Chapter 3#

Chapter 3#

“Alright, I am weary as well. As for the Spring Terrace Chess Assembly, let Wanshan be in charge. I see he’s been idle to the point of discomfort. Your palanquins should be arriving by now—return to your estates and rest.”

Emperor Shunyuan was truly exhausted, his eyelids barely able to stay open. Liu Quan hurried over to support him, letting the emperor lean his full weight onto him.

The ministers of the Grand Secretariat were just about to rise when a sharp, feminine voice pierced the curtain of rain from outside the hall, carrying a note of desperate strain.

“Your Majesty! I beg you to see me! I have something to say!”

The eunuch on duty carefully relayed the message through the frosted window: “It is Lady Yi, who has come through the rain seeking an audience with Your Majesty.”

Wen Zhuo remained impassive, lifting his teacup and rotating it slowly, studying the crackle glaze of the plum-green celadon.

At first glance, the glaze resembled a large tabby cat, yet this very pattern was supposedly worth a hundred taels of silver. It seemed he was not the only official with eyes that saw but did not see.

Outside the hall, Lady Yi continued weeping bitterly: “Your Majesty, Chen’er did not mean it. He is only seventeen this year—he must have been misled! I beg you to show him mercy. If he kneels any longer like this, his body cannot endure!”

Wen Zhuo listened with great satisfaction. Truly, now that he had made his changes, the course of events had shifted.

Before Shen Chen employed his bitter ploy, he must have coordinated with Lady Yi. She had likely waited and waited, only to find that Shen Chen was not being sent back. Unable to sit still any longer, she had come running to plead for mercy.

In the previous life, this mother-and-son pair had conspired together, drawing up a list of their enemies within and outside the palace and begging Wen Zhuo to eliminate them one by one.

When they needed him, Shen Chen was humble and deferential, and Lady Yi was exquisitely attentive. Upon learning that Wen Zhuo suffered from a cold ailment, she had personally sewn a pair of sleeve warmers for him, using her family’s heirloom technique of embroidered gauze.

Later, when Shen Chen ascended the throne as desired, Lady Yi suddenly asked for the sleeve warmers back. Though puzzled, Wen Zhuo returned them.

The next day, Xie Langyang abruptly impeached him in court. One by one, the ministers joined in, listing his crimes. He stood frozen, suddenly the target of everyone’s attacks.

Gazing upon the faces of his former lover and student, his ears rang and his vision dimmed. But Shen Chen gave him no time to react, immediately ordering his arrest and imprisonment, demanding a strict trial by the Three Judicial Offices…

Everything had been premeditated. Lady Yi had taken back the sleeve warmers for fear that the unique embroidery would implicate her and arouse suspicion.

Now, when Wen Zhuo recalled the kind and gentle expression Lady Yi had worn that day, he felt nothing but nausea.

Hearing Lady Yi’s voice, Xie Langyang finally let out a sigh of relief.

Ever since the emperor had fallen ill with a cough, Lady Yi had served him diligently, not only often personally preparing his soup but also reciting sutras and praying every night. Even if without merit, she had at least expended great effort.

Emperor Shunyuan had seen all this. No matter how indifferent he was to Shen Chen, he would still grant Lady Yi some face for her devotion.

With Lady Yi pleading in the rain, Shen Chen was as good as saved.

Indeed, Emperor Shunyuan paused by the window, a flicker of pity in his eyes.

He was weighing and comparing—whether to take back the ‘well-intentioned effort’ that Wen Zhuo had so tactfully bestowed upon him.

Two hours or so should be enough, he thought. After this ordeal, Shen Chen ought not to dare speak recklessly again.

Just as Emperor Shunyuan was about to relent, Wen Zhuo set his cup down gently on the table, crossed one leg, and sighed: “The north wind blows cold, the rain darkens the royal halls. Lady Yi is truly protective of her son—her devotion is moving.”

At first glance, the remark meant: the north wind is bitter, the rain is chill, the palace is gloomy, yet Lady Yi still came—a testament to the depth of mother-and-son love.

With his concerned and sympathetic tone, it even seemed like a veiled plea for mercy.

Only Eunuch Liu Quan turned his head and cast an inscrutable glance at Wen Zhuo.

Suddenly realizing what was happening, Xie Langyang shot to his feet, trying to interrupt the emperor’s train of thought: “Your Majesty!”

But it was too late.

The crux lay in the character ‘Chen’—the same character as in ‘Chen Consort.’

