Chapter 97 Interesting

Chapter 97: Curious

Abruptly lifted off his feet, Qi Yan instinctively trembled, his fingers clutching Xiao Shao’s sleeve before hastily letting go. With his feet dangling in the air, his body stiffened unnaturally, straight as a board in Xiao Shao’s arms.

Xiao Shao glanced down at him. "Relax, I won’t drop you."

"......"

Qi Yan burrowed deeper into the cloak and fell silent.

Xiao Shao was tall, and his cloak was exceptionally long. Qi Yan’s body was completely swallowed by its soft folds, even his ankles tightly wrapped. The fine rabbit fur brushed against his skin, the warmth seeping in, surrounding him—a fleeting, long-forgotten sense of security.

It was the first time he had felt safe since the Qi family’s downfall, the imprisonment of his kin, the deaths and scattering of his loved ones.

Qi Yan clearly wasn’t used to being carried and didn’t know how to adjust his posture. Xiao Shao held him like dead weight and said, "Hold onto me. Like this, you’re unstable. I don’t want you rolling off. There’s a lake all around us—if you fall in, fine, but don’t make me dive into freezing water after you."

After all, Qi Yan was a grown man. Even if Xiao Shao had trained in archery since childhood, carrying him still required some effort.

"......"

The words were scolding, but his tone was strangely off.

Qi Yan turned his head away. "Your Highness, this is too bold and improper. Put me down. I can walk on my own."

Being carried through the imperial palace—and by his supposed superior, no less—was something Qi Yan had never dared to imagine. He was already so embarrassed he didn’t know what to do, let alone reach out and wrap his arms around Xiao Shao’s neck.

Xiao Shao gave him an unreadable glance.

Before Qi Yan could decipher its meaning, Xiao Shao suddenly loosened his grip, feigning a toss.

Qi Yan: "!"

Weightlessness hit him before he could react. Instinctively, he grabbed Xiao Shao’s collar and pressed himself tightly against him.

"Tch."

Xiao Shao arched a brow, looking immensely pleased as he teased, "Walk back? On those knees? Even if I waited till nightfall, could you make it? And then have me wandering the palace in the dark—who’d take the blame? You?"

The palace gates locked at Chen hour (7–9 AM). For an outsider to remain in the palace without imperial decree was a grave offense. Though Xiao Shao was a prince, he was also a grown man and couldn’t stay overnight in the palace.

"......"

With such a heavy accusation thrown at him, Qi Yan, still rattled, only tightened his grip on Xiao Shao’s collar and said nothing more.

Xiao Shao didn’t mind. Holding him securely in this position, he carried him smoothly out of the palace.

Fu Dehai had waited a long while.

He stood respectfully by the carriage, peering toward the palace gates now and then. When he finally spotted Xiao Shao emerging from a distance, he was about to step forward to greet him—then froze mid-stride.

His Highness was carrying someone.

The figure was bundled completely in the cloak, only a hint of raven-black hair visible, curled against Xiao Shao’s chest, face obscured.

Fu Dehai’s brow twitched. At first, he thought his master had gotten entangled with some forbidden woman from the palace, but judging by the size of the boots, it was unmistakably a man.

He exhaled in quiet relief—at least it wasn’t one of the emperor’s women... Wait, a man?!

Those were black-green official boots, the common style worn by palace attendants. The soles were streaked with dirt, suggesting frequent movement—clearly not some kept palace pet. But since when had there been such a man in the palace?

As Xiao Shao approached, Fu Dehai discreetly glanced into the fur cloak and nearly had his eyes pop out.

Qi... Qi Yan?

How did he end up being carried back?

Didn’t His Highness have him quartered in the most distant side chamber from the main hall, despising this new attendant so much?

Yet Xiao Shao paid no heed to Fu Dehai’s astonishment, simply boarding the carriage with the man in his arms before turning to say, “Fu Dehai, find a wound specialist—someone familiar with us and tight-lipped.”

Fu Dehai bowed in acknowledgment.

Xiao Shao’s carriage measured three feet five inches wide and over three feet deep, pulled by a team of six horses, its interior spacious. Xiao Shao deposited Qi Yan onto the seat, drew the curtains to seal off the compartment, and only then reached out to grasp Qi Yan’s ankle.

