Chapter 86: Heartfelt (V)

Chapter 86: Heartfelt (V)

However, having already envisioned the worst-case scenario, Le Wuya showed no surprise on his face.

He pondered for a moment, then reached out and patted Xiao Qi's head, praising, "...This is good."

Loving yourself most is the best thing in this world.

Xiang Zhishi blinked, as if unable to bear this sudden tenderness, his face gradually flushing red.

At this, Le Wuya noticed another difference between the two brothers.

When Xiang Zhijie blushed, his ears turned red first.

When Xiang Zhishi blushed, it was like a tide slowly spreading from the depths of his heart, creeping up from his neck little by little.

Le Wuya figured that with such a kindly, elder-like gesture, there was no way he'd be misunderstood again, right?

Unexpectedly, Xiang Zhishi stared at him for a moment, then tilted his head slightly upward and rubbed against his palm.

Le Wuya: "..."

Xiang Zhishi: "..."

Le Wuya withdrew his hand and guiltily wiped it on his robe: "Seventh..."

But seeing this gesture of distancing himself, Xiang Zhishi's calmed emotions suddenly surged with waves.

He laughed in anger and coldly spat out one word: "Give me your hand."

Le Wuya thought: Alright, he's going to throw another tantrum.

He obediently extended his hand.

Le Wuya didn't expect him to stay calm, only hoped he'd bite lightly and not leave marks.

In case Wen Ren later demanded his own body back, he could return it intact—

At this thought, a wave of sorrow welled up in Le Wuya's heart.

Oh well.

The gentleman was probably so pleased with himself in Ming Xiangzhao's body that he'd forgotten all about coming back.

If he ever did ask for this body back, it'd likely be for some other scheme.

While Le Wuya was spacing out, his palm grew warm.

Xiang Zhishi didn't bite him. Instead, he pressed Le Wuya's hand to his own head and rubbed it vigorously, huffing with annoyance.

Dark, lustrous strands of hair slipped through his fingers.

Caught off guard, Le Wuya froze in place, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind, the clearest being:

...A born troublemaker, yet his hair is surprisingly soft.

Xiang Zhishi held Le Wuya's left hand, forcing him to stroke his hair, while his right hand clutched a dripping, half-eaten peach.

Sweet juice dripped onto the ground, one drop after another.

Le Wuya quickly realized the source of Xiang Zhishi's fixation.

His eyes softened in response.

...

Speaking of which, the rift between the two brothers began on a snowy day.

That day, Consort Xi miscarried a child without even realizing it.

She curled up in her warm bedding as heavy snow fell outside the window.

Talking in her sleep, she murmured Xiao Liu's name.

The young Seventh Prince, standing guard by her side, gritted his teeth. Braving the wind and snow, he rushed to Qingxi Palace, knelt at the gate, tears threatening to freeze in his eyes, and begged his elder brother to come back with him.

Unfortunately, Xiang Zhijie wasn't at Qingxi Palace that day.

—The Emperor had heard he was studying chess notation and summoned him to the study to watch him play a few games.

Imperial Consort Zhuang, on the other hand, was always aloof and rarely left her palace.

The maid Dan Qiong came out with an umbrella, earnestly urging him to get up, afraid he'd freeze to death.

The Seventh Prince's lips were blue from the cold. Tilting up his pale little face, he softly asked, "Could you give me one of Sixth Brother's clothes?"

If he couldn't bring Sixth Brother back, he'd just have to play the part himself.

Dan Qiong didn't think much of it and went inside to ask Imperial Consort Zhuang for permission.

After a moment, she came out of the hall looking puzzled, brushing the snow off his shoulders: "Seventh Prince, our lady said no. Don't wait any longer—please go back."

The Seventh Prince, shedding his usual air of extravagance, blinked and a stream of tears rolled down his cheeks: "Sister Dan Qiong, I'm cold—so frozen I can't get up."

Dan Qiong, only thirteen or fourteen at the time, truly couldn't bear to watch him beg like that.

