Chapter 91#

Wen Zhuo sat up slightly, folding and unfolding his folding fan with his slender fingers, the tips of his bones clearly defined as they pinched the fan surface. A hint of caution flickered in his brows and eyes. “What does Your Highness want?”

“Why is my teacher so wary of me?” Shen Zheng looked him up and down, his gaze landing on the swaying folding fan. Suddenly, he reached out and snatched it, the fan landing lightly in his palm.

He fanned a gentle breeze, a smile hidden in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I only need my teacher to exchange with me.”

Wen Zhuo glanced at his now-empty palm, then at the fan skillfully flipping in Shen Zheng’s hand. He didn’t retrieve it, letting him take it, and said seriously, “Your teacher still has a plate of dumplings left by that Jiang barbarian woman at home, along with half a jar of Tusu wine buried in the ground. Later, Liu Qiying will also bring eight-treasure soup, milk cakes, steamed fish with willow, and ten delicacies. What would Your Highness like to eat?”

Shen Zheng didn’t respond to that, still wearing a smile as his fingertips slid repeatedly over the fan ribs. “My teacher only needs to answer: will you exchange or not?”

Wen Zhuo eyed him suspiciously. “You haven’t told me what we’re exchanging. How can I decide?”

Shen Zheng laughed. “That’s why I said it’s not easy. If I told you in advance, wouldn’t that be giving you the answer outright?”

Wen Zhuo’s thoughts raced. This man had deliberately made this rare treat just to let him taste something new. Even if he said no, Shen Zheng would probably find some way to bring it to him eventually. So the so-called exchange couldn’t be too difficult—just an excuse to tease him.

As the teacher, Dean Wen had the grace of an elder and the tolerance to let things slide. He didn’t expose Shen Zheng’s little scheme but pretended to ponder for a moment, then lifted his chin slightly with a hint of pride. “Fine.”

But Dean Wen understood people’s hearts—he just didn’t understand a dom.

Shen Zheng raised an eyebrow, his eyes lighting up. “My teacher said it—no backing out.”

“A word spoken is past recalling.”

“Eat quickly, I’m afraid it’ll melt.” Without any hesitation, Shen Zheng pushed the clay pot closer to him and thoughtfully handed him a spoon.

Wen Zhuo never turned down fresh sweets, and this cake was a delicacy he had never tasted before.

He scooped up a spoonful, savoring it carefully. “Soft as new fluff, moist as congealed fat.”

He took another spoonful, murmuring in admiration, “Sweet and refreshing, melts on the tongue.”

Another spoonful, and he squinted in contentment. “Even a bit softer than date rice cakes.”

After eating most of it, he licked the cream off the corner of his lips with satisfaction. “It may not look great, but the flavor is stunning. How did Your Highness come up with this?”

Every move Wen Zhuo made was elegant and proper, but the hand holding the clay pot quietly pulled it closer to himself, claiming it entirely as his own territory.

“I once saw someone make it. I’m glad my teacher likes it.” Shen Zheng only watched him eat patiently, his tone so gentle it seemed to flow out.

When Wen Zhuo couldn’t eat anymore, with still a small piece left in the pot, Shen Zheng finally spoke slowly, “My teacher is done?”

“Mm, I can’t eat any more.” Wen Zhuo nodded honestly, pushing the pot forward to leave the rest for him.

“Then I’ll start eating.” Shen Zheng smiled as a warning.

He had played enough with the folding fan, tossed it aside casually, and let his gaze sweep carelessly over the remaining cream in the pot, then land meaningfully on Wen Zhuo’s chest.

Noticing his gaze, Wen Zhuo was slightly startled. “Why is Your Highness looking at me?”

An incense stick later—

The brazier in the room was burning brightly, the warm heat melting all the cream into dripping sweat, into flowing tears, into the hinges of pleasure.

Shen Zheng finally let go of Wen Zhuo’s wrist, his gaze reluctantly lingering on the two red marks left by his grip.

Wen Zhuo’s chest heaved violently, his undergarment hanging crookedly on his shoulders, soaked with sweat and sticking to his burning skin.

