Chapter 69#

As the hour of the dragon struck, accompanied by the coarse screech of the windlass, the two vermilion city gates slowly swung open.

Long queues had already formed below the gates. The last batch of traveling merchants, dusty-faced, had their money pouches bulging with silver, while their accompanying escorts remained on high alert.

There were also many refugees, carrying lumps of incense hidden in their tattered clothes, their eyes filled with anxiety and hope.

Just as the crowd was shuffling forward to enter the city, a cloud of yellow dust suddenly rose from the official road. With the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels over the loess surface, a carriage with a yellow canopy—crafted from a century-old camphor tree, exuding a clean, fragrant scent, and bearing vermilion and gold carvings on the shafts—raced toward them.

Eight burly men, each over eight feet tall, flanked the carriage, clearing the way and escorting it with extraordinary pomp.

As the carriage drew near, one could see that a delicate character “Wen” was embroidered in gold thread on the curtain.

When the refugees saw this display, they couldn’t help but stretch their necks and crane for a look. Two of the burly men frowned and barked harshly, “What are you looking at? Are you blind? Get out of the way for Master Wen!”

The refugees shrank their necks in fright and hurriedly backed away, instinctively clearing a space. Their eyes were timid, and they clutched the incense blocks tightly to their chests, afraid of accidentally provoking the noble inside the carriage.

Suddenly, the carriage curtain was gently lifted aside by a hand, revealing a face with kind brows and kind eyes.

This person had hair half black and half white, neatly tied atop his head with a black wooden crown. He wore a clean gray Daoist robe, with only a white sachet tied at his waist—simple adornments.

Below his left nostril, two finger-widths under his lower eyelid, grew a black mole the size of a black bean.

It was said that such a mole was called “Bodhisattva’s Tear,” which could only appear on those with a kind heart and virtuous deeds. Thus, everyone called him “Great Benefactor Wen.”

Wen Yingjing wore a displeased expression and gently scolded the two burly men, “Mind your manners! These are all fellow villagers on the road. Why be so harsh?”

The burly men quickly lowered their heads, standing with their hands at their sides, murmuring, “We know we were wrong.”

Wen Yingjing then turned to the waiting refugees and said with a smile, “Everyone, don’t be afraid. All of you who have come today to attend the Mianzhou Incense Fair are my friends.”

The refugees felt a warmth in their hearts when they saw how approachable Wen Yingjing was, and that he even scolded his servants on their behalf. Their eyes grew hot. They bent their knees slightly, cupped their hands in deep bows, and said with choked voices, “Great Benefactor Wen! Great Benefactor Wen is truly a living Bodhisattva!”

The archers at the city gate had also spotted the carriage. The leader, quick of eye and hand, rolled like a gourd over to them, bowing and scraping with a smile. “Oh! Master Wen, you’ve finally arrived! The entire city’s incense merchants and common folk have been waiting for you!”

Wen Yingjing no longer looked at the refugees. He nodded to the archer. “Let’s enter the city.”

The curtain closed, and the carriage pressed straight through the gaunt refugees and the slightly more respectable merchants, rolling into the city.

The refugees gazed at the receding wealthy yellow silhouette, murmuring, “What a good man. Master Wen is truly a good man.”

They couldn’t help but touch the small block of ambergris they had risked their lives to obtain. They thought that once they exchanged it for money and retrieved their children, they would go to the Wen residence’s gate and kowtow a few times to repay this kindness.

The Mianzhou Incense Fair was held at the largest entertainment establishment in the area, “Suhe Hall.”

Suhe Hall was located east of the prefectural seat, covering a vast area, standing four stories high. From early morning, people had swarmed there like a tide.

The hall was laid out in layers. The front courtyard was an open-air space large enough to hold over a thousand people. In the blink of an eye, it was packed to the brim.

Through the front courtyard, at the very center, a temporary platform ten feet high had been erected. On the platform was laid a Persian carpet, with over a dozen chairs made of golden-thread nanmu. Before each chair stood a small table, upon which fine pre-rain tea had already been set.

Around the platform were arranged over a hundred pear-wood chairs, reserved as exclusive seats for local gentry and notables. Between each grouping of tables and chairs stood carved screens, separating them from the pressing crowd of commoners and small-time traders behind—a clear barrier.

According to the fair’s rules, all incense presented on the platform had to be selected first by those seated in the pear-wood chairs. What remained would then be available to the merchants and commonfolk behind.

