Chapter 7#

Inside the teahouse, patrons bustled to and fro. Shen Chen’s body suddenly went limp, and he toppled straight backward.

He had been suspicious and suspicious, his emotions rising and falling, until his body finally exceeded its limits and he fainted from fever.

It wasn’t an act—he really had passed out.

Xie Langyang moved with swift eyes and quick hands, catching him just in time. He didn’t dare delay, hurried out of the teahouse, and spurred his horse to the palace without pause.

By the time he emerged from Shunyang Gate, his whole body ached unendurably, and both the front and back of his robes were drenched through.

In a daze, he rushed back to his residence. As soon as he stepped out of the sedan chair, the steward hurried over to meet him, saying that Lady Liu had come but missed him.

Liu Qiyin—she had come looking for him?

Xie Langyang instantly forgot his exhaustion. A faint spark of hope kindled in his heart, like a tiny flame in the dead of winter, flickering unsteadily.

Clinging to that glimmer of hope, he quickly grabbed the steward’s arms, his voice nearly trembling: “Speak!”

He had even forgotten his usual composure and dignity.

The steward hurriedly replied, “Lady Liu said she was entrusted by Vice Academy Head Wen to retrieve an item from you. This humble servant asked what it was, but she refused to say. My lord, if such an item truly exists, this servant will find it and deliver it at once.”

The color drained from Xie Langyang’s face.

He knew what it was.

Back then, when Wen Zhuo was an official in Bozhou, Xie Langyang, without knowing a thing, was notified that the Xie family of Nanzhou had sent a betrothal gift from a thousand li away, and Gong Zhiyuan had forced the decision, marrying Gong Yuwen to him.

He had no right to refuse.

Only after the marriage did he realize that the maids Gong Yuwen brought were all informants planted by Gong Zhiyuan. His esteemed mentor was determined to ensure that Xie Langyang would serve the Gong family and never betray them.

He dared not keep a single one of Wen Zhuo’s belongings.

The books with Wen Zhuo’s annotations he reluctantly donated to the academy; the small trinkets Wen Zhuo had given him—a money pouch, a hair crown, a sash—he pawned off, using the money to buy grain and distribute it to the poor, merely to earn himself a reputation for virtue.

There was only one piece, “Ode to Evening Mountain,” that he simply could not bear to part with. He secretly tucked it away in his desk.

All those details, every little thing—only the two of them understood, and he treasured them dearly.

It wasn’t until the joint trial by the Three Judicial Departments that he was forced to hand over “Ode to Evening Mountain.”

In truth, Wen Zhuo’s original crimes were already heinous enough to fill the page, but Gong Zhiyuan insisted on extorting more fabricated charges to flaunt his own achievements.

He ordered Wen Zhuo to be strapped onto a torture bench, his hands and feet bound, with two heavy cudgels placed beside it. The chill emanating from them made Wen Zhuo shiver even from a distance.

The rough movements of the yamen runners reopened Wen Zhuo’s old wounds, and blood began to seep from the scabs on his ten fingers again.

Gong Zhiyuan said, “Strike with the cudgels. For every charge you confess, I’ll let you rest half a shichen.”

At the tenth blow, Wen Zhuo felt a searing pain, and his left leg went numb. Unable to endure such brutal torture, he had no choice but to confess as they wished.

He admitted to seducing a singing girl and ruining her reputation. He admitted to suppressing a Hanlin Academy compiler, driving him to suicide. He also admitted to luring Xie Langyang into collusion, and bearing a grudge when he was rejected…

Every single charge matched his notorious reputation for debauchery, yet every word was a lie.

A mere verbal confession wasn’t enough for them. They demanded concrete evidence, and so this “Ode to Evening Mountain” became the perfect proof.

When Gong Zhiyuan came knocking, Xie Langyang was stunned. He couldn’t believe Wen Zhuo would actually bring up this ode.

Trembling, he handed over the well-preserved letter, which bore not a single crease.

Gong Zhiyuan took one look at it, and his face darkened like a storm cloud.

Who would treat a gift ode from someone they loathed with such care?

