Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Zhu Qinghou sat in the study for quite a while, picking through the tightly wrapped scrolls and brusquely ordering Li Zhen to open and read them aloud to him.

Li Zhen had already read one volume earlier and did not continue. He said calmly, "Zhu Qinghou, just because I don't kill you doesn't mean I am powerless."

Making someone not even dare to seek death was not a difficult task for him.

Hearing his tone, Zhu Qinghou knew he was serious and immediately became sensible, playing nice and ingratiating himself. He said lazily, "Xian Pu, fine, don't read if you won't. No need to frighten me."

Over these days, he had gradually learned a few ways to deal with Li Zhen—treating him like a cat, gently teasing him. If teased too much, the other would bristle; then it was time to smooth his fur and tease him again after a while.

Faced with his flattery, Li Zhen only sneered coldly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Zhu Qinghou was used to his contrary nature and wasn't fazed by his icy look. He leaned over, took the scroll from Li Zhen's hand, and curiously stroked it, imitating Li Zhen's manner.

Li Zhen let him take it without a word.

Zhu Qinghou ran his fingers over the entire scroll but couldn't recognize a single character. Unfazed, he said, "Xian Pu, teach me. I want to learn too."

Identifying characters by their needle-prick patterns was a method Li Zhen had invented over the past four years. For those with good eyesight, learning this was useless.

He had to admire that Zhu Qinghou, in order to read the scrolls in his study, was willing to go to such lengths.

Seeing the other remain silent, Zhu Qinghou prattled on by himself, "Xian Pu, if I learn this, I can write letters to you in the future. Only we would be able to understand them."

...Letters?

Li Zhen's voice was cold. "Say it to my face if you have something to say."

His stubbornness only fueled Zhu Qinghou's mischievous thoughts. He tugged at the white silk blindfold covering Li Zhen's eyes and swayed it. "Teach me, won't you? Back in the imperial academy, didn't you also..."

When Zhu Qinghou was five years old, by the emperor's grace, he entered the imperial academy. Li Zhen, two years older, had just turned seven.

Among the young imperial relatives, Zhu Qinghou was the center of attention. He was beautiful, lively in temperament, capable of infuriating tutors to the point of puffing their beards and mustaches, and equally adept at sneaking around with chickens, fighting dogs, and racing crickets.

Since childhood, people around him loved to stare at him, one after another, like wooden dummies.

Among them, only Li Zhen paid him no attention, holding a book, sitting upright and proper, his clothes without a single crease, neat and solemn, like a miniature version of a rigid tutor.

He stood out like a sore thumb.

If he got one reply for every ten things he said to Li Zhen, it was already extremely special, so Zhu Qinghou disliked him the most.

Yet the tutor placed him next to Li Zhen—on one side was the window, on the other was Li Zhen. Neither was someone he could talk to, and Zhu Qinghou was bored to death, so he could only speak to the sparrows outside the window.

He would say something, and the sparrow would chirp in response.

As he was chattering, he suddenly heard the heavy sound of a paperweight slamming onto the desk, startling him. Turning around, he saw the tutor's livid face, demanding he stand up and answer a difficult question.

Little Zhu Qinghou felt somewhat guilty. He slowly stood up and was about to talk nonsense.

Suddenly, the voice of young Li Zhen rang out, calm as water, answering the difficult question for him.

From then on, his opinion of Li Zhen changed greatly. He seemed quiet and unassuming, yet unexpectedly chivalrous.

After that, Li Zhen became his little tutor, occasionally guiding him in his studies...

"...Back then?" Li Zhen's calm, chilly voice sounded by his ear, his tone inscrutable. It was unclear what he thought of the "back then" Zhu Qinghou mentioned.

Zhu Qinghou sensed a hint of danger in his words but paid it no mind, boasting boldly, "Even if you don't teach me, I have a way to learn it myself."

Li Zhen didn't respond. His fingertips touched the desk, paused slightly, then landed on the documents. He casually pushed the documents over and said succinctly, "Learn."

Zhu Qinghou raised an eyebrow, spreading out the two documents and seizing the opportunity to bargain, "If I can recognize three characters, what will you do then?"

These needle pricks all looked similar, just the difference between one hole and two holes. Recognizing three characters would already count as quite impressive for him.

"Ten," Li Zhen said calmly.

He wanted Zhu Qinghou to recognize ten characters before bargaining with him.

Zhu Qinghou pouted and fell silent, staring blankly at the scrolls and silk documents covered in needle holes.

The chatterbox beside him suddenly quieted down, and the study returned to its usual hush, which felt somewhat unfamiliar instead.

Li Zhen picked up a scroll, lowered his head, and quietly stroked it, reading the text formed by needle holes in the silent darkness.

"Xian Pu,"

Zhu Qinghou, who had been quiet for a while, started chattering again, "I already know ten characters! Come and listen quickly."

Such obscure, rigid text—how could it be learned in such a short time?

Li Zhen turned his head toward Zhu Qinghou, waiting calmly for him to continue.

Zhu Qinghou, caught up in the excitement of something new, pointed to a character on the scroll and began explaining enthusiastically.

Halfway through, he suddenly remembered that Li Zhen didn't know which character he was pointing to. He quickly grabbed Li Zhen's fingertip and pressed it onto the character, repeating his explanation, then asked, "Am I right?"

Li Zhen didn't speak.

No need to ask—he must have been correct.

Zhu Qinghou raised the corners of his lips, smiling with a hint of smug satisfaction.

Li Zhen spoke, his voice cool and clear, "One."

After saying so much, he had only guessed one correctly?

