Chapter 48#

Wen Zhuo quickly came up with a ready excuse—he had always been adept at thinking on his feet.#

“Your master—”

“Are you sure you want to lie, Teacher? If so, you might not get to see it at all.” Shen Zheng’s tone was gentle, but it cut him off with precision.

Wen Zhuo pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

Shen Zheng was far sharper than he had imagined.

At this point, there were only two paths left.

Either he gave up on probing, glossed over the matter, and sought another opportunity later, or he spoke plainly, achieving his goal immediately and resolving his doubts.

But the birthmark was in that spot—finding another chance to examine it would hardly be easy, especially now that Shen Zheng was on guard.

And there was something he didn’t want to admit: the feeling of skulking around and concealing things was truly unbearable.

So Wen Zhuo lifted his chin, his gaze burning as he stared directly into Shen Zheng’s eyes. “I want to see Your Highness’s pubic bone.”

The moment he said it, Shen Zheng understood.

He knew that on this body’s pubic bone, there was a small, crescent-shaped red mark. As luck would have it, in his modern self, there was an identical birthmark.

There must be some connection between him and this Fifth Prince, which was why he had transmigrated into this body.

It seemed his theory about the tomb robbery at Nanping wasn’t flawless—Wen Zhuo had still caught onto something from his words and started doubting his identity.

Unfortunately, his clever little cat didn’t know that he had transmigrated through his soul. Checking the birthmark would be useless.

He withdrew his thumb from where it had been resting at his waistband. His thick brows and deep eyes were misted by the hot steam, as if they too could radiate heat.

“Does Teacher know what it means to look here?”

“I know Your Highness finds it offensive, but I have no choice today.” Wen Zhuo clenched his teeth with determination.

“So Teacher’s illness was also deliberately arranged, just to trick me into taking off my clothes.” Shen Zheng’s smile deepened.

“Yes.”

Instead of getting angry, Shen Zheng stepped forward until he was only half a step away, their breaths nearly colliding.

Then he raised his hands and spread his palms, handing over the initiative. “Then Teacher can pull them open and look yourself.”

Himself!

Was he supposed to personally remove His Highness’s undergarments?!

Even as Wen Zhuo forced himself to stay calm, his gaze flickered for a moment.

Shen Zheng, however, remained completely composed, unmoving, simply waiting for him.

Wen Zhuo took a deep breath, abruptly turned his face away, and cautiously extended a single index finger.

The moment he reached out, it pressed against Shen Zheng’s abdominal muscles—a firm, defined contour he had never touched before, rising and falling subtly with each breath.

It was much hotter than his fingertip.

He quickly slid downward until he finally touched the silk edge of his undergarments. He paused for a moment, steeled himself, and squeezed through the gap, hooking his finger at the first knuckle. With a gentle tug, he created an opening.

He swiftly turned his head, let his lashes drop, and swept a quick glance.

Deep in the dense thicket, he could vaguely see a crescent-shaped patch of red, exactly as Ge Wei had described.

In this world, there might be people who looked similar on the surface, but if even the birthmark was identical, it was absolutely impossible.

Moreover, Shen Zheng had no idea about his purpose today—he wouldn’t even have had time to fake it.

This person before him was indeed the Fifth Prince!

Could it really be that his soul had returned to its rightful place?

Then, could his own rebirth be somehow connected to Shen Zheng’s soul? Who was the cause, and who was the effect? Or were they mutually causal?

After his rebirth, he had always felt that some invisible force was driving the Great Qian Dynasty to set things right.

Could it be that this very force had brought him, Shen Chen, and Xie Langyang back to that stormy night, and had also stripped Shen Zheng of his dullness?

But this question was like Zhuangzi dreaming of a butterfly—perhaps it would never be answered.

The heavy stone that had weighed on Wen Zhuo’s heart finally fell, and relief washed over him. But his fingers felt as if they had been scorched by fire as he yanked them back.

His ears were as red as glistening pomegranate seeds, and his entire body felt as if he had been soaked through in a hot spring, dizzy and faint.

When he had examined the pubic bone, he had unavoidably glimpsed something lying quietly, slightly engorged.

Even though it was not yet awake, it carried a presence that was startling.

Wen Zhuo’s mind was a mess—could this be due to the Northern Desert bloodline? How could it be so… robustly built?

“Had enough of looking?” Shen Zheng teased.

“…”

“Wanshan, why are your ears red?” Shen Zheng suddenly called him by his courtesy name.

“…” Who gave you permission to call me Wanshan?

“Did I pass the inspection?” Shen Zheng pressed.

Wen Zhuo busied his hands, first tidying the ties of his inner robe, then reaching for the undergarment draped over the wooden rack. “I was overthinking things. We can go back now.”

