Chapter 22#
The last light of the setting sun had faded, the twilight washed clean, and every cornice of the palace city shed its ornate garments.#
Shen Zheng carried the jujube cake wrapped in oiled paper and trod through the night to the Wen residence.
To avoid suspicion, Wen Zhuo had taken a sedan chair ahead of him. The servant had received his orders beforehand; the mansion’s gate was left ajar, a crack left open for Shen Zheng.
Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü were not in the residence. They had been ordered by Wen Zhuo to act as guides and escorts outside and had yet to return.
Shen Zheng had only been to the Wen residence twice—once to the main hall, once to the study. He wasn’t very familiar with the place, so his curiosity was brimming; he even wanted to examine the patterns of the cobblestones along the path.
“What are you gawking at?”
A tall, slender figure was reflected under the eaves of the main hall. Wen Zhuo stood with his hands behind his back, his official robe shimmering with a quiet luster in the night. His brows were slightly furrowed; he had already grown a little impatient from waiting.
Shen Zheng: “I was in a rush before and didn’t have time to admire your residence. Now I see it, the aesthetic is absolutely stunning. Did you hire a famous designer?”
Wen Zhuo lifted his chin slightly: “I designed it myself.”
“Really?” Shen Zheng was astonished.
Even landscape architecture? Were all ancient officials, perhaps, polymaths?
Although he had deeply realized in university that there is always someone better, when one stretches the dimension of time and looks at people in their twenties throughout history, he knew what it meant for the world’s talent to be as numerous as fish in a river.
Wen Zhuo was puzzled by his surprise. This was but an ordinary matter.
“When I first arrived in the capital, my purse was empty. Naturally, I had to do everything myself.”
Shen Zheng loved watching him tilt his neck slightly, revealing that section of fair skin, with his Adam’s apple protruding a little. If he were to stroke from his chin down to his chest, feeling that soft cartilage move, the sensation would surely be wonderful.
Perhaps his gaze was too bold, for Wen Zhuo pressed his lips together: “Why are you standing there frozen?”
Shen Zheng withdrew his gaze a little and chuckled lightly: “Teacher is truly remarkable. If I were to write a biography for you, I’d definitely say you ‘probed every school of thought, understood all within the four seas as clearly as pointing to your palm.’”
Instead of the line in the History of Qian: “His pen was steeped in poison and blood; he lanced boils and drained ulcers.”
During his three years in Bozhou, Wen Zhuo had introduced Songluo tea and transformed the people’s lives completely, yet he had taken no benefit for himself. This was so at odds with the reputation of a treacherous minister.
Shen Zheng still couldn’t figure out what had happened in the three years before Emperor Shunyuan’s death that had so drastically changed his temperament.
Wen Zhuo remained entirely unmoved. He swept a cold glance at Shen Zheng, then turned and entered the hall.
“Using words that praise Ban Gu and Zhang Hua to fob me off—you sure know how to save yourself trouble. Hurry up and bring that jujube cake in!”
Shen Zheng had thought his own ability to recite texts was impressive, but now he felt truly inferior. He quickly presented the precious jujube cake to Chief Wen.
With Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü absent, Wen Zhuo needed no attendants. He hadn’t eaten for nearly a day and was truly hungry.
But even when famished, he ate with elegance and restraint, each bite chewed slowly and swallowed carefully, without the slightest hint of wolfing down.
Shen Zheng propped his chin on his hand and watched him, occasionally adding a little warm water to his cup.
“If you have something to ask, just ask,” Wen Zhuo said, finishing a cup of water with downcast eyes, having long seen through the curiosity in Shen Zheng’s gaze.
Shen Zheng didn’t beat around the bush. He cut straight to the point: “Were Xie Qian, Shi Qingjiu, and Helian Qiao really bought off by Nanping? Why didn’t they deliberately show a flaw during the game and throw it, instead of fixing the outcome in advance and leaving such a huge Hidden danger ?”
This was another thing Shen Zheng couldn’t understand.
Not only had they left such a big Hidden danger , but Wukan had blatantly brought a paper copy of the game records to the guesthouse, only to be caught red-handed by Gu Weizhi?
Wen Zhuo paused slightly, his fingertips tightening abruptly around the cup, but his tone remained calm: “At the Guanlin Platform, masters of Go gathered in force. A momentary flaw would be too easily detected. Only by designing a game of equal caliber in advance could they deceive everyone’s eyes.”
Shen Zheng frowned: “But why did only Teacher receive the news? None of the civil and military officials knew. Did you also plant spies in Nanping?”
