Chapter 136: The Scar

Chapter 136 Scars

As soon as Xue Jin entered the *Wenyuan Pavilion*, he spotted Shen Xiu from afar.

Shen Xiu was one of the heroes of the Qingping Pass victory and had stayed behind to receive his rewards. With the court short on personnel, Shen Que had transferred him to the *Wenyuan Pavilion* to assist with administrative tasks.

From a distance, he noticed Young General Xue sneaking around suspiciously, so he set down the documents in his hands and strode forward. "What are you doing here? This is where civil officials work. The training grounds aren’t here—did you get lost?"

The young general looked utterly miserable, his hands clasped behind his back as if hiding something, fidgeting like a nervous maiden.

Shen Xiu raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you? You feeling okay?"

As he spoke, he reached out and yanked them into view.

It was a transfer order written by Shen Que.

Since Jiang Xun couldn’t see, he had dictated it, Shen Que had transcribed it, and then sealed it.

Upon seeing the order, Shen Xiu raised his other eyebrow. "What’s the meaning of this? You’re to assist in managing the *Wenyuan Pavilion*? Seriously? You think you can handle this?"

Though Shen Que had suppressed most of the news, he hadn’t hidden it from Shen Xiu. Shen Xiu already knew about the chaos in the palace the previous day, the fire in the Chenglu Hall, and that the emperor had moved out of the palace. But...

He gave Xue Jin a strange look.

Handing over governance to Xue Jin—was His Majesty... resorting to desperate measures?

It wasn’t that he looked down on Xue Jin. The young general was a skilled commander in battle, but when it came to state affairs, he couldn’t even clearly distinguish the functions of the Six Ministries. He was completely out of his depth.

Xue Jin pleaded, "Shen Xiu, you have to help me! I really can’t do this!"

Shen Xiu took a deep breath. "Just try reviewing them first. I’ll check your work."

With the Qingping Pass campaign just concluded, the *Wenyuan Pavilion* was swamped. The ministers were busy negotiating post-war tributes, discussing the resettlement and reconstruction of the war-torn regions, and arranging rewards for the soldiers. Everyone was in a hurry, and no one paid attention to the young general. Left to his own devices, Xue Jin huddled in a corner, fidgeting with his hands while reviewing petitions.

His head spun from the overwhelming paperwork, and eventually, he face-planted onto the desk and fell asleep. But even in sleep, he found no peace—he dreamt of being forced by his father to memorize the *Four Books* and *Five Classics* in class. It wasn’t until Shen Xiu finished his own tasks, walked over, and pulled the petition out from under his head that Xue Jin groggily woke up.

Shen Xiu skimmed through the pitifully sparse comments Xue Jin had managed to scribble and tutted. "Your commentary skills are light-years behind Mr. Xun’s."

Back when Shen Xiu served in Lianghu, he had often sent petitions to bother Mr. Xun. Jiang Xun’s responses were always concise and to the point, highlighting every key point—unlike Xue Jin’s rambling, which took forever to get to the crux of the matter.

—This knack for organization was something Jiang Xun had honed in his past life from writing reading comprehension exercises.

Xue Jin: "Huh?"

What did this have to do with Mr. Xun?

He stared blankly at Shen Xiu, only to find his friend’s disdain radiating from his eyes.

Xue Jin: "QAQ"

What the—?

Shen Xiu shook his head, he added. "At this point, with His Majesty already moved to the Loquat Courtyard, you still haven’t figured out his identity?"

Ever since the plot concluded, Jiang Xun had dropped the act. He spoke and acted without restraint—only Xue Jin remained clueless.

Xue Jin: "?"

Shen Xiu: "Think about it again! Doesn't anything click for you?"

The Junior General wasn't stupid—he had simply been too rattled by Jiang Xun that morning to think straight. Now, with Shen Xiu's prompting, his mind finally began to work again.

"......"

Xue Jin remained in a state of dumbfounded shock: "His Majesty is... Mr. Xun?"

If this were a comic, one might see a ghostly pale soul floating out of his body.