But the die was cast, and Gong Zhiyuan didn’t press further. In the courtroom, however, he spoke in the harshest and most venomous terms, heaping humiliation on Wen Zhuo, as if determined to strip him of every shred of dignity.

“Now that the evidence is ironclad, you, with your male form, are nothing but a contemptible eunuch at heart, mimicking the behavior of a female beast, seducing Deputy Minister Xie, and seeking to ruin his good name!”

Xie Langyang stood outside the door at that moment, feeling that even the pain of having his heart ripped out couldn’t compare.

He heard Wen Zhuo reply from inside the hall, his voice flat and unruffled: “If you say so, then so be it.”

This remark spread faster than the wind. In no time, even the jailers of the Court of Judicial Review were taunting him with it.

The faint hope that had just flickered into life was abruptly extinguished.

All that remained was a slow, lingering pain, burrowing into his bones, one pulse at a time.

“Xie Lang, why are you back only now? Is everything settled with His Highness, the Sixth Prince?” Gong Yuwen came out from the residence to greet him. She wore a purple dress with no makeup.

She reached up and unfastened Xie Langyang’s outer robe, then turned to instruct the steward: “Steward Xu, go to the kitchen and prepare some plain congee and light dishes. Nothing greasy—he’s just been up all night.”

As the daughter of the Grand Secretary, Gong Yuwen displayed not a trace of arrogance or willfulness. Instead, she was reasonable, restrained, and docile.

Xie Langyang looked at her perfectly measured concern and said nothing.

He had always harbored a sense of guilt toward Gong Yuwen—not only because she had been forced into this marriage, innocently left to an empty chamber, but also because, in a drunken stupor, he had broken their agreement never to consummate the marriage.

When Shen Chen sought to settle accounts with Wen Zhuo, Gong Yuwen had just discovered she was pregnant.

Xie Langyang had been determined to die rather than impeach Wen Zhuo, but Shen Chen told him that if he shielded Wen Zhuo, the Xie family would be implicated as well, and that would drag down the Gong family, Gong Yuwen, and the child in her womb.

In those days, Xie Langyang felt he was being torn apart. He wished he could take his own life on the spot rather than make such a painful choice.

But that night, Gong Yuwen came to him of her own accord, urging him to follow his heart.

“How can His Majesty make you suffer so? Don’t worry about me and the child. You must protect Vice Academy Head Wen. Since I married you, I will accept whatever outcome comes, willingly and gladly.”

Xie Langyang could no longer hold back. He collapsed into her arms, sobbing in anguish.

After a sleepless night, he finally made his decision.

Both he and Wen Zhuo could not afford to wrong Gong Yuwen any further, especially now that she was not alone but carried an innocent child in her womb.

He had looked after everyone—his parents, his mentor, the new emperor, his wife—everyone except Wen Zhuo.

He would rather fall into eternal hell and spend lifetimes repenting to Wen Zhuo.

When Wen Zhuo was taken away by the imperial guards, Xie Langyang dared not turn back. He dared not look into his eyes. He dared not hear his voice.

He was crushed by the weight of imperial authority, utterly exhausted.

Until the day of the execution, he believed it was an unavoidable tragedy.

But in the Qingliang Hall, Wen Zhuo had questioned him: How did Shen Chen know that Wen Zhuo liked men? Yes—how did Shen Chen know?

In his past life, when Shen Chen had spouted nonsense before Emperor Shunyuan, Xie Langyang had been completely lost. Later, after Wen Zhuo helped Shen Chen to his feet and began assisting him, Xie Langyang came to accept the decision only belatedly.

Now he understood—Shen Chen had cleverly set up a bitter strategy. But then, who had leaked the secret?

“Xie Lang?” Gong Yuwen saw that Xie Langyang looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot, and that he kept staring at her. A chill crept into her heart.

“Yuwen, do you often meet with your sister?” Xie Langyang suddenly asked, his tone serious.

If the maids or informants in the residence had discovered the truth, they would have reported it to Gong Zhiyuan. If Gong Zhiyuan had known, when he saw “Ode to Evening Mountain,” he wouldn’t have had that expression.

So Xie Langyang had actually hidden it well, arousing no suspicion. The only person he had let his guard down around was Gong Yuwen, whom he considered one of his own.

