Chapter 90#
Shen Zheng tried to stand three times in a row but failed each time. Eventually, a young eunuch who had been wiping the pillar bases in the outer hall heard the commotion inside, crawled into the main hall on his knees, and used his shoulder to help Shen Zheng rise.
Shen Zheng leaned on him for a good while before he could barely move.
The young eunuch dared not lift his head, keeping it low as he crawled toward the exit.
“Wait,” Shen Zheng suddenly said.
The young eunuch froze, immediately stopping. Trembling, he raised his head—a face still childish, about ten or eleven years old. “Your Highness?”
“What is your name?”
“This servant is called Chen Ping.”
“I will remember you. Thank you.” Shen Zheng nodded, then walked out shakily.
The young eunuch was stunned for a moment before he reacted, hurriedly kowtowing and muttering under his breath, “This servant dare not, this servant dare not!”
Shen Zheng stepped out of the Ancestral Temple with a sigh. Ten-something, all of them ten-something—how many children like this were there in this era, trampled like worthless objects?
He could not rest. Dragging his nearly numb body, he went to the Hall of Supreme Harmony for the New Year’s Eve vigil.
Emperor Shunyuan sat high on the dragon throne, his gaze sweeping over Shen Zheng’s sweat-damp hair, frost-covered brows, and still-unsteady legs. Satisfied, he looked away.
This was exactly what Shen Zheng wanted him to see—his reverence and submission before imperial power.
When the drum marking the hour of Chou sounded, all the palaces were ablaze with lights. The Hall of Supreme Harmony was hung with longevity lanterns, their flames numbering in the thousands, bright enough to rival daylight.
Emperor Shunyuan was in high spirits. He took a wolf-hair brush from the eunuch beside him and casually wrote a passage of auspicious words. The ink was still wet when Liu Quan strode to the center of the hall and announced loudly: “With dragon-scented ink and gold-dusted red paper, His Majesty decrees: may the nation prosper and the people live in peace, may the harvest be bountiful each year. Let all under heaven celebrate the new year together and share in this great peace!”
As his voice fell, firecrackers crackled one after another. Incense from the courtyard rose in curling tendrils straight into the sky.
Watching the fireworks outside the hall, the emperor wore a rare smile. He waved his hand lightly.
Liu Quan: “Bestow the lucky boxes!”
A procession of palace maids filed in, each holding a vermillion tray upon which sat five colored porcelain dishes.
“His Majesty bestows persimmon cakes, lychees, longans, chestnuts, and cooked jujubes upon all princes and imperial clansmen!” Liu Quan’s voice boomed.
The porcelain dishes were placed one by one on the tables. Everyone rose to thank the emperor.
Liu Quan raised his voice even higher: “His Majesty also bestows upon the Fifth Prince, Shen Zheng, one plate of pea flour cake!”
A single golden-yellow porcelain dish was brought before Shen Zheng. The pea flour cake glistened with oil, exuding a clean, refreshing bean fragrance.
All the imperial clansmen present gasped in surprise, though they found it somewhat expected.
Shen Zheng lowered his gaze to the neatly cut pea flour cake.
Hesitating only a moment, he took a deep breath, veins straining, and suddenly bent both knees. He bowed deeply, his voice resounding: “Your son thanks Imperial Father for this meal! This token of affection is engraved upon my heart. One day, I shall exhaust my humble abilities to repay the kindness of your nurturing and to protect the rivers and mountains of Great Qian!”
Emperor Shunyuan gave a slight nod.
His knees struck the hard golden bricks again, the sharp pain jolting Shen Zheng’s nerves.
He understood clearly that this was imperial power taming him, trying to assimilate him into a single pea on the corrupt and filthy soil, to be manipulated at will.
But under the cover of his black hair, his eyes remained open, defiantly fixed on the golden bricks before him. Even if he were a pea, he would be that one copper pea—unsteamable, unboilable, unflattenable, unfryable, clanging and indestructible!
No sooner had New Year’s Day passed than the news sprouted wings, sweeping over the vermillion walls and green tiles of the imperial city, spreading to every official’s mansion, great and small.
Everyone knew that on New Year’s Eve, Emperor Shunyuan had specially bestowed upon the Fifth Prince an extra plate of pea flour cake.
When Xie Langyang learned of this, he was already leaning drunkenly against his desk.
His elbows propped on the cold surface, his normally clear and open brows now filled with bitterness. He shook his head violently, strands of hair sticking messily to his forehead. “He’s going to win… Just as he said, whoever he chooses will be the true emperor…”
Gong Yuwen quickly rose, her slender hand resting on his wrist while her other hand gently patted his back. “Xie Lang, Xie Lang, who are you talking about?”
Xie Langyang seemed not to hear. He raised both hands, his fingers trembling violently. “How can the light of a firefly compete with the radiance of the full moon? I thought that if I could do it all over again, I could turn the tide and get everything I wanted… But I’ve lost everything; I can’t keep anything!”
