Chapter 70

Chapter 70

The moment their eyes met, Luan Xucheng's entire body trembled violently. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Countless memories surged back in an instant: studying together with Qi Chenhui at the Literary Pavilion, where he always gave him the best ink; when his father died, Qi Chenhui solemnly said, "Brother Yanming, from now on, you have me"; after the great fire four years ago, Qi Chenhui, hiding his exhaustion, said gently, "Thank you for donating silver for the repairs, Brother Yanming"...

And now, he had to tell him in person that the so-called "accident" was his own doing.

Qi Chenhui stepped closer, his voice strained to the breaking point: "Brother Yanming, that fire at the Literary Pavilion four years ago... was it really set by you...?"

The words "Brother Yanming" struck Luan Xucheng's heart like a dull blade. He raised his head, met Qi Chenhui's reddened eyes, and finally his tears fell uncontrollably.

"Yes... it was me." His voice was hoarse, and he didn't dare look at the other man. "Back then, when the ship sank in the Eastern Sea, Chu Fusheng hid evidence of my crimes in a painting... Later, the painting ended up with the Qi family. I feared exposure, so... I set the fire..."

He didn't mention Ji Zhou or his advice that "only burning the pavilion can save yourself," nor did he mention his promise, "If something goes wrong, I'll take the blame." From his perspective, it all originated from him—his greed to seize Qianchen Pavilion's ships, his cruelty to cover up the crime by setting the fire, and his foolishness in still believing Ji Zhou was helping him.

Hearing this, Qi Chenhui's mind went blank. He stared at Luan Xucheng as if seeing a complete stranger. "Why? We grew up together. I treated you like my own brother. How did the Qi family ever mistreat you? How could you—"

His voice grew hoarse, his pain cutting deep. "That pavilion held... my grandfather's life's work, and Brother Su's *Strategies for the People*, written over many years. How... how could you do it?!"

"I..." Luan Xucheng's lips trembled, but only a sob escaped.

He wanted to explain that he feared confiscation of his family's property, wanted to admit it was a momentary lapse, but a thousand words condensed into one light, fragile phrase: "...I'm sorry."

He knew those three words were too light—too light to bear Su Chancheng's death, too light to repay Qi's grandfather's kindness back then, and too light to be worthy of Qi Chenhui's years of trust.

Just then, the crowd stirred. Ji Zhou walked slowly forward, flanked by attendants. When he saw Luan Xucheng, his face took on a perfectly measured expression of sorrow.

"Yanming..."

Luan Xucheng looked at Ji Zhou, his eyes full of apology. But he didn't see the coldness that flashed deep in Ji Zhou's eyes, nor did he see Wen Buchi and Situ Kong simultaneously casting scrutinizing glances at Ji Zhou.

Luan Xucheng raised his hand, signaling Ji Zhou to stop speaking. What was done was done; it was all destiny now.

Situ Kong stepped forward, holding a ledger seized from the Celestial Inspectorate. His voice was cold as steel: "Luan Xucheng, these are your family's private salt transaction records, including recent shipment amounts, bribes to Jin Dalin, and even details of wage deductions at the tea factory. Do you admit to these crimes?"

Luan Xucheng looked down at the ledger he had written himself, every word and stroke a testament to his guilt.

He nodded calmly: "I confess."

"The fire at the Qi family's Literary Pavilion four years ago, which caused Su Chancheng's death and heavy losses to the Qi family—do you also confess to this crime?" Situ Kong pressed.

"I confess." Luan Xucheng nodded again, without hesitation.

Wen Buchi stood silently, his gaze fixed on Ji Zhou throughout. He let his eyes sweep over Ji Zhou's face before settling on the subtly clenched sleeve of his robe, taking in every hint of the "anguish" displayed.

Situ Kong was not about to let Ji Zhou off so easily. He abruptly changed the subject: "Master Ji, the Celestial Inspectorate has confirmed that Jin Dalin's appointment as Prefect of Wuzhou was secured through your Ji family's influence in the court. Over the years, he suppressed many incidents for the Luan family, and behind it all, traces of your Ji family's mediation are visible. Now that Jin Dalin has taken his own life and Luan Xucheng has confessed, if you insist you knew nothing, it will be hard to believe you."

Ji Zhou's expression of pain faded slightly, but he still maintained his composure. Cupping his hands, he replied, "Lord Situ, the Ji family recommended Jin Dalin because we valued his early achievements. We never expected that after taking office, he would become corrupt and break the law. This is our Ji family's 'failure to read people correctly,' and I admit it. But as for 'mediation,' there is no evidence—it's pure fabrication."

Thus he admitted a minor fault—"failure to read people correctly"—while completely distancing himself from the major crimes, a masterful balancing act.

Situ Kong was about to press further when a subordinate of the Celestial Inspectorate hurried over, holding a blood-stained envelope: "My lord, the Left Bureau found a suicide note on Jin Dalin's desk!"

Situ Kong took the envelope, careful to avoid the bloodstains, and pulled out the letter within.

