Chapter 35#

This year’s summer flood brought joy to some and sorrow to others.#

Every time Qianzhou sent up a memorial begging for imperial grace and relief, the Crown Prince would tremble three times in the Eastern Palace.

These past months, he could neither eat nor sleep well, and even his once-imposing rotund belly had grown bloated and dispirited.

“Grand Secretary, what can we do? That Gu Weizhi is impervious to both soft and hard approaches. This, this…” Shen Zhen crouched miserably before Gong Zhiyuan, a man well past thirty now weeping with the sorrow of a child, as if a single falling leaf from above could instantly crush him.

Gong Zhiyuan was equally furious, angered by his lack of resolve: “Your Highness, why did you not consult with me before ordering the Cao clan to move against Gu Weizhi? His Majesty may be ill, but he is not foolish! If Gu Weizhi had met with trouble the moment he reached Qianzhou, wouldn’t that have been an obvious tell?”

Shen Zhen spread his arms limply and collapsed to the ground with a thud, wailing: “We couldn’t bribe Gu Weizhi. Grandfather said to kill him, so Father would send another pliable official, and we’d have a chance. But who could have guessed that this minor official would have escorts protecting him along the way? I think the Marquis of Yongning is no good either—he must have been bought off by the Wise Prince! Definitely!”

“Alas!” Gong Zhiyuan let out a heavy sigh.

The Cao faction had reached the end of their rope and was now taking desperate risks.

They knew well that Gong Zhiyuan and his cabinet ministers would treat them as they had Cao Fangzheng—sacrificing the pawn to save the rook. As long as the Crown Prince remained Crown Prince, no matter how many relatives died, there would still be room for recovery.

But the Cao faction was already steeped in sin, and one misstep could lead to utter ruin.

To protect themselves, they had to strike at Gu Weizhi.

This was the internal conflict within the Crown Prince’s faction.

“Your Highness, do not worry. Now that Cao Fangzheng is dead, even if the relief funds are found to be fraudulent, we can pin everything on him. Moreover, His Majesty once praised Cao Fangzheng, so the old emperor would also lose face in this matter. Those who stubbornly hound Cao Fangzheng now may gradually lose imperial favor as well,” Gong Zhiyuan analyzed in a deep voice.

Shen Zhen wiped his tears and ventured tentatively: “Grand Secretary, do you mean the Wise Prince will also suffer a hidden loss, and we both gain and lose?”

“The Wise Prince?” Gong Zhiyuan repeated, then curled his lips into a sneer. “Yes, the Wise Prince.”

The Wise Prince’s faction would certainly not miss this chance to topple the Crown Prince, and losing some imperial favor would be worth it for them.

But deep down, he harbored a nagging unease—fear that all their efforts would be for someone else’s benefit, that some third party would reap the rewards.

Luo Mingpu pondered and said: “I hear that the evidence Gu Weizhi collected has already been submitted to the Ministry of Revenue, and he himself is bringing witnesses to the capital. I wonder what kind of evidence it is.”

He then looked up: “Your Highness, give me a straight answer. Of that five million taels in disaster relief funds, how much did Cao Fangzheng actually embezzle?”

Shen Zhen’s heart sank, his puffy eyelids flickering several times as he whispered like a mosquito: “Three… three million.”

“What!” Luo Mingpu shot to his feet, veins bulging on his forehead three times, barely restrained from bursting out of his skin.

His Ministry of Justice prison was old and dilapidated, overrun with rats. He’d calculated that repairing it would require thirty thousand taels, and had asked the Ministry of Revenue for funds, but they wouldn’t approve it. Above him was a minister who prioritized mediation and avoiding trouble, always delaying matters until Luo Mingpu was left with mouth sores and sleepless nights.

Three million taels—how many people’s livelihoods that could have supported!

It seemed the only reason Qianzhou hadn’t erupted in rebellion back then was that Bozhou had absorbed those refugees, cleaning up Cao Fangzheng’s mess.

