A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 16

Zhu Qinghou sat in the study for a good while, picking through the tightly wrapped scrolls and unceremoniously ordering Li Zhen to open and read them aloud.

Li Zhen had already read one volume but showed no intention of continuing. He said flatly, “Zhu Qinghou, just because I don’t kill you doesn’t mean I’m out of options.”

To make a person so terrified that they wouldn’t even dare seek death was not a difficult task for him.

Hearing the genuine edge in his voice, Zhu Qinghou immediately knew it was time to play nice. He said in a lazy, coaxing tone, “Xianpu, if you don’t want to read, so be it. Why must you frighten me so?”

Over the past few days, he had gradually learned a trick or two for handling Li Zhen. He treated the man like a cat: give him a gentle poke, and if he gets too riled up, you have to smooth his fur for a bit before trying again.

In the face of this flattery, Li Zhen only offered a cold snort, neither accepting nor rejecting the gesture.

Accustomed to the Prince’s duplicity, Zhu Qinghou didn’t fear his icy facade. He leaned closer and reached out to take the scroll from Li Zhen’s hand, mimicking the Prince by curiously running his fingers over the surface.

Li Zhen allowed him to take it, remaining silent.

Zhu Qinghou felt every inch of the scroll but couldn’t recognize a single character. Not discouraged, he said, “Xianpu, teach me. I want to learn too.”

Using pinpricks on scrolls to distinguish characters was a method Li Zhen had developed over the last four years. For someone with perfect vision, learning it was utterly useless.

It was almost impressive that Zhu Qinghou was willing to put in such effort just to pry into the secrets of the study.

Seeing that the other man remained silent, Zhu Qinghou continued to chatter, “Xianpu, once I learn this, I can write letters to you. Letters that only the two of us can understand.”

…Letters?

Li Zhen’s voice remained cool. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

Such a stubborn refusal only sparked Zhu Qinghou’s mischievous streak. He reached out and lightly tugged the white silk blindfold over Li Zhen’s eyes. “Just teach me! Back when we were at the Imperial Academy, weren’t you also…”

When Zhu Qinghou was five years old, he had been granted the Emperor’s grace to enter the Imperial Academy. Li Zhen, two years his senior, had just turned seven.

Among the young crowd of imperial relatives, Zhu Qinghou was the most sought-after. He was beautiful and spirited talented enough to drive his tutors to fits of rage one moment, and go racing off to fight crickets or hunt birds the next.

From childhood, people loved to stare at him. One after another, they watched him like wooden statues.

He used to wonder if he had ink on his face or a cricket on his shoulder; otherwise, why were they always staring?

Among them, only Li Zhen never looked at him. Li Zhen sat perfectly upright with his books, his robes devoid of a single wrinkle, looking for all the world like a miniature version of a stern old master.

He was entirely out of place.

To speak ten sentences to Li Zhen and receive a single reply was considered a rare feat, which was exactly why Zhu Qinghou liked him the least.

Of course, the tutor had assigned his seat right next to Li Zhen. With a window on one side and Li Zhen on the other, neither side offered any conversation. Bored out of his mind, Zhu Qinghou resorted to talking to the sparrows outside the window.

He would speak a word, and the bird would chirp in response.

Once, in the middle of his “conversation,” the heavy thud of a paperweight hitting the desk startled him. He turned to find the tutor’s face purple with rage, demanding he stand and answer a difficult question.

The young Zhu Qinghou felt a pang of guilt. He stood up slowly, opening his mouth to spin some nonsense.

Suddenly, the young Li Zhen’s voice rang out, steady as still water, answering the difficult question for him.

From then on, his opinion of Li Zhen changed drastically. He hadn’t expected the quiet boy to be so chivalrous.

After that day, Li Zhen became his “little tutor,” occasionally guiding him through his lessons…

“…Back then?” Li Zhen’s level, chilled voice sounded in his ear. His tone was unpredictable; it was impossible to tell what he thought of the “back then” Zhu Qinghou mentioned.

Zhu Qinghou sensed a faint danger in those words but didn’t take it to heart. Instead, he made a bold boast: “Even if you don’t teach me, I’ll find a way to learn it myself.”

Li Zhen didn’t respond. His fingertips brushed the desk, paused for a beat, and landed on a scroll. He pushed the document over and said succinctly, “Learn.”

Zhu Qinghou raised an eyebrow. He spread the two scrolls out and seized the chance to bargain. “What if I can recognize three characters? What will you give me then?”

These pinpricks all looked similar—the difference between one hole or two. To recognize three characters would already be quite a feat.

“Ten,” Li Zhen said flatly.

He wanted Zhu Qinghou to recognize ten characters before he would even consider bargaining.

Zhu Qinghou pouted and fell silent, staring blankly at the scrolls covered in needle holes.

The sudden silence from the chatterbox beside him made the study feel uncomfortably quiet.

Li Zhen picked up a scroll and lowered his head, quietly tracing the characters made of holes in the silent darkness.

“Xianpu,”

The quiet Zhu Qinghou started chattering again. “I already know ten characters! Listen to this.”

How could anyone learn such obscure, rigid script in such a short time?

Li Zhen tilted his head toward Zhu Qinghou, waiting calmly for him to proceed.

Caught up in the novelty of it, Zhu Qinghou pointed to a character on the scroll and enthusiastically began to explain it.

Halfway through, he realized Li Zhen couldn’t see which character he was pointing at. He quickly grabbed Li Zhen’s hand and pressed his finger onto the character, repeating his explanation. “Am I right?” he asked.

