A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 28

The lattice doors swung wide with a sudden crash. Standing within the square frame of the entrance were not his confidants, but a group of strangers clad in black. At their head stood a man in official robes embroidered with a bear cub, his face devoid of emotion as he spoke:

“I am Li Baopu, the Judicial Commissioner of Yongzhou. I have been ordered to invite you, My Lord.”

A Judicial Commissioner was a local oversight official responsible for internal investigations. While his rank was not as high as a Senior Imperial Censor from the capital, the weight of the duty was the same: to scrutinize the hundred officials and impeach those who neglected their duties.

This man.

Xiao Shengjue remembered seeing him by Prince Su’s side. He was likely one of the Prince’s inner circle.

The muscles in Xiao Shengjue’s face twitched. Realization struck him like a physical blow, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Did Prince Su send you? Do you have any idea what it means to openly oppose the Crown Prince?”

Prince Su was merely a vassal king. No matter how much power he wielded in his own fiefdom, he could never compare to the Crown Prince—the heir apparent of the Jin Dynasty and the future Emperor.

How dared he touch the Crown Prince’s man? Was this not a blatant slap in the face to the future sovereign?

Baopu maintained his deadpan expression. His dark gaze fell upon the chests overflowing with banknotes, and he said tonelessly, “The Imperial Censor is guilty of corruption and bribery; the evidence is conclusive. Take him away.”

Xiao Shengjue regained his composure and brandished the IOU he had prepared earlier. “This is a loan! Which law of the Jin Dynasty forbids an official from borrowing silver?”

Baopu’s eyes flicked upward to the paper in the man’s hand. He offered a gentle reminder: “Why don’t you take a closer look at the handwriting?”

Subconsciously, Xiao Shengjue looked down. His body went rigid, and he froze on the spot. At some point, the signature had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a blank space.

In other words, the IOU was worthless.

“People claim you used fabricated pretexts to extort bribes. To prove your innocence, it would be best if you came with us.”

Xiao Shengjue stumbled, nearly collapsing to the floor. How could the once upright and noble Prince Su become so underhanded? To think he would set such a trap just to deal with him…

A sense of chilling familiarity washed over him. Wasn’t this the exact same tactic they had used to destroy the Zhu family?

Could it be that Prince Su was seeking revenge for the Zhus?

Impossible. Absolutely impossible…

His chaotic thoughts shattered like glass. A single idea flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning, making him tremble.

Zhu Qinghou. is he really dead?

“He won’t die.”

Zhu Qinghou lay on the soft couch in the inner palace, lazily curled inside a thick, fluffy fox-fur cloak.

Even on such a balmy spring day, he felt a persistent chill. Fortunately, the cloak was long enough to cover his ankles.

He finished his thought slowly: “A man like Xiao won’t die just yet.”

Even if he wanted to crush the man once and for all, this was Yongzhou. If something happened to Xiao here, it would likely bring trouble to Li Zhen. Once the man was sent back to the capital, no matter how great the crime, it would probably end with him being “lifted high but set down lightly”—a mere slap on the wrist.

Li Zhen sat beside him, leaving a wide space between them, his head lowered as he flipped through a stack of scrolls.

One lying, one sitting—the warm sunlight gave the scene a sense of domestic tranquility.

“He can die.”

Zhu Qinghou was still imagining the look on Xiao Shengjue’s face when he was caught, feeling a mix of amusement and regret that he hadn’t seen it in person. He was caught off guard by the cold, calm voice. Looking up, he saw Li Zhen’s expression remained indifferent as he turned a page.

His posture and demeanor were perfectly composed, as if that ruthless sentence hadn’t just come from his lips.

“What?” Zhu Qinghou was slightly startled. “You want to kill him?” He sat up a little, adjusting himself against the soft pillows. “That won’t do.”

“Why?”

Li Zhen set down the scroll and turned his head to “look” at him. Though his face was placid, Zhu Qinghou sensed a flicker of confusion—You clearly hate the man and want him dead, so why stop me?

“This is Yongzhou,” Zhu Qinghou explained.

Yongzhou was Li Zhen’s territory. If a high-ranking official died here, Li Zhen would inevitably be implicated. Such an obvious point—how could Li Zhen not see it? Zhu Qinghou found himself genuinely puzzled.

“If that is what you want…” Li Zhen’s voice was low and dark, carrying a hint of inexplicable temptation. “What does any of that matter?”

The implication was clear.

If Zhu Qinghou wanted it, Li Zhen would dispose of Xiao Shengjue for him, consequences be damned.

Zhu Qinghou looked at him, his gaze traveling upward from below. He saw the other man’s dark hair tied meticulously with a snow-white ribbon, falling straight down his back. Beneath the silk blindfold, his profile was sharp and beautiful.

To speak such ruthless words while looking like the ultimate paragon of virtue.

Zhu Qinghou couldn’t resist his habit of teasing. He leaned forward, arching his back to tug at the other man’s hair ribbon. The ribbon was the same color as the blindfold, its four ends hanging primly and coldly.

“You’ll kill him for me? Fine then.” Zhu Qinghou’s tone was light and cheerful. He let go of the ribbon and lazily rolled over, resting his head directly in Li Zhen’s lap.

The movement was clumsy; he wobbled and nearly tumbled off the narrow couch. At the last second, a pair of hands clamped around his waist, catching him securely.

Before Li Zhen could even think, he had already caught the thin, frail young man. Feeling the warmth of the body in his arms, Li Zhen’s frame stiffened. He whispered a low warning: “…Don’t play around.”