He was both ashamed and angry, the corners of his eyes still trembling from the aftermath, his front covered in lingering traces of friction.

“…I will never exchange anything with Your Highness again!”

Wen Zhuo swore, then turned his head away, pulled the quilt over himself tightly, not even letting a strand of hair show.

Shameless! Absolutely shameless!

Shen Zhi lay on his side, propped on his elbow, the sensation from before still lingering on his tongue. No pastry could compare to its sweetness, no jade could match its smoothness, no cherry could rival its brilliance.

Such a delicacy, with hands bound and nowhere to hide, could only be taken freely. To be so shy now was entirely reasonable.

He gently embraced Wen Zhuo from behind, reached his palm into the quilt, and pressed it against his sweaty back, rubbing slowly, one stroke at a time. “My teacher can be shy first, I won’t rush you.”

He paused, then leaned close to Wen Zhuo’s ear and added, “But later, I need to see how red it is.”

At these words, the person under the quilt visibly trembled, his voice muffled deep inside, carrying a hint of breathlessness. “…I only ate some of your sweets—how can you be so excessive!”

Shen Zheng simply raised his hand and slowly pulled down the quilt he was clutching, kissing his damp eyelashes. “My teacher was happy too, wasn’t he?”

Wen Zhuo’s body stiffened abruptly, his cheeks burning as if on fire. He dared not meet Shen Zheng’s eyes, instead punishing himself by letting the pain grow.

Shen Zheng took the opportunity to hold his fingers that were wrestling with the quilt, interlacing their fingers, his voice gentle as a quiet stream—

“My teacher likes me, so it’s because of my excess that my teacher feels joy. There’s no shame in that.”

“There are still many days ahead. My teacher has plenty of time to get used to it.”

“Right now, we need to take off that undergarment and change into one that won’t chafe.”

Once New Year’s Day passed, the clamor faded, and all parts of the capital returned to their usual order.

Wen Zhuo left the bed and stepped into the Hanlin Academy, once again the Dean Wen who inspired awe and fear in others.

He personally drafted the documents for the diplomatic mission, intending to present them to the emperor for approval. But unsurprisingly, Emperor Shunyuan had Liu Quan take them, probably only giving them a cursory glance before delivering a single word: “Approved.”

Emperor Shunyuan still refused to see him alone. Lin Yingniang’s death seemed to have drawn an invisible chasm between ruler and minister.

In truth, Wen Zhuo was not so tactless. After two requests for an audience were denied, he decided not to court the emperor’s displeasure any further.

But he had some guesses about this matter.

Before Wen Xu died, he said that Lin Yingniang had received her honorary title because of Wen Zhuo. That statement should be wrong.

Back when the palace examination results were announced, he had ranked among the top, yet he was not retained at the Hanlin Academy as a shujishi; instead, he was dispatched to remote Bozhou on a single order.

This was enough to show that Emperor Shunyuan at that time did not trust or rely on him as he did now—he even seemed unwilling to see him.

Yet in that very same year, Emperor Shunyuan went incognito to Mianzhou and happened to pass through Liangping County, where he happened to see Lin Yingniang and happened to grant her an honorary title.

To say that he, a petty official exiled to a desolate place, could receive such treatment—even he didn’t believe it.

This created a paradox.

If the honorary title wasn’t granted because of him, then who was it for?

Emperor Shunyuan only learned of Lin Yingniang’s existence after Wen Zhuo passed the imperial examinations. If this favor had nothing to do with him, then Lin Yingniang should have received the title much earlier.

Wen Zhuo put down his brush, his eyes darkening pensively.

Wen Xu also said that Emperor Shunyuan even asked if Lin Yingniang had any brothers, saying he would grant them official positions as well.

Similarly, Wen Zhuo himself, as her son, was neglected and treated poorly—why would Emperor Shunyuan give official positions to someone who hadn’t even taken the imperial examinations?

In truth, he had considered the darkest possibilities. After all, his mother was exceptionally beautiful.

But if the emperor had any designs on Lin Yingniang, taking a common woman into his harem would have been effortless.

Yet Emperor Shunyuan returned to the capital alone, and the title he granted was extremely restrained—as if it was just a casual bit of charity, without any thought of possession.