Luo Mingpu’s vision swam several times before he managed to suppress his rage.

Shen Zhen continued to complain: “All these years, in my struggle with the Wise Prince, there have been so many places that needed silver. The Wise Prince controls the Ministry of Revenue—what do I have? I was forced into this!”

Liu Chenming suddenly spoke, his voice extremely grave: “What if Cao Fangzheng kept a private ledger detailing where the silver went? He came to the capital this time for the Spring Terrace Chess Tournament, but the incident happened by chance, catching him off guard before he could be imprisoned. He should have been thoroughly interrogated, but His Majesty ordered his immediate execution by flogging. He had no chance to reveal what he left behind in Qianzhou.”

The Wenhua Hall fell into dead silence, as if a single speck of dust could shake the very foundations.

After a long pause, Gong Zhiyuan sighed and spoke: “We still have the Grand Tutor. As long as he is here, this matter will not harm the Crown Prince’s foundation.”

In his heart, he thought the worst-case scenario was that the Emperor would take this opportunity to suppress the Cao faction, execute a few people, establish his imperial authority in his old age, and clear the path for the Crown Prince’s succession by removing obstacles from the maternal relatives.

Deposing the heir? Unlikely. That would be a matter of national importance. Besides, with Emperor Shunyuan’s failing health, he had neither the energy nor the time to examine another heir.

While gloom hung over their camp, the Wise Prince’s faction was already eagerly uncorking their wine.

“Hahaha.” Bu Zhangyi stroked his beard and laughed. He’d been buried in his work for two days, developing two fish-bladder-like bags under his eyes, but hard work paid off—the logic of the case was nearly airtight.

“The Crown Prince’s faction would never imagine that Cao Fangzheng secretly kept a ledger. His steward, sensing the wind had turned, voluntarily handed it over to Gu Weizhi. Now that ledger is in my hands. Three million taels—he truly had the audacity to embezzle!”

Tang Guangzhi asked: “Does the ledger explicitly state it was for the Crown Prince?”

Bu Zhangyi shook his head: “No, it says it was for the Cao family in the capital. But where the Cao family used it—isn’t that obvious? Once we throw the National Father Cao into prison, I’m not afraid we won’t get the truth out of him.”

Tang Guangzhi: “I’m just worried that the National Father will take all the blame and insist the Crown Prince knew nothing.”

Shang Zhizhi: “His Majesty is no fool. The Cao family embezzled this silver—it must have gone somewhere. It didn’t just evaporate into thin air.”

Tang Guangzhi still had concerns: “In recent years, His Majesty’s governing methods have seemed more lenient than in his early days. In the past, when it came to corrupt officials, he would always pull up the radish and bring up the mud—clean house all at once. Now he stops at a point. I’m afraid…”

Bu Zhangyi’s face darkened: “Then it’s up to us to nail this case down tight. We cannot give His Majesty a chance to hesitate.”

The Wise Prince sat in the seat of honor, listening silently the whole time. Only now did he cover his face and say with compassion: “All of you rejoice at the impending fall of the Cao faction, but as I listen, I feel only heartache. The millions of people in Qianzhou—how much suffering have they endured all these years? The Crown Prince and I fought each other, causing devastation among the people. My crimes are too numerous to record!”

The three men quickly clasped their hands in praise: “Your Highness’s heart is benevolent, caring for the people. We are ashamed to compare ourselves to you.”

The Wise Prince waved his hand, feigning the wiping of tears from his eyes. He straightened his back and said somberly: “For the sake of the people of this realm, I cannot allow the Great Qian empire to fall into the hands of such an incompetent man!”

In the palace, the two princes took turns on stage, while Shen Chen, residing in the Princes’ Quarters, felt like the mantis stalking the cicada, with the oriole behind—a sense of being the one who profits from the struggle.

With the Cao faction removed and the Crown Prince deposed, Gong Zhiyuan would inevitably serve him. With Gong Zhiyuan as a bridge, the Crown Prince’s former allies could all be gathered into his fold. Thus, his start would be even smoother than in his previous life.

