Chapter 91

Chapter 91

After saying this, he fell silent, as tight-lipped as a gourd with its mouth cut off, keeping his body bent and head lowered, waiting silently for further instructions from Nan Wuxie.

In his view, when reporting something important, you only give details after the master asks—that's the rule.

…Seeing him like this, Nan Wuxie raised an eyebrow.

This blockhead, Wei Qinghe…!

He just blurted out "something's happened" and then had nothing more to say. Did he really expect me to beg him to continue? In emergencies, you have to be flexible—how can this guy be so stubborn?

Nan Wuxie made a point of not responding, simply standing there at ease with his arms crossed, his calm gaze fixed on the crown of Wei Qinghe's lowered head.

Having waited long for his marquis's reply, Wei Qinghe's heart began to pound. He discreetly lifted his head and stole a glance at his marquis's expression.

Good heavens—that glance met Nan Wuxie's eyes, which were full of a ‘you’re about to get schooled’ look.

His marquis was looking at him with an expression of "patience," a look that sent a chill down Wei Qinghe's neck.

He quickly straightened up, his words tumbling out faster, "It's, it's Lord Wen… Lord Wen has been taken away by the people from the Jingzhao Prefecture. Now the whole city is buzzing with rumors, all saying that Lord Wen is the murderer of Third Master Wen, and that Lord Wen's own father personally beat the drum to cry for justice."

Hearing this, Nan Wuxie's face showed neither the shock nor the anger that Wei Qinghe had expected. He merely narrowed his eyes very slightly, his gaze as deep and still as a dark pool.

He had anticipated this long ago.

Back then, his persistence in investigating the truth behind Wen Shuyi's death—digging down to the root, even personally traveling to Huazhou—was not because he valued Third Master Wen so much, nor because Nan Wuxie had suddenly changed his nature and started meddling.

What concerned him, from beginning to end, was only one point: if the real murderer wasn't caught and this unsolved case was left hanging, then in the end, who would the dirty water most likely be splashed on?

The answer was self-evident. Nan Wuxie simply wanted to take preventive measures, to drag the hidden shadow out before rumors fermented and plots came to fruition, clearing Wen Buchi of this unsubstantiated suspicion.

But no matter how many calculations he made, he never expected the truth to be so thorny.

The real culprit was found—but it turned out to be this Chu Qi! A Qianchen Pavilion master who should have long been dead by the law's executioner's blade!

A headache.

Since returning from Huazhou two days ago, Nan Wuxie had been nursing a headache every waking moment. On the surface, he seemed leisurely as usual, but his heart was weighed down by a massive boulder.

He turned it over and over in his mind, trying to find a win-win solution between preserving Chu Qi's identity secret and rescuing Wen Buchi.

That fool Wen Jiucheng, stupid and muddleheaded, had accused his own son. The pressure on Jingzhao Prefecture must be considerable, and with street rumors pushing things along, the longer time dragged on, the more disadvantageous it became for Wen Buchi.

Thinking of this, Nan Wuxie unconsciously clenched his fist, an indescribable agitation surging in his chest.

"Marquis?" Seeing him silent for so long with a grim expression, Wei Qinghe couldn't help but call out softly.

Nan Wuxie suddenly snapped back to reality, the complex emotions that had just surged in his eyes suppressed. He looked up, gazing in the direction of the Jingzhao Prefecture office.

Seeing his marquis's expression, Wei Qinghe added softly, with a hint of comfort, "Marquis, the people from Jingzhao Prefecture… they should take into account Lord Wen's relationship with His Majesty and dare not be too negligent…"

He stopped at that point.

These words struck a chord with Nan Wuxie. Yes, in the eyes of outsiders, Wen Buchi was the emperor's special "favored minister"—this identity was an invisible shield. For this very reason, the people from Jingzhao Prefecture had only "invited" him for questioning rather than directly arresting him and throwing him in prison.

However, half an hour had passed since Wen Buchi was taken into the office, yet there was no movement from the palace—not a single whisper. This was extremely unusual.

