Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Seeing this tactic was effective, Shen Zheng swiftly hopped down from the carriage shaft, his boot tips kicking up a small cloud of dust as he landed.

He dashed ahead to White Sand Treader's side, reached into the saddlebag, pulled out a bright red carrot, and handed it to Wen Zuo.

"Teacher, feed it first. This horse is intelligent; once it takes a liking to you, it'll be very obedient."

This move was a necessary step he learned in modern horseback riding lessons, glorified as building rapport with the horse.

Yet when Consort Liang taught him riding, she only said, "Horses revere a strong master; you must overpower them with your presence." Then she had him grip the reins, step into the stirrups, and tame the fine horse relying solely on strength and pride.

So much so that Shen Zheng now suspected feeding might just be a scheme by riding schools to sell fifty-yuan packs of carrots.

Wen Zuo took the carrot, his movements hesitant and doubtful.

He had always been buried in books and documents, rarely interacting with animals, unsure of their temperaments.

White Sand Treader tilted its head, observing him with round, dark eyes for a moment before opening its mouth, gently taking the carrot. It chewed obediently, happily snorting through its nose once it enjoyed the treat.

Wen Zuo thought to himself, indeed!

That beast Xie Langyang never told him to feed a carrot before learning to ride!

"Alright, Teacher, put your foot in the stirrup, hold the saddle tight. I'll help you up first." Shen Zheng gently patted the horse's neck to soothe it, then stepped aside to make way for the stirrup, his fingertips resting on Wen Zuo's wrist, guiding him to grip the saddle firmly.

Wen Zuo, a scholar unused to physical exertion, already had a thin layer of sweat on his palms.

But since he'd already said he would, he refused to admit defeat now.

He gripped tightly and asked hesitantly, "What about you then?"

"Teacher goes up first, then leaves one stirrup for me."

Shen Zheng's gaze swept over Wen Zuo's slender waist as he reached out, lightly placing his hand near the jade belt at Wen Zuo's side.

This wasn't overstepping; he was genuinely afraid Wen Zuo might fall and get hurt.

Fortunately, Wen Zuo was unexpectedly light. With a gentle lift from Shen Zheng, whose palm felt like it was cradling a soft cloud, Wen Zuo settled steadily onto the saddle.

Once mounted, Wen Zuo looked down at the ground, feeling the vastness of sky and earth, himself suspended mid-air, touching neither heaven nor earth. The rushing wind carried the scent of strong grass, startling a light sweat from him in the late spring countryside.

He instinctively called out, "Shen Zheng!"

The moment the name left his lips, he felt it was improper; no matter what, he shouldn't address His Highness by his given name.

Just as he was about to turn and apologize, he felt White Sand Treader's hooves shift, causing a sudden sway.

Wen Zuo's heart tightened. As he was about to cry out, he felt a whirlwind rise beside him, and his back abruptly collided with a solid, firm chest.

That chest was warm. Even though layers of clothing separated them, preventing any real transfer of heat, he still felt a wave of warmth penetrate through, scorching him into a fluster.

He had forgotten that riding double meant being this close. Had he known, he would never have agreed, no matter what!

"Forget it, maybe we should—" Wen Zuo began, wanting to halt this transgressive, uncontrollable lesson.

"Don't be afraid," Shen Zheng's voice sounded by his ear. "The horse can sense if you're nervous, Teacher. It will take advantage of you."

As he spoke, Shen Zheng's arms encircled Wen Zuo's body. With the backs of his hands facing up, he deftly removed two short finger guards.

The motion of pulling them off inevitably caused Shen Zheng's arms to brush against Wen Zuo's, giving Wen Zuo the illusion of being firmly protected.

It truly seemed as Shen Zheng had said: this broad chest would protect him, ensuring he wouldn't fall no matter how much they swayed.

"Teacher, wear these to prevent your hands from slipping on the reins." Shen Zheng's gaze fell from over Wen Zuo's shoulder, his breath light, mingling with the fragrance of wildflowers and lush grass from the fields.

