Chapter 63#

Over the next five days, the search within the city showed no sign of slackening. The guards delivering food supplies to the Liu residence grew ever more cautious, terrified of revealing their tracks.

The few of them dwelling temporarily within the residence, fearful that the walls had ears, held their breath and hushed their voices for the vast majority of the time.

Wen Zhuo often held a scroll in hand, reading from the first light of dawn until the crows cried low at dusk, utterly oblivious to the passage of time.

If not for Shen Zheng forcefully pulling him up to move about every hour, he could have remained seated in place, completely motionless.

Wen Zhuo was quite perplexed by Shen Zheng’s theories, such as “Do not sit for long, lest you injure your lower back, leading to lumbar muscle strain; do not read in the dark, lest you damage your eyes, causing vision loss.”

When Shen Zheng dragged him to his feet yet again, he patiently explained: “I have been reading like this since I was a child, and I have never felt any discomfort.”

Having his train of thought so frequently interrupted by Shen Zheng made it difficult for him to concentrate fully, greatly diminishing his reading efficiency.

But he did not blame Shen Zheng.

He thought, since he had already accepted Shen Zheng’s kiss and responded in kind, he should be tolerant of Shen Zheng’s restlessness.

“That is because Teacher is still young now, but you must prepare for the future,” Shen Zheng said, pushing him as they walked slowly from the front courtyard to the back, then turned back again.

Wen Zhuo, in a moment of carelessness, closed his book without marking his place. After searching for a long while without finding where he had been reading, he finally couldn’t help but murmur quietly: “If I had been interrupted like this by Your Highness when I was taking the imperial examinations back then, I fear I would still be stuck in Mianzhou even now!”

“Oh?” A flicker of interest flashed in Shen Zheng’s eyes. “Then I would very much like to hear how Teacher studied so diligently as a child.”

He himself had only woken up and started studying seriously when he reached high school. In elementary and middle school, he had often engaged in battles of wits with his parents, never missing out on sports or video games.

But upon careful reflection, he was startled. When he was sixteen and starting high school, Wen Zhuo had already traveled far to the capital to take the metropolitan examination, and had secured the position of Second Scholar, becoming truly the second-best in the nation.

And before that, Wen Zhuo had to work tirelessly, passing the prefectural examinations and the provincial examinations in succession. It seemed that from the moment he learned to read, he had never had a moment of respite or leisure.

Wen Zhuo’s expression was calm as he slowly spoke: “I learned to read quite late, only entering a private school at the age of eight. At that time, my classmates were mostly precocious, and I often felt ashamed of my inferiority. The only way was to make up for my shortcomings with diligence. Every day, in addition to the lessons taught by the teacher, I would study several extra pages, not daring to be the least bit negligent.”

“Eight years old?” Shen Zheng’s heart stirred. Last time at Chunlai Alley, when Wen Zhuo mentioned the burn on his leg, it was also around the age of eight.

Was there some connection between the two? Could it be an ancient version of school bullying?

He knew well that in this place, the local gentry and wealthy families, as well as scholarly households, would usually invite tutors for their children when they were four or five. Some prodigies could compose poetry at six. As Wen Zhuo said, reading and writing at eight was indeed somewhat late.

“Mhm.” Wen Zhuo, unaware of Shen Zheng’s thoughts, was still adamantly proving that his reading habits were not problematic. “I would often sit in the school from the break of dawn, burying my head in my studies, until the night crows returned to the woods. In the evenings, when there was no lamp in my room, I would gather discarded candle stubs that others had thrown away. Even a short piece, the length of a finger joint, would allow me to read a few more pages.”

As he spoke, he extended a finger from his sleeve to indicate the size of the candle stub.

Shen Zheng took the opportunity to grasp his hand, leading him forward slowly, and said with a smile: “I recall that during the Han dynasty, there was a man named Kuang Heng who also studied day and night without ceasing, reading extensively. Even ‘boring a hole in the wall to steal light’ became a tale admired through the ages.”

But in his heart, he thought to himself that Wen Zhuo’s original family truly had problems.

During the Dagan dynasty, oil lamps were already widespread, and he was living in a wealthy household—how could he have fallen to the point of picking up discarded candle stubs to read by?

“I am not quite as hard-pressed as Kuang Heng,” Wen Zhuo said, his voice pausing briefly. A flicker of hesitation passed through his eyes, and he stole a glance at Shen Zheng’s expression. Seeing him listening attentively, he cautiously continued: “At the time, the teacher, who was also my biological father’s tutor, took pity on my determination to study hard. He often let me stay in the school, providing me with a lamp and tea.”

