Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Zhu Qinghou was utterly exhausted and slept so deeply he lost all sense of time. When he groggily opened his eyes, the chamber doors were tightly shut, and the interior remained pitch black, making it impossible to distinguish day from night.

He sat up. The bloodstains on his undergarments were completely dry, mottled and patchy. The outer robe left by Zhu Xueting was gone—perhaps he had kicked it off somewhere while sleeping. However, Li Zhen’s fox-fur cloak still lay quietly beside him, bearing residual bloodstains.

Zhu Qinghou shook his head. Perhaps because he was on Li Zhen’s bed, surrounded by his scent, the Child Gu inside him had grown much calmer, almost as if… it had vanished.

He pushed aside the bed drapes and got out of bed barefoot, suddenly noticing something strange. It felt as if someone had applied medicine to him.

He sniffed at his sleeve and detected an extremely faint medicinal scent. Someone really had tended to his wounds.

Who?

Li Zhen?

He pictured Li Zhen applying medicine to him in the dark, raised an eyebrow, and couldn’t fathom how those hands that had gripped his neck could have done so.

Zhu Qinghou casually selected one of Li Zhen’s garments to change into, pushed open the chamber doors, and harsh light flooded in. He instinctively squinted. The late afternoon sun hung in the sky—it was already dusk outside.

The royal soldiers guarding the hall were more numerous than usual, packed densely outside, stationed almost every two paces.

Seeing Zhu Qinghou, someone stepped forward to greet him: “Young Master is awake. His Highness requests your presence in the study.”

How thoughtful of him, knowing to send someone to invite him.

Zhu Qinghou slightly lifted his chin and was about to follow when, from a distance, a sedan chair was carried over and placed before him, inviting him to board.

Zhu Qinghou was slightly surprised but paid it no mind. He stepped onto the sedan chair, only to hear the guard say, “His Highness also said you are to blindfold yourself.”

As he spoke, the guard kept his head bowed, not daring to look at Zhu Qinghou. From the corner of his eye, he only saw the snow-white hem of his robe—that was His Highness’s garment.

Anyone serving in the inner hall knew how much His Highness doted on the Zhu family’s treacherous favorite. He had even vacated his own bedchamber for him to sleep in. Last night, when the man ran off with his lover, His Highness angrily brought him back…

Zhu Qinghou nonchalantly untied the purple silk ribbon from his hair to use as a blindfold. “Alright, let’s go.” He rested his cheek on his hand, dozing off on the sedan chair. The chair was remarkably steady, not even a hint of sway.

As a convict, traveling openly by sedan chair didn’t strike him as inappropriate. He lounged lazily against the seat.

A breeze lifted the hem of his robe, the black collar and snow-white fabric swaying with the movement, flamboyant and unbridled. Along the way, no one dared to glance at him.

They arrived at Li Zhen’s study. The sedan chair slowly halted. No one instructed Zhu Qinghou to remove the blindfold, so he did it himself and walked forward.

The guards in the distance saw the slender young man in black-collared, snow-white robes and for a moment thought it was His Highness. Upon closer look, they realized their mistake.

Why was this man wearing their Highness’s clothes?

The usually cold and stern garments, when worn by him, somehow took on a lazy, casual, and rakish air of a carefree youth.

Zhu Qinghou pushed open the study door and leaned lazily against the frame, posture casual, not even standing properly.

The trusted aide standing beside Li Zhen glared with hostility at the snow-white hem of his robe. This man was about to enter the study, likely intending to pry into the manor’s secrets immediately. He had to think of a good way to thwart him.

Under the other’s wary gaze, Zhu Qinghou spoke, his first sentence being: “Xian Pu, I’m hungry.”

The trusted aide: “…”

Couldn’t you have eaten before coming?

Seated in the foremost position, Li Zhen’s fingers, which had been stroking the silk document, paused. He quietly instructed his aide: “Have someone bring in some food.”

Zhu Qinghou walked to Li Zhen’s side, saw there was no other armchair, and tsked. He said to the man, “While you’re at it, have someone bring in another chair.”

The trusted aide remained silent, following Zhu Qinghou’s words to softly relay the order.

Zhu Qinghou sat down beside Li Zhen, reclining in the armchair with his legs crossed. He still felt something wasn't quite right. “Bring a cushion too.”

His Highness said nothing, clearly allowing it. The aide also stayed silent. Moments later, he returned with the food and a cushion.

Zhu Qinghou placed the cushion behind his lower back, casually pushed aside a clear space on the desk, gestured for him to set down the food, and smiled at him.

“You may leave.”

The aide, who had been ordered around, felt his eyebrow twitch. He waited a moment, but when His Highness didn’t speak, he had no choice but to turn and exit the study.

Li Zhen spoke, his tone as still as an ancient well, revealing neither joy nor anger: “You certainly know how to order my people around.”

Zhu Qinghou was taking small, slow sips of the porridge—extremely bland, with little flavor. Looking at the tea, its pale color indicated it was weak and tasteless.

He frowned, too lazy to nitpick, and casually responded to Li Zhen’s remark: “This counts as ordering around?”

Even the master of this manor could be ordered about by him, let alone others.

Li Zhen caught the implication in his words and let out a cold laugh.

There would be no repeat of last night's events. Even if Zhu Qinghou tried to kill himself again, he wouldn’t spare him another glance.