The smile on Zhu Qinghou's face froze. Unwilling to give up, he randomly guessed and made things up based on the documents Li Zhen had just explained to him.

He had almost guessed through both scrolls. Zhu Qinghou talked until his mouth was dry and, clinging to his last hope, asked, "Have I reached ten yet?"

But then he heard Li Zhen, who had been listening quietly all along, say, "Nine."

Zhu Qinghou: "..."

Nine?

That's one less than ten.

He tried to act shamelessly, "Just one short. Teach me, won't you? If it really doesn't work, teach me ninety percent, and I'll figure out the remaining ten percent myself."

"No," Li Zhen refused him flatly.

Zhu Qinghou grew angry. His innate pride wouldn't allow him to beg Li Zhen humbly again. He slapped the desk, suddenly stood up, and strode out of the study. The people behind him exchanged bewildered glances. Li Zhen, leaning on his cane, caught up and said, "Xiao Yu, I was wrong. I'll teach you."

Snapping back to reality from his imagination, Zhu Qinghou looked at Li Zhen's expressionless profile and chose to resign himself to fate. "Xian Pu," he drawled, stretching out the end of his tone, and waved his hand in front of Li Zhen's face. "Teach me a few characters, won't you? Just a few."

Li Zhen remained unmoved, withdrawing his fingertip from Zhu Qinghou’s grasp and saying calmly, “Go back.”

At these words, the black-clad Wang Zu (royal guards) standing guard outside the study turned and gestured for Zhu Qinghou to leave.

The meaning was unmistakable—he was being asked to leave the study.

Zhu Qinghou glanced at them but stood firm, wrapping his arms around Li Zhen’s arm and tugging at the hem of his robe as if trying to hang himself entirely on Li Zhen.

“I’m not leaving. I’ll stay here and have lunch with you,” Zhu Qinghou declared with righteous confidence.

Hearing this, the expressionless guard’s mouth twitched.

Was this His Highness’s study or Zhu Qinghou’s personal dining hall?

Breakfast, lunch, dinner—so he just comes here for all his meals?

Li Zhen reached out, unhurriedly peeling Zhu Qinghou's fingers off, and repeated, “Go back.”

Just two words, calm and gentle, yet carrying an indescribable sense of pressure.

“I listen to you, but do you ever listen to *me*?” Zhu Qinghou muttered under his breath, reluctantly standing up. After all, Li Zhen had said “forever.” If it didn’t work this time, he could always try again later.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded in the distance.

Li Zhen slowly gathered the two scrolls Zhu Qinghou had spread open, rolling them up and putting them away. His movements suddenly paused as he pulled out a sealed scroll from the pile of documents on the desk—it had originally been sealed but now showed signs of having been opened.

He opened the scroll, rubbing it with his fingertips. It was a dispatch from Sizhou, stating that the grain transport ships would arrive in a few days.

There was nothing unusual compared to previous years—neither the manpower for transport nor the quantity of grain seemed out of the ordinary.

So why had Zhu Qinghou specifically opened this scroll?

Li Zhen’s fingertips lingered on the scroll as he fell silent.

The cool, sparse breeze in the study stirred the wind-blown curtains, dusted with a thin layer of frost, sending a flurry of frost flakes drifting down.

The icicles under the eaves had completely melted, and a piece drifted down and was caught in a hand. Zhu Qinghou lowered his gaze, watching the thin ice shard in his palm, and blew on it.

The ice shard fluttered lightly into the air. He stared blankly at the drifting white fragment.

Yejing, Yongzhou, Sizhou—names flashed through Zhu Qinghou’s mind. Since the Zhu family’s incident last October, he had lost contact with the Feng family.

He had no idea how the Feng family now viewed him, the fallen descendant of a disgraced official.

Nor did he know whether the Feng family, upon hearing of his escape and recapture, would come to his rescue.

Zhu Qinghou couldn’t be bothered to dwell on things beyond his control. He turned and returned to the hall, sitting at the desk with his eyes closed, recalling the needle-pricked impressions.

They all felt the same to his touch—what pattern could there be?

He casually untied the purple silk ribbon binding his hair and used it to blindfold himself. His fingertips traced the blank silk scroll, imagining the impressions on it.

Li Zhen had said he’d only guessed ten characters correctly.

Now he could only try to discern a pattern from those ten characters.

It was rare for Zhu Qinghou to be so diligent, straining to recall in the hazy darkness.

Outside the hall, the hidden guard stationed beneath the window watched as the purple-robed young man closed his eyes, blindfolded himself, and traced the snow-white silk scroll with his fingertips. The series of actions seemed as if he were in a trance, exuding an inexplicable air of profundity.

...What was he doing?

His Highness had said every move this person made must be reported to him. Such peculiar behavior had to be recorded and reported.

The hidden guard took out a small notebook, solemnly jotting it down.

Unaware, Zhu Qinghou continued tracing with his eyes closed. He vaguely sensed a pattern and picked up a brush, attempting to write a letter with a wolf-hair brush concealing a needle.

Xian Pu, I hope this letter finds you well.

It’s lunchtime now, and I’d like to eat...

Asking Li Zhen directly for advice might not work, but if he wrote a letter requesting food, surely he wouldn’t be so stingy.

Zhu Qinghou marveled at his own exceptional cleverness. Satisfied, he put down the brush and called out toward the window, “I want to send a letter to your Highness.”

The hidden guard, who had been diligently recording Zhu Qinghou’s strange behavior in his notebook, nearly fell off the roof. So all those peculiar actions were just to write a letter to His Highness?

They were under the same roof—why write a letter at all?