Chapter 5#

Chapter 5#

Wen Zhuo slept surprisingly soundly that night, not even dreaming. Perhaps he was simply too exhausted—having just endured the torture of a thousand arrows piercing his heart, he then had to continue his battle of wits with Shen Chen and Xie Langyang.

He slept until the sun was high in the sky, then opened his eyes and threw off the covers.

The charcoal in the basin had gone out, and his sweat had soaked through his undergarments and the bedding.

A bird chirped crisply and clearly from the eaves, and a few drops of rain that had yet to dry from the previous night dripped from the lotus-patterned eaves tiles.

In the modest three-courtyard compound, the grass and trees were still lush and full of life. At the gate hung a couplet in black ink: “When there is moon, ascend the terrace; when the wind blows, take a seat.”

Liu Qiying brought over a cup of herbal tea to clear his internal heat. Wen Zhuo leaned forward, rinsed his mouth with the tea, and spat out the leaves. He asked, “Did you retrieve it?”

There was no court session today, so Liu Qiying had made a trip before noon, only to come back empty-handed. She shrugged. “No. They said Vice Minister Xie stayed at the Sixth Prince’s residence all last night and hasn’t returned home yet.”

Wen Zhuo wasn’t surprised at all.

Since Xie Langyang was convinced that Shen Chen was the next wise ruler, he would inevitably defend Shen Chen to the bitter end, committed to that path.

Because he had reaped too many benefits from Shen Chen’s rise to power.

He had inherited Gong Zhiyuan’s position as Grand Secretary, completely shaking off his father-in-law’s control.

He had gained the reputation for incorruptibility that all scholars in the realm coveted, without lifting a finger.

Shen Chen suppressed the consort clans but left the aristocratic families untouched. For Xie Langyang, this both advanced court reform and protected his family’s interests—a win-win situation.

He had acquired the Xie family bloodline and grown close to the Gong family over time, making everything fall naturally into place.

All he had to sacrifice was a single Wen Zhuo.

“How is Shen Chen?”

“The imperial physician went to see him. He prescribed a warming decoction, forced it down, covered him with blankets, and changed his cloth every half hour. They say it’s nothing serious—he responds when called.”

As if she already knew what Wen Zhuo wanted to ask, Liu Qiying had gathered thorough information.

Of course, it also helped that the housekeeper of the Xie residence was completely open with her and even handed her a bag of fresh fruit newly arrived from Nanzhou.

Upon hearing this, Wen Zhuo smiled casually.

How could Shen Chen have truly fainted? Someone as cunning as him would naturally be feigning illness.

Xie Langyang was probably still at his residence right now, the two of them exchanging information and comparing notes.

But Wen Zhuo wasn’t worried. With Xie Langyang’s pedantic and stubborn mind, he would only hold Shen Chen back.

As for Shen Chen, now forced to rely on Xie Langyang, he was probably irritated out of his mind but had to force a smile.

A private room had been opened at Shuyin Tower.

Opening the window, it faced directly the main gate of the Wen residence. Even Liu Qiying’s return to the mansion was clearly observed by Shen Chen and Xie Langyang.

In his previous life, Shen Chen had arrived with top-grade tonics, a face full of guilt and concern, waiting in the Wen residence study for guidance.

But now, he no longer had any reason to enter.

Shen Chen clutched a hand warmer, his body trembling from weakness. His teeth chattering, he asked the dejected Xie Langyang beside him, “What did that maidservant go do?”

Xie Langyang slowly shook his head. He truly had no clue. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to go into the residence and see Wen Zhuo, even if it meant being humiliated or beaten—at least it would ease his conscience.

But he couldn’t disrupt Shen Chen’s plans.

Shen Chen sneered. “The Crown Prince sent a treasured calligraphy by a sage. The Wise King, a vulgar sort, sent money. The Third Prince knows how to cater to preferences—he sent a beautiful woman. What a pity he doesn’t know Wen Zhuo prefers men.”

A few veins bulged on the back of Xie Langyang’s hand, and it took a long time for them to subside.

Shen Chen continued, “Let’s wait and see if the Crown Prince’s, Wise King’s, and Third Prince’s people will be shown out.”

Considering the time, it should be about now. He was waiting to confirm this before he could rest assured and go back.

Inside the bedchamber, Wen Zhuo wiped himself down briefly and tied his undergarment sash. As if he had expected it, he asked, “Has someone come to call?”

Jiang Mannü was surprised, blinking her round, bell-like eyes. “How did Your Honor know?”

Wen Zhuo was in a better mood and decided to tease her. “Because Your Honor is smarter than you.”

