Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Zhu Qinghou was startled, not expecting Li Zhen to have heard him. "You must have misheard," he said, his tone gentle and helpless, as if wrongfully accused for no reason. "How could I ever curse you?"

Fortunately, Li Zhen did not press further. He reached out again, his fingers feeling through the air a few times before lightly brushing over Zhu Qinghou's face.

Without sight, only touch and hearing remained, forming a vivid Zhu Qinghou.

Zhu Qinghou gradually grew accustomed to the other's touch. Li Zhen's hands were beautiful—slender-boned, evenly proportioned, and distinct. It was just the way he moved that Zhu Qinghou didn't quite like. Rather than a caress, it felt more like an exploration and confirmation. His palm covered Zhu Qinghou's face, fingertips tracing his features, pressing down on his eyeballs through the eyelids from top to bottom.

—He was "looking" at him in this way.

It felt like silent control.

Zhu Qinghou's chest rose and fell, his heart pounding. Inexplicably, he felt tense. The impression Li Zhen gave him was truly peculiar.

It seemed Prince Su's residence was not a place to stay for long.

With Li Zhen's tacit permission, Zhu Xueting ultimately stayed.

A youth of twenty, timid and fearful, he used his bangs to cover the tattoo on his forehead. He followed Zhu Qinghou, always walking half a step behind, never uttering a word.

Zhu Qinghou noticed something was off. Handing the prepared pear soup to Zhu Xueting, he asked casually, "Will you ever get your voice back?"

Zhu Xueting's hand holding the cup stiffened. He shook his head and silently mouthed, "I don't know."

People can lose their voice from extreme terror. Zhu Xueting had witnessed torture in the imperial interrogation prison, terrified into silence. Only after leaving did he realize he could no longer speak.

Zhu Qinghou didn't ask for the reason, but he could more or less guess. He gave Zhu Xueting's shoulder a pat and, as if recalling something, said with certainty, "Don't worry, I'm sure it will recover. Drink more of the soup."

Zhu Xueting held the pear soup, looked at his reflection in the cup, and nodded.

After finishing the soup, he hesitated for a moment, then gestured: Let's run away, far away, don't stay in Prince Su's residence.

Watching his gestures, Zhu Qinghou remembered that year at the Orchid Pavilion, the young man of refined bearing and literary quality composing a five-character quatrain, describing the suffering of the common people, which captivated the entire hall and also earned his family a place as a branch of the Zhu clan.

The young man's refined spirit, fame, and fortune: all scattered with the fall of the Zhu clan.

"Alright," Zhu Qinghou nodded. "If there's a chance, we'll escape."

Zhu Xueting finally showed a slight smile, as if seeing a glimmer of hope.

Zhu Qinghou looked at the light snow outside, recalling that poem about snow, remembering four lines—"All say it's an auspicious sign for a bountiful year, / But what of the bountiful year's affairs? / In Chang'an, there are the poor; / For an auspicious sign, it should not be too much."①

Beside him, Zhu Xueting was also reminiscing about this quatrain. Back then, when he composed the poem at the Orchid Pavilion, the hall was filled with powerful nobles from the capital, Yejing. After everyone heard this poem satirizing the powerful, a moment of silence fell over the hall. It was Zhu Qinghou who first applauded him. That scene was still vivid in his memory—

The young man in purple sitting at the head of the table stood up with a smile, unfastened his ornaments of gold and white jade, and casually tossed them onto the table. "I don't have your literary talent, so I can only shed these symbols of worldly wealth to add a few winter garments for the common people."

As soon as he spoke, the others immediately scrambled to remove their colorful ornaments and rare treasures, until the long table glittered with treasure in an instant.

After that day, he became famous throughout Yejing because of this poem and, as a result, fulfilled his family's wish to climb the social ladder, changing their status for them.

The more grateful his family was to him back then, the more they hated him now.

"Xueting," Zhu Qinghou's voice pulled him back from his thoughts. "Go build a snowman for me to play with."

Zhu Xueting was taken aback but complied, going to the courtyard to build a snowman. The frontier snow melted slowly, piled on the ground like salt grains, thick and white like a layer of bedding.

Zhu Qinghou wasn't idle either, joining him in playing with the snow. Seeing the gloom between Zhu Xueting's brows gradually dissipate, Zhu Qinghou smiled and said, "Someone as good-looking as you should smile more."

If such words came from anyone else, they might carry a hint of undue familiarity. Yet, coming from Zhu Qinghou, they sounded casual and natural.

Zhu Xueting averted his gaze, not wanting Zhu Qinghou to see the tattoo on his forehead. Unlike the brand between Zhu Qinghou's brows, his was a tattoo, relatively lighter. The ink would gradually fade over time.

Even so, he felt somewhat embarrassed, especially unwilling to let Zhu Qinghou see it.

The snowman built in the courtyard gradually melted.

Li Zhen had been returning later and later these past few days, the scent of blood clinging to him growing stronger. He was likely busy with this season's taxes in Yongzhou.

Zhu Qinghou simply pretended not to notice. After all, Li Zhen wouldn't kill him and didn't want him involved anyway. He was happy to enjoy the idleness.

Amid the calm yet eerie atmosphere of Prince Su's residence, trouble erupted.

At breakfast time, Li Zhen had already left. Zhu Qinghou was standing in the corridor watching the snow.

At this hour, Zhu Xueting should have been up long ago, but today, for some reason, he hadn't appeared. Zhu Qinghou seemed to sense something and looked toward the royal soldiers on duty.

