly. In Great Qian, being granted the title of National Hand at twenty-two is already exceptionally rare. How dare Nanping send nineteen-year-olds?”
“This time, to display our national might, my Xiao Clan takes the lead without hesitation!”
“Save your breath, fellow officials. The Xie Clan this time is sending a scion of the main branch, who has received the true transmission of the All-Veins National Hand.”
Wen Zhuo watched their faces brimming with fervor and found it a beautiful spectacle.
He remembered some of these faces very clearly. On the day he was pierced by a thousand arrows, they had shouted “Eliminate the traitor, pacify the state!” with the same fervor—as if a quieter voice or a moment less of passion would fail to convey their righteous indignation.
As they watched the arrows tear through his body, watching him fall to the ground covered in blood, they seemed like bloodthirsty jackals, finally witnessing a grand feast.
Shen Chen needed their flattery; he needed them to play along. They had formed a certain tacit understanding—all the shady deeds done during the three-year struggle for the throne could finally vanish like smoke the moment Wen Zhuo died.
Now the roles had reversed. The taste of being the feast was not good, and they too deserved a taste.
Wen Zhuo suddenly, with great interest, turned his gaze toward Xie Langyang.
“The Xie Clan’s ambitions are lofty this time, with a scion of the main branch taking the field in person. Vice Minister Xie, don’t you have something to say… to send him off nicely?”
Xie Langyang had been eagerly looking forward to exchanging a few words with Wen Zhuo, but now that the moment had come, he always felt timid.
Wen Zhuo had long known this reaction. As a reborn man, they both knew the truth behind the Spring Terrace Go Tournament. Xie Langyang had a thousand chances to plead with Shunyuandi about this matter—able both to reverse Great Qian’s defeat and to protect the Fifth Prince he pitied.
But Xie Langyang did not.
Once, Wen Zhuo thought he himself was walking the path of shady schemes and devious plots, and therefore never associated with the pure streams.
Upon later reflection, the purity of the pure stream was merely the purity of arrogance.
“It seems Vice Minister Xie isn’t too confident in his clan’s talents. Then, as President, I can only place my hope in all of you from the Helian, Shi, and Xiao Clans to shine brilliantly.”
Farewell to all of your talented men.
With a smile from Wen Zhuo, the entire hall seemed to glow. Several senior officials felt gratified by his words and were instantly elated.
A Communication Commissioner from the Xie Clan secretly tugged at Xie Langyang. He too was a branch of the Xie family from Nanzhou—if one were to speak of kinship, he was even Xie Langyang’s uncle by the paternal line.
He whispered in Xie Langyang’s ear: “Hengze, you and President Wen were fellow students, and you’re on close terms. Why not ask him to bend the rules a little, so that in the draw, the players of our Xie Clan can avoid exhausting their energy…”
Xie Langyang’s eyes shot open. He couldn’t believe that an elder he had always respected would utter such an unjust request.
“Uncle!”
The Commissioner smiled and patted his arm. “Your cousin Xie Qian is participating this time. Remember? When he was little, he always liked to run after you. You must help your cousin.”
Xie Langyang stood frozen for a long time without speaking, then slowly forced a bitter smile.
Yes.
The one who would lose to the Nanping player was his own relative, his cousin Xie Qian. The reason Shen Chen dared to entrust this matter to him was because he knew that after weighing pros and cons, Xie Langyang would have no choice.
How could there be a perfect solution in this world?
He could only think of the Xie family and the new sovereign.
After speaking, the Commissioner casually remarked, “Hengze, that tassel of yours is really nice. Looks handmade.”
Xie Langyang was startled. He looked down and saw a small, elegant lotus-pink wish-fulfilling tassel hanging from the belt of his official robe—delicate and graceful.
On ordinary days, his court robes were put on by maidservants. He always stood with arms outstretched and chin lifted, never looking down, so he had no idea when this tassel had appeared on him.
Xie Langyang’s thoughts drifted back several years. When Wen Zhuo was about to leave for Bozhou, he had given Xie Langyang these little trinkets as a farewell gift. Later, afraid they might cause trouble, Xie Langyang had reluctantly sold them.
When Wen Zhuo returned to court three years later, his temperament had changed. He never gave Xie Langyang a good face in the court.
What if Wen Zhuo had seen that Xie Langyang no longer wore the old gifts, but instead had a tassel given by someone else hanging daily at his waist?
With this thought, Xie Langyang clenched his fingers, jerked his wrist down sharply—rip—and tore the tassel off forcefully.
A long red mark was left on his palm, but he felt no pain—only a creeping chill.
How many more subtle details had he overlooked?
Could it be that he had actually misunderstood Wen Zhuo on some matters?
In his confusion, Xie Langyang seized upon a thread of clarity and wanted to explain. So, disregarding all etiquette, he shook off the Commissioner and strode toward the long corridor of the imperial hall.
