Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"...Whoever it is, what does it have to do with me?"

Zhu Qinghou unconsciously tightened his grip around Li Zhen's wrist. Li Zhen's slender wrist bone protruded slightly, revealing a cold, hard curve that was somewhat jarring to the touch.

Li Zhen spoke slowly, "You throw a plum to me, I return a jewel for thee; Forever let our friendship be?"

The hall was silent, save for the thick, sticky sound of blood still slowly flowing on the ground. The young prince's gentle, refined voice echoed against the high walls.

"You still have the nerve to say that," the air fell silent for a moment before Zhu Qinghou said with a hint of complaint, "If you hadn't refused to help me, why would I have needed to beg others?"

So, it turned out to be his fault instead.

Li Zhen smiled, not angry in the least, gripping Zhu Qinghou's jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing against his lips, preventing him from speaking. "You sure have a silver tongue."

Zhu Qinghou mumbled indistinctly, "If you were good to me, I wouldn't need a silver tongue..."

It always circled back to being his fault.

Unexpectedly, Li Zhen was not annoyed but instead seemed thoughtful. "So it seems, it's all my fault for not treating you well in the past."

His calm contemplation, however, made Zhu Qinghou uneasy. He reached out, trying to break free from the fingers gripping his jaw, only to find the other's knuckles like iron, holding him firmly.

"What would count as being good to you?" Li Zhen's movements were gentle, belying his terrifying strength, his tone peaceful and refined. "...Is your hall cold? Then come stay in mine."

Zhu Qinghou: "..."

What if Li Zhen killed in his sleep, taking up his sword and killing him while he slept... That would be a rather interesting way to die.

Then again, moving into Li Zhen's bedchamber presented an opportunity.

It wasn't so much a move as simply staying put in this hall.

The room was shrouded in darkness, the outlines of the bed and furnishings casting cold, desolate shadows, as if all unnecessary ornamentation had been shaved away, leaving only the hall's profound solitude.

Zhu Qinghou looked it over critically, then simply lay flat on the only bed in the great hall. As soon as he lay down, a cold glint flashed before his eyes.

Hanging a sword before the bed curtains was truly bizarre.

That sword was the one Li Zhen used for killing. Earlier, he had kicked it far away, not knowing where it had landed.

Now it had reappeared, cleansed of blood, pristine and cold, untouched by a speck of dust.

Zhu Qinghou silently moved further away, recalling the events of the day. He couldn't help but feel a chill at Li Zhen's meticulousness. He wondered if among those servants there had been any of Shang Qingyun's spies...

Shang Qingyun had been quite agitated lately. The spies planted in Prince Su's residence had not sent back any news for a long time; clearly, they had been discovered.

Prince Su ran his household with extreme strictness. Without a suitable opportunity, it was likely impossible to plant spies in his residence again.

As early as four years ago when Prince Su was enfeoffed in Yongzhou, the local officials had been scheming, wanting to control this far too young, blind prince.

They thought controlling Prince Su would be easy. Little did they know, although he had just come of age and had an eye ailment, he was not someone to be trifled with: ruthless in temperament, brutal in methods, and the Jun Terrace he personally oversaw the construction of had intimidated the entire Yongzhou.

Prince Su's residence was even more tightly controlled by him, like a fortress, allowing no one with ulterior motives.

They couldn't let Prince Su keep lording it over them forever...

Shang Qingyun paced back and forth, then stopped, steeling himself, and asked his confidant, "Has the news about the court increasing taxes spread everywhere?"

The confidant replied, "It has spread everywhere. The common people are quite unhappy."

The court had increased taxes by twenty percent. The imperial decree had first reached his hands, and he added another ten percent on his own authority, making it thirty percent.

With this thirty percent tax burden pressing down, even Prince Su fell silent in the hall, while the common people outside were boiling with anger.

Shang Qingyun wasn't afraid of being exposed; after all, he wasn't the only one doing this. Once Prince Su became aware, they would find a way to offer all the extra tax revenue to Prince Su, dragging him down with them.