Chen Consort had died young, a wound that had never healed for Emperor Shunyuan in over twenty years. He had never forgotten her, and had even come to see every other consort as a rival who had stolen her favor. There was no way he could feel pity for another consort while thinking of Chen Consort.

Sure enough, at the mention of ‘Chen,’ Emperor Shunyuan retracted his forgiveness. His pupils dilated slightly, his cheekbones twitched unconsciously, his chest rose and fell heavily, and his breathing grew deep.

“Your Majesty? Your Majesty?” Liu Quan patted the emperor’s back and called softly.

Emperor Shunyuan was lost in darkness. No matter how Lady Yi wept and wailed outside the hall, he paid her no more heed. He simply left through the back door and returned to his bedchamber.

Only then did the ministers fully grasp what had happened. Their looks toward Wen Zhuo grew complicated.

Fortunately, Wen Zhuo had no interest in the struggle for the crown. If he did, whichever prince won his allegiance would gain an immense and formidable advantage.

Gong Zhiyuan smiled without warmth: “Director Wen, you have a clever hand.”

He had no idea why Wen Zhuo bore a grudge against Shen Chen, but as long as it did not involve the Crown Prince, it was none of his concern.

With the emperor gone, the ministers naturally returned to their own homes.

Gong Zhiyuan walked out with two Crown Prince loyalists, Luo Mingpu and Liu Chenming. Eunuchs held umbrellas for them as they made their way to the long street outside the imperial halls where their palanquins waited.

As he passed through the corridor, Gong Zhiyuan did not spare even a glance at Shen Chen or Lady Yi.

Years ago, Gong Zhiyuan had actually wanted to marry his eldest daughter to the Crown Prince. Even as a secondary consort would have been acceptable—later she could be elevated to Noble Consort, bear a prince, and his Gong bloodline could contend for the throne.

But Shen Chen had beaten him to it, pledging himself to the girl in private.

Though Shen Chen claimed that their feelings had been irresistible and swore to make her his principal consort, there was always a hint of scheming about it, a thorn in Gong Zhiyuan’s side.

Moreover, as a staunch supporter of the Crown Prince, Gong Zhiyuan had always kept his distance from the other princes. He did not want to lose the Crown Prince’s trust for nothing.

Gong Zhiyuan left. The Prince Xian faction, led by Bu Zhangyi, also left. The coals in the brazier had nearly burned out, and Lady Yi outside was on the verge of fainting from crying.

Without the emperor’s verbal order, no one dared help Shen Chen rise—unless they had a death wish.

Wen Zhuo had seen enough of the show. He picked up the Songluo tea the emperor had bestowed on him and prepared to leave. The folding fan tucked into his waistband made his already tightly bound black sash cinch his slender waist even further.

Just as he was about to step through the door, someone suddenly seized his wrist and yanked him back.

“Wanshan, you’ve come back too, haven’t you?”

Both were intelligent men; from the other’s behavior, they could each detect something unusual, so there was no need for pretense.

Xie Langyang gazed deeply into his eyes, his own revealing guilt, longing, and a hint of disappointment he could barely conceal.

The person before him was neatly dressed, with glossy black hair, bright eyes, and rosy cheeks—nothing like the dying figure in the Dali Temple prison.

At this time, he had not yet stained his hands with innocent blood. He had not yet stopped at nothing for power.

This was the time Xie Langyang should have loved him most.

He remembered how Wen Zhuo always enjoyed counting his meager official salary, then locking away his private savings in a small compartment under the bed, calculating how much he would need for retirement. Often he would find it insufficient and would even sneak a few things from the emperor to pad his little treasury.

Sometimes Xie Langyang would tell him not to be so concerned about money—the Xie family had plenty, and could support him no matter how extravagant he was. But Wen Zhuo would retort that Xie Langyang was older, so what if he died first? That would leave Xie Langyang speechless.

At this time, Wen Zhuo lived a carefree life. In his leisure, he loved going to the pleasure quarters to listen to music—the cheapest place he could find.

He would gently wave his cloud-pattern folding fan, summon two talented girls to keep him company, and stay out all night. He cared not that the world called him dissolute and unworthy of an official’s dignity. Even when Emperor Shunyuan scolded him, he paid no mind.

He would look at Xie Langyang with shining eyes and smile: “Perfect for fooling them, so no one bothers trying to marry their daughters to me.”

Xie Langyang loved his little cleverness, his sly yet affectionate eyes, his refined heart, and his perfectly calibrated dependence and willfulness.

Just remembering it now sent a surge of warmth through his heart.

But now, there was no longer any trace of that dependence in Wen Zhuo’s eyes. Instead, it had been replaced with a hidden, cunning scheming.