Seeing Jiang Mannü’s lips pucker into a tight line, Wen Zhuo added, “But you are stronger than Your Honor. Each of us has our strengths.”

That tight line immediately curled up into a high, pleased smile.

Liu Qiying let out a scoffing laugh. “An official from the Eastern Palace came with the Crown Prince’s gift. A senior advisor from the Wise King’s residence brought gold leaves from the Wise King. And the Third Prince’s estate sent a lovely songstress, claiming she’d serve Your Honor. I’ve arranged for all of them in the front hall.”

“Is that all?”

There should have been Shen Zhi as well.

Now Liu Qiying was just as surprised as Jiang Mannü, but she quickly added, “There’s also that prince who recently returned from being a hostage. He’s been waiting outside the palace for seven days now. His Majesty clearly has no desire to see this son who represents Great Qian’s shame.”

According to Great Qian’s ceremonial code, a prince returning to the capital must first enter the palace to pay respects to Emperor Shunyuan before he could meet his birth mother or other relatives.

As long as Emperor Shunyuan refused to see Shen Zhi for one day, no matter how much the Marquis of Yongning’s household and Consort Liang missed him, they could not meet.

Jiang Mannü scratched her head in confusion. “Why has he come to see Your Honor? Is it also about the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering?”

Liu Qiying tapped her head. “This Fifth Prince left the capital at age eight and spent ten years as a hostage. He has neither a mansion nor a noble title. He’s currently staying at the guesthouse. Coming here today, he naturally wants to ask Your Honor to put in a good word for him before His Majesty so he can enter the palace as soon as possible.”

“He’s so pitiful,” Jiang Mannü said, not grasping the complexities of the situation, only feeling sympathy. “I heard he had a hard time down in Nanping too. The people there teased him for fun, made him bark like a dog, crawl through a dog hole, and do all the dirty work servants were supposed to do. If it weren’t for his uncle winning a battle at the border, he would have died in Nanping for sure.”

Wen Zhuo sat on the bed, his gaze resting on the mattress. He gently rubbed his two fingers together, once again pondering this person.

When Shen Zhi left the capital, Wen Zhuo was not yet an official. When Shen Zhi returned, Wen Zhuo had only seen him once. He knew about this man’s affairs just as Jiang Mannü did—through hearsay.

But there was one thing about this man that made him extremely useful:

He was a perfect weapon for taking revenge on Shen Chen.

Consort Liang was the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Yongning. Consort Yi was an adopted daughter. Shen Zhi was the blood grandson, while Shen Chen was only a nominal grandson.

Thus, in this life, the person Shen Chen envied, hated, and obsessed over the most was Shen Zhi. What Shen Zhi had by birthright, Shen Chen could only obtain through scheming, calculation, and painstaking effort.

If Shen Zhi were to gain power at the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering, wouldn’t Shen Chen cough up three pints of blood?

“Where did you put him?”

Liu Qiying hadn’t expected Wen Zhuo to ask about the Fifth Prince. “In the small flower hall next to the study.”

The flower hall was used for receiving distinguished guests. Even if Shen Zhi had fallen out of favor, he was still a prince. Liu Qiying understood the basic etiquette.

“Mink fur,” Wen Zhuo said, raising a finger to point at the silver fur robe on the clothes rack. “I’m going to see the Fifth Prince.”

As soon as these words left his mouth, both Jiang and Liu were stunned.

“What about the people from the Crown Prince, Wise King, and Third Prince?”

“Just say I’ve always been lazy and couldn’t remember so many instructions. If anyone wants to share my burden, they are more than welcome to go to His Majesty and volunteer their services.”

If he didn’t see Shen Zhi now, he might never get another chance.

Because Shen Zhi was the greatest victim of the conspiracy that was the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering. After this, he would be imprisoned in the Phoenix Sun Terrace, and one night, he would fall from the terrace, his body broken and bloody, wrapped in a straw mat and carried out of the city.

Inside the private box, a pot of hot tea had been drained, and not a single piece of the accompanying dried fruit had been touched.

Shen Chen frowned, a trace of anxiety creeping in. “Why hasn’t anyone come out yet?”

The sun had already passed noon and was moving westward. In his previous life, by this time, Wen Zhuo would have sent the other visitors away and specifically gone to see him.

Seeing Wen Zhuo, sick and frail, still personally pouring tea for him—Shen Chen could hardly describe the smug satisfaction of that moment.

His heart rose to his throat. Trembling, he stood up, biting his pale lips. “He wouldn’t actually choose from among those three, would he?”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Xie Langyang said, steadying him. “Perhaps Wen Zhuo is doing this deliberately. Deep down, he probably looks down on all three of them.”

