Chapter 26: Fragrance of Persimmons (1)

Chapter 26: Fragrance of Persimmons (1)

Despite his grumbling, Le Wuya was still somewhat aware of the discord between the two brothers.

Hoping for the two brothers to work together was like waiting for death. At least death was inevitable.

Clutching the two letters and the package, he hummed a tune and returned to his bedroom. He placed the two letters neatly side by side on the table, as if seating the brothers together, finding a childish, self-satisfied amusement in the act.

After washing and bathing, he let down his hair, in a rather undignified manner, preparing to open the letters.

His fingers first rested on Xiang Zhijie’s letter, but after a moment’s thought, he moved them to Xiang Zhishi’s.

Xiao Zhishi had a quick wit, unlike Zhijie, who had begun handling official duties at fourteen, and with whom Le Wuya had associated more frequently in work.

When Zhijie was at his peak, Le Wuya himself was in decline, struggling to sustain himself amidst difficulties.

His most embarrassing side had been seen a lot by Xiang Zhishi, and even now, thinking about it still stirred feelings.

What was Le Wuya’s most memorable encounter?

Ah, right. That time he had personally shot his teacher, Kui Zhengqing, dead.

Venerable Kui was a second-ranked court official, so such a matter naturally couldn’t be carried out in broad daylight.

That morning, he saw his teacher off, then changed into light clothes, shadowed him all day, and made his move in the evening.

Venerable Kui was heavily guarded, and though a single arrow found its mark, Le Wuya also suffered fierce retaliation, taking three arrows and fleeing in a sorry state.

With nowhere to go, he was fortunate that Xiao Zhishi was handling a case nearby. He sneaked into the postal inn and, by a twist of fate, stumbled upon Xiao Zhishi.

Before meeting him, Le Wuya was already burning with fever, fleeing like a wild animal on pure instinct. The last thought before collapsing on him was comical:

Xiao Zhishi and he had long been at odds with each other; this time he handed him a huge bargaining chip. He’d probably wake up in a prison cell.

So he seized the opportunity to faint, wanting to get a good sleep before disaster struck.

He had anticipated a miserable state upon waking. When he regained consciousness, he found himself resting on a soft bed in the inn, covered with a warm fox-fur coat, and thought he was dreaming.

Xiang Zhishi sat beside him, handing him a bowl of honey water, with his incorrigible grin: "Teacher, are you awake?"

Le Wuya tried to move, but his body stiffened.

Xiang Zhishi: "It hurts, doesn’t it? If you know it hurts, don’t bring suffering upon yourself."

Le Wuya couldn’t be bothered to mind his disrespect toward a teacher and focused on getting up from the bed.

Xiang Zhishi: "Teacher, do you know that you’re going to die?"

Le Wuya half-sat up: "Not that bad."

"Last night, I had Kong Yangping drag a wandering doctor here to examine you thoroughly. Your body is already rotten; you won’t live more than two years," Xiang Zhishi said softly. "I paid ten taels of gold to buy the news of your death. I was so angry, I didn’t even want to pay."

His words were utterly heartless, yet amusing to hear.

Le Wuya joked with him: "Not worth it. Wandering doctors are mostly unreliable."

Xiang Zhishi: "Teacher, am I the first to know you’re going to die?"

Le Wuya: "I didn’t even know myself, so you must be the first."

Xiang Zhishi had been trading banter with him for a while, and seeing that Le Wuya remained in his flippant tone, he turned a bit more serious: "Teacher, I’m not lying to you."

Le Wuya: "I know."

Xiang Zhishi: "You need treatment."

Le Wuya felt weak and listless, unable to muster any strength: "What’s the point? My body is so ruined; before I’m thirty-five, I’ll probably be unable to walk, needing to be carried or supported everywhere. Why bother living to be a nuisance?"

Xiang Zhishi: "Teacher, you are ten years older than me. If you live, I can carry you for forty years. Then live another forty years."

Le Wuya’s world seemed draped in a black veil, hazy and indistinct, but he felt the words were good—rare pearls from that dog’s mouth. So he smiled and burrowed deeper into the fox-fur coat: "I’m tired. I don’t want to live anymore."