With just a few words, he could toy with Emperor Shunyuan, leaving Shen Chen without any recourse for help, and sending a chill down Xie Langyang’s spine.

Xie Langyang gripped his wrist tightly, suddenly realizing that Wen Zhuo did not seem to have gained any weight since his imprisonment. He had always been hard to fatten up—so fond of sweet treats like date cakes, yet never putting on flesh.

No wonder ten lashes had broken his leg.

The pain of a broken bone—how unbearable it must have been.

And so, Xie Langyang’s heart softened again. The tension in his grip gradually loosened, and his thumb stroked Wen Zhuo’s pulse with restraint and tenderness: “I am overjoyed, and I have missed you, Wanshan. I had almost forgotten what you looked like now.”

Wen Zhuo did not turn his head fully. He glanced down at his own wrist and asked, almost amiably: “How is it that Lord Xie dares to be intimate with me in the palace?”

Just beyond the door stood two young eunuchs waiting to extinguish the lamps, and kneeling outside in the rain were the pitiful Shen Chen and his mother.

Had it been in the previous life, Xie Langyang would never have dared to cross any boundary in the palace.

The shackles he bore were too heavy. One wrong step would mean utter ruin. He was especially wary of Wen Zhuo, deliberately maintaining a cold distance.

Wen Zhuo had endured this double face of coldness in public and warmth in private. He had grown used to it and no longer felt any pain.

Wen Zhuo’s sarcasm stung Xie Langyang, but he had explained this long ago.

“You know, my teacher has always had me watched.”

That Gong Zhiyuan had married his eldest daughter to Shen Chen was unexpected for him, but marrying his youngest daughter to Xie Langyang was a deliberate act.

The eldest son of the Xie family of Nanzhou, the top scholar of the sixteenth year of Shunyuan—Xie Langyang was the successor Gong Zhiyuan valued most.

If a father-in-law was willing to support his son-in-law’s rise to power, he naturally had to ensure that son-in-law was obedient and loyal enough.

Thus, for the four years Wen Zhuo had been transferred back from Bozhou and served in court alongside Xie Langyang, they saw each other daily, yet Xie Langyang dared not cross the line even once.

“That’s simple. Since you’re afraid of Gong Zhiyuan, I’ll think of a way to get rid of him.” Wen Zhuo seemed to hold no grudges as he returned Xie Langyang’s grip, rubbing his thumb between the other’s fingers and palm, as familiarly as ever.

For a brief moment, Xie Langyang was lost in the sweetness, then he snapped awake. He knew Wen Zhuo was capable of such ruthless measures: “How can you! Gong Zhiyuan is the teacher of both you and me. To harm him would be against all reason!”

In the year Wen Zhuo and Xie Langyang took the imperial exams, Gong Zhiyuan had been the chief examiner. According to propriety, successful candidates were to visit the chief examiner’s home and address him as ‘teacher.’

From then on, the examination year’s jinshi were automatically considered the examiner’s disciples, belonging to his faction.

However, after the palace examination, Wen Zhuo was assigned to a distant post in Bozhou. Only Xie Langyang was carefully groomed by Gong Zhiyuan.

Thus, it was not unjust for Xie Langyang to call him teacher, but Wen Zhuo disdained to acknowledge it.

“So it seems you know—killing one’s teacher is against all reason.” Wen Zhuo suddenly pulled his hand away. His eyes, still smiling, instantly turned cold.

Xie Langyang’s palm was left empty. With a sense of loss, he hurried to explain: “Shen Chen is different! A king takes the world as his home—how can he be partial to one thing? When a new emperor first ascends the throne, it is precisely the time for reform, to purge the old and bring in the new. Moreover, there are still remnants of Prince Xian and the Crown Prince eagerly watching. You… the evil deeds you have done are known to all. Shen Chen must give the court and the country an account.”

The oil lamp crackled, emitting the same scent as on New Year’s Eve. Wen Zhuo asked: “So you all had no other choice, and only I am beyond redemption, deserving only death?”

Xie Langyang’s eyes darkened: “Wanshan, you cannot escape blame for the tragedy of the Duke of Liu’s family and the deaths of the Third and Fifth Princes.”

Wen Zhuo wanted to laugh at these words.

“Yes, I have always had a natural enmity with the Duke of Liu and the princes. I wasn’t satisfied killing just one—I had to eradicate the whole lot. I pinned all the crimes on the Crown Prince and Prince Xian, making them fight like dogs until both were wounded, conveniently clearing the path for Shen Chen!”