"What about you?"

Since Shen Zheng kept the backs of his hands up, Wen Zuo didn't see the rope burns on his palms, nor did he know how necessary the finger guards were for Shen Zheng at that moment.

Shen Zheng smiled. "I'm quite used to it. Of course, I won't slip."

Wen Zuo then put them on as instructed. They were slightly large; he had to pull them back firmly to fit his fingers properly.

Recalling how Shen Zheng had worn them earlier, the guards made Shen Zheng's fingers appear long, full of strength and grace.

Shen Zheng said no more. He grasped the reins with his bare hands, gave a slight squeeze with his legs against the horse's belly, and White Sand Treader began to trot forward.

The wind moved with the horse, whistling past their ears, as if competing to scatter their whispered words.

Wen Zuo didn't catch it clearly and asked, "What did Your Highness say?"

Shen Zheng leaned in closer, his lips almost touching Wen Zuo's shoulder. His voice finally broke through the wind, striking Wen Zuo's eardrum: "Is this slow pace alright?"

"...Acceptable."

Wen Zuo felt his left ear and neck were being continuously singed by a gentle flame, unable to escape or avoid it. He could only occasionally shrink back slightly to ease the uncontrollable flutter.

This was a physiological flaw of his; he could only try his best to conceal it.

Shen Zheng, however, unexpectedly noticed that Wen Zuo seemed particularly sensitive. Even when he spoke close by, his breath hitting Wen Zuo's ear, Wen Zuo would stiffen and tilt his head away with a slight shiver.

He quickly averted his eyes, not looking at the earlobe that had grown faintly red and plump, whether from the strong wind or something else.

"Teacher, try squeezing your legs a bit; it'll make it go a little faster. If it feels too fast, just pull back on the reins." Shen Zheng gave the stirrups to him, relying on squeezing the horse's belly himself to maintain balance.

This was considered a dangerous move by modern coaches, but fortunately, the speed wasn't high, and with Consort Liang's intensive training over the past two days, he could manage.

"This teacher is not afraid of speed," Wen Zuo insisted, feigning composure. Then he gave a very light squeeze to the horse's belly. Unexpectedly, White Sand Treader completely ignored this slight pressure, continuing to trot into the shaded woods at the same pace.

Wen Zuo turned his head to say, "You see."

Shen Zheng was indeed holding back laughter, but the tremor in his chest was transmitted to Wen Zuo through their close contact.

They were practically galloping; what was so funny about that!

Wen Zuo's cheeks warmed, and he quickly steered the conversation to a topic he was adept in.

The matter of Gu Weizhi investigating the case hadn't occurred in the previous life, but Wen Zuo had to prepare for the unexpected.

He knew full well that Cao Fangzheng couldn't possibly not embezzle those five million taels of disaster relief and dike construction funds. This wasn't solely due to Cao Fangzheng's personal greed and depravity, but because the Crown Prince needed to win over court officials, which required silver.

Where would that silver come from?

Naturally, it had to be extracted from the land of Da Qian by those roots attached to the Eastern Palace.

Hearing this, Shen Zheng raised an eyebrow slightly. "I understand. If there really are deep-seated malpractices over there... Teacher, did you already know about this?"

He often felt that Wen Zuo was a bit too prescient.

He certainly wasn’t doubting Wen Zuo’s intelligence. It was simply that, during the Spring Terrace Chess Gathering incident last time—and now with Jun Dingyuan’s affair—whenever Wen Zuo schemed against others, he was always precise, ruthless, and lethally effective. Yet when explaining his motives, he seemed vague and evasive.

Sometimes it was an offhand remark from a Nanping merchant he’d met in Bozhou; other times, it involved calculating the positions and interests of everyone—from Liu Quan and the emperor to Wu Kan and even Nanping itself—all just to catch a spy and recover his old friend’s remains.

Shen Zheng felt Wen Zuo was hiding something from him.

Wen Zuo was busy adjusting his posture, trying to keep his buttocks from bumping against Shen Zheng’s thigh during the jolting ride, so he didn’t notice Shen Zheng’s odd behavior.

