A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 3

Upon hearing those words, Zhu Qinghou burst into a loud, ringing laugh. 

I’ve said it before, he replied with sudden earnestness, if I am to die by your hand, I do so willingly.

Li Zhen, unable to stomach his half-truthful banter, stood up. Bracing himself against his walking stick, he began to make his way out, step by step. He seemed intimately familiar with the layout, navigating the space with the confidence of a sighted man.

Recalling the specific times Li Zhen usually visited, Zhu Qinghou called out after him, “Is this side hall located within your own private courtyard?”

Li Zhen paused. Seeing this, Zhu Qinghou grew even more bold. He looked exactly as he did in his youth triumphant and arrogant after winning a massive bet. “I guessed right, didn’t I?”

The price of his triumph was a tally charm hung around his neck, engraved with the words Prince of Su. Zhu Qinghou flipped it over curiously. “With this charm of yours, even those who wish to strike at me will have to think twice out of fear.”

He was always like this, reckless in speech and action. Even after falling into such a wretched state, he hadn’t changed, acting as if he were certain others would always hold a lingering affection for him.

Li Zhen let out a cold sneer. It would be better to brand your face, he said slowly and deliberately. “To brand the character Zhen right onto your skin.”

“Fine by me,” Zhu Qinghou said scrambling up. He circled behind Li Zhen, took the prince’s fingertips, and guided them to trace his own cheek. His laughter was as clear as the chiming of gold and jade. “But I want you to brand me personally.”

Li Zhen almost hated the sound of that laughter. It had been soaked in ice; the breath behind it was thin and slightly hoarse, yet it remained so unrestrained and decadent that it was infuriating. He brushed Zhu Qinghou’s hand aside and turned to leave.

Watching him “flee” in a hurry, Zhu Qinghou wanted to laugh more, but as the sound began to rise, his throat seized up, and his