Chapter 34#

The words spoken in the grove on the outskirts of the capital made Wen Zhuo hold a sliver of expectation toward Shen Zhi, yet he dared not hope for too much.

Over the years, he had come to deeply understand the principle that “the greater the anticipation, the more crushing the disappointment.” If one day Shen Zhi ascended the throne, bound by ancestral laws and ironclad regulations, facing criticism from the entire court, and forgot these words, Wen Zhuo could accept it calmly.

This summer seemed more sweltering than in previous years. Though it was barely past the hour of Si (9–11 a.m.), the sun blazed like a blacksmith’s furnace.

Wen Zhuo, dressed in a green linen robe, sat beneath the most luxuriant pear tree in the estate, yet sweat still soaked the corners of his temples from the heat.

He had no choice but to roll his sleeves up high, exposing half of his slender forearm, and use a paperweight to hold down the white paper on the table, allowing him to write outdoors.

This letter was to be sent to Gu Weizhi, who had returned from Qianzhou.

He had previously sent word to Gu Weizhi that the journey back to the capital would be fraught with dangers. The stack of corruption evidence from Qianzhou had to be handed over to merchants from Nanping who dealt in Songluo tea, using the tea trade as a cover to transport it back and deliver it directly to the Ministry of Revenue.

The Cao faction had always looked down their noses at the merchants of Nanping, treating them like ants, and were accustomed to strictly guarding against the people of the Great Qian Empire.

Now, he told Gu Weizhi that it was fine to openly let people know that the evidence had already arrived in the capital, saving them the trouble of continuing to tangle with the Cao faction.

Over the past three months, Gu Weizhi had experienced countless dangers and hardships, several thrilling escapes in Qianzhou. Fortunately, the Yongning Marquis Manor and the old forces from Bozhou had secretly protected him, so he could turn danger into safety and remain unharmed.

But inevitably, the forces belonging to the Yongning Marquis Manor had been vaguely detected by the Crown Prince’s faction. With Gong Zhiyuan’s intellect, even if he was slow to react, he should have guessed that the Yongning Marquis had already become involved in the struggle for the throne. However, he still couldn’t be certain whom the Yongning Marquis was supporting.

Was it Shen Zhi, Shen Chen, or the virtuous prince who was well-known for his talent and repeatedly showed respect to the wise, sending gifts and greetings year after year?

But beyond doubt, the Yongning Marquis’s family had become a threat that the Crown Prince’s faction must eliminate.

This likely also included Gong Zhiyuan’s personal motives.

Gong Zhiyuan had two sons. Although they possessed no exceptional talents, they bore the heavy responsibility of carrying forward the Gong family.

One son pursued a civil career, serving as an editor in the Hanlin Academy, working under Wen Zhuo.

The other pursued a military path, holding the rank of a Bazong (a low-ranking officer) in the Three Great Battalions.

This dynasty had a long-standing system of hereditary privilege, allowing the Chief Grand Secretary to have his two sons enter officialdom without examinations. It was through this rule that Gong’s two sons had obtained their positions.

But Gong Zhiyuan was not satisfied. He wanted his eldest son to inherit his position as Chief Grand Secretary, while his second son aimed for the post of General Superintendent of the Three Great Battalions.

However, the appearance of Jun Dingyuan had disrupted his plans.

Jun Dingyuan, with his brilliant military achievements and now only twenty-eight years old, would occupy the position of General Superintendent for who knew how many years if he obtained it.

If there were no border conflicts in the next decade, Gong’s younger son might never catch up to Jun Dingyuan’s accomplishments in his entire lifetime.

For this reason alone, Gong Zhiyuan could not tolerate Jun Dingyuan.

After finishing the letter, Wen Zhuo set down his brush and waited for the ink to dry.

Liu Qiying approached with a bowl of ice-cold drink. The outer wall of the white bowl was covered with condensation, and a chill wafted toward him.

Every winter, every household in the capital stored ice in cellars for relief from the summer heat.

Wen Zhuo took the bowl and drank it in one gulp. The cold slid down his throat, and only then did he feel the heat on his body dissipate slightly.

Liu Qiying fanned herself vigorously and couldn’t help teasing: “That’s great, my lord. In the afternoon, you can drink ten bowls. The old physician will never have to worry about a summer without business at the Imperial Academy of Medicine again!”

Wen Zhuo: “…”

Wen Zhuo elegantly set the empty bowl aside, selectively ignoring Liu Qiying’s sarcasm, and asked, “How is the secret tunnel coming along?”

Summer had one advantage: working at night made it easier to avoid suspicion.

The Great Qian Empire followed the Song system, with no curfew, so nighttime commerce in the capital was extremely prosperous. It was perfectly normal for ordinary craftsmen to take on night jobs.

