A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 26

With the arrival of the imperial officials, the curtain rose grandly on the bustling trade between the three regions. To facilitate commerce, the most urgent task was road construction.

Inside the study of the Prince of Su’s manor.

The screen that originally stood in the center had been replaced by a massive wooden frame. Hanging high upon it was a topographical map of Yongzhou stretching to Tong Pass. Mountains and lakes, intertwined in greens and blues, shimmered brilliantly under the window light, reflecting the soft luster of the silk scrolls.

The map had two sides. Zhu Qinghou sat on the inner side of the map, while the officials discussing governance sat on the outside. Along the central axis of the study, imperial officials led by the Supervising Censor sat on the right, while local Yongzhou officials sat on the left. At the head of the room sat the Prince of Su.

From Zhu Qinghou’s angle, he only had to look up to see the edge of Li Zhen’s cold, ink-black robes hanging beneath the desk. They were pure and deep, black as charcoal.

Propping his chin on his hand in his armchair, he stared at that hem, lazily listening to the officials from Yejing and Yongzhou debate how to build the roads and the trade markets. The markets were to be established along the nine-hundred-mile stretch from Yongzhou to Tong Pass, divided into East and West markets to face East Wei and West Wei, respectively.

If the roads were too close, there would be trouble; if they were too far apart, it would be difficult to manage both. The officials argued incessantly, their voices clashing like a noisy marketplace. Out of respect for the Prince, they kept their voices low, resulting in a sound like the buzzing of nocturnal insects annoying and impossible to decipher.

Zhu Qinghou endured it for a moment before losing interest. He lowered his head and idly toyed with the jade tally hanging around his neck, tracing the characters for “Li Zhen” carved upon it.

Suddenly, someone raised their voice slightly: “The cost for the East and West markets is immense. Adding the road construction, the tens of thousands of taels we raised earlier likely won’t be enough.”

“Not enough?” Xiao Shengjue wavered. “I shall write a memorial to the throne to request imperial funding.”

He had already used all his available cash and even had his father send banknotes. As for the Eastern Palace, building these markets was a massive expense, and he was hesitating whether to advise the Crown Prince to contribute. Controlling the trade markets was like holding a purse, but if that purse was built with their money only to fall into the Prince of Su’s hands later, what then?

Zhu Qinghou let go of his tally and opened his eyes. Is Xiao Shengjue getting cold feet? That wouldn’t do. He had to find a way to squeeze silver out of the Eastern Palace.

In the past, to help Li Jue secure his position, his father had maneuvered through countless channels, sending untold amounts of silver to the Eastern Palace. He intended to make Li Jue spit it back out.

After the officials departed, Zhu Qinghou stepped out and leaned against the map frame, still dangling his jade tally.

“Xianpu, they’re worried about working themselves to the bone only to let someone else reap the rewards.” It was ironic. Wasn’t the Zhu family the same? They had struggled to help Li Jue rise, only to be discarded like hunting dogs once the hares were caught.

Shaking off these bitter thoughts, Zhu Qinghou walked over to Li Zhen. Too lazy to move his own chair, he sat sideways on the armrest of Li Zhen’s chair, leaning against the Prince’s shoulder.

Feeling the warmth of skin, Li Zhen’s body stiffened for a split second, yet he remained motionless as if nothing had happened. Zhu Qinghou didn’t notice the stiffness; his mind was elsewhere.

The Crown Prince’s faction was still as cowardly as ever. Even against a vassal prince who had been blind for years, they remained hyper-vigilant and suspicious. Since they were so suspicious… why not give them something real to worry about? Ideally, something that would keep them awake at night.

“Xianpu, I have a wonderful idea,” Zhu Qinghou said with his usual melodic laugh, his tone full of cunning. “But  are you afraid?”

Li Zhen lifted his gaze and tilted his head slightly to “look” at Zhu Qinghou sitting on the armrest. His vision was still a chaotic void of darkness. He didn’t say he was afraid, nor did he say he wasn’t. He simply asked, “What is it?”

Zhu Qinghou didn’t explain immediately. In a casual tone, he asked back, “Do you know what my ‘dear cousin’ fears most?”

Crown Prince Li Jue feared many things, but one of the greatest was—

“The Prince of Su intends to send people beyond the border to seek medicine for his eyes?”

Xiao Shengjue, who had been pacing back and forth, stopped dead in his tracks. His expression was grave.

In the past, there were no trade markets. No matter how far the Prince of Su’s reach extended, it couldn’t cross Tong Pass, let alone openly send people to seek medicine. Now, things were different. There was no guarantee that the two Wei states didn’t possess some miraculous cure. If the Prince actually found it…

Recalling the Crown Prince’s temperament, Xiao Shengjue felt a massive headache coming on. He made up his mind: he must control the trade markets. Even if the Prince did find medicine one day, he could never be allowed to bring it back!

A nearby official, reading the situation, asked, “Should we report this to the Eastern Palace and ask the Crown Prince to provide the funds?”

Xiao Shengjue snapped, “Go! Quickly! The faster, the better!”

It was no secret that Li Zhen wanted to restore his sight, but bringing it into the open would inevitably invite the wariness of those with hidden agendas, or even outright attacks. This was why Zhu Qinghou asked if he was afraid.

