Chapter 392 Escape?

Chapter 392: Escape?

Before Song Tingzhou departed, a major incident shook the capital—Prince Lian, under house arrest in his own residence, had escaped. At that moment, Meng Wan was packing his bags, while Fang Jinrong squatted by the storeroom door, holding a bowl of bright red cherries, each one no bigger than a peanut, but so vividly red they were clearly ripe.

"Ge Quan said that the moment Prince Lian fled, Prince Qin was summoned to the palace again. This time it wasn't just a reprimand or house arrest—the Emperor immediately issued an edict to seize back Prince Qin's fiefdom and stripped his eldest son of his heir-apparent title, demoting him to a commandery prince." Fang Jinrong said between bites, enthusiastically dishing the gossip to Meng Wan.

Meng Wan had been fiddling with a set of silver tea things, but paused mid-motion, genuinely surprised. "Prince Lian fled—what's that got to do with Prince Qin? Don't tell me he's the one who let him go?"

If Prince Qin's heir got demoted to a commandery prince, how's that any different from having his title stripped entirely?

When Fang Jinrong was being good, he was just an innocent young master. He fed a few cherries to Meng Wan while eating some himself, then said with absolute certainty, "Even if he didn't let him go, it's gotta be tied to him somehow. Otherwise, why would the Emperor be this furious?"

Meng Wan let out a cold chuckle. "Not necessarily."

The current Emperor would never let Prince Qin go back to his fiefdom. The earlier warnings were all part of a slow buildup—slowly shredding Prince Qin's already terrified heart, backing him into a corner until he lashed out in desperation. The second he showed even the slightest weakness, Prince Qin was done for.

The capital was crawling with the Emperor's spies. Prince Lian must have had old loyalists who survived the crackdown—in any case, there's no way Prince Qin—a lazy prince with zero political savvy—could've pulled that off. The Emperor was just looking for an excuse to take him down.

A flicker of confusion clouded Meng Wan's eyes again. Did Prince Lian really have what it takes to escape right under the Emperor's nose?

In the prime spot at the foot of the imperial city, inside the first ring of walls—the Prince Lian mansion.

This was familiar ground for Luo Jining, since his young brother-in-law had lived there for years.

The once meticulously arranged halls and pavilions, the gorgeous landscaped gardens, the artificial mountains and lakes that felt like paradise—just one year later, the lake was still a lake, the buildings still tall, but everything had fundamentally changed.

The gardens had decayed the worst. The lake's surface was covered in dead leaves, and a few koi floated belly-up, half-hidden among the water plants at the edge, giving off a putrid, rotting stench that made you want to gag.

Wen Zhao was trailed by a dozen-plus second-rank masters from the Qianlong Guard, while Ge Quan led a squad of brocade guards ahead, clearing the path with a stone-faced expression.

Wen Zhao gazed across the rotting leaves and dark green duckweed on the lake's surface, catching a fishy stench laced with something else—the smell of flesh rotting in water.

In his youth, he'd fought on the battlefield alongside Marquis Zhongyi, so his tolerance for such smells was higher than most. He didn't pinch his nose in disgust; instead, he ordered the Qianlong Guard, "Send men into the water to fish out all the filth from the lake. If they can't get it all, drain the lake dry, slowly."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Chengyun Hall, the main hall of the Prince Lian mansion, was nine bays wide and five bays deep, with beams and pillars all carved from golden nanmu—pure luxury. Of the mansion's six hundred-plus rooms, Chengyun Hall was the biggest and most lavish.

Having grown up in the imperial palace, his residence outside the palace was built to higher standards than his brothers'. His mother's clan was powerful, and everyone groveled before him. Prince Lian knew he was born different—the four-clawed dragon on his ceremonial robes would one day become a five-clawed golden dragon.

His mother had told him over and over that sitting on that supreme throne was his destiny. The Nie family would back him without reservation, and he'd believed it without a doubt.

Those schemes, those conspiracies—they'd carried all his ambition and all his blood, sweat, and tears, yet in the end, it all came to nothing.

The entire Prince Lian mansion no longer had a single servant—just suffocating silence. The doors of Chengyun Hall stood wide open, sunlight slanting in, casting dappled shadows across the gold-brick floor, which had gathered a thin layer of dust. The air was thick with the musty smell of dust and the stale trace of long-abandoned human presence.

The furnishings were unchanged—rosewood tables and chairs, jade-inlaid screens. Once, the noble prince had sat in state upon them, receiving everyone's reverence, directing the realm with grand gestures.

But all of that had turned to ash with the failed coup.

No one knew that the "escaped" Prince Lian, as the rumors went, had never even left the gates of Chengyun Hall. Even an ordinary person, locked up for a year, would've gone mad...

Consort Nie coldly looked down at her son prostrate on the ground, her expression indifferent, as if she weren't looking at her own flesh and blood but at some insignificant object.

"Wen Xu, you've disappointed me deeply. The Nie family planned all this for you—eighty thousand private troops holding Tongzhou—and you didn't even have the guts to lead them straight into the city to attack."

