Chapter 57#

Shen Zhi’s heart was filled with suspicion—could it be that even the disaster records in the Qian History were falsified?#

But that didn’t make sense. Emperor Shengde had no need to deliberately smear Shen Bi back then. When Zhu Xibang revised the Qian History, Shen Bi had already hanged himself long ago. A dead man posed no threat to his consolidation of imperial power.

If it was jealousy over Shen Bi’s virtuous reputation and a desire to pin a cap on him, that was even more unnecessary. Shen Bi’s fame had always been confined to the circle of scholar-officials in the capital; few in the common folk knew of him. After Emperor Shengde issued the general amnesty, he had already used various pretexts to bring the literati of the Virtuous Prince’s faction to heel. Why go to such trouble?

Moreover, according to modern scholars’ research on the remnants of the ancient Mianzhou region, they found that their eating habits and accents closely matched those of the old Ping and Liang prefectures, indicating that the later Mianzhou people really did migrate from those two places.

“Let’s enter the city first and investigate.” Wen Zhuo’s tone was calm, his gaze deep and unfathomable.

Actually, this city of Mianzhou didn’t cast too much of a shadow over him, because as a child he hadn’t lived here, but in Liangping County, separated from the prefectural capital by a mountain ridge.

The Wen clan of Liangping was a prestigious family that commanded awe throughout the county.

Wen Yingjing, as the head of the local gentry, owned fields stretching for miles, with clan influence intricately interwoven. Even the county magistrate had to bow and greet him.

The Wen family ancestral hall was the most imposing building in the county, its beams and pillars coated in gold lacquer, its plaque made of thousand-year-old sunken wood.

In the eyes of outsiders, he was the benevolent Wen the Good, who loved charity and cultivated good relationships. But within…

A trace of gloom flickered in Wen Zhuo’s eyes. He hadn’t expected to remember things from before the age of thirteen so clearly—even the despair-inducing gleam of the gold lacquer on the ancestral hall’s beams was vividly before his eyes.

“We need to split up to enter the city. We’re too conspicuous as a group now,” Shen Zhi said.

Wen Zhuo collected himself, shifting his gaze slightly. “Fine. Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü will come with me. Your Highness—”

“I’ll follow behind you,” Shen Zhi interjected.

So the thirty-plus people immediately dispersed, turning into scattered travelers of two or three, and as the city gates were still open, they slipped into the stream of people entering.

Wen Zhuo was about to step forward when Shen Zhi grabbed his arm. “Wait. Teacher’s face is too eye-catching. Better cover it up a bit.”

Shen Zhi had witnessed the power of Wen Zhuo’s looks.

A modern man used to all kinds of movie and TV stars, he had actually gotten a nosebleed the first time he saw Wen Zhuo.

And at the Chuntai Chess Tournament, when Wen Zhuo sat down on the observation platform, those capital painters who usually looked down on everyone turned into fanatical fangirls, their brushes flying as they churned out portraits.

As for how the chess games went or who the players were—who cared?

In this remote little city, someone with Wen Zhuo’s appearance was probably a once-in-a-lifetime sight. If it caused a crowd and traffic jam, that would be a problem.

“Is that necessary?” Wen Zhuo frowned. “I came here for the provincial exam at thirteen, walked around freely, and didn’t cause any trouble.”

Shen Zhi thought to himself: According to scientific research, twenty-seven is the peak of human attractiveness. At thirteen, you were just a cute little kid like a carved jade kitten!

“Sir, I have the right tools here. Let me give you a taste of how hard it is for ordinary people to get around.” Liu Qiying untied her satchel and pulled out her stash of luozidai eyebrow ink and ehuang forehead powder, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“…Fine.” Wen Zhuo had no choice but to let her transform him.

In a moment, a sickly young master appeared before them, his complexion sallow, his forehead faintly dark.

Though his features were still strikingly clear, with that look, it seemed he didn’t have many days left—probably just born unlucky, making people want to steer clear.

But Wen Zhuo didn’t think that was enough. He took the eyebrow ink and drew a palm-sized black mole behind his ear.

