A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 23

The medicine bottle rolled off the edge of the desk and shattered on the floor with a sharp clack, seemingly breaking the invisible balance that had held until now.

Zhu Qinghou stared at the fragmented bottle, a sudden sense of foreboding rising in his heart. He decided to play dumb. “What did I ask Feng Chan to bring? I don’t even know the man. How could I possibly ask him for a favor?”

Li Zhen waited in silence for him to finish. His face, as fair as carved jade, grew increasingly icy, radiating a frost-like chill. Even though the Prince’s eyes were hidden behind the white silk, Zhu Qinghou felt instinctively that Li Zhen was displeased extremely displeased—with his answer.

He pulled his cloak tighter, ignoring the faint flicker of fear in his chest, and remained stubborn. “What ‘save me’? I never said such a thing to him. You”

He cut himself off abruptly as the other man leaned in. Li Zhen’s sharp, pristine features magnified before his eyes, becoming startlingly clear. Through the white silk, one could faintly discern the contour of his eyes—the slight upward tilt at the corners, the long dark lashes, and the high bridge of his nose. He looked like an immortal, ethereal and elegant.

Zhu Qinghou froze, watching Li Zhen lower his gaze, his aura as sharp as a blade. He looked like a sword about to be unsheathed, ready to pierce him through at any moment.

“Xianpu?” Zhu Qinghou whispered. He felt that something was undeniably wrong with Li Zhen at this moment.

Li Zhen didn’t move any closer. Instead, he reached out to feel the desk, his hand searching for something out of habit before he suddenly stiffened, as if realizing something.

Realizing what the Prince was looking for, Zhu Qinghou leaned down to pick up a shard of the medicine bottle. He sniffed it but couldn’t detect any scent. “It’s already broken,” he noted. “What kind of medicine was this?”

The young man’s voice carried a hint of genuine confusion, sounding almost innocent. It was a maddeningly ignorant tone.

Li Zhen held out his hand, gesturing for the shards. His voice was forced and restrained, thick with suppressed emotion. “Give them to me.”

Zhu Qinghou stared at the hand with its well-defined knuckles. Then, he heard a few sharp, short sounds of porcelain breaking.

Li Zhen remained motionless, using the sound to guess what Zhu Qinghou was doing presumably picking up more pieces. But in the next second, a sudden weight landed in his palm. Warm skin pressed against his.

Zhu Qinghou had placed his own hand in the Prince’s.

Li Zhen: “…”

In an instant, as if he had touched something loathsome, Li Zhen jerked his hand away and tucked it back into his sleeve. He barked a cold reprimand: “Get out.”

Get out?

Zhu Qinghou glanced at the soldier in the study. “He’s telling you to leave.”

The soldier didn’t dare disobey. He bowed and walked out, closing the doors behind him.

Li Zhen fell silent for a moment. How can Zhu Qinghou have so little self-awareness? And why do the others humor him? He repeated himself flatly: “I said, get out.”

Zhu Qinghou blinked, tilting his head. “Is the parasite…?” He had never seen the “Mother” parasite flare up before. He thought Li Zhen was quite bizarre—who uses a parasite to control someone only to end up suffering the consequences themselves?

Thinking this, instead of leaving, he sat back down and watched Li Zhen with curiosity.

Li Zhen sat regally, his expression as calm as usual. Yet, amidst the folds of his snow-white robes, blue veins were visible on his wrists. Beneath the skin, the pulse points flickered with a dark, purplish hue.

Before Zhu Qinghou could get a closer look, a flash of white silk covered the view as the Prince pulled his sleeve down. He seemed to have run out of patience. “Guards!”

Is he going to have me dragged out again?

Zhu Qinghou stood up. “I can walk myself.” He turned and took two steps toward the door, but feeling uneasy, he looked back.

The young Prince, who had been sitting perfectly still, slowly bent forward. His fingertips rested on the desk, his palm clenched into a tight fist as if he were squeezing something. The corner where the shards had been was now empty.

Is Li Zhen actually.

Zhu Qinghou couldn’t stand his stubborn, difficult nature. He walked back and offered helpfully, “Should I call someone for you”

The response was a low, muffled snarl: “Go to hell.” (Literal: Get out/Roll away)

First “get out,” now “go to hell.” All day long, this man thought of nothing but driving him away.

Zhu Qinghou gave up on trying to find clever ways to threaten him. He decided the best threat was simply refusing to leave. He let out a cold laugh, ignored the order, and leaned against a pillar with his hair loose, lazily watching Li Zhen suffer. He felt quite satisfied.