"Mediocrity! How did Wen Zhao dare to prepare in advance, treacherously and secretly moving the Qin Family Army back to the capital?"

"The Nie family staked their entire household's lives on you, and in the end, you're still not his equal."

"A useless piece of trash..."

The sneer on Consort Nie's lips was cold as tempered ice, stabbing Wen Xu's heart with both pain and irritation. His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted so grotesquely it ruined his handsome, jade-like features. Grief, frustration, fear, rage—all of it tangled together, driving him to lunge forward uncontrollably and viciously grab Consort Nie's fragile neck.

"I'm the useless piece of trash?"

"Who pushed me to this?"

"Who told me to fight for it, to grab it?"

"Did you ever give me a reason to think I could lose?"

"From childhood, every single time—whenever I made one mistake, whenever I fell even a little short of Wen Zhao, you'd lock me in that cold room... The last time was at the palace banquet when I was twelve—because my gift didn't please the Empress Dowager as much as Wen Zhao's, you locked me in that room and starved me for three days!"

"Even the cold palace in winter had nothing on that!"

"That room was so cold... so damn cold..."

Yan struggled painfully against the hands gripping his neck, his face turning purple, his eyes bloodshot with spiderweb-like red veins. His fingernails dug into the flesh of Wen Xu's hands, and a wheezing sound squeezed from his throat. "...Your... Highness... let... let..."

Just as his strength to even kick his legs was fading and his face went deathly pale, the hands around his neck finally loosened as the strength drained out of them.

Wen Xu was already weak. After his outburst, he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving violently, the hate-filled, suppressed look in his eyes slowly calming.

Yan didn't bother checking his own injuries. He crawled to Wen Xu's side, pulled a pink pill from his robes, and fed it to him. His voice was hoarse and grating—every word felt like fire scorching his throat. "Your... Highness... don't... be afraid... the Consort... is already... dead... no one... will ever... call you... trash... again."

Consort Nie had run herself through with a sword the moment Wen Zhao led his troops into the palace. After death, she wasn't even granted a spot in the imperial mausoleum, nor could she be buried in the consort cemetery. She was burned to ashes along with the Nie family's convicted criminals.

Wen Xu's disheveled hair covered his eyes. It was a long moment before he spoke. "Is that so? Dead? Good. Better dead than suffering through life with me."

He suddenly pulled Yan into his arms, asking in a dark tone, "Don't you think so?"

Yan closed his eyes. Even swallowing felt like knives cutting through his throat, so he could only shake his head silently.

Wen Xu's arms locked around him, his hands gripping Yan's thin, weak waist tightly, whispering in his ear in a strange tone. "So what about you? Yan, will you leave me?"

Yan shook his head again. Wen Xu felt that faint movement and laughed, his eyes full of darkness and madness. "That's right—you can't stand to leave me. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come back. But now that you're here, you can't leave. Regret it?"

He didn't wait for the person in his arms to answer, his face suddenly darkening like a mask had shifted. "Too late for regrets. Even in death, you'll die with me!"

The Prince Lian mansion looked deserted, but in reality, it was guarded so tightly that not even a fly could get in. Even Ge Quan couldn't sneak in quietly to rescue anyone.

Yan had gotten in, but he couldn't get anyone out. Only the swordsman who'd always followed him had escaped, vanishing without a trace.

"Didn't expect my dear little brother to still be in such good spirits."

Every move in the Prince Lian mansion was under Wen Zhao's watchful eye. Naturally, he knew a little fly had snuck in.

Yan struggled to shield Wen Xu, his eyes empty of any will to live. He'd prepared himself for death long before coming back to the capital.

But Wen Xu shoved him aside and staggered to his feet. "Didn't think that even after taking the throne as Emperor, you'd still come to see your little brother?"

He tried to approach Wen Zhao, but before Ge Quan could even move, Wen Zhao had already kicked his brother aside. His tone didn't change, still carrying a hint of amusement in it. "Since you know I've taken the throne, you should change how you address me."

Wen Xu scrambled up from the ground, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "Change it to what, then?"

After all, he was a dead man walking—did they expect him to kneel and shout "Long live the Emperor" or what?

Wen Zhao sighed softly. "Rare for you to be clever for once—have you figured out why I'm here?"

Wen Xu sneered coldly, "Aren't you just trying to force me to hang myself? I refuse to die! Either you kill me now—"

Before he could even finish the word "me," Wen Zhao swiftly drew a guard's saber and drove it clean through Wen Xu's chest.

"Tsk, did you really think I've kept you alive all this time because I was afraid to kill you?"

He looked down at his brother with cold, indifferent eyes, who hadn't drawn his last breath yet. "I could have sent you to join the Nie family long ago. Do you know why I kept you alive until now?"

A flicker of pity even crossed Wen Zhao's face. "I wanted you to watch me ascend the throne, to see how I take control of the realm. If you hadn't gotten tangled up with the Nie family, you might have been spared. But you couldn't stand being beneath me. If you had taken the throne today, what would the court look like now? In the eyes of the Nie family and Nie Guifei, you were nothing but a puppet."

