Chapter 26#

Persimmon Scent (1)#

Though he grumbled inwardly, Le Wuyou was still somewhat aware of the friction between the two brothers.

Hoping for them to work together was like waiting for death.

At least death would come sooner or later.

He tucked the two letters into his sleeve, picked up his bundle, and hummed a little tune as he returned to his bedchamber. He placed the two letters neatly side by side on the table, as if arranging the brothers to sit together, finding a childish, self-satisfied amusement in it.

After washing up and bathing, he let his hair hang loose and prepared to open the letters with a rather unceremonious air.

His fingers first rested on Xiang Zhijie’s letter, but after a moment’s thought, he shifted them to Xiang Zhishi’s.

Little Zhishi was slick-tongued, unlike Zhijie, who had started handling official business at fourteen. Le Wuyou had interacted with him often in their work.

When Le Wuyou was at his peak, Xiang Zhishi was just rising; when he himself was in decline, slowly crumbling under the strain of managing everything left and right.

Xiang Zhishi had seen many of his most embarrassing moments. Even now, the memory stirred deep emotions.

What was the most vivid memory Le Wuyou had of that interaction?

Oh, right—that time, he had personally shot his teacher, Wei Zhengqing, dead.

Old Wei was a second-rank official at court, so this couldn’t be done openly.

Le Wuyou had seen his teacher off in the morning, then changed into light gear, tailed him all day, and struck at dusk.

Old Wei’s guards were tight. Though Le Wuyou succeeded with a single arrow, he suffered severe backlash, taking three arrows himself as he fled in disgrace.

With nowhere to go, he was fortunate that little Zhishi was handling a case nearby. He slipped into the courier station and, by a twist of fate, stumbled into Zhishi.

Before meeting him, Le Wuyou was already burning with fever, fleeing on pure instinct like an animal. His last thought before collapsing onto Zhishi was actually quite absurd:

Little Zhishi had been at odds with him for a long time. Having caught him with such a huge liability, Le Wuyou would probably wake up in jail.

So, he took the opportunity to faint, intending to get a good sleep before disaster struck.

Having anticipated a miserable awakening, finding himself resting on a soft bed in the courier station, covered with a warm fox-fur cloak, Le Wuyou thought he was dreaming.

Xiang Zhishi sat beside him, handed him a bowl of honey water, and wore that incorrigible smile: “Teacher, awake?”

Le Wuyou tried to move, then froze.

Xiang Zhishi: “Hurts, doesn’t it? If you know it hurts, why seek trouble?”

Le Wuyou couldn’t be bothered to scold him for disrespecting his elder. He focused solely on getting up and out of bed.

Xiang Zhishi: “Teacher, you’re going to die. Did you know that?”

Le Wuyou sat up halfway: “Not likely.”

“Last night, I had Kong Yangping tie up a wandering physician to examine you thoroughly. Your body is completely rotten; you won’t live past two years,” Xiang Zhishi said softly. “I spent ten taels of gold to buy the news of your death. I was so angry I didn’t even want to pay.”

He said this without a shred of sympathy, which oddly made it amusing.

Le Wuyou played along: “Not worth it. Wandering physicians are so unreliable.”

Xiang Zhishi: “Teacher, am I the first to know you’re going to die?”

Le Wuyou: “I didn’t even know myself, so you must be.”

Xiang Zhishi, after this back-and-forth, saw that Le Wuyou still had that flippant tone, so he grew slightly more serious: “Teacher, I’m not lying to you.”

Le Wuyou: “I know.”

Xiang Zhishi: “You need treatment.”

Le Wuyou felt weak all over, utterly drained. “Treat it for what? My body is so ruined that before I’m thirty-five, I’ll probably be unable to walk. Everywhere I go, I’ll need to be carried or piggybacked. Why live to be a nuisance?”

Xiang Zhishi: “Teacher, you’re ten years older than me. If you live, I can carry you for forty years. Live another forty years, then.”