The Wise Prince’s faction, determined to destroy the Crown Prince, would inevitably reveal their true, ugly colors. They weren’t forcing the Emperor to depose the heir—they were forcing him to become wary.

A Wise Prince who topples the Crown Prince, who had sat firmly for seven years—what kind of power was that? Would it one day threaten his life?

Therefore, after this, the Wise Prince would surely lose imperial favor. Through proper channels, he would never be able to succeed the throne.

The Crown Prince’s faction might think the Marquis of Yongning had submitted to the Wise Prince, and that the Wise Prince now had military support. But only Shen Chen knew that the Marquis of Yongning was actually protecting Shen Zhi. The Wise Prince only held the military commissioner of Liangzhou—hardly enough to stir up major waves.

This time, Gu Weizhi was secretly protected by the Marquis of Yongning’s household, and the Crown Prince’s faction hated him to the bone. Now, before the Crown Prince was deposed, Shen Chen would timely deliver this great gift and eliminate all three obstacles at once: the Crown Prince, the Wise Prince, and Shen Zhi.

Wen Zhuo, Wen Zhuo, even if you scheme with all your cunning, can you turn back today’s outcome?

“Xie Qing, Jun Dingyuan is about to arrive in the capital. Prepare a generous gift, and visit Mo Shu on my behalf. In my previous life, it was thanks to his fierce willingness to die that everyone else was saved.” Shen Chen held a pair of small red-handled scissors in his hand and, with a snap, cut off a wildly growing zephyr lily stem.

The small branch fell to the ground, drifting lightly, like an insignificant life.

Mo Shu.

What a pity.

In the scorching deep summer, Xie Langyang felt a desolate chill.

He vaguely remembered the first time they met—at the Marquis of Yongning’s mansion. That man sat quietly under the eaves, never putting down his book. When he turned his head, his posture was like an orchid, his gaze bright and brilliant.

“Vice Minister Xie, the General is still changing clothes. Please wait a moment,” he said.

If Mo Shu had lived, he would surely have been a pillar of the court, a talent for governing the world. But it was fated that he could not live.

Even Wen Zhuo, with all his thorough planning, had failed to save him.

Xie Langyang examined his own conscience and found no place to hide. He had to admit that Wen Zhuo’s helplessness in the previous life had given him some comfort.

Even if he didn’t do this—didn’t pry open this switch—Mo Shu couldn’t be saved. Jun Dingyuan was destined to lose his dear friend.

“This matter hasn’t been discovered yet. What if Wen Zhuo told Mo Shu in advance to hide in the mountains and disappear?” Xie Langyang asked in a deep voice, still holding a sliver of hope, or perhaps a trace of worry.

Shen Chen laughed: “If he were willing to hide in the mountains, he wouldn’t have followed Jun Dingyuan through the battlefields.”

Seeing Xie Langyang silent, Shen Chen turned back, put down the small scissors, and said considerately: “If you can’t bear it or feel sorrow, you don’t have to see him. Just go to Jun Dingyuan’s camp, and this matter will proceed smoothly.”

“I understand.”

Xie Langyang bowed stiffly and withdrew from the Princes’ Quarters.

He stood under the blazing sun, enveloped in strong light, yet still felt like an ineradicable sin, a shadow that could not be illuminated.

So this was what it meant to walk this treacherous path—every step pressed down on an unwillingness. The words of the sages and the books of the worthies he had read in the past would pierce his chest at every moment, turning back to devour him.

Wen Zhuo had waded through this path once and pushed him out of it, yet he had never understood Wen Zhuo’s state of mind or appreciated his sacrifice.

Everything in this life had come too easily to him, so he took everything for granted.

When Gu Weizhi’s carriage and retinue arrived in the capital, dusty and travel-worn, Jun Dingyuan’s army was also stationed at the foot of Qingping Mountain.