“Help me hold this lid.” Unable to find a place to put it, Zhu Qinghou casually handed the teacup lid to Li Zhen.

Li Zhen, who had been stroking the scrolls, reached out and instinctively took it. Just as he accepted the warm lid, he suddenly realized something. Without a word, he held it in one hand.

Zhu Qinghou ate very slowly, unhurriedly, his movements quiet, almost soundless. As he ate the porridge, he gazed at the piles of scrolls on the desk.

These scrolls were all properly sealed, unopened. The opened ones were all under Li Zhen’s hands, covered in needle-pricked imprints like celestial script, impossible to decipher even half a word.

…What could be done?

He could only have Li Zhen read them to him.

Thinking this, Zhu Qinghou asked just that: “Xian Pu, what are you reading? I want to see too. Read it to me.”

He asked directly, without the slightest hint of subtlety.

The trusted aide guarding the corridor outside the study felt his vision darken instantly. He had been on guard against what sinister and vicious methods Zhu Qinghou might use to deceive His Highness. Who would have thought it would be just this one sentence? Without even thinking, he knew His Highness definitely wouldn’t agree.

Sure enough.

“I read it to you?” Li Zhen’s tone dropped slightly at the end, carrying an elusive chill, as if questioning.

“You read it to me,” Zhu Qinghou nodded, repeating it, then added, “I can’t understand it.” He had finished the bowl of porridge and was slowly sipping the weak tea. Though flavorless, it carried a snow-like coolness down his throat.

His tone was far too matter-of-fact: he couldn’t understand, so Li Zhen should read it to him. To an unknowing listener, it might even sound perfectly reasonable.

Li Zhen said flatly, “What if I refuse?”

If he didn’t agree, what could Zhu Qinghou do? Run away again? Go ahead. Try to die again?

Zhu Qinghou pondered the question and answered honestly: “Then I’ll run away again.”

He had nothing now, down and out, with only his life left, certain that Li Zhen wouldn't let him die.

Li Zhen nearly laughed in exasperation. This gu was originally meant to restrain Zhu Qinghou, yet now it had become a shackle for Li Zhen himself.

The confidant standing in the corridor thought, running away again—what kind of threat was that? His Highness definitely wouldn’t—

But then, the next moment.

Li Zhen’s matter-of-fact voice suddenly began reading aloud from the silk scroll, low and steady, audible only to the person beside him.

As Zhu Qinghou listened, he gestured for the confidant to take away the teacup.

When the confidant entered and saw His Highness reading the documents in a low voice, he couldn’t help feeling somewhat bewildered.

Was His Highness truly the kind of person who cherished others’ lives so dearly? If it were someone else threatening His Highness with their own life… The confidant gave a silent shudder, not daring to think further, and carefully removed the dishes.

Zhu Qinghou leaned against the armchair, watching Li Zhen’s fingers—distinct knuckles, cold and pale as jade—gently tracing the soft silk scroll. It was truly a delight to behold.

The winter tribute from Yongzhou had already concluded, and the officials sent to Yejing for an audience at court would soon return—perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, but certainly within the next few days.

He didn’t care when they returned. After all, could Li Zhen really kill him?

Hadn’t he deceived Li Zhen plenty of times before? One or two more wouldn’t make a difference.

Zhu Qinghou’s thoughts drifted, and before he knew it, Li Zhen had stopped. Zhu Qinghou instinctively asked, “Finished?”

Li Zhen didn’t respond immediately, his tone indifferent. “Xiao Yu, your mind wandered.”

Zhu Qinghou was already accustomed to his sharpness. He leaned over, resting his head on Li Zhen’s shoulder. “What you’re saying isn’t any fun—just buying grain, training soldiers, herding sheep now that spring is here.”

He had no interest in such mundane matters of livelihood; they felt too distant. Instead, he was far more familiar with schemes, deceptions, and intricate plots.

“Fun?” Li Zhen repeated the word, which had sounded so casual in Zhu Qinghou’s mouth, but when spoken by him, carried a solemn, icy weight.

Zhu Qinghou felt an inexplicable flicker of fear. He sat up straight, no longer leaning against Li Zhen, and searched for something to say. “Yongzhou has so many cattle and sheep—what if they get lost?”

“They’re marked. Each one has a mark,” Li Zhen replied, his voice calm and cool.

Mention of marks made Zhu Qinghou lower his head to look at the talisman tag around his neck, engraved on both sides with Li Zhen’s name.

He also recalled Li Zhen once saying he wanted to tattoo him. Zhu Qinghou didn’t press the issue further—he’d already endured branding, so a tattoo didn’t seem like a big deal.

But Li Zhen was blind—what if the tattoo turned out ugly? That would be a problem.

Considering the time, news of his escape and recapture had surely spread by now.

Who knew how far it had reached? Had it made its way to the Feng family in Sizhou…

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in Sizhou.

At the dock, the Huai River surged and rolled, the river breeze gently blowing, rustling the willow branches.

A dark figure on horseback swiftly crossed the plank road. A young man in red, riding an iron-black steed, dismounted and strode forward. Along the way, people continuously joined him, crowding around as he advanced until they reached the large ship piled high with grain.

The group finally stopped, trembling as they looked at the uninvited young general. But the man simply tilted his head back, gazing at the massive ship, and declared:

“This year’s grain shipment to Yongzhou—I’ll deliver it personally.”

Author’s Note:

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New character appears, hehe [throws confetti]