But those digging the tunnel were actually the Yongning Marquis Manor’s own people. Working every night without fear of surveillance had sped up progress considerably.

“It’s already been dug through. Where the camellia used to be in our inner courtyard, there’s now a hole. The craftsmen are plastering the tunnel with white lime mortar. With the virtuous prince’s approval, the Ministry of Works has provided all sorts of conveniences. It should be finished soon. But the old marquis can’t sleep because of the noise at night, so he’s switched to taking naps during the hottest part of the day.”

Wen Zhuo was surprised and quickly said with concern, “Hurry and recommend the old physician to the marquis. If his body can’t handle it, treat him promptly. Don’t delay the work.”

Liu Qiying: “…”

Beside them, Jiang Man was rolling up the letter into a small tube and stuffing it into a copper tube on a carrier pigeon’s leg. She honestly remarked, “A Liu’s mouth has been corrupted by the lord.”

The three of them were chatting when suddenly a commotion came from the estate’s entrance.

In no time, a figure strode through the door.

Shen Zhi was wearing a thin, moon-white robe, his sleeves and pant legs rolled up, his slightly curled hair tied in a topknot with a green cloth band. Striding boldly under the blazing sun, he exuded an unrestrained and rebellious air.

Dressed like this, no one would believe he was the “Chess Saint” Fifth Prince, renowned in the capital.

“Your Highness?” Liu Qiying was so startled that she stopped fanning herself.

Since Shen Zhi had been frequently leaving the palace over the past few months, and sometimes when Emperor Shunyuan looked for him, he happened to be absent, Wen Zhuo had specifically advised him to leave the palace less often to avoid incurring the emperor’s displeasure.

So Shen Zhi hadn’t come for quite a while.

Wen Zhuo quickly pulled down his sleeves, straightened his robe, and said with a frown, his attire neat, “Your Highness, why are you dressed like this, with your hair disheveled?”

Shen Zhi couldn’t stand ancient attire. Fanning himself rapidly, he said, “It’s so hot, I wish I could cut off all my clothes and trousers and shave my head too.”

Wen Zhuo said bluntly, “Then Your Highness probably doesn’t need to contend for the throne anymore; all the civil and military officials would think you’ve gone mad.”

“Why did you lower your sleeves, teacher? Aren’t you hot?” Shen Zhi couldn’t be bothered with all those formalities. Holding his fan to block the sun, he quickly walked to the pear tree.

Wen Zhuo shook his head. “It’s against decorum.”

Shen Zhi raised an eyebrow, leaned in close to look at him, his eyes teasing. “Not really. The first time you saw me, teacher, weren’t you wearing just your undergarments? With a gust of wind, I even—”

Wen Zhuo “slapped” his hand over his ears, lifted his head, and closed his eyes, pretending to plug his ears like a thief stealing a bell.

Back then, he had thought Shen Zhi was half-mad, and his own mind was consumed with nothing but revenge. He was focused and single-minded. But now… now it was different. One random sentence from this man could throw his thoughts into utter disarray.

“I haven’t finished yet.” Shen Zhi pulled Wen Zhuo’s wrist down, freeing his reddened ear from his palm, and said with a smile in his voice, “With the gust of wind, I was so overwhelmed by your presence, teacher, that my face turned pale, my legs trembled, and I was terrified. Even now, I’m still afraid.”

Wen Zhuo knew perfectly well he was making it up, but he really didn’t want to continue this topic. So he averted his gaze, refusing to look at Shen Zhi’s increasingly powerful forearms and sturdy legs, and asked seriously, “The secret tunnel is almost finished. Does Your Highness have something urgent today?”

“My mother received a letter. My maternal uncle has already reached Liangzhou and should arrive in the capital in a few days. Following your advice, he has been loudly proclaiming his desire to return his bones to his hometown. It has caused a huge uproar in the various prefectures. Probably within this month, memorials reporting this matter to Father for his gracious sentiments will pile up like a small mountain.”

Wen Zhuo breathed a sigh of relief. That was good. With public opinion backing him up, even if Emperor Shunyuan was furious or lost his reason, he would have to think twice.

This was the first layer of the golden bell jar that Wen Zhuo had prepared for Jun Dingyuan.

As for the second layer, he would have to bet that Shen Chen and Xie Langyang would inevitably make a move.

“The corruption evidence from Qianzhou has already arrived at the Ministry of Revenue. Bu Zhangyi has people urgently organizing it. It will likely be presented to His Majesty soon. Once Weizhi arrives in the capital, it will be time to impeach the Cao faction. We just need to sit back and watch the Crown Prince and the virtuous prince fight it out,” Wen Zhuo said slowly.

“I understand.” Shen Zhi nodded, then his eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, right, let me show you something.”