“Do it all over again?” Gong Yuwen’s heart shook violently, a flash of suspicion in her eyes. “Xie Lang, what do you mean by that? What exactly have you lost?”
Xie Langyang raised his head unsteadily, his drunken gaze slowly focusing. Suddenly, he reached out and held Gong Yuwen’s cheeks in his trembling hands.
“If I had known this would happen, I would rather not have had a second chance. Do you understand? I would rather not…”
Gong Yuwen slowly straightened up, looking down at Xie Langyang. The tenderness in her eyes faded bit by bit. “Xie Lang, when will you wake up? We are family. From the day Wen Zhuo refused to support the Sixth Prince, he became your mortal enemy—the stumbling block on your path to glory.”
Xie Langyang stared at her blankly. The aftereffects of the tusu liquor surged up, making him dizzy. He was even somewhat disoriented, unable to tell whether this was his past life or the present.
Seeing him lost, Gong Yuwen suddenly grasped his hand, her tone laced with seduction: “Xie Lang, if you just cut off that lingering attachment, you still hold a trump card that can completely crush Wen Zhuo.”
“A trump card?” Confusion flickered in Xie Langyang’s eyes. For a moment, he forgot to release Gong Yuwen’s hand. “What trump card?”
“Have you forgotten? That ‘Ode to the Evening Mountains’ is enough to prove that Wen Zhuo favors men, that he once deliberately seduced you. The laws of Great Qian state: those who corrupt morality and decency, if minor, are beaten and demoted; if severe, exiled and enslaved. Without him, Shen Zheng can no longer threaten the Sixth Prince.” Gong Yuwen’s voice was soft and delicate, but her words were laced with poison.
Xie Langyang’s pupils contracted sharply. He shot to his feet and flung away Gong Yuwen’s hand, shouting hoarsely: “No! Absolutely not! I cannot wrong him again!”
“Xie Lang, without him, once the Sixth Prince ascends the throne, you will be the undisputed Grand Secretary—a renowned minister for generations, your name etched in history. We will have children in the future, rise to the highest ranks, surrounded by sons and grandsons, enjoying boundless wealth and honor. Wouldn’t a life like that be happy?” Gong Yuwen’s eyes brimmed with allure. Her hands slowly untied the sash at her waist, letting her pale pink outer robe slip from her shoulders, revealing a section of fair, delicate neck and shoulders.
As she spoke, she threw herself pitifully toward Xie Langyang. He placed his hands on her shoulders, his mind a chaotic mess.
A wife, children, achievements, fame—living a normal life, not disappointing his family’s expectations. It all seemed truly wonderful.
He would have fewer burdens, less pressure. He wouldn’t have to toss and turn at night, wouldn’t have to fear exposure. From then on, he could stand proudly before others, free of any sordid secrets…
If he handed over the “Ode to the Evening Mountains,” he would be only one step away from the outcome of his past life.
But as soon as the thought arose, a chill surged from the soles of his feet. Could it be that the ending was already predetermined, that he was merely a puppet manipulated by fate?
He shoved Gong Yuwen away, the force so great that her lower back slammed heavily into the desk, drawing a sharp cry of pain from her.
“Yuwen, let me think about it. Let me think…” With that, Xie Langyang turned abruptly, slammed open the door, and charged into the cold night.
The harsh wind made the candle flames sway violently, casting Gong Yuwen’s face in flickering light and shadow. She covered her aching back, glaring at the figure disappearing through the door, and spat bitterly.
Even the walls of the Wen residence could not stop those wings.
After hearing the news Ge Wei had sent through an intermediary, Wen Zhuo picked up a dry branch and tossed it into the glowing charcoal brazier. The sparks crackled, lighting up his eyes.
“Before long, His Majesty will allow the prince to participate in court affairs.”
He stretched out his hands to warm his icy fingertips by the brazier, then slowly raised his eyes to the sky.
The snow had stopped, and the sky was exceptionally clear. Sunlight poured down, making the accumulated snow glisten like rippling waves.
Everything was proceeding along the path he had envisioned—except for one thing…
Wen Zhuo’s eyelashes fluttered gently, as if burned by the snow’s brightness, and he quickly averted his gaze from the cloudless sky.
“Master! His Highness is here!” Jiang Man rushed into the inner courtyard in a whirlwind. As her voice fell, a dark-robed figure stepped through the moon gate.
Shen Zheng’s robes were still speckled with snowflakes kicked up by his swift horse. He strode forward and pulled Wen Zhuo into a tight embrace, burying his face in Wen Zhuo’s neck, inhaling deeply twice.
Wen Zhuo slowly raised his hands and wrapped them around Shen Zheng’s waist.
“Your Highness, you are not allowed to bite your teacher!”
Sharp teeth gently grazed the side of his neck, making Wen Zhuo itch. Helpless, he tilted his head slightly to let Shen Zheng indulge more freely.
Jiang Man stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide, her jaw nearly hitting the floor.
