Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Shen Zheng wanted to ask: *If I hadn’t happened to save Miss Liu, were you planning to kill me?*

The *Annals of Qian* described him as “plotting to assassinate the imperial heir—his schemes as monstrous as those of a beast defying nature.”

That letter of self-condemnation also read: “This humble servant, daring to defy the nobility, has offended heaven and earth and provoked the wrath of gods and men.”

Later, in a personal journal by Emperor Shengde referencing Wen Zuo, it stated that he sought alliance with the Third Prince, single-handedly orchestrating both the Spring Terrace Chess Association and the Fengyang Terrace Massacre—leaving the emperor utterly horrified.

In his later years, Xie Langyang wrote in a poem: “A chest full of regret and shame can never be eased—I failed to pull Wanshan from the mire.”

Shen Zheng certainly had no intention of blaming Wen Zuo. Back then, Wei Zheng—advisor to Li Jiancheng—had likewise urged his lord to eliminate the Prince of Qin. And Shen Zheng himself had switched allegiances three times before finally entering Li Shimin’s service, yet still secured his place in history, even inspiring the famous “Three Mirrors” allusion.

It simply made no logical sense.

The Third Prince was already in a stronger position than the Fifth Prince and had long striven to emulate Crown Prince Xian. If Wen Zuo hadn’t killed Crown Prince Xian, why would he murder the nonthreatening Fifth Prince as a token of loyalty?

Moreover, on the day he defected, although Wen Zuo hadn’t been particularly courteous toward Shen Zheng, he had completely ignored everyone else. If he truly intended to follow the Third Prince, he should at least have kept the singer.

Shen Zheng gazed intently at Wen Zuo once more.

Wen Zuo’s hands were exquisitely shaped; when he twirled a chess piece, there was a timeless serenity in the motion. The rosy tips of his fingers and his pale, moon-shell-like nails harmonized perfectly—tugging gently at the heartstrings.

At this moment, he was gathering the pieces with unusual care—a posture entirely unguarded. His eyelashes fluttered with each movement of the pieces; his round, white collar framed his smooth neck, bathed freely in sunlight.

Shen Zheng knew this was his indulgence, his concession—like a cat growing unalarmed at a human’s approach, instead obediently flicking its tail-tip. In a way, he was overlooking their wager, permitting Shen Zheng’s curiosity.

Shen Zheng couldn’t bear to shatter this trust. He couldn’t utter a single word to pierce his heart.

So Shen Zheng smiled: “I wanted to ask… what kind of person does Teacher like?”

A chess piece slipped from Wen Zuo’s fingertips, clattering onto the floor.

He looked up sharply, momentarily flustered—but quickly regained composure.

“Why do you ask?”

Shen Zheng picked up the piece for him, his face utterly impassive: “I, too, wish to wait for the day when a guest star invades the Emperor’s throne—disturbing the celestial order.”

Wen Zuo’s expression turned subtle: “You know that story, too.”

It is said that Yan Guang once slept beside Emperor Guangwu Liu Xiu, placing his feet upon the emperor’s abdomen—so deeply did he slumber that it disturbed the heavens, alarming the Grand Historian.

Later, during the Tang dynasty, Chancellor Li Bi told Emperor Suzong: “Having devised strategies within Your Majesty’s tent, after recapturing the capital, I only wish once to rest my head upon the Emperor’s knee—so that officials may report a guest star invading the Emperor’s throne, disturbing the celestial order, and that shall suffice.”

Once, during a military campaign, after Li Bi fell asleep, Emperor Suzong personally placed his head upon his own knee as a gesture of favor.

Though these are celebrated examples of harmonious ruler-minister relations, they still carry an undercurrent of ambiguity—poised delicately on the edge of propriety, never quite crossing it.

Shen Zheng tapped his own knee with a finger, teasing: “I know a great deal.”

Wen Zuo glanced at his knee, offering a faint, ambiguous smile as he reminded: “Invade *which* emperor’s throne? You haven’t ascended yet.”

Shen Zheng: “Asking isn’t illegal.”

Wen Zuo replied bluntly: “In any case, I don’t like people who always lose at chess.”

As he spoke, his gaze drifted elsewhere—perhaps out of guilt, perhaps sensitivity. To Shen Zheng, it was merely harmless banter; but Wen Zuo genuinely preferred men, and “resting one’s head upon the emperor’s knee” held no innocent connotation in his eyes.

Just then, sudden commotion erupted in the corridor outside—chaotic footsteps and the clerk’s earnest pleas.

