Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The silk letter, its characters pricked out with a needle in a wobbly, uneven hand, was presented before Prince Su.

He reached out, tracing the characters with measured pressure, trying to decipher Zhu Qinghou's writing.

Beside him, his trusted aide held his breath. It was strange indeed—that slave from the Zhu family had only entered the Prince's study once, yet had already learned His Highness's handwriting so quickly?

He was even more curious about what Zhu Qinghou had written. Could it be some unspeakable secret he couldn't voice in person? Or perhaps there was something important he wanted His Highness to do.

Just as the aide's mind raced with a hundred speculations,

Li Zhen suddenly stopped his movements, as if about to give an order.

The aide assumed a solemn expression, ready to go through fire and water—whether it was raiding homes and exterminating clans or sending more death-row prisoners into the Jun Terrace, he was prepared.

"Fish slices, crab, Hu soup, cheese," Li Zhen said calmly.

The aide instinctively took a step forward, ready to immediately investigate these fish slices, crab, Hu soup, and cheese, and lock those corrupt officials into the Jun Terrace—wait, no?

He abruptly halted, turned around, and stared blankly at His Highness. These people... no, these dishes.

Why was His Highness suddenly mentioning a bunch of dish names?

Li Zhen's expression was impassive, his brows and eyes carrying their usual coldness. He lightly tapped the silk letter with those lethal fingertips, as if about to order someone's death the next moment.

But what came out of his mouth was:

"Have these dishes cooked and sent to the inner hall."

The aide: "..."

He was dumbstruck for a second before hurriedly replying, "Yes, Your Highness."

Since the Prince could understand it, presumably Zhu Qinghou's writing wasn't too problematic.

He needed to think carefully.

Think about what to order for dinner.

Zhu Qinghou eagerly picked up his brush, ready to order more dishes.

The royal soldiers tasked with guarding him stared at the silk letter, identical to the one from noon, lost in thought. What on earth had this master ordered this time?

Elsewhere, a pair of hands held a silk letter, carefully counting. "Young General, this year's grain is all accounted for, not a single shortage. It can be sent to Yongzhou's granaries."

Traveling day and night, the grain transport ships arrived in Yongzhou in just three days.

A group of people were at the dock, tallying the grain sacks, preparing to contact the local authorities, report to Prince Su, and then deliver it to Yongzhou's granaries.

The clerk holding the silk letter suppressed the urge to wipe his sweat, cautiously glancing at the person sitting imposingly before him with legs crossed. Heaven knew why the "Little Vajra" of Sizhou, the son of Governor Feng, had inexplicably come to deliver grain.

Feng Shan, dressed in red, with iron arm guards wrapped around his arms and a fiery iron whip coiled around his fingers, had a lazy expression. "Leave dealing with Prince Su's residence to me."

The clerk broke out in a cold sweat, not daring to speak. Everyone said that after Prince Su lost his sight, his temperament had become strange. He had dealt with Prince Su's residence several times, and as long as he didn't make any mistakes, the people from Prince Su's residence never gave people at the bottom like him any trouble—they were actually quite easy to get along with.

However, Young Master Feng had a fiery temper and a sharp tongue. If he said something unpleasant and angered the people from Prince Su's residence, it would be troublesome.

"Maybe... maybe it's better if we go."

Before the clerk could finish, Feng Shan glanced at him, neither lightly nor heavily, and he immediately swallowed his words.

Feng Shan toyed with the iron whip, slightly lowering his gaze. Soon, he would see Xiao Yu.

Prince Su's Residence.

Zhu Qinghou sneezed out of the blue, wondering who was thinking of him.

The spring chill was biting, and these days had been particularly cold.

He counted the days and realized it had been a month since he last saw Zhu Liujun. He wondered if that little rascal was secretly crying under the covers, missing Xiao Yu.

Thinking of this, Zhu Qinghou couldn't help but frown. He couldn't rest easy, so he picked up his brush and added another sentence to today's meal order.

He wanted to see Zhu Liujun, alive.

Alive and well, lively and energetic.

After waiting a moment, the messenger returned, hesitating slightly, unsure whether to speak. If he didn't say anything, this ancestor might just climb onto the roof and cause trouble again.

"His Highness is currently meeting with a guest."

"Meeting a guest?" Zhu Qinghou looked up. After all this time, he hadn't noticed Li Zhen having any friends in Yongzhou.

The man lowered his gaze, remaining silent, unwilling to answer.

Even if he didn't say, could Zhu Qinghou read his mind?

Being so clever, Zhu Qinghou lazily asked, "Has the grain delivery person from Sizhou arrived?"

The man's eyelashes twitched slightly, but he made no sound.

Damn, Zhu Qinghou really could read minds.

In response, a pair of pale hands reached out. Zhu Qinghou extended his hand, and the attendant hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do. But then he heard Zhu Qinghou say, "Give me the letter."

"I'll deliver it myself."

Outside the study at Prince Su's Residence.

Zhu Qinghou lightly jumped off the sedan chair, his robes fluttering gracefully. He casually removed the purple silk blindfold and was about to walk inside.

His movements were fluid, but he nearly startled the guards carrying the sedan. Who would jump down blindfolded like that?

He was getting used to it. Zhu Qinghou ignored the royal soldiers guarding the hall, glanced around, and saw no strangers. He didn't know if the guest had already left or if they were all inside the study.

Just as he was about to continue forward, a sword suddenly appeared before him. A young royal soldier dressed in black, holding his sword, spoke without a trace of emotion: "His Highness is meeting a guest. You shouldn't be here."

