Chapter 47#

Phoenix Terrace was not within the imperial city but located near the imperial mausoleum on the outskirts of the capital, covering approximately twelve mu. Its overall layout was shaped like the character " times ."#

At the very center stood a nine-story high platform, facing the imperial mausoleum from afar. On each level, royal relatives of various ranks were confined in seclusion according to their status.

Around the high platform were two layers of enclosing walls, the tops of which were covered with thorns and shards of porcelain. Every five zhang, a copper bell was installed, ringing with the wind to deter climbing. The foundations of the walls were buried three chi underground, paved with granite slabs, making it impossible to dig a tunnel and escape.

A total of sixty-eight guards were stationed here, none subordinate to the others, creating a tight system of checks and balances. These guards were forbidden from private conversations with the confined individuals and from discussing state affairs.

Those living on Phoenix Terrace retained their dignity but were stripped of all freedom. Every aspect—daily meals, clothing, and daily routines—was strictly regulated. Though they could take walks in their small courtyards, read, and write, they were not permitted to speak face-to-face with other captives.

The entire compound was often deathly silent. Only at dusk, when the watchman’s clapper sounded, could the guards’ voices be heard reciting the Sutra of Repentance and Reflection.

How could Shen Zhi not know that the crown prince had absolutely no way to open his window and meet with Huang Ting outside the walls?

What was even stranger was that when mentioning Phoenix Terrace earlier, Shen Zhi’s tone was light and casual, his expression calm and unruffled—unlike someone who had personally endured the torment of that purgatory.

Wen Zhuo’s heart jolted violently.

Could it be that he is not reborn at all!

On the surface, Wen Zhuo appeared stunned, but his thoughts raced like flowing light.

When did I decide that Shen Zhi was reborn?

Probably at their first meeting, when Shen Zhi had spoken the word “humiliation” before he did, making him subconsciously think the other man also knew what was about to happen.

Moreover, he himself had been reborn, so it was natural to project that onto others.

But what if Shen Zhi had only said it casually, with no knowledge of that past life’s events?

If so, how could he explain Shen Zhi’s drastic change in temperament over the past few months, his deep thinking, and his sudden leaps in knowledge?

At that thought, a chill shot up Wen Zhuo’s spine.

A man who had left home at age eight and disappeared without a trace for ten years—if he had been replaced long ago, would his family even notice?

“What’s wrong?” Shen Zhi noticed his unnatural expression.

Wen Zhuo suppressed the storm in his heart and gave a light laugh. “Nothing.”

If he truly wanted to hide something from someone, he would never let them catch a flaw.

Shen Zhi stayed another half hour at the Wen residence, discussing the “Sweet Dew Incident” from the Zizhi Tongjian with Wen Zhuo. Wen Zhuo’s commentary on the disaster of eunuch tyranny carried the awe-inspiring authority of a Chancellor of the Hanlin Academy.

Shen Zhi admired his profound insights while also savoring his clarity and intelligence.

It wasn’t until the palace was about to lock its gates that Shen Zhi reluctantly mounted his horse and hurried back.

The next day at the morning court, an autumn rain drizzled without end, lingering like silk threads. The broad leaves that had accumulated in the streets and alleys, soaked by the rain, gave off a foul, decaying odor.

Wen Zhuo stood with his back to the curtain of rain outside the hall and instructed Ge Wei: “Go to the Noble Consort’s palace and ask Her Highness if the Your Highness has any birthmarks. Say it’s for verifying auspicious signs during the year-end temple sacrifices. Don’t mention my name.”

Last time, he had sent Ge Wei to deliver a note to Noble Consort Liang, so she should have some trust in Ge Wei.

Using the temple sacrifices as an excuse and sending Ge Wei personally, Noble Consort Liang indeed had no reason to be suspicious.

The next day, Ge Wei returned cheerfully to report to Wen Zhuo, still carrying the scent of rain on her: “Chancellor! I found out! Her Highness said that when the Your Highness was born, there was a small red mark on the pubic bone!”

