Chapter 59#

After Wen Xu fled in panic, the entrance of Qixian Inn returned to a brief calm.#

The diners in the hall came to their senses, and someone let out a low cheer. Whispers rose and fell like waves, soon filling the entire hall.

Before long, the story of Young Master Wen being slapped in public and slinking away in disgrace would spread throughout Mianzhou City.

The waiter looked at Shen Zhi and his companions with entirely different eyes. His earlier worry had been replaced by the utmost respect, and a bright smile spread across his face. “This lowly one had eyes but failed to see. I didn’t realize you were honored guests from the capital! I’ll go fetch the manager to host you in person right away. Please wait a moment!”

Shen Zhi did not respond.

Wen Zhuo silently withdrew his swollen and aching palm into his sleeve, lowering his gaze to stare at the elderly man lying before the steps.

Liu Qiyou carefully turned the old man over and laid him flat on the steps. She did not dare to pat his chest or abdomen to help him breathe, but instead reached out to feel his pulse at the wrist.

Liu Qiyou, an outsider from the rough-and-tumble world, had picked up some skills in diagnosis and observation through years of caring for the ailing Wen Zhuo.

She pressed her fingers against his wrist, searching intently. At first, she suspected her own lack of skill, but then she realized with a start—the pulse was as faint as a candle flickering in the wind, and had already slipped beyond detection.

Wen Zhuo asked, “How is he?”

Liu Qiyou looked up at him but said nothing.

Wen Zhuo’s eyes darkened slightly; he understood.

Suddenly, the old man’s eyelids trembled with effort, slowly cracking open a slit. Bloodshot veins marred his eyes, and he raised a withered, bony hand, reaching shakily toward the blurry figure before him. His voice was as faint as a thread, trembling, “My lord…”

He had vaguely heard the words spoken earlier and knew that the wicked Wen Xu had been driven away. In truth, he had no idea who Wen Zhuo was, but to a refugee tenant farmer like him, anyone who could intimidate a local bully was an extraordinary person.

Wen Zhuo heard that his breath was all exhale, no inhale—his time was short.

Ignoring the dull ache in his legs, Wen Zhuo slowly crouched down and said in a deep voice, “Speak.”

“My daughter… Zhawa… I sold… sold her to the Wen family… so she… she could have enough to eat. I saved… saved some silver, wanted to redeem her… they wouldn’t let me see her… the silver… the silver…”

The old man’s words came in broken fragments, each syllable seeming to drain every ounce of his strength. His withered, blackened fingers fumbled inside his tattered linen clothes for a long time before finally pulling out a handful of crushed incense pieces.

Though broken, the incense still emitted a clear, earthy fragrance. Its body was a grayish-white—truly a rare piece of ambergris.

With his last remaining strength, he tried to hand the incense to Wen Zhuo, but his wrist gave way, and the pieces scattered to the ground.

“The incense… Zhawa… ten steamed buns… I’m late… I’m sorry… for her!”

As his words faded, a stream of clear tears trickled from the old man’s bruised and swollen eyes, washing away the blood froth on his face. Those murky eyes suddenly lost their luster, his arm went limp, and no further sound came from him.

Liu Qiyou quickly opened the old man’s clothes. On his sunken, skin-and-bones chest, there were still some fragments of ambergris stuck to him.

Beneath the fragments, two protruding ribs were already caved in, oozing dark purple bloodstains.

Wen Zhuo understood his meaning.

This old man, driven by hunger and destitution, had no choice but to sell his daughter to the Wen family, hoping only that she might find a way to survive.

But he had not given up. He had trekked all the way to the coast, searching for precious ambergris amidst the towering waves.

He did not know how long he had searched. Perhaps heaven took pity on him, for he did finally find a small piece.

He had planned to trade this incense for some silver at the Mianzhou Incense Fair, hoping to redeem his daughter and live together with her. But when he requested to see his daughter, not only was he refused, but Wen Xu had ordered his thugs to beat him mercilessly.

Amidst the kicks and punches, the ambergris tucked against his chest had been pressed into his ribs, breaking them and piercing his lungs—costing him his life.

That precious ambergris, which he treasured as his very life, had ironically become the blade that killed him.

Wen Zhuo released the old man’s stiff, rough hand and picked up a small piece of ambergris, holding it in his palm.

He slowly rose to his feet and said to Liu Qiyou, “Take some silver to the innkeeper. Tell him to find a place to bury this old man while Wen Xu hasn’t yet recovered his wits.”

“Yes.” Liu Qiyou hurried off to handle it.