“Over the years, Cao Fangzheng has gone out of his way to demonstrate his loyalty to the Grand Secretariat, the Eastern Palace, and the Directorate of Ceremonial—hoping for a transfer back to the capital. If no one investigates, it’s fine; but once an inquiry begins, the records will be riddled with inconsistencies.”

Thus, anything capable of shifting the entire situation with a single move would inevitably be obstructed by the Cao faction by any means necessary.

The simplest method, of course, would be to entice Gu Weizhi with benefits—luring him into the Crown Prince’s faction with promises of promotion and wealth.

But Gu Weizhi was upright and honest, filled with unwavering devotion to the country, and naturally would refuse.

Wen Zuo would have to advise him later: as an official, one must learn tact—even if only for self-preservation. Just as in his previous life, when Shen Chen sought to purge him and Xie Langyang led the impeachment, he’d had no room to maneuver. Gu Weizhi shouldn’t have confronted Shen Chen head-on.

That distant exile, which implicated his entire family—who knew whether he’d even survived it safely?

“I’ll tell Mother when I get back.”

“And if we successfully topple the Cao faction this time and expose the corruption network within the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince may be deposed—removing one opponent for you. But with General Jun returning to court, you’ll inevitably become a lightning rod for criticism. From now on, more eyes will be watching you.” Wen Zuo paused, glancing down at the grass beneath the horse’s hooves. “An outing like today’s must never happen again.”

The outskirts carried risks too. On the path to the throne, not a moment’s lapse was permissible.

In the future, Shen Zheng wouldn’t be able to take him horseback riding anymore—and once he ascended the throne, it would be utterly impossible.

Thinking about it, today might truly be the only opportunity he’d ever have.

A pang of *cherishing* welled up in Wen Zuo’s heart, and he couldn’t help gently stroking the horse’s mane. Steppe horses were coarse—their manes prickled his fingers.

Just as he felt that brief sting, he heard Shen Zheng murmur to himself, “Then we must hurry and build the secret tunnel. Otherwise, in the future, if Teacher wants to eat Jujube Cold Cake, it won’t be easy to deliver.”

Wen Zuo’s heart stirred—both amused and exasperated.

After all, he was only eighteen—still thinking too simply. Did he really believe the secret tunnel was for such trivial matters?

In the future, what the two of them would do would concern matters of utmost secrecy. That tunnel would ultimately carry things of far greater consequence.

The horse trotted along the path, heading deeper into the shaded woods. Crushed leaves crackled under its hooves, and the midday light fractured into jagged shards—like crumbled tofu—filtering through the western city’s canopy.

Wen Zuo leaned forward slightly again, his hip bones pressing against the saddle’s pommel, unable to shift further.

Shen Zheng noticed and suddenly reached out, wrapping an arm around his waist. With a gentle exertion of his forearm, he pulled Wen Zuo backward—undoing all his efforts.

“Teacher, lean back a bit. I’m not using the stirrups—I need to lean against you to keep my balance.”

Wen Zuo was drawn firmly into the space between Shen Zheng’s legs.

“…Hmm!”

He let out a low groan—embarrassed and annoyed—not only because of the physical reaction, but also because he found himself acutely, unsettlingly aware of his student.

Why was this happening? Back in Bozhou, he’d been perfectly at ease with Gu Weizhi and his other subordinates.

Could it be that his illness had worsened in this life?

“Teacher, what’s wrong?” Shen Zheng asked, concern lacing his voice.

Wen Zuo turned his head away, gazing at a muddy puddle not far off.

A green fruit had fallen into it. White Sand Treader halted to look, and Shen Zheng made no move to urge the horse forward.

They stopped there, surrounded only by the rustling of wind through the leaves—and Wen Zuo’s thunderous heartbeat.

“That day… did you have something on your mind?” In that close, confined space, beneath such bright, verdant light, seated on Shen Zheng’s horse, Wen Zuo finally voiced the question that had weighed on his heart for days.

