Chapter 69

Chapter 69

At the hour of Chen, as the Mao-hour bell tolled, the two vermilion-lacquered city gates slowly swung open with the coarse, grating creak of the winch.

A long queue had already formed beneath the gate. The final batch of merchants, their faces dusty from travel, had satchels bulging with money pouches, guarded closely by vigilant escorts.

There were also many refugees, their tattered clothes concealing lumps of incense, their eyes filled with anxiety and hope.

Just as the crowd began to inch forward to enter the city, a cloud of yellow dust suddenly rose on the official road. The clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels over the earthen surface announced the arrival of a yellow-canopied carriage made of century-old camphor wood, exuding a clean, moist fragrance, adorned with vermilion and gold carvings on its shafts. It sped toward them.

The carriage was flanked by eight burly men, each standing eight feet tall, clearing the way and guarding it with an imposing display of grandeur.

As the carriage drew near, one could see a delicate golden-thread-embroidered character 'Wen' on the curtain.

Seeing this display, the refugees couldn't help but crane their necks to look. Two of the burly men frowned and scolded sharply, "What are you staring at? Are you blind? Make way for Elder Wen!"

The refugees ducked their heads in fear, hastily retreating and instinctively clearing a space. Their eyes were timid, their hands tightly clutching the incense lumps in their bosoms, afraid of accidentally offending the noble inside the carriage.

Suddenly, a hand gently lifted the carriage curtain, revealing a kindly, benevolent face.

This man's hair was half-black, half-white, neatly tied atop his head with an ebony crown. He wore a clean gray Daoist robe, with only a white incense pouch tied at his waist—his ornaments were simple.

Below the left side of his nose bridge, about two finger-widths beneath his lower eyelid, grew a black mole the size of a black bean.

It was said that such a mole was called "Bodhisattva's Tear," and only those with kind hearts who accumulated virtue and good deeds could grow one. Thus, everyone called him 'Benevolent Wen'.

Wen Yingjing's face was stern as he gently chided the two burly men, "Cease this rudeness. These are all fellow travelers and locals. Why be so harsh?"

The men quickly lowered their heads, standing with hands at their sides, murmuring obediently, "This humble one was wrong."

Wen Yingjing then turned to the queuing refugees and said with a smile, "Do not be afraid. All who come today for the Mianzhou Incense Association are friends of this Wen."

Seeing Wen Yingjing so approachable and even scolding his servants for their sake, the refugees felt a sudden warmth in their hearts. Their eyes welled up, and they bent their knees slightly in repeated bows, hands clasped, their voices choked with emotion: "Benevolent Wen! Benevolent Wen is truly a living Bodhisattva!"

The archers at the city gate had also spotted the carriage. The leader, quick-eyed, hurried over like a rolling gourd, nodding and bowing with a smile: "Ah! Elder Wen, you've finally arrived! All the incense merchants and common folk in the city have been waiting for you!"

Wen Yingjing no longer looked at the refugees and nodded to the archer. "Let us enter the city."

The curtain closed, and the carriage drove straight past the sallow, emaciated refugees and the somewhat respectable merchants, entering the city.

The refugees gazed at that wealthy, yellow-clad figure receding into the distance, murmuring softly, "A good man, Elder Wen is truly a good man."

They couldn't help but touch the small lump of ambergris in their bosoms, won at the risk of their lives. Thinking that once they exchanged it for money and brought their children back, they would definitely go kowtow several times before the Wen residence gate to repay this kindness.

The Mianzhou Incense Association was held in the largest local perfumery workshop, "Suhe Fang."

Suhe Fang was located east of the prefectural office, covering an extremely vast area with a building four stories high. Since early morning, a swarm of people had descended upon it.

The workshop was structured in layers. The front courtyard was an open, uncovered space large enough to accommodate over a thousand people, and in the blink of an eye, it was packed to the brim.

Passing through the front courtyard, in the central position, a colorful stage ten feet high had been temporarily erected. The stage was covered with a Persian carpet and furnished with over ten chairs of golden-threaded nanmu wood. Before each chair stood a small square table, already set with fine pre-rain tea.

Around the colorful stage were placed hundreds of pearwood chairs, specially reserved as elegant seats for gentry and celebrities from various regions. Each table and chair were separated by carved screens, isolating them from the jostling commoners and individual traders behind, forming a distinct barrier.