Inside the hall, aside from the Sixth Prince, who was of similar age, there were no other clothes that would fit the Seventh Prince.

She went back inside to ask Imperial Consort Zhuang what she thought.

The Seventh Prince gazed at the red walls and dark tiles covered in white snow, a faint scent of sandalwood drifting past his nose.

In a daze, he half-believed he was kneeling at the gate of a Taoist temple.

He pressed his hands together devoutly, bowing to heaven and earth, praying to the gods not to take his mother away—at least let her see the son she longed for.

If the real one couldn't come, a stand-in would have to do.

Dan Qiong soon came out, holding an outer robe.

The robe was thin, plain in color, style, and fabric, with a single daylily embroidered on the back—it looked like something a Taoist novice would wear.

The Seventh Prince had no time to wonder what kind of life Sixth Brother led in Qingxi Palace.

He draped the robe over himself, didn't even have time to thank her, and turned to disappear into the wind and snow.

Dan Qiong, startled, called out after him: "Seventh Prince, the sedan chair I arranged for you will be here soon..."

The Seventh Prince paid no heed, treading through the jade-like snow, braving the knife-sharp wind, rushing back to play the part of Sixth Brother.

But when he was just a few steps away from reaching his mother, the emperor's personal attendant, Xue Jie, appeared.

He was still smiling as usual, but his face was as stern as iron, as if he had long forgotten how to smile properly: "Seventh Prince, the emperor summons you, please come."

Little Seven gasped in confusion, exhaling large puffs of warm breath.

At only six years old, he didn't understand what was happening, only that he was dragged, confused and bewildered, to the side hall of the emperor's study, Shouren Hall, and branded with a mark that would never go away.

In his panic, not understanding his father's intentions, he fell seriously ill, feeling sorry for himself, waking up in the dead of night from nightmares and pain, crying over and over.

However, after recovering, he stopped crying.

He figured out a lot of things, and from then on, a lot of things stopped making sense to him.

...

This was the story ten-year-old Little Seven told Le Wuya, all serious and solemn.

At that time, he had already caught Le Wuya giving Zhi Jie extra lessons for the third time, teaching his sixth brother how to talk without stuttering.

Little Seven was sure he'd completely figured out that Le Wuya favored his sixth brother.

So, in order to compete for a bit of that favor from his sixth brother, he didn't hold anything back with Le Wuya, going on and on about how heavy the snow was that day and how biting the wind.

He even took off his earring, showing the pale red plum-blossom-shaped scar on his ear.

At that moment, Le Wuya looked at the wound carefully and said approvingly, "Pretty, like a nice birthmark."

Little Seven thought that was a weird thing to say, and not what he wanted to hear at all, so he shot back, annoyed, "Try getting that burned on you."

Le Wuya touched his chest over his clothes.

His brother had put a few arrows in his chest, and he figured he had no business lecturing Little Seven about "brotherly love."

So he reached out and ruffled Little Seven's hair.

Little Seven, confused by the gesture, put his hand over the spot Le Wuya had touched, still feeling the warmth left from his hand: "Teacher Yue, what are you doing?"

Le Wuya said, "Just trying to cheer you up."

"That nice? I thought you only did that for sixth brother," Little Seven said with a squint and a smile. "I got over it a long time ago. What's the point of you comforting me now?"

"Can't I comfort our Little Seven who's six?"

The usual smile on Little Seven's lips froze a little.

This comfort didn't seem to make Xiang Zhishi happy.

Instead, it seemed to hit a nerve, and his usually sweet voice dropped a notch: "...What's it got to do with you?"

Le Wuya knew that when Little Seven got all prickly like this, he was actually feeling hurt.

Little Six wasn't good with words, and Consort Xi was, deep down, a spoiled young girl.

Nobody had ever comforted him like that before.

Maybe moved by some deep emotion, Little Seven, surprisingly, dropped his usual spoiled attitude and said fluently, "You're always asking me why I hate him? I don't hate him. I just want to take away everything he cares about. I want to see when he'll finally come comfort me."