None of them were strangers to seeing people die tragically, nor were they unacquainted with the suffering of famine and the people’s misery. The hardships of this world varied, but they all boiled down to the same thing: injustice from the powerful and rampant cruelty.

Wen Zhuo turned his face and found Shen Zhi’s expression extremely unnatural. He stared intently at the dead old man, at his sunken, fleshless chest, at the crushed ambergris powder.

For a moment, Wen Zhuo even thought Shen Zhi’s consciousness had detached. He was examining the absurdity and cruelty before him with a gaze of reverence and disgust that Wen Zhuo could not comprehend.

“Bulu,” Wen Zhuo called Shen Zhi’s courtesy name.

In front of the full hall of diners, he naturally could not reveal Shen’s imperial surname.

It took Shen Zhi a long moment to react. He let out a breath of turbid air and forced a faint smile at Wen Zhuo. “Teacher, I really ought to be grateful that when I came—”

“Came what?” Wen Zhuo frowned sharply.

Shen Zhi paused mid-sentence.

He had wanted to say that he was grateful when he had transmigrated, he was already a prince, living a life of ease and comfort. Though the court was fraught with danger and the succession struggle grew increasingly perilous, this identity still granted him a vast world and a glimmer of hope.

He could still fight to change his circumstances.

If he had been born in this remote, desolate place, reduced to a starving refugee, he dared not imagine how he would struggle to survive within this harsh hierarchy.

He had grown up in the best of times. He had read plenty of history, but had always taken his own life for granted. It wasn’t until he stepped into the Great Qian dynasty, hundreds of years ago, that he truly felt how uniquely fortunate his own era was—something unprecedented in thousands of years.

A waiter had taken the silver and carried away the old man’s body for burial.

Even without payment, they would have had to deal with it, because they couldn’t leave a corpse blocking the door and ruining business.

But with the silver, a simple straw mat could be traded for a coffin, granting the old man a rare measure of dignity in death.

Shen Zhi watched the body disappear into the distance, his expression gradually calming.

He walked over to Wen Zhuo, took a breath, and said, “Let me help you back to the room to wash and change your medicine first.”

Wen Zhuo, however, looked at him with a grave expression and said, “No need. We have to leave.”

Shen Zhi was startled. “Why?”

Wen Zhuo: “The prefect of Mianzhou, Lou Changsui, was once my subordinate when I served in Bozhou. Now that people from the Liu family of the capital have arrived, Wen Xu will surely inform Lou Changsui. Even if I’m disguised like this, he will still recognize me.”

Shen Zhi was alarmed. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Wen Zhuo looked puzzled. “What difference does it make? He merely knows me; there’s nothing more to it.”

A flicker of hope crossed Shen Zhi’s mind, and he felt a surge of energy. “But you two—I mean—can he—”

“Your Highness, not everyone is like Gu Weizhi. Besides, times have changed, enough to make a person completely unrecognizable,” Wen Zhuo warned. “Remember that chessboard at the city gate? That was Lou Changsui’s decoy to single us out. If he had some secret difficulty to confide, he wouldn’t have been so wary of me.”

“Oh?” Shen Zhi understood in a flash.

So that chessboard had been meant to screen for people with exceptional skill in the game. Wen Zhuo had seen through it and concealed his true ability, while Shen Zhi, being merely average at chess, had muddled through by chance.

So the smile and praise Wen Zhuo gave him back then weren’t compliments—they were mockery?

Heartless cat.

Shen Zhi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Was I too impatient to let you save that old man? Now we didn’t even save him, and we’ve brought trouble upon ourselves.” Shen Zhi sighed softly.

“No.” Wen Zhuo shook his head. “I intended to teach him a lesson anyway. Now that things have come to this, we’ll deal with each move as it comes. At least we know that the refugees exist, and that selling children exists.”

When the manager of Qixian Inn heard that there were important figures from the capital, even more distinguished than the Wen family, he hastily threw on a brocade robe, combed his hair back, and rushed out from the back courtyard.

He reached the door, planted his hands on his hips, and looked left and right, shouting, “Honored guests? My lords?”

The waiter pulled a long face. “They were right here a moment ago. How did they disappear in the blink of an eye?”

An old clerk in the accounting room raised his eyelids and said slowly, “They left long ago, all four of them together. If you ask me, they were probably impostors who managed to bluff Young Master Wen. Afraid the Wen family would come after them, they scurried away.”

“You useless thing!” The manager, utterly disappointed, smacked the waiter on the head.

The waiter shrank his neck and said aggrievedly, “But they were so imposing just now! Even Young Master Wen was scared off. How was I supposed to know they were impostors!”

Shen Zhi carried Wen Zhuo on his back, while Liu Qiyou took the reins of Tabai Sha and slipped into a deep, narrow alley.