Wen Zhuo set down his cup, fixing his eyes on Shen Zheng as he replied: “I once met a merchant from Nanping in Bozhou. I only learned of this matter by chance. Otherwise, how could I have memorized the game records in advance?”
“That makes sense,” Shen Zheng murmured, dropping the subject.
Wen Zhuo’s face revealed no flaw, and he continued eating his jujube cake with an air of calm.
In this game, both Shen Zheng and Gu Weizhi were participants—Shen Zheng at the first level, Gu Weizhi at the second. Only Wen Zhuo was hidden deepest.
Shen Zheng didn’t know that the paper game records in Gu Weizhi’s possession hadn’t been found in Wukan’s room.
And Gu Weizhi didn’t know that Xie Qian, Shi Qingjiu, and Helian Qiao had indeed not thrown their games, nor did he know that these three game records were from Wen Zhuo’s memories of a past life.
Shen Zheng said, “Why didn’t you stop me today? Does that mean I can come to your residence openly from now on?”
Wen Zhuo had overlooked this point. Now that Shen Zheng had turned danger into safety, Shen Chen and Xie Langyang would surely guess that it was he who had made the move. They would understand that he had chosen Shen Zheng, making further concealment pointless.
But he couldn’t tell Shen Zheng that.
“The Emperor is never short of eyes and ears. Your actions in the Hall of Mental Cultivation will eventually spread. Gu Weizhi’s actions in the Eastern Tower were even more ostentatious. Sooner or later, others will connect us. However—”
“However what?”
“At present, most people still think it’s a coincidence. The later they realize you have ambitions for the succession, the better—especially the Emperor. He both hopes his princes will stay docile and wishes for me to remain a solitary minister. So you still can’t come often. I plan to have a tunnel dug in secret. Where do you think it should lead?”
Wen Zhuo cleverly patched the loophole and diverted Shen Zheng’s thoughts with an even more pressing question.
As expected, Shen Zheng began pondering the tunnel.
“I have no title yet, no mansion of my own, and I still live in the palace for now. We can’t exactly dig a tunnel into the imperial palace. How about… the Marquis of Yongning’s residence? I see your house is quite close to my maternal grandfather’s home. It would be perfectly legitimate for me to leave the palace to visit my grandfather.”
Wen Zhuo had already planned this out. He had even dug out his little stash of savings from under the bed and was waiting to hire a craftsman to start work.
It seemed Shen Zheng had indeed become much more perceptive after his rebirth—he had even thought of the same idea.
“That works. But I’ll need to find an opportunity to inform the Marquis of Yongning. In the future, no superfluous persons in the residence—such as adopted daughters or grandsons—should be allowed to associate with us, lest they stumble upon the secret.”
The jujube cake was finished. The main hall fell into silence.
Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü had not yet returned. In the vast Wen residence, only the two of them sat facing each other.
Wen Zhuo’s eyelashes fluttered slightly: “I’ve finished eating.”
“Mm?”
“Why are you still here?”
“…”
“I’ve been very busy these past few days. I still have to go to the Dali Temple tonight. If you have nothing to do, you should head back to the palace first. I need to rest for a while.”
Shen Zheng couldn’t help but laugh.
Before eating, he urged him to come quickly; after eating, he chased him away. Such a cruel heart.
“I won’t disturb Teacher’s rest. Since I rarely get to come here, let me just wander around and admire the place a bit.”
Wen Zhuo thought for a moment. There was nothing secret about the residence, so he nodded in agreement: “As you please. Just don’t mess up my things.”
Wen Zhuo indeed needed to rest. He had been under too much mental strain this past month, and he would need to muster his energy later to pierce Xie Langyang’s heart.
When Wen Zhuo returned to his room, the capital had entered the blue hour. The sky was a deep ocean, like spilt oil paint with surging white waves; everything was cloaked in a profound beauty.
Shen Zheng strolled through the grounds meticulously, parting the leaves of each pear tree to examine them, very much like an architecture school alumnus conducting a field survey of an ancient official’s residence.
When he reached the second courtyard, he suddenly noticed a couplet inked on a pillar, the brushwork vigorous and forceful.
“When there is moonlight, ascend the terrace; when there is wind, it may enter the seat.”
Such a free and unrestrained line.
Shen Zheng could almost picture it: Wen Zhuo, only twenty years old, returning from Bozhou to the capital—such a carefree and spirited young official.
He was already a fifth-rank prefect by then; his every move must have been steady and proper enough. But given his age, it would have been impossible to completely suppress his youthful demeanor.
Shen Zheng bent down, dipped his fingers in the water from the pond, and traced the couplet.
