Chapter 9#
Chapter 9#
In truth, Shunyuandi had long been aware of Shen Zheng’s arrival in the capital.
Yet he still refused to see him, because he did not know how to face the son he had abandoned.
There was not even a shred of father-son affection between them, but guilt and unease were only human nature. Thus, he wished he could delay it until the end of time.
As luck would have it, Cao Fangzheng suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and in a muddled fashion, forced Shunyuandi’s hand as well.
Now, Shen Zheng had not only rescued Liu Qiying but had also, entirely on his own, earned the chance to be summoned by Shunyuandi.
Within the hour, an imperial edict would surely arrive, which was even more expedient and effective than Wen Zhuo’s roundabout praise.
Cao Fangzheng was still sprawled on the ground, trembling, as someone had already reported the full story to the patrolling censor.
The Censorate had intervened, and the local officials tacitly withdrew, wishing they could simply dissolve into the air and go unnoticed.
After all, which official wouldn’t fear these court monitors, ever ready to impeach?
As the crowd dispersed, Wen Zhuo was revealed.
Wen Zhuo stood silently, the white wall, grey bricks, and cluster of bitter chrysanthemums beside him seeming to quiver as if a string had been subtly plucked, instantly becoming vivid and alive.
He withdrew that captivating trace of a smile, lifted his robe, and walked cold-faced into the hall. Even the breeze seemed to linger around him for a few extra turns.
“It’s… it’s Grand Secretary Wen!”
“Is this the Grand Secretary Wen Zhuo?”
Murmurs of awe and admiration came from all around.
Everyone knew that the Grand Secretary of the Hanlin Academy had a face like jade, but none had imagined he could be so breathtakingly beautiful.
Cao Fangzheng seemed to awaken from a dream only then. As if grasping at a life-saving straw, he quickly crawled to Wen Zhuo’s feet and clutched the hem of his robe: “Grand Secretary Wen… Grand Secretary Wen! I beg you, please plead for me before His Majesty. I, I, I… it was no act of great disrespect—this is all a misunderstanding!”
Cao Fangzheng wept and sniveled, crumpling Wen Zhuo’s robe. But Wen Zhuo paid him no heed; instead, he said to Liu Qiying: “Come here.”
Thus, Liu Qiying, bearing a lash mark and torn clothes, walked openly before the assembled local officials and constables to stand behind Wen Zhuo.
Jiang Mannv quickly removed her outer robe and wrapped it around her, then glared angrily at Cao Fangzheng.
The two—one plump, one slim, one tall, one short—stood guard on either side of Wen Zhuo in tacit understanding.
The onlookers were even more astonished.
Only then did Wen Zhuo leisurely lean down, looking at the terrified Cao Fangzheng. A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips, stunningly beautiful, almost demonic: “Lord Cao, do you still want me to plead for you?”
“She—you—” Cao Fangzheng’s heart sank into utter despair.
His paralyzed mind could not even connect Wen Zhuo to Bozhou six years ago. All he knew was that he was finished—the rouge thief was Wen Zhuo’s person.
With a look of impatience, Wen Zhuo kicked Cao Fangzheng away. The first kick didn’t dislodge him, so he had to give him another.
Only then did he walk toward Shen Zheng, who had just won a great victory.
Shen Zheng had originally been waiting for Wen Zhuo to thank him, so he had only half-fastened his belt, the buckle hanging loosely at his waist. He held his arms casually, tapping his fingers lightly on his forearm, an air of leisure about him.
To his surprise, Wen Zhuo was no more courteous to Cao Fangzheng than he was warm to him. He was determined to uphold his image of sharp-tongued intimidation.
“In broad daylight, Your Highness actually steps out for a mere servant girl?”
Shen Zheng was so speechless he laughed. “A mere servant girl? Isn’t she from your household?”
“If she is truly a fugitive bandit and a threat to her master’s life, what’s wrong with Surveillance Commissioner Cao apprehending her?”
Shen Zheng tilted his head, gazing at Wen Zhuo. There was no real anger in his eyes, only a calmness that seemed to have foreseen this—as if he had known all along that Wen Zhuo would be this cold-hearted.
“What’s wrong is that ‘all men, noble or base, have their integrity.’ Even a bandit cannot be stripped and whipped in public.”
All have their integrity?
Jiang Mannv and Liu Qiying exchanged glances. They seemed to half-understand, but not completely. They only felt the phrase was novel, yet upon deeper reflection, it seemed to carry a heavy weight.