“Vice Minister Xie! Vice Minister Xie! Please don’t make things difficult for this humble servant! The East Tower’s rule: one poem, one elegant room—no outsiders allowed!”

“Get lost!” Xie Langyang’s voice was deep and furious—much like the roar he’d unleashed upon the jailers in Dali Prison that day.

The clerk dared not cling to him, but bravely blocked the narrow passage with his body: “Vice Minister Xie, Master Wen might not even be here! Perhaps he’s in the West Tower—or the North Tower, or maybe the South Tower? This humble servant hasn’t seen him!”

Xie Langyang’s face darkened as he impatiently shoved him aside: “He favors the East Tower—do you think I don’t know?”

Clerk: “There are many esteemed guests upstairs—from court and provinces alike… Vice Minister Xie, this… this isn’t appropriate!”

“I’ll only check a few rooms and exchange a few words with him. Don’t dare stop me!”

Wen Zuo favored south-facing rooms with abundant sunlight—spacious, bright, and airy. Xie Langyang remembered all these preferences.

Watching Xie Langyang stride directly toward Room Jiazi, the clerk stamped his feet anxiously.

Shen Zheng raised an eyebrow.

Here he comes—the great minister steeped in regret and remorse, marching forward!

But this posture… feels oddly peculiar somehow?

The faint warmth on Wen Zuo’s face moments earlier instantly froze over—even the skin on his neck seemed to crystallize beneath a thin layer of frost.

Shen Zheng pointed at himself, silently asking whether he should hide.

Wen Zuo didn’t even lift his eyelids—only murmured between his lips: “No need. He can’t open it.”

Meaning he didn’t wish to see him?

Shen Zheng felt relieved.

Time to stir up trouble.

Xie Langyang stood outside the door. Through the latticed window, he saw two swaying, indistinct shadows. He steadied his breath and lowered his voice: “Wanshan—are you inside?”

Wen Zuo’s sharp retort hovered on his tongue—but unexpectedly, Shen Zheng raised his right palm first, holding it a hair’s breadth from his lips.

Then, Shen Zheng mischievously brought his left hand to his mouth and softly kissed the web between his thumb and index finger.

Xie Langyang was utterly mortified—seeing the two blurred figures appear entangled.

He wasn’t unaware of the private conduct among literati and officials—disgraceful acts disguised as refined elegance.

“My apologies for the disturbance!”

Such behavior meant Wen Zuo couldn’t possibly be inside. So Xie Langyang flicked his sleeve and hurried away—as if fleeing.

Wen Zuo: “…”

Shen Zheng withdrew his hand, as calmly as if he’d just helped an elderly woman cross the street: “So much more convenient. Why waste words?”

Wen Zuo couldn’t bear to look at his left hand—the very same left hand that had fed him jujube cold cake.

“Where did you learn all these underhanded tricks?”

“Nanping,” Shen Zheng smoothly shifted the blame.

Xie Langyang searched everywhere for Wen Zuo but couldn't find him, returning to his family compound in a dejected stupor. In the cool of spring, his front and back robes were soaked through with sweat.

Stewards and maids rushed forward to wipe his face and help him change clothes, but Xie Langyang waved them off, slamming the silk ribbon tassel he'd been gripping all the way down onto the table.

The tassel, having been pulled and tugged at fiercely, was now frayed and crumpled together, not the least bit pretty anymore.

Xie Langyang's earlier shame and irritation had not yet dissipated, and now the heat made him even more aggravated. "From now on, if anyone dares to put any random junk on me without my permission, they'll have only themselves to blame!"

The entire room of servants was intimidated by his anger, not daring to even breathe loudly.

Gong Yuwen watched from the courtyard, her eyes darting. She reached down, pulled another tassel from her waist, and hid it away. It seemed there was no need to take strolls near the Wen residence anymore.

A maid she'd brought from the Gong family cautiously observed Gong Yuwen's expression and whispered timidly, "Miss, wasn't that the tassel you wove with your own hands? The Vice Minister, he..."

Gong Yuwen lowered her eyes weakly. "Don't tell Father. He didn't mean it."

The maid hesitated. "But..."

Ever considerate, even when wronged, Gong Yuwen didn't forget to give instructions. "Go, fetch some hot water for Xie Lang. He seems tired from running around outside today."

The maid stamped her foot indignantly and left.

Fetching a bucket of hot water required two maids to work together, leaving only Zhiqiao, purchased for the household later on, by Gong Yuwen's side.

She returned to her room with Zhiqiao, her expression relaxed. Picking up a lip paper, she lightly pressed it to her lips in front of the mirror, staining them a bright, translucent red.

