Chapter 28#

Wen Zhuo looked at the cold jujube cake in his arms and froze for a moment.#

He hadn’t expected that Shen Zheng, drunk as he was yesterday, would still remember a casual promise. But he couldn’t help wondering—how much of his drunken ramblings did he actually recall?

Those words, which others might take as intimate teacher-student banter, to him were nothing short of disorienting, making it hard to maintain composure.

And Shen Zheng was just the type to speak his mind, saying whatever came to him.

“Your Highness, please step out of the room for a moment; I have something to ask you later.” Wen Zhuo examined the cold jujube cake several times before reluctantly handing it to Liu Qiying, then instructed Jiang Man, “Boil some hot water.”

“Why?” Shen Zheng was puzzled, his hand still resting on Wen Zhuo’s back, stroking the smooth, warm strands of his hair.

Wen Zhuo shot him a sideways glance, quickly sweeping over Shen Zheng’s arm. He knew well that such behavior between two men was ordinary, but he happened to like men—how could he treat it as ordinary?

Averting his eyes, he said softly, “I’m sticky with sweat; I want to bathe and change clothes.”

Oh?

Bathe and change clothes.

Shan Yu ~ breath ~ Du ~ Jia ○

Shen Zheng studied him, noticing the slight wrinkles in his undergarments and a few strands of black hair clinging to his neck, trailing down into his collar—who knew how far they went. His heart grew restless.

He pointed at Liu Qiying and Jiang Man, raising an eyebrow with enthusiasm: “How about we send them out, and I stay here to serve the teacher during his bath?”

Liu Qiying and Jiang Man exchanged glances. Even Jiang Man, usually straightforward, now felt embarrassed enough to turn her head away, silent with guilt.

“Nonsense, how could Your Highness serve anyone?” Wen Zhuo’s ears reddened, his tone a mix of reproach and affection. “I always bathe alone; I’m not used to having anyone in the room. All of you, please leave.”

Jiang Man quickly scurried off to fetch hot water, while Liu Qiying busied herself with arranging a folding screen and towels. Shen Zheng was mercilessly shut outside the bedroom door, staring listlessly at the lush pear tree in the courtyard.

He really needed to find the Grand Historian of the Great Qian Dynasty and ask just how much of the “Qian History” was fabricated.

Where was the supposed “frequenting brothels and entertainment houses, surrounded by beauties, indulging in debauchery, repeatedly admonished but incorrigible, leaving the court and public no one willing to act as matchmaker for him, causing moral decay”?

Why was the little cat minister so conservative in real life?

What was wrong with a teacher and student helping each other pour hot water, wipe down the body, or even put on an undergarment with their own hands!

The hot water was already prepared inside the room, fresh clothes hung on a horizontal rack, and a folding screen completely concealed the wooden tub. Through the window’s glazed tiles, not even a shadow could be seen.

Liu Qiying stepped out and closed the door behind her. Seeing Shen Zheng’s expression, she comforted him, “Your Highness, don’t be disappointed. Our master really isn’t used to having others help him change undergarments or bathe. If you wish to repay your teacher’s kindness, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future.”

“…Thanks for the kind words.” Shen Zheng replied with a dejected shrug.

He kept staring at the glazed tiles, hearing only the sound of water rippling, and couldn’t help grinding his teeth. “Who is the Grand Historian of our Great Qian? I’ll go have a chat with him tomorrow.”

Liu Qiying was puzzled as to why he suddenly asked this, but she answered honestly, “It’s Zhu Xiwen, Lord Zhu. I’ve heard he is upright and unyielding, from a family of historians. Is there something wrong?”

Shen Zheng spun around, his heart sinking.

He had missed this key figure!

Right. At this time, the Grand Historian was still Zhu Xiwen, not Zhu Xibang.

The “Qian History” spanning from the 23rd year of Shunyuan to the end of Shengde’s reign was actually written by Zhu Xiwen’s younger brother, Zhu Xibang.

There was an unsolved mystery in this: the death of Zhu Xiwen.

Historical records state he suddenly fell ill with a cold and died late one night in the final year of Shunyuan, at just forty-eight years old.

Due to his reclusive nature and solitary habits, his surviving manuscripts were chaotic and difficult to decipher. Many major events were not recorded in the “Veritable Records,” so his brother Zhu Xibang took over, revising the “Qian Veritable Records” and continuing the compilation until Emperor Shengde’s death.

