Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"What are you gawking at?" Zhu Qinghou sat on the ground, still draped in Zhu Xueting's outer robe, glancing at the dumbstruck figure in the carriage. "He's the one you're looking for."

A soft *thud.*

The driver snapped out of his daze, scrambling down from the carriage to bow respectfully to Li Zhen. He glanced at Zhu Qinghou, then at Zhu Xueting, and cautiously spoke: "Your Highness, this humble official is under orders to find the poet who composed the 'Light Ode.' I must beg Your Highness's indulgence."

The anonymous "Light Ode" had spread throughout the Jin Dynasty, and many nobles fond of refined discourse were eager to see the poet's true face.

He was a government official, dispatched by his superiors to find the poet. A few days prior, he received word that the poet would reveal himself, meeting outside Prince Su's residence at midnight.

Who could have imagined stumbling upon such a dramatic scene upon arrival?

Zhu Xueting, who had been walking toward the royal soldiers expecting certain death, froze. He hadn't expected that the person Zhu Qinghou said was coming to meet them was specifically here to protect *him*.

So, Zhu Qinghou had already planned a way out for him.

The thought struck him, sending a chill through his entire body. But what about Zhu Qinghou? Prince Su was so enraged; what if he took Zhu Qinghou back to the residence to torture him in secret...

Zhu Xueting stopped in his tracks. He pointed at Zhu Qinghou, then at himself, his expression resolute. The meaning was unmistakable: if Zhu Qinghou didn't leave, neither would he.

Hearing this, the official looked troubled. Zhu Qinghou's face, the dazzling purple robe beneath the coarse outer garment, and the crimson brand between his brows—even if he had never seen him before, he could recognize him at a glance.

The "little sycophant" whom the current Son of Heaven had definitively declared "like father, like son," Prince Su's lifelong archenemy whom he hated most—even with ten heads, he wouldn't dare suggest taking Zhu Qinghou away in front of Prince Su.

The situation reached an impasse, the three parties falling silent.

Zhu Qinghou, sitting on the ground wrapped in the robe, let out a soft sigh and whispered, "Xueting, be obedient." He disliked disobedient people. Xueting seemed sensitive and reserved, yet his bones were so stubborn. In this situation, he still couldn't see clearly, acting like they were in this together, for life or death.

This temperament was exactly like Li Zhen's in his youth.

The one who said he wanted to escape was him, and the one dragging his feet, refusing to leave, was also him. So troublesome.

Zhu Xueting's eyes gradually reddened. He only hated his own incompetence, his inability to take Zhu Qinghou away.

The minor official witnessing everything dared not even breathe loudly. Why did he feel these two were truly like a pair of star-crossed lovers, with Prince Su playing the villain who breaks them up in the dead of night?

Beside them, Prince Su listened in silence.

The "Light Ode" composed by Zhu Xueting praised the Son of Heaven. With an official present, if he moved against Zhu Xueting, rumors would spread instantly, and even Emperor Jinshun far away in Yejing would grow suspicious.

Indeed, Zhu Qinghou had always been clever. When he wanted to protect someone, he had never failed.

Li Zhen suddenly let out a low laugh. Leaning on his cane, he took half a step back, allowing Zhu Xueting to leave with the official. Zhu Xueting slowly boarded the carriage, unable to stop himself from looking back at Zhu Qinghou.

Zhu Xueting wanted to gesture to him but feared the distance was too great for Zhu Qinghou to see. His lips moved, and his broken voice, silent for half a year, finally made a sound: "...I'll come back to save you."

The voice was dry, hoarse, yet each word was clear.

Zhu Qinghou was somewhat surprised. He hadn't expected Zhu Xueting's voice to return at such a time. Regardless, it was a good thing. Before he could utter a few words of congratulations, the driving official fiercely cracked his whip, and the carriage sped away as if fleeing for its life, fearing that if they delayed another half moment, Prince Su would detain them as well.

The wall formed by the royal soldiers opened a brief gap. The carriage swiftly passed through, cutting through the thin snow, growing farther and farther away until it soon disappeared at the end of the long street.

The dark wall closed once more.

A deathly silence fell once more.

The surrounding flickering candlelight illuminated Zhu Qinghou's pale features, snow-white face, and dark hair hastily tied with purple silk, somewhat disheveled, falling like mist.

He was surrounded impenetrably at the epicenter, alone, with no escape.

"You planned a way out for him," Li Zhen finally spoke after a long silence, his tone utterly calm, tinged with coldness. "Why didn't you plan one for yourself?"

Under the watchful eyes of all, Zhu Qinghou slowly stood up. Sitting on the ground was too cold. He tightened the outer robe, involuntarily shivering. His qi and blood churned; he instinctively covered his mouth with his hand, saying nothing.

He was rarely this quiet, which made people feel strangely uneasy.

Several royal soldiers stepped forward, controlling him without much effort. They dragged him before His Highness and released him. Zhu Qinghou knelt unsteadily at Li Zhen's feet, hair disheveled, head tilted back. He opened his mouth and laughed.

Immediately, a heavy scent of blood filled the air—metallic, damp, and cloyingly sweet.

Li Zhen's body stiffened. He bent down, groping, and with one hand clasped Zhu Qinghou's jaw, pressing against his soft lips, his hand coming away warm and wet—he was vomiting blood.

"...Do you truly wish to die?" Li Zhen's movements hesitated for an instant. He gave a cold laugh, released Zhu Qinghou's jaw, and with his bloodied hand, supported his waist, gently drawing him into his embrace.