Wen Zhuo was fiddling with his waist‑level viewfinder. At those words, his body jerked suddenly, nearly crushing the viewfinder in his hand.

His face twisted unnaturally. “You… you said the pubic bone?”

Ge Wei, completely oblivious, continued smiling with curved brows. “That’s right. The midwife initially thought it was birth blood and wiped it again and again, but it turned out to be a red mark that wouldn’t come off. Later, the imperial physician examined it and said it wasn’t harmful, so Her Highness was relieved.”

Wen Zhuo felt a rush of heat surge to his face. In an instant, he blushed scarlet. He hastily closed his eyes, his fingers twisting the sleeve of his robe out of shape.

How could it be that place?!

How could he, the Chancellor of the Hanlin Academy, examine such an intimate spot on His Highness!

That night, in the inner chamber of the Wen residence, the candlelight was dim and yellow. Wen Zhuo sat on the bed, hugging his quilt, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

He pondered for a long time, tapping the viewfinder beside his pillow one moment, then knocking on the fan blades resting by the bedside the next.

Outside the window, the rain tapped against the window lattice. A chill seeped up through the floor tiles, but thankfully a brazier in the corner radiated warmth.

Staring at the dancing embers, his thoughts raced in a hundred directions. He thought about simply pretending to be ignorant—after all, the current Your Highness was wise, far‑sighted, and broad‑minded, which satisfied him completely.

But then his mind turned and condemned himself: the legitimacy of the imperial bloodline was the foundation of the nation—how could he allow even the slightest carelessness?

That left only… one risky attempt.

The next morning at court, Shen Zhi suddenly noticed that Wen Zhuo was ill.

During the assembly, Wen Zhuo couldn’t help coughing softly. The subtle sound reached Emperor Shunyuan on the throne, who urged him to take care of his health.

When court was dismissed, Gu Weizhi, Mo Shu, and Xue Chongnian immediately crowded around him, showing great concern. Shen Zhi, pushed to the back, couldn’t even get a word in.

So he took a detour within the imperial city, then immediately spurred his horse straight to the Chancellor’s residence, not bothering to make a detour through the Yongning Marquis estate.

When he entered Wen Zhuo’s bedchamber, Wen Zhuo was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a thick brocade quilt, coughing softly from time to time. Meanwhile, his eyes sneaked glances at Shen Zhi’s expression.

Shen Zhi was indeed anxious. He reached out and felt his forehead. “You’ve been recovering so well lately—how did you suddenly fall ill again?”

Wen Zhuo coughed a few more times, actually making his throat sore.

He answered vaguely, “I might have kicked off the covers last night and caught a chill.”

“The teacher still kicks off his covers?” Shen Zhi raised an eyebrow.

He remembered Wen Zhuo slept curled up in a small ball, back against the wall, very still.

“Occasionally, when I’m startled…” Before Wen Zhuo could finish, he suddenly coughed three times in a row, hard enough to redden the rims of his eyes.

Shen Zhi withdrew his hand and muttered to himself, “No fever—it really is just a cold.”

Wen Zhuo had grown accustomed to Shen Zhi’s strange Nanping‑era words. He just continued coughing while waving his hand casually. “It’s nothing—an old habit flaring up in autumn and winter.”

Shen Zhi was about to call for a physician. “Coughing like that won’t do. We should—”

“Your Highness!” Liu Qiying entered at the right moment, cutting off his words. Exchanging a knowing glance with Wen Zhuo, she turned to Shen Zhi with a worried expression. “Actually, we had a physician come last night. He said the hot springs at Spring Breeze Pavilion are best for dispelling cold and dampness. If the Chancellor could soak in them, his condition would surely improve greatly. But since A’Man and I are both women, it’s inconvenient. Might Your Highness be willing to accompany our master there?”