This was not just an arbitrary guess; Wen Zhuo had told him so himself.

In his early years as a new official, Wen Zhuo had indeed once had high aspirations. During his three years in Bozhou, he truly had upheld his conscience—no shame before heaven above, no guilt before man below.

But upon returning to the capital, he realized that the idea of glorifying Great Qian was merely wishful thinking.

Before ascending the throne, Emperor Shunyuan had survived three assassination attempts, which left him unable to trust anyone. The Marquis of Yongning, who had galloped across battlefields, was confined to the capital and had his spirit ground down. The Duke of Liu, exceptionally talented, was ignored, suppressed, and had his edge dulled.

The Emperor believed in the doctrine of the mean, seeking only to ensure that no fault of his would be recorded in history books. Whenever anyone urged him to implement new policies or rectify court discipline, he grew anxious, restless, and irritable—even to the point of suspending court sessions.

Wen Zhuo was a very adaptable person. Once he understood the situation, he set aside his grand ambitions, took to dabbling in classics, and played his way through life.

Emperor Shunyuan, on the contrary, grew increasingly at ease with him. In four years, he promoted him four ranks, all the way to the position of Chief of the Hanlin Academy—two ranks higher than Xie Langyang, who had been meticulously trained by Gong Zhiyuan from the start.

He had given up all hope for Emperor Shunyuan’s reign, but he still had some expectations for the next dynasty. Otherwise, a mere slogan like “Broaden avenues of remonstrance to correct the court” would not have been enough to make him go out of his way to choose Shen Chen.

This was also why Xie Langyang believed he had no other choice. Shen Chen might be heartless, but he was different from Emperor Shunyuan and the other princes. Besides, for a ruler, what did heartlessness matter?

To reach the flower hall, he had to pass by the study.

Crushed stones paved the path in front of the steps. Koi fish leaped in shallow ponds on either side. A fresh breeze blew, carrying the faint, crisp fragrance of pear blossoms.

The large doors were wide open, and the thin paper of the windows was translucent. Wen Zhuo happened to glance inside.

Looking back on his previous life, he remembered Shen Chen sitting in that study, telling him how difficult survival was in the inner palace. His birth mother, Consort Yi, was the adopted sister of Consort Liang and came from an extremely humble background.

Consort Liang, being irritable and bad-tempered, often mistreated the mother and son. To survive, Shen Chen had no choice but to swallow his pride, call Consort Liang “Mother Consort,” and refer to his own mother as “Lady Yi.”

He would run to Consort Liang’s chambers every few days, inquiring after her health, massaging her shoulders and legs, doing everything he could to please her. Yet, despite all that effort, when he learned that Shen Zhi was returning to the capital, Consort Liang immediately reverted to her old ways and began tormenting them again.

He spoke of all this suffering, tears of grief and bitterness rolling down his cheeks, all set against that stubborn, earnest face of a seventeen-year-old. Wen Zhuo was deeply moved.

That was why, at his urging, Wen Zhuo had taken revenge on Shen Zhi when he came calling.

But now, Wen Zhuo only wanted to praise Consort Liang for being so vicious. The more of a powder keg she was, the better.

Passing by the study, Wen Zhuo walked toward the flower hall.

As he walked, he asked, “Did the Fifth Prince enter the mansion looking timid, not daring to lift his head?”

“Your Honor’s guess was spot on!” Jiang Mannü exclaimed.

“Was he also startled by a bird chirping and dove under a table?”

“Exactly!”

Same as in the previous life.

Wen Zhuo pulled his mink fur closer. The light, soft silk fluttered in the wind, clinging to his frame, faintly revealing the pale skin beneath.

He should have dressed properly before meeting Shen Zhi. But given his reputation for debauchery, meeting a poor wretch born with five innate deficiencies didn’t warrant such formality.

The flower hall of the Wen residence was not as imposing as the study, but it was still tranquil and elegant.

The surroundings were lush with flowers and trees. A small, curved pond held several water lilies. In the center stood a square pavilion with four soft cushions and a low table. Before the arched door hung a screen painted with a landscape of blue mountains and jagged rocks.

As soon as he rounded the screen, he saw someone kneeling on a cushion inside the pavilion, their back to him. Though the figure’s spine was slender, the shoulders were broad and the back straight—an utterly pleasing sight, if nothing else.

Wen Zhuo: “?”

Liu Qiying: “?”

Jiang Mannü became flustered. “I’m not lying! He really did crawl under the table just now!”

Wen Zhuo naturally knew Jiang Mannü wasn’t lying. He silently studied the figure for a moment.

