A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 15

Zhu Qinghou was truly exhausted; he slept so deeply that he lost all sense of time. When he finally blinked his eyes open, the heavy doors were shut tight, and the hall remained shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to tell day from night.

He sat up and realized the bloodstains on his inner garments had dried into stiff, dark patches. The coarse outer robe Zhu Xueting had left for him was gone—he must have kicked it off somewhere in his sleep.

Li Zhen’s fox-fur cloak, however, still lay quietly by his side, bearing the faint remnants of blood.

Zhu Qinghou shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Perhaps because he was lying in Li Zhen’s bed, surrounded by the man’s scent, the parasite in his body had settled down significantly. It felt almost as if it had vanished.

He parted the bed curtains and stepped onto the floor barefoot, only to notice something strange. He felt a lingering coolness on his skin; someone had applied medicine to his wounds.

Raising his hand to his nose, he caught a very faint medicinal scent. Someone really had tended to him.

But who?

Li Zhen?

He tried to imagine a scene of Li Zhen applying ointment to him in the dark. He raised an eyebrow, finding it hard to reconcile the hands that had once throttled his neck with such a gentle task.

Zhu Qinghou casually grabbed one of Li Zhen’s robes to change into and pushed open the doors. Blinding light flooded in, and he instinctively squinted. The setting sun hung high; it was already dusk.

The number of guards outside the hall was even greater than usual. They stood in a dense perimeter; nearly every two paces, a soldier stood watch.

Upon seeing Zhu Qinghou, a guard stepped forward to greet him. “You are awake, Master. His Highness requests your presence in the study.”

Quite proactive, Zhu Qinghou thought. At least he remembered to send an invite.

Zhu Qinghou lifted his chin slightly, ready to follow, but in the distance, a group of attendants arrived carrying a palanquin, setting it down before him.

He was a bit surprised but didn’t dwell on it. As he stepped onto the seat, the attendant spoke: “His Highness also requests that you cover your eyes.”

The attendant kept his head low, not daring to look at Zhu Qinghou. From his periphery, he could only see the snowy-white hem of the robe—it was clearly the Prince’s own clothing.

Anyone serving in the inner palace knew that the Prince favored this “traitor” of the Zhu family beyond measure; he had even given up his own bedchamber for the man. Even though the prisoner had tried to flee with a “lover” last night, the Prince had merely dragged him back in a fury.

Zhu Qinghou casually pulled the purple silk from his hair and used it as a blindfold. “Fine. Let’s go.” He leaned his head on his hand and dozed off as the palanquin moved. It was remarkably steady, without the slightest tremor.

As a prisoner, he felt no shame in traveling so grandly; he simply reclined lazily.

The wind whipped up the hem of his robe. The black collar and white fabric swayed with the motion arrogant and unrestrained. Along the way, no one dared to cast even a single glance at him.

When they reached the study, the palanquin stopped. No one told him to remove the blindfold, so he did it himself and walked forward.

People said this place was heavily guarded, but looking around, there were actually fewer soldiers here than there were outside his bedroom.

When the guards saw the slender figure in black and white approaching, they momentarily mistook him for the Prince. Only upon closer inspection did they realize their error.

Wait… why is this person wearing the Prince’s clothes?

Garments that usually looked cold and strictly ordered appeared draped in a style of lazy, dissipated elegance on him—the effortless poise of a roguish noble.

Zhu Qinghou pushed open the doors of the study and leaned against the frame, his posture casual and lacking any sense of formality.

The trusted aide standing beside Li Zhen glared at the snowy-white hem of the robe with an unfriendly gaze. This man wants to enter the study? He’ll probably start hunting for manor secrets the moment he steps inside. I must find a way to counter him.

Under that wary gaze, Zhu Qinghou finally spoke. His first words were: “Xianpu, I’m hungry.”

The aide: “…”

Why didn’t you eat before coming here?

Li Zhen, seated at the head of the room, paused his hand over a silk scroll. He whispered to his aide, “Have someone bring in some food.”

Zhu Qinghou walked to Li Zhen’s side. Finding no extra chair, he tutted and said to the aide, “And bring in another chair while you’re at it.”

The aide remained silent, but following the silent cue from the Prince, he lowered his head and passed on the order.

Zhu Qinghou sat down right next to Li Zhen, reclining in the chair with his legs crossed. Still feeling something was missing, he added, “And bring a cushion.”

The Prince said nothing, clearly giving his silent consent. The aide followed suit. A moment later, he returned with a tray of food and a cushion.

Zhu Qinghou placed the cushion behind his back, pushed aside a stack of documents on the desk to make room, and gestured for the food to be set down. He gave the aide a small smile.

“You can go now.”

The aide’s brow twitched after being ordered around like a servant. He waited a second, but when the Prince didn’t speak, he had no choice but to turn and leave the room.

Li Zhen finally spoke, his voice as still as an old well, betraying no emotion. “You certainly know how to order my people around.”

Zhu Qinghou took a small sip of the porridge. It was extremely light, almost flavorless. He checked the tea; it was pale and looked equally bland.

He frowned but didn’t bother to complain, answering Li Zhen casually, “You call that ‘ordering’?”

He could order the master of this manor around if he felt like it, let alone a subordinate.

Li Zhen caught the implication and let out a cold snort.