“Your Highness, is this acceptable?” He put down the brush and looked at Shen Zhi.

Shen Zhi was also speechless at this unfair world. Some people go to great lengths to look beautiful and still end up mediocre, while others deliberately ruin their own face, but when they lift their eyes to look at you, their gaze still shimmers, full of charm and allure.

“…Close enough.” He had successfully gone from breathtaking to college campus heartthrob level.

“Then let’s go quickly.” Wen Zhuo moved his injured leg and headed toward the city gate.

His leg was already chafed, and his gait was unsteady, which actually matched his complexion perfectly and added to the realism.

They successfully blended into the crowd.

Sure enough, when the people around saw Wen Zhuo’s appearance, they first froze, then shook their heads regretfully and stopped staring.

On the other hand, Shen Zhi in his riding clothes, leading a white horse with his face covered by a cloth, drew the frequent sideways glances of the women around.

Shen Zhi decided to go with the flow. Pretending to be bored, he turned to an elderly woman beside him and said with a smile, “Auntie, what are you going into the city for?”

Seeing that he was tall and imposing, with a handsome, heroic look around his brows, the woman responded warmly: “Naturally, to attend the Mianzhou Incense Festival.”

“Oh, what’s the Mianzhou Incense Festival?” Shen Zhi asked, feigning curiosity.

A flicker of suspicion crossed the woman’s eyes. “You don’t know?”

Shen Zhi smiled and said, “To be honest, I’m from the capital. My father is in business. I heard that Mianzhou’s storax incense is famous throughout the land, so he sent me to buy some to transport back to the capital and make a profit.”

Hearing this, the woman curled her lips in disdain. “Storax incense—such a common thing, and worth a special trip? Since you’re here for the festival, why not take a look at something truly fine?”

Shen Zhi’s heart stirred.

He remembered that Mianzhou’s storax incense and ambergris were both tribute-grade fragrances, treasured even by the palace consorts. How could this ordinary woman dismiss them as common?

“Is there something better than storax incense?”

“The festival has all kinds of rare fragrances. But if you have money, you’re the boss; if you don’t, get lost. It depends on whether you can afford it.” The woman pursed her lips, her tone blunt and grating. She then ignored Shen Zhi.

Though her face looked undernourished, her bundle was bulging, and she was accompanied by two burly men.

On closer inspection, the two men had gloomy expressions, hands thick with calluses, black dirt under their nails, and suspicious dark spots splattered on their coarse hemp clothing.

Shen Zhi suspected it was blood.

Ever since he’d started talking to the woman, these two had been staring at him intently, their thick, knife-like nails slightly tightening, exuding a violent aura like bandits, as if they would attack if he showed any hint of coveting the bundle.

With this woman carrying so much money, many people along the way must have coveted it—and those people had probably become ghosts by now.

Shen Zhi silently took two steps back, avoiding their sharp edge.

He looked up again. This city was completely different from Gezhou, which had been ravaged by disaster. Many commoners carried heavy bundles, exuding a strange, eerie wealth.

Truly, “the sky is high and the emperor is far away.” Some people might be living more carefree than the emperor himself. No wonder the Virtuous Prince could extract so much money from here.

Wen Zhuo, leaning on Liu Qiying’s arm, had just reached the city gate when a rough archer stopped him.

The soldier wore a gray uniform and carried a wind saber at his waist. His triangular eyes slanted in scorn, and his tone was as brusque as if he’d swallowed shit: “Stop! You sickly fool, don’t you know the rules? A piece of trash who won’t live till tomorrow—do you think the city gate is yours to enter whenever you want?”

Wen Zhuo concealed the cold light in his eyes, showing only a hint of confusion: “What do you mean?”

The soldier laughed derisively, his gaze lingering on Wen Zhuo’s blue gown, then glancing at Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü beside him. He drawled, “See this chess board? To enter the city, you must play a move. If you can’t even play chess, then you’re not qualified for the incense festival. Get the hell out of here and go eat the northwest wind!”