Master and His Highness… hugging? This—this isn’t right!
She wanted to keep watching, but her collar was grabbed from behind. Liu Qiying had rushed out from the kitchen and yanked her away. “What are you staring at? Come give me a hand!”
“No, A-Liu, Master and His Highness—” Jiang Man struggled to look back.
“Yes, yes, I saw it,” Liu Qiying said calmly.
“You knew about them all along—!”
“Obviously.”
“You’ve all been keeping secrets from me!” Jiang Man panicked. With a sudden heavy squat, she sat on the ground, nearly dragging Liu Qiying off balance.
“I figured it out myself. With that brain of yours, you couldn’t make a single connection,” Liu Qiying teased, lightly tapping her forehead with one finger.
“They all saw it. This is hardly proper,” Wen Zhuo muttered, though he didn’t loosen his hold around Shen Zheng.
“After a long separation, hugging one’s… teacher—how is that improper?” Shen Zheng raised his head, having breathed in enough of the scent that haunted him, and began toying with a strand of Wen Zhuo’s hair.
Wen Zhuo quickly hid the reddened spot on his neck, wondering where Shen Zheng got such confidence. But just as he was about to argue, something came to mind.
His heart tightened. He immediately let go and crouched down to lift Shen Zheng’s lower robe, his expression turning serious: “His Majesty made you kneel, didn’t he? Let me see if you’re hurt.”
Shen Zheng watched as he suddenly bent before him, long hair sliding to one side, revealing the fair, graceful nape of his neck—utterly defenseless.
His gaze deepened. He couldn’t help pressing his fingertips into Wen Zhuo’s hair, gently massaging the back of his neck.
Wen Zhuo relaxed under the touch, a numbing warmth spreading down his spine. It felt rather pleasant.
So he didn’t stop him, focusing instead on lifting the hem of Shen Zheng’s robe. But just as he reached the innermost silk layer, Shen Zheng laughed and pulled him up. “It’s fine now, really. Does Teacher want me to strip down in the courtyard?”
“… " Wen Zhuo’s cheeks heated up. He had clearly meant to roll up Shen Zheng’s pant leg—he had no intention of looking at anything else!
But such a minor detail wasn’t worth arguing over. Wen Zhuo frowned slightly. “An hour and a half—that’s long enough. If it weren’t for me—”
Before he could finish, Shen Zheng reached out and gently pressed two fingers to his lips. The rough pads of his fingers were cool, and his smiling eyes held a deeper meaning.
“Teacher says such things again. You really deserve punishment.”
Wen Zhuo fell silent, gazing at the brows and eyes so close to him. After a moment, he lightly brushed his lips over Shen Zheng’s knuckles.
Shen Zheng’s breath hitched. His eyes grew darker.
Seizing the opportunity, Wen Zhuo narrowed his eyes and bared his white teeth.
Just as he was about to bite down on Shen Zheng’s fingers, Shen Zheng withdrew his hand with lightning speed, leaving him to bite at empty air.
Shen Zheng backed off slightly, amusement hidden in his eyes. “That’s not for eating right now. I’ve specially prepared something new for Teacher today.”
Wen Zhuo raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
He guessed it might be something like a waist-level viewfinder.
“Teacher, go inside and wait,” Shen Zheng insisted, pushing him toward the inner chamber. Once Wen Zhuo was seated on the couch, he turned and hurried to the outer courtyard.
Before long, Shen Zheng returned holding a clay pot the size of his palm. A steaming cloth sealed its mouth tightly.
He walked up to Wen Zhuo and carefully lifted the cloth.
Wen Zhuo looked closely, and his expression grew complicated.
Inside the pot lay an uneven piece of steamed egg cake. The cake should have been fluffy, but a layer of milky white substance was slowly melting atop it, dripping down and soaking the soft cake beneath. It was hardly appetizing.
He couldn’t help sitting up straighter, his gaze darting toward the door as he tried to think of a tactful way to discourage the prince without crushing his spirits.
Shen Zheng saw through him at once and couldn’t suppress a smile. “It looks a bit ugly, I know, but it’s really good. I already tried it for you.”
Wen Zhuo stared at the melting white substance and couldn’t help asking, “What’s that dripping down?”
“Cream.” Shen Zheng’s tone held a hint of resignation. “It was a bit thin, and it melted from the jostling on the road. There’s no helping it—this is the best I could manage.”
He picked up a bit of the melted cream with his chopsticks and brought it to Wen Zhuo’s lips. “Teacher, want to taste it?”
With faint hope, Wen Zhuo reluctantly parted his lips and let his tongue sweep the cream into his mouth.
After rolling it around for a moment, his eyes lit up sharply. He then looked back at the pot in disbelief, finally understanding that appearances could be deceiving.
Shen Zheng knew that mixing sugar and fat could never taste bad.
He set the clay pot slightly to the side, tapping the rim with his chopsticks until they clinked. “Teacher was so obviously disgusted just now. It won’t be so easy to eat now.”