According to the Incense Association rules, all spices presented on the colorful stage had to be selected first by those seated in the pearwood chairs. Only the remainder would be available to the merchants and commoners behind.

Wen Zuo had risen early that day and changed into a cyan robe of fine satin. He held a white jade folding fan in his hand, its surface blank. A jade belt cinched his waist, from which hung a black stone tassel. As he moved, his sleeves fluttered, and the tassel chimed crisply, exuding the full dignified bearing of a scion of a noble family.

Shen Zheng emerged from the inner room shortly after, also meticulously dressed.

He was naturally tall and straight. Today he wore martial attire in shades of ink, cinched tightly at the waist. Patting the wrinkles from his robe, his back slightly bent, the ends of his hair brushed against the nape of his neck.

Wen Zuo's eyes instantly brightened slightly.

Strange, in his past life, why had he preferred elegant, scholarly young masters, the frail literati type?

Clearly, a chest hard as iron, a waistline narrow and resilient, long straight legs—these were more pleasing to the eye.

For a man, it was better to be taller, to have slightly curly hair ends, to have deep, captivating eyes, to have broad hands capable of protecting others.

"Wanshan, let's go." Shen Zheng said with a smile at his lips, walking over steadily. He naturally reached out to smooth Wen Zuo's forehead hair, tousled by the morning breeze—intimate and candid.

Wen Zuo did not avoid it, allowing the touch. He then turned to look at Liu Kangren beside him and said calmly, "Stay hidden in the Liu residence for now. I have ordered ten guards to secretly watch this place. Once I reveal my identity and take over Mianzhou Prefecture, I will thoroughly investigate the matters you spoke of to determine their truth."

Liu Kangren had already shed the dirty, bloodstained prisoner's uniform and changed into a guard's attire.

However, after two months of torture in prison, he was emaciated to the bone. The oversized clothes hung loosely on his frame, utterly failing to fill them out, but at least he looked more presentable than before.

He bowed deeply to the two, his voice somewhat hoarse. "Thank you, Governor Wen. Thank you, Fifth Prince."

Toward Shen Zheng, Liu Kangren's feelings were complex.

Yesterday, he had felt ashamed of his ten years of idleness in Mianzhou, yet he had clearly seen undisguised surprise and appreciation in Shen Zheng's eyes.

This Fifth Prince did not seem to blame him for his mediocrity but instead regarded him differently.

How could this be? How could it be so?

Wen Zuo then said to the person beside him, "Liu Qiying, Jiang Mannv, you come with me as well."

As they were about to leave, Shen Zheng's gaze inadvertently swept over the two long spears leaning against the corner of the front courtyard wall. The dust on their red tassels had been carefully brushed off.

He shook his head inwardly. This Liu Kangren truly lamented lacking strategies to pacify the barbarians and felt ashamed to ascend the general's platform.

The seal on the Liu residence was pinched by Liu Qiying's fingertips and reattached to the door panel exactly as before. If one didn't look closely, one couldn't tell the difference.

Wen Zuo and the others slipped into a narrow alley, avoiding wary eyes all the way, hurrying toward Suhe Fang.

They couldn't take a carriage, so it took half an hour on foot to arrive.

The Mianzhou Incense Association was scheduled to begin at the end of the hour of Chen. When they arrived, the scene before them was a sea of bobbing heads.

Attendants in short jackets, sweating profusely, maintained order. On the periphery, official guards with swords at their hips patrolled back and forth with serious expressions.

The air was a mix of sweat, spices, and tea—several scents intertwining, slightly pungent.

The incense merchants with the valuable goods had not yet taken the stage. On the colorful stage, only a few servants held incense boxes, displaying them by walking around the stage. However, the commoners farther back could only see vague outlines.

Thus, complaints spread through the crowd—

"Dragging their feet! We've been standing for an hour, and it still hasn't started!" a man shouted, straining his voice.

"Hey, those incense merchants have the real goods, of course they put on airs," someone replied with a sigh.

"I heard that Bone-Penetrating Incense, the kind sold overseas, is willing to be sold to Da Qian people today. Even if I have to spend my entire fortune, I'll buy a box to try, to see if it's really as miraculous as rejuvenation!"

"Just look at Elder Wen's second wife, and you'll know how miraculous this incense is. She truly has skin like ice and bones like jade, a fairy... a fairy..."

The man's words caught in his throat before he could finish.

A crisp medicinal fragrance cut through the stale air, cleansing the lungs with every deep breath.