“How dare you!” Jiang Mannü’s thick brows shot up, her anger blazing, fists clenched with cracking sounds.

Wen Zhuo had always been frail and suffered from years of cold affliction, so talk of a short life was their hidden worry and a taboo subject. She had never seen such a desperate piece of scum begging for death.

Wen Zhuo raised his hand and pressed it gently on her wrist. His expression was calm as he focused on the hastily set-up chessboard.

It was a game of “Hundred Men’s Chess.”

So-called Hundred Men’s Chess meant that each passerby played one stone, placing it in one spot until the game ended.

Among experts, one move revealed a player’s skill and depth of study. Some scholars in the capital liked this game; whichever side lost, everyone who played that color had to drink three cups as a penalty.

The game before them was at a critical juncture. The white stones were tightly constrained by the black, and the main dragon in the center was in dire straits. The stone handed to Wen Zhuo happened to be white.

To others, this predicament might seem hopeless, but to Wen Zhuo, it was nothing. With one move, he could turn the tables.

He pinched the white stone, about to place it at the key breaking point, when his peripheral vision caught sight of an old man dressed like a tutor sitting by a tea stall not far away.

The old man wore gray clothes and cloth shoes, holding a tea bowl, but his gaze wasn’t on the tea. Instead, it swept furtively over everyone entering the city.

Wen Zhuo noticed the thin calluses between his index and middle fingers—a sign of someone who often handled chess pieces.

His thoughts churning, Wen Zhuo halted his hand.

If the chess game was meant to filter out the poor who couldn’t afford the incense festival, that would make sense.

But why was this old man hiding in the shadows, spying?

If he had stood openly by the chessboard, scrutinizing as a guard, Wen Zhuo wouldn’t have thought twice.

But sneaking around like that was strange.

Could it be that setting up the chess game at the city gate wasn’t to filter out poor refugees, but to identify people with exceptional chess skills?

For example… him, who had been honored as a national champion at a young age, and Shen Zhi, the founder of the ninth line, the Meng School.

Calculating the time, when Gong Zhiyuan and Xie Langyang mentioned Mianzhou at court, they had been caught off guard.

If the Virtuous Prince had sent a letter to Mianzhou then, the messenger would certainly have arrived ahead of them.

Then he had single-handedly orchestrated Du Yue’s palace revolt, forcing the disaster relief team to change course to Liangzhou, finally stepping out of the Virtuous Prince’s faction’s predictions.

Thinking of this, Wen Zhuo sneered. His fingertip shifted slightly and he gently placed the white stone at a corner—a “split two” move.

This move was neither good nor bad; it merely avoided the black stone’s sharp edge without escaping the deadlock—a perfect display of mediocrity, as if he didn’t know what to do.

The old man by the tea stall half-rose, glanced at the board, saw such a pedestrian move, and shook his head slightly, sitting back down.

The archer at the gate exchanged glances with the old man, his face showing impatience. “Get in quickly, don’t block the way!”

Wen Zhuo entered the city smoothly, with Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü following close behind. The archer didn’t even bother asking them anything, just waved them through.

So it seemed they weren’t checking women, only him and Shen Zhi.

Wen Zhuo wanted to find a way to pass a message to Shen Zhi, but on second thought, given Shen Zhi’s actual skill level, it probably wasn’t necessary.

Not long after, the elderly woman who had spoken with Shen Zhi reached the city gate, clutching her bulging bundle. The archer let her through directly but stopped the two burly men beside her: “Stop! Play chess!”

The two men stared at each other, clearly clueless about chess.

“Don’t know how to play?” The archer frowned and waved them away. “No money, no city. Get lost!”

The woman immediately kicked up a fuss, slapping her thighs and shouting, “They’re my attendants! Why can’t they come in?”

The guard barked, “The times are unsettled. Who knows what riffraff you’re bringing in? What if some refugee rabble come to cause trouble?”

The woman beat and wailed, crying to the heavens: “I traveled for three days and three nights from another county just to attend the incense festival! There was never such a rule before! You’re bullying me! I don’t care—they have to come with me!”

