Chapter 376: If Xiao Shao Travels to When Qi Yan Just Fell into Misfortune 5

Chapter 376: If Xiao Shao Traveled Back to When Qi Yan First Fell into Misfortune (Part 5)

Qi Yan began staying in the prince's quarters, quietly writing policy memorandums.

He wrote with intense focus, forgetting meals and sleep, as if dedicating all his knowledge and dedication for Xiao Shao.

Xiao Shao watched with growing alarm: "Little Tanhua, there's no need to push yourself so hard. At your age, you should be getting more rest."

Qi Yan bowed respectfully in thanks: "I appreciate Your Highness’s kindness. Having received such favor from you, it is only right that I work tirelessly to repay your kindness."

Xiao Shao: "..."

When it came to submitting memorials and drafting policies, Little Tanhua was unyielding. Xiao Shao's solution was to send servants into his room at night to forcibly confiscate his candles.

Little Tanhua refused to yield, desperately shielding the candle, but he was no match for the martial-trained servants. With a swift grab, they snatched it away, and by the time he chased them out the door, they had already vanished.

Having spent his life as a scholar who never resorted to force, Qi Yan had never expected to be forcibly deprived. Furious, he spent the entire night stewing before finally confronting Xiao Shao the next day.

Xiao Shao raised an eyebrow: "I ordered the servants to take it. I told you—you need more sleep."

Qi Yan froze for a moment before reluctantly conceding.

In the days that followed, Qi Yan gradually became something of a quasi-master in the prince's residence.

Servants greeted him with smiles, his daily provisions were on par with Xiao Shao's, and Head Eunuch Fu Dehai treated him with respectful courtesy. There was nowhere in the estate he couldn't go, and over time, his confidence grew.

One evening, as Xiao Shao was dining, Fu Dehai came to announce that Qi Yan was waiting at the door, requesting an audience.

This was the first time Qi Yan had sought him out on his own. Xiao Shao raised an eyebrow: "Let him in."

And so, Little Tanhua entered with bowed head, offering a formal adviser’s bow before presenting a booklet.

Xiao Shao flipped it open, his brows rising even higher. It was titled *A Compendium of Court Factions*. Qi Yan had meticulously summarized the intricate factions of the dynasty—who aligned with whom, who opposed whom, how to exploit rifts or broker alliances—along with his own insights.

But this—scheming and probing were hardly proper conduct for a loyal minister, let alone something to present to a prince who wasn't the crown prince.

This was the tactics of a kingmaker aiding his lord in seizing the throne.

Xiao Shao skimmed through it. Some details were still a bit naive, but overall, it wasn't far off from the methods of Qi Yan's later years—almost reminiscent of the *Nine Thousand-Year Lord* from lifetimes past.

Since ancient times, courtiers forming factions and manipulating power had been a cardinal offense. If Xiao Shao were to submit this booklet, the only fate awaiting Qi Yan would be a death sentence.

Qi Yan stood respectfully, a hint of nervousness in his posture. Though he had suspected Xiao Shao might nurse designs for the throne when asked to draft a proposal on the noble families of Hedong, he couldn't be certain. This move was a gamble.

When Xiao Shao looked up, he saw Qi Yan standing rigid with tension beside him, head bowed submissively, teeth clenched on his lower lip, fingers gripping the hem of his robe so tightly it was nearly torn.

Xiao Shao smiled. "Well, this is excellent work. I'll keep it. But tell me—why did you decide to present this to me?"

Qi Yan quietly exhaled in relief. He took a step back, then suddenly lifted the hem of his robe and knelt, pressing his forehead to the ground in a deep bow. "Your Highness, this humble servant has a presumptuous plea."

Xiao Shao raised an eyebrow: "Speak."

Qi Yan lowered his gaze, his voice trembling slightly. "I wish to visit the prison... to see my parents and siblings one last time."

In two days' time, the Qi family would be executed.

Qi Yan didn't ask Xiao Shao to save them. He understood all too well—with three million taels in embezzled silver gone missing, someone had to take the blame. The trial was concluded, the verdict irrevocable. Even as a prince, Xiao Shao couldn't countermand the Emperor’s edict. As for submitting appeals, it would only inflame the Emperor’s anger further.

If he could ensure his family's last days in their cells were peaceful, that alone would be enough to secure his undying gratitude toward Xiao Shao.

Qi Yan had made up his mind—he would write many more policy proposals in the future and plead with Xiao Shao again. While the male family members might be beyond help, with the Prince's influence, his mother and sisters could still be protected.

Xiao Shao: "That’s all?" He’d expected something far graver and chuckled. "Fine. I'll send someone to take you to Frost Prison tonight."

Xiao Shao mused to himself, "Still such a child. After just a short time apart from his parents, he misses them terribly."

That very night, a carriage crept out from the back gate of the prince's residence, its wheels rolling over the cobblestone road before coming to a halt in front of Frost Prison.

The coachman lifted the curtain, revealing a figure clad in a raven-blue robe, the brim of his hat pulled so low it completely obscured his face. Stepping down from the carriage with a lantern in hand, he walked straight into the depths of the prison.

Frost Prison housed only those condemned to death or serving heavy sentences. The prison was a cesspit of filth, yet the cell at the very end was lined with thick straw, its prisoners clean and well-kept—clearly receiving special treatment.

By then, it was deep into the night, and the Qi family had already turned in for the night. Qi Chen, as the head of the household, slept near the door, while his wife and children rested further inside, ready to wake at the slightest disturbance.

The moment Qi Yan placed the lantern by the door, its glow flickering against his eyelids, Qi Chen stirred awake.

Clutching the bars, Qi Yan whispered, "Father."

Qi Chen jolted upright, kneeling halfway as he reached through the bars to seize his son's hands. After studying him intently, he finally managed a faint smile. "It seems you've been doing well these days."