There were many things he still didn’t understand about being reborn. That Shen Zhi’s posture had changed might mean his timing for this visit was different, or perhaps the changes he had made last night had triggered some chain reaction.

But it might just be overthinking. When Shen Zhi saw his cold, stern expression—his imposing demeanor without even trying to be intimidating, his arrogance as the wielder of immense power—he would surely shrink back in fear, his face redden, and his tongue-tied silence.

Wen Zhuo let his fur robe hang slightly loose, finally stepping up onto the platform. He took a position looking down at Shen Zhi from an angle.

He hadn’t expected Shen Zhi, born to a general’s true-blood daughter, to be so tall even while kneeling—reaching the height of his own ribs.

Maybe he had gotten too close. Just then, a draft blew through the hall, lifting the hem of Wen Zhuo’s undergarment. It happened to brush against Shen Zhi’s neck, carrying Wen Zhuo’s body heat and the unique scent of medicinal herbs.

Shen Zhi’s throat tightened, moving slowly as he swallowed.

Wen Zhuo thought, Oh, so he’s scared already?

Thus, he moved directly in front of Shen Zhi, shortening the distance between them even further. As he did so, the loose strands of his black hair slid over his shoulders, dangling before Shen Zhi’s eyes. A few strands accidentally touched Shen Zhi’s lips.

Shen Zhi lightly licked the spot where the hair had touched, his eyelids shifting beneath his deep brows.

Wen Zhuo understood and felt amusement in his heart.

Trembling with tension, is he?

He recalled that in his previous life, when he faced Shen Zhi, he had assumed exactly this posture. He had made Shen Zhi pay for what Consort Liang had done to Consort Yi and Shen Chen.

Back then, Shen Zhi had trembled all over, his face pale as paper, filled with both hatred and shock, desperately wishing he could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.

Now, being stared down by the most powerful minister of the current dynasty, Shen Zhi was surely already anxious, his legs threatening to give way.

But this time, Wen Zhuo was not here to humiliate him.

Wen Zhuo leaned down slightly, his soulful eyes brimming with a smile. His teeth parted delicately as he articulated clearly, “Do you want to be emperor?”

The question was playful yet carried real intent—his usual style. If Shen Chen could see this scene, not a single hair on his head would lie flat.

“Ah?”

Shen Zhi seemed genuinely taken aback by the question. That single syllable was deep and pleasant to the ear but carried no hint of fear.

Wen Zhuo frowned. Could this question be too shocking for Shen Zhi, leaving him dumbstruck?

Wen Zhuo extended his index finger, pressing it under Shen Zhi’s slender chin. With a slight force, he slowly tilted Shen Zhi’s face upward. “Look at me.”

Shen Zhi’s gaze followed the pressure of Wen Zhuo’s finger—from the swaying hem of his undergarment, to the sash tied around his waist, and finally to his loosely fastened collar, careless due to his master’s lack of punctiliousness.

From this low angle, whenever the wind lifted the undergarment, one could glimpse two small, delicate, peach-like points hidden within the soft silk, there and gone in an instant.

And above that—that stunning face, the ultimate weapon against any sense of aesthetic restraint, a tyranny of beauty that defied human standards.

After all, this body had only just turned eighteen. Shen Zhi inevitably felt his blood rush, a warmth spreading to his nose.

Wen Zhuo watched the blood drip down, completely caught off guard. “?”

Shen Zhi’s dark, ink-deep eyes were fixed on him like barbed hooks—a predatory gaze as sharp as a blade, ready to cut through the thin layers of clothing, leaving him exposed, with nothing to hide, naked under the bright sun.

Perhaps it had been too long since he had faced such a look. For a moment, Wen Zhuo felt disoriented.

Shen Zhi remained kneeling, blood still flowing from his nose, yet his entire aura was different from his previous life.

What exactly was off?

Shen Zhi, on the other hand, was quite frank. He raised a finger to wipe away the hot blood and stared at his fingertip with a wry smile.

I’m still wearing an undergarment. How can I be this excited?

Wen Zhuo withdrew his finger, took a step back, and wrapped his fur robe around himself, lost in thought.

Why is Shen Zhi bleeding? What exactly set him off?

Could it be those words—‘Do you want to be emperor?’

Indeed, for any prince, that question would be profoundly shocking, enough to stir emotions and cause blood to surge wildly.

Wen Zhuo successfully convinced himself. Relieved, he sneered, “It’s just the word ’emperor’—”

But Shen Zhi raised his hand to stop him. “Let’s talk about the emperor business another time. The most urgent matter right now is: please, by all means, humiliate me severely immediately.”

Wen Zhuo: “……………..”