"Nie Chuan said there were no heirs left in his line, and you believed him? His sons have fathered countless bastards on the sly—some sent to academies in the south, some stashed in the camps outside the capital, others stationed at the borders. You fought and clawed for it all, only to hand the Wen family's empire to the Nies on a silver platter."

Blood spread in a dark stain across Wen Xu's chest, and his eyes nearly brimmed with bloody tears. He drew his last breath consumed by the deepest hatred—whether for Wen Zhao, the Nie family, or Nie Guifei who raised him, no one could say.

Yan pressed his hands stubbornly over Wen Xu's wound until he felt no breath under his nose. Only then did he let out a breath, as if a weight had been lifted off him. He pulled a pitch-black pill from his robe and swallowed it without hesitation. Within moments, blood seeped from his seven orifices, and he collapsed atop Wen Xu's body.

The sky outside, which had been clear, slowly clouded over as the wind swept the clouds together, piling up thicker and thicker, shifting from white to gray, then from gray to a murky black.

Rain can wash away dust, but it can't cleanse ambition and sin.

"Don't come looking for me anymore—just leave this place. But before you leave... could you go check on my sister for me?"

In a small town near Tongzhou, the rain was coming down in sheets. A swordsman in a conical hat led his horse to the front of a noodle shop amid the roaring thunder and rain.

"Boss, one bowl of plain noodles."

A young woman with plain features but a fair complexion smiled in response. "Coming right up, sir. Just a moment."

As she kneaded dough, she said to the man tending the fire: "Husband, take the guest's horse to the stable in the back courtyard so it can get out of the rain."

The man looked up from behind the stove, his face equally plain, and gave a simple, good-natured grin. "I'm on it."

The swordsman watched the young woman—watched her knead the dough, roll it out, slice it into noodles, drop them into the boiling pot, toss in a few greens when they were done, and ladle out a big, steaming bowl. The small shop filled with a light, clean fragrance.

He kept watching her, as if using his own eyes to see, on someone else's behalf, the family member they'd devoted their life to protecting.

The young woman grew a little uneasy, and when her husband came back, she had him carry the noodles over to the swordsman while she slipped to the back.

The swordsman looked away, silently ate every last noodle, and didn't say a word the whole time except that one sentence. He left a silver ingot and walked away.

The man called after him: "Sir, you've overpaid! Your horse is still in the back courtyard!"

The swordsman didn't even look back. "Keep it. It's yours now."

—

The world's flavor has grown thin as gauze these years; who sends me, on horseback, to roam the capital's haze?

In a small tower, I listen to spring rain all night; in deep lanes, at dawn, apricot blossoms are sold.

— Lu You, "Spring Rain in Lin'an, First Light"

Spring in the north brings light rains, fine as silk thread. Last night's rain had somehow come down so hard that Meng Wan had worried the morning would still be wet and hard to travel in—but to his surprise, he woke to clear skies.

It was best to travel early, but the Song family always deferred to Meng Wan. If he could get up early, they left early; if not, they left late.

"What time is it?" Meng Wan yawned, sitting up in bed. No one was beside him—Song Tingzhou had gotten up long ago.

Zhi Fan brought over the clothes Meng Wan was to wear today and replied, "It's already 7:15, young master. Our carts and horses are all ready and waiting outside. The master went to the palace early this morning and hasn't come back yet. He said if he's too late, we don't need to wait for him—we should head to the city gate first."

Meng Wan got dressed. "Fine, not too late. Have the kitchen pack me two bags of buns—I'll eat them on the road."

The carts and horses were waiting outside the front gate. After washing up, he walked out feeling light and easy, while Zhi Fan came out of the kitchen with a bamboo basket and fell in step behind him.

Meng Wan waited at the door for a bit. Just as he was about to get on the carriage, he heard the sound of hooves coming from down the street—Song Tingzhou and Tao Shi riding back together.

Xue Sheng had escorted Chang Jinhua and the others back to their hometown, so they couldn't make do with just Chi Yu by their side. Song Tingzhou had also brought Tao Shi along on the official trip.

"What time did you get up?" Song Tingzhou got off his horse and joined Meng Wan in the carriage.

Meng Wan opened the bamboo basket Zhi Fan had put inside. It had not only several oil-paper-wrapped buns but also bamboo tubes of milk. He handed one to Song Tingzhou. "Just got up."

The milk was still warm, even a bit hot on the lips. Song Tingzhou didn't like its gamey smell and only took a couple of sips before setting it aside.

Meng Wan ate a bun, then picked up Song Tingzhou's leftover milk and drank it slowly. The carriage started moving at a gentle pace, and at the city gate they ran into Ge Quan and Fang Jinrong. Old Ge was getting up there in years and had stayed in the capital to enjoy his retirement. Ge Quan rode on horseback with Fang Jinrong, each carrying a single bundle—a stark contrast to the two carts of luggage the Song family had trimmed down to.