He hadn’t enjoyed the show for long before he noticed something was wrong. A familiar wave of heat surged through him—scorching and hot, as if his blood were turning into boiling water.

Zhu Qinghou bowed his head in discomfort, his hair sliding over his thin shoulders to partially hide his face. Logically, he should have listened to Li Zhen, turned around, and left. He should have locked the door and left Li Zhen to suffer alone.

But Zhu Qinghou was born a rebel. He took a moment to steady himself, and instead of moving away, he stepped closer.

“Xianpu,” the young man whispered, leaning over the desk and looking down at the silent Prince. “Do you not like me?”

Persistent and stubborn. Wanting him, yet resisting him. Li Zhen was truly a strange man.

Li Zhen remained silent for a long time. Beneath his white robes, his grip tightened further. Bright red blood began to seep from between his pale fingers, pooling on the desk.

He really isn’t afraid of pain.

Influenced by the parasite, Zhu Qinghou felt dizzy. He stared at the small pool of blood for a few seconds before reaching out to pry open Li Zhen’s fist.

“Let go,” he commanded fiercely, pulling at the fingers. If this continued, was the Prince really going to cut through his own palm?

Li Zhen’s fingers didn’t budge. His fist was clenched so tightly that no matter how hard Zhu Qinghou pulled, he couldn’t create a single gap. Even in this state, the Prince’s voice remained calm and detached, a picture of total restraint. “Take him away.”

As soon as the words fell, the study doors opened.

Jiansu and Baopu, the Prince’s confidants, were about to follow the order. But as they stepped inside, they saw the young man in purple with his back to them, leaning over the Prince. From their perspective, with one standing and one sitting, they couldn’t see their faces.

The posture was…

They both froze, not daring to take another step.

Hearing the footsteps behind him, Zhu Qinghou straightened up. Just as everyone thought he would leave, he walked around to the back of Li Zhen’s chair, sat down in his original spot, and leaned in to continue prying at the Prince’s hand.

“I’m not leaving until you let go.”

As their fingers touched and skin met skin, it felt like an electric current running through them. Li Zhen froze like a cold jade statue. He whispered a low threat: “If you don’t leave, I will…”

“You’ll what?” Zhu Qinghou asked, fearless. He used both hands to pry at Li Zhen’s grip, trying to dig out the sharp porcelain shards embedded in the flesh. He leaned in close, his body nearly pressed against the Prince, their posture incredibly intimate.

Jiansu: “…”

Baopu: “…”

Should we leave first?

Zhu Qinghou didn’t even look back. He ordered, “Hurry up and bring medicine! And call some doctors who know how to keep their mouths shut.”

Baopu stammered an “oh” and rushed to follow the order. Jiansu stayed put, waiting for the Prince’s command. The situation was awkward—Zhu Qinghou was practically hanging onto the Prince; they couldn’t exactly peel him off. If the Prince pushed him away first, then they could—

Li Zhen showed no intention of pushing him away. He sat there, silent, as if in a stubborn contest of wills. His voice was muffled: “Didn’t you want Feng Chan to save you? Didn’t you want him to remove the parasite and take you away?”

Zhu Qinghou paused, looking up in surprise. Li Zhen must be truly furious to have said so many words at once. Still angry with the Prince and wanting to make him miserable, he didn’t explain. Instead, he added fuel to the fire: “You told me to go to hell, and I have nowhere else to go. I might as well go to someone else’s place.”

The study fell into a deathly silence. The windows had been closed at some point, and the room was dim and hazy.

Li Zhen’s chest rose and fell sharply. He let out a cold, hollow laugh.

Zhu Qinghou ignored the laugh and doubled his efforts to pry open the Prince’s hand. Finally, he managed to loosen a few fingers and began frantically pulling out the shards.

“Are you a fool? Who stabs themselves with porcelain?” he scolded as he worked. He really wanted to give Li Zhen a piece of his mind.

Perhaps moved by the scolding, Li Zhen slowly opened his palm and stopped resisting. His voice dropped to a low, strangely haunting tone: “You truly aren’t leaving?”

Zhu Qinghou was busy with the shards and didn’t want to argue. “I’ll leave in a bit, alright?”

“Mm.” Li Zhen let out a soft, elegant sound of affirmation. He seemed satisfied, almost as if he wanted the other man to leave quickly.

This thought made Zhu Qinghou even more annoyed. He pulled out the last shard with more force than necessary, not caring if it hurt. But Li Zhen didn’t make a sound; he gave no reaction at all.