Xiang Zhishi used his forehead to check Le Wuya’s temperature: "Teacher, if you want to die so badly, why don’t I turn you in? I hear a court official died outside—your handiwork?"

Le Wuya replied readily: "Sure. Save me the trouble of taking detours."

Xiang Zhishi was about to speak again when a knock came at the door: "Sir, there’s an urgent matter I must report immediately. Are you in, sir?"

Xiang Zhishi whispered to Le Wuya: "The postmaster."

It was too late to leave.

But the postmaster was quite deferential. Only after Xiang Zhishi wrapped Le Wuya’s head and face in the fox fur and called out "Come in" did the postmaster push the door open, fawning and smiling: "Sir, the city is under martial law. You are..."

Xiang Zhishi turned back; his previously clear, joking voice suddenly became drowsy: "Shh, don’t disturb him."

The postmaster only knew that the person before him was a noble. Seeing that a man was suddenly in the noble’s bed, he was startled and blurted out: "This is..."

"I had him all night, and he’s worn out." Seventh Prince circled his arm around Le Wuya, joking, "If you wake him up, my heart will ache, and with no way to relieve it, I’ll have to send you to die."

Between death and humiliation, Le Wuya decisively chose the latter, lying in bed and playing dead.

The postmaster, accustomed to dealing with travelers, was usually the most tactful. If he hadn’t heard that an assassin was lurking nearby and had killed a high official—making him uneasy, afraid that his inn would be implicated, leading him to inspect every room—he wouldn’t have been so unlucky as to stumble upon the noble’s affair.

Now, looking closely, although the man’s face wasn’t visible, his demeanor was charming and elegant, and the exposed section of his ankle was as snow-white as jade. The postmaster couldn’t help but sigh—the noble really knew how to enjoy life.

The postmaster put on a flattering smile, privately deciding to inquire later.

If this young man wasn’t the noble’s personal attendant but obtained from a nearby pleasure house, he would spend some money to try a taste himself.

Just that one exposed foot made him itch with curiosity to see the whole picture.

"What are you looking at?"

The Seventh Prince’s voice carried a hint of a smile.

The postmaster snapped out of his daze, realizing he had lost his composure. He quickly bowed and stepped back, trying to brush it off.

But as soon as he moved, the Seventh Prince pinned him in place: "Running away?"

"I asked you, what are you looking at?"

Just as the postmaster stood there with an awkward, blank smile, unsure whether to advance or retreat, Xiang Zhishi made a move.

He lifted the fox fur slightly, deliberately revealing Le Wuya’s shoulder. He gently brushed his fingertip against the curve of Le Wuya’s shoulder and neck, with a faint warmth and vitality, slowly pushing the fox-fur cloak down from his body.

The two brothers’ archery skills had been taught by Le Wuya, and the calluses on their fingers were all the fruits of Le Wuya’s personal instruction.

Le Wuya couldn't help tensing up, letting out a low groan.

The muscles on Xiang Zhishi's body also tightened sharply, his movements paused briefly before his fingers slowly continued sliding downward. They stopped at his waist, then gently and lightly closed around it.

Le Wuya, who had previously hidden his face to avoid pursuit, now found it even harder to show his face.

He simply pretended to be shy, curling up in Xiang Zhishi's arms, pondering whether to bite him and draw blood.

But being this close, Le Wuya realized the boy had really grown up.

If he remembered correctly, he was already eighteen, tall and lean like a young mountain, his body radiating heat, his chest broad.

Moreover, despite his steady hands and posture, his heart was racing wildly in his chest, thumping so hard it gave Le Wuya a headache.

Le Wuya pressed his face closer, listening with interest, and through the translucent edge of the fox fur, he looked up to see Xiang Zhishi's clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

Sensing Le Wuya's small movement, Xiang Zhishi's fingers tightened, leaving a rough mark on his side.

This triggered Le Wuya's pain point.

He hissed, sucking in a cold breath, sweat immediately rolling down.

