Chapter 16#
Shen Zheng wanted to ask: If I hadn’t happened to save Miss Liu, were you planning to kill me?
The imperial annals said of him: “He schemed to murder the imperial scion, a plot of the most treacherous kind.”
In that self-incriminating letter, it was also written: “A humble body dares to shake the noble, intolerable to heaven and earth, abhorred by gods and men.”
Later, in one of Emperor Shengde’s personal notes, he mentioned Wen Zhuo, saying that he intended to defect to the Third Prince and single-handedly orchestrated the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering and the Fengyang Terrace massacre—facts that still horrified the emperor.
Xie Langyang also wrote in his later years: “A lifetime of remorse never fades; I failed to lead Wanshan out of the mire.”
Shen Zheng certainly had no intention of blaming Wen Zhuo. Back then, when Wei Zheng served Li Jiancheng, he also advised him to kill the Prince of Qin. As for Wei Zheng himself, he switched sides three times before finally earning a place under Li Shimin. In the end, he still left his name in history, known for the “Three Mirrors” anecdote.
But still, it didn’t quite make sense.
The Third Prince had always been at an advantage over the Fifth Prince, constantly striving to emulate the Crown Prince and the Worthy Prince. Why would Wen Zhuo kill the Fifth Prince, who posed no threat, as a pledge of allegiance?
Moreover, on the day Shen Zheng had transmigrated here, although Wen Zhuo hadn’t been particularly polite to him, the others hadn’t even acknowledged him. If Wen Zhuo truly wanted to follow the Third Prince, he should have at least kept the songstress.
Shen Zheng looked deeply at Wen Zhuo again.
Wen Zhuo’s hands were wonderfully crafted. When he picked up Go stones, there was a kind of eternal tranquility in their beauty—the vivid red and the crescent-shell white complementing each other perfectly, stirring one’s heartstrings.
At this moment, he was picking up the stones with unusual care, in a completely unguarded posture. His eyelashes drooped as he followed the chessboard pattern, his round white collar cradling his smooth neck, letting the sunlight fall freely upon him.
Shen Zheng knew this was his forgiveness, and his offering—like a feline that doesn’t become alert or wary when a human approaches, but instead docilely flicks the tip of its tail. To some extent, he was disregarding their bet, allowing Shen Zheng to be curious.
Shen Zheng couldn’t bear to shatter this trust. He couldn’t utter even a single word to pierce Wen Zhuo’s heart.
So Shen Zheng smiled. “I wanted to ask… what kind of person does the teacher like?”
A single Go stone slipped from Wen Zhuo’s fingers, rolling with a clatter until it hit the floor.
He abruptly looked up, momentarily flustered, though he quickly composed himself.
“Why are you asking about this?”
Shen Zheng picked up the stone for him, his face incredibly thick. “I just want to wait for the day when a visiting star violates the imperial seat, to stir the celestial patterns myself.”
Wen Zhuo’s expression turned subtle. “So you know that allusion.”
It was said that Yan Guang once shared a bed with Emperor Guangwu of Han, Liu Xiu, placing his feet on the emperor’s abdomen. The celestial patterns responded, startling the imperial astronomer.
Later, during the Tang dynasty, Chancellor Li Mi said to Emperor Suzong: “To strategize from within the tent for Your Majesty, after retaking the capital, it would be enough to simply sleep with my head on Your Majesty’s knee and let the astronomers report that a visiting star has violated the imperial seat—a movement in the celestial patterns would suffice.”
Hence, during a military campaign, after Li Mi fell asleep, Emperor Suzong personally placed Li Mi’s head on his own knee, as a gesture of favor.
Although these were all examples of harmonious ruler-minister relationships, they carried a hint of ambiguity—ambiguous yet within bounds, hanging there, poised on the edge of breaking or not.
Shen Zheng tapped his own knee with a finger, flirting. “I know quite a lot.”
Wen Zhuo glanced at his knee, smiling in a way that wasn’t quite a smile, and warned: “Violating the imperial seat? You haven’t even become emperor yet.”
Shen Zheng: “Asking isn’t against the law.”
Wen Zhuo said coldly: “Anyway, I don’t like people who always lose at Go.”
As he spoke, his gaze veered away—perhaps out of guilt, perhaps sensitivity. To Shen Zheng, it was just a harmless joke. But Shen Zheng really was attracted to men, and the image of “sleeping on the emperor’s knee” was far from innocent in his eyes.
Just then, sudden commotion arose in the corridor outside the door—a clatter of hurried footsteps, accompanied by a waiter’s earnest persuasion.