Once all the fragments were gone, Zhu Qinghou looked up and saw the cold sweat on Li Zhen’s pale face. The chill emanating from his body made his features look like polished jade. He wasn’t “not feeling it” he was just enduring it.

Knowing the Prince couldn’t see him, Zhu Qinghou rolled his eyes, but his movements became instinctively gentler. Because they were so close, the heat rushing through his limbs began to settle into a quiet, imperceptible hum.

The moment Zhu Qinghou pulled his hand away, the heat flooded back.

He stood up, rubbing his forehead. He looked at Jiansu, who was still standing by the door. “Watch your Prince.” He turned to Li Zhen. “Find some gauze and cover the wound yourself. Don’t let the blood keep leaking—”

He cut himself off, watching the blood continue to ooze from the Prince’s palm. His brow furrowed.

“Are you looking for a way to die?”

Zhu Qinghou ground his teeth and sat back down. He let out a cold laugh, finally understanding how Li Zhen felt when he had watched him try to escape and cough up blood. He couldn’t describe the feeling, other than that he hated it. He reached out and pressed his thumb firmly onto the wound in Li Zhen’s palm. “I thought you weren’t afraid of pain?”

He watched Li Zhen’s face, hoping to see some reaction. After a long moment, the Prince’s expression remained cold and indifferent. He didn’t even flinch. Blood flowed from between their touching fingers, a brilliant red.

The helpless Jiansu: “…” Looking at the Prince, should I stop this or not?

The more it hurt, the calmer he became. Li Zhen suppressed the violent urges in his heart. Feeling Zhu Qinghou’s warm, soft fingertip on his palm, his mind became strangely peaceful.

What does the past matter now?

He would watch Zhu Qinghou closely. He would use the power, the gold, and the jade everything the man craved to bind him.

Zhu Qinghou couldn’t tell what Li Zhen was thinking, but he sensed the man had reached some sort of conclusion. He let go, took the gauze from Jiansu, and began to wrap the hand while muttering, “Xianpu, why be so hard on yourself? Just remove the parasite and be done with it. It would save you so much suffering…”

After all that, he had finally revealed his true intent.

Li Zhen remained unmoved. He asked softly, “You want to remove the parasite?”

Zhu Qinghou slowly tightened the gauze, intending to make the bandage look as hideous as possible so Li Zhen would be embarrassed in public. He wrapped it over and over again. The gauze was messy, yet it didn’t look ugly; instead, it highlighted the elegant length of the Prince’s fingers.

While struggling with the cloth, he answered casually, “What? Remove the parasite?”

These four words seemed casual, but they were the result of deep calculation. Everything he did was to get that parasite out. Li Zhen held his tongue, waiting to see what other sweet words “Xiao Yu” would use to achieve his goal.

Zhu Qinghou spoke again, his tone still breezy: “It’s up to you. Remove it if you want, keep it if you don’t.”

Li Zhen: “You truly…”

Xiao Yu is playing hard to get. He pretends not to care, but in reality…

“Finished!” Zhu Qinghou announced, looking at the ugly bandage with satisfaction. He felt his skills had improved. Back in the prison, no one cared when he was injured, so he had to tear strips of cloth to bandage himself. Compared to those days, this was quite a good job.

After a moment of pride, he remembered Li Zhen had said something. “Xianpu, what were you saying just now?”

Li Zhen: “…”

After a beat of silence, he said flatly, “Nothing.”

“Oh.” Since Li Zhen didn’t repeat it, it couldn’t have been important. Zhu Qinghou didn’t press him. He stood up to leave, but after two steps, the heat flared up again.

Zhu Qinghou: “…”

It seemed that as soon as he moved away from Li Zhen, the parasite would act up. He wasn’t one to be easily scared off, though. He kept walking, but by the time he reached the door, his legs felt weak. Beneath his wide robes, his thin legs were trembling.

Zhu Qinghou: “…”

He turned around and walked back.

Jiansu: “…” Why are you back again?

Zhu Qinghou sat back in his chair naturally, leaning against Li Zhen. He rested his head on the Prince’s shoulder, thinking the contact would stop the heat. Instead, the moment their skin touched, a strange shiver ran through him. It was as if something was constantly drawing him closer, urging him to press against the man.

Li Zhen had been enduring for a full hour. The pain had faded slightly, but the consuming desire had returned. It was like hunger, yet different.

The moment Zhu Qinghou leaned in, Li Zhen suddenly stood up. Leaning on his stick, he walked toward the exit. Since Zhu Qinghou wouldn’t leave, he would.