He looked up and saw a living Luo River Goddess stepping out of poetry. The person before him had brows like jade peaks, eyes veiled in mist, skin as smooth as polished stone, and a bearing as elegant as a row of pines. A single glance felt like a refreshing breeze, leaving him floating weightlessly on a cloud.

If Wen Yingjing's second wife was an immortal, what should this one be called?

It was as if all the words in the world weren't enough to describe such breathtaking beauty.

Wherever Wen Zuo went, the clamor died down in unison. Everyone held their breath, stealing glances at him, afraid to disturb him yet desperate to leave some impression.

Unaware of these stares, Wen Zuo found a Suhe Hall attendant who was run off his feet and said, "We want to sit in the Pear Blossom Chairs."

The attendant, already irritated by constant demands, turned to snap, but upon seeing Wen Zuo's face, his anger instantly evaporated.

He immediately put on a polite face. "My apologies, young master. The Pear Blossom Chairs are all reserved in advance by the local gentry. Each seat is taken, exactly one per person. There's truly no room to spare."

Wen Zuo tilted his head slightly. Liu Qiying promptly took a hefty silver ingot from inside her robe and pressed it into the attendant's hand.

The weight of the silver made the attendant's palm sink, and his eyes lit up instantly.

Wen Zuo simply stated his request: "Please squeeze in four extra chairs for us."

"Young master, this way! Someone of your stature shouldn't suffer outside. Even if I have to squeeze them in, I'll make space for you!"

Wen Zuo's robe fluttered lightly as his figure disappeared behind the side door.

"Hey! Hey!" An anxious voice shouted not far away, but the speaker was short and his voice too faint to reach Wen Zuo and Shen Zheng's ears.

Liu Hou'er was frantic, pushing through the crowd, trying to get closer to the side door.

He had sneaked into the Incense Fair today hoping to find his missing mother among the refugees, praying she had also found some ambergris to exchange for money or food to redeem herself.

Instead of finding his mother, he had stumbled upon those "kind-hearted swindlers" again, walking right into the lion's den.

Although he had heartlessly abandoned them and ran that day, he couldn't bear to stand by and watch them die now. He had just seen Wen Xu arrive earlier, sipping tea in an elegant room on the second floor. Even though the sickly ghost had removed his face paint and the young master had taken off his face covering, Wen Xu would surely recognize their voices. And those two women weren't wearing any disguises at all!

"Move! Get out of the way!"

"Damn it! Who's shoving?" A large hand suddenly grabbed Liu Hou'er by the collar, lifting him like a chick. "You little brat, scram! This isn't a place for beggars!"

With that, the man flung him aside. Liu Hou'er was thrown out like a sack of rocks.

He yelped as he crashed into someone, immediately drawing a chorus of curses from those around him.

By the time he managed to crawl out of the crowd, rubbing his sore back and face, and mustered the strength to jump up for a look, Wen Zuo and the others were long gone.

The side door was tightly shut. They were about to run right into Wen Xu.

"It's over, truly over." Liu Hou'er hung his head, his expression desolate.

While he'd been hiding out in Mianzhou City, everyone treated him like a beggar, shooing him away, looking down on him. Only those swindlers had treated him differently. They bought him hot meals and helped him expose Wen Yingjing's true face.

But now, before they could even expose Wen Yingjing's true nature to the world, they were going to die.

The inner courtyard was already ringed with seated people. Beside each chair burned a censer of fine incense, some light and elegant, others rich and mellow, its threads weaving into the dusty air. Something this precious, worthy of the imperial palace, was being burned here as if it were free.

"Young masters, please bear with it. This spot is a bit out of the way, but it's close to the stage and quiet."

Wen Zuo and Shen Zheng's seats were behind a thick, red-lacquered pillar. It was clear these were temporary additions by the attendant—sufficiently out-of-the-way, hidden in the shadows.

Fortunately, they were only about ten feet from the stage, offering a clear view of everything on it.

"Thank you. You may go." Wen Zuo found the incense here too pungent. He raised his folding fan and fanned vigorously a couple of times.

As soon as they sat down, a loud *gong* reverberated from the stage, instantly echoing through every corner of Suhe Hall, drowning out the noise below.

An attendant dressed in coarse linen with bound calves strode to the edge of the stage and shouted at the top of his lungs: "The auspicious hour has arrived! The Mianzhou Incense Fair commences now! We respectfully invite Prefect Lou and all esteemed incense merchants to ascend the stage and take your seats!"