During Emperor Shengde’s reign, a failed scholar privately wrote a book called “Spring Terrace Anecdotes,” which claimed that Zhu Xiwen was secretly executed by Emperor Shengde because he refused to alter historical facts according to the emperor’s wishes. Zhu Xibang, on the other hand, was flexible enough to adapt, thus enjoying wealth and a peaceful old age.

Of course, there were many different versions of historical sources. Since the author of “Spring Terrace Anecdotes” was neither famous nor an official, some scholars classified it as unofficial history.

The reason Shen Zheng was fixated on this minor historical matter was that it directly concerned him.

During his junior year in college, a subway construction site unearthed a solitary grave. Archaeologists determined it was the tomb of the author of “Spring Terrace Anecdotes.” Unfortunately, the epitaph was mostly damaged, with only one line faintly legible: “Born into a scholarly family… son-in-law of Grand Historian Zhu Xiwen.”

If he truly was Zhu Xiwen’s son-in-law, the credibility of that anecdote would greatly increase.

Shen Zheng was bold. Before the academic community reached a consensus, he used this as the starting point for his graduation thesis.

However, during the mid-term defense, due to a lack of supporting historical evidence, the vice dean of the College of Liberal Arts rejected it.

A saying circulated on campus: when faced with troubles, go pay respects at the Yonghe Temple. If your heart is sincere, the power of faith will surely smooth things over.

No matter how, just as long as it worked.

As a materialist, Shen Zheng had no choice but to go to ensure a smooth graduation. He spent a thousand yuan on incense, making just one request: that the anecdotes were true, so his thesis could pass.

But no sooner had he walked out of the Yonghe Temple gate than he opened his eyes to find himself kneeling in the little cat minister’s parlor.

He was at a loss for words, unsure whether to praise Yonghe Temple for being truly divine or truly insane.

But now, he indeed had the opportunity to uncover the truth of this historical mystery.

Wen Zhuo washed up and changed into a blue robe. His long hair was still wet, so he left it loose, dripping and untied, emanating a faint scent of soap.

Stepping onto the porch, he gathered his damp hair and glanced up at Shen Zheng.

He might have been unaware, but his eyes were so full of emotion, as if spring water rippled within them, that Shen Zheng was tempted to drag him back inside and let those wet, silk-like strands brush against his own skin.

He finally understood why Gu Weizhi was so fond of reciting poetry to Wen Zhuo.

Now, his mind swirled with colors, finally coalescing into a poem, which he was eager to blurt out.

Shen Zheng chuckled softly: “The moon shines bright, my lovely lady so fair, teacher.”

“…”

Wen Zhuo looked up at the scorching sun overhead, momentarily unsure how to respond.

Grandma Wang’s cold jujube cake had already been placed on the small stone table. Wen Zhuo held a piece in his mouth but didn’t forget to interrogate Shen Zheng.

“What was that about the Special Grace Banquet? Why did you hide your chess skills? Don’t you know that if you had told the truth, we wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble!”

Shen Zheng raised three fingers honestly: “Teacher, please understand. That self-play game yesterday was indeed something I memorized. My real skill level is what you saw when we played. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have deliberately lost for the sake of that question.”

At the mention of that question, Wen Zhuo nearly choked on the cake. He quickly picked up his tea cup and took a sip to settle himself.

“Such a brilliant chess game—where did you memorize it from? Don’t tell me some immortal gave it to you in a dream.”

“From the place I came from,” Shen Zheng replied.

“Nanping?” Wen Zhuo was skeptical. “Nanping has never been fond of chess. How could it produce such a game, and only you discovered it, while no one else knew?”

Shen Zheng thought to himself, how could he tell him it was the work of AI, algorithms, and computers?

While pouring tea for Wen Zhuo, he thought for a moment and fabricated a story: “Remember how I’m into tomb raiding? There’s a tomb in Nanping called the Seven Star Lu Wang Palace. Inside, I found a Warring States-era chess manual that recorded this game. The two old players were named AlphaGo and AlphaZero, who claimed they had mastered a secret technique called Monte Carlo tree search to figure out the game. I found it interesting and memorized it. I only know this one game. If Shen Chong hadn’t been so pretentious and insisted everyone play self-go matches, I wouldn’t have boasted.”

“Could it be the mausoleum of a Han Dynasty Lu state prince?” Wen Zhuo rested his chin on his hand, murmuring thoughtfully. “It seems your hobby isn’t entirely useless.”