What others found strange was why His Majesty hadn't stepped in to protect his beloved; what Nan Wuxie found strange was why Li Sheng hadn't moved to protect his trusted confidant.

"Yes… Jingzhao Prefecture should have received an edict," Nan Wuxie murmured. "Why hasn't it come? What is Li Sheng doing…"

His muttering was fragmentary, because he couldn't figure it out either.

The death of an insignificant Wen Shuyi, offending a mediocre and incompetent Wen Jiucheng—they were inconsequential to Li Sheng. In his mind, all the Wens in that mansion combined were not worth a fraction of the loyal minister Wen Buchi, who could preside over the Listening Terrace and clear obstacles for him.

Even if Wen Buchi was falsely accused, even if he had actually killed the man—given Li Sheng's imperial mindset and his reliance on Wen Buchi, he would certainly have intervened, suppressing the matter or turning the tide. There was no way he would sit idle and let his most important blade break in this.

But the palace was silent now. This silence was too strange.

Abandoned?

Nan Wuxie pondered again and again, his eyes turning completely cold.

"Saddle the horse."

With a long stride, he walked away decisively.

At this moment, deep within the imperial palace, in the study of the rear hall of Xiwen Palace, the light was dim, casting blurred shadows.

Li Sheng leaned sideways on the imperial couch covered in bright yellow soft cushions, his eyes half-closed, slowly twirling a string of smooth wooden prayer beads in his hand, his expression unreadable.

The grand eunuch Wang Dequan stopped three steps before the imperial couch, bowed with his head lowered, and spoke in a lowered voice.

"Your Majesty."

Li Sheng's fingers, twirling the prayer beads, paused briefly. He didn't open his eyes, only emitting a very light "mm" from his nose, signaling him to continue.

Wang Dequan bent his waist even lower and reported clearly and concisely, yet carefully measured: how Wen Jiucheng had beaten the complaint drum before the prefecture gate, how he had publicly accused his own son Wen Buchi of murdering his elder brother Wen Shuyi, and how the rumors had now spread throughout the capital—all with proper detail.

After speaking, Wang Dequan maintained his bowed posture, holding his breath, not adding another word, waiting for the imperial decision.

In the hall, only the faint sound of the wooden beads rubbing against each other remained.

Li Sheng still kept his eyes closed, as if asleep. Beneath his calm expression, his mind was racing.

The death of Wen Shuyi had long been known to all, but as the exalted emperor, he had regarded it as nothing more than a scandal of an unworthy son from a decaying family seeking his own doom, and had paid it little attention.

Now the fire had spread to Wen Buchi. At first hearing, there was indeed a surge of instinctive anger, but it didn't last long, replaced by another, more secret and complex undercurrent that had been building for days.

It originated from the incompetence of his trusted man.

The snowy owl had been killed, the culprit was in plain sight, the crime of great disrespect clear as day. That night, his chest had churned with uncontrollable rage, and he had immediately summoned Wen Buchi.

In the imperial study where only the two of them were present, his words had been filled with barely suppressed murderous intent. He had angrily discussed with Wen Buchi how to punish Nan Wuxie to alleviate this hatred and uphold the imperial dignity.

He remembered clearly that Wen Buchi had stood below, head lowered. Each of his angry questions failed to elicit the expected response of shared indignation.

Wen Buchi was silent for a long time, as if painstakingly contemplating a countermeasure, or deliberately weighing his words.

Finally, he raised his eyes, his gaze filled with just the right amount of gravity and deference, his voice steady and cautious: "Your Majesty, having lost a sacred bird, your servant shares the same anguish as if it were his own. Marquis Nan's act is indeed a great disrespect, utterly reckless. If not punished, where will the majesty of Heaven be preserved?"

Mm, and then?

Li Sheng stared at him, waiting for him to offer a good strategy for punishment.

"However," Wen Buchi changed his tone, his brows slightly furrowed, showing a troubled look, "Your servant has repeatedly thought it over. Marquis Nan holds military power with lingering influence and has significant sway in the army. If we impose a heavy punishment under the charge of 'killing an imperial bird'… such a pretext would hardly intimidate his followers; instead, it would give others an excuse to say that His Majesty's judgment is flawed, that you are shaking meritorious officials out of personal grievance. Not only would it fail to convince the masses, but it could also stir criticism in the court, and the border might become unstable… This, truly, is not the blessing of the state."