As dusk approached, Wen Zhuo, in the Hanlin Academy, received news that Jun Dingyuan had arrived in the capital. He hurriedly rolled up the classics on his desk, threw them into a cloth basket, heedless of the ink stains still on his fingertips, and pulled at his official robe as he headed out.

Compiler Gong Weide entered holding a book. Seeing Wen Zhuo’s haste, his heart stirred: “Director, are you in such a rush? What’s the matter?”

A few months ago, his father had specifically instructed him to keep an eye on Wen Zhuo—to see who Wen Zhuo was close to, and whether he privately contacted any prince.

He kept this in mind and secretly observed, but had never found any clues.

Wen Zhuo turned his head and saw his shifty-eyed expression. An idea suddenly struck him.

Feigning carelessness, Wen Zhuo replied: “Oh, a few days ago, the Sixth Prince consulted me on something. I had no idea at the time, but now I’ve figured out the solution, so I’m in a hurry to tell him.”

“The Sixth Prince?” Gong Weide’s heart skipped a beat.

Wen Zhuo pretended to tap his head, revealing a look of sudden realization: “I remember, the Sixth Prince is your brother-in-law, isn’t he, Weide?”

“Uh…” Gong Weide’s face stiffened.

How could he explain? His father hated that his eldest sister had behaved improperly and missed the chance to become the Crown Prince’s consort, and had unilaterally cut off their father-daughter relationship.

Wen Zhuo smiled and patted his shoulder: “Then it’s no problem. I’ll leave a bit early. Don’t tell anyone.”

“…” Gong Weide watched Wen Zhuo leave, and a storm arose in his heart.

It was the Sixth Prince!

The one privately contacting Wen Zhuo was the Sixth Prince!

The Sixth Prince, as his father had said, indeed harbored impure intentions, secretly courting important ministers to contend with the Crown Prince!

No, he must report this to his father immediately!

The flagstone road at the foot of the imperial city was coated in warm gold.

Wen Zhuo walked quickly, reaching the mottled outer palace wall. He looked left and right, and the inconspicuous red-lacquered sedan slid silently up to him.

He lifted the curtain and entered, his robe hem crossing the carriage shaft. He ordered: “To Guang’an Gate.”

After the morning court today, he had ordered Ge Wei to deliver a note to Consort Liang, which read—

“Inform His Highness that before General Jun meets the Emperor, I must see him first.”

This message had to be delivered at this time to appear spur-of-the-moment, not planned for days.

The sedan left Guang’an Gate. Outside the city, the wind suddenly rose, whipping sand and dust against the sedan curtain.

After a short wait, urgent hoofbeats sounded, and a white horse came galloping through the dust.

Shen Zhi was dressed in black riding clothes, a dark cloth covering his face, his hair tied high in a bun. Man and horse cut through the twilight.

These past months, his riding skills had become increasingly refined.

Shen Zhi dismounted with a leap and pulled down his face cloth, revealing a handsome face with deep brows and bright eyes.

He looked up at the setting sun, nearly touching the mountains. The afterglow made the sweat on his forehead glisten. He caught his breath and asked Wen Zhuo: “Teacher, why the sudden need to see my uncle? The sun is almost down. Is it so urgent?”

“General Jun is to see His Majesty tomorrow morning. After much thought, I felt I should give him a few instructions,” Wen Zhuo said without changing his expression. “His Majesty has always been wary of meritorious generals. This major victory has greatly delighted him, but I must ensure he doesn’t say the wrong thing tomorrow and reawaken that wariness.”

Shen Zhi nodded, finding it reasonable, but Wen Zhuo’s rush out of the city was a bit extreme. Couldn’t he have just sent a letter a few days ago with the instructions?

As he pondered, he saw Wen Zhuo quickly pull a carrot from his satchel and hurriedly feed it to the white horse that was pawing the ground. Then Wen Zhuo turned around and, with a serious expression, extended both arms toward him: “Your Highness, please help your teacher mount the horse.”