Li Zhen didn’t speak.

There was no need to ask; he was definitely right.

Zhu Qinghou’s lips curled into a self-satisfied smile.

Then Li Zhen spoke, his voice cold. “That’s one.”

He had said all that, only to get one right?

The smile on Zhu Qinghou’s face froze. Refusing to give up, he began to guess and invent meanings based on what Li Zhen had read to him earlier.

He guessed his way through nearly two whole scrolls until his throat was dry. Clutching onto his last shred of hope, he asked, “Is that ten yet?”

Li Zhen, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. “Nine.”

Zhu Qinghou: “…”

Nine?

Exactly one short of ten.

He tried to act the scoundrel. “It’s only one character off. Just teach me! If you won’t do that, teach me ninety percent and I’ll figure out the rest myself.”

“No,” Li Zhen refused him heartlessly.

Zhu Qinghou’s temper flared. The pride in his bones wouldn’t allow him to beg Li Zhen any further. He slapped the desk and stood up abruptly, marching out of the study. The attendants behind him exchanged bewildered glances, stunned by his audacity. He expected Li Zhen to chase after him with a staff and say, “Xiao Yu, I was wrong, let me teach you.”

Snapping back to reality from his daydream, Zhu Qinghou looked at Li Zhen’s expressionless profile and accepted his fate. “Xianpu,” he said, drawing out the syllables as he waved a hand in front of Li Zhen. “Teach me a few characters, won’t you? Just a few.”

Li Zhen remained unmoved. He withdrew his hand from Zhu Qinghou’s grasp and said flatly, “Go back.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the black-clad soldier standing outside the door with a sword turned and made a “please” gesture to Zhu Qinghou.

The meaning was clear: he was being evicted.

Zhu Qinghou glared at the guard but didn’t budge. He wrapped his arms around Li Zhen’s arm and tugged at his robe, acting as if he intended to hang off the Prince’s body.

“I’m not leaving. I’m staying here to eat lunch with you,” Zhu Qinghou said righteously.

Hearing this, the expressionless soldier’s lip twitched.

Was this the Prince’s study or Zhu Qinghou’s dining hall?

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner—it seemed he only came here to eat.

Li Zhen reached out and methodically pried Zhu Qinghou’s fingers off his arm. He repeated, “Go back.”

Just two words calm and gentle, yet carrying an indescribable weight of authority.

“I listen to you, so why won’t you listen to me?” Zhu Qinghou muttered under his breath. He stood up reluctantly. Since Li Zhen had said “forever,” he figured if he failed this time, he could just try again later.

The sound of his footsteps gradually faded.

Li Zhen slowly gathered the two scrolls Zhu Qinghou had spread out. As he rolled them up, his hand suddenly paused. He pulled a scroll from the pile that should have been sealed but showed signs of having been tampered with.

He opened it and traced the surface with his thumb. It was a report from Sizhou; the grain transport ships were due to arrive shortly.

Everything looked normal—the amount of grain, the personnel involved—nothing differed from previous years.

So why had Zhu Qinghou specifically opened this scroll?

Li Zhen’s fingers lingered on the parchment, silent.

The cool wind rattled the curtains in the study, and a few stray frost crystals drifted down.

The icicles beneath the eaves had melted away, but one small fragment fell, caught by a waiting hand. Zhu Qinghou looked down at the thin sliver of ice in his palm and blew on it.

The ice drifted away, floating lightly into the air. He stared blankly at the drifting white speck.

Yejing, Yongzhou, Sizhou… the names flickered through his mind. Since the Zhu family fell last October, he had lost all contact with the Feng family.

He wondered what the Fengs thought of him now—the fallen son of a disgraced traitor.

Even more, he wondered if the Feng family, hearing the news of his escape and recapture, would actually come to save him.

Zhu Qinghou didn’t care to dwell on things he couldn’t control. He turned back into the hall and sat at his desk. Closing his eyes, he recalled the pinpricks.

They all felt similar; what was the pattern?

He casually untied the purple silk from his hair and used it as a blindfold. His fingertips grazed the blank silk paper as he visualized the pricked characters.

Li Zhen said he had only guessed ten characters correctly.

He would have to work backward from those ten.

In a rare display of diligence, Zhu Qinghou strained his memory in the hazy darkness.

Outside the window, a hidden guard watched as the young man in purple sat with his eyes covered, his fingers tracing empty paper. The sequence of actions looked like someone possessed, carrying an aura of inexplicable mystery.

What is he doing?

The Prince had ordered that every move this man made be reported. This behavior was so strange it definitely had to be documented.

The guard pulled out a small notebook and began recording with a serious expression.

Zhu Qinghou was oblivious, still feeling his way through the dark. He began to sense a pattern, so he took up a brush, attempting to use the sharp tip to “write” a letter.

Xianpu, seeing these words is like meeting in person.

It is lunchtime now, and I want to eat…

If he asked Li Zhen for a lesson directly, the man might ignore him. But if he wrote a letter asking for food, surely Li Zhen wouldn’t be that stingy.

Enchanted by his own cleverness, Zhu Qinghou set down the brush with satisfaction and shouted toward the window, “I want to send a letter to your Prince!”

The guard, who had been feverishly scribbling about Zhu Qinghou’s “erratic behavior,” nearly fell off the roof.

All those strange movements were just to write a letter to the Prince?

They live under the same roof; why on earth is he writing a letter?

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