Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Two days remained until the opening of the Spring Terrace Go Tournament. Preparations were already underway on Huiyangmen Street. The local ward officials had cleared away nearby vendors, opening up a playing grounds large enough to accommodate thousands of spectators.

Spring often brought rain, so a canopy was erected over the tournament grounds to ensure the games would not be interrupted.

Go masters from various prefectures and provinces arrived one after another. Inns and taverns within the capital were packed to the brim, as lively as during the imperial exams.

Shang Zhiqin mentioned that the Ministry of Works had spent some funds building the stage at Huiyangmen and needed reimbursement.

Emperor Shunyuan looked toward Bo Zhangyi.

Both were members of the Virtuous Prince Faction; there was no need to distinguish between yours and mine. Bo Zhangyi promptly replied, "Of course, of course. I will immediately verify all expenses with Minister Shang."

Seizing the opportunity, Luo Mingpu chimed in, stating that the Ministry of Justice was also short on funds recently. The wooden beams in the prison cells had been gnawed by rats, requiring a major campaign to get rid of them.

Bo Zhangyi immediately began lamenting his difficulties: "Funds are needed everywhere. The Ministry of Revenue's coffers are bare. I must ask our brothers in the Ministry of Justice to hold on a bit longer."

Luo Mingpu grew furious. "My Ministry of Justice deals with vital affairs!"

Bo Zhangyi retorted, "What do you mean by that? Who here isn't handling serious matters?"

Luo Mingpu: "Bo Zhangyi, you're doing this on purpose!"

Bo Zhangyi: "Luo Mingpu, you're slandering me!"

Thus began another day of their routine court bickering.

If factional struggles were lofty affairs in the clouds, did the common people give a damn who won or lost?

Here's the connection.

In the capital during the twenty-fourth year of the Shunyuan reign, an unprecedented plague outbreak erupted. Hundreds of thousands were infected, and the dead piled up like mountains.

Unclaimed corpses littered the streets and alleys.

Yet, even knowing this in advance, what difference did it make?

When all was calm, the struggles continued. As for preparing for a rainy day, that was something to consider only after securing power.

Some mistakes were destined to happen, for individuals and for nations alike. A flawed decision, even if everyone knew it was wrong, would be pushed forward until it could move no further. For in the minds of many, execution mattered far more than right or wrong.

The man on the dragon throne drummed his fingers on the armrest, his face weary, looking as if he wished to flee this racket.

"Wanshan."

"Your Majesty?"

"We have heard that the Southern Screen Go players have already arrived in the capital. Reportedly, they are clamoring and shouting outside the Four Great Go Houses, their words full of contempt, treating our Da Qian Go masters as nothing. Is this true?"

Wen Zuo lowered his eyes. "It is indeed true."

Emperor Shunyuan suddenly laughed. "The people of Southern Screen remain as ignorant of their own limits as ever. For now, there is no need to bother with them. Once the Spring Terrace Go Tournament begins, let them witness the profound depth of our Da Qian's Go tradition and understand the true backbone of the Celestial Empire!"

Wen Zuo's lips curved slightly. Emperor Shunyuan did not see the mockery in his eyes. "Then this official will convey Your Majesty's gracious pardon to the Southern Screen envoys tomorrow."

At this moment, Emperor Shunyuan did not yet know that, due to the collusion of interests between the Eight Schools and the imperial princes, Da Qian would ultimately suffer a crushing defeat.

And he, burying his head in the sand, would ignore the accumulated malpractices throughout the court and government, brutally shifting all the consequences onto that unfamiliar son of his.

As soon as court adjourned, just as Wen Zuo intended to keep his appointment with Shen Zheng, he was waylaid by members of the Eight Schools faction from the court.

"Master Wen, how about I accompany you tomorrow to meet the Southern Screen envoys? The disciples of my Shi School have long been sharpening their blades, itching for a challenge."

"Count my Helian School in as well. I hear these three Southern Screen prodigies are only nineteen. At such a tender age, what achievements could they possibly have? Mere boasting, I say."

"Our Da Qian is teeming with talent. The founders of the Eight Schools established their own schools only after reaching the age of thirty. Could the Southern Screen people possibly surpass them?"

"Exactly. In Da Qian, being conferred the title of National Master at twenty-two is already a rare talent. How dare Southern Screen send nineteen-year-olds?"

"In showcasing our nation's prestige this time, our Xiao School is duty-bound to take the lead!"

"Colleagues, save your breath. My Xie School is sending a brilliant talent from the main family this time, one who has received the true teachings of the school's National Master."