Last night’s incident will not happen again. Even if Zhu Qinghou threatens to die a thousand more times, I will not look at him.

“Hold this for me.” Zhu Qinghou couldn’t find a place to put the tea lid, so he handed it to Li Zhen.

Li Zhen, who had been tracing the characters on a scroll, instinctively reached out and took it. Only after the warm porcelain was in his hand did he realize what had happened. He said nothing, simply holding the lid in his palm.

Zhu Qinghou ate slowly, his movements quiet and nearly silent. Between bites of porridge, he looked at the mountains of scrolls on the desk.

They were all sealed tightly. The ones Li Zhen was currently “reading” were covered in pinpricked marks—they looked like some cryptic celestial script; he couldn’t understand a single word.

What else is there to do?

I’ll just have to make Li Zhen read them to me.

Having reached this conclusion, Zhu Qinghou asked directly, “Xianpu, what are you looking at? I want to see too. Read it to me.”

He asked without the slightest hint of hesitation or tact.

The aide guarding the corridor outside felt his vision go dark for a moment. He had been on guard against Zhu Qinghou using some sinister, poisonous scheme to trick the Prince, but he never expected such a blatant demand. Surely, the Prince would never agree.

As expected.

“I  read it to you?” Li Zhen’s voice dipped, carrying a trace of unreadable coldness, as if he were repeating an absurdity.

“Yes, read it to me,” Zhu Qinghou repeated with a nod. “I don’t understand it.” He had finished his porridge and was sipping the bland tea; though it lacked flavor, it felt as cool as snow in his throat.

He spoke with such total entitlement that it almost sounded reasonable—he didn’t understand it, so of course Li Zhen should read it.

Li Zhen said flatly, “And if I refuse?”

If he didn’t agree, what could Zhu Qinghou do? Run away again? Go and “die” again?

Zhu Qinghou pondered this for a second and answered honestly, “Then I’ll run away again.”

He had nothing left now; he was a pauper with only one life to his name, and he was betting everything on the fact that Li Zhen couldn’t bear to let him die.

Li Zhen was nearly provoked to a laugh by his audacity. The parasite was meant to control Zhu Qinghou; how had it become his own shackle instead?

The aide in the corridor thought to himself: Running away again? What kind of threat is that? The Prince certainly won’t.

The next moment.

Li Zhen’s voice rang out in a steady, monotonous tone. He began to read the contents of the silk scroll aloud, his deep voice audible only to the person sitting beside him.

Zhu Qinghou listened while gesturing for the aide to clear away the tea bowl.

As the aide stepped inside and saw his Prince reading the scrolls aloud in a low voice, his mind went blank.

Since when was the Prince someone who valued another person’s life so dearly? If anyone else had threatened the Prince with their own life… The aide shuddered inwardly, not daring to finish the thought as he hurriedly cleared the dishes.

Zhu Qinghou leaned back in his chair, watching Li Zhen’s fingers. They were long and pale as jade, tracing over the soft silk inch by inch. It was truly a sight to behold.

The winter taxes for Yongzhou were finished. The officials sent to Yejing for the Imperial audience would be returning soon—maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but definitely in the coming days.

Let them return whenever they like. What was the worst Li Zhen could do—kill him?

He had lied to Li Zhen countless times; once or twice more wouldn’t make a difference.

Zhu Qinghou’s mind drifted until he realized Li Zhen had stopped. Instinctively, he asked, “Is that all?”

Li Zhen didn’t answer immediately. He said softly, “Xiao Yu, your mind was wandering.”

Zhu Qinghou was long used to the man’s sharp perception. He leaned over, resting his head on Li Zhen’s shoulder. “The things you read are boring. It’s all just ‘spring is coming,’ ‘buy grain,’ ‘train troops,’ ‘herd sheep.'”

He had no interest in the tedious details of governance; it felt too distant. He was much more familiar with intrigue, betrayal, and grand schemes.

“Boring?” Li Zhen repeated. When those two words—which sounded so light coming from Zhu Qinghou—left his own mouth, they felt heavy and cold.

Zhu Qinghou felt a sudden, inexplicable touch of fear. He sat up straight, no longer leaning on Li Zhen, and searched for a topic. “Yongzhou has so many cattle and sheep. What if they get lost?”

“There are marks. Every animal bears a mark.” Li Zhen’s voice was calm, steady, and cool.

Mentioning marks made Zhu Qinghou look down at the jade plaque around his own neck. On both sides, it was engraved with Li Zhen’s name.

He remembered Li Zhen saying he wanted to tattoo him. Zhu Qinghou didn’t press the issue. He had already survived being branded; a tattoo wouldn’t matter.

Though, since Li Zhen was blind, he worried the tattoo might end up looking ugly. That would be a real shame.

Calculating the time, a day should have been enough for news of his “escape and recapture” to spread.

He wondered where that news had reached. Had it reached the Feng family in Sizhou?

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Sizhou.

At the docks, the Huai River churned and rolled. A gentle wind blew through the swaying willows.

A dark figure on horseback galloped across the pier. A young man in crimson robes, mounted on a black steed, flipped off his horse and walked forward with rapid strides. People continually joined his wake, flanking him as he marched toward a massive ship laden with grain.

The group finally stopped, staring nervously at the uninvited young general. The man looked up at the great vessel and spoke:

“The grain being sent to Yongzhou this year—I will deliver it personally.”

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