Qi Yan nodded. "The Second Prince... has been good to me."

He recounted the events of the past days in detail. Qi Chen exhaled slightly in relief, though after a long pause, he murmured, "It seems the Second Prince has grand ambitions. He must prize your current isolation, lack of political entanglements, and your talent... But..."

He fell silent briefly before continuing, "If the Second Prince intends to use you as a tool, once the dust settles, your fate may not be favorable."

Qi Yan was equally silent before finally accepting it. "I understand."

His position made him the perfect blade for the prince to clear obstacles.

For Xiao Shao to ascend the throne, he would inevitably need to purge the remnants of the Crown Prince's faction and possibly move against the powerful families across the land. Rivers of blood were inevitable—and he would need a sharp blade.

Qi Yan didn’t mind being that blade. Liang had become so entangled with deep-rooted factions, like rotten flesh, that only a ruthless hand could excise them and restore vitality.

But...

But by aligning with the Second Prince, he could no longer remain a principled, clean-handed minister. When the time came for reckoning, the history books may damn him among the ranks of treacherous ministers.

And afterward—when the birds are shot, the bow would be stored; when the cunning rabbits were dead, the hounds would be cooked.

Once the Second Prince claimed the throne, a bloodied blade would have no place in court.

This script had played out endlessly throughout history, and Qi Yan knew it all too well.

Seeing the worry etched into his father’s aged face, he feigned levity. "At this point, why worry about the future? This era tolerates no spotless men anyway. Better to be a villain who gets things done than to be falsely accused. As for the ending..."

Qi Yan smiled faintly. "Perhaps His Highness will show mercy out of sentimentality, pension me off, and let me retire to my hometown. I’ll take your ashes with me, roam the realm, and see the sights I’ve never seen."

Qi Chen did not smile.

They both knew—a ruler’s blade was far more likely to be broken than to be rewarded with gold and sent home in peace.

But since Qi Yan didn’t voice it, Qi Chen said nothing more. Instead, he stroked his youngest son’s hair and smiled. "Yes, I am a criminal, unfit for the family burial grounds. If you clear my name by then, raise a tomb for me and inscribe the wrongs done to me. If not... cast my ashes to the waves."

Having settled these posthumous matters, Qi Chen caressed his child’s cheek and sighed regretfully. "Only... I won’t live to see your capping ceremony."

By then, Qi Yan’s mother and sisters had also awakened. They spoke through the bars, their voices bright with laughter and chatter—yet at some point, every one of them was fighting tears.

It wasn’t until dawn that Qi Yan finally had to leave.

At the end of the corridor, he turned back for one last look at his father’s aged face, and a tear rolled down.

Qi Chen still gazed at him with a smile, half-wrapped in a pale blue outer robe, his spine straight as if he were not sitting in a prison cell but in an ancient mountain temple, engaged in quiet philosophical debate with monks.

He waved outward and mouthed the words: "Go."

Qi Yan turned and left.

He returned to the Second Prince’s residence, where Xiao Shao was still awake, preparing his court attire—ever since the Crown Prince’s confinement, Xiao Shao had naturally taken over some duties, shedding his usual laid-back attitude and attending court daily. Now, as he hurried to leave, he bumped into Qi Yan.

Spotting Qi Yan, he paused in surprise: "Why are your eyes red?"

Hadn’t he just gone to see his parents? Was he so overwhelmed he cried?

They’d be released in a couple of days—he could see them anytime then. What was there to cry about?

Xiao Shao frowned in confusion: "…Are you unwell? Should I summon a physician for you?"

Qi Yan quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve, hiding his feelings, then bowed respectfully. "It’s nothing. I apologize for troubling Your Highness."

Unwilling to explain, and with Xiao Shao pressed for time, the prince didn’t press further, only saying, "Then rest well at home. If you need anything, inform the steward."

Qi Yan complied softly: "I lack nothing."

Fu Dehai had already arranged everything. Qi Yan was neither cold nor hungry—in fact, his living conditions were far better than they had been in the Qi household.

Yet despite this, on the day of the execution two days later, he fell ill.

First came a cold, then a fever that brought feverish muttering. For two full days, he didn’t step out of his room, his eyes perpetually red, often staring blankly at the half-bare parasol tree outside his window.

Qi Yan had never been one for Buddhism, but that day, for some inexplicable reason, he pulled out a copy of the Earth Store Bodhisattva Sutra and began copying it despite his illness.

The sutra contained over ten thousand characters—a grueling, time-heavy task impossible to finish in a day. Yet he refused to stop until Xiao Shao returned. At Fu Dehai’s reminder, knowing the prince disliked seeing him like this, Qi Yan reluctantly put it away.

Xiao Shao came to his room, felt his forehead, checked his temperature, then pinched his cheek and let out a heavy sigh. "Get well soon. I was planning to take you somewhere."

Fortunately, the illness came and went quickly. After the imperial physician prescribed medicine and Xiao Shao made him take two doses, the fever subsided.

Only then did Qi Yan regain enough energy to bow and ask, "Where does Your Highness wish to take me?"

Even while ill, the ever-precise stickler for etiquette remained meticulous. Xiao Shao raised an eyebrow. "The countryside."

It was already autumn, long past the season for spring outings. Qi Yan didn’t understand why they were going to the countryside but obediently followed him into the carriage. The carriage rumbled along, leaving the capital, shifting from main roads to narrow side roads before finally stopping before a remote village.

Within the village stood a small picket-fenced yard, where clothes and bedding were drying in the sun. Outside the fence grew pear trees and sweet melons, while a few people were doing laundry and tidying up.

From a distance, Qi Yan’s fingers, resting on the carriage, suddenly clenched tight.