Wen Zhuo had never spoken of these past events to Xie Langyang.

On the journey to the capital for the examinations, Wen Zhuo had thought of bringing them up. But every time he wanted to share the scorching earth of Mianzhou in summer, the damp bedding during the rainy season, or the bone-chilling cold of the open drainage ditches in winter, Xie Langyang always seemed indifferent.

Xie Langyang preferred to discuss with him the land reforms that Emperor Shunyuan had failed to implement, to talk about policy essays and classical texts, to discuss calligraphy and composition, to speak of the lofty halls of the court, the difficulties of governance, and the ills of the nation.

Whenever such topics arose, Xie Langyang would speak passionately and eloquently, pouring out his heart.

Occasionally, there were less serious moments. Xie Langyang would talk about the stunning new works that had emerged at the Yellow Crane Tower, about the prosperity of Nanzhou, which seemed like a dream of the Eastern Capital, or about the amusing anecdotes of “company whole of learned men, no one of grosser sort.”

Indeed, Xie Langyang had shown him a side of the world he had never encountered before, given him a profound understanding of the aristocratic class, and taught him the techniques of the Xie family’s chess strategies.

But he also had to bury those humble, unspeakable pasts deep in his heart, solely to match the refined and noble topics that Xie Langyang preferred.

“Your biological father isn’t Wen Yingjing, is he?” Shen Zheng asked cautiously, weighing his words.

“My biological father’s name was Wen Qimin. He was once the youngest Xiucai in Mianzhou, and everyone said he had boundless prospects,” Wen Zhuo said in a flat tone, as if recounting someone else’s story. “After he married my mother, I came along soon after. Because he cherished his wife and young son and couldn’t bear to be separated from us, he never went on to take the provincial examination. But when I was two years old, he accidentally fell into a river and died.”

These events were all told to him later by his teacher; he had no memory of them himself.

“Wen Yingjing was the clan chief of the Wen family. He pitied my mother’s plight as a widow, so he took her as a concubine. A year later, Wen Xu was born.”

“No wonder,” Shen Zheng said, suddenly understanding.

No wonder Wen Zhuo felt no affection for the Wen family, and even harbored a faint hatred.

Thinking about it, as the son of an outsider brought by his mother, living under someone else’s roof in Wen Yingjing’s home, his situation must have been extremely awkward and difficult.

And what about his mother? Had she been able to protect him?

But Wen Zhuo seemed unwilling to delve deeper. Turning around, he made to go back: “Alright, I’m going to read now.”

Shen Zheng quickly stopped him: “It’s already dark. Reading in dim light will give you glaucoma.”

“What ‘glaucoma’?” Wen Zhuo asked, puzzled.

Shen Zheng changed the subject: “The food box hasn’t arrived yet. Let me teach you a new game.”

Wen Zhuo had no choice but to let Shen Zheng pull him into the middle of the courtyard.

Shen Zheng bent down to smooth out the sand and dirt on the ground, then gathered some stones of varying sizes from the corner of the wall. He gave the small ones to Wen Zhuo and kept the large ones for himself.

Wen Zhuo looked at these children’s playthings—sand and stones—and couldn’t help but think that in his previous life, he had never realized that liking men could so severely hinder one’s studies.

Shen Zheng crouched down and, using a twig, drew a crisscrossing grid on the ground. “I’ll explain the rules only once, Teacher, so listen carefully. If you lose, there will be a penalty.”

Hearing this, Wen Zhuo paid close attention.

“The gameplay is very simple. In a nutshell, it’s about connecting five pieces in a row,” Shen Zheng said, tapping the grid on the ground with the twig. “You can connect them horizontally, vertically, or diagonally. Whoever does it first wins.”

Shen Zheng thought to himself: I haven’t played much Go, but I’ve been sneaking games of Gomoku since elementary school. Can I lose?

Wen Zhuo thought: The rules are very simple, no difficulty at all.

For the first three rounds, Shen Zheng won as expected. Wen Zhuo’s Go habits were too ingrained, and he was still unfamiliar with this type of play, so he hadn’t yet grasped the trick.

But starting from the fourth round, Shen Zheng suddenly felt the pressure mounting.

Wen Zhuo learned extremely quickly. Soon, he had understood the key points. The two of them went back and forth, playing move by move, carefully strategizing. The grid on the ground grew longer and longer, and the stones that could be found near the wall gradually began to run out.

With the limited conditions here, the stones varied in size and were hard to distinguish. The grid lines on the ground were also somewhat crooked. The two players not only had to constantly remember where they had placed their pieces and mentally correct the crooked lines, but also had to observe the overall situation, predict their opponent’s moves several steps ahead, set traps everywhere, and defend against every move.

Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü, watching from the side, were astonished and quickly began scouring everywhere for more stones.

Wen Zhuo and Shen Zheng were both completely focused, not uttering a word, their eyes locked on the ground.

As night deepened, the last traces of light in the sky gradually faded away. The grid on the ground had now grown to the size of a bed, strewn with a chaotic array of stones.

Only then did Shen Zheng manage to connect five stones in a row.

He breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing full well that if they played another round, he would lose any advantage he had from learning the game first.

“I lost,” Wen Zhuo said, slowly standing up. His brow was slightly furrowed, his gaze still fixed on the grayish ground, as if he were still replaying the game in his mind.

The cat is way too serious!

Shen Zheng, seeing no other option, scattered the stones and messed up the grid on the ground, disregarding Wen Zhuo’s stunned expression. Without further ado, he grabbed Wen Zhuo by the wrist and led him off to eat.

As the night grew deeper, the two washed up briefly in the dark, then lay down together on the hard bed.

The sky, which had been overcast, had tonight torn open the clouds, letting a few strands of silvery white moonlight leak through. The cool light drifted in through the cracks in the window paper, like gently falling snow.

Wen Zhuo drew his shoulders in, feeling that in the past few days, the temperature in Mianzhou had been getting colder by the day. Based on his childhood memories, it would only get colder—and faster.

He quietly tugged at his sleeves, tucking his hands inside, and gazed at the frost on the window paper. “Your Highness, it should be within the next day or two.”

“Mhm.” Shen Zheng, also unable to sleep, replied in a low voice.

Though they seemed to be idling away their days at the Liu residence, there was always a heavy stone weighing on their hearts.

Whether this venture would succeed or fail depended on the next few short days.

Wen Zhuo thought that if Liu Kangren had indeed been wronged, and they managed to turn the situation around, Lord Liu’s predicament would also be resolved.

If Shen Zheng could show leniency towards Liu Kangren in such circumstances, Lord Liu would only be deeply grateful. At that point, the forces of the Three Major Camps, the Ministry of War, the Northern Frontier, and the Southern Territories would all rally behind Shen Zheng. Whether or not Shen Zheng was the designated heir, he would become the heir apparent.

It was not appropriate to discuss such heavy topics late at night. Wen Zhuo shifted the conversation, asking softly, “Your Highness mentioned a penalty earlier. What is the penalty?”

Shen Zheng was momentarily startled, having almost forgotten about that.

He had only mentioned it casually, but the cat had willingly jumped into the tiger’s mouth—how could he let that go easily?

“The penalty is… Teacher will be my ‘Bamboo Wife’ tonight. You must not move, and obediently let me hold you while I sleep,” he said, gazing at Wen Zhuo’s fair profile in the moonlight. His voice was deep and soft, seemingly offering room for argument, yet it was incredibly seductive.

The so-called “Bamboo Wife,” also known as “Green Slave,” was an elegant object woven from bamboo strips, used to cool down during the summer.

Huang Tingjian once wrote a poem: “I have no red sleeves to amuse me through the night; I merely want the Green Slave to bring a touch of coolness.”

“…”

Wen Zhuo was silent for a moment. Then, suddenly lifting his head, he rubbed against his fur robe, and slowly nestled his head onto Shen Zheng’s chest. His loose black hair cascaded down like a stream, flowing over Shen Zheng’s throat and neck.

Shen Zheng immediately tightened his arms, firmly holding the man within his embrace.

The unique, faint medicinal scent of Wen Zhuo wafted over, gathered entirely under Shen Zheng’s palms.

He felt his pulse racing, his whole body burning with an unbearable heat, as if only this “coolness” in his arms could provide some relief.

Wen Zhuo indeed remained motionless, allowing Shen Zheng’s palm to roam and gently caress his back.

Shen Zheng’s heart swelled with sweetness. He pulled over a thin garment draped nearby to cover his “Bamboo Wife,” and couldn’t help but sigh, “Teacher is so obedient. In the future, I will definitely keep pushing my luck.”

Wen Zhuo closed his eyes, hearing Shen Zheng’s steady, powerful heartbeat—a heartbeat that had lost its rhythm because of him.

In the thick darkness, he hid the tips of his ears, which were about to burn out of control.

“Then Your Highness… please, push your luck.”

The moon rose over the treetops. The official road on the outskirts of the city was covered in a layer of silver frost.