Le Wuya said, being fair, "But what happened that day wasn't his brother's fault."

He understood what the emperor was worried about.

Of the emperor's sons, the third prince died young, and the second and fourth didn't have the talent to rule.

So that meant the fifth, sixth, and seventh brothers, who all had potential, would become the Crown Prince's right-hand men in the future.

Of these, the sixth and seventh princes were a bit special.

Two princes who looked alike and were both pretty smart should naturally keep their distance, ideally not even knowing each other.

Otherwise, if one of them stood out and showed he could inherit the throne, and had a brother who looked just like him and was super close to him to help out, their bond might stir up ambition.

Wouldn't that easily throw the country into chaos?

That day, Little Seven crossed the line by deliberately pretending to be Little Six, and that's why he got punished.

If Little Six hadn't been called by the emperor to set up the chessboard but had stayed in Qingxi Palace and truly gone with him to visit Consort Xi, or if they had exchanged clothes, it would have been both their faults, and they would have been punished together.

By now, Little Seven was no longer the six-year-old who was sick, confused, and full of resentment.

He tucked his hands into the warm muff made of black fox fur: "So I didn't ask him to do anything. He just needs to come and comfort me."

Le Wuya thought, comfort my foot.

You brothers can't get along at all under the Old Emperor's watchful eye.

Better yet, you two should team up and kill him—that would be more satisfying.

Le Wuya pointed at himself: "Am I one of the things you want to take?"

Little Seven opened his mouth but couldn't say anything.

Le Wuya took that as confirmation.

Being treated as an object didn't anger him much; instead, he joked leisurely, "I really like Little Six right now, so you'll have to work hard to win me over."

Unexpectedly, his words came true.

Xiang Zhishi knew well that Le Wuya favored Little Six more.

At least in the eyes of others, Little Seven was a happy child.

At least his family had wealth, and his mother's side was willing to spend money on him.

At least he still had a loving mother by his side.

In comparison, the Little Stutterer, who had been taken from his mother at a young age, was more pitiable, wasn't he?

So, Little Seven gave up that path.

He stopped competing for favor.

He only wanted to win all of Le Wuya's attention.

...Even if it was negative attention.

And so came Xiang Zhishi, who opposed him at every turn.

...And also Xiang Zhishi, who, no matter how much he clashed with Le Wuya, could never make Le Wuya angry at him.

He wasn't a bad kid through and through.

He was just a little reluctant, a little bitter, a little defiant.

...

Le Wuya didn't let Xiang Zhi manhandle him however he pleased. Instead, he slowly took the lead, stroking his temples in a steady, rhythmic motion.

...Like a wily old fox calming a sulky little fox.

Xiang Zhi's agitated feelings gradually calmed down.

But another feeling began to surge in his chest, wave after wave, stirring up a storm of jealousy.

He seized Le Wuya's wrist and yanked him closer.

He hissed through clenched teeth: "Real smooth with those hands, Magistrate Wenren. Been practicing on my sixth brother? No wonder he's so into you, showing up here every single day."

Le Wuya let out a sigh.

So suspicious and paranoid—not a good boy.

He chose his words carefully, aiming for seriousness without any hint of flirtation: "I've never touched anyone but you."

...

Le Wuya felt that was a fair, measured statement, and quite the deft move.

But those words weighed on Xiang Zhi, keeping him up all night.

Tossing and turning, the seventh young master held up a jade bracelet, studying it in the moonlight.

The bracelet had top-notch clarity, like a clear blue sky and cold emerald mist—clearly priceless, worth about as much as a bustling shop in the capital.

—Originally, Xiang Zhi had reached through the window to take Le Wuya's hand, meaning to slide this bracelet onto it.

Somehow, it had turned out like this.

He stared blankly at the beautiful gift he'd never gotten to give.

Then, without hesitation, he flung the bracelet aside, rolled over, and covered his eyes with his arm, tuning out the sharp, pretty sound of it breaking.

...If he couldn't have it, nobody else would.