Chapter 15#

Seeing Feng Bing’s expression, Chen Qiu knew his words had struck a nerve. Even as a sour ache settled in his chest, there was also a subtle sense of triumph. His gaze flickered as he explained, “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to pry into your private affairs. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to…”#

“I didn’t know either.”

Feng Bing replied.

Chen Qiu froze.

Feng Bing drew a slow breath, his voice gradually settling into a steady, low murmur. “I don’t know why he and I divorced. Over the five years that followed, I gradually pieced together some of the reasons — but at the time, I truly couldn’t see it clearly.”

For some reason, Chen Qiu couldn’t bear to let him continue. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the edge of the bed. Just a few more inches and he could have taken Feng Bing’s hand — it looked so cold.

Feng Bing said quietly, “He was the top scholar of the imperial examinations at seventeen. He had a brilliant future ahead of him, yet I stood in his way. Being posted to the Secretariat — everyone in officialdom knew it was a posting no one cared about. They gradually stopped paying him attention. Perhaps it wasn’t obvious at first, but the longer the marriage lasted, the more cold shoulder he received, and naturally he came to understand. Actually, back then…” His voice suddenly dropped. “Back then, he was very good to me.”

Chen Qiu couldn’t hide his surprise: “Prime Minister Pei was famous from a young age — he must have been proud and ambitious…”

Feng Bing glanced at him lightly. He was very calm. Even though there were faint cracks of memory in his tone, it seemed no longer capable of disturbing his composure. He simply repeated, “But he was very good to me.”

Feng Bing clearly didn’t want to say much more, which left Chen Qiu somewhat dissatisfied. But Feng Bing didn’t care how he felt. After a moment’s thought, he continued, “These are all my own guesses. I don’t know if they’re right. But later, when the Great Treason case broke, the late Emperor sent my second brother — sent His Majesty — to investigate it thoroughly. Pei Dan was at His Majesty’s side offering strategies, and I thought, perhaps once he shook me off, he could finally spread his wings — and indeed, that’s exactly what happened. It was only working backward from that point that I came to believe he had once been full of ambition, and that I was the one who ruined it.”

Over these five years, Feng Bing would sometimes wonder: just how important were wealth and glory to Pei Dan? Was it because he had been born into the imperial family — sickly and idle — that he couldn’t detect Pei Dan’s ambition from the very beginning? But during those three years, every scrap of tenderness and ease — were they truly all fake?

If they were all fake, how simple that would be.

Whenever Feng Bing fell into thought or memory, he seemed to forget where he was, or simply not to care. Looking at him from across the room, the quilt was pulled up to his chest. His plain white inner robe bore no embroidery, the collar simply fastened, brushing against his slender, fair neck. A few loose strands of hair lay against his collarbone, trailing into the neckline. Chen Qiu thought: Hasn’t this man been in exile for five years? Why does he still look so elegant and refined, as though he has never weathered any storms?

Could it be that he had hidden all of it away? How could he conceal it so thoroughly — there had to be some flaw somewhere—

Chen Qiu raked his fingers irritably through his hair and said in a harsh tone, “And what about you?”

Feng Bing turned his head, startled. “What?”

“You’ve said so much — it’s all ‘Pei Dan this, Pei Dan that.’ You’ve spent all that effort guessing what’s in Pei Dan’s heart. But what about you?”

Feng Bing said, “Me? I’m in the imperial prison. I—”

“After Pei Dan abandoned you, you were thrown into the imperial prison. He didn’t even ask after you, let you be tortured and beaten. How did that make you feel?”

“Chen Qiu!”

Feng Bing called out abruptly.

Chen Qiu stopped.

Feng Bing’s face had turned cold as ice and snow in an instant. His gaze, like an merciless blade, cut toward him. “Chen Qiu — are you still trying to laugh at me?”

“What do you mean?” Chen Qiu felt a surge of unreasoning anger rush straight to the crown of his skull. “I’m concerned for you, and you say I’m laughing at you?!”

Feng Bing stared at him without a word, teeth apparently clenched. His usually gentle jaw now showed rigid, forbidding edges that kept the world at arm’s length.

They were nothing more than strangers who had never met before. Feng Bing began to regret it. Perhaps Chen Qiu’s concern had, in the end, reached his heart. Perhaps, being ill, there was always an impulse to confide in someone. He had said some things he shouldn’t have — and they had been caught out for it.

He regretted it. He never wanted to analyze himself to anyone, and that was precisely why he turned to analyzing Pei Dan instead.