Le Wuyou’s world seemed shrouded in a black veil, hazy and indistinct, but he felt these words were good—a rare pearl from that dog’s mouth. He smiled and burrowed deeper into the fox fur: “Tired. Don’t want to live anymore.”

Xiang Zhishi pressed his forehead against Le Wuyou’s to test his temperature: “Teacher, if you’re so unwilling to live, how about I hand you over? I hear an imperial official died outside—was that your doing?”

Le Wuyou was quite forthright: “Hand me over. Save me all this trouble.”

Xiang Zhishi was about to say more when a knock came at the door: “Sir, there’s an urgent matter I must report immediately. Are you in?”

Xiang Zhishi murmured to Le Wuyou: “The station master.”

It was too late to leave.

But the station master was polite enough that, only after Xiang Zhishi had wrapped Le Wuyou’s head and face in fox fur and called “Enter,” did he push open the door with a fawning smile: “Sir, the city is under martial law. You…”

Xiang Zhishi turned his head, his previously clear and jesting voice now sounding drowsy: “Shh, don’t disturb him.”

The station master only knew the man before him was a noble. Seeing a man sleeping unexpectedly in the noble’s bed, he was startled and blurted out: “This is…”

“I kept him up all night; he’s exhausted.” The Seventh Prince wrapped his arm around Le Wuyou and joked, “If you wake him, I’ll be upset. With no outlet for my distress, I’ll have to send you to your death.”

Between death and humiliation, Le Wuyou decisively chose the latter and played dead in bed.

The station master, accustomed to travelers from all directions, was usually quite sensible. But having heard that an assassin was lurking nearby and had killed a high-ranking official, he was anxious that his own station might be implicated. He had come to check each room and, unfortunately, stumbled upon the noble’s private affair.

Now, looking more closely, the man’s face was hidden, but his posture was dashing, and the exposed ankle was as pale as jade. The station master couldn’t help but marvel at how well the nobility lived.

Wearing a placating smile, the station master secretly decided to inquire later.

If this boy wasn’t the noble’s personal attendant but obtained from a nearby pleasure house, he himself would spend extra money to sample the pleasure. Just that one exposed foot made his heart itch with desire to see the full picture.

“What are you looking at?”

The Seventh Prince’s tone was half-smiling.

The station master snapped out of his daze, realizing he had lost his composure. He quickly bowed and scraped, backing away, hoping to bluff his way out.

But just as he took a step, the Seventh Prince pinned him in place: “Why run?”

“I asked you, what are you looking at?”

Just as the station master was wearing an awkward and bewildered smile, unsure whether to advance or retreat, Xiang Zhishi made a move.

He lifted the fox fur slightly, deliberately exposing Le Wuyou’s shoulder. The pad of his index finger brushed lightly over the skin of Le Wuyou’s shoulder and neck, carrying a thin warmth and vitality, as he pulled the fox fur down bit by bit.

The archery of both brothers had been taught by Le Wuyou; the calluses on their fingers were all results of his handiwork.

Le Wuyou flinched involuntarily at the touch, letting out a low “ah.”

Xiang Zhishi’s muscles also tensed sharply. He paused for a moment, then his fingertips continued slowly downward, stopping at Le Wuyou’s waistline before gently and softly retracting.

Le Wuyou, wanting to avoid detection, had earlier known his face couldn’t be seen. Now it was even less presentable.

He simply played coy, curling up in Xiang Zhishi’s arms, wondering whether he should seize the chance to bite him and draw blood.

But being this close, Le Wuyou realized the boy had indeed grown.

If he remembered correctly, he was now eighteen. His frame had stretched out like a young mountain range, his body temperature blazing, his chest broad.

And, though he himself was steady in body and hands, his heart was thumping wildly in his chest, rattling Le Wuyou’s head.

Le Wuyou pressed his cheek closer to listen, for amusement, while peeking upward through the translucent edge of the fox fur. He saw Xiang Zhishi’s clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

Sensing Le Wuyou’s small movement, Xiang Zhishi’s fingers tightened, leaving a rough imprint on his side.

This aggravated Le Wuyou’s injuries.