More importantly, if Lin Yingniang truly had any entanglement with the emperor, those scoundrels in the Wen family would have long since exposed it.

Liu Quan clearly knew something about this matter, but Liu Quan was Emperor Shunyuan’s most loyal eunuch. He might quietly help the next emperor, but he would never leak the emperor’s secrets.

Wen Zhuo had a vague feeling that this old affair wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Perhaps one day in the future, it would be enough to overturn everything.

But in his previous life, until Shen Chen ascended the throne, this matter had never been brought to light. Wen Zhuo looked at the old red corners of the imperial palace and thought, maybe this life would be the same.

What weighed on his mind now was another, more troublesome matter.

Back in the twenty-third year of Shunyuan’s reign, he repeatedly asked Xie Langyang for the “Ode to Evening Mountains.” But Xie Langyang either changed the subject or remained silent, refusing to give it.

Perhaps Xie Langyang still harbored unrealistic hopes of mending their old ties, or perhaps he had long foreseen this situation and deliberately kept this leverage.

Either way, once Wen Zhuo cornered him, he would eventually betray him as he had in his previous life.

Of course, Wen Zhuo was capable of dragging Xie Langyang down with him, but getting off cleanly with what he had written would be very difficult.

To perish together with a petty man like Xie Langyang—that would be a terrible loss.

And then there was Shen Zheng…

He really didn’t want that ode to see the light of day, to appear before Shen Zheng, to let Shen Zheng know that he had once had such an unsavory past.

Whether by deception or by force, he had to completely eliminate the “Ode to Evening Mountains” before Xie Langyang and Shen Chen reached the end of their rope.

Shen Zheng was unaware of Wen Zhuo’s hidden worries. Having received Emperor Shunyuan’s decree granting him the authority to participate in state affairs, he was in high spirits.

Liu Kangren led the diplomatic mission out of the capital on imperial orders and returned to Mianzhou. Shen Zheng entrusted Liu Housheng to him.

The young man was alert and clever, composed in adversity—a talent worth molding. Shen Zheng intended to cultivate him, so he let him accompany the mission to broaden his horizons.

A new cabinet configuration took shape. Gu Weizhi and Xue Chongnian replaced Bu Zhangyi. Tang Guangzhi, Gong Zhiyuan, Xie Langyang, and Luo Mingpu stood in opposition. Liu Chenming delayed taking sides. Shang Zhichen openly and covertly opposed the former Crown Prince’s faction. Emperor Shunyuan ordered Wen Zhuo, who was least interested in political affairs, to also join the cabinet and take on the responsibility of assisting governance.

In the blink of an eye, it was spring of the twenty-fourth year of Shunyuan’s reign. Due to Shen Chen’s early intervention, the plague that had once killed hundreds of thousands in the capital did not break out. Everything seemed peaceful and stable.

In the court, although Shen Chen had no authority to participate in state affairs, he had Xie Langyang as his mouthpiece.

Over the past few months, whenever Emperor Shunyuan encountered important matters, which in the previous life had taken the inner cabinet, the Nine Ministers, the Court Conference, the Six Offices of Scrutiny, and the Censorate days to weigh pros and cons and finally decide, were now always proposed by Xie Langyang at the very beginning.

Emperor Shunyuan was greatly pleased. In just a few months, he promoted Xie Langyang to the position of Minister.

The shadow that the Spring Terrace Chess Tournament had cast over the Xie family was finally completely dispelled.

From start to finish, Wen Zhuo never exposed them, nor did he compete with Xie Langyang for the spotlight. Until he came up with a foolproof plan, he didn’t mind letting these two have some leeway.

At the end of spring, peach blossoms carpeted the ground, and small green fruits appeared on the branches. It was also Shen Zheng’s birthday.

It was only when someone nearby reminded him that Shen Zheng suddenly remembered that birthdays existed.

Wen Zhuo really couldn’t understand how someone could forget their own birthday.

But he had prepared a birthday gift long ago—a painting he had painted himself. It depicted the day they rode to the military camp, the two of them sharing a horse beneath a range of undulating mountains.