He bowed deeply. "Your servant is foolish; for a moment, I cannot think of a perfect plan that both severely punishes his insubordinate act and avoids the aftermath of court turmoil. I beg Your Majesty to temporarily restrain your thunderous wrath and allow your servant… to consider more carefully, to perhaps find a more secure way from a longer perspective."

These words sounded as if each one was meant to share the ruler's burdens and ensure the state's stability, laying out the potential consequences of turmoil before Li Sheng.

Yet to Li Sheng's ears, they tasted different. His lone loyalist was not devising strategies for him at this moment; he was merely stating difficulties, subtly conveying that this matter was thorny and could not be swiftly and severely punished.

Incompetent!! Worthless!!

Wen Buchi was his most trusted confidant, a master strategist who always offered solutions—both open and hidden—to past problems. But this time, when it came to Nan Wuxie, Wen Buchi had only laid out a host of obstacles and produced no real "punishment" plan at all.

This display of helplessness filled Li Sheng with deep disappointment and irritation at being fobbed off.

What he wanted was swift, satisfying revenge! To see Nan Wuxie pay the price immediately! Not to listen to these "loyal words" full of weighing pros and cons and hesitation!

This frustration from unmet expectations, combined with the pain of losing his bird and his hatred for Nan Wuxie, was all taken out on Wen Buchi, whom he now saw as "useless."

Now, with Wen Buchi imprisoned and facing public condemnation, logic dictated that Li Sheng should immediately put out this fire and pull his trusted minister out of the mud.

But...

Li Sheng slowly opened his eyes, dark as night, revealing no emotion.

He wouldn't rush. He intended to let Wen Buchi linger a while longer in the yamen of the capital, to marinate a little longer in the storm of public opinion, to experience what it’s like to be gossiped about, abandoned by his own kin, and left utterly alone.

What’s wrong with using this to teach him a lesson?

It was not about driving him to death. Li Sheng understood clearly that Wen Buchi could not fall—at least not now. But that did not prevent him from using this opportunity to give a sharp warning to this increasingly less capable minister who truly held the power to decide his fate, to make him wake up in this tight spot.

This was an emperor's coldness, a veiled punishment, and a petulant way to blow off steam.

"I see," Li Sheng finally spoke, in a flat, unreadable voice.

***

With that, he closed his eyes again and resumed slowly twirling his prayer beads.

Twilight filtered through the bamboo blinds of Su Manor's study, casting soft, shifting lines on the floor. The air was thick with the faint scent of ink and aged books, so quiet that one could hear the calls of birds heading back to their nests outside the window.

Nan Wuxie sat across from Su Zhanyu, separated by a wooden chessboard. Neither spoke; their eyes met in silence as dusk deepened.

Wen Buchi was now imprisoned. The priority was naturally to rescue him. Yet the current rumors of "brother killing brother" were raging like a cauldron of boiling water. If allowed to ferment unchecked, they would not only ruin Wen Buchi's reputation but also pile pressure on the capital's magistrate and the Three Judicial Offices, complicating the path to a breakthrough.

As long as the rumors spread, the disaster would continue. Therefore, the first priority was to calm public sentiment.

Nan Wuxie's visit to Su Zhanyu was precisely to use his strong influence in literary circles to step forward and quell those baseless speculations, to set the record straight and shut down slander, clearing the way for subsequent mediation and rescue.

He bluntly stated his goal, a rare frankness, without embellishment.

Su Zhanyu did not respond immediately, and Nan Wuxie couldn't tell what he was thinking.

The study fell silent, leaving only their faint breathing and the deepening twilight outside.

This silent standoff persisted for a long time, until the freshly brewed silver needle tea on the table had lost its warmth. Only then did Su Zhanyu move.