Shen Xiu nodded in satisfaction.

At least he wasn't the only one who'd been frightened.

*

Jiang Xun settled into the loquat courtyard, living in relative comfort.

He hardly concerned himself with state affairs, leaving everything to Xue Jin while he busied himself with gardening, studying weaving and origami. Shen Que, for his part, was almost entirely permissive of this.

Since Jiang Xun couldn't see, System 66 recommended audio dramas to him.

System 66's tastes were wildly unpredictable—military history, romantic love stories, all manner of random genres. For a time, while Jiang Xun appeared calm on the surface, his mind was a cacophony of dramatic audio effects, anything but serene.

During this period, Censor Shen visited many times.

He was temporarily in the capital for business but would eventually return to Lianghu. No longer as afraid of Jiang Xun, he jumped at the chance to meet Mr. Xun face-to-face.

Censor Shen had a keen interest in farming and often sought agricultural knowledge. Jiang Xun, a high school student with only a superficial understanding, could only haltingly explain nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium in fertilizers. Fortunately, System 66 was happy to help, sharing useful agricultural knowledge from the future. Shen Xiu painstakingly recorded everything, wearing his brush to a nub in no time.

One day, after listening to Jiang Xun recount "Teacher 6's" lecture, Shen Xiu stared at the loquat tree in the courtyard for a long time before remarking thoughtfully, "Your Majesty, this loquat tree in your yard—has it suffered from frost damage, pests, and perhaps lacks water and sunlight?"

Jiang Xun paused.

Shen Xiu continued, "The courtyard wall is too high, blocking sunlight from the lower leaves. The soil layer is also quite thin. In my opinion, the fruit probably doesn't taste good."

Jiang Xun was silent.

He hadn't eaten the fruit in this lifetime, but in his past life, the loquats had been bitter and downright inedible.

Jiang Xun asked softly, "Can it be saved?"

Shen Xiu replied, "It shouldn't be too difficult. Rebuild half the wall, replace the soil with rich black loam, and by next year, the fruit will be sweet."

A peculiar emotion stirred within him. In his past life, after tasting the bitter loquats, he had had the tree felled, assuming it was worthless. Yet now, Shen Xiu claimed it could be saved?

Jiang Xun: "Really?"

Shen Xiu immediately assured him, "Your Majesty, I've grown peaches in Lianghu for so long—I have experience. Leave it to me, and I promise you'll taste sweet loquats."

Jiang Xun's gaze drifted past him to the window, where the loquat tree's leaves swayed in the wind, forming lush greenery, vibrant and full of life.

Jiang Xun said, "Thank you. Then I'll trouble you with this."

No longer playing the emperor, he didn't put on imperial airs—his gratitude was sincere.

Shen Xiu was startled, flattered and flustered, fluttering his hands in protest. "No, no, it's no trouble at all! It's my duty. You honor me."

Bolstered by Jiang Xun's thanks, Shen Xiu redoubled his efforts. He divided his time between the loquat courtyard and the Wenyuan Pavilion, dispatching his duties efficiently in the mornings and tending to the tree in the afternoons—watering, digging, shovel in hand. Jiang Xun adapted to this routine, even joining in the digging. The first time, Shen Xiu nearly prostrated himself in shock, but eventually, he got used to it.

Then one day, Shen Xiu was late.

He was always punctual, so Jiang Xun frowned and felt his way out of the courtyard, meaning to inquire with the guards at the lane entrance what had happened.

He hated being bothered, so the guards were posted farther down at the entrance of the alley. Over these days, Jiang Xun had grown accustomed to the environment of the small courtyard. Indoors, he moved about normally without stumbling, but outdoors was another matter. His fingers traced the rough surface of the wall as he walked, stumbling unevenly.

The bluestone slabs of the alley were broken in several places, easy for a normal person to avoid but troublesome for Jiang Xun. Several times, he just caught his balance, only to pitch forward again—

And collided with something soft.

Shen Que caught him, gripping his shoulders to steady him. "What are you doing out here?"

Jiang Xun clutched at him. "Where’s Shen Xiu?"