Qi Yan shuddered again but kept his face carefully blank, saying nothing. Xiao Shao lifted his leg onto a stool, rolling up his sleeve. “Now that we’re alone, may I finally take a look?”

He meant the injury on his knee.

With that much blood loss, it needed immediate attention—lest Qi Yan, already frail, succumb or faint away.

...And if he did, who would Xiao Shao rely on in his stead? Who would process the petitions?

Besides, how would the half-implemented reforms proceed without Qi Yan?

Xiao Shao said, “I won’t touch your ankle. Just hitch up your trousers so I can see the wound. Surely that’s acceptable?”

Qi Yan wore fitted trousers tucked into his socks. To comply, he would have to lift them all the way up, exposing his calf, knee, and ankle entirely.

For a scholar, one's dress reflected one's dignity—even the Emperor expected proper decorum from his ministers, let alone Qi Yan before a prince. These parts were meant to remain concealed beneath layers of fabric, yet here he was, exposing himself before royalty.

Still, Qi Yan was not ungrateful. Blood seeped steadily from his knee, staining his trousers. Setting his jaw, he untied his bootlaces and pulled up the hem.

Xiao Shao tore a strip from his inner robe, pressing it firmly against the wound and binding it tightly. To staunch the bleeding, he applied considerable force, wrenching a hiss from Qi Yan's lips, who dared not move.

Outwardly calm as he tended to the injury, Xiao Shao mused inwardly: *Now this...this was interesting.*

In all the time Qi Yan had been in the residence, he had either been gravely ill or meekly compliant—so deathly still he seemed ready to die at any moment. Even when summoned to the study, whether threatened, punished, falsely accused, or forced to kneel, he had shown little reaction. Teasing him had been like playing with a doll—utterly dull.

Yet now, with nothing more than a touch to his ankle, a mere embrace, and a glance at his leg—nothing truly outrageous—Qi Yan had reacted like this?

Xiao Shao glanced down. Qi Yan sat rigidly, expression composed as ever, yet his gaze remained lowered, avoiding eye contact. Upon closer inspection, a flush crept up behind his ears—as if overwhelmed by embarrassment.

Now this was entertaining.

*So Qi Yan feared this?* Xiao Shao thought.

Unfazed by punishment, indifferent to death, yet clinging so desperately to the dignity of a gentleman, mortified by impropriety?

This made tormenting him far more enjoyable.

The world praised Qi, the Tanhua, as the epitome of courtesy and composure, the most upright and temperate of gentlemen. In other words, if Xiao Shao subjected him to acts that were less “gentlemanly” or “proper”—without even needing to go too far—Qi Yan would tie himself in knots.

Amusing as it was, there would be plenty of time for teasing later. Xiao Shao wasn’t so base as to bully an invalid. Once he finished dressing the wound, he mercifully lowered Qi Yan’s trousers, allowing him to fasten them with effort.

Xiao Shao remarked idly, “Why the hurry? The physician will have you undo them again anyway.”

“...”

Qi Yan’s fingers trembled as he fastened his garters.

His sleeve trembled briefly, and a palm-sized scrap of paper fluttered free.

It landed right by Xiao Shao’s shoe.

Qi Yan glanced at the paper, deliberately looked away, feigning indifference, yet his relaxed body tensed again, and his faint blush drained away, leaving him pale again.

Xiao Shao picked up the paper and saw two bold, elegant characters—strokes like wrought iron: "Pingzhang."

Having been Senior Tutor Song’s student for so many years, he knew the handwriting instantly.

Conspiring with court officials was a grave crime. If this paper were presented to the emperor, Senior Tutor Song might escape unscathed, but with the emperor already furious over the missing silver case, Qi Yan wouldn’t escape a brutal flogging.

At least twenty strokes—perhaps thirty or forty. In any case, he’d be lucky to survive it.

Xiao Shao said, “Did Senior Tutor Song give you this courtesy name?”

“...”

In an instant, all color drained from Qi Yan’s face.

He shifted his knee slightly, as if to slide from the couch and kneel.

Kneeling with that wound—Xiao Shao couldn’t bear to think of the agony.