From then on, they would be people on the same boat.

A person who stood upright and clean yet possessed the methods of Yama, the King of Hell, was the most feared.

The shadow cast by the cold sword on the bed curtain resembled a tall, slender, icy-cold statue of Yama, pitch-black and forbidding.

Zhu Qinghou dared not move. He could almost smell again the iron-like scent of blood on the sword. He shifted toward the edge of the bed and asked softly, "Aren't you afraid it might fall and cut you?"

Li Zhen, lying clothed on the outer side, said, "I can hear it."

*Hear what?*

Zhu Qinghou looked up at the sword, thinking, could it be that he hears the sword's sound? Do blind people all have such keen hearing?

He prized his life too much, not daring to get close to that sword, nor could he ask Li Zhen to switch places with him. He had no choice but to keep moving closer to Li Zhen's side.

Li Zhen closed his eyes, but the person beside him kept pressing closer, his lean, warm side touching his shoulder, as if deliberately trying to push him off the bed.

His eyebrow twitched slightly. He silently moved outward, avoiding Zhu Qinghou's touch.

Zhu Qinghou, however, wouldn't let up, deliberately wanting to test Li Zhen's limits. From recent times, it seemed Li Zhen was ruthless on the surface but had been conceding step by step to him. On one hand, he wanted to kill him; on the other, he actively shared the same hall with him—a truly contradictory man.

He pressed close, whispering behind Li Zhen's back, "Xian Pu, all these years I've been thinking of you. It's just that Yejing was fraught with danger; I didn't dare come to Yongzhou to see you."

He spoke for a long time, almost convincing himself.

During these years in Yejing, he had been carefree and dissolute, living happily without a care; where would he remember a Li Zhen far away on the frontier?

Zhu Qinghou stopped, about to look at Li Zhen's expression, but when he raised his eyes, he suddenly realized the other had turned towards him at some point, lowering his head to 'look' at him.

As if trying to see through him, pierce him, dissect him flesh and bone, all through a layer of snow-white silk.

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he felt a jolt of fear.

"Deyu," this was the first time since their reunion that Li Zhen called him by his childhood name. In a daze, it felt as familiar as in their youth. He sighed, "You still came to Yongzhou."

That tone of finality, so calm, sent a shiver down Zhu Qinghou's spine. Back then, when the Commandant of Justice and the Secretariat sentenced the entire Zhu clan to exile in Yongzhou, he felt somewhat unlucky, but also somewhat relieved—Li Zhen would definitely not kill him.

The Zhu family's corruption case had erupted suddenly. Last October, his father had just returned from inspecting salt and iron, and the Zhu family was still highly favored by the emperor. Who would have thought that within a month, the Censorate would come forward with an impeachment, the Chief Justice would adjudicate, the Secretariat would review and determine the sentence, the Son of Heaven would approve it, and it would be proclaimed to the world.

In just half a year, the Zhu family collapsed like a mountain.

—Was Li Zhen involved in this at all?

Zhu Qinghou secretly noted this down, to look for more clues in the future. As he thought, drowsiness gradually overcame him. He curled into a ball, unconsciously burrowing into Li Zhen's embrace.

Over the years, he had grown accustomed to holding something while sleeping.

Zhu Qinghou's posture was casual, but the person he embraced instantly stiffened, motionless, becoming a still jade statue.

Outside the hall, the north wind howled, the snowstorm unceasing.

Zhu Qinghou managed to get a rare good night's sleep in the pitch-dark chamber, his hands and feet growing warm, no longer as icy as before.

Upon waking, he gazed at the hazy remnants of snow outside the latticed window, momentarily disoriented. His first thought was that dawn was breaking, and soon he would need to report to the Secretariat for the morning roll call. He wondered if he had promised anyone a banquet today, then suddenly remembered peering at the sky through the narrow window of the imperial prison.

Scenes from the past flashed by, scattered by the borderland’s wind and snow.

Zhu Qinghou casually draped a black outer robe over himself and stepped out of the chamber—this was Li Zhen’s quarters, so of course a trusted aide would be overseeing its upkeep. That aide, naturally, would also be responsible for all affairs of Prince Su’s residence.