Annoyed by the noise, the archer cursed, “Causing a public disturbance, disrupting order! Drag this madwoman away and throw her in the prison!”

The woman’s face changed instantly. Her earlier ferocity vanished. Her legs gave way, and she was about to kneel, her voice trembling with tears: “No… I won’t go in! I won’t go in!”

“Too late!” The archer’s face twisted into a cruel smirk. He spat, “Bitch, you think you can act tough at the city gate? Think I’m your family’s servant?”

Two soldiers stepped forward, grabbed the old woman without explanation, and dragged her toward the side of the gate, snatching her bundle in the process. They weighed the heavy contents, greedy smiles spreading across their faces.

The woman wailed heartbreakingly, pleading incessantly, but it only drew a burst of laughter from the soldiers. They looked no different from bandits holding people up.

Shen Zhi watched this farce unfold, his brows furrowing slightly.

But the surrounding commoners seemed used to it, whispering among themselves with schadenfreude—

“Ha, the wicked always meet their match.”

“Daring to talk back to the officers, just because she has a bit of money!”

“I know her—some distant relative of Wen the Good, so far removed it’s laughable. She always flaunts the Wen family’s name. Doesn’t she know her place?”

“Wen the Good wouldn’t even glance at her!”

Shen Zhi was about to ask more about this “Wen the Good” when it was his turn to play.

As luck would have it, he was also handed a white stone.

The tutor by the tea stall saw his tall, upright figure, his extraordinary bearing, and the half-veil covering his face. His heart skipped a beat.

Could this be the legendary chess sage, the Fifth Prince?

The tutor shot up, put down his tea bowl, and craned his neck to look.

Shen Zhi was far less perceptive than Wen Zhuo about ancient people’s physical traits, so he didn’t notice anything strange about the tea stall.

He held the white stone between two fingers, pondered in silence for a long while, and finally placed it with great solemnity.

The tutor took one look and instantly sighed with relief, plopping back into his chair and shaking his head repeatedly.

With the profound subtlety of the Meng School, the Fifth Prince would never place a stone there. With that move, the white pieces were caught in a trap, completely dead.

The archer waved him through. “You can go in.”

Shen Zhi breathed a sigh of relief and walked slowly to the street corner, where he met up with Wen Zhuo, who had been watching covertly.

“I wonder if those guards from the Marquis of Yongning’s estate are any good at chess. Hope they can get in.” Shen Zhi glanced back toward the city gate, still a bit worried.

A glint of cunning flashed in Wen Zhuo’s eyes. “I knew Your Highness would pass smoothly.”

Shen Zhi turned to look at him. Under his sickly appearance, the smile that rippled like water was soft and alluring, making Shen Zhi’s heart itch and soften.

He said modestly, “Well, that’s because teacher taught me well.”

“…Your Highness, please don’t flatter me like that.”

Shen Zhi changed the subject, his gaze falling on Wen Zhuo’s leg. “Everything about Mianzhou is strange. Let’s find a place to stay first and change your bandages.”

Wen Zhuo’s wound had been wrapped in leg guards the whole way, soaked with sweat. The earlier-healed surface had probably been rubbed raw again.

He didn’t try to be brave. He pursed his lips and nodded.

Not far from the city gate was a grand inn, three stories high with upturned eaves, flying corners, bright tiles, and vermilion railings. A gilt signboard reading “Qixian Inn” swayed gently in the wind.

Shen Zhi turned around and patted his own back. “Come on, I’ll carry you over.”

“Your Highness, there’s no need—”

“Or would you prefer I carry you in my arms?” Shen Zhi cut him off, a smile in his eyes, his application of the “choice framework” refined to perfection. “But carrying you like that would be too conspicuous. Let’s keep a low profile. Which will you choose?”

Wen Zhuo was silent for a moment, then gave in. “…I’ll go on your back.”

Shen Zhi crouched slightly. Wen Zhuo awkwardly looped his arms around Shen Zhi’s neck and gently leaned onto his back.