At the end of the scroll, he had written an inscription: “Willing to be trees in the deep mountain, branches intertwined, growing together.” After much deliberation, he signed it only with the reserved phrase, “Since we two have met like Zhong Qi and Bo Ya, I entrust this to my soulmate.”

When Shen Zheng saw this painting, his eyes lit up brilliantly. He admired it with great affection for a long time before carefully storing it away.

That night, Shen Zheng was supposed to stay at the Yongning Marquis Manor, and Wen Zhuo was supposed to rest at his own residence. But in the secret passage at the hour of the Ox, several candle lamps flickered, and a round stool stood in the middle.

Shen Zheng sat upright. Wen Zhuo walked over, wrapped his arms around his neck, and buried his face in his shoulder.

Wen Zhuo kept reassuring himself: it was only because it was Shen Zheng’s birthday—it wasn’t that he was wanton and shameless!

Shen Zheng kissed his hair, his ears, his neck—familiar actions from before, but today he trembled slightly. He was neatly dressed, yet there was something hidden beneath. Though he had just soaked in hot water, he now felt as if he had been thrown naked into a snowbank.

Shen Zheng’s rough fingertips traced slow circles behind him, and all Wen Zhuo could do was hold him tighter.

He had no retreat. His entire heart hung in midair. Between his lips, he no longer called him “Your Highness” but choked out a low sob of “Shen Zheng.”

It was as if all his senses had been taken over, his balance and crumbling reason all tied to that one spot.

Shen Zheng’s fingers were long—so long they made him feel a hint of panic. Instinctively, he tried to brace himself on Shen Zheng’s shoulders and rise, but Shen Zheng pressed him back unhurriedly.

When his sweat and tears fell together, Shen Zheng merely withdrew his damp right hand and meticulously straightened his lower robes for him.

Wen Zhuo was astonished. He could clearly feel that Shen Zheng’s desire for him was almost bursting forth, yet Shen Zheng still restrained himself.

He hooked his fingers around the leather belt at Shen Zheng’s waist, his knuckles red and hot. Unbearably, he lifted his eyes to ask, “Is it my birthday greeting… or Your Highness’s birthday greeting?”

Shen Zheng couldn’t help but smile, taking his hand back. With great interest, he said, “Not shy anymore?”

“My teacher need not rush—there will be ‘plenty of time’ in the days to come.”

Wen Zhuo didn’t know just how long those days would be. He only knew that Shen Zheng was comparable to Gou Jian in his remarkable patience.

On the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, the capital’s summer heat was washed away by a continuous night rain. The countless gullies of the Qingping Mountains filled with rainwater, surging into the Dragon River.

Overnight, the river rose several feet, completely submerging the dragon pillars.

Such a scene happened every three to five years. Folklore said that the gates of the underworld had opened, and the lingering ghosts and resentful spirits trapped in the human world carried too much grievance, causing the river to churn.

So, at such times, the entire capital was steeped in solemnity.

Mourning for the dead became paramount. Burning ghost money and paper offerings was the most common practice. Setting up altars, jumping with ropes, beating broken gongs, dancing with peachwood swords, drinking wine and spitting out bloody curses—these occasionally played out along the Dragon River.

The wealthy merchant clans spared no expense, hiring Taoist priests from the surrounding areas to set up altars and hold grand rites of deliverance.

Even the court was swept along by this folk sentiment and attached great importance to the matter.

Whenever the dragon pillars were submerged, the Imperial Observatory would set up eighteen flames from Yongding Gate all the way to the foot of the Imperial City. The flames would burn all day and night. The people could use these flames to light paper lanterns and set them adrift in the Dragon River, illuminating the path to the Yellow Springs and freeing the souls suffering in the sea of bitterness.

This custom was called the Dragon River Fire Sacrifice.

Since it involved the supernatural, it was inevitably a mixed bag.

Along the banks of the Dragon River, a row of “immortals” would sit, each dressed in tattered clothes, with patched straw mats spread before them. Beside them stood a hemp banner scrawled with a few nonsense characters, claiming to be able to divine fortunes and resolve calamities for others.

In the previous life, a major event had indeed occurred during the Dragon River Fire Sacrifice.