Wen Zhuo was puzzled. “What?”

“Turn around and look,” Shen Zhi urged.

Wen Zhuo gave a quick glance, then immediately turned back to stare stubbornly at a green pear on the tree. “…Then Your Highness should put your clothes on properly.”

Shen Zhi looked down at himself. He hadn’t exposed any crucial parts—just his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his robe hem pulled up to his knees. Even so, sweat dripped down his muscles, gleaming in the sun.

Even this was too much for him? And he still dared to call himself uninhibited.

A feudal little cat.

After Shen Zhi put down his pant legs and straightened his sleeves, Wen Zhuo finally turned his face back and saw the small object in his palm.

Shen Zhi was holding a small wooden box, inside which were set several diamond-shaped mirrors, fixed in place with thin wooden strips.

“This is a waist-level viewfinder. I made it with diamond mirrors and leftover wood from the tunnel,” Shen Zhi said, handing the object to Wen Zhuo with enthusiasm. “Look into it. You can see the clouds in the sky. Interesting, right?”

It was simply a rudimentary version of a single-lens reflex camera principle. In this era without photography, it wasn’t much of a practical item.

Shen Zhi had just had a sudden inspiration to make a little toy to amuse Wen Zhuo, hoping to see those curious, tentative, and richly expressive expressions on his face, like any young person in his twenties.

Instead of always bearing the burden of the struggle for the throne and the trauma of fear, as a strategist.

Though summer was scorching, the thick clouds were like cotton, the sky was blue like washed, extraordinarily gorgeous.

Wen Zhuo bent down to look. Sure enough, on the polished diamond mirror, he saw rolling white clouds and bright clear skies. Though only a small image, it was as if the scenery had been condensed and framed in the mirror.

He examined it for a long time, then looked up at the sky to steady himself. Unflappably, he asked Shen Zhi, “Then why don’t I just look directly up at the sky?”

Shen Zhi: “…”

This was unanswerable.

Seeing that Wen Zhuo wasn’t that curious, Shen Zhi wasn’t discouraged. “Wait a few days, I’ll think of another way to make you something that can beat the heat, so you won’t have to be afraid of summer.”

Wen Zhuo quietly tucked the waist-level viewfinder into his palm and put it behind his back. “I’m not a child, Your Highness. Why do you always want to make me playthings?”

Shen Zhi sat on the stone stool under the tree, chin in hand, gazing at him with burning eyes. “Because I like it.”

Wen Zhuo’s body stiffened, nearly dropping what was in his hand.

“…I like making little things to make my teacher happy.” Shen Zhi smiled, then stood up, wiping the sweat from his neck. “I need to go read. I’ve fallen too far behind over these ten years. I’ll come back when I have time another day.”

Wen Zhuo’s heart slowly returned to its place. He tightened his fingers inside his sleeve and reluctantly advised, “Your Highness, don’t come often. Wait until the tunnel is finished. There’s no hurry. If there’s something urgent, I’ll signal you in court.”

“Alright.”

Shen Zhi was silent for a moment, taking in Wen Zhuo’s expression. Then he slowly pulled out his fan, blocked the sun, and left.

Liu Qiying and Jiang Man escorted him out of the estate. In an instant, the inner courtyard was empty.

Wen Zhuo secretly pulled up his sleeve, pinched two fingers, and lightly flicked the wooden board. It made a crisp “dong” sound.

Shen Zhi was fond of using complicated and strange names, like “Monte Carlo tree search” or “waist-level viewfinder.”

He looked inside again and again.

White clouds were still drifting over the mirror, white and beautiful.

He raised the thing toward the sky again, looking up into it, but saw only the gravel path beneath his feet.

Very interesting.

How strange. What was the principle?

He fiddled with it over and over, searching through all the ancient sages’ books he had read, but found that none mentioned it.

Wen Zhuo couldn’t help the corners of his mouth lifting. He held up the little thing and looked around at various places. All the scenes really were reversed.

“My lord!” Liu Qiying’s voice came from nearby.

Wen Zhuo startled. His hand loosened, and the small object bounced three times between his two palms before he barely managed to keep it from falling.

He hurriedly set the thing down on the stone table, afraid to continue playing with it, and quickly pulled out a book, pretending to read intently.

Liu Qiying returned, glanced at the waist-level viewfinder on the stone table, and said thoughtfully, “The news of General Jun’s arrival has spread throughout the city. I have a feeling that today His Highness only came to deliver this little toy.”

Wen Zhuo turned a page and said calmly, “Not at all.”

Liu Qiying circled the stone table, examining the object. “But it really is quite amazing, isn’t it, my lord? Don’t you think so?”

Wen Zhuo’s eyes both shifted to the mirror surface. But he only said, “It’s okay.”