Shen Zhi was even more surprised. “Doesn’t the teacher dislike others attending him while he bathes?”

Liu Qiying replied, “For the sake of recovery, we can’t be too particular.”

Though this unexpected delight fell on him so suddenly that it made his heart tremble slightly, Shen Zhi’s gaze swept over Wen Zhuo’s flushed face, and he very rationally suppressed any presumptuous thoughts.

He cared more about whether Wen Zhuo would recover.

“The teacher isn’t fit to ride a horse now. I’ll accompany him in a sedan chair.”

Zhang Heng of the Eastern Han once wrote: “The hot spring bubbles forth, washing away filth. It removes ailments and evil, bringing one to righteousness.” This means hot springs can cleanse pain and dispel evil influences.

So Shen Zhi had no suspicions.

Originally, he could have taken Wen Zhuo to the imperial hot spring palace, where the pools were paved with white jade and the spring water drawn from deep underground, far more magnificent than civilian establishments.

But in the eyes of others, the relationship between the two was clearly not close enough for them to bathe together. So a private hot spring pavilion at Spring Breeze Pavilion was more appropriate.

Scholars and literati in the capital often came here to soak together, composing poems and prose—reputably elegant and quiet.

The sedan chair moved smoothly. The sights of late autumn flashed past the window, but Wen Zhuo sat as if on pins and needles.

Though he had made up his mind, the entire journey was a tangle of anxiety and shame, nearly suffocating him.

He liked men. Bathing with a man was nothing but indulging his inherent nature in a disgraceful way.

What was worse, he had indeed developed inappropriate romantic thoughts toward Shen Zhi.

Before long, the sedan chair stopped at a side alley on Chess‑View Street.

This place was always crowded, but luckily, since it wasn’t deep winter and the weather wasn’t too cold, there were still spots available during the day.

When the attendants saw the two alight, they bowed and led them along a bluestone path, through a moon‑gate archway, into an elegant private courtyard.

Inside the courtyard stood several red plum trees, not yet in bloom. The stone walls were misty with steam, and the sound of gurgling spring water filled the air.

The private courtyard contained a Changing Pavilion, a Hot Spring Pavilion, and a Washing Pavilion, separated by carved wooden doors for the guests to use sequentially.

As soon as Wen Zhuo entered the private courtyard, a warm, moist air enveloped him. He saw the pool water was clear, with steam rising gently. Floating on the surface were slices of ginger, mugwort leaves, and flower petals, meant to ward off cold.

But when his eyes swept over a wooden cabinet in the corner, he felt as if struck by lightning. He wanted desperately to cover his eyes and flee in disgrace.

Inside the cabinet, openly displayed, were bronze phalluses, Burmese bells, and an amber long‑handled spoon!

How could such bedroom playthings be so blatantly shown!

Shen Zhi saw them too. It wasn’t that his knowledge of ancient artifacts had reached its peak; it was simply that the shapes were too suggestive to misunderstand.

He had once read in a book about a device called a “horn gentleman,” said to jump up and down on its own when filled with hot water, exclusively for women’s amusement.

Wen Zhuo’s ears were red beyond concealment. He turned to leave. “Your teacher suddenly feels much better. Let’s skip the hot spring today.”

Shen Zhi reached out and firmly gripped his arm, unable to suppress a laugh. “Teacher and I are both men—what’s there to be shy about? Go change your clothes.”

If just seeing it makes him blush, where exactly is the depravity? Could it be that people in Daqian are especially conservative, and this shy little cat is already the most daring?

Shen Zhi’s grip was firm but gentle, his tone perfectly frank, leaving Wen Zhuo no room to refuse.

Though his mind was in turmoil and his cheeks burned, he had not forgotten the purpose of this visit.

When people of Daqian soaked in hot springs, they usually removed their outer robes and undergarments and put on a light‑colored silk inner robe, reaching past the knees, tied at the waist with a plain silk sash—elegant and proper…

Some more arrogant men went bare‑chested, wearing only a loincloth that barely covered their thighs.