Xie Langyang lowered his brows, wanting to embrace Wen Zhuo’s trembling body: “I know you have grievances. So this time, I want to bear them with you, to carve out another path—one that leaves no shame before heaven or earth, no guilt in our hearts. Let you wash away your sins and become clean again.”

Wash away his sins? Become clean again?

So he had found him dirty.

Since ancient times, struggles for imperial power had always been bloody and deadly. He had become Shen Chen’s most vicious blade to protect Xie Langyang’s pure intentions. So Xie Langyang had been enjoying his spotless reputation while finding him filthy.

What a piece of trash!

Wen Zhuo no longer felt any sorrow for this man. Instead, his thoughts became very clear: “In the Dali Temple prison, I wondered: How did Shen Chen know I like men? How did he use a bitter ploy to lure me into his trap? Now it seems, it was all your doing.”

“How could I!” Xie Langyang had indeed never revealed their relationship to Shen Chen. “Wanshan, I would never help anyone scheme against you, least of all in matters of our feelings.”

“If not you, then your wife—what difference does it make? Xie Langyang, I’m done playing your games. If you have the ability, go ahead and put Shen Chen on the throne yourself.”

Xie Langyang was not so naive as to expect Wen Zhuo to support Shen Chen without complaint at this moment. He only said: “For now, can you at least stop opposing Shen Chen?”

“No.”

Xie Langyang sighed in exhaustion: “You don’t know what happened while you were in prison. That month, Shen Chen promoted the Qingliu faction, suppressed the consort clans, and issued ten reform edicts in succession. The court was thriving, with all things waiting to be revived. He may not have been a good student, but he will certainly be a good emperor. For the sake of the Great Qian foundation, for the sake of the common people, I beg you—let go of your grudges.”

Wen Zhuo picked up the plum-green celadon cup, examined it for a moment, then suddenly raised his hand and hurled the cold tea squarely into Xie Langyang’s face: “Why don’t you say that to your good father-in-law? Let the Crown Prince he has devoted himself to supporting hear it too.”

Xie Langyang was caught off guard, his forehead and hair drenched, two tea leaves stuck to his face.

But he did not get angry. He merely wiped the tea from his eyes, still gazing at Wen Zhuo with persistent affection: “I will find a way with my teacher myself. But you are mine—I have the responsibility—”

Just then, Lady Yi’s voice suddenly rang out from outside: “Physician! Physician! The Sixth Prince has fainted! Someone come quickly!”

Pandemonium erupted outside, footsteps mixing with the sound of rain, as dense as drumbeats.

A mid-ranking eunuch called urgently through the door: “The Sixth Prince has collapsed! Director Wen, please put in a word before His Majesty! We dare not move him!”

The eunuchs were perceptive enough to know that this Lord Wen could do as he pleased and the emperor would always forgive him.

But Wen Zhuo intended to let him die. He ambled toward the door, yawning: “His Majesty has already returned to his bedchamber to rest. Are you asking me to get scolded? Let His Highness tough it out a little longer.”

“This… Ah!” The eunuch had no choice but to relay the message.

Silence fell around them. In his urgency, Xie Langyang took a few steps after Wen Zhuo, his voice trembling.

“Wanshan, Shen Chen is after all the future Emperor Shengde, the one chosen by Heaven. Even if he has a thousand wrongs, this throne must be his!”

“Chosen by Heaven?”

Wen Zhuo looked at Xie Langyang with some surprise, then let out a laugh.

“Then just wait and see—whether this throne is decided by Heaven or by me!” With that, he pushed open the door and strode out without looking back.

In an instant, rain and mist surged in, the sound deafening, like a thousand war drums beating in unison. All of existence was swallowed by a blur.

Forgetting courtly decorum, Xie Langyang stumbled after the patch of red in the haze: “Wen Wanshan! The current Crown Prince is incompetent, Prince Xian is hypocritical, the Third Prince is crippled, the Fourth Prince has no ambition, the Fifth Prince is naturally dull-witted, and the Seventh Prince is still too young. For the sake of the Great Qian empire, who else can you choose?”

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning slanted down, turning the world bright as day for an instant. Wen Zhuo stood on the steps of the Qingliang Hall, looking down from a height. His official robe was as red as blood, fluttering in the wind. He looked exactly like the Wenchang Emperor, robed in crimson, dotting the foreheads of immortals in a painting.

Raindrops pelted down, thudding onto his body. Xie Langyang stared at his back, seized by an inexplicable unease: “Whom… will you choose?”