“Which day?”

“That day after court—when I was speaking with the Sixth Prince and Secretary Xie, and later you chased into my sedan chair—you suddenly grew angry, didn’t you? Why?”

“Oh…” Shen Zheng paused, thinking for a long while. Then he smiled faintly. “I wasn’t angry. Not at Teacher. But yes—I *did* have something on my mind.”

Wen Zuo’s ears twitched slightly as he listened intently.

Shen Zheng began softening the blow for the old-fashioned kitten: “But as I say this, Teacher may listen casually. I respect Teacher’s disagreement—and I won’t force Teacher to understand, alright?”

Wen Zuo took a deep breath, thinking that after such a lengthy prelude, it must be something weighty.

“Go ahead.”

Shen Zheng held him a little tighter—afraid of startling the kitten into leaping off the horse. The gap between their eras wasn’t merely a chasm—it was the Mariana Trench.

“Teacher said that love between men is often insincere and untrustworthy.” Shen Zheng looked at the strands of black hair scattered across his own chest and couldn’t resist gently stroking them with his numb, aching hand—careful not to startle.

“I simply think people’s hearts differ, just as their faces do. Without knowing the details, one shouldn’t rush to judgment. What’s untrustworthy is always a specific person—not men or women as a whole.”

Wen Zuo suddenly lifted his head, incredulous at what he’d just heard.

“Between men, there can also be lifelong affection.” Shen Zheng ventured cautiously. “Does saying this offend Teacher?”

He braced himself for Wen Zuo’s rebuttal—classical allusions, scholarly rigor. In terms of mastery of ancient texts, he felt inferior and expected to be swiftly left speechless.

But Wen Zuo didn’t respond.

He simply turned his face toward him—astonished—his breathing feather-light.

Those eyes were like jade freshly unearthed from green mountains, rolling silently in a still pool—glowing with breathtaking radiance.

Shen Zheng desperately wanted to pluck a flower to capture that fleeting light.

So this was how ancient people reacted when their beliefs were challenged?

Or was it simply that this kitten-like, treacherous minister was especially adorable?

“Alright, let’s not talk about it anymore. I was just rambling.” Shen Zheng chuckled softly, tugging the reins to lift White Sand Treader’s head. “How about I take Teacher for a gallop? The scenery in the outskirts is lovely. This is the first time in my life I’ve taken someone with me.”

Whether horseback riding, driving a Hummer, or pedaling a bicycle.

Wen Zuo’s mind was utterly blank—devoid of thought.

The desire he’d first extinguished—the most base, most sordid, yet most devoutly *yearned-for* longing—after crawling, bleeding, and clawing his way through a thorny path—had now descended upon him so abruptly, so effortlessly, in the quiet, dappled woods.

The very words Shen Chen had used to deceive him for three years were now spoken by Shen Zheng with startling candor.

Did Shen Zheng not utterly abhor love between men?

White Sand Treader suddenly broke into a gallop—charging forward. Only then did Wen Zuo remember he’d forgotten to remind Shen Zheng to slow down.

The horse galloped swiftly, recklessly crossing ground that should have been beyond reach. The surrounding scenery rushed past in a blur, with wild grass beaten low across the sweeping hills.

"Mm!" Wen Zuo instinctively closed his eyes, pressing himself tightly against Shen Zheng's chest, his cheek buried in the warm hollow of his neck.

The horse jolted so violently that his heart felt as if it might leap from his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed stiffly, and the only thing he could sense was Shen Zheng's steady, measured breaths.

When the horse finally slowed and came to a stop near the small red-lacquered bridal sedan, Wen Zuo's hair was disheveled, his robes slightly askew, and he was fit to be tied.

He was about to cite the classics and reprimand Shen Zheng for breaking his word, but as he opened his eyes, he caught sight of faint bloodstains on the reins in Shen Zheng's hands.

All his words died in his throat.

Shen Zheng dismounted and extended a hand, discreetly keeping his palm hidden, smiling as he asked, "Would you like me to help you down, Teacher?"