Zhu Qinghou, struggling with the waves of heat, watched him leave. Following his instinct, he went to chase him, but the Prince was already out.

Bang.

The study doors slammed shut.

Zhu Qinghou stared at the closed doors, a rare look of confusion in his eyes. Li Zhen…

Did he just leave the mouse in the grain bin?

There was no one else here. All these secret, high-level documents were his for the taking?

Zhu Qinghou immediately forgot the heat. He used a brush to pin his hair back messily and began pacing the study with excitement, picking out the scrolls he wanted to read. Luckily, he had learned how to read the pinpricks; otherwise, he could have been given ten chances and still wouldn’t have understood a word.

He sat in Li Zhen’s chair and buried himself in the documents. As he read, he felt a bit drowsy, and the strange sensations returned like a tide. Since he was in the Prince’s manor and couldn’t touch Li Zhen, he sighed. He would just have to endure it.

But in the next moment, the discomfort slowly vanished. The “Child” parasite grew quiet.

What did Li Zhen do?

Zhu Qinghou didn’t want to think about it. He picked up another brush and used a lock of hair to tie it to his forehead. The long brush stood up crookedly from his brow, looking hilariously absurd. He didn’t care; with the brush on his head, he focused intently on the scrolls beneath his fingers.

Outside the study.

Jiansu, who had been ordered to watch him, peered through the window screen. She remembered the Prince’s instructions: if Zhu Qinghou started crying or throwing a tantrum, she was to knock him unconscious immediately.

She was prepared. Looking inside, she saw Zhu Qinghou sitting perfectly still, with a… brush on his head? His head was tilted up slightly as he focused entirely on the scrolls. No crying, no tantrums.

Should I still knock him out?

Also, aren’t those documents supposed to be very important?

Jiansu fell into deep thought.

Deep in the inner palace.

Li Zhen was submerged in darkness. The room was deathly silent; no wind, no scent. It was as if everything around him were a vast, empty void. He couldn’t even be sure if he was still in the world of the living.

He reached out, feeling for the new medicine bottle in his sleeve. He took half a pill and swallowed it. Uncle Cui’s words echoed in his ears: “This medicine cannot be used frequently. If taken in excess, it may produce the opposite effect.”

The opposite effect?

Li Zhen let out a low laugh. His fingertips trembled as he tightened the white silk over his eyes, hiding his empty, sightless pupils.

He regretted it a little. This parasite was meant to discipline Zhu Qinghou, but now it had become a leash around his own neck, hindering him at every turn.

“What did he say to Feng Chan?” the Prince asked softly.

A secret guard’s voice came from the shadows, repeating their conversation word for word, even mimicking their tones perfectly.

Zhu Qinghou said: “Feng Chan, go beyond the border for me and find medicine for his eyes.”

Feng Chan’s tone changed: “He wants to kill you, and you’re finding medicine for him?”

“If you want to save me, do as I say.”

“Deyu, why all these schemes? I can just take you away directly.”

…

They were so close that they called each other by their childhood names.

The Prince’s fingers twitched as he gripped the cold, white medicine bottle. His eyelashes brushed against the silk band.

The guard tried to guess his intent. “Does Your Highness wish for me to handle it…?”

Sizhou was a direct-controlled prefecture, not a vassal’s fief. It was managed by an imperial-appointed governor. Feng Chan was the governor’s son and held a military rank; “handling” him wouldn’t be easy.

The dark hall was silent for a terrifyingly long time. Finally, the Prince spoke:

“No need.”

He had already arranged for others to scout the trade markets beyond the border; he didn’t need Feng Chan. The reason he didn’t stop him.

The lands beyond the border were treacherous. It would be very easy for a man to vanish there without a trace.

Thinking of this, the Prince’s lips curved into a cold smile. After a moment, he asked, “…What is he doing?”

The “he” was obvious. Zhu Qinghou was always pampered. Having been locked in the inner palace all night and now in the study, he must be causing a massive scene. Or so Li Zhen thought.

“He is…” The guard hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He is studying with extreme diligence, busy reading through the scrolls in the study.”

This unexpected answer startled Li Zhen, and he smiled.

“Hahaha!”

Zhu Qinghou burst out laughing. His laugh was always bold and unbridled, carrying a sense of pure delight.

The scroll spread before him stated that the Eldest Prince, Li Jue, had been reprimanded by the Emperor for the “extravagance and lack of restraint” of the Eastern Palace.

As far as he knew, while Li Jue was competitive, he wasn’t one to make such petty mistakes. Furthermore, the Eastern Palace had countless advisors to manage his affairs. Why would Emperor Shun of Jin seize on such a small error to publicly scold him?