He hadn’t touched a horse in months, so Wen Zhuo was a bit hesitant again.

“One moment.”

Shen Zhi laughed, and like a magician, produced a smaller pair of short gloves from his chest—navy blue.

He stepped forward, encircled Wen Zhuo’s jade-white wrist, and carefully slipped the gloves on. His fingertips inadvertently brushed against Wen Zhuo’s cool skin.

“I specially prepared these for you, Teacher. You never let me out, so I never had a chance to give them to you.”

Shen Zhi had galloped all the way from the imperial city, which naturally had warmed him up, so the gloves in his chest were also warm and cozy.

Wen Zhuo looked at the gloves covering his hands, his heart stirring. Had Shen Zhi been preparing to take him riding again since that day?

But unless the situation was urgent, how could he always do such improper things?

His thoughts were in chaos when he suddenly felt a pair of strong hands grip his official robe’s belt, his waist held fast without any gap. Then, with a burst of strength, he was steadily lifted up.

He hurriedly stepped into the stirrup, lifted his robe, and mounted the white horse.

A robe of bright red official attire spread over the snow-white horse’s back, the golden sunset at the platform overshadowed.

Shen Zhi leaped onto the horse and wrapped this red figure in his embrace. With both hands he pulled the reins, urging the white horse forward: “Teacher, sit tight.”

Wen Zhuo steeled himself and spoke, his voice trembling in the wind: “The bell at Guang’an Gate sounds at Hai hour, signaling the gate’s closure. We must return before then. Qingping Mountain is still some distance away—Your Highness, go faster.”

Shen Zhi tilted his head slightly, about to ask him something, but saw Wen Zhuo instinctively shrink his neck and turn his ear away.

Shen Zhi graciously did not breathe near his ear bone, but instead said toward the front: “If I go faster, can Teacher take it?”

He had to take it—there was no time!

Wen Zhuo took a deep breath, trying to straighten his back and encourage himself: “…I’ll do my best.”

Shen Zhi saw his whole body stiff, his nails clenched white, his face drained of color, as if he were about to face his death. His heart immediately softened completely.

He gently patted Wen Zhuo’s back through the gloves and coaxed: “Can I hold you a little tighter?”

“…Fine.”

“If Teacher feels uncomfortable, just shout it out. No need to tough it out.”

“…Mm.”

Shen Zhi tightened his arms, shielding him even closer, then spurred his horse forward. Hoofbeats shattered the dying sun, kicking up a whirlwind of sand and dust.

Wen Zhuo was not as reserved as he had thought. Soon he curled up, pressing tightly against Shen Zhi’s chest, his ears filled with the youth’s steady breathing and the dampness of his neck.

He no longer cared about liking men or proper etiquette. He only felt that his internal organs were about to be jolted apart, the wind in his face like fine knives.

Only when his tightly shut eyes could no longer sense the twilight’s crimson did the white horse finally stop. Wen Zhuo’s limbs were numb, his heart pounding wildly—he couldn’t even walk.

Shen Zhi had to lift him off the horse.

Leaning on Shen Zhi’s arm to ease his aching, numb legs, Wen Zhuo looked up and saw, under the azure sky, military tents stretching in a continuous line like a long dragon lying in the wilderness, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Flags fluttered in the evening wind, rustling sharply, more magnificent and majestic than the layered green mountains.

In his brief life, Wen Zhuo had been confined to three places: Mianzhou, Bozhou, and the capital. He had never seen such a grand and awe-inspiring sight.

For a moment, he forgot the terror of being on horseback, and only felt his mind and spirit stirred, lingering long.

This was Great Qian.

This was the foundation of Great Qian, the roots and veins of Great Qian.

He steadied himself, adjusted his hair bun, straightened his attire, and, accompanied by Shen Zhi, walked toward the layers of gray tents.

He announced in a clear voice: “Wen Zhuo, Director of the Hanlin Academy, requests an audience with General Jun Dingyuan.”