Wen Zhuo had risen early that day and changed into a fine satin blue robe. He held a white jade folding fan in his hand; the fan’s surface was blank of any writing. Around his waist was a jade belt, from which hung a black silk tassel. As he moved, his robes fluttered and the tassels clinked crisply, exuding the full dignified air of a young noble.

Shen Zheng followed from the inner chamber, also having prepared himself meticulously.

He was naturally tall and well-built. That day, he wore a black-and-white form-fitting outfit, cinched tightly at the waist. He raised a hand to smooth a crease on his robe’s hem, his spine curved slightly, and the ends of his hair brushed against the back of his neck.

Wen Zhuo’s eyes brightened for a moment.

Strange. In his past life, how could he have favored graceful, refined young men and frail scholars?

Clearly, a chest as firm as iron, a narrow, powerful waistline, and long, straight legs were far more pleasing to the eye.

Men—better when taller, with slight curls at the ends of their hair, deep and captivating brows and eyes, and broad palms that could protect someone.

“Wanshan, let’s go.” Shen Zheng approached steadily, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He naturally reached out to smooth Wen Zhuo’s forehead hair, which had been ruffled by the morning wind—intimate and open.

Wen Zhuo did not dodge. He allowed the touch, then turned to look at Liu Kangren, saying coolly, “You should stay hidden at the Liu residence first. I have ordered ten guards to keep watch here. Once I reveal my identity and take over Mianzhou Prefecture, I will thoroughly investigate what you’ve told me and distinguish truth from falsehood.”

Liu Kangren had already shed his filthy, bloodstained prison clothes and changed into a set of guards’ attire.

But after two months of torture in prison, he was emaciated. The loose clothes hung on him, empty and unsupported, but at least he looked more decent than before.

He gave the two a deep bow. His voice was somewhat hoarse. “Thank you, Governor Wen. Thank you, Fifth Prince.”

As for Shen Zheng, Liu Kangren’s feelings were complicated.

Yesterday, he had felt ashamed of his own ten years of idleness in Mianzhou, yet he had clearly seen undisguised surprise and appreciation in Shen Zheng’s eyes.

This Fifth Prince did not seem to blame him for his mediocrity. On the contrary, he regarded him differently.

How could this be? And why?

Wen Zhuo then spoke to those beside him. “Liu Qiyin, Jiangman Nü, you two come with me as well.”

As they were about to leave, Shen Zheng’s gaze inadvertently swept past the two long spears propped against the wall of the front courtyard. The dust and dirt on the red tassels had been carefully brushed off.

He shook his head inwardly. This Liu Kangren truly regretted having no strategies for pacifying the border but felt shame in mounting the general’s platform.

The seals on the Liu residence’s gate were carefully peeled off by Liu Qiyin’s fingertips and then reapplied as if untouched. Unless examined closely, one wouldn’t notice the difference.

Wen Zhuo and his group slipped into a narrow alley, avoiding all wary gazes, and hurried toward Suhe Hall.

Unable to take a carriage, they walked for half an hour before arriving.

The Mianzhou Incense Fair was scheduled to begin at the end of the Hour of the Dragon. When they arrived, the scene was a sea of people.

Servants in short clothes were sweating profusely as they tried to maintain order. At the periphery, official guards with swords at their waists patrolled with stern expressions.

The air was thick with a mixture of sweat, incense, and tea—several scents interwoven, somewhat pungent.

The merchants with genuine high-quality goods had not yet taken the stage. On the platform, only a few servants carried incense boxes, circling to display them. But those farther away could only see vague outlines.

Thus, complaints began to spread through the crowd—

“Taking so long! We’ve been standing for an hour, and it still hasn’t started!” a man shouted hoarsely.

“Ah, those merchants have the real goods, so naturally they act important,” someone replied with a sigh.

“I heard that the ‘Bone-Penetrating Fragrance’ sold overseas will be available to the Great Qian people today. Even if I have to sell everything I own, I want to buy a box and see if it truly has the miraculous effect of restoring youth!”

“Look at Second Madam in Master Wen’s household—that fragrance is truly miraculous. She has skin like ice and bones like jade, like an im—imm—”

The man’s words caught in his throat mid-sentence.

A clear, medicinal scent cut through the foul air. Inhaling deeply, it refreshed the heart and invigorated the mind.

He looked up and saw that the Luo Goddess had stepped out of a poem and come to life. The person before him had brows like jade peaks, eyes like mist-shrouded pools—‘piled up jade, aligned pines, emerald green.’ A single glance made one feel as if a gentle breeze were brushing one’s face, floating on clouds.