Could it be that the national treasury was so empty that they had to target the Crown Prince to warn the rest of the officials?

Zhu Qinghou tapped the scroll. He remembered how, when the Zhu family fell last year, Li Jue had immediately cut ties with them. At the time, Yejing said the Crown Prince had been “deceived” and was now “purging his house.”

Thinking of those words, Zhu Qinghou sneered. Li Jue and Lin Hanyi were both ungrateful curs. Seeing them in trouble brought him immense joy.

After enjoying the news, he continued to study the document. Was the court truly this broke? When his father managed the treasury, it didn’t seem this bad.

The masterminds had fabricated the Zhu family’s embezzlement charges and, under the guise of purging the “Zhu faction,” had raided over a dozen households in Yejing. Yet the money wasn’t enough for their spending, so they had to increase taxes and scold Li Zhen for his “extravagant spending.”

Where did the money go?

Zhu Qinghou couldn’t figure it out, so he shifted his focus back to Yongzhou. Trade between the three regions was a good idea, logically and practically. But how to convince Emperor Shun to agree was a different matter.

Zhu Qinghou stared at the scroll, his dark eyes narrowing. Well, it wasn’t time to worry about that just yet.

He let out a lazy yawn and read through a dozen more scrolls. It wasn’t until the sky was pitch black that he stood up to return to the palace.

Outside, a figure in yellow and green was lurking. Zhu Liujun was hiding in the shadow of a pillar, peeking inside. Suddenly, a figure appeared before her—a tall, elegant woman in white with a sword on her back.

Jiansu said flatly, “It is cold out here. You might as well wait inside, Young Mistress.”

Zhu Liujun poked her head out from behind the pillar. “Who are you, Great One?”

“Jiansu,” she replied calmly.

Zhu Liujun stepped out. “Jiansu and Baopu—those are good names.” (Refers to “Simple and Unadorned”) She held out her hand, her eyes crinkling. “I am Zhu Liujun. You can call me Qingxi. My mother gave me that name, hoping everyone would be happy and joyful.”

Zhu Liujun felt like she hadn’t spoken to anyone in centuries. She caught Jiansu and started babbling. Jiansu had never met such a noisy person; she found it novel and listened patiently.

“Xiao Yu is back! I have to go, see you next time!” Zhu Liujun heard the bells of the palanquin in the distance. Her face lit up, and she waved a reluctant goodbye to her first “friend” at the manor.

“Xiao Yu! Xiao Yu!”

From far away, Zhu Qinghou heard his sister’s noisy voice. He opened his eyes lazily, beckoned her over, and patted her head. “Why did you wait until now to find me?”

Zhu Liujun unusually allowed him to pet her, launching into another long story. She had wanted to come earlier, but the guards wouldn’t allow it until today.

Zhu Qinghou arched an eyebrow. What happened today? Did Li Zhen give the word?

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Li Zhen for several hours. He wondered how the Prince was doing. With the “Mother” parasite flaring up, he was probably hiding somewhere suffering alone.

A sudden image of blood seeping from those pale, elegant fingers flashed through his mind—white and red clashing. It was a stark, jarring sight.

Zhu Qinghou’s eyes felt a sudden, inexplicable ache. He dismissed it as a phantom pain, not dwelling on it, and jumped off the palanquin to lead his sister inside.

The hall was deep, magnificent, and beautiful, filled with pearls and jade. Yet the light was dim, leaving everything in a hazy, beautiful gloom. It felt like a temple of peak decadence.

Zhu Liujun felt as if she were walking into a grand, mysterious shrine. She clutched Xiao Yu’s sleeve and followed him closely. “Xiao Yu,” she whispered, “this place feels like a giant cage.”

The path was winding, passing through multiple doors, and the environment was dark and secretive, as if someone were terrified of the outside world discovering a palace was hidden here.

Zhu Qinghou hadn’t noticed much before; the place was so dark it was perfect for sleeping. As for the decorations, he didn’t care.

“A cage?”

He narrowed his eyes, holding up a lantern to look at the hall. He found his sister’s description quite apt.

“It’s alright,” he remarked lazily. “At least it’s better than the prison.”

Zhu Liujun felt something was wrong. As a prisoner, Xiao Yu was living in such a massive, ornate, and eerie hall… surely there was an issue with that?

Unable to dwell on it further, she tugged on his sleeve and asked mysteriously:

“Xiao Yu, when are we escaping? I’ve already made the preparations.”

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