Gong Yuwen was taken aback by his question. Her eyelashes fluttered uncertainly before she answered hesitantly, “Occasionally… You know, I get terribly bored in the residence. My sister feels sorry for me.”

“Did you ever tell her about Vice Academy Head Wen and me?” Xie Langyang stepped closer and suddenly grabbed her wrist.

Gong Yuwen winced in pain and let the outer robe slip to the ground. Frightened, she shook her head frantically, looking deeply wronged as she raised three fingers in an oath: “No! How could I tell her? She would tell Father, and Father would scold you!”

Seeing her tearful, anxious expression, Xie Langyang grew uncertain again.

Perhaps the problem was at Wen’s residence. Liu Qiyin and Jiang Nannü also knew. Jiang Nannü was simple-minded and reckless—it was easy for her to let the secret slip.

He shouldn’t have been so quick-tempered and taken his anger out on Gong Yuwen.

“I’m just exhausted. Please don’t mind what I said earlier.” Xie Langyang released her and bowed in apology.

“Oh, no need!” Gong Yuwen quickly stepped back, declining the bow. She wiped away her tears with her sleeve and smiled at Xie Langyang, ungrudgingly.

Xie Langyang forced a smile in return.

—

At Wen Zhuo’s residence.

Wen Zhuo had changed into an emerald-white scholar’s robe. He hoisted a hoe and began to dig up the white camellias planted in the flower bed.

After winter, the flowers had withered away completely. A comfortable spring day, yet they had insisted on blooming in the bitter cold—Wen Zhuo disliked that.

He had only grudgingly planted this patch because Xie Langyang said he resembled these flowers—pure and white.

Now there was no reason to keep them.

Wen Zhuo was not one to dwell on the past. This was not the first time he had been abandoned. If he were fragile and easily broken, he would have died before reaching adolescence.

But he was a very vengeful man. In his past life, every detail, every stroke, he remembered clearly. He would force them, step by step, into an abyss of utter ruin!

His heart hardened as he put force into his hoeing, his dark hair bitten between his lips. But after just a few strokes, he was too tired to continue.

He tossed the hoe aside and called for help.

No one responded. Both servants had gone to escort that bastard. Wen Zhuo found that surprising.

Was Shen Zheng so likeable?

He didn’t think so.

It seemed he was short-handed.

Wen Zhuo considered hiring more servants and training a private guard for assassinations, revenge, and striking down political enemies.

But then he came back to his senses, realizing he was no longer the wealthy, treasonous minister who had hoarded tens of thousands of gold and rivaled a nation in riches.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair from his lips, accidentally touching the spot where Shen Zheng had caressed him. His eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably, and the scene replayed in his mind.

If Shen Zheng truly was reborn, could he escape the calamity of the Spring Terrace Go Tournament?

This conspiracy appeared to be an external threat but was in fact an internal one, rooted in the Great Qian court.

The rivalry among the eight schools of Go had a long history and was now coming to a head.

The three young players sent by Nanping were certainly Go masters, but thinking they could defeat all of Great Qian without challenge was wishful thinking.

Yet Nanping had seized on the psychological warfare among the eight schools, effortlessly infiltrating Great Qian like a sieve.

The disciples of the eight schools, wanting their own school to have a greater chance of winning, racked their brains to steal Go strategies from other schools and leaked them to the Nanping players, hoping to make the other schools lose to Nanping, lose face, and be reviled by all.

Everyone played this game, and in the end, they overplayed their hand. Not a single Great Qian player won, and Nanping took all three top spots.

A grand Go tournament in Great Qian turned into a resounding victory for Nanping, showcasing their national prestige.

Emperor Shunyuan was so enraged he took to his sickbed for three days, and the entire court was in turmoil.

The disciples of the eight schools among the officials knew exactly what had happened, but no one dared speak of it. They could only weakly urge the emperor to take it in stride.

Someone had to take the blame, especially the Xie School, the Shi School, and the Helian School, which had lost in the final round.

But the key members of these three schools had allied themselves with the Crown Prince, Prince Xian, and the Third Prince respectively.

After much deliberation, there was only one option: find a scapegoat.