If Wen Yingjing’s Second Madam was an immortal, what should this one be called?

It seemed no words in the world could do justice to this breathtaking beauty.

Wherever Wen Zhuo passed, the noise died down involuntarily. Everyone held their breath, sneaking glances at him, afraid to disturb him, yet also afraid they might fail to make an impression.

Wen Zhuo was oblivious to these stares. He found a Suhe Hall servant who was rushing about frantically and said, “We want pear-wood chairs.”

The servant, irritated by constant demands, turned to snap at him. But when he saw Wen Zhuo’s face, his anger instantly vanished.

His expression changed immediately, and he said politely, “Sorry, young master. The pear-wood chairs have all been reserved in advance by local gentry and masters. One seat per person. They’re exactly full—I really can’t find any extra space.”

Wen Zhuo tilted his head slightly. Liu Qiyin immediately pulled a heavy piece of silver from her robe and pressed it into the servant’s hand.

The servant’s palm sank under the weight, and his eyes lit up.

Wen Zhuo simply stated his request. “Please add four chairs for us.”

How could the servant refuse? He bit the silver to test its purity, confirmed it was genuine, and a full smile bloomed on his face. As if meeting his own father, he respectfully led Wen Zhuo and the others in through a side door.

“Young master, please! Someone as distinguished as you shouldn’t suffer outside. Even if I have to squeeze, I’ll make room for you!”

Wen Zhuo’s robes fluttered lightly, and his figure disappeared behind the door in an instant.

“Hey! Hey!” A frantic voice sounded not far away, but the speaker was short and his voice weak, entirely failing to reach Wen Zhuo or Shen Zheng’s ears.

Six-Monkey was extremely anxious, pushing through the crowd, trying to get to the side door.

He had sneaked into the incense fair today hoping to find his missing mother among the refugees, hoping she had also found some ambergris and come here to exchange it for money to redeem herself.

But he hadn’t found his mother. Instead, he had run into those “good-hearted swindlers” who were about to walk straight into the tiger’s den.

Although he had heartlessly abandoned them and run away that day, he couldn’t bear to see them die now. He had seen Wen Xu arrive early and was now drinking tea in a private room on the second floor. Even though the sickly guy had washed off the paint on his face and the young master had taken off his face covering, Wen Xu would surely recognize their voices. Besides, the two women hadn’t covered their faces at all!

“Move! Everyone move aside!”

“Damn it! Who’s shoving me?” A large hand suddenly grabbed Six-Monkey by the scruff of the neck, lifting him up like a chick. “Little brat, get lost! This isn’t a place for you to beg!”

With that, the man flung him away, and Six-Monkey flew out like a piece of rubble.

“Ouch!” He crashed into someone else, and a wave of curses erupted around him.

By the time he finally scrambled back up, rubbing his sore back and face, and jumped up with all his strength, Wen Zhuo and the others were already out of sight.

The side door was tightly shut. They were about to run into Wen Xu.

“It’s over. It’s really over.” Six-Monkey hung his head, dejected.

He had been hiding in Mianzhou city these past days. Everyone treated him like a beggar, chased him away, looked down on him. Only those swindlers had treated him differently. They had bought him hot food and had even helped him uncover Wen Yingjing’s true face.

But now, before they could expose Wen Yingjing to the world, they were going to die.

Inside the inner courtyard, a circle of people had already taken their seats. Beside each chair was a burner with premium incense—some subtle, some rich. Strands of fragrance mixed with the dusty air. Such expensive items, even rare in the imperial palace, were being burned here without restraint.

“Young master, please bear with this spot. It’s a bit out of the way, but it’s close to the stage, and it’s secluded.”

Wen Zhuo and Shen Zheng’s seats were behind a thick red-lacquered pillar. Clearly, these were chairs added on the spur of the moment—far to the side, hidden in the shadows.

Fortunately, they were only about ten feet from the stage, and they could see everything on it clearly.

“Thanks. You can go about your business.” Wen Zhuo found the scent here irritating, so he raised his folding fan and waved it vigorously a couple of times.

As soon as they sat down, a loud “clang” of a gong rang out from the stage, instantly reaching every corner of Suhe Hall and drowning out the noise of the crowd below.