Wen Zuo watched them, each face brimming with fervor, and felt it was a wonderfully ironic sight.

He remembered the faces of some among them quite clearly. On the day of the ten thousand arrows piercing his heart, they had shouted with the same fervor, "Eliminate the treacherous officials, secure the state!" As if speaking softer or with less emotion would fail to express their righteous indignation.

Watching the arrows pierce his body and his bloodstained form fall to the ground, they resembled bloodthirsty jackals finally beholding a feast.

Shen Chen needed their flattery, needed them to play along with the act. A certain tacit understanding had formed between them. All the unsavory deeds done during the three-year struggle for the throne could finally vanish into thin air at the moment of Wen Zuo's death.

Now the tables had turned. The taste of being the feast was unpleasant; it was their turn to savor it.

Suddenly feeling quite interested, Wen Zuo turned his gaze toward Xie Langyang.

"With such lofty ambitions from the Xie School this time, sending a main family talent into the fray, doesn't Vice Minister Xie wish to say something..." to send him to his doom.

Xie Langyang had originally been immensely eager to exchange a few words with Wen Zuo. But when the opportunity truly presented itself, he always grew timid.

Wen Zuo had long anticipated this reaction. As a reborn person, they both knew the origins of the Spring Terrace Go Tournament. Xie Langyang had ten thousand opportunities to petition Emperor Shunyuan about this matter, both to salvage Da Qian's impending defeat and to protect the Fifth Prince, whom he pitied.

But Xie Langyang had not.

Once, Wen Zuo believed he engaged in sinister schemes and thus never associated with the "pure stream" officials.

Upon later reflection, the "purity" of the pure stream was merely the purity of aloofness.

"It seems Vice Minister Xie lacks faith in his own school's talent. Then this Director of the Hanlin Academy can only place his hopes on the distinguished masters of the Helian, Shi, and Xiao Schools to shine brilliantly."

Bid farewell to your talents, all of you.

Wen Zuo smiled, his brilliance illuminating the hall. Several senior officials, finding his words most agreeable, immediately felt elated.

A Transmission Commissioner from the Xie School secretly pulled Xie Langyang aside. He was also a branch of the Southern Province Xie family and was Xie Langyang's paternal uncle.

He whispered into Xie Langyang's ear, "Hengze, you share a close, classmate bond with Master Wen. Why not ask him for some flexibility? Regarding the draw, perhaps he could arrange for our Xie School players to avoid expending energy early on..."

Xie Langyang looked up sharply, unable to believe a respected elder would suggest something so unfair.

"Uncle!"

The Transmission Commissioner smiled and patted his arm. "Your cousin Xie Qian is among the participants this time, remember? When you were young, he loved following you around. You must help your cousin."

Xie Langyang remained silent for a long while, then slowly revealed a bitter smile.

Right.

The one who would lose to the Southern Screen Go players was his own kin, his cousin Xie Qian. The reason Shen Chen dared to entrust this matter to him was precisely because he knew Xie Langyang, after weighing the pros and cons, had no other choice.

Is there really a way to have it all?

In the end, he could only prioritize the Xie family and the new emperor.

After speaking, the Transmission Commissioner casually praised, "Hengze, this tassel of yours is truly exquisite. It looks as if it were handwoven."

Xie Langyang was startled, lowering his gaze to see a lotus-pink ruyi tassel hanging from the leather belt of his official robe—small, delicate, and graceful.

In the past, his court attire had always been put on by his maids. He would simply spread his arms and lift his chin, never bothering to look down, so he had no idea when this tassel had appeared on him.

Xie Langyang's thoughts drifted back several years. At that time, Wen Zuo was about to depart for Bozhou and had gifted him such small trinkets before leaving. Later, fearing they might cause trouble, he had no choice but to sell them.

Three years later, when Wen Zuo returned to court, his temperament had suddenly changed; he was no longer as amiable as before and never showed Xie Langyang any kindness at court.

What if Wen Zuo had noticed that he wasn't wearing the old gifts but instead had tassels from others hanging from his waist every day?

With this thought, Xie Langyang clenched his knuckles, his wrist suddenly dropping as he tore the tassel off with a sharp *rip*.

How many other small details had he overlooked?

Could it be that there were truly some matters in which he had misunderstood Wen Zuo?

Amid his confusion, Xie Langyang caught a glimmer of understanding and wanted to explain. Disregarding propriety, he left the Transmission Commissioner behind and strode toward the imperial palace's main street.

Once inside his sedan chair, he urged, "To Master Wen's residence!"