Chen Qiu couldn’t endure being stared at like that. He got up and paced several times around the room, then noticed the pile of gifts — exquisite lacquer boxes inlaid with gold and silver, stacked one upon another. These two had long since divorced. Their circumstances were worlds apart. Pei Dan had ridden the wind and seen which way it blew, profiting so much from this divorce — he had no business brazenly coming around to pester Li Feng Bing.

There was no such thing in this world as rain that could fly back up into the sky after it fell, or water that could be gathered up again after it was spilled.

Chen Qiu refused to accept this, and the refusal made his eyes redden.

“You shouldn’t have accepted his things,” he said, beating around the bush, his tone edged with steel. “You’ve already suffered so much — you shouldn’t debase yourself any further.”

“Envoy Chen.” From behind the bed curtain came a steady, cold voice, like a dismissal. “You know nothing.”

When Chunshi saw Chen Qiu emerge with a face full of frustration, he hurried inside and called out, “Master?”

No one answered.

Chunshi gathered the gifts in the room into a trunk. After laboring over it for a good while, he went and lifted the bed curtain, saying, “Master, are you still resting? It’s time for a meal.”

“…Mm.”

Feng Bing answered and tried to sit up. The anger Chen Qiu had provoked had long since dissipated; now only exhaustion remained. Chunshi saw his hair disheveled, his eyes glistening with moisture, his cheeks flushed an abnormal red. Startled, he first reached out to touch Feng Bing’s forehead — and was scalded back so fast he yelped, “You’re running a fever!”

Feng Bing smiled weakly. “Making a fuss over nothing.”

“Whatever the case, eat something first,” Chunshi said. “After you’ve eaten, lie down for a while, and I’ll go fetch a doctor. — It’s all from kneeling!” He was bitterly resentful.

Earlier, in front of Chen Qiu, Feng Bing had held himself together so well — like a wooden prop on a stage, propped up on sticks. Now everything collapsed, and only then did he realize the prop had no core inside. He couldn’t break a sweat. His whole body felt dry and burning, as though ants were crawling over his limbs and joints, making him curl up in discomfort.

Chen Qiu had asked: What did you feel?

He actually knew what Chen Qiu wanted to hear. Everyone in the world wanted to hear him say one thing — that he hated Pei Dan.

But he didn’t hate him. He would never hate him.

Wu Zhiheng returned to the Pei residence and reported to his master that Young Master Li had accepted all the gifts.

“You’ve worked hard.” Pei Dan was seated at the table, his upper body bare, while a doctor changed the dressing on his wound.

Wu Bo glanced at the arrow wound on Pei Dan’s shoulder. The gash had exposed flesh and bone — terrifying to look at — but after the bleeding was stopped, it was healing reasonably well. As the doctor applied medicine, Pei Dan merely furrowed his brow and bore it without a sound.

Last night he had slept no more than two hours total at Li Feng Bing’s place. Before dawn he had rushed back to the residence and summoned a doctor to treat his injuries. Afterward, he had dawdled through a great many affairs of business, and now, approaching evening, he still hadn’t closed his eyes once — as though his body were forged of iron.

Wu Bo said, “I’ll go make something to eat. In a little while, please have a bite and then rest.”

Pei Dan watched the doctor bandage his wound with idle eyes. “Did he say anything?”

Wu Bo considered. “He originally refused them. I told him that if he firmly insisted on not accepting, the master would beat someone up.”

Pei Dan laughed aloud. He had expected the gifts wouldn’t go over easily — the motion pulled at his wound, and he hissed again.

“But Master,” Wu Bo said in his matter-of-fact way, “the things you sent — I’ve seen that Envoy Chen has already sent every one of them. They’re all displayed in Young Master Li’s room…”

“What?” Pei Dan frowned.

“Envoy Chen Qiu of Hezhong Prefecture appears to be very close to Young Master Li. When I arrived, he was tending to him.”

Pei Dan let out a heavy “Hmph.” He wasn’t exactly surprised by this, but gradually he was indeed somewhat displeased, and his expression grew uglier by the minute. The doctor finished changing his dressing and spent a long while discussing dietary and daily-living precautions with Wu Bo. Wu Bo kept glancing at Pei Dan, as if afraid he might snap at any moment.

After the doctor left, Pei Dan turned back and gave Wu Bo a withering look. “What are you staring at?” His tone had oddly relaxed somewhat, and he declared with certainty, “Li Feng Bing has seen his share of men. There’s no way he’d be interested in that kind of good-for-nothing.”

……I went back on my own words (x)! Turns out there might be something going on this Sunday too, and I was afraid Sunday would also have to be a missed update. Also, seeing that we hit a thousand subscriptions today made me really happy — I just wanted to thank you all! So after the meeting I came back to update after all, sobs sobs sobs