Zhu Qinghou was well-acquainted with this “duplicity” of character. He didn’t mind the warning at all. Pillowing his head on Li Zhen’s lap, he twirled the hair ribbon around his finger and waited for a response.

Li Zhen didn’t push him away. He seemed to be practicing great restraint, his voice dropping even deeper: “I will help you.”

Having Li Zhen solve the Xiao Shengjue problem was undoubtedly the easiest path. After all, if the Eastern Palace was offended, Li Zhen would be the one to bear the brunt of it, not Zhu Qinghou. To have his revenge without lifting a single finger—how could that be bad?

Zhu Qinghou stared at the white silk in his hand. It was thin, fair, and pure. For four years, Li Zhen had spent every single day behind this thing.

He stopped his train of thought and said, “I don’t want your help, and you aren’t allowed to kill him.”

After this incident, even if Xiao Shengjue lived, his reputation would be in tatters. Sending him back to the capital was fine.

He did, however, want Xiao to apologize to Zhu Liujun before he left to apologize for that line: “Of lowly birth, only fit to be a concubine.”

But the situation was still unstable. If Xiao Shengjue tried to harm his sister again, it might be hard to defend her. It was better if the two of them never met.

The young man in his lap was incredibly fickle; one moment he wanted help, the next he adamantly refused it.

Li Zhen said nothing. He began to stroke Zhu Qinghou’s hair gently. It had been tied loosely with a silk cord, and with just a touch, it unraveled like mist, spilling softly into his palm.

It was mid-afternoon. The deep inner hall was bathed in a hazy glow of light and shadow, with dust motes dancing in the shifting beams that illuminated the furnishings.

Zhu Qinghou twirled a lock of hair, trying to figure out what the silence meant. Had Li Zhen agreed to stay out of it, or was he still determined to seek vengeance on his behalf?

Anyone with eyes could see the latter was a thankless task. Li Zhen shouldn’t choose it.

But then again.

After four years apart, he found it harder and harder to read Li Zhen’s mind.

“Xianpu, don’t kill him,” Zhu Qinghou whispered once more, afraid Li Zhen would do something foolish.

After a long moment, Li Zhen finally let out a soft “Mm,” as if in agreement.

Zhu Qinghou breathed a sigh of relief, though a part of him felt a lingering regret. The enemy was right there, yet he had to let him go. If this were years ago, the moment Xiao Shengjue dared to belittle his sister, Zhu Qinghou would have had him kneeling at her feet begging for mercy within three days.

As if sensing his thoughts, the tips of Li Zhen’s eyelashes fluttered behind the white silk. His dark, sightless eyes held an eerie stillness.

The surroundings were dim and damp.

Xiao Shengjue was relatively calm when he was first brought into the dungeon. He was the Crown Prince’s man, and his father was the Deputy Chief Imperial Censor. As long as he made it back to the capital, he could escape any charge.

Water dripped steadily from the cracks in the stone.

Two hours passed, and his composure crumbled. He knelt on the floor, trembling. His thoughts raced, but in this moment of life and death, he didn’t think of the Eastern Palace or the Censorate. Instead, he thought of a figure in pale yellow and green.

A young girl at the height of her beauty standing on a pavilion. She turned around with a light smile and called him by his courtesy name: “Zivan, I will help you. From now on, no one in the Censorate will dare bully you.”

“Zivan.”

In his dazed state, he actually heard that voice echoing in his ear.

Xiao Shengjue looked up and saw that very figure appearing before him, holding a lantern that cast a warm, yellowish-green glow.

Zhu Liujun looked down at him quietly. Her expression was neither joyful nor angry.

Xiao Shengjue lunged forward. Just like every other time he had sought her help in the past, he cried out with desperate hope: “Qingxi! Qingxi, you’ve come to save me, haven’t you?”

Even though the iron bars separated them, Zhu Liujun instinctively took a step back. She asked softly, “‘Of lowly birth, only fit to be a concubine’—did you say those words?”

Back when the Zhu family was impeached by the Xiaos and the entire clan was thrown into prison, she had waited with all her heart for her fiancé. She waited for her ‘Zivan’ to save her.

She had waited in that dark, narrow cell in terror for so long, only to receive one sentence: “Of lowly birth, only fit to be a concubine.”

He was the one who had used the Zhu family’s influence to rise to the clouds. When the Zhus fell, he was the first to kick them while they were down, demoting his wife to a concubine.

Xiao Shengjue froze, his fingers gripping the bars. He looked up, trying to look affectionate and pleading. “That was all nonsense! If I hadn’t said that, my parents wouldn’t have let you live…”

Zhu Liujun held the lantern, its soft glow blurring her features. “In that case, go tell your father and mother about it.”

She turned away, ignoring the man’s desperate pleas from the cell. She walked down the long corridor and stopped beside a standing figure.

She paused, hesitating over what to call him. “…Prince Su.”

Who could have guessed that Prince Su would seek justice for her? Was it ‘Xiao Yu’ who had asked him to do it?

Prince Su stood there with his eyes blindfolded, holding a long cane. Dressed in black and white, he looked like a beautiful, refined ghost standing in the darkness. His voice was very soft: “What did you call me?”

After asking, he fell silent. Even he couldn’t quite understand why he had asked that.

Zhu Liujun was stunned by the sudden question. For a moment, she was at a loss. To be honest, she hadn’t been close to Prince Su in the past—they were merely acquaintances who nodded in passing.

Then, moved by a sudden flash of inspiration, she spoke:

“Brother-in-law?”

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