“Vice Minister Xie! Vice Minister Xie! Please don’t make things difficult for me. The rules of East Tower are clear: one poem per private room. Outsiders are not allowed in!”
“Get out of my way!” Xie Langyang’s voice was deep and angry, much like when he had shouted down the jailers in the Dali Temple prison.
The waiter dared not grab hold of him, but braced himself against the narrow path. “Vice Minister Xie, Director Wen might not necessarily be here. Maybe he’s in West Tower, or North Tower, or even South Tower? I didn’t see him!”
Xie Langyang’s face hardened. He shoved the waiter aside in irritation. “He always prefers East Tower. Do you think I don’t know?”
The waiter: “But sir, there are many distinguished guests upstairs—some from the court, some from the provinces. Vice Minister Xie, this… this isn’t appropriate!”
“I’ll only check a few rooms, speak a few words with him. Stop blocking me!”
Wen Zhuo liked rooms facing south with plenty of sunlight, spacious and bright ones—Xie Langyang remembered all these habits well.
Seeing Xie Langyang heading straight for Room Jiazi, the waiter stamped his feet in anxiety.
Shen Zheng raised an eyebrow.
Here he comes, here he comes—the famed minister of “a lifetime of remorse” was approaching with determined steps!
But the vibe… didn’t it feel a bit off?
Wen Zhuo’s cheeks, which had held a trace of warmth moments ago, froze in an instant, and even the skin on his neck seemed to frost over.
Shen Zheng pointed at himself, silently asking if they should hide.
Without lifting his eyelids, Wen Zhuo merely uttered a few words from between his teeth: “No need. He can’t open the door.”
Meaning he didn’t want to see him?
Shen Zheng felt relieved.
And started acting up.
Xie Langyang stood outside the door. Through the frosted glass, he could see two blurry figures. Steadying his breath, he lowered his voice and asked, “Wanshan, are you in there?”
Wen Zhuo had harsh words ready on his lips, but before he could speak, Shen Zheng raised his right hand, gently covering Wen Zhuo’s mouth through the thin air.
Then, with mischief, Shen Zheng brought his left hand to his own lips and made a soft clicking sound against the base of his thumb.
The second time, he deliberately made it louder—a sticky, crisp noise that echoed clearly inside the private room and seeped out through the crack in the door. It was full of a young man’s hot and reckless energy, as if he had just slapped Xie Langyang across the face.
Xie Langyang was utterly mortified. Through the blurred figures, they seemed to be tangled together.
He knew all too well what some of these literati and minor officials got up to in private—hiding behind a guise of elegance while engaging in sordid affairs.
“My apologies. I’ve disturbed you!”
With such behavior happening inside, Wen Zhuo definitely couldn’t be there. So Xie Langyang flicked his sleeves and strode away as if fleeing.
Wen Zhuo: “…”
Shen Zheng withdrew his hand, looking as innocent as if he had just helped an old lady cross the street. “That was convenient. Why waste words?”
Wen Zhuo couldn’t bring himself to look at Shen Zheng’s left hand—the same hand that had fed him a jujube cake.
“Where did you learn all these crooked tricks?”
“Nanping,” Shen Zheng replied, smoothly passing the blame.
Having searched everywhere for Wen Zhuo without success, Xie Langyang returned to his residence in utter dejection. Though it was still cool spring, his front and back garments were soaked through.
The servants and maids rushed forward to wipe his face and change his clothes. Xie Langyang flung up his hand, hurling the braided cord he had been clutching all the way onto the table with force.
The cord had been stretched taut from his grip and was now frayed, gathered in wrinkles, showing no hint of its former beauty.
The shame and irritation from earlier still lingered on Xie Langyang’s face, compounded by the heat making him restless. “From now on, if anyone dares add any random trinkets to me without my permission, don’t blame me for being merciless!”
The entire room of servants was cowed by his rage, not daring to breathe loudly.
Gong Yuwen watched from the courtyard, her eyes shifting. She tugged at another cord tied around her waist and hid it. It seemed she wouldn’t need to stroll past the Wen residence anymore.
The maidservant she had brought from the Gong family cautiously studied her expression, murmuring, “Miss, wasn’t that cord woven by your own hands? The vice minister—”
Gong Yuwen cast her eyes down, looking meek. “Don’t tell Father. He didn’t mean it.”
The maidservant: “But…”
Ever the considerate one, Gong Yuwen endured the grievance and gave orders: “Go, heat some hot water for Master Xie. He seems to have run himself ragged outside today.”
The maidservant stamped her foot and left in indignation.
Heating a bucket of hot water required two maids to work together, leaving only Zhixiao, who had been purchased by the household later, at Gong Yuwen’s side.