Wen Zhuo looked both angry and aggrieved, unable to help sneering: “Cao is a noble surname. The Surveillance Commissioner acted solely for the people’s sake, to rid them of harm. Even if his methods were a bit extreme, everyone present can understand. It is Your Highness, however, who insists on blowing up this small matter, dragging me into it for no reason.”
“…A real venomous beauty, indeed.” Hearing this, Shen Zheng’s expression turned cold, as if drawing a clear line between himself and those “everyone” Wen Zhuo mentioned. “Sorry, but I don’t understand, and I don’t like it.”
“Just because Your Highness dislikes it, can the order of rank be overturned?”
“Don’t flatter me. I’m not capable of overturning rank. At most, this is fighting poison with poison.”
“Who are you calling poison?” This statement was dangerous. Cao Fangzheng had bullied Liu Qiying, and Shen Zheng had likewise used imperial authority to bully Cao Fangzheng. If he thought this was poison, then it was an insult to the most exalted one.
Shen Zheng paused, looking surprised: “I was referring to the ‘poison’ in the Book of Changes, where ‘to rule with poison’ means governance. You, Grand Secretary Wen, a man of vast learning—what did you take it to mean?”
The ball was thrown back, making it Wen Zhuo who now seemed dangerous.
Wen Zhuo lowered his eyes, meeting Shen Zheng’s gaze. Shen Zheng didn’t flinch; his eyes were so candid they seemed to peel away Wen Zhuo’s carefully constructed shell and pierce straight to his heart.
Wen Zhuo’s eyes looked like a lake in early spring, thawing in an instant. Beneath the surface hid a subtle, hard-to-detect slyness.
He exhaled softly, lowering his voice to say to Shen Zheng: “At the Wuying Hall, do not mention the Spring Stage Chess Meeting.”
With that warning, he turned and left, giving no one time to react.
He came before Liu Qiying and asked, “Are you all right?”
Liu Qiying had long learned Wen Zhuo’s cunning. She quickly covered her chest, drooped her slender brows, and moaned softly, inhaling sharply as if half her spirit had fled: “No, I’ll need to recover, and it’ll cost money.”
Wen Zhuo looked her up and down, the corner of his mouth twitching: “I think you’d better find an imperial physician.”
Liu Qiying choked, then immediately caught on—this was bringing up old scores!
The spat from the day before, and he still remembered it.
“Look how petty His Excellency is,” she grumbled to Jiang Mannv.
Jiang Mannv replied matter-of-factly: “That’s nothing new.”
Shen Zheng was caught off guard by Wen Zhuo’s striking slyness, his thoughts slowing by half a beat. When he came back to himself and looked at Liu Qiying again, there was no trace of her having suffered humiliation; the group was chattering warmly, utterly close and intimate.
Shen Zheng sighed: “Starting this life as a cannon fodder—how thrilling.”
News of the incident at the guesthouse reached the palace, and Cao Fangzheng was soon thrown into prison. Shen Zheng, as he wished, was summoned by Shunyuandi.
The Duke of Cao was at home watching a play when he learned that his son had committed the crime of great disrespect. The Cao mansion was thrown into chaos. Even the Crown Prince was alarmed and tried every means to plead for his wayward maternal uncle.
What followed didn’t require Wen Zhuo’s involvement. The Crown Prince’s plea would fail; the Prince Xian faction was watching closely and would never let Cao Fangzheng have a chance to turn things around.
In truth, Wen Zhuo was right—Shen Zheng’s move was flawless. But it had also dragged them both onto the Crown Prince’s hit list.
For Wen Zhuo, it didn’t matter much. It wasn’t his first time toppling the Crown Prince, and besides, it was worth it.
But for Shen Zheng—was it worth it?
As an imperial prince, would he actually care about a maidservant’s integrity? Could it be that after ten years at Nanping, having tasted all the coldness of the world, he had come to these realizations?
Wen Zhuo had already given up hope on same-sex love. But if someone was willing to value the dignity of commoners and could push for change… that would still be… not bad.
He tossed and turned, replaying every encounter with Shen Zheng. He had to admit that, compared to that “cute” boundary-crossing impertinence, the look in Shen Zheng’s eyes when he was serious was even harder for him to deal with.
Wen Zhuo was now sitting in his study. Jiang Mannv was bandaging Liu Qiying’s wound.