He hissed in a sharp breath, sweat instantly rolling down.

The station master had never seen such an unselfconscious noble. His face flushed deeply, and he truly didn’t know whether to stay or go.

The room was filled with fine incense, the faint scent of gardenia mingling with the ample heat from the floor furnace, creating an atmosphere of decadent romance.

“Don’t just look,” Xiang Zhishi said, his voice always rising at the end with a sweet allure. “Come here. Touch him too.”

After a moment of shock, the station master was overjoyed.

He knew that some nobles enjoyed rough play.

If the mood struck, adding one or two more people to join the fun was not unheard of.

The beauty on the bed remained hidden, but the few patches of visible skin were enough to make him swoon.

Summoning his courage, the station master actually stepped into the room and approached the bed.

Le Wuyou even heard the faint sound of him swallowing.

Closer, closer.

But when the sound was just one step away, it changed.

It became pained, suffocated, fragmented.

—Xiang Zhishi, seizing the moment of his confusion, raised his hand and ruthlessly clamped the station master’s throat!

Le Wuyou was not surprised at all.

The only unknown was whether Xiang Zhishi would actually strangle him to death.

He had killed his own teacher, and his student, in turn, could casually kill a stranger station master.

Their hearts were equally cold.

Just as the station master thought he was about to die, the grip on his throat loosened. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, but dared not even curse. Instead, he scrambled backward on hands and knees, his eyes full of terror.

The Seventh Prince straightened up, using his upper body to shield Le Wuyou, and beckoned to him: “Why run? Come here.”

The station master’s throat had nearly been crushed. Now fully sober, nearly scared out of his wits, he stammered: “My lord, my lord, I won’t, I won’t, my lord!”

The Seventh Prince said softly: “Since you won’t come, then don’t look too much.”

The station master, pale as a ghost, dared neither agree nor disagree, only kowtowing frantically.

Xiang Zhishi adjusted his robes and returned to his usual sweet voice: “May I ask which lord has died?”

The station master didn’t even dare to cough extra. Holding his breath, he quickly replied: “Reporting to my lord, it’s a lord retired from office, the Minister of War, Wei Zhengqing, Wei Zizhao!”

Xiang Zhishi paused, his gaze shifting slightly toward Le Wuyou.

Le Wuyou wrapped himself in the fox fur, quietly letting his body warmth return.

Seeing Xiang Zhishi casually wave his hand, finally intending to let him go, the station master immediately crawled on his knees out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Silence filled the room.

“You killed Lord Wei?” Xiang Zhishi asked softly. “Why?”

Le Wuyou’s lingering fever had not subsided, drowsiness returning, his body clammy and bone-chillingly cold.

Xiang Zhishi radiated heat. It felt quite comfortable to be embraced by him.

Since he had shamelessly insisted on taking him in, Le Wuyou would accept it.

Le Wuyou snuggled into his arms with clear conscience: “When I do bad things, must there be a reason?”

Xiang Zhishi: “Isn’t there?”

“Not every question requires an answer.”

“A teacher has the duty to impart knowledge and resolve doubts. You are quite negligent.”

“Then a student should also answer what a teacher asks.” Le Wuyou met his gaze with a radiant smile. “Did you enjoy touching me just now?”

Xiang Zhishi choked, a blush of anger coloring his handsome face.

Before he could retaliate, Le Wuyou said directly: “Sleeping now. Do as you will. If I wake up and you hand me over to the authorities, I won’t implicate you. I’ll say the handprint on my waist was from scratching myself out of loneliness at night. It won’t trace back to the Seventh Prince.”

With that, he lost his strength and drifted into a half-conscious, half-asleep state amid a pounding headache.

In his dream, a hand gently pressed the back of its fingers against his cheek.

Suspecting he was dreaming, he opened his eyes to see blurred shadows.

The person’s expression was one of unprecedented tenderness.

Le Wuyou’s voice was languid as he called softly: “…Little Six?”

The hand froze, then withdrew from his cheek, making a faint cracking sound as it clenched.

Then, the hand pressed against his throat, as if imitating what he had just done to the station master.