That scapegoat was Shen Zheng.

Shen Zheng had been a hostage for ten years. Accusing him of colluding with Nanping was far more believable than accusing anyone else. Perhaps the three young players had even met Shen Zheng in Nanping.

As a prince, it wouldn’t be difficult for Shen Zheng to obtain the Go strategies of the various schools. No one would be on guard against him.

Shen Zheng was slow-witted. If they set verbal traps during interrogation, he would stumble into the fire of his own accord.

Most importantly, Shen Zheng was the maternal grandson of the Marquis of Yongning. If he remained standing, how could the Yongning Marquis’s household wholeheartedly support Shen Chen?

And at the root of all this, Emperor Shunyuan was unwilling to admit Great Qian’s defeat. He preferred to blame it on a traitor rather than on inferior Go skills. Moreover, slandering Nanping suited his purposes, so he would not bother to re-investigate.

This was the first scheme Wen Zhuo had devised for Shen Chen.

So although Shen Zheng was useful now, he was also very dangerous. Once the old affair was exposed, he would be entangled in trouble.

In truth, Wen Zhuo hadn’t intended to kill Shen Zheng. Shen Zheng had been a hostage for ten years, and that merited some credit. The merits and demerits would cancel out; he didn’t deserve death.

Fengyang Terrace was a place specially designated for the house arrest of imperial relatives. Food and clothing were not a concern there—no different from Shen Zheng hiding in his guesthouse and never stepping out.

With Wen Zhuo’s machinations, Shen Chen would ascend the throne sooner or later, and then Shen Zheng could be released to live out his life in peace.

But Shen Zheng had fallen to his death from Fengyang Terrace.

At the time, Shen Chen was attempting to move against Duke Liu, and Jun Dingyuan vehemently opposed it, nearly causing a rift with the Sixth Prince’s faction. Xie Langyang had always suspected that Wen Zhuo had pushed Shen Zheng off the terrace to sever the Yongning Marquis’s household’s hopes.

Wen Zhuo hadn’t done it. He didn’t even know whether Shen Zheng’s death was an accident or murder.

But later, under the brutal torture of the Three Judicial Departments, he had been forced to confess.

If Shen Zheng escaped this calamity and reviewed the changes, would he guess that Wen Zhuo had been behind it in his past life?

Just as Wen Zhuo was pondering this, he heard a light scrape on the outer wall’s green tiles. Before he could identify it, a figure leaped over with a crash and landed heavily on the upturned dirt—it was Jiang Nannü.

Jiang Nannü was drenched in sweat, her steps unsteady, her round, bell-like eyes filled with anxiety, and her lips chapped and peeling.

As soon as she opened her mouth, she shouted, “My lord, something has happened to A-Liu!”

Wen Zhuo’s face instantly chilled. He commanded, “Get to the point.”

Jiang Nannü had clearly sprinted all the way back. She struggled to catch her breath and tried to summarize with her limited intelligence.

“We were seeing the Fifth Prince back to his guesthouse. At the gate, we ran into this official from Qianzhou, Lord Cao. He knew that was a prince, but he blocked the gate and refused to move. He said, ‘When did Great Qian ever have a shabby Fifth Prince?’ A-Liu couldn’t stand it and muttered a sarcastic remark: ‘Eyes on your ass, you only know clothes, not people.’”

“But Lord Cao turned out to be a relative of the imperial family! He ordered his men to seize us. We couldn’t fight the yamen runners, so we just shoved. Then, in the scuffle, they saw the mark on A-Liu’s chest! And that Fifth Prince—what a bastard! When we were surrounded, he vanished in the blink of an eye. Now A-Liu is detained at the guesthouse. I fought my way out to come report to you!”

“The Crown Prince’s maternal uncle, Cao Fangzheng?”

After hearing this, Wen Zhuo’s eyes, clear as glass, took on a shade of gloom.

A mere third-rank surveillance commissioner from the provinces—did he think he could run rampant in the capital without consequence?

He brushed the dust off his palm and smoothed down his rolled-up sleeves. “What are you panicking for? Prepare the carriage. I’d like to see who’s bored enough to meddle with my people.”