Chapter 13

Chapter 13

While he talked about running away, Zhu Qinghou had no intention of running away right away. He intended to wait a while longer—not only for Zhu Xueting to contact his family but also to see where Li Zhen stood.

Lou Changqing had been promoted and left to take up his new post, while the remaining Zhu family protégés had barely managed to stabilize their positions in Yongzhou. He didn’t know when these people would come in handy, but he couldn’t simply wait idly for them without taking any action himself.

“Xian Pu,” Zhu Qinghou made a point of walking over to the outer hall where Li Zhen was staying, finally catching him as he returned late. “I want to enter your study.”

This was an audacious request, bordering on reckless.

Prince Su’s study was the most heavily guarded place in the entire residence. Imperial edicts and the estate’s scrolls and documents were all kept there.

The attendant following behind Li Zhen nearly doubted his own ears, lowering his head and not daring to listen further.

Nearby, Uncle Cui’s lips twitched slightly, as if shocked that Zhu Qinghou would dare to make such a demand.

Just a few days earlier, he had been punished by His Highness because Zhu Xueting had been found near the study. Recalling that punishment, Uncle Cui felt a complex mix of emotions. Somehow, it didn’t seem like His Highness was punishing Zhu Qinghou—more like Zhu Qinghou was toying with His Highness.

Li Zhen said nothing. Supporting himself with his dark, cold cane, he walked past Zhu Qinghou, clearly ignoring him.

Zhu Qinghou grew annoyed. In the past, he could even enter the Emperor’s hall. What was so special about a mere prince’s study?

“What if I insist on going?” Zhu Qinghou blocked Li Zhen’s path, one hand gripping his cane to stop him from going forward.

“If I don’t allow it, what can you do?” Li Zhen finally spoke, his tone flat, as if curious to see what tricks Zhu Qinghou might try.

“Then I’ll leave. I’ll go far away from you,” Zhu Qinghou said casually, offhandedly, as if merely mentioning it in passing.

Li Zhen halted, his brow lowering slightly, as if “looking” at him through the white silk blindfold, a faint, enigmatic smile on his lips. “The Child Gu is still inside you. How will you leave? By dying?”

His tone was calm and indifferent, yet the words carried a subtle, sinister undertone.

As soon as he spoke, everyone present fell silent. Even the usually impassive Uncle Cui frowned, his gaze toward Zhu Qinghou holding a warning, as if urging him not to court death any further.

If he continued, he might truly die.

The atmosphere grew tense, like a tightly drawn bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.

Zhu Qinghou suddenly laughed, a soft, light sound. He still held Li Zhen’s cane, not letting go, with a hint of unwavering determination. His voice remained soft. “Alright then, I’ll go. And die.”

It sounded like a joke, yet also like he meant it.

Li Zhen stood still, silent, calmly facing him in a standoff. After a moment, he pried Zhu Qinghou’s fingers off one by one, leaned on his cane, and walked forward.

Zhu Qinghou turned, watching Li Zhen walk away, the smile still on his face. He raised an eyebrow slightly—he didn’t believe Li Zhen would be willing to let him die.

Li Zhen also didn’t believe Zhu Qinghou was willing to die.

How could someone so enamored with wealth and glory be willing to throw away his own life?

Uncle Cui, who had witnessed everything, thought the same. Zhu Qinghou—young, reckless, charming, and refined—how could he be willing to die? How could he use his own life to threaten His Highness? Even if he were willing, would His Highness ever yield?

In the following days, everything seemed to proceed as usual.

After uttering those words, Zhu Qinghou showed no signs of seeking death. He slept soundly as always, and upon waking, picked up a brush to paint turtles, stroke by stroke, practicing writing clumsily with his injured hands.

“I’ve contacted them. When do we leave?” Zhu Xueting gestured with his hands, mimicking Zhu Qinghou’s earlier gesture for “leave” by using two fingers to mimic a little walking figure.

“Anytime,” Zhu Qinghou replied lightly, without a trace of the tension one might expect from an escape. It was as if they weren’t planning to flee under cover of night but were simply going out for a leisurely ride on a whim.

Zhu Xueting looked at him, feeling an inexplicable unease. Prince Su’s residence was heavily guarded—how could they possibly escape easily? If they were caught by Prince Su, he dreaded to think what torment Zhu Qinghou might suffer again.

Recalling that day when Prince Su forced Zhu Qinghou to drink the Gu, he had been powerless, restrained, forced to watch helplessly.

At the thought, Zhu Xueting wished he could climb high, high enough to reach a position where he could oppose Prince Su and protect the vulnerable, easily bullied Zhu Qinghou.

Seeing Zhu Xueting’s somewhat grave expression, Zhu Qinghou couldn’t help but wonder—what was Zhu Xueting thinking now?

Perhaps men of letters were all this sentimental.

Zhu Qinghou patted Zhu Xueting’s shoulder, as if to say he understood.

Zhu Xueting stiffened again, as if remembering something. He pointed to Zhu Qinghou’s chest and mouthed a word: “Gu.”

He feared the Gu might truly harm Zhu Qinghou’s life, just as Li Zhen had said.

Zhu Qinghou followed his gesture, looking down at his own chest, utterly unconcerned. “This? It’s nothing serious,” he casually reassured Zhu Xueting. “It doesn’t hurt now.” If it hurts later, he’d deal with it then.

This indifferent attitude only made Zhu Xueting’s heart ache more. How much suffering and hardship had Zhu Qinghou endured in the imperial prison to become so detached, so indifferent to everything?