He waved a hand to stop him and spoke calmly, “A ruler holds court to seek wisdom, governs effortlessly, and steadies the realm—thus the world thrives in harmony.”

Xiao Shao handed the slip back to him. “You do have the talent to assist a ruler, and perhaps you truly can bring peace to the realm. A worthy name.”

Then, without another word, he turned and left the carriage.

“...”

Qi Yan took the paper and stared at it silently for a long time before tucking it inside his robes, close to his heart.

He pressed his fingers against the slip, the warmth of his fingertips searing a void in his chest, leaving nothing but hollowness. The corner of his lips curled in a bitter twist of self-mockery.

Assist a ruler?

As he was now—was he even worthy?

*

The carriage trundled unhurriedly into the estate. By the time they settled him in his bedroom, the imperial physician arrived, medicine chest in hand.

Qi Yan’s position was precarious, making it unwise for him to be seen. The missing silver case had stirred up a storm in the capital, and the emperor’s wrath had sent the imperial guards swarming out, spreading fear among the people. Nowadays, even bearing the surname Qi was a crime—many wished to see Qi Yan flayed and stuffed with grass to atone. Even a prince’s summons for the imperial physician would draw suspicion.

So Xiao Shao draped a curtain between them.

Fu Dehai bit back his words, shooting his master a glance, but stayed silent.

—Since when did a proper attendant require a veil for a doctor’s visit?

Behind the curtain, Qi Yan curled up as the physician first examined his leg, stopping the bleeding and treating the inflammation before checking his pulse. Having endured imprisonment and torture, his body was wrecked—his pulse thready and faint. In short: rest and recovery, or he wouldn’t last long.

Xiao Shao gave a grim nod.

In his past life, Qi Yan had died in Fuyou Temple—his time was up, beyond even a miracle.

Xiao Shao shut his eyes briefly, recalling how Qi Yan had looked in his final moments.

Wasted, spent, the once-radiant Tanhua of his youth had ended as nameless bones in a remote temple’s shadow.

He tilted his head to look. Though the person on the bed couldn’t be described as emaciated, they had clearly been ground down by hardship. It was uncertain whether this broken body could ever be nursed back to health.

Xiao Shao said, “Don't hold back on using the most precious medicines and use them all… Also, from now on, you are to examine him every half month.”

The imperial physician bowed in acknowledgment.

With the Second Highness giving such orders, the physician naturally dared not slack off and conducted a thorough examination. Xiao Shao knew nothing of medicine and had no patience to linger amid the scent of herbs. After wandering around for a while, he returned to find the physician already gone, while Qi Yan was handing a red envelope to a maid, murmuring some instructions.

The maid curtsied and hurried off upon receiving the order.

Xiao Shao intercepted her at the door. Without asking about the letter’s contents, he simply inquired, “What did Qi Yan ask you to do?”

The maid stammered in surprise, “Qi… Qi…”

Qi Yan was Xiao Shao’s personal attendant, having undergone the palace ritual, yet his youthful and handsome appearance made it difficult for the maid to bring herself to say the word 'eunuch' to his face.

Xiao Shao frowned. “Stop stammering. Just call him ‘Young Master.’”

“Young Master Qi asked me to deliver these banknotes to Madam Qi in Nine Li Alley, so she could bribe the matrons and refuse customers these two days.”

Madam Qi had taken her own life with a length of white silk during the confiscation of their family, unable to bear the humiliation. The “Madam Qi” mentioned here referred to Qi Yan’s elder sister.

The banknotes were thin—likely drawn from an attendant’s stipend, which Qi Yan had advanced. No wonder he had been so desperately insistent on becoming Xiao Shao’s attendant; he was in dire need of money.

…But Nine Li Alley? (the red-light district)

Xiao Shao paused, recalling something.

The Qi family had been purged, but not all members were executed. While most of the men had perished, the women were spared, many of them condemned to become courtesans in the Music Bureau—located precisely in Nine Li Alley.

But why “these two days”?

At that moment, the system interface flickered to life.

The system seemed wary of Xiao Shao and, aside from issuing tasks, said nothing else. It merely stated, “Pivotal story moment: Host must go to Nine Li Alley in two days to retrieve a crucial story artifact—‘Madam Qi’s Suicide Note.’”