Though he had learned to write in block script with a fountain pen, compared to Wen Zhuo’s calligraphy, his own looked too mechanical, lacking all spirit.
Others were already stunned by Wen Zhuo’s handwriting, and on top of that, he also liked men. This daily discovery of new little surprises about the “treacherous minister” was maddening.
If this continued, he would truly end up plotting something improper.
Wandering further, he unknowingly arrived outside Wen Zhuo’s bedchamber.
In ancient times, even the inner chamber of a first-rank official in the capital was not broad or bright. With crowded wooden furniture, there was little empty space. The bed, pressed against the wall, could barely accommodate one person sleeping soundly—far less comfortable than a modern villa.
The light through the lattice windows was poor, and the room carried a chill. Shen Zheng quietly slid the door open and stepped inside.
He knew it wasn’t very polite, but he couldn’t suppress his curiosity.
Wen Zhuo was indeed already asleep.
He was curled up under the cotton quilt, his legs bent to his chest, half his face buried in the bedding, his back pressed tightly against the wall.
Only his loose black hair spread across the pillow like a stream flowing down his strikingly pale neck.
Shen Zheng had taken a mental health course for a time, so he recognized the symptoms of PTSD. He noticed that Wen Zhuo’s sleeping posture was a defensive one, typical of someone who had endured immense pressure or trauma.
Only Wen Zhuo’s right hand was stretched out from the covers, a slender white wrist hanging over the edge of the bed, fingers slightly bent, already cold.
There were too many contradictions in this little “treacherous minister,” Shen Zheng thought.
He slowly crouched down, gently cupped that icy hand, lifted a corner of the quilt, and tucked the warmth of his palm along with that delicate hand inside.
He stood by the bed for a moment longer, then quietly withdrew, returning to the palace.
Once he was gone, Wen Zhuo’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
He drew that hand back to his chest and gripped the corner of the quilt tightly.
Late into the night, Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü finally returned. Just as they lit the lamps, Wen Zhuo awoke from his sleep.
Liu Qiying gulped down several cups of water, then, ignoring her fatigue, pulled out an abacus and began clicking away: “Master was indeed divinely perceptive, knowing my purse was full. Let me calculate Lord Gu’s expenses today—a sugar-coated haw stick from Chess-View Street, 5 wen; a cup of sugarcane juice from West Market, 5 wen; a roast duck from Four Seasons Lane, 40 wen; watching a cricket fight outside the gate, 5 wen; taking pity on a fake beggar on the road and giving alms, 5 wen…”
Wen Zhuo suddenly interrupted her: “I need to go to the Dali Temple prison. Both of you, come with me.”
Jiang Mannü was already yawning with exhaustion, but she still forced herself to say, “Master, A-Liu spent money and ran errands today—she’s worn out. How about I accompany you instead?”
Liu Qiying stopped Jiang Mannü and stared blankly at Wen Zhuo.
What was Master afraid of? Why?
But Liu Qiying didn’t ask. She immediately tossed the abacus aside and draped her robe over her shoulders again: “I’ll go with you too.”
Wen Zhuo dressed neatly, took a hand warmer, and with Jiang and Liu in tow, took a sedan chair to the Dali Temple prison.
The Dali Temple prison was located west of Taiping Gate Street, situated alongside the Ministry of Justice and the Censorate.
To project the solemnity of the Three Judicial Offices, the prison walls were several zhang high, built of thick blue bricks, exuding a chilling gloom.
Most of the cell blocks had rigid-hipped roofs covered with dark gray tiles. Occasionally, small windows were cracked open under the eaves, allowing a glimpse of the sky, but most cells were pitch-black, indistinguishable from night or day.
On both sides of the prison grounds stood watchtowers, guarded by the Left Camp Guard, armed with powerful crossbows and bows. At the slightest disturbance, arrows would rain down, and blades would hack.
The usually deathly silent Dali Temple prison was unusually noisy tonight.
Over eighty court officials were being held here, many of them eloquent censors, now clamoring endlessly—
“What kind of place is this? So cold and damp, utterly unbearable!”
“The straw mat is both stinking and wet, covered in who knows what, and no one has cleaned it!”
“Where is the jailer? I need to relieve myself; can someone oblige?”
“How dare you treat me like this? I am a third-rank official!”
“Lord Shi, why are you crying again? Shouldn’t you be the one most familiar with this Dali Temple prison? What kind of conditions do you usually make prisoners live in!”
“Gentlemen, stop your fussing. Do any of you have a clue what this is really about? I believe the Emperor has already discerned who is innocent and who is guilty, who is clean and who has a guilty conscience.”