Now he recognized: “Wrong, it’s Little Seven.”

The hand on his throat stopped moving.

A moment later, the thumb pressed against the protrusion of his Adam’s apple, guiding it up and down slide after slide.

He seemed to say something, but Le Wuyou could no longer hear him.

Too much pain, too tired.

…

Le Wuyou snapped back to the present, realizing that his right index finger was unconsciously forming a hook shape, as if drawing a bowstring, plotting a premeditated murder.

He hid his finger in his sleeve, flexed it briefly, then reached out to open the package Xiang Zhishi had sent with his letter.

Inside was an exquisitely packaged box of dried persimmons, dusted with fine, snow-white powdered sugar. One look was enough to make his mouth water.

Le Wuyou opened the letter, and Xiang Zhishi’s sweet, smiling voice seemed to sound in his ear:

“Reading this is like seeing you.”

“It has been a few days. How is the Chen family case progressing? With so many affairs, remember to take care of your health, for the days ahead.”

“This is a specialty of Dingrong. It’s not too sweet, with a hint of osmanthus fragrance. Next year, when persimmons ripen, they should be even more delicious. I’m sending this for you to sample first.”

Le Wuyou smiled.

This kid’s knack for winning people over had indeed grown over the years.

If he were truly the new official Wen Renyue, seeing such warm words from an imperial envoy, he would be overwhelmed with gratitude and write a ten-thousand-character reply to thank him.

But since Le Wuyou knew his nature well, his assessment was:

He acts like such a human.

Le Wuyou bit into a dried persimmon and raised an eyebrow.

It was indeed delicious.

When persimmons ripen next year, he would buy some fresh ones from Dingrong and send them to the capital as a gesture of gratitude. Tit for tat.

As Le Wuyou ate with relish, he casually picked up the thin letter sent by Xiang Zhijie.

He hadn’t forgotten that Little Phoenix had said he wasn’t well-connected at court, so he had asked the Sixth Prince, Xiang Zhijie, to help reach the Daoist hermit.

Little Six had a mind like an orchid. If he learned that the soul-containing urn had shattered, he too might grow suspicious.

Troublesome, very troublesome.

Le Wuyou sighed and opened the letter.

The letter consisted of two sheets. The first bore only four words: “Burn after reading.”

Le Wuyou seemed to hear his youthful, clipped way of speaking two characters at a time. Feeling a wave of nostalgia, he couldn’t help but smile faintly.

He turned to the next page, glanced at it briefly, and was so startled that he shot to his feet!

“Lord Le Qianzhang still holds the title of Zhaoyi General, though he no longer commands troops. He lives in the capital in retirement. His wife, née Ye, was granted the title of Second-Rank Dame two years ago due to her monthly porridge distributions and founding of a charity hall.”

“Le Heng currently serves as an Erudite in the National Academy. Le Jue was selected as the second-place martial graduate last year and now serves in the Guanshan Camp.”

“Mrs. Qi is well; she is now the County Lady of Tonglu.”

…This wasn’t suspicion.

This was clearly seeing right through him!

Le Wuyou clutched the letter, momentarily stunned.

He paced the room, holding the letter.

This was exactly what he wanted most but could never bring himself to ask for.

This letter was almost like a family letter from the midst of war, detailing his family’s recent situation and striking directly at Le Wuyou’s heart.

But how had he figured it out?

How could he be so informed about the movements of Le Wuyou’s family?

And why had he written this to him?

As for Xiang Zhijie, Le Wuyou hadn’t known him well in the past life. He only had a vague impression of him as a humble, gentle, and virtuous child, raised by the worldly-renouncing Consort Zhuang, who was devoted to the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi. Thus, he always carried a faint, warm scent of returning incense.

Having feigned a stutter for years, which eventually became a chronic condition, he had always been somewhat inarticulate—a disgrace to the royal family—so he rarely handled official duties.

Le Wuyou had never known the depth of his abilities.

Who would have thought that once he showed his skill, just a few words would firmly seize Le Wuyou’s heart and mind?