But Shen Zheng grabbed his wrist and pressed it down. “Since we’re here, let’s soak a bit more before leaving. Otherwise, the money will go to waste.”

The fee for this private courtyard wasn’t cheap. Usually, literati would come in groups of three or five to split the cost. Today, the two of them had spent as much as an ordinary household’s expenses for several months.

In the moment of Wen Zhuo’s hesitation, Shen Zheng had already reached up and pulled off his undergarment. He didn’t bother with the inner robe and directly changed into a pair of short trousers, revealing his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long, straight legs.

As a modern person, Shen Zheng really couldn’t get used to wearing something like a nightgown to soak in a hot spring.

Seeing Shen Zheng take the initiative to push open the carved wooden door, Wen Zhuo had no choice but to follow.

Mist swirled over the hot spring pool. Smooth pebbles lined the bank, dotted with clumps of green grass.

Shen Zheng stepped into the pool, placed the tea snacks on the grassy bank, let the clear spring water flow over his legs, and let out a contented sigh.

Wen Zhuo stood at the edge, lowered his head, and finally removed his silk socks, stepping barefoot onto the bricks that were damp with steam.

When Shen Zheng turned around, he saw those feet, which had never been exposed to sunlight—their fragile whiteness blending with the murmuring water. The heat carried a hint of unbroken desire as the glossy toes cautiously tested the water temperature. Jolted by the heat, they curled up instantly, his calves tensing, taut and straight.

Shen Zheng didn’t have this particular fetish, but everything about this person was too stunning. It was as if every detail had been carefully traced and outlined by the gods.

He watched this breathtaking sight sink into the spring, caressed by flower petals and colliding with ripples. The loose inner robe quickly became soaked, clinging tightly to the curve of his waist and hips like a greedy spiderweb, unwilling to let go of the beauty it had ensnared.

Shen Zheng knew his gaze was a bit too forward—the hazy steam probably couldn’t block it either.

Seeming to sense it, Wen Zhuo took a deep breath and submerged himself, leaving only the tip of his nose and his watery eyes above the surface.

Mist droplets clung to his lashes. His loose hair spread in the water like ink, like silk, like seductive threads.

“…Why is Your Highness staring at me?” Wen Zhuo blew a string of bubbles before realizing his lips were underwater, so he quickly straightened up to ask.

Glistening water droplets rolled down his porcelain-like throat, falling into the pool, staining the water with fragrance.

“This pool is quite spacious. Why is Teacher huddling in one corner?” Shen Zheng didn’t answer—he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he might say something dangerous.

Wen Zhuo hugged his knees, squatting obediently in the water like a solitary blade of grass by the shore.

“I’ve been a bit afraid of water since I was young.”

But this kind, with flower petals and herbs floating in it, was acceptable.

Shen Zheng glanced at the spring pool, which only came up to his thigh, and thought to himself that it made sense for a cat to be afraid of water.

Soaking in silence was rather boring. No matter how high-class the ancient hot spring was, it couldn’t compare to a five-star hot spring hotel.

Shen Zheng suddenly stood up, sending a string of water droplets flying, and walked toward the wooden cabinet by the wall. He ignored the blatantly explicit copper phallus and the Jing bells, keeping his gaze straight ahead as he took only the amber ladle.

He weighed it in his hand and walked back.

This thing looked almost exactly like the soup ladle in a noodle shop—so why was it placed together with these bedroom items?

When Shen Zheng soaked in the spring, he liked to hold something to scoop up water and pour it over himself. This was the only thing in the courtyard that looked suitable.

But Wen Zhuo had already tensed up alertly, frowning slightly. “What does Your Highness intend to do with that?”

“Scoop water.” Shen Zheng’s voice carried a smile. He bent down, scooped up a ladleful of clear spring water, and with a flick of his wrist, splashed it toward Wen Zhuo.

Wen Zhuo quickly turned his head to dodge, but still got splashed all over with water droplets. He was speechless.

“Does Your Highness not know what this is used for?”

Shen Zheng looked puzzled. “Teacher, please enlighten me?”

Wen Zhuo choked, turned around, and crouched back into the water, saying softly, “Just put it down, Your Highness.”

“I saw something similar in Nanping—either for drinking soup or scooping water. Is there a different custom in the Great Qian?” Shen Zheng simply stepped into the water, walked behind Wen Zhuo, and leaned down with interest. “Please enlighten me, Teacher.”

The moment Shen Zheng came close, a shadow fell over Wen Zhuo’s eyes. The approaching presence gave him the illusion that Shen Zheng was looming over him.