The lash mark was long and hideous, purple-red, oozing fine threads of blood. As the white medicinal powder was applied, Liu Qiying saw black and her arm trembled from the pain.
But there was no other way; the wound simply had to heal. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her clothes back on and asked: “Your Excellency, did Fifth Highness learn all those bizarre sayings from Nanping?”
Wen Zhuo came back to himself. He picked up a white stone, holding it above the chessboard, and answered honestly: “I’ve never been to Nanping. I wouldn’t know.”
Liu Qiying spat out the painkiller lozenge she had been holding under her tongue and took a sip of sugar water: “Could I have been too blind to recognize a true hero? Fifth Highness is so different from the rumors.”
Jiang Mannv: “He’s a decent person, isn’t he? He didn’t put on any airs at our residence, and when he was just now pretending to intimidate, he looked the part.”
People’s impressions were always so easily overwritten. In the blink of an eye, Jiang Mannv had forgotten that she had personally seen Shen Zheng crawling under a table.
Jiang Mannv: “Don’t you think so, Your Excellency?”
Wen Zhuo swapped out a white stone, then changed the order of the black ones, distracted: “No.”
Liu Qiying winked at Jiang Mannv, grinning mischievously: “How can you say Fifth Highness is a decent person? I suppose you weren’t the one whose face was stroked and teased.”
The moment she spoke—
Tap. A soft sound.
The chess piece between Wen Zhuo’s fingers fell onto the table. He raised his eyes, carrying a bit of embarrassed pique at having his awkward situation pointed out: “If you two truly have nothing better to do, go dig up all those camellias in the back garden. Stop interrupting my work.”
Camellias?
Liu Qiying’s expression shifted.
It had been camellias that Xie Langyang gave when he first revealed his feelings.
Wen Zhuo had originally liked a plant called the immortality grass, but under Xie Langyang’s influence, he had come to like camellias as well, planting many in the back garden.
The last time Wen Zhuo had dug up the camellias was right after he returned to the capital, when he discovered that Xie Langyang had married.
That woman was gentle and virtuous, clearly a lady from a distinguished family. Upon learning that Wen Zhuo was Xie Langyang’s close classmate and friend, and that he had just moved to a new residence, she specially sent a set of celadon tea utensils, said to have been fired in a Ru kiln, no small expense. She had spent three days picking them out.
Wen Zhuo accepted them, but the moment he turned, he smashed them viciously against the bluestone slab in front of Xie Langyang. The porcelain shattered instantly. A hundred taels of silver’s worth of treasured craft became a mess of shards in a blink.
Xie Langyang let him vent, not uttering a harsh word. When he was spent, Xie Langyang, trembling, pulled him tightly into his arms, mingling choked sobs with helpless murmurs: “It’s not what you think…”
Wen Zhuo had his pride and wasn’t easily placated. He had stubbornly quarreled with Xie Langyang for two whole years. Later, when he accompanied the emperor on the autumn hunt and caught cold from the rain on Qingping Mountain, Xie Langyang stayed up all night, tending to the fire and changing his cold cloths without a word of complaint. Only then did the ice in Wen Zhuo’s heart slowly begin to melt.
These past two days, everything had seemed calm, so why was he suddenly asking for Ode to the Late Mountains and digging up the camellias?
Liu Qiying couldn’t interfere with Wen Zhuo’s romantic affairs, but that didn’t stop her heart from aching.
She quietly closed the door and slipped out with Jiang Mannv, both holding their breath.
Jiang Mannv shouldered a hoe and asked her: “Shall we dig?”
Liu Qiying gritted her teeth: “Dig! Why does he have to marry? Why can’t our master hold on?”
The study lamp burned all night.
Three chessboards were set side by side on Wen Zhuo’s desk. He gazed down at them, his mind already spreading out like a painted scroll, line by line reconstructing the chess games of three years ago.
Those three matches back then—every move, every attack and defense—were nothing short of masterful strokes of genius.
Following the pictures in his mind, he recreated the three contests without the slightest error. Then, starting from the very first stone, he dissected them, peeling off the sequence of each move with precision as sharp as yesterday.
His knuckles were pale from strain, and he was utterly exhausted.
But this reconstruction left no room for a single mistake. He had to replicate it perfectly.
In all the world, only he, with his solid chess skills and near-legendary memory, could turn the tables for Shen Zheng.