Suddenly, the heavy clatter of iron hooves was heard, shaking the treetops. A dark steed raised its head and neighed longingly at the moon.

As the billowing dust slowly settled, the Imperial Guard Captain reached up and tore off the red silk scarf covering his face. His sharp eyes were cold as a blade as he gazed solemnly at the person blocking his path.

In the middle of the official road, two guards sat astride their horses. The one in the lead had a broad, square face, travel-worn and dusty.

Upon seeing the Captain’s official uniform, he saluted respectfully, speaking in a clear voice: “We have been waiting for you, Captain, for quite some time!”

The Imperial Guard Captain’s cold eyes swept over the postal relay station beside the official road, its dim yellow lanterns glowing, and his right hand slowly moved to rest on the sword at his waist. “Who are you? How dare you intercept an imperial courier!”

“Guards under the command of Grand Coordinator Wen, the Southern Inspector!” the guard replied, neither humble nor arrogant.

The Imperial Guard Captain paused in his motion to draw his sword. A closer look revealed that both men wore specially made grain-route waist tags and spoke with a capital accent.

His tense expression eased slightly as he slowly sheathed his sword. “You are waiting here—what business do you have?”

“Are you, sir, here on His Majesty’s orders?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Our lord, Grand Coordinator Wen, is currently overseeing disaster relief efforts in Xing and Jing prefectures. He was furious to learn of Liu Kangren’s atrocities against the people and wishes he could immediately petition the throne to demand justice for the starved commoners!” the guard said earnestly, reaching into his robes and pulling out an intricately crafted ivory token. He held it forward. “We humbly request that you, Captain, rest a few days at the Gezhou Postal Relay Station. Once Grand Coordinator Wen has finished handling the urgent disaster relief matters, you can personally deliver the imperial decree to him.”

The Imperial Guard Captain dismounted, took the ivory token, and examined it closely. He checked several details and confirmed it was indeed the token of a first-rank official.

He respectfully returned the token, though a hint of suspicion remained on his face. “But I am under His Majesty’s verbal order to deliver this imperial decree to Mianzhou immediately and execute Liu Kangren without delay. How can I tarry here?”

The guard replied calmly, “Sir, you must be aware that at court, His Majesty personally appointed Grand Coordinator Wen as the Border Inspector, with the authority to patrol Mianzhou on behalf of the Son of Heaven. He also holds an imperial rescript authorizing him to command the officials of Mianzhou, from top to bottom.”

“That’s correct.” The Imperial Guard Captain was, of course, aware of this.

“Grand Coordinator Wen is currently tied up in Xing and Jing prefectures, but he is well aware of the complex and treacherous situation in Mianzhou. Fearing that His Majesty’s will might not be fully carried out, he specifically sent us to wait for you here, sir. He humbly requests that you rest for a while and enter Mianzhou together with him, to ensure everything goes smoothly.”

This explanation was perfectly airtight and entirely reasonable.

With the imperial rescript as his guarantee, Wen Zhuo’s authority already superseded that of the local officials in Mianzhou. It was indeed more prudent for him to personally receive the imperial decree and handle the matter.

Besides, after traveling day and night without rest, he was already exhausted. A few days of rest at a postal relay station would be a welcome reprieve.

Moreover, he had only stopped because he had seen Wen Zhuo’s official token. Even if questions were raised later, it would hardly be his fault.

“Thank you for your efforts, gentlemen.” The Imperial Guard Captain cupped his hands in salute, smiled, remounted his horse, turned, and headed toward the Gezhou Postal Relay Station.

Upon arriving at the station, the Captain presented his courier token and official documents as per regulations. The stationmaster carefully verified them and quickly ushered them in.

The two guards stepped forward and casually exchanged pleasantries with the stationmaster: “You’ve been working hard as well, Stationmaster. Some time ago, we passed through here and left two carriages in your care. We’ve troubled you to look after them all this time.”

“Not at all, not at all! It is my duty to serve!” the stationmaster replied with a smile. “I wonder when Grand Coordinator Wen will need those two carriages? We have been maintaining them diligently.”

One of the guards smiled and said, “Probably around the time of our return to the capital. Grand Coordinator Wen and His Highness the Fifth Prince are currently in Xing and Jing prefectures.”

The stationmaster sighed repeatedly, “His Highness the Fifth Prince and Grand Coordinator Wen truly labor for the people—how hard they work!”

The Imperial Guard Captain, who had been listening nearby, heard everything clearly. His last shred of doubt vanished completely. Lighthearted and at ease, he went to his quarters to rest.

The two guards exchanged a glance. One of them quietly slipped away, riding through the night to a midway point to report.