Little did he know, at that very moment, a small red-lacquered sedan chair turned at the intersection, heading straight for Guanqi Street, passing him by.

As soon as Wen Zuo entered the Jiazi Room, before he could steady himself, a piece of Jujube Cold Cake was brought to his lips.

Shen Zheng waved the oil-paper bag in his hand, raising an eyebrow like he was showing off. "My hands are clean, eat up."

Wen Zuo was startled.

After all, Shen Zheng was a prince and a student, while he was a minister and a teacher. It was improper, given their respective stations.

But it was Jujube Cold Cake—his favorite, made by Grandma Wang of Huiyang Gate with a twenty-year-old family recipe, using premium Cangzhou golden-thread jujubes and top-grade Jiangnan soft white sugar, limited to eight hundred pieces daily.

Wen Zuo paused for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, parted his lips, and with practiced restraint, took a bite of the Jujube Cold Cake, slowly savoring it in his mouth.

The jujube fragrance was sweet, the cake soft and glutinous—so delicious it made him want to compose poetry.

"Let this be the last time," he said after finishing.

"Last time for what? That I can't buy it again, or that I can't feed you again?" Shen Zheng's reasoning was annoyingly precise, insisting on clarifying the point.

Wen Zuo gathered his robes and sat down, replying with a question of his own: "How did you know I love this?"

Shen Zheng brushed the cake crumbs from his hands. "I asked Miss Liu."

Upon hearing this, Wen Zuo became alarmed. "Didn't I say you shouldn't go to my residence?"

Shen Zheng handed him the remaining paper bag. "Don't worry, I asked the servants of the Marquis of Yongning's residence to help inquire, and we even used a secret code."

Wen Zuo's expression softened slightly. "Why did you go to such lengths to learn this?"

Shen Zheng looked utterly matter-of-fact. "Given our relationship, what's wrong with me learning about your tastes to make you happy?"

Wen Zuo felt a twinge of discomfort.

He had once been deeply moved by Xie Langyang's generosity and meticulous care, and he had devoted himself wholeheartedly to Shen Chen's considerate words and the sleeve warmers woven by Concubine Yi. At the time, he believed such warmth was rare in the world, but it never occurred to him that perhaps it was because he had received so little compassion since childhood that even the slightest kindness from others felt like a priceless treasure.

Wen Zuo glanced at the bag of Jujube Cold Cake. Though called "cold cake," it was still warm, filling his stomach with both warmth and sweetness—the two flavors most lacking in his past.

"Thank you," Wen Zuo said, tightening the bag's opening and placing it on the corner of the table. He then picked up a chess piece from the wooden box. "Let's continue yesterday's game."

"Wait," Shen Zheng rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I took a stroll around the East Tower today and thought many players were just average. I want to see what a National Master's level is like."

Wen Zuo raised an eyebrow to look at him.

Shen Zheng continued, "Let's play a game. If I lose, I'll queue up at Huiyang Gate tomorrow to buy you more Jujube Cold Cake. If you lose, you have to answer a question of mine."

It was good for a prince to be ambitious, and even better to be curious—just not when that curiosity was directed at him.

Wen Zuo nodded. "Then let's begin."

On the board, black and white pieces intersected in formation. Shen Zheng, playing black, advanced aggressively, while Wen Zuo responded with ease, placing white pieces casually. In less than a quarter of an hour, Shen Zheng was trapped in a corner, his pieces severed at both ends, with no way out.

Shen Zheng wasn't disheartened; instead, he grew even more enthusiastic. "Another game!"

A smile flickered in Wen Zuo's eyes. "How long do you plan to buy me Jujube Cold Cake?"

"A lifetime would work too," Shen Zheng joked.

Wen Zuo didn't take it seriously, gathering the pieces and placing a White Stone on the tengen point once more.

This time, Shen Zheng was even more engrossed, wishing he could use every trick taught by those famous tutors charging 1880 per lesson. Yet, no matter how he varied his strategies, he couldn't escape Wen Zuo's predictions.

In just one hour, he lost three consecutive games. When he insisted on another, Wen Zuo stopped him.

"You should at least think five moves ahead. There were several obvious traps you didn't notice. Alright, we can play chess another time. It's time to focus on serious matters now."

Shen Zheng was thoroughly convinced, suddenly sensing a new brilliance in the beautiful but treacherous minister.

It seemed the question he wanted to ask would remain unanswered for a lifetime.

Alas, alas, alas—his skills were simply no match.

Just then, Wen Zuo, while fiddling with a chess piece and lowering his gaze, asked, "What did you want to ask me earlier?"