Zhu Qinghou offered no resistance, leaning lazily against his chest, letting go of all strength, almost impudently pressing his entire weight onto Li Zhen. Blood seeped from his throat, making his speech somewhat blurred and gentle: "You told me to go."

It all comes back to you. Who told Li Zhen not to listen to him?

Li Zhen held him, bringing him close to his own heart. He felt the coarse outer robe draped over Zhu Qinghou's shoulders, still carrying the faint scent of ink—the scent belonging to that Zhu Xueting. It smelled inexplicably nauseating.

His brow slightly furrowed. He had someone take his cane, removed his own fox-fur cloak, and firmly wrapped it around Zhu Qinghou, as if intending to bundle him up like a zongzi.

Zhu Qinghou curled up in the fox fur, bare feet slightly swaying beneath the hem of the robe, snow-white, the soles slightly red from the cold.

He was somewhat cold, unconsciously shifting closer into Li Zhen's embrace, tightening the fox fur, lowering his eyelids slightly, drowsy and languid.

From the very beginning, he never truly intended to flee. Run outside to fight wild dogs for scraps? Staying in Prince Su's residence, using Li Zhen, was the only way to mobilize resources to the fullest extent to overturn the case.

He wasn't sure if he could rely on the people from Sizhou. But he could use this escape attempt to test them.

Zhu Qinghou thought idly. The Child Gu acting up in his body made him unable to resist vomiting another mouthful of blood. The fox fur was instantly soaked, and even Li Zhen's lapel was stained with blood.

Li Zhen's fingers holding him stiffened further, tightening slightly, as if wanting to firmly grasp his life, to clutch his entire person in his hand.

"Xian Pu," Zhu Qinghou softened his voice, calling out to him weakly. Li Zhen, unusually quick to respond, replied with an exceptionally cold tone, an aloof, icy brevity: "Don't sleep."

Zhu Qinghou immediately closed his eyes, tilted his head, adjusted to a comfortable sleeping position in his arms, and prepared to fall sound asleep.

The next moment.

He heard Li Zhen's even colder voice above his head: "Tomorrow, I'll let you into the study."

Zhu Qinghou felt somewhat dissatisfied, asking drowsily: "Only tomorrow?"

"Forever."

This time, Li Zhen answered even faster, his steps quickening. Holding the frail youth steadily in one arm and supporting himself with the cane in the other, he strode swiftly toward the inner chambers.

Uncle Cui, guarding the hall, watched as His Highness hurriedly returned holding the blood-vomiting Zhu Qinghou. His expression changed slightly. His Highness was too ruthless, making the man vomit blood right outside the residence.

...Zhu Qinghou was probably utterly finished.

"Then... help me overturn the case,"

The utterly finished Zhu Qinghou pushed his luck. "If you don't help me, I'll sleep." He would sleep right now, sleep to death in Li Zhen's arms, make him regret it bitterly, filled with remorse, heartbroken.

Best of all, in future midnight dreams, Li Zhen would beat his chest, stamp his feet, weep and wail, repenting for treating Zhu Qinghou too harshly. Zhu Qinghou imagined that scene and almost laughed aloud, his chest trembling, rising and falling even more violently.

Li Zhen, sensing the movement, stopped speaking, his muscles tensing, veins bulging at his fingertips as he suppressed the urge to strangle the person in his arms. He strode quickly into the inner chamber, nearly bumping into a screen in his haste. His cane clattered to the floor, yet his arms remained tightly wrapped around Zhu Qinghou.

Zhu Qinghou was about to interrogate him further when he felt Li Zhen suddenly halt. Gently, Li Zhen set him down on a soft bed—the very bed Li Zhen usually slept on, which carried the clean, cold scent of snow.

Without lingering, Li Zhen turned and left as soon as he had placed him down.

He knew Zhu Qinghou was laughing at him inwardly, mocking him as a fool who would give in without limit.

Once Li Zhen was gone and the chamber door closed, the room was plunged back into darkness.

In the pitch black,

Zhu Qinghou let out a soft chuckle, weak yet full of smug satisfaction.

Obviously, Li Zhen couldn't stand the thought of him dying, yet he spent all day threatening and posturing—all bark and no bite. In the end, he still had to give in.

A victorious thrill shot through him, as if he had won a bet, watching his opponent back down. He didn't even feel the pain in his body anymore. Lazily, he stretched out his limbs, tugged Li Zhen’s quilt over himself, and dropped right off to sleep.

He was already looking forward to entering Li Zhen’s study tomorrow, eager to uncover whatever secrets lay hidden within Prince Su’s mansion.

Ideally, he would lounge lazily in a rattan chair, draped in a fox-fur cloak, holding a hand warmer, his feet propped on a footrest, while Li Zhen stood beside him, reading aloud.

Once finished, Li Zhen would ask him on bended knee what to do next, and from then on, everything in Prince Su’s mansion would follow his lead.

At this thought, Zhu Qinghou couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Just beyond the wall, Uncle Cui, who had been about to advise His Highness to treat Zhu Qinghou more gently for the sake of the Twin Hearts bond, found his words dying in his throat.

He stammered to a stop. Truly, this was Zhu Qinghou—even spitting blood, he could still laugh with such delight.

Prince Su stood outside the chamber, silent and still, listening quietly to the laughter inside—joyful yet frail.

“His feet are frostbitten,” he said calmly and indifferently. “Fetch the medicine.”

Uncle Cui instinctively asked, “Should we call a servant to apply it for him?”

In response, Prince Su turned his head slightly, his gaze faint beneath the white silk blindfold.

Uncle Cui fell silent. Could it be that His Highness intended to apply the medicine himself?