But for scholars, that was considered indecent, so most people at Spring Breeze Pavilion wore the inner robe.

“Won’t Your Highness change clothes with me?” That way I can see if there’s a birthmark on the pubic bone.

Shen Zhi’s brows twitched. He hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—but he was afraid this eighteen‑year‑old body couldn’t handle it.

If blood stained the hot spring, that would be truly embarrassing.

“Teacher, go ahead. I’ll order some warm tea and pastries.” With that, Shen Zhi pulled open the wooden door and slipped out first.

Wen Zhuo bit his lower lip lightly and turned into the Changing Pavilion. He removed his robe, folded it, and placed it on a wooden rack. Then he began to untie the ties of his undergarment.

It took untying six or seven ties before the entire undergarment came loose. The silk slipped inch by inch from his creamy, delicate shoulders and back, revealing a graceful curve like a mountain ridge or a divine peak.

Before putting on the inner robe, Wen Zhuo instinctively reached down and touched the inside of his thigh. There, hidden, were two ugly burn scars—a pain he never wanted to reveal.

His expression shifted several times before he suppressed the hatred and chill. Calmly, he put on the inner robe and tightened the sash.

As long as I keep my legs together tightly, they won’t be discovered.

When Shen Zhi returned carrying warm tea and a few plates of pastries, Wen Zhuo had already changed and was standing still, waiting for him.

Shen Zhi’s gaze fell on him, and for a moment he forgot he was holding things. He just stared fixedly.

The thin inner robe for the hot spring was collarless and loose, so Shen Zhi inevitably saw the collarbone usually hidden beneath Wen Zhuo’s official robes.

His neck finally connected to his shoulders in a continuous line, as if a missing piece of a landscape had been filled in to complete the final puzzle.

It was hard to describe how delicate and graceful this sight was—how it would flush layer by layer under repeated touch, giving feedback.

Perhaps still feeling nervous, Wen Zhuo hadn’t removed his socks. So between the inner robe and his socks, only two fingers’ width of calf was exposed, skin gleaming white, making one want to peel off the socks to see more clearly.

Wen Zhuo had already thrown away all his scholarly dignity and shame. He looked at Shen Zhi and said calmly, “Your Highness, please change. I would like to enter the pool with Your Highness.”

With just that sentence, Shen Zhi felt a stirring that threatened to rise.

His Adam’s apple rolled heavily beneath his skin. After quickly running through the Great Compassion Mantra in his mind, Shen Zhi managed to suppress the agitation.

“The teacher is acting strange today.”

Shen Zhi smiled as he placed the tea and pastries on the stone table. Just as he was about to undress, he caught a whiff of warm medicinal fragrance drifting from Wen Zhuo’s undergarment hanging nearby.

So his fingers fumbled painfully at the jade belt at his waist, the buckle pressing into his palm until it ached. It took a long while before he steadied himself again.

Shen Zhi let out a long breath, raised his hand to push back the slightly curled, damp ends of his hair, and moved with clean, brisk efficiency. He stripped off his dark blue robe in one swift motion, revealing his strong, lean chest.

He was no longer the frail boy from his early return to Daqian. In its place was the wildness of the northern desert born into his blood and bones. Chiseled muscles clung tightly to his broad frame, and even the scattered old scars on his skin became a temptation that dried the throat.

Wen Zhuo’s palm had already twisted the inner robe into a wrinkled mess, but his gaze was glued to Shen Zhi. When Shen Zhi’s hand paused at the waistband of his trousers, he noticed Wen Zhuo staring with burning eyes, showing no intention of looking away. Shen Zhi raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

He pressed his thumb against the waistband, hooked it down just an inch, then stopped.

Looking at Wen Zhuo with a half‑smile, he said, “What does the teacher want to see? Tell me, and I’ll show you.”