She led Zhixiao back to her room, looking relaxed. She picked up a piece of lip paper and, facing the mirror, pressed it gently, staining her lips a bright, vivid red.
“Go tell elder sister,” she said. “Xie Langyang seems to have sensed something.”
The day before the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering, Wen Zhuo met with the Nanping envoy and the three Go players at the Qinghua Travel Lodge.
The bitter chrysanthemums on the steps seemed to have bloomed a little more vigorously. The servants, who never forgot him on sight, didn’t even need to see his token before bowing and scraping incessantly.
Wen Zhuo entered the East Main Hall and summoned the Nanping envoy. A servant served tea and wine, and the songstresses took their seats at the back.
This was not the first time Wen Zhuo had seen them, but it was the first time they had seen him.
As soon as the Nanping envoy stepped through the door, his gaze locked onto Wen Zhuo’s face. The songstresses, the music, everything else vanished—only the alluring, delicate figure before him remained.
He stood stiffly, unable to move a step.
Wen Zhuo’s expression chilled, suddenly turning cold and ethereal.
“Seat the Envoy Wu. Serve tea.” Wen Zhuo gestured.
The two songstresses resumed their strings, as if the envoy’s lapse had never happened.
Only then did Wu Kan snap out of it. The lecherous look still hanging on his face, he sat down unceremoniously close to Wen Zhuo. “I never expected Director Wen to be so… so… otherworldly.”
He paused twice, his voice carrying a lewd suggestiveness.
Wen Zhuo propped his chin on one hand, hooking a finger to pick up the cleaver from the table. He turned the blade, letting it gleam with cold light, and smiled lazily. “My skill at cutting people’s tongues is also quite otherworldly. Would Envoy Wu like to see it?”
Wu Kan eyed the knife, sobering up a little. He slowly straightened in his seat. “Our Nanping Go players have traveled thousands of miles, a long and arduous journey. I think we’ll pass on the tongue-cutting. When can we meet His Majesty the Emperor?”
Wen Zhuo let his fingers fall carelessly, and the dagger clattered onto the table. He said flatly, “If the Emperor of Nanping were here, he might get an audience.”
“Hahaha!” Wu Kan laughed loudly. “It seems Great Qian is rather stingy. Very well, we won’t press the matter. After we take the top three places at the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering, we’ll have the pleasure of seeing the Great Qian Emperor’s exalted face.”
A faint smile curled on Wen Zhuo’s lips. “I’ve recently learned a fair bit about Nanping. Meeting you today confirms it.”
Wu Kan was surprised, and not without pride. “I didn’t expect Director Wen to take such an interest in Nanping.”
“I heard it from others. I had my doubts, but now I see—Nanping truly is a barbaric land, a frog at the bottom of a well.”
Wu Kan’s face darkened abruptly. Wen Zhuo was beautiful, but his words were too sharp, grating on the ears.
The East Main Hall was instantly thick with tension, but Wen Zhuo paid it no mind. “I’m afraid the envoy won’t have the honor of meeting our sovereign. After all, Great Qian has countless masters. I suspect Nanping can’t even rank.”
A cold snort escaped Wu Kan’s nose, his eyes glinting with a determined sneer. “Director Wen, don’t speak too soon. You might embarrass yourself.”
Wen Zhuo slowly picked up his cup, swirling the floating leaves inside. “I’ll say it plainly: at the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering, Nanping will not win.”
Wu Kan’s pupils contracted, a wolfish viciousness flashing in his eyes. He turned his head sinisterly. “You three, get in here! What are you dawdling for? You’ve made Director Wen underestimate us!”
A rustling sound came from the doorway. Wen Zhuo glanced at the three youths entering.
They were triplets, identical in appearance, standing side by side like three silent stone monuments.
Calling them youths was a stretch. Their faces were dark green, their eye sockets sunken, a sheen of oil coating their mid-faces. Their lips were pale and gray, and their scalps were sparsely covered—like living corpses.
From the moment they entered, their eyes were blank and fixed straight ahead, showing no interest in anything around them, including Wen Zhuo.
It was rare for anyone not to steal a few glances at Wen Zhuo, so much so that he had grown accustomed and numb to such stares.
But these three never once looked at him. If not for the rise and fall of their chests, Wen Zhuo might have suspected they were marionettes.
Wu Kan waved his hand. “Mu Yi, Mu Er, Mu San—greet Director Wen.”
The three obediently knelt and prostrated themselves on the ground in salute, their wooden eyes not blinking.
If he hadn’t seen them once before, Wen Zhuo would have been thoroughly creeped out.