The butterfly effect had gone too far, and Jiang Xun feared he might have inadvertently wiped out one of the trio. If so, to whom would the Great Wei’s throne be entrusted?

"..."

Dead silence.

Since the fire, Shen Que had been unusually lenient toward him, always answering his questions without fail. Jiang Xun poked him, lifting his eyes in confusion. "Why won’t you speak? Where is Shen Xiu?"

He heard the sound of a sharp inhale.

Shen Que held back something, slung an arm around Jiang Xun’s shoulders to usher him back into the courtyard. "Why ask about him?"

Jiang Xun allowed himself to be ushered back inside. "He comes every day. Today, he didn’t."

Shen Que: "Oh, he comes every day."

The Imperial Tutor clearly knew this and had tacitly allowed it, yet his calm tone carried a weird edge. Jiang Xun picked up on that immediately, tugging at Shen Que’s sleeve. "Why say it like that? ...But where is Shen Xiu?"

Had his meddling actually gotten someone killed?

Since losing his sight, the Emperor’s expressions had grown far more vivid, and now his worry was written all over his face.

Shen Que held back the odd feeling in his chest. "Oh, probably breaking up a fight at the Wen Yuan Pavilion."

Jiang Xun: "...?"

Suspicious, he asked, "A fight in the Wen Yuan Pavilion?"

Who would dare fight there? And with the now widely respected Junior General, no less?

Shen Que: "Calling it a fight isn’t quite right. It’s more of a complete thrashing."

Jiang Xun: "...?"

A fight—no, a complete thrashing—in the Wen Yuan Pavilion? Who was beating whom?

Before he could voice his confusion, two figures, one in blue and the other in green, came into sight at the alley’s entrance. The green one was familiar—Shen Xiu. But the blue one...

Jiang Xun narrowed his eyes but still couldn’t make out who it was.

Then the blue figure reached the courtyard gate, hiked up his robes, and knelt, starting to wail. "Your Majesty! Your Majesty must uphold justice for me!"

Jiang Xun: "..."

Ah. The blue one was Xue Jin.

The Junior General, over some injustice, was bawling his eyes out. Jiang Xun frowned. "Who wronged you? I heard there was a fight in the Wen Yuan Pavilion. Did someone hit you?"

As he spoke, he stood, his face automatically hardening.

Xue Jin was something of a protégé to Jiang Xun. Before his identity was exposed, they had shared wine and lively talks in the Loquat Courtyard. Not to mention, Xue Jin was the heaven-ordained successor to the Founding Emperor, the one fated to rule the realm. If anyone dared to bully him, Jiang Xun would be the first to object.

Xue Jin sobbed, "Marquis Zhenbei struck me with the Imperial Discipline Whip in the Wen Yuan Pavilion!"

The Imperial Discipline Whip was a scourge bestowed by the late emperor, meant to chastise unfit sovereigns and punish corrupt officials.

Jiang Xun arched a puzzled brow: "...?"

Marquis Zhenbei—wasn’t that Xue Jin’s own father?

Ah, then never mind.

Jiang Xun sat back down.

A father disciplining his son was a family matter, unrelated to Jiang Xun. How could he interfere?

So Jiang Xun sipped his tea to hide his disinterest and asked perfunctorily, "Why did Marquis Zhenbei strike you?"

The young general muttered dejectedly, "Because I handled petitions on Your Majesty’s behalf."

Jiang Xun: "...?"

The young general sniffled and finally explained the whole incident. Since he now frequented the Wen Yuan Pavilion, his father, deeming it unseemly for a battlefield commander to meddle in state affairs, had publicly drawn the Imperial Discipline Whip, demanding if he dared harbor treasonous ambitions.

The young general was completely lost. The petition in his hand clattered to the ground, and when Marquis Zhenbei picked it up, he found it contained confidential imperial business. Furious, the Marquis laid into him at once.

Though advanced in years, the Marquis was still vigorous, wielding the whip with such force that the young general took two lashes before bolting. The old Marquis, infuriated by his escape, gave chase all the way from the Wen Yuan Pavilion to the Yongning Gate. Only Shen Xiu’s intervention allowed Xue Jin to slip away.