A servant in coarse linen clothes, with leggings tied tight, strode to the edge of the stage and shouted at the top of his lungs: “The auspicious hour has arrived! The Mianzhou Incense Fair begins now! We respectfully invite Prefect Lou and the esteemed incense merchants to ascend the platform and take their seats!”

The crowd below raised their heads in unison, pausing their activities.

Shen Zheng held his tea cup, half-smiling. “This Lou Changsui certainly has a big heart. Liu Kangren is missing, and he still has the leisure to come and endorse the fair.”

Wen Zhuo said casually, “I suspect he’s come up with some desperate remedy. Most likely, he wants to first claim that Liu Kangren committed suicide out of guilt, stabilize the situation for now, and after the fair ends, continue the hunt in secret to confirm the death.”

“Poor Prefect Lou, racking his brains for a plan. Unfortunately—” Shen Zheng raised his hand and poured the tea directly into a censer, the expensive Suhe incense instantly turning into a pool of murky water. “Today, you will take his power.”

Wen Zhuo’s fan, which had been fluttering wildly, paused slightly. He curved his eyes in a smile.

From the second-floor staircase came a steady, deliberate rustling of footsteps. Lou Changsui, dressed in his official robe, his black gauze cap firmly on his head, came down first.

He had a thick, short neck. Now, intentionally puffing out his chest and tucking in his chin, he walked with his hands behind his back, stepping onto the stage one step at a time with an odd sort of clumsiness.

He raised a pair of puffy, bloodshot eyes. Dark circles of exhaustion hung beneath them. Patting his round belly, he said without changing his expression, “Ladies and gentlemen, gathered here today for the incense fair, you add splendor to Mianzhou. This prefect feels deeply honored.”

But then he changed his tone and nodded toward the incense merchants walking slowly behind him. “However, as the one temporarily in charge of Mianzhou Prefecture, I must first thank these esteemed merchants for their dedication. Without their painstaking refinement, how could Mianzhou’s incense have earned such renown? As the old saying goes, ‘Plant the wutong tree, and the phoenix will come.’ I wish you all a day of extraordinary incense and a satisfying return. May you rise like clouds and prosper!”

Applause rose from the crowd below in support. The merchants who had come to buy incense gave the high-ranking official due respect.

Lou Changsui stepped aside, revealing the slightly grave face of Wen Yingjing behind him.

He was still in his gray Daoist robe, with kind brows and kind eyes. Among the other lavishly dressed incense merchants, he seemed oddly out of place.

Wen Ze followed at his side, his frail, thin body held rigidly straight. But without the ever-present smoking pipe in his hand, he had no outlet for his restless irritation, and a layer of anxiety was faintly visible on his face.

As for Wen Xu, that hopeless good-for-nothing, he naturally had no qualifications to appear on stage.

Wen Yingjing flicked his robe and sat steadily on the golden-thread nanmu chair to Lou Changsui’s left. Wen Ze followed and sat down beside him.

Seeing Wen Yingjing’s hypocritical face, Wen Zhuo’s fingers unconsciously tightened around his folding fan. The ridges of the fan’s ribs pressed against his fingertips, gradually leaving several deep red marks.

He squinted, staring intently. Memories seeped out like a leaking wooden box, drop by drop, spreading over his heart and staining it with murky mud.

He could barely hear the sounds around him. Hatred, like an all-pervasive vine, bound his thoughts tightly. Images of the deaths he had planned for Wen Yingjing flashed unceasingly through his mind.

Just as he was about to snap the fan’s ribs, a warm, dry hand suddenly grasped his wrist. Then, with a force that brooked no refusal, it slowly pried open his curled fingers, rescuing those five fingers, white from excessive squeezing, from their cruel grip.

Shen Zheng gently took the fan from his hand. His voice was low and gentle. “I’ll hold it for you, Teacher.”

Wen Zhuo looked at his suddenly empty palm and felt the dull ache in his finger bones belatedly.

His hatred loosened a bit. Realizing he had lost his composure, he started to speak awkwardly, “I…”

“There are too many eyes here—it’s not convenient to hold hands,” Shen Zheng interrupted. Smiling, he offered his own sleeve to Wen Zhuo’s palm. “Teacher, hold my sleeve instead.”

Wen Zhuo hesitated for a moment, then closed his fingertips and lightly gripped the fabric.

It was only a sleeve, yet it stirred a subtle, stirring emotion within him. Shen Zheng’s wrist rested on the arm of the chair. With the slightest movement from him, Shen Zheng would notice immediately.

As if he could hide no secrets.