The postmaster had never seen such a bold noble who acted like he owned the place. His face turned bright red, and for a moment he truly didn't know whether to stay or leave.

The room was filled with fine incense, the faint scent of gardenia, and the underfloor heating was strong, creating an opulent and erotic atmosphere.

"Don't just look," Xiang Zhishi's voice always had a rising lilt, carrying a sweet allure. "Come over and feel for yourself."

After a stunned pause, the postmaster was thrilled.

He knew some nobles liked to play rough.

When the mood struck, adding one or two more people to join in wasn't out of the question.

The beauty on the couch kept his face hidden, but the brief glimpses of skin were enough to drive him wild.

Plucking up his courage, the postmaster actually walked into the room and approached the bed.

Le Wuya even heard the subtle sound of him swallowing.

Closer, even closer.

But when the sound was just one step away, something changed.

It became painful, suffocating, fragmented.

—Xiang Zhishi, seizing the moment as the man was lost in desire, raised his hand and mercilessly gripped the postmaster's throat!

Le Wuya wasn't the least bit surprised.

The only unknown was whether Xiang Zhishi would actually choke him to death.

He had killed his own teacher, and his student was ready to kill a random postmaster at the slightest provocation.

The two of them had hearts equally cold.

When the postmaster thought he was about to die, the grip on his throat suddenly loosened. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, but dared not utter a single curse. Trembling with fear, he scrambled backward on his hands and knees.

The Seventh Prince straightened up, using his chest to shield Le Wuya, and beckoned to him: "Why run? Come here."

The postmaster's throat was nearly crushed. Now fully awake, he was scared out of his wits: "My lord, my lord, I won't do it again, my lord!"

The Seventh Prince said softly, "Since you won't come over, then stop looking."

The postmaster's face was pale. He dared not say yes or no, only kowtowing frantically.

Xiang Zhishi adjusted his clothes, his voice returning to its usual sweet tone: "May I ask which lord has died?"

The postmaster didn't even dare to cough; holding his breath, he hurriedly replied, "My lord, it's a lord who had retired and returned to his hometown. Lord Kui Zhengqing, the Minister of War—Lord Kui Zizhao!"

Xiang Zhishi paused, his gaze shifting slightly toward Le Wuya.

Le Wuya wrapped himself in the fox fur, quietly restoring his body temperature.

Seeing Xiang Zhishi dismiss him with a casual wave, finally letting him go, the postmaster quickly crawled on his knees out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Silence filled the room.

"You killed Lord Kui?" Xiang Zhishi asked softly. "Why?"

Le Wuya's lingering heat had not yet faded, and drowsiness returned. His body was clammy, a bone-chilling cold seeping through him.

Xiang Zhishi was warm. Holding him was actually quite comfortable.

Since he had shamelessly insisted on sheltering him, Le Wuya would just accept it.

He curled into Xiang Zhishi's arms with a clear conscience: "Do I need a reason to do bad things?"

Xiang Zhishi: "Don't you?"

"Not every question needs an answer."

"A teacher's duty is to impart knowledge and solve doubts. You're being quite irresponsible."

"Then a student should also answer his teacher's questions." Le Wuya smiled brightly, meeting his gaze. "Did you enjoy touching me just now?"

Xiang Zhishi choked, a faint, angry blush coloring his handsome cheeks.

Le Wuya, without giving him a chance to retort, said directly, "I'm going to sleep now. Do whatever you want. If you turn me in when I wake up, I won't involve you. Just say I left those marks on my waist out of loneliness at night. They won't trace it back to the Seventh Prince."

With that, he lost his strength and drifted into a half-asleep, half-awake haze amid the tormenting headache.

In his dream, a hand gently placed its back against his cheek.

He thought he might be dreaming, opened his eyes, and saw vague, shifting shadows.

The other person's expression was one of unprecedented tenderness.

Le Wuya's voice was languid, and he whispered, "...Xiaoliu?"

The hand froze, then withdrew from his cheek and clenched into a fist, producing a small cracking sound.

Then, that hand pressed against his throat, as if to imitate what he had just done to the postmaster.

Now he recognized it: "No, it's Xiaoqi."