Having heard the explanation, Li Zhen’s expression remained as calm as a still well. He asked flatly, “Is that all?”

With four simple words, he dismissed the potential barrage of hidden arrows and open blades with complete indifference. This reaction was exactly what Zhu Qinghou expected; since their youth, Li Zhen had always been this unshakable, as if the heavens falling wouldn’t startle him.

The study fell silent for a long while. Zhu Qinghou stared at the map in a daze, his fingertip tracing a few specific locations.

Li Zhen also had a map before him, one pricked with needle holes. He traced it with measured movements and suddenly asked, ” Do you truly believe he fears me that much?”

A Crown Prince of the realm, fearing a blind vassal like a tiger. If word got out, the world would surely laugh.

“Naturally. Among all the princes, you are the one he fears most.” Zhu Qinghou was still focused on the map and answered without thinking. But as the words left his mouth, he paused, realizing the weight of what he had said.

Among the princes, Li Jue truly did fear Li Zhen most. That was why, during the struggle for the throne, he had been most ruthless toward him, using every weapon in the court and the harem to strike him down. When Li Zhen suddenly lost his sight, he had been caught completely off guard, suffering a crushing defeat.

Recalling those years, Zhu Qinghou’s fingers curled involuntarily. The fingers that had once endured the torture of the finger-screws spasmed instinctively.

In that year, he had used this very hand to hand the wine to Li Zhen.

The atmosphere in the study turned subtle. Outside, the wind through the pines rose and fell; beneath the eaves, the bird-scaring bells swayed, their faint chiming striking the ear.

Zhu Qinghou, always one to keep a stiff upper lip, stayed quiet for only a moment before saying, “Back then, I fought so hard and maneuvered so many times to get you assigned as the vassal of Jingzhou, yet you refused. You wasted my good intentions.”

The struggle for the throne back then was a life-or-death affair. He knew that once Li Jue became the Crown Prince, he would take the opportunity to deal with Li Zhen. So, he had used the Zhu family’s influence to mediate as much as possible, trying to secure a prosperous fief for him.

He had even been cursed by the Eastern Palace’s people for being a “traitor” and “disloyal to the Crown Prince” because he was looking out for an outsider. At eighteen, he had only laughed. He changed into plain white robes and hurried to the funeral hall of Consort Cui, desperate to share the news with Li Zhen.

The Emperor’s appointment of a vassal prince was a grave matter, not something others could easily sway. He had exerted immense effort and paid a high price to secure Jingzhou.

How wonderful Jingzhou was a wealthy land of water and leisure. Moreover, it was close to Yejing. If the opportunity arose, they could have seen each other again.

The young Zhu Qinghou had carried these thoughts like a fluttering bird in his heart. Silencing his footsteps, he had stepped cautiously into the funeral hall.

The shadows of the funeral banners were long and dense, almost swallowing the white-clad figure kneeling before the altar. The wind shook the shadows; all was silent. No one made a sound. Everyone’s expressions were numb, filled with an undeniable hostility. They lifted their heads from the shadows, their dark eyes watching him in silence.

Enduring those hateful gazes, Zhu Qinghou’s steps slowed. He walked up behind Li Zhen and whispered: “Xianpu.”

Li Zhen remained kneeling, his figure thin and upright. In his white mourning robes, he looked like a bamboo stalk stripped of its leaves, or a single patch of snow.

Nervous under the cold stares of those around him, Zhu Qinghou lifted his robes and knelt beside Li Zhen. He looked at Consort Cui’s memorial tablet, caught a glimpse, and quickly lowered his head.

Li Zhen finally seemed to notice his presence. He turned his head, revealing a pale face. A white mourning band was tied around his forehead, and the plain white silk over his eyes was folded into two layers of snow, hiding his expression.

Zhu Qinghou felt a flash of joy; at least the other man had turned around. Surely he would speak to him.

Li Zhen opened his mouth, but what he said was: “…Who let him in?”

Zhu Qinghou was stunned by those calm, cold words. What does that mean?

Behind him, someone came to pull him away, demanding he stand up and forbidding him from kneeling beside Li Zhen. The grip was tight and the movement forced, clearly showing utter loathing.

Zhu Qinghou had never been treated this way. He shook off the person’s hand, stood up on his own, and took two steps back. He was about to leave, but taking a deep breath, he spoke with his back to Li Zhen: “The Emperor has assigned you the fief of Jingzhou. Pack your things and get ready.”

Jingzhou—the most affluent fief in the Jin Dynasty, with vast lands and a thriving population. For some reason, Zhu Qinghou didn’t mention the difficulties he faced or the price he paid; he didn’t say a single word about his own efforts.

As he spoke, he felt the gazes around him shift slightly—from pure hatred to hatred mixed with a sliver of doubt.

Li Zhen will be happy, right? he thought. Li Zhen had once said he only wanted the people under his rule to live well. Jingzhou was prosperous and peaceful, far better than those remote, destitute places.

The young Li Zhen showed no emotion. He remained kneeling, his head tilted toward him behind the white silk.

“I do not need it,” the young Prince said.

In the present, the grown Li Zhen spoke in a flat voice.

He placed his palm over the map, his expression as calm as it was all those years ago. His features were cold and sharp, having completely shed the softness of youth to become something increasingly inscrutable.

“Your ‘good intentions’  I have never needed them, from beginning to end.”

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