The alley was flanked by high walls and crowded rooftops, ideal for hiding.

Jiang Mannü was responsible for contacting the guards who had entered the city, telling them to disperse and lodge at inns, awaiting orders.

“Which way should we go?” Shen Zhi asked. He was anxious because Wen Zhuo had traveled all the way, his injury had flared up again, he hadn’t eaten, and his hand was still swollen from the slap.

Wen Zhuo rested on his shoulder, scanning the intricate alleyways of Mianzhou. After a moment of thought, he said, “I recall there’s a dilapidated temple east of the city called the Sea Mother Temple. It’s been long neglected and no one worships there anymore. Let’s go there first to lie low.”

Liu Qiyou: “Once we’re settled, I’ll have the guards bring food and water from the inn.”

As they hurried along, a light rustling sound came from behind. A short, wiry figure darted out and blocked their path.

Upon closer inspection, despite being thin, the figure was already a young man. His head was round, his face narrow, and his eyes were bright like stars, exuding a shrewd, monkey-like cunning.

Lowering his voice, he spoke urgently: “I saw everything at Qixian Inn just now! Follow me. I can help you hide. I guarantee the Wen family won’t find you!”

Wen Zhuo exchanged a glance with Shen Zhi, both wary.

The young man stomped his feet in anxiety, constantly glancing back at the alley entrance. “Trust me. I won’t harm you. You’re good people!”

Wen Zhuo considered for a moment. He knew Jiang Mannü was following behind. If this boy led them into a trap, Jiang Mannü would sense it immediately, and they could turn the tables from within.

No need to fear the mantis stalking the cicada when they had an oriole behind.

So Wen Zhuo said, “Let’s follow him.”

The young man sighed with relief, turned, and darted deeper into the alley, clearly familiar with the terrain.

Meanwhile, Wen Xu, clutching his swollen cheek and grimacing in pain, hurried back to the Wen mansion.

As soon as he crossed the vermilion gate, he startled the steward, who looked as if his soul had fled.

“Young Master! What happened? Who in Mianzhou would dare to harm you?”

Wen Xu spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. His tongue touched a loose tooth, and with renewed pain and fury, tears welled up in his eyes. He wailed as he rushed inside: “Big Brother! Big Brother! I just ran into people from the Liu family in the capital! They… they were insatiably greedy! I only said I wouldn’t sell them the incense, and they beat me like this!”

Wen Xu howled in pain. Several maidservants gathered around, some helping him remove his dirty clothes, some wiping away blood, and some holding ginseng tea to his lips—a clear sign of how spoiled and indulged he usually was in the mansion.

From deep within the lavish mansion, comparable to a prince’s residence, a man slowly emerged.

He was in his prime, but his complexion was sallow, with fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and heavy bags underneath—a body clearly drained by wine and women.

Wen Ze held a tobacco pipe, puffing on it as smoke swirled around him. His upper robe was twisted and misaligned, and his loose pants hung slack on his hips—clearly he had just come from the arms of a concubine.

Seeing Wen Xu’s battered appearance, Wen Ze showed no sympathy. Instead, he let out a derisive laugh, raised his hand, and flicked the ashes from his pipe.

A maidservant immediately stepped forward, bent over, and arched her back to serve as a stool. Wen Ze casually settled his limp body onto her back and asked leisurely, “You said the Liu family? Prince Xian’s people?”

He was much calmer than Wen Xu. Squinting his eyes, he thought carefully and soon sensed something amiss. “Minister Bu sent a secret letter to Prefect Lou the other day, saying the court had dispatched the Fifth Prince and the new Governor to Mianzhou to borrow grain. This is a time of extreme caution. He told Lou to prepare and fend for himself. Prince Xian’s faction would avoid Mianzhou like the plague. How could they send the Liu family to attend the incense fair? You must have been deceived.”

Wen Xu, holding his face and sucking in cold air, retorted, “No, impossible! That man said he had connections with the Hanlin Academy, that he even knew Wen Zhuo, and that he knew the secret of the Liu family’s illicit sale of tribute goods!”

Wen Ze had been leisurely puffing on his pipe, but at these words, his body jerked upright. The laziness on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a grave expression.

Wen Xu, that fool, was often duped, but for someone to reveal the secret of the tribute goods being sold illicitly—that was no ordinary swindler.

“Where are those people now?” Wen Ze’s voice turned heavy.

“Qixian Inn!”

Wen Ze staggered up from the maidservant’s back, tossed his pipe to a servant, and barked at a few burly servants in the courtyard: “Assemble a squad and go to Qixian Inn immediately. Guard the place. No one leaves without my orders!”