Lost in idle thought, he walked out, only to encounter an old servant after a few steps.

The old servant stood rigid as iron, lean and short, holding a stack of scrolls in his hands. Two cold gleams in his eyes seemed to pin Zhu Qinghou in place.

This was a member of the Cui family.

Zhu Qinghou thought to himself that this was bad but decided to take the initiative. With a smile, he greeted, “Uncle Cui.”

Uncle Cui acted as though he hadn’t seen him, turning instead to the royal soldiers on duty. “Who allowed him into His Highness’s chamber?”

—Who else could it be? Naturally, His Highness himself.

He was feigning ignorance, trying to make Zhu Qinghou lose face.

Zhu Qinghou lazily took a few steps forward. “Uncle Cui, it was Xian Pu who asked me to come.” He complained with a mix of reproach and annoyance, “Xian Pu kept me up all night—you really must talk to him about it.”

The ambiguity in his words made Uncle Cui’s brow twitch heavily. He recalled how close His Highness had been to Zhu Qinghou in their youth and how, in recent years, His Highness had shown no interest in women or worldly pleasures, living more ascetically than a monk in a temple.

Then, seeing Zhu Qinghou draped in His Highness’s outer robe, looking languid and content, with flushed cheeks and a satisfied air—

Uncle Cui was already two parts convinced. His gaze toward Zhu Qinghou held a hint of wariness as he warned, “Yongzhou is not like Yeijing. There’s no room for your Zhu faction to stir up trouble here.”

“Alright, alright,” Zhu Qinghou yawned, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, and casually raised his hand in a vow. “I won’t stir up any trouble.” But he was clearly more concerned about something else—

“Uncle Cui, when will breakfast be served?”

After the meal, Zhu Qinghou slumped in an armchair, motionless, still mulling over Uncle Cui’s earlier expression. He couldn’t help but smile, but slowly, the smile faded.

Uncle Cui was a senior servant of the Qinghe Cui family, a trusted aide of Consort Cui, and had watched Li Zhen grow up since childhood.

Back then, Li Zhen had lost his sight because of him, his status plummeting, and the Cui family fell from power, suffering blow after blow. Even…

Not only did Uncle Cui hate him—the entire Qinghe Cui clan despised him to the core.

Zhu Qinghou propped himself up on the chair and slowly sat upright. The most urgent task now was to focus on recuperating his health, lest he die of illness in the borderlands before the Qinghe Cui clan even had a chance to act.

As for how to recuperate—

When Li Zhen stepped into the chamber, he heard no movement. Frowning slightly, he walked to the bed curtain and listened to the breathing inside, his brow relaxing a little.

He reached out and gently touched the warm, soft form beneath the quilt, easily imagining the young Zhu Qinghou curled up under the covers, fast asleep.

Li Zhen: “…”

He sat down quietly at the desk, waiting silently for Zhu Qinghou to wake.

Zhu Qinghou slept like the dead, but his dreams were far from peaceful. A parade of faces flashed before him—first, his childhood self, idly tossing gold and jade dice in the courtyard until they shattered.

His father chased after him, scolding, “Who told you to waste such treasures like this!”

“Dad! You’re a great traitor, and I’m a little traitor. What’s wrong with me having a bit of fun?” Little Qinghou retorted defiantly.

His father staggered back in anger. “Where did you learn that?! Who said we father and son are traitors?”

“Zhu Qingping, a treacherous official of the state, sentenced to death by a thousand cuts.

Zhu Qinghou, following in his father’s footsteps, but in light of his lack of personal crimes, exiled to Yongzhou.”

A sharp, effeminate voice echoed from beyond the heavens, lofty and distant, pronouncing the fate of him and his father.

Zhu Qinghou’s throat choked with countless arguments, fighting to burst out, but not a single word emerged—as if he had been struck mute.

Struggling, he suddenly opened his eyes, meeting the dark silhouette of someone turning to look at him.

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