Now, Xue Jin couldn’t face the palace or his own home. After wandering the capital for hours, he landed on Jiang Xun’s doorstep.

Jiang Xun: "..."

After hearing the full story, he fell completely silent.

Earlier, he had thought it had nothing to do with him—but now, it was clearly his problem.

Jiang Xun hesitated, "Did it actually land?"

The Imperial Discipline Whip was no ordinary lash but a rigid scourge, often made of bronze or iron, with raised segments along its length, making every lash agony.

Xue Jin bobbed his head emphatically, "It really hit me! There’s a wound on my chest, badly swollen!"

Shen Xiu added, "Swollen two fingers high."

Jiang Xun gasped, "Two fingers?"

Marquis Zhenbei had struck with such severity that Jiang Xun feared he might have seriously injured the boy.

Seeing the emperor’s furrowed brow, almost worried, Xue Jin felt a surge of warmth in his chest, his eyes prickling. His own father had beaten him so harshly, yet it was the emperor who showed him compassion.

Whining pitifully, he pressed on, "Would you like to see? It’s truly swollen more than two fingers high."

As he spoke, he tugged open his collar, revealing a patch of skin below his collarbone.

Jiang Xun couldn’t see clearly, only making out a broad swath of vivid red, like a bruise from injury. Concerned, he reached out, intending to assess the wound by touch.

Xue Jin was all too eager to play up his suffering, desperate to escape the ruthless machinations of the Wen Yuan Pavilion—lest he be buried under petitions, mocked to death by Shen Xiu, or beaten to death by his own father.

So he puffed out his chest, pushing the swollen flesh under Jiang Xun’s fingers. "Feel it—it’s swollen terribly high."

Shen Que set down his teacup and frowned as he looked over.

Jiang Xun didn’t dare press too hard, merely barely touching the skin. Sure enough, there was a raised welt, burning hot. He carefully traced it with his fingertips and pursed his lips. "Xue Jin, does it hurt?"

This was his fault.

In his past life, Qingping Pass had fallen by this time, and Marquis Zhenbei had died of a rage-induced stroke. But in this lifetime, the old man was still full of vigor, chasing Xue Jin all over the place. When Jiang Xun had entrusted affairs to Xue Jin, he’d completely forgotten about this. Strictly speaking, he was the one who’d screwed over the Junior General.

Xue Jin was extremely awkward.

Even though he was the one who’d offered his chest, now he was the one feeling awkward. The Emperor was being too afraid to press down—his fingertips were so light they didn’t hurt at all, just tickled.

He said, "Oh," hastily. "It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt."

Jiang Xun sighed. "How could it not hurt?"

Such a heavy whip, such a severe injury—how could it not hurt?

Moved, Xue Jin was about to speak when Shen Que abruptly reminded him, "Junior General, your decorum."

Before the Emperor, one must not act improperly.

Xue Jin said, "Oh," and pulled his clothes back into place, then started whining again. "Your Majesty, you gotta help me out here—otherwise, I really will be beaten to death!"

Jiang Xun sighed again. "Have Marquis Zhenbei come here. I’ll explain it to him myself. Your presence in the Grand Secretariat was my request—it’s not your fault."

Xue Jin: "Huh?"

He scrambled forward on his knees and whispered, "Your Majesty, that’s not what I meant. I—I actually wanted to say..."

Jiang Xun: "Hm?"

Xue Jin had been glancing around, unsure how to broach the subject, but seeing Jiang Xun lean in attentively, looking so gentle, his nervousness eased. He blurted out: "What I really meant to say is… I’m truly unsuited for handling government affairs. I only end up making a mess of things. I hope Your Majesty will revoke your decree and no longer keep me in the Grand Secretariat."

As he spoke, he lifted his head, looking up at the Emperor like a hopeful puppy.

But Jiang Xun’s hand froze with his teacup halfway to his lips.

...The Founding Emperor of this dynasty—did he dislike handling government affairs?