His slender, jade-like fingers lightly tapped the smooth surface of the chessboard as he spoke slowly: "How about a game of Go? If you win, Marquis, I will grant your request today."

He said this as if it were no big deal.

Nan Wuxie was taken aback.

Why would Su Zhanyu suddenly propose a game?

He pondered.

Was it a test? An observation?

Definitely not because he had nothing better to do.

After a moment of thought, he nodded. "Alright."

No further words were needed. Nan Wuxie took the black stones, Su Zhanyu the white. The former played with the crisp efficiency of a general on the battlefield, the latter with graceful, fluid moves.

In the first dozens of moves, they laid down stones swiftly. On the board, black and white interwove rapidly, locked in a close, jagged battle. Nan Wuxie's style was bold and unconstrained, his attacks aggressive. Su Zhanyu, on the other hand, was meticulous and steady, attacking while defending, his formations were loose but hid sharp edges.

For a time, the game was evenly matched. Black was heavy and solid, white agile and lively. In the entangled battle, the final result was still up in the air.

Regardless of Su Zhanyu's purpose, the dynamics of the game were now unequal. Nan Wuxie's aim was crystal clear, while Su Zhanyu's position and attitude were opaque. One had nothing to hide, the other kept his hand hidden—how could the game even be played like that?

Between moves, Su Zhanyu casually remarked, as if in idle conversation: "Having grown up in the capital, Marquis, you and I lived in the same city, yet it seems we had little interaction..."

He briefly lifted his eyes to Nan Wuxie, his eyes clear but making you wonder. "Looking back, I feel it's a bit of a shame."

The topic change was abrupt. Nan Wuxie, who was intently calculating a corner ko fight, paused briefly when he heard this. He knew well that Su Zhanyu was not someone to bring up the past for no reason. This sudden mention must mean something.

But his expression betrayed nothing. He merely replied flatly, "Master Su is known for his unsullied reputation, dwelling in your study. Naturally, there would be few opportunities for connection."

He sidestepped any talk of his own childhood, attributing their lack of acquaintance solely to Su Zhanyu's lofty position and the adoration of the masses—not everyone could claim that connection.

But was that truly the case?

Of course not.

Apart from Elder Minister Cui, who had deep ties with his father, all other officials and noble families either kept the Nan family at arm's length or had only surface-level ties. Who could Nan Wuxie possibly befriend? Grand Elder Su's character was such that he would not deliberately avoid anyone out of fear of the emperor's suspicion, but Nan Wuxie had never been an initiator of close relationships from a young age, because he was all too aware that forming bonds with others would only drag them into turbulent waters. He hated asking for help and didn't want to drag others into trouble.

Then, Su Zhanyu lightly placed a white stone. "Though we had no interactions, I can roughly guess. As a child in the capital, Marquis, you must have faced constraints on all sides and suffered no small amount of grievances, I imagine."

The question was posed lightly, yet pricked like a needle into a forgotten corner of his memory.

The black stone landed on the board with a crisp sound.

"All noble families endure such things. It is nothing."

Su Zhanyu did not press further, instead returning his gaze to the game, as if his words were merely a casual remark.

However, his next words made Nan Wuxie's heart tighten sharply.

"Speaking of which, Lord Wen Buchi is the same—born into obscurity, a rough childhood. You two could be said to be fellow sufferers."

He glanced at the opponent as if unintentionally.

His words were clearly laced with hidden meaning, yet their direction was perplexing. Nan Wuxie looked up abruptly, their eyes locked, each probing the other.

Fellow sufferers? Of what? Nan Wuxie's fingers tightened around the chess stone.

Was Su Zhanyu probing the depth of his relationship with Wen Buchi? Or offering a hint?

He stared into those unfathomable eyes, trying to find a clue, but the other man only gazed back calmly, giving nothing away.

Any show of emotion could be captured and interpreted. So Nan Wuxie redirected his focus to the game, placing the black stone with finality.

Su Zhanyu nodded with a smile and said no more.

He ignored Nan Wuxie's subtly aggressive move on the board, calmly continuing to tighten his own encirclement.