He walked down the steps, glanced at Wen Xu’s now unsightly face, and spat fiercely: “Useless! Now come with me to see Prefect Lou. Tell him everything that happened just now!”

Wen Xu did not dare to defy his elder brother. Enduring the pain on his face, he caught up with him in a panic, hesitantly asking, “B-Big Brother, should we send someone back to Liangping County to inform Father? I was beaten like this—he needs to avenge me!”

“Scram!” A single roar silenced Wen Xu.

When Wen Ze and Wen Xu arrived at the government office, they were received courteously after merely announcing themselves.

Before long, the sound of urgent hooves and clanking armor echoed outside the office. A column of official guards, armed with water-fire clubs and swords at their waists, marched in full force to Qixian Inn and surrounded it tightly.

The guards searched room by room, interrogated diners and lodgers one by one, and even turned over the stoves in the kitchen and the beams on the roof. But there was no trace of that group.

The manager was terrified, bowing repeatedly with a flattering grin: “Officers, those people never even checked in! They ran off long ago!”

With nothing to show for it, based on Wen Xu’s vivid and dramatic description, two wanted posters were soon plastered all over the streets of Mianzhou.

One depicted a sickly-looking man with a sallow face and a mole on his cheek. The other showed a tall, elegant young man with a black scarf covering his face.

“Take a good look! Whoever finds these two impostors will be handsomely rewarded by Young Master Wen!” a guard banged his gong and shouted loudly.

In the narrow alley, the young man led Shen Zhi and the other two on a winding path, eventually arriving at a residence near the government office.

Wen Zhuo looked up at the courtyard.

It was by no means grand. There were only two low stone steps before the gate, no guardian stone lions, no vermilion paint or colorful decorations. The two wooden doors were narrow, and when closed, they were barely as wide as a person’s arm span.

Above the doorframe hung a wooden plaque, engraved with the words “Liu Residence” in faded, dusty characters.

What was more astonishing was that an official seal was pasted squarely in the middle of the wooden door, the black characters clearly legible: “Sealed by Mianzhou Prefecture; violators will be prosecuted.” The owner had clearly fallen into prison.

The young man took a small knife from his bosom, carefully pried open the edge of the seal, and gently pushed the door open a crack. He let Shen Zhi, Wen Zhuo, and Liu Qiyou slip inside.

Then he went back to the old locust tree outside the courtyard, picked up a green caterpillar, crushed it, and used its slime to reattach the seal with practiced skill, leaving no trace of tampering.

After finishing, he circled to the back courtyard, squeezed in through a dog hole, and came inside.

The courtyard was not large, consisting of two compounds and six rooms. The flowers and plants in the back yard had long withered, but a few old trees still showed signs of life.

In the corner of the front hall stood two long spears, their red tassels thick with dust, clearly untouched for a long time. Yet the shafts were shiny and smooth, indicating they had been polished and cared for countless times.

The sun was now sinking westward, leaving only a thin trace of blue in the sky. Soon, it would be completely dark.

This sealed residence was a good hiding place—rooms to shelter from the wind and rain, a well that hadn’t run dry, intact dishes and bowls, and dry, sturdy beds.

But the irony was not lost on them: one was a sitting prince, the other a top-ranking minister, reduced to hiding in a disgraced official’s old home.

“While we can still see, Teacher, let me apply the medicine first.” The only drawback of this place was that they couldn’t light a lamp at night. Lou Changsui was probably searching house to house for them at this very moment.

Before long, Jiang Mannü also slipped in.

She had confirmed that all thirty guards had entered the city and were scattered among various inns, the farthest no more than fifteen minutes away, ready to be summoned at any time.

She had also brought a basin of clean water and a food box from the inn, containing steaming hot food, allowing them to have a proper meal.

Without any assistance, Shen Zhi personally swept the bed clean, laid his own clean clothes on it as a makeshift sheet.

Then he carefully lifted Wen Zhuo onto the bed and sat him down, removed his bloodstained clothes, cleaned the wounds with water, reapplied the medicine powder, and dressed him in a fresh set of clothes.

Wen Zhuo broke out in a cold sweat from the pain, his body trembling uncontrollably, but this time he held back his tears.

Once everything was done, Shen Zhi poured the dirty water out in the back yard. The sky had gone completely dark.

Liu Qiyou divided most of the food and gave it to the young man. After thanking them, he took the food box to his own room and wolfed it down, clearly having not eaten such a good meal in a long time.

Wen Zhuo, taking advantage of the faint twilight, ate a couple of bites in the dark and then set the food aside.