The crowd below collectively looked up, pausing their activities.

Shen Zheng held a teacup, a faint smile on his lips. "Lou Changsui has some nerve. With Liu Kangren missing, he still has the leisure to grace the Incense Fair with his presence."

Wen Zuo said nonchalantly, "I suspect he's come up with some desperate, ill-advised plan. Probably wants to first insist Liu Kangren committed suicide out of guilt, temporarily stabilizing the situation. After the incense fair ends, he'll continue the covert pursuit to confirm the death."

"Such a meticulously devised plan by Prefect Lou, what a pity—" As Shen Zheng spoke, he poured his tea directly into the incense burner. The expensive storax instantly turned into a puddle of murky water. "Today, you will strip him of his power."

Wen Zuo's frantic fanning paused slightly. He smiled, his eyes curving.

A series of steady, deliberate footsteps sounded from the second-floor staircase. Lou Changsui, dressed in official robes and wearing a black gauze cap, led the way down.

His neck was short and thick. Now, deliberately puffing out his chest, tucking in his neck, and striding with hands clasped behind his back, he ascended the wooden steps to the stage with a peculiar sense of ridiculousness.

He lifted a pair of puffy, fish-belly-like eyes, dark circles of fatigue hanging beneath them. His round belly protruded as he spoke without changing expression: "Gentlemen, gathering in Mianzhou today for this Incense Association adds great splendor to our city. This humble prefect is deeply honored."

Unexpectedly, he shifted his tone, turning to gesture at the incense merchants walking slowly behind him. "However, undeserving as I am to govern Mianzhou Prefecture, I must first thank these esteemed merchants. Without their artistry and refinement, how could Mianzhou's incense fame spread far and wide? As the ancient saying goes, 'Only by planting the parasol tree can one attract the phoenix.' May all present today depart with rare fragrances, thoroughly satisfied. May you soar to great heights in the future, with wealth flowing in abundantly!"

A wave of appreciative applause immediately erupted from below. The merchants who had come to buy incense gave this frontier official ample face.

Lou Changsui stepped aside, revealing Wen Yingjing's somewhat solemn face behind him.

He still wore the same gray Daoist robe, with kind eyebrows and benevolent eyes. Compared to the other lavishly dressed incense merchants, he seemed out of place.

Wen Ze followed at his side, his gaunt frame held stiffly upright. However, without the ever-present smoking pipe he usually carried, he had no outlet for his restlessness, and a layer of anxiety faintly surfaced on his face.

As for Wen Xu, that hopeless good-for-nothing, he naturally had no right to appear on stage.

Wen Yingjing flicked his robe and sat steadily on the golden nanmu chair to Lou Changsui's left. Wen Ze followed closely, taking the seat beside him.

Seeing Wen Yingjing's hypocritical face, Wen Zuo unconsciously tightened his grip on the folding fan. The sharp edges of the fan ribs pressed into his fingertips, gradually leaving deep red marks.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, gazing darkly. Memories seeped out like water from a leaky wooden box, dripping onto his heart, spreading a murky, muddy stain.

He could barely hear the surrounding sounds. Hatred, like invasive vines, tightly constricted his thoughts. His mind flashed incessantly with various methods of death he was concocting for Wen Yingjing.

Just as he was about to crush the fan ribs, a warm, dry hand suddenly grasped his wrist. Then, with an irresistible force, it pried open his clenched fingers one by one, rescuing the five digits, pale from excessive pressure, from their cruel grip.

Shen Zheng gently took the folding fan from his hand, his voice low and gentle. "I'll hold it for you, Teacher."

Seeing his suddenly empty palm, Wen Zuo belatedly felt the dull ache in his knuckles.

The hatred loosened slightly. Realizing his loss of composure, he spoke awkwardly, "I..."

"It's crowded and many eyes are watching. Holding hands wouldn't be appropriate." Shen Zheng interrupted him, smiling as he offered his own sleeve into Wen Zuo's palm. "Teacher, you can hold onto my sleeve."

Wen Zuo hesitated for a moment, then closed his fingers, lightly grasping the fabric.

Even though it was just a sleeve, a subtle yet thrilling emotion stirred within him. Shen Zheng's wrist rested on the arm of the chair. With the slightest movement from him, Shen Zheng would notice immediately.

As if he couldn't hide any secrets.