On the goban, the situation shifted dramatically. Nan Wuxie's large black dragon, under the dense and precise strangulation of the white stones, had its living space steadily compressed, barely alive.

Su Zhanyu placed his stones with increasing composure, the white pieces like a net slowly closing in.

Yet just as Su Zhanyu was about to lay down the crucial stone, that one black stone Nan Wuxie had held back suddenly struck like a hidden ambush. A masterful diagonal insertion not only instantly revived his corner but also subtly threatened the vast weakness of the white group in the center!

This move was earth-shattering, immediately muddying the previously clear situation once more.

He actually pulled it off.

But Su Zhanyu, that guy, still gazed with calm, deep eyes, only gently fingering a smooth white stone.

He did not play immediately but instead looked up at Nan Wuxie, once again casting that penetrating, knowing glance.

"Lord Wen's current predicament, aside from pinning hopes on my idle talk here, you must have another way, Marquis?"

At these words, Nan Wuxie's hand holding the stone froze mid-air, his heart struck as if by a heavy hammer.

He'd guessed as much.

Of course Nan Wuxie had another way: to hand over the true culprit, Chu Qi. That was the most direct solution.

But the countless threads Chu Qi might be tangled in were like an invisible chain binding his hands and feet. He was unwilling to give up the man unless absolutely necessary.

Chu Qi was still useful to him.

Now Wen Buchi, taking the fall for Nan Wuxie's "ally," was shouldering the blame, yet he had no way to clear that man's name. An indescribable feeling of frustration and guilt quietly welled up in his heart.

A player's mindset is often directly reflected in their moves. This momentary hesitation and emotional fluctuation in Nan Wuxie, though his face showed nothing, caused a subtle stagnation in his originally sharp and precise playing style. Su Zhanyu, keen as ever, immediately caught this change and understood in his heart.

He said no more, and gently placed the white stone.

Because of that nagging block in his heart, Nan Wuxie's response was half a beat late. By the time he came back to his senses and tried to muster strength to break the situation, the white stones near Su Zhanyu's left star point had already joined into a seamless net, like a dragnet.

He watched as his black stones were completely entwined and slaughtered, the earlier flash of brilliance utterly devoured. The game was lost.

"Marquis, you concede." Su Zhanyu slowly placed the leftover white stones back into the bowl with the calm finality of settling dust.

Nan Wuxie stared at the thoroughly lost game on the board, his brows tightly knit, a surge of agitation and resentment roiling inside him.

He slowly set down his stone and said, "Master Su and Lord Wen were enjoying pleasant conversation earlier, weren't you? Can you really just stand by and watch him sink into this mess?"

Su Zhanyu adjusted his sleeves, his gaze calm as he met Nan Wuxie's eyes: "Lord Wen and I do share some private friendship. However, this matter concerns the law of the state, a life at stake, and justice in the world. I can't bend the rules out of personal favor."

"Justice? Who doesn't have their own idea of justice?" Nan Wuxie's voice sank. "Master Su knows perfectly well how the Wen family treated Lord Wen in the past. Why can't you now uphold justice for him?"

"'Drink from the same golden cup, but the gleaming blade shows no mercy.' I respect Lord Wen's talent, but I also remain wary of his actions. Today's matter is not because I won't, but because I can't. Until the truth is revealed, I cannot use personal likes or dislikes to misjudge public authority."*1

"Gleaming blade shows no mercy? Fine words. Gleaming blade shows no mercy." Nan Wuxie countered, "How can Master Su be certain that Lord Wen is truly guilty of this crime?"

Seeing that Nan Wuxie was still evading and concealing in his words, Su Zhanyu didn't rise to the bait but continued along the same line, guiding further.

"Lord Wen has been an official for many years. He has always known when to be gracious and when to be ruthless. If he truly resorted to such means for revenge, it would indeed be plausible."

"Slander!" Nan Wuxie finally lost his composure, his tone rising noticeably. "What he did in the past—anyone in that position would have done the same. 'When wood breaks, it's from rot within; when a wall crumbles, it's from cracks within.' The root of today's problems isn't in the branches—"

"—Marquis,"

Su Zhanyu interrupted gently, a flicker of emotion finally stirring in his deep, aloof eyes. He fixed his gaze steadily on Nan Wuxie.