He still had that small piece of ambergris tucked in his bosom, cold and hard, as if constantly reminding him of the old man’s final wish.

The old man had never been able to see his daughter one last time. He had died so absurdly, so humbly, so senselessly.

He didn’t even know who he had entrusted himself to, or whether that person could redeem his daughter.

But by some mysterious design of heaven, that person was Wen Zhuo.

Tired and aching, Wen Zhuo had no desire to sleep. The room was filled with a faint smell of dust and a trace of an elusive fragrance. Outside the window, the night sky was pitch black and gloomy, not a single star in sight.

Occasional shouts and sounds of official guards running through the alleys reached them, accompanied by flashes of torchlight—the search was still ongoing.

When the footsteps faded into the distance, Shen Zhi spoke softly: “I once read a book about a prosperous age built on hunger. It spoke of a group of Westerners who came to this land with admiration, only to find not the gold-paved, wealthy civilization Marco Polo had described, but rather a people gaunt and sallow, eating scraps and leftovers. Everywhere they looked, they saw poverty and backwardness.”

Wen Zhuo rested his head on a soft bundle, turned his head, and looked toward Shen Zhi’s deep silhouette in the darkness. His voice was light: “The Great Qian now is not the flourishing era of the founding emperor. In the south, Nanping watches covetously; in the north, the Tatars repeatedly invade. Add to that the constant natural disasters in recent years, and indeed, we face both internal and external troubles.”

Shen Zhi chuckled softly, also turning sideways to face Wen Zhuo, though neither could make out the other’s features or expression.

“I’m not talking about Great Qian specifically, but it’s similar. Prosperity and strength have never trickled down to the common people. They live without dignity, and the rule of law is a mere facade. Look at that hall full of diners. When violence erupted in the street, they just buried their heads in their food, not one daring to speak up for justice. Only after the bully was driven away did they cheer and laugh, treating it as gossip. Of course, this isn’t their fault. What makes people indifferent, selfish, and blind to suffering is the absence of law. As that book said, the ones who truly need to be tamed are not the people, but the rulers. Rulers should be caged within the law.”

Wen Zhuo was silent for a long time before he said, “The man who said and wrote such words is truly treasonous. He deserves to be caged and paraded through the streets.”

Shen Zhi respected that, living in this era, such thoughts were deeply rooted—the weight of imperial power and the shackles of ideology were carved into everyone’s bones. Even the most learned scholars found it hard to break free from that cage.

His fingers twitched, wanting to touch Wen Zhuo’s serious face, but he held back cautiously. “I only hope that, no matter what position I hold, I can ‘always trim away harshness, always harbor deep compassion, govern with leniency but strengthen punishment when needed, and in doubt, always lean toward leniency.’ I’ve always known what kind of world I want.”

Wen Zhuo was stunned.

He recalled the early years of Emperor Shunyuan, who had once been open-minded and sincere, indifferent to court affairs and enamored with the mountains and rivers, yet still beloved by the people.

But the world is unpredictable. Once he ascended that supreme throne, he ultimately turned into a cold, suspicious ruler who feared capable ministers.

And the man who had tamed him into what he considered a qualified monarch, Liu Changbai, had ultimately died under that very suspicion and indifference.

Throughout history, there have been far too few rulers who truly harbored compassion and showed grace to the people.

“This is a poem by Yu Shinan, praising Emperor Taizong of Tang’s way of benevolence and cautious punishment,” Wen Zhuo said softly.

“Mmm, I’m very fond of Emperor Taizong of Tang.” Shen Zhi pillowed his arm, his voice carrying a hint of laughter.

“Your Highness being like this, I also like it very much.” Wen Zhuo lowered his eyes, his fingertips gently stroking the fur robe beneath him.

Two strips had been cut from it to make leg guards for him.

Shen Zhi’s nerves twitched. He slightly lifted his neck, his breathing cautious and tense. “What did Teacher say?”

The night was too deep; he couldn’t see Wen Zhuo’s expression at all, only a hard-to-describe tremor in his tone.

The surroundings were so quiet they could only hear each other’s breathing. Every pause carried a meaningful subtext.

Wen Zhuo smoothed and stretched the bundle under his ear, gently pulling it toward Shen Zhi, his eyelashes falling inch by inch.

Shen Zhi felt the half of the “pillow” being pushed toward him and sighed inwardly—it must be Wen Zhuo’s way of changing the subject.

But sleeping in the same bed with the cat was good enough.

He gave up his own arm and rested his head on the edge of the bundle.

When he closed his eyes, almost touching Wen Zhuo’s nose, he heard Wen Zhuo’s voice again, flowing slowly in the darkness: “Your Highness being like this, I also like it very much.”