She said, "Go tell my sister that Xie Langyang seems to have noticed something."

-

On the day before the Spring Terrace Chess Meet, Wen Zuo received the Nanping envoy and three chess players at the Qinghua Hostel.

The bitter chrysanthemums on the steps seemed to be blooming more vigorously. The servants, who remembered him well, bowed and scraped incessantly without him even showing his identification token.

Wen Zuo entered the main east hall, summoned the Nanping envoy to enter, and had servants bring tea and wine. Female singers also settled in at the back.

This wasn't Wen Zuo's first time seeing them, but it was their first time seeing him.

The moment the Nanping envoy stepped in, his gaze fixed directly on Wen Zuo's face. The singers, the music—all of it vanished, leaving only the captivating, delicate demeanor before him.

He stood rigidly, unable to even move his feet.

Wen Zuo's expression turned cold, then suddenly became aloof and transcendent.

"Seat Envoy Wu and serve tea," Wen Zuo ordered with a wave of his hand.

The two singers resumed plucking their strings as if the envoy's lapse had never occurred.

Wu Kan finally snapped back to reality. With that lingering look of greed still on his face, he sat unceremoniously close to Wen Zuo. "I had no idea Master Wen was so... so... extraordinary."

He paused twice, his voice carrying a hint of ill-intentioned familiarity.

Wen Zuo propped his chin on one hand, hooked a finger, and picked up the meat-cutting knife from the table. He twirled the blade, its cold gleam flashing, and smiled lazily. "This Hanlin Academy Director's method of cutting out tongues is also quite extraordinary. Would Envoy Wu like to see it?"

Seeing the knife, Wu Kan finally restrained himself a little, slowly sitting up straight. "Our Nanping chess players have traveled a great distance, a long and arduous journey. We can do without seeing tongues cut. I wonder when we might have an audience with His Majesty the Emperor?"

Wen Zuo's fingers loosened carelessly, and the dagger clattered onto the table. He said indifferently, "If the Emperor of Nanping were to come, that would be worth seeing."

"Hahaha!" Wu Kan laughed heartily. "It seems Da Qian is rather petty. In that case, we won't insist. We'll wait until we secure a top-three position at the Spring Terrace Chess Meet before beholding the esteemed visage of the Da Qian Emperor."

Wen Zuo wore a faint smile. "I've recently gained some understanding of Nanping. Seeing it today, it certainly didn't disappoint."

Wu Kan was surprised and couldn't help feeling smug. "I didn't expect Minister Wen to pay such close attention to our Nanping."

"I've also heard rumors. I had some doubts initially, but it turns out Nanping truly is a land of barbarians, frogs at the bottom of a well."

Wu Kan's face suddenly darkened. Wen Zuo was beautiful, but his words were too sharp, grating on the ears.

The atmosphere in the main east hall instantly became charged, but Wen Zuo paid it no mind. "I'm afraid the envoy won't have the honor of meeting our Emperor. After all, Da Qian is full of masters, while Nanping... probably doesn't even rank."

Wu Kan let out a cold snort through his nose, his eyes filled with a mocking, determined confidence. "Master Wen shouldn't speak too soon. Be careful not to embarrass yourself."

Wen Zuo leisurely picked up his cup, swirling the floating leaves inside. "I'll say it right here: at the Spring Terrace Chess Meet, Nanping will not win."

Wu Kan's pupils contracted, his eyes wolfish and sinister as he turned his head. "You three, get in here! Dawdling like this, you're making Master Wen look down on us!"

A rustling sound came from the doorway as Wen Zuo glanced at the three youths entering.

These three were born from the same womb, identical in appearance. Standing side by side, they resembled three silent stone tablets.

Calling them youths was even a stretch. Their faces were purplish-green, eye sockets sunken, the center of their foreheads gleaming with an oily sheen, their lips pale and gray, and the hair on their crowns sparse, like living corpses.

From the moment they entered, their eyes were fixed straight ahead, not glancing sideways, showing no interest in their surroundings—including Wen Zuo.

Few people could see Wen Zuo without stealing several glances, to the point where he had grown accustomed and numb to such gazes.

But these three never once looked at Wen Zuo from start to finish. If not for seeing the rise and fall of their chests, Wen Zuo might have suspected they were marionettes.

Wu Kan beckoned. "Mu Yi, Mu Er, Mu San, greet Master Wen."

The three obediently knelt and prostrated themselves in salute, their vacant eyes unblinking.

If Wen Zuo hadn't seen them once before, the sight of these three would have sent chills down his spine.