“The Emperor is indeed dissatisfied with the great clans, but the great clans have deep roots; they’re not to be trifled with. This time is just a minor lesson to certain people. The foundations of the great clans cannot be shaken.”
“Are you so sure?”
“You’ll see tomorrow. The great clans will join forces and submit petitions to the court. The Emperor must weigh the pros and cons before acting.”
“Aren’t you afraid the incorruptibles will seize on this and also pressure the court?”
“Well, we’ll see who has more skill. Do you really think all eighty-plus officials will be dealt with? And besides, I think those behind us are not only the great clans, but also their highnesses.”
…
While others argued, Xie Langyang remained silent the entire time.
The damp straw mat bit into his skin; the lingering chill of early spring had numbed his limbs. He suddenly remembered how Wen Zhuo had endured a whole month in this very prison during the depths of winter. How had Wen Zhuo survived?
He had once thought he understood Wen Zhuo’s suffering, but now he knew it was only a fraction.
No wonder Wen Zhuo hated him so much.
Xie Langyang ran his fingers over the old bloodstains on the rough wall, then looked up at the faded cell door. His heart jolted—this was Cell No. 1, Heaven, where Wen Zhuo had been imprisoned in the past life!
Heaven truly did play cruel jokes.
Under such harsh conditions, Xie Langyang had little time for sentiment. He had to curl up his knees and rub his hands constantly to keep warm.
His official robe had been stripped away, leaving only a thin inner layer, but at least they hadn’t yet changed him into coarse prison garb, preserving some dignity.
Just then, he heard a menial prison worker shout—
“The noble arrives!”
The voice pierced through the narrow cells, carrying far, and startled Xie Langyang in his corner.
He couldn’t help but look up toward the entrance.
A flurry of confused, hurried footsteps followed, as the jailers scrambled about, clanking their keys and sabers.
Someone barked a warning: “Lord Wen is the specially appointed co-investigator by His Majesty’s decree, here to conduct inquiries on imperial orders. Lead the way quickly! Anyone who speaks out of turn will be severely punished!”
“Yes, yes…”
As the footsteps drew nearer, Xie Langyang realized they were heading straight for him.
His heart rose inch by inch, bitter and sour, drowning in boundless helplessness.
In the torchlight, a figure in crimson slowly approached. The shadows of lamps flickered on both walls; a slight breeze stirred. Wen Zhuo walked to the cell door, holding his hand warmer, the hem of his robes sweeping the ground.
Xie Langyang looked up to see Wen Zhuo looking down at him with a faint smile.
Here and now, then and there, their positions reversed, things had changed, and people were no longer the same.
“Wan Shan…” Xie Langyang muttered, instinctively trying to straighten his clothes and hair to appear more presentable.
But as soon as he stood up, the warden barked, “Lord Wen is asking you a question! Kneel and answer!”
The warden then turned and bowed obsequiously to Wen Zhuo: “Chief Academician, this prison is filthy; don’t dirty your boots. Whatever you need, this humble one is at your service.”
Wen Zhuo smiled at him too, his eyes, as gentle as water, dancing with firelight.
“Get far away from me, or I might lose my temper and skin you alive.”
The warden shuddered, too frightened even to be enchanted by Wen Zhuo’s smile. He scurried away in terror.
Once the area was clear, Wen Zhuo said casually, “I specifically had Lord Xue arrange for you to have this cell. How is it? The feeling of revisiting an old haunt isn’t bad, is it?”
Xie Langyang gripped the cell bars tightly, his knuckles white with pain, his heart aching: “Wan Shan, is this what you wanted?”
“That’s a strange thing to say. How is this what I wanted? You brought it on yourself.” Wen Zhuo sneered, his heart utterly unmoved. “If you hadn’t done anything after coming back, I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to you.”
“Since we’ve come back once, can’t we really go back to the past? Have you forgotten everything about Qingshan Mountain? Or am I the only one who still remembers?” Xie Langyang’s eyes darkened; he let go of the bars in defeat.
“You remember Qingshan Mountain quite well. So you married, had children, impeached me, betrayed me, watched me die pierced by a thousand arrows, and be reviled for eternity. That kind of memory—I really can’t bear it.”
“Whatever I do is wrong,” Xie Langyang said hoarsely. “Since you can’t forgive me, I suppose I deserve this. But I loved you—from our first meeting until now, I never changed. Believe it or not, there are many things in this world that cannot follow one’s true heart. If I had been an ordinary scholar, not from a great clan, perhaps everything would have been different.”