His wrist was pale and slender; on the side pressed against his cheek, faint blue veins could be seen beneath the skin, as if a simple squeeze would leave finger marks.

Shen Zheng studied him. When he was thinking, his brows furrowed slightly, and his eyelashes drooped. That serious, earnest expression was endlessly adorable.

Shen Zheng’s heart stirred, and he wanted to let him experience the true usefulness of this hobby. But remembering his traumatized, guarded demeanor and tense sleeping posture, he forcibly suppressed the urge.

If the “Qian History” had indeed been tampered with, then how much of those two pages and a thousand words about Wen Zhuo were true, and how much false?

“Let’s go. Time is tight. I need to visit the Marquis of Yongning.” Wen Zhuo finished the cold jujube cake, brushed the crumbs off his hands, and called Liu Qiying to tie up his hair.

“Is it about digging the secret passage?” Shen Zheng stood up as well. “Just in time—Father awarded me a hundred taels of gold. I’ll bring it all tomorrow, and let Miss Liu be in charge of safekeeping. The craftsmen’s expenses will come from this, and the rest can be left for you, teacher.”

“It’s not just about the secret passage.” Wen Zhuo hesitated, his expression uncertain, then sighed softly. “We’ll talk when we get there.”

It was past noon. The light from the eaves was gradually gathered, then tilted to spill along the walls.

The Marquis of Yongning’s mansion was only two long alleys away from Wen’s residence, located on a street called Xiangshui (Resounding Water) and another called Luoshui (Falling Water).

If one walked honestly on foot, it was quite far. But if a tunnel were dug underground, it would be much closer.

Wen Zhuo pulled Shen Zheng into a small red-lacquered sedan chair. The servant cracked the horsewhip, and the wheels rolled forward, jostling the carriage inside.

Wen Zhuo’s sedan was considered economical and practical, with limited interior space—enough for two people at most.

Before he got involved in the power struggle for the heir apparent, he had lived quite frugally.

But Shen Zheng, though still thin, was tall and broad-shouldered. Every time the sedan jolted, the two inevitably bumped into each other.

Wen Zhuo knocked against his shoulder once again. Shen Zheng simply reached out and wrapped his right arm around Wen Zhuo’s back, clamping onto his shoulder. The warmth of his palm seeped through the silk fabric, pressing against the skin.

“You—”

“Ouch… my shoulder hurts.” Shen Zheng closed one eye as if genuinely in pain.

The teacher didn’t even complain!

So delicate. Useless!

Wen Zhuo clenched his robe in indignation, pressed against Shen Zheng’s body. Now he didn’t bump anymore, but his heartbeat sped up like a drum.

He was nervous, afraid that being so close, Shen Zheng would hear his irregular heartbeat and discover his unspeakable, vile secret.

But Shen Zheng, the normal one, remained oblivious. He pulled aside the curtain and pointed enthusiastically at a stage where a play was being performed.

“Teacher, have you heard of ‘Farewell My Concubine’? I like watching this uh… play.”

“Occasionally, but not deeply impressed.”

Wen Zhuo once again blamed himself. The beautiful love in this world was always between a man and a woman—that was the right path. If only there were a cure for his affliction.

Preoccupied, he gradually forgot himself and leaned entirely against Shen Zheng.

Shen Zheng initially thought that if he could get rubber trees from Peru and wrap the wheels in rubber, it might reduce the shocks. But seeing Wen Zhuo repeatedly crashing into his arms, he immediately dismissed the idea.

Backwardness had its advantages.

In less than a quarter of an hour, the sedan stopped in front of the Marquis of Yongning’s mansion.

The Marquis of Yongning, Jun Guangping, was advanced in years and had long retired from office. Though he no longer held real power, his prestige in the military remained. It was through his residual influence that Jun Dingyuan had been noticed early in the army and not had his talent buried.

Shen Zheng had spent ten years as a hostage, and Jun Dingyuan had also served in the military for ten years. Consort Liang remained deep in the palace, and the marchioness had passed away two years ago.

Eventually, the great Yongning Marquis mansion was left with only Jun Guangping.

He was a man of deep loyalty and affection, having married only once in his life, fathering only two sons. Even after his wife’s death, he never remarried. In his position, this was extremely rare and commendable.

This wasn’t Shen Zheng’s first visit to his maternal grandfather. When he first returned to the capital, penniless and strapped for cash, he had often taken silver from Consort Liang and the Marquis of Yongning.