The hand that had been on his throat remained still.

After a moment, his thumb pressed against Le Wuya's Adam's apple, guiding it up and down stroke by stroke.

He seemed to be saying something, but Le Wuya could no longer hear him.

Too much pain, too much exhaustion.

...

When Le Wuya came to, he found his right index finger unconsciously making a gesture as if pulling a bowstring, as if drawing a bow and aiming an arrow, plotting a premeditated murder.

He hid his finger in his sleeve, flexed it for a moment, then reached out and opened the package Xiang Zhishi had sent along with the letter.

It was a box of exquisitely packaged dried persimmons, dusted with fine white powdered sugar—one look was enough to whet your appetite.

Le Wuya unfolded the letter, and Xiang Zhishi’s sweet, cheerful voice seemed to echo in his ears:

"Reading this is like seeing you."

"It’s been a few days apart. How is the Chen family case progressing? Amid all the busy affairs, be sure to take care of yourself, for the days to come."

"These are a specialty of Dingrong, not too sweet, with the fragrance of osmanthus. When the persimmons ripen next year, they should be even more delicious. I’m sending these ahead for you to savor."

Le Wuya smiled.

This kid’s skill at winning people over had certainly improved over the years.

If he were truly Wen Renyue, a newcomer to officialdom, seeing such warm words from the Imperial Commissioner, he would surely be overcome with gratitude and write a thousand-word reply to thank him for the favor.

But since Le Wuya knew his true nature well, his assessment was:

He puts on a convincing act.

Le Wuya bit into a dried persimmon, took a bite, and his eyes lit up.

It was truly delicious.

Next year, when the persimmons ripen, he would buy some freshly made dried persimmons in Dingrong and send them back to the capital as a gift of thanks, to return the courtesy.

As Le Wuya ate with delight, he idly picked up the thin letter from Xiang Zhijie.

He hadn’t forgotten that Little Phoenix had said he wasn’t well-connected in the court, so he had asked Sixth Prince Xiang Zhijie to help him get in touch with the Taoist hermit.

Xiaoliu had a heart as pure as an orchid. If he found out the vessel containing the soul had shattered, he might also grow suspicious.

Tricky, very tricky.

With a sigh, Le Wuya opened the letter.

It consisted of two sheets. The first had only four characters: "Burn after reading."

Le Wuya seemed to hear his youthful, halting speech—speaking in two-character bursts—and a wave of nostalgia washed over him, a faint smile crossing his lips.

He turned to the next page, casually scanned it, and was so startled he jumped to his feet!

"Lord Le Qianzhang still holds the post of General Zhaoyi, but no longer commands troops. He lives in retirement in the capital. His wife, née Ye, was granted the title of Second-Rank Lady of Honor two years ago for her monthly porridge distributions and charitable halls."

"Le Hang currently serves as an Erudite at the Imperial Academy. Le Jue was appointed as Military Tanhua last year and is now serving in Guanshan Camp."

"Madam Qi is well. She is now the Lady of Tonglu County."

...This wasn’t just suspicion.

This was clearly seeing right through him!

Le Wuya gripped the letter, momentarily stunned.

He paced around the room, holding the letter.

This was exactly what he had most wanted but couldn’t bring himself to ask for.

This letter was nearly a letter from home amid the turmoil of war, detailing the recent circumstances of his family, touching Le Wuya to the core.

But how had he figured it out?

And how was he so well-informed about his family’s movements?

What was his intention in writing this to him?

As for Xiang Zhijie, Le Wuya hadn’t known much about him in his previous life—just a vague impression that he was a humble, gentle, and noble child, raised by Imperial Consort Zhuang, who was immersed in Huang-Lao studies and aloof from worldly affairs. Thus, he always carried the faint, warm scent of Returning Wind incense.

He had pretended to stutter for many years, which eventually became a chronic condition, making his speech always somewhat awkward. This was considered a disgrace to the royal family, so he rarely undertook any official duties.

Le Wuya had never known the depths of his abilities.

Who would have thought that upon displaying his talents, with just a few words, he could firmly grip Le Wuya’s heart and mind?