“Deserve this’—well said.” Wen Zhuo smiled faintly, gathered his robes, and crouched in front of Xie Langyang. “I’ll remember to send those same words to Shen Chen.”
Xie Langyang suddenly looked up, a faint guess forming in his heart, but he still clung to an unrealistic hope: “You… you chose Shen Zheng this time, didn’t you? That’s how he escaped disaster. There’s no one else but you who could help him.”
Wen Zhuo looked at him with some amusement: “That’s not right. You should have guessed that I couldn’t help Shen Zheng. Otherwise, how would you dare copy my plan entirely, without changing a single detail?”
Xie Langyang choked, exposed and humiliated, with nowhere to hide.
He had betrayed his original intent, stained his hands with sin, and yet had been outmaneuvered, defeated utterly.
And even now, he didn’t understand how Wen Zhuo had done it.
“You and Shen Chen must be dying to know how I managed it.” Wen Zhuo leisurely asked on their behalf. “The Emperor has no feelings for Shen Zheng and urgently needed a scapegoat. At that moment, the entire court was united against him, fanning the flames. How did Shen Zheng still come out unscathed? How did the Emperor suddenly reverse course and start protecting this son he hadn’t seen in ten years? And I was at Huiyang Gate watching the games every day—I never had a private meeting with the Emperor during that time. When exactly did I pull the strings?”
With every word, Xie Langyang’s face grew paler.
They had both passed the same imperial examination, and he was the zhuangyuan of that year. How was he so far behind Wen Zhuo in schemes and stratagems? No wonder Shen Chen had to resort to the self-injury scheme to drag Wen Zhuo into the game.
“I suggest Vice Minister Xie not waste his thoughts. Better to consider how you’ll answer when the Three Judicial Offices interrogate you about who proposed framing the Fifth Prince. If you don’t, once they run you through the bastinado and the leg-screws, you might end up confessing things you shouldn’t.”
Wen Zhuo finished speaking and, unwilling to stay any longer in this hateful, sickening place, turned to leave.
Xie Langyang quickly stood up, staring at that excessively bright, clean figure in red, and called out urgently, “Wan Shan! Do you really have to push me this far?”
Wen Zhuo paused in his steps: “It seems that when you talk about ‘remembering,’ you only remember my youth when I was helpless, hitting walls everywhere, needing your charity and pity. The moment you’re made to truly experience my hardships, you refuse.”
“I… I haven’t—”
“Have you not?” Wen Zhuo turned his head back and cast him a contemptuous look. “Whatever Shen Chen needed, aren’t you perfectly capable of doing it now? So why was it that in the past, all the sins, all the evil deeds, had to be carried by me? And then you could stand on high and accuse me of being cold-hearted and unforgivable? You never tried to share my situation or understand my difficulties. You only offered flimsy comfort after the fact and made a few comments. How dare you?”
With that, Wen Zhuo left without looking back.
Emerging from the Dali Temple prison, the stench of damp decay seemed to cling to his nostrils. The familiar candlelight, the cold walls, the bone-deep pain—everything was vivid and seared into his memory.
He finally lost control, trembling, gasping for breath, his palm pressing hard against his heart, his face instantly bloodless.
“Master!” Jiang Mannü and Liu Qiying’s expressions changed drastically as they rushed to support him.
Jiang Mannü steadied Wen Zhuo’s shoulders and urgently patted his back. Liu Qiying immediately pulled off her outer robe and wrapped it tightly around Wen Zhuo.
Jiang Mannü: “Is it the cold syndrome again! But it hasn’t rained!”
Liu Qiying saw Wen Zhuo’s eyes were wet; he seemed to be crying uncontrollably. She gritted her teeth: “No, we need to get him to a clinic quickly!”
In his daze, Wen Zhuo thought of Shen Zheng, of what Shen Zheng had said to him in the Eastern Tower’s elegant chamber.
He clenched his jaw, fixed his gaze on one point, and forced out the words: “In front of me… is a carriage, lacquered red. In my hand… a hand warmer… the hand warmer is warm. The smell… the smell is Liu Qiying’s rouge.”
He adjusted his breathing over and over, and after a long while, the trembling finally subsided.
The method Shen Zheng had taught him had saved him again.
Wen Zhuo wiped away the remaining tears and noticed it was the hand that had been tucked under the quilt. He stared at it for a moment, then said, “It’s nothing. Let’s go back.”
The small red sedan had just left the Dali Temple prison when a figure emerged from beneath the old locust tree at the mouth of the alley. He too wore an official robe, his face ashen, his eyes fixed on Wen Zhuo for a long time.