The edges of the paper were wrinkled from blood. On it was Jin Dalin's scrawled handwriting. Seeing the letter, Ji Zhou's eyes relaxed briefly before he assumed a sorrowful expression again: "My cousin... ah... why did he have to be so foolish..."

Situ Kong read it carefully, then handed it to Wen Buchi.

Jin Dalin's intention to take full blame in death was obvious. Wen Buchi had expected this; he glanced at it and said quietly, "The handwriting is indeed Jin Dalin's own—no signs of forgery."

Luan Xucheng shook his head, murmuring, "It's all my fault... all my fault..." He was still protecting Ji Zhou, still believing he had implicated Ji Zhou. But he didn't see that Ji Zhou's gaze held no gratitude at all—only the cold indifference of a well-used pawn.

Situ Kong frowned at the letter. Though he knew there were many suspicious points, with Jin Dalin dead and Luan Xucheng refusing to implicate anyone, lacking solid evidence, he could hardly implicate the Ji family.

Left with no other choice, he put the matter aside for now and ordered his subordinates, "Take Luan Xucheng to the main prison and keep him under strict guard. When the situation stabilizes, he will be escorted to the capital for trial!"

"Yes!" The subordinates stepped forward to take him away.

Luan Xucheng walked a few steps, then suddenly stopped and turned back to look at Ji Zhou, his voice pleading: "Brother Minghan... I..."

Ji Zhou nodded gently, his expression still pained, but he said nothing.

Luan Xucheng seemed to have unburdened his conscience and let himself be led away. As he turned, Ji Zhou breathed a silent sigh of relief deep inside. As long as he wasn't arrested on the spot, he could find a way to escape.

The smile on his face vanished instantly, replaced by cold calculation. A chess piece's final value is to leave no loose ends.

Wen Buchi observed the entire scene silently. After Luan Xucheng was taken away, he didn't say more. As the figures faded, his gaze turned to the crowd, where Nan Wuxie had already left, leaving only a fading figure.

Ji Zhou stood at the entrance of the government office, watching the bustling agents of the Celestial Inspectorate and the Listening Terrace. He was already plotting his escape from Wuzhou. He knew that Wen Buchi and Situ Kong wouldn't let go easily; only by returning to the capital and relying on the Ji family's power could he truly be safe. So he shot a glance at his attendant, who quietly slipped away to arrange for a carriage.

He looked up at the sky, feeling the time was right, and cupped his hands to Situ Kong: "Lord Situ, if there's nothing more here, I'll take my leave. If further investigation is needed later, just send word."

Situ Kong looked at him, a flicker of unease in his mind, but he could only nod and allow him to leave.

That night, in the prison, Luan Xucheng sat alone on the cold straw mat. His sins were deep—he admitted it. The last shred of conscience stopped him from implicating others. But to his dying day, he never knew that the great fire four years ago was never just his fault alone. He didn't know that Ji Zhou had ordered men to secretly lock the back door, sealing Su Chancheng's escape route. He had always believed Su's death was merely an unintended consequence of the fire he had set.

Soon, two prison guards swaggered to his cell door to deliver his meal, rattling the chains noisily.

"Someone wants you to have this," one of the guards said gruffly.

Along with the food box, a worn book was slipped in—a copy of *The Analects* sent by Qi Chenhui, the same book they had read together as teenagers.

Luan Xucheng's trembling hands opened it, and a thin note fluttered out. On it was Qi Chenhui's handwriting, clear and distinct: *Our past friendship ends here today. If there is a next life, may we never meet again.*

He stared at the note, tears silently falling, blotting the ink. The past flashed before his eyes like a slideshow of memories.

In the quiet of the night, Wuzhou's lights gradually extinguished, leaving only the solitary lamp in the prison illuminating Luan Xucheng's curled figure. He buried his face in his knees, sobbing quietly, like a child who had taken "one wrong step and fallen into irredeemable ruin."

At that same moment, Ji Zhou sat serenely in his inn, reading a letter from the capital: *Everything is arranged in the capital. You may leave Wuzhou tomorrow.*

He raised his wine glass and drained it in one gulp, a cold glint in his eyes.

***

The night was deep, and Wuzhou city fell into silence. Only the candlelight flickered in the guest room where Wen Buchi was staying, casting shifting shadows and a seductive interplay of light and shadow.

The air was thick with rising heat, mixed with a faint, cold scent of sandalwood. The bed groaned in a steady rhythm—sometimes urgent, sometimes languid—interwoven with stifled breaths and barely suppressed moans.

Wen Buchi was trapped between the brocade quilt and Nan Wuxie's hot body. His ink-black hair was spread loose, his moon-white nightgown already disheveled, revealing the graceful curve of his neck.

He tilted his head back, enduring the forbidden touches from behind. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he bit his lip, refusing to let out a single whimper.

(I really don't know how to edit this further. The wording is subtle enough, isn't it? Please, divine censors! Almighty review gods! Let me pass. I kowtow to you here.)