Still meeting a guest?

That meant the person hadn't left yet.

Zhu Qinghou's eyes lit up. He stood on tiptoe and waved forward. "Xian Pu!"

The royal soldier was startled and turned to look.

But behind him, the study's lattice door remained motionless. Where was anyone?

Seizing the opportunity, Zhu Qinghou pushed aside the soldier's scabbard, stepped past him, and stood directly before the study door. Just as he was about to push open the lattice door, he heard voices coming from inside.

"Your Highness, I heard you've taken in a criminal slave. I wonder if you'd be willing to show some favor and grant him to me."

It was a voice clear and light as a cold spring over stones, bright and unhurried.

After that remark,

the study fell into a long silence.

The royal soldiers heard it too. He knew the "slave" mentioned referred to Zhu Qinghou. Such contempt stirred a flicker of pity in him.

He wondered how Zhu Qinghou would react upon hearing this—

Just as he was about to glance at the purple-robed youth, considering whether to offer a few words of comfort, the young man casually pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Quite the gathering," Zhu Qinghou remarked offhandedly, then scanned the study. Only two people were inside.

Li Zhen sat at the desk by the window. The daylight streamed in, pure and soft, illuminating his features like carved snow and jade, deepening the black of his collar to ink, and making the white hem of his robe gleam.

His bearing was ethereal, lofty and imposing.

As for the red-robed youth seated below—his hair tied with a crimson ribbon, arms clad in snowflake-patterned iron guards—he sat with apparent propriety, yet his posture held an invisible tension.

It didn’t look like a social visit.

...More like a standoff.

Under the gaze of both men, Zhu Qinghou walked in without batting an eye or skipping a heartbeat. He moved to Li Zhen’s side, about to call for an armchair, only to find the one he’d used before still sitting exactly where it had been, untouched.

He raised a brow slightly, drew the chair out, and sat down beside Li Zhen.

"Why so quiet?"

Zhu Qinghou said casually.

The study fell into complete silence.

Outside the window, leaves rustled; the spring wind swept through, casting drifting light and shadow, slicing the air with faint, invisible shards of cold light.

Feng Shan’s gaze settled on Zhu Qinghou’s hand—resting lazily on Prince Su’s arm, as if such familiarity were second nature.

He pressed his fingertips, slowly withdrew his gaze, and asked calmly, "Your Highness, who is this...?"

Li Zhen’s voice was as detached as ever, now edged with a chill that warned strangers away. "The grain delivery matter is concluded. You may return to Sizhou."

Was this a dismissal?

Though aware the other couldn’t see him, Feng Shan still composed his expression, remaining inscrutable. "My father has long admired Your Highness. It’s said that you were once the most likely to..."

He stopped abruptly there, as if deliberately inviting further inquiry.

Li Zhen clearly had no interest in probing. His expression indifferent, he tilted his head slightly. Anticipating what he was about to say, Zhu Qinghou quickly pressed his hand and spoke first.

"Who is this person?"

Zhu Qinghou drawled, openly asking Li Zhen about Feng Shan’s identity right in front of him.

Li Zhen’s face remained impassive as he countered coolly, "You don’t know?"

It sounded as though they were pretending not to know each other.

Which, in fact, was true.

While stroking Li Zhen’s fingers—from the slender tips to the slightly prominent knuckles, as if toying with a delicate ornament—Zhu Qinghou replied, "Should I know?"

With that, he tossed the question back to Li Zhen.

Li Zhen withdrew his hand, uninterested in playing word games, and dismissed him coldly. "Someone, see the guest out."

The next moment,

the study’s lattice doors were pushed open. Two sword-bearing royal soldiers gestured with their scabbards, smiling as they made a "please" gesture—polite yet aloof, with a chill that mirrored their master's.

Feng Shan stood, cupped his hands in salute, and said in a clear, steady voice, "This lowly official takes his leave."

Before departing, he cast an inconspicuous glance at the purple-robed youth with the crimson dot between his brows. The other leaned idly against Prince Su, twirling a lock of the prince’s hair, and lazily lifted his eyes to shoot Feng Shan a sidelong glance.

Zhu Qinghou silently mouthed two words—

"Save me."

Feng Shan’s steps paused almost imperceptibly. Without looking back, he turned and walked out.

From start to finish, Zhu Qinghou had only glanced at Feng Shan twice, absorbed in playing with Li Zhen’s fingertips and hair, appearing utterly indifferent to Feng Shan himself.

He mused leisurely, *Feng Shan didn’t arrive too late after all.*

*This person... might be useful.*

As for where to use him...

Zhu Qinghou hadn’t figured that out yet.

"What did you say to him?"

A voice, calm as an ancient well—subtle and cold—suddenly sounded by his ear, nearly making Zhu Qinghou jump.

"Say what to whom?" Zhu Qinghou retorted. "You were in the study with him for so long—what did *you* talk about?"

The pot calling the kettle black.

No matter what, Zhu Qinghou would never lose a verbal exchange.

Li Zhen said nothing. The study plunged back into dead silence, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

A gust swept through, swaying the window blinds; the silk scrolls on the desk rustled. The sky darkened as if rain were approaching.

Amid the spreading stillness, Zhu Qinghou moved. He slapped the day's letter down on the desk. "I wrote you. Read it now."

After a moment,

Li Zhen finally reached out, took the letter and began reading.

His tone was still cold:

"You wish to see Zhu Liujun?"

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