"Be careful what you say."

This cutoff doused the fire in Nan Wuxie's heart.

Su Zhanyu saw Nan Wuxie as the kind of person who would sacrifice ten thousand to save one, disregarding rules, using any means necessary.

Such people either succeed spectacularly or crash completely.

Nan Wuxie looked at Su Zhanyu's face, serene as a clear breeze and bright moon. Between them seemed to lie a gap that seemed both shallow and deep—so shallow one thought stepping across was easy, yet so deep one could find no entry.

His Adam's apple moved. In a voice that was almost pleading and somber, he changed his approach: "Master Su should understand—many things... were not done from his own heart. He had no choice."

Su Zhanyu's clear eyes rested on him, showing no sign of wavering: "That's not an excuse. Whether he wanted to or not, the fact is he did it. The fact is that blade did fall from his hand."

"The emperor's command is hard to defy," Nan Wuxie pressed on. "Who could refuse? Who would dare refuse?"

"But you could, couldn't you?"

Su Zhanyu's soft rebuttal cut like a sharp blade, straight to the heart.

Nan Wuxie's breath caught, all words stuck in his throat.

Su Zhanyu didn't let him off the hook, continuing in a gentle voice: "Moreover, even if you manage to extricate him from this predicament today, the imperial command is still impossible to defy. Lord Wen will still be unfree, still forced to act against his conscience, doing things he perhaps does not wish to do. In such a cycle, what real difference is there between saving him and not?"

No difference. No, none at all. Still suffering, still struggling step by step, still without freedom.

Both of them understood clearly that they were no longer discussing only Wen Buchi, but countless others, the "rules" of this world.

The civil and military officials, the various forces, blocking and checking each other from all sides—everyone was forced into a corner, surviving humbly in the narrow gaps of the rules. None were good people, yet all were pitiable. "Selfishness and ruthlessness" cannot be absolved, but "having no choice" was undeniable.

So what could be done?

What could be done?!

Then change the rules!

This shocking and treasonous thought burst forth like a beast breaking free from its cage, rushing to the tip of Nan Wuxie's tongue, about to be blurted out.

A terrifying storm raged in his eyes—the ultimate negation and rebellion against the existing order.

As long as the source was replaced, all shackles could be resolved at once. He, Wen Buchi, and everyone else could truly break free from their bonds!

But he clenched his teeth, forcibly swallowing back that insane speech that could burn everything.

Those words could not be spoken. Once spoken, there would be no turning back.

The study fell into a deathly silence. The two men stared at each other in silence. In the air, invisible sparks seemed to clash fiercely. Nan Wuxie's eyes held unextinguished wildfire and struggle; Su Zhanyu's gaze was one of clear insight and a nearly compassionate calm.

After an unknown length of time, Su Zhanyu was the first to look away. He lowered his eyes, reached out, and gently swept across the goban, messing up all the black and white stones that lay crisscrossed, the remnants of an unfinished battle.

The crisp sound of clattering stones rang clear in the silence.

He gazed at that chaotic board, as if also seeing some predetermined fate temporarily broken.

After a long moment, he let out a barely audible sigh.

"I take your meaning. Regarding the talk in the streets, I'll give it thought."

He did not look at Nan Wuxie, as if he were simply making a decision about the endgame before him.

He heard it?

Nan Wuxie was stunned—

Did I just... say that out loud?!

-----------------------

Author's Note:

*1: "I drink from the golden cup with you, but the white blade shows no mercy." This was said by Zhu Yuanzhang, the Hongwu Emperor of the Ming dynasty. It means: today we may share wine and prosperity together, but if you violate the law, tomorrow you will be severely punished without leniency. It stresses that the law always comes before personal relationships. *2: "A tree breaks only after being eaten from within; a wall collapses only after cracks have formed inside." This is from *Han Feizi* — *On the Signs of Ruin*. It means that the decay and fall of anything ultimately come from internal problems.