The soldiers were surreptitiously watching him, their gazes carrying more vigilance and suspicion than before, as if he had done something shameful.

Zhu Qinghou was lost in thought. He stood up and walked toward them. "Where is Uncle Cui?" he asked with a smile. "I'd like to see him."

Uncle Cui would surely know where Zhu Xueting was.

However, the entire morning passed without anyone appearing. No matter how Zhu Qinghou tried to probe indirectly, he couldn't get a single word out of them.

He waited until noon when Li Zhen returned, bringing with him Zhu Xueting, who was being escorted by guards.

"Zhu Qinghou," Li Zhen's tone was calm, getting straight to the point. "Was it you who sent him to steal scrolls from my study?"

All the documents Li Zhen kept in the inner hall were written in a tactile script. Unless translated by a specialist, ordinary people couldn't understand them. Only the documents in the front courtyard study were written in regular characters.

Before dawn today, the royal soldiers caught Zhu Xueting lurking suspiciously outside the study and immediately detained him, awaiting the prince's return to the residence for judgment.

Zhu Qinghou turned his head to look at Zhu Xueting. The latter's face was pale as he knelt on the ground, vigorously shaking his head, desperately trying to explain with his voiceless throat. If one looked closely, he was mouthing: No one ordered him; he acted entirely on his own.

They could kill him, carve him up—in short, it had nothing to do with anyone else.

He looked away, unable to bear the sight of Zhu Xueting's desperate struggle. Zhu Qinghou nodded lightly. He looked directly at Li Zhen and softly admitted, "I forced him."

Hearing this admission, Li Zhen instead became unusually calm. "So you're that eager to know about Yongzhou's taxes?"

"Yes," Zhu Qinghou stood up and walked straight up to Li Zhen. "I really want to know. I want to know how much extra tax the court levied using the Zhu clan's embezzlement as an excuse. I want to know how much pressure Yongzhou is bearing." He paused, lightly tapping Li Zhen's chest. "I also want to know how many people you've killed these past few days."

Yongzhou was located at the border, encircled by endless yellow sands. In spring, sand filled the sky; in winter, snow sealed the rivers. Before entering the city, he had already observed this important stronghold—no land suitable for farming, a shortage of drinkable water, only towering giant rocks standing firm in the perpetual ice and snow.

Where did the livestock, furs, silver, and gold demanded by the court come from?

Of course, they came from people.

The common people, or the officials.

If you didn't want to target the common people, you had to target the officials.

That was why Zhu Qinghou asked how many people Li Zhen had killed these past few days.

The surroundings fell into dead silence, as if no one had expected Zhu Qinghou to be so bold. Li Zhen remained silent for a moment, then abruptly changed the subject to Zhu Xueting. "He was instigated by someone to frame you. Didn't you know?"

At these words, Zhu Xueting's stiffened back trembled. He lowered his head, not daring to look at Zhu Qinghou again.

The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Zhu Qinghou gave a light laugh, letting the matter drop. "Who hasn't been forced by circumstances?" he said, taking Li Zhen's hand in his own. The other's fingertips were icy cold, a chill that made him shiver. "Xian Pu, give me a chance to stand by your side, alright?"

As the son of a treacherous official and descendant of a convicted minister, his meddling in the affairs of the fiefdom would undoubtedly invite immense resistance and disdain.

Standing behind Li Zhen, Uncle Cui felt a complex mix of emotions. Zhu Qinghou could have done nothing at all, staying hidden in Prince Su's residence, relying on that pitiful childhood bond, waiting for His Highness to resolve the tax increase issue. At the very least, he could have lived a little longer.

But he had chosen to involve himself.

"Uncle Cui," Zhu Qinghou glanced sideways at him, "Xue Ting has had a fright. I hope you'll take good care of him." His tone was calm and familiar, as if Uncle Cui were his servant, not Li Zhen's.

Li Zhen's slender fingers slowly tightened, gripping Zhu Qinghou's hand in return. "...Why should I trust you?"

Zhu Qinghou didn't flinch. He leaned in, his warm breath gently brushing against the young Feudal Prince's neck. "Because my life is in your hands," he whispered, with their cheeks close, almost brushing. "My life, my sister's life, and the lives of the entire Zhu clan—all are in your hands."

Riches and honor, gold and jade—Zhu Qinghou had been born with countless treasures. He could toss them aside casually, discard them easily. Only his life was something he could not lightly throw away.

He valued his own skin above everything.

Looking out for number one was his instinct.

In the overwhelming darkness, Li Zhen clenched his fingertips, slowly playing with them. The fingers were slender, with a delicate, bony elegance, raised on gold and jade since childhood, yet now marked by traces of hardship, the pads even grown somewhat rough.

"Have someone bring the medicine."

Li Zhen said flatly.

Zhu Qinghou froze, inexplicably afraid. His intuition told him this medicine meant no good.

"There is a type of Gu Worm in the borderlands. I went through great hardship to find it," Li Zhen said calmly, as if telling an unrelated story. "The Child Gu cannot stray far from the Mother Gu. The farther it goes, the more it suffers heart-devouring pain until it dies a violent death. If the Mother Gu dies, the Child Gu dies as well."

He softened his voice, asking gently, "Xiao Yu, I sought this out especially for you. Do you like it?"

Such a calm, gentle tone sent a chill down Zhu Qinghou's spine. He stared at the dark decoction before him and said nothing.

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