Once in his sedan chair, he urged, “To President Wen’s residence!”
But at that very moment, a small red-lacquer sedan chair turned at the street corner, heading straight for Guangi Street, passing him by.
The moment Wen Zhuo entered the Jiazifang room, before he could steady himself, a cold date cake was offered to his mouth.
Shen Zheng swung the oil-paper bag in his hand, raising an eyebrow as if seeking praise: “I washed my hands. Eat.”
Wen Zhuo was startled.
After all, Shen Zheng was a prince and a student, while he was a minister and a teacher—it was hardly appropriate for Shen Zheng to feed him.
It simply violated propriety and hierarchy.
But it was cold date cake—his favorite. Made by Granny Wang of Huyangmen, using a twenty-year-old family recipe, with the finest golden-thread dates from Cangzhou and top-grade soft white sugar from Jiangnan, limited to eight hundred pieces daily.
Wen Zhuo paused for a moment, then slightly bent down, parted his lips, and with restrained grace, bit into the cold date cake, slowly drawing it into his mouth.
The fragrance of dates was sweet, the cake soft and sticky—so good it made him want to compose poetry.
“Don’t do it again,” he said after he finished.
“Don’t do what again? That I shouldn’t buy it anymore, or that I shouldn’t feed you anymore?” Shen Zheng’s thinking was alarmingly clear; he insisted on getting an exact answer.
Wen Zhuo lifted his robes and sat down, answering the question with another: “How did you know I like this?”
Shen Zheng brushed the cake crumbs off his hands. “I asked Miss Liu.”
At that, Wen Zhuo grew anxious. “Didn’t I tell you not to come to my residence!”
Shen Zheng handed him the remaining bag of cakes. “Don’t worry. I had a servant from the Yongning Marquis’s household make inquiries for me. We even used a secret code.”
Wen Zhuo’s expression relaxed slightly. “Why did you go to these lengths to find out?”
Shen Zheng looked as if it were only natural. “Given our relationship, what’s wrong with me learning your tastes and trying to make you happy?”
Wen Zhuo felt a subtle stir in his heart.
He had once been deeply moved by Xie Langyang’s generous assistance and meticulous care, and by Shen Chen’s understanding words and the sleeve warmers woven by Consort Yi. At the time, he thought such warmth was rare in the world, never realizing that perhaps it was only because he had received so little tenderness since childhood that the slightest kindness from others made him treasure it like a priceless gem.
Wen Zhuo looked at the bag of cold date cakes. Called “cold cakes,” they came out steaming hot, warm and sweet in his stomach—the two flavors he had lacked most in his past years.
“Thank you,” Wen Zhuo said, tightening the bag and setting it on the corner of the table. He then pinched a go stone from the wooden box. “Let’s continue yesterday’s game.”
“Hold on.” Shen Zheng was raring to go, rubbing his hands together. “I strolled around East Tower today and felt that most of those players weren’t all that impressive. I want to see what a National Hand’s level really is.”
Wen Zhuo raised his eyes to look at him.
Shen Zheng said, “Let’s have a game. If I lose, I’ll go queue at Huyangmen tomorrow to buy you cold date cakes. If you lose, you’ll answer one of my questions.”
It was a good thing for a prince to be ambitious, and an even better thing to have a thirst for knowledge. It would be best if that thirst for knowledge just weren’t directed at him.
Wen Zhuo raised his hand. “Then let’s begin.”
Black and white stones formed arrays on the board. Shen Zheng, holding black, attacked fiercely, while Wen Zhuo responded with ease, placing his white stones with a casual air. In less than a quarter of an hour, Shen Zheng was trapped in a corner, his forces severed at both ends, with no chance of survival.
Shen Zheng wasn’t discouraged. On the contrary, he was full of enthusiasm. “Another round!”
A smile flickered in Wen Zhuo’s eyes. “How many days of cold date cakes do you intend to buy for me?”
“A lifetime works too.” Shen Zheng joked.
Wen Zhuo didn’t take it seriously. He gathered the stones and placed a white one on the tengen.
This time, Shen Zheng threw himself in even more, trying to use every trick taught by those 1,880-per-session masters, but no matter how he changed his strategy, he couldn’t escape Wen Zhuo’s predictions.
In just one hour, he lost three games in a row. He wanted to play another, but Wen Zhuo blocked his hand.
“You should at least have thought five moves ahead. Several obvious traps you didn’t even detect. That’s enough for now. We can play again later. It’s time for business.”
Shen Zheng was thoroughly convinced. Suddenly, he saw a new radiance in this beautiful, treacherous minister.
But the question he wanted to ask would probably never have a chance now.
Alas, alas—outmatched in skill.
Then he saw Wen Zhuo, while fiddling with a go stone, lower his eyelashes and say, “What was it you wanted to ask me just now?”