Shen Zhi lifted him with ease, adjusting the weight. “Hold on tight.”

Wen Zhuo tightened his arms, his wrists pressing against Shen Zhi’s collarbone, the touch warm and solid.

Satisfied, Shen Zhi strode briskly toward the inn.

Behind them, Jiang Mannü pointed at her own nose, utterly bewildered.

Can’t you see me?

Don’t you see the person in this group with the most strength, the best stamina, and the strongest martial arts?

Why bother His Highness? She could easily do it!

Liu Qiying watched the two figures thoughtfully. “I feel like…”

Jiang Mannü scratched her head in confusion. “You think I’ve been overlooked too, right? They won’t even let me do the rough work anymore. Are they trying to make me learn embroidery?”

“…You know, His Highness and the gentleman are pretty well matched.” Liu Qiying finished her sentence, then smacked Jiang Mannü on the forehead and ran off.

“Huh?”

“Huh!”

“You hit my head again!”

Jiang Mannú took off after her.

They finally reached the inn. Shen Zhi said to the attendant greeting guests at the door, “Give me a few best rooms. Money’s no issue.”

“Right away, sir!” The attendant saw Wen Zhuo’s sallow complexion and that Shen Zhi was carrying him, so he quickly led the way. “Is your friend ill?”

Stepping into the inn’s lobby, Shen Zhi saw a clamorous crowd of at least a hundred people seated at tables, with dishes spread out, the aroma of wine and meat filling the air, and the clatter of bowls and dishes rising and falling.

This didn’t look like a disaster-stricken area suffering from locusts; it was more like Chess-Viewing Street in the capital.

Could it really not be that bad here?

Wen Zhuo, lying on Shen Zhi’s back, said in a low voice, “Noisy places are the easiest to gather information.”

Shen Zhi agreed. He was about to carry Wen Zhuo upstairs when a commotion broke out behind them.

Something heavy rolled along the road, its body scraping against the blue bricks with a harsh sound, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Then, the dull thuds of fists and feet tore through the peace before the inn. Four fierce-looking porters were kicking and beating the “heavy object,” cursing loudly.

“Old bastard! How the hell did you sneak into the city?”

“Daring to cause trouble in front of the young master! You’ve lived long enough!”

“Filthy dog, you’ve dirtied the young master’s eyes!”

Not far away, a small palanquin trimmed with gold and flowers stopped by the roadside. A person sat inside.

He lounged lazily, with handsome features, dressed in an incredibly expensive Nansha embroidered brocade robe. A bloody handprint had stained the hem, and he was watching the splattering blood on the ground with a smile.

“Beat him. Beat him to death for me. These ungrateful wretches dirty the streets just by being alive.” His voice was clear and pleasant, but the words were utterly cruel.

Another thud. The old man was kicked flying, landing right in front of the inn’s steps.

He struggled to crawl up, blood and snot streaming from his mouth and nose, tears streaking down his wrinkled face, his voice hoarse and choked: “I… I want my daughter back… my daughter… please… please… help me!”

With his eyes swollen almost shut, he looked pleadingly at the people inside the inn, hoping some important figure would step forward and speak for him.

But when the crowd in the inn saw the young master in the palanquin, they fell silent immediately, lowering their heads, not daring to speak.

The porter grinned savagely as he stepped forward and planted his foot on the old man’s collar: “Wretch, look around! Who dares to help you? Our young master is the son of Wen the Good, the younger brother of the current top official, the emperor’s favored minister, the Hanlin Academy chancellor—Wen Zhuo!”

“Wen…” The old man couldn’t breathe under the foot, coughing up bloody froth. At those words, the light in his shrinking pupils died completely.

He couldn’t even afford to provoke Wen the Good here in Mianzhou, let alone the all-powerful Hanlin Academy chancellor far away in the capital.

His withered fingers clawed at the threshold, and he closed his eyes in despair.

Wen Zhuo, lying on Shen Zhi’s back, let the fake sickly look drop from his face. Only a bone-chilling cold remained in his eyes.