He lowered his head, looking at the flushed nape of Wen Buchi's neck, listening to the broken sounds escaping from his throat, and a faint smile curled at his lips: "Lord Wen's composure is far worse than in the capital."

Wen Buchi frowned in discomfort, but still forced out a trembling sarcastic retort between his teeth: "Marquis Nan, with your far-reaching methods and countless victories, after all this, you can't even bring down Ji Zhou? It seems you're not so impressive after all."

Before his words had even faded, Nan Wuxie abruptly intensified his movements, causing Wen Buchi to lose his voice, his hands clenching the silk beneath him tightly.

"Is Lord Wen still not clear enough about what I can do? Feeling it right now?" Nan Wuxie chuckled, his hot breath brushing against Wen Buchi's ear, his actions alternating between forceful and gentle, pushing the man to his limits, all his mocking words dissolving into fragmented breaths.

"You...!" Wen Buchi shuddered, a mix of shame and overwhelming sensation spiraling within, threatening to consume him. He tried to struggle, only to be pressed deeper into the embrace, unable to move.

"The second son of the Xue family has already headed south," Nan Wuxie's voice remained steady, as calmly as if discussing official matters, though the sweat on his brow and the tension in his abdomen betrayed his immersion. "Taking over half of the Luan family's salt, tea, and silk trade routes. The other half goes to Chu Qi's Qianchen Pavilion..."

As he spoke, he shifted his angle, hitting Wen Buchi's most sensitive spot.

Wen Buchi abruptly threw his head back, his neck forming a fragile curve, a suppressed sound escaping his throat.

"The... the southern trade routes... all in your hands... Nan Wuxie... you've got it all figured out..." he said in broken phrases, trying to reclaim some control with words, but his body utterly betrayed him, melting into a puddle of warmth.

"Likewise," Nan Wuxie smiled faintly, his assault unrelenting. "The Listening Terrace and the Celestial Inspectorate share this 'achievement.' After Lord Wen returns to the capital, take credit before the Emperor, and your position as a powerful minister will only grow more secure."

...Nan Wuxie's actions grew increasingly improper, and Wen Buchi, caught off guard, let out a startled gasp, releasing all control in a moment of abandon.

An intense wave of shame washed over him. He shut his eyes tightly, his lashes wet, wishing he could vanish on the spot.

But Nan Wuxie was far from done, his motions even more uninhibited than before, as if he intended to devour the man completely.

"As for the Ji family..." Nan Wuxie's breathing was heavy, his voice deepening. "Let his father keep the position of Minister of Personnel for now. Cutting off their southern foundation has already crippled them. There's plenty of time ahead..."

Wen Buchi could no longer form sentences, his thoughts scattered, barely catching fragments of words. Nan Wuxie's hand moved to his shoulder, continuing his relentless actions.

The bed shook more violently. The candlelight flickered, casting their entangled shadows on the bed curtains, blurring their forms. Wen Buchi's tone lost some of its defiance. "Nan Wuxie, you'd better follow through."

Nan Wuxie leaned down, kissing the side of his neck, sending a shiver through him. "If I fail, Lord Wen is always welcome to hold me accountable."

His lips moved upward, brushing against Wen Buchi's sweat-damp temple, his voice suddenly turning deep, carrying a wild arrogance and icy calm that commanded everything. "Besides, what I want has never been a temporary victory... but a complete cleansing of this rotten official system."

These words struck like thunder in Wen Buchi's still hazy mind. He snapped his eyes open, meeting Nan Wuxie's gaze, so close. Those deep eyes were ablaze with desire, but also brimming with unguarded ambition and icy resolve.

Wen Buchi's heart pounded wildly, not just from the overwhelming satisfaction coursing through him, but from the sheer scope of this man's ambition. He wanted to challenge the entire entrenched old order with his own strength.

"You... are mad..." Wen Buchi gasped, unsure who he was speaking to.

Nan Wuxie smirked, the expression twisted with lust, giving it a sinister charm. "Mad or not, Lord Wen can see for himself?"

With that, he gave Wen Buchi no chance to think or argue, sealing his lips in a near-possessive kiss, swallowing all sounds that couldn't pass censorship, along with any sarcasm or surprise that might have escaped.

The bed shook faster, the candle flame sputtering, casting their tightly entwined shadows on the wall—distorted, magnified, like the most primal and fierce struggle in the dark.

After what seemed like an eternity, the storm subsided.

Nan Wuxie withdrew slightly, but not entirely, pulling the limp Wen Buchi into his arms in the same position, his hand idly stroking his sweat-damp forehead.

Wen Buchi lay limply in his embrace, too exhausted to even move a finger, his chest still heaving violently, a silent testament to the intensity of what had just happened.

The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood, mixed with post-passion lethargy and tranquility.

"You're too thin – your bones dig into me. Eat more." Nan Wuxie's voice returned to its usual lazy tone, as if the man who had been so ferocious and outspoken moments ago was just a figment of imagination.