Jun Guangping cherished this grandson he hadn’t seen for ten years, his eyes brimming with tears, eager to move his entire mansion to Shen Zheng.

“Grandfather, I’m here!”

Shen Zheng knocked on the door, his tone familiar and unrestrained.

In a military household, there were no overly cumbersome rules. Hearing the voice, Jun Guangping quickly put down the spear in his hand, rested it on the weapon rack, and laughed heartily. “You stole the show yesterday. I thought the Emperor would keep you in the palace. What brings you to see an old man like me?”

Jun Guangping stepped out of the courtyard and only then noticed another person standing beside Shen Zheng.

Wen Zhuo wore a simple blue robe, exuding the dignified air of the Hanlin Academy’s head. His expression was calm, carrying a faint smile, without rushing to bow to Jun Guangping.

Jun Guangping was startled. He had never expected Wen Zhuo to come together with his grandson. Then he smiled, “Headmaster Wen graces us with your presence. I’m sorry for not coming out to welcome you.”

“Marquis, yesterday the Fifth Prince made a stunning debut and regained the Emperor’s favor. I have come specially to offer my congratulations.” Wen Zhuo walked in slowly, casting a glance at the row of weapons propped against the wall.

‘Regained the Emperor’s favor’ was true, but coming from Wen Zhuo’s mouth, it carried subtle implications.

A top-ranking official who never aligned with any faction, a well-known favorite at court—deliberately coming to congratulate him on this matter.

Jun Guangping couldn’t help but wonder what hidden meaning lay behind his words.

Wen Zhuo noticed this but casually curled his lips. “Marquis, won’t you invite me in for tea? I still vividly recall your brilliant discourse on ‘casting stones to startle cranes’ last time.”

“Please.” Jun Guangping gestured.

Shortly after, the three sat in the main hall. The tea was northern desert barley tea, not as crisp as the famous southern teas, but rich in flavor, carrying a strong, wild, and desolate air.

Jun Guangping propped his arms on his knees, his smile amiable. “Headmaster Wen, I presume you haven’t just come to offer congratulations today?”

Wen Zhuo blew on the steam rising from his teacup, took a sip of the strong tea, and a string of mist clung to his long eyelashes.

“Marquis, do you know who the ‘blind crane,’ the ‘jackal,’ and the ‘farmer’ in Xie Langyang’s words that day refer to?”

Jun Guangping’s smile gradually faded, his brows furrowing, his expression turning solemn.

He had always felt that Vice Minister Xie’s words that day carried hidden meaning, but how did Wen Zhuo know?

Shen Zheng leaned on his knees, fingers rubbing the lid of his covered bowl, and gave the Marquis of Yongning the answer directly. “Grandfather, the blind crane is me. The jackal is whoever framed me after the final battle. The farmer is someone among the Eight Arteries who knew the inside story.”

“What—” Jun Guangping was shocked.

Shen Zheng said calmly, “My claim of memorizing three chess games in Nanping was a lie. If Headmaster Wen hadn’t gotten the news early and made me memorize them in advance to show Father, their plot would have succeeded. You’d be visiting me at the Phoenix Platform to console me right now.”

Jun Guangping shot to his feet, breaking into a cold sweat over the courtly scheming.

“You’re saying Vice Minister Xie had known about the Eight Arteries’ plot all along and had already planned to frame you at the chess gathering?!”

Wen Zhuo said, “Marquis, though you are out of court, you should still be aware: the Emperor is gravely ill, and the struggle for the heir apparent is becoming increasingly apparent. The Eight Arteries are tied to the interests of several princes. To protect them, someone must be pushed out to take the blame. The Fifth Prince, returning from Nanping with neither the Emperor’s favor nor support from his maternal relatives, was naturally the best choice. Do you know who devised this plan?”

Jun Guangping was about to retort that Shen Zheng did have support from his maternal relatives—he, the grandfather, was still alive—but then he was cut off by Wen Zhuo’s question.

He asked cautiously, “…Who?”

Wen Zhuo remained expressionless. “Xie Langyang. But do you know for whom he devised this plan?”

In just a few sentences, the shock Jun Guangping had endured was immense. He took a deep breath, forcing down his anger. “Was it not for the Xie clan?”

Wen Zhuo smiled, but his tone carried a meaningful sigh.

“Marquis, you may have the ability to command troops, but you lack the judgment to discern people. What a pity.”