“This… this is originally a plaything used in the women’s chambers, meant for spanking the buttocks for amusement.” Wen Zhuo’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Oh?” The ancients really knew how to have fun.

Shen Zheng raised the amber ladle, tapped it lightly against his palm. With water droplets clinging to it, the crisp sound was very loud, exploding in the secluded courtyard.

“I don’t understand. Spanking is usually a punishment—how can it become amusement?” he deliberately asked.

Wen Zhuo had only heard about it and didn’t understand why women enjoyed it either.

“Perhaps it’s using punishment as an excuse to carry out amusement, with very light force… I’m not sure either.”

After explaining, he still found it difficult to talk about, wishing he could plunge his head into the water and shrink into a turtle.

Shen Zheng secretly found it amusing. The cat doesn’t even understand this, and yet calls him licentious? Zhu Xibang, you deserve to die!

“I see.” Shen Zheng smiled. “For example, minor matters like faking an illness to deceive someone could call for a punishement.”

Wen Zhuo’s ears flushed hot. He glanced sideways but saw Shen Zheng just playing with the ladle, tapping it against his palm twice, then putting it back in its place, without any hint of insinuation.

They soaked in the pool for a while longer when suddenly, an autumn rain began to drizzle outside. The raindrops hit the eaves, not grating to the ear, but instead making the courtyard feel even more cozy.

Wen Zhuo grew drowsy. One arm rested on the shore, his head tilted onto his bended arm as he dozed lightly, strands of hair curling around his neck.

He had always been more prone to sleepiness than others, especially when the weather turned cold.

The tea snacks on the plate had already gone cold. Shen Zheng quietly got up, took them out, and instructed the attendant to heat them up. When he returned, seeing Wen Zhuo sleeping soundly, he crouched down and gently brushed his cheek.

“Wanshan, soaking too long can make you lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Wake up.”

Wen Zhuo slowly opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused. “Are we going back?”

“Let’s eat something first.”

Wen Zhuo obediently stood up. Perhaps because he had soaked too long, his vision went black, and his body swayed as he started to fall back into the water.

With a plop, water splashed everywhere, scattering even the flower petals on the surface.

Caught off guard, Shen Zheng failed to catch him. He was about to step into the water to help when his gaze inadvertently landed on the inside of Wen Zhuo’s thigh. There, there were two red marks, the length of a finger joint, on skin that was particularly thin and tight.

Shen Zheng’s heart shook. He froze on the spot.

Wen Zhuo jolted awake instantly. Instead of waiting to float to the surface, he frantically pressed his legs together, covering the spot tightly with his soaked inner robe.

When he stood up, he was drenched and utterly disheveled, strands of hair stuck to his cheeks and eyelids, dripping water relentlessly.

“I don’t want to eat anymore. Let’s go back now.” His voice was strained. The more he tried to care, the more flustered he became.

Shen Zheng snapped back to reality. If he wasn’t mistaken, those were burn scars. The edges of the scars had long since merged with the skin, with only a faint red beneath the surface, lingering for years.

But under normal circumstances, who would burn such a private area?

“Teacher, is this why you won’t let anyone help you bathe or change?” Shen Zheng asked softly.

Wen Zhuo trembled all over. Without a word, he pressed his hand firmly between his legs, turned around, and quickly walked toward the dressing pavilion.

Shen Zheng followed closely behind.

“This injury was caused by someone else, wasn’t it?”

Wen Zhuo remained silent, but his spine suddenly stiffened like a drawn bow, his eyes growing colder, like a provoked hedgehog ready to strike at any moment.

Only the remaining bond of ruler and subject restrained him.

Sensing the anger beneath his sensitivity, Shen Zheng immediately grabbed his own outer robe, stepped forward, and draped it over Wen Zhuo’s dripping shoulders.

He gently patted his rigid back.

“I’m just concerned about Teacher. If Teacher doesn’t like it, I won’t mention it again. Okay?”

His palm stroked slowly again and again, soft coaxing words never ceasing. Finally, Wen Zhuo’s defensive posture relaxed, and his stiff body slowly loosened.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his tone as flat as if he were talking about someone else. “I don’t remember very clearly. I think I was eight years old. I was already very grown.”

Eight years old. How could that count as very grown?

If this were the modern era, a child suffering such cruelty—in that kind of place, too—the hospital would definitely have called the police.

Shen Zheng’s mind churned. Wasn’t it said that “Wen Zhuo came from a wealthy gentry family, with ample resources; his family valued education and spared no expense in hiring accomplished scholars, so he was learned from a young age, and his reputation grew”?

With such a background, how could something like this happen?

“Your Highness, your robe is wet.” Wen Zhuo suddenly looked up at him.

And your eyes are wet too.

Why?