Zhu Qinghou found himself increasingly unable to read Zhu Xueting’s expressions—sometimes sorrowful and indignant, sometimes sympathetic, sometimes resolute.

Who was Zhu Xueting sympathizing with?

Surely it couldn’t be him?

The opportunity for escape came late one night.

Zhu Xueting had somehow managed to contact his family, arranging a meeting point and planning to flee at the hour of Zi.

When the hour of Zi arrived,

Zhu Qinghou quietly got out of bed. His body was weak and prone to fatigue, so to avoid sleeping through until dawn, he hadn’t slept at all.

He hastily threw on an outer robe and, to avoid making noise, didn’t even wear shoes, walking out barefoot.

The outer hall where Li Zhen stayed had long been dark—or rather, that hall never had any lights lit.

Unable to judge whether Li Zhen was asleep by the presence of candlelight, Zhu Qinghou simply didn’t bother. Moving quietly and stealthily, he skirted around the outer hall.

He had checked—at this hour, the royal soldiers on duty outside would change shifts. Seizing the moment during the shift change, Zhu Qinghou hurried outward.

In the darkness, Zhu Xueting was already waiting in a shadowy corner. Seeing that Zhu Qinghou wasn’t wearing an outer robe, he quickly took off his own and offered it to him.

Zhu Qinghou didn’t take the robe. Zhu Xueting paused, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

“What are you standing there for?” Zhu Qinghou whispered, gesturing for Zhu Xueting to drape the robe over him. Zhu Xueting was taken aback, then flattered, carefully placing the robe over Zhu Qinghou’s shoulders.

Zhu Qinghou was accustomed to being attended to and saw nothing unusual about it.

The two of them quietly made their way along a deserted path. For some reason, perhaps due to luck, they didn’t encounter any patrolling royal soldiers along the way.

At first, it was uneventful. But as they walked farther, Zhu Qinghou began to feel a tugging sensation in his heart, as if a thin thread were pulling him back, preventing him from continuing outward. The pain, impossible to ignore, grew increasingly intense.

He paid it no mind and kept walking forward. The invisible thread pulled tighter and tighter, straining, as if on the verge of snapping.

The side gate leading out of the residence was just ahead.

Zhu Qinghou walked in front, signaling for Zhu Xueting to hide. His fingertips touched the vermilion door, and he reached out to push it open.

With a creak, the vermilion gate slowly swung open, revealing the dark, gloomy long street outside. Everything had gone more smoothly than he'd expected.

He stepped through the side gate and turned to gesture for Zhu Xueting to follow. Zhu Xueting hurried forward, stepping out of Prince Su's residence. Gazing at the empty, deserted long street outside, he couldn't believe it had gone off without a hitch.

"Wait a little longer, and someone will arrive to extract us," Zhu Qinghou said slowly, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.

The two of them hid in a corner, shrouded in complete darkness.

Zhu Xueting noticed that Zhu Qinghou's face was ghostly pale—from his brow to his lips and cheeks, all was ashen, save for a faint tinge of color on his lips.

That hint of red was vivid, as if it might overflow at any moment.

It was blood.

Zhu Xueting felt as if a sudden explosion went off in his head, his mind buzzing. Carefully, he reached out, trying to embrace the purple-clad figure.

Zhu Qinghou allowed himself to be held, curling his lips slightly without speaking, and made a gesture—a little walking motion with his fingers.

In the boundless silence, the urgent sound of wheels suddenly rang out, rolling over the white stone slabs, rapidly approaching.

—Their contact was here.

At the same time.

Lights began to flicker on in Prince Su's residence, one lamp after another, from far to near, spreading closer and closer until they lit up the swaying tree shadows outside the side gate.

The side gate of Prince Su's residence slowly opened, and heavy, uniform footsteps echoed from all directions along the long street. Zhu Qinghou pushed Zhu Xueting away, his voice weak: "Go. Now."

Zhu Xueting didn't move, holding him as if cradling a handful of snow, his youthful, still-soft features calm.

In that moment, his expression called to mind a young Li Zhen—kneeling stubbornly and silently before Consort Cui's hall in the freezing snow, refusing to renounce him.

Zhu Qinghou heard his own heart beating, each thump louder than the last. He sighed softly, "If you keep being this stubborn, we'll both end up dead." Using some strength, he pushed Zhu Xueting away again. "Go. Now."

"Go where?"

Li Zhen's indifferent, calm voice suddenly rang out.

Zhu Qinghou looked up.

A long street, a carriage, a dark tide of royal soldiers standing like a forest, and among them, the young Prince, his eyes covered with a white silk blindfold, holding a long staff.

…They had been discovered.

From the very beginning, they had been discovered.

With death upon them, Zhu Xueting grew even calmer, stubbornly holding Zhu Qinghou in his arms. He even lowered his head to straighten his outer robe for him.

It was plain and coarse—the outer robe of a palace servant. Yet draped over Zhu Qinghou, it seemed to transform into brocade and silk, shimmering with light.

In response to Li Zhen's calm questioning, Zhu Qinghou took a long while to answer, his voice weak but his tone still lazy: "Didn't you tell me to go and die?"

He had listened to Li Zhen's words—why was Li Zhen blaming him now?

"Are you threatening me?" Li Zhen laughed instead of growing angry. "Take him to the Jun Terrace."

For a moment, the royal soldiers hesitated.

Who did "him" refer to—Zhu Qinghou, or the young servant holding him? They couldn't figure it out and dared not act rashly.

Logically, shouldn't it have been "them"?

Zhu Xueting slowly stood up. He knew who Li Zhen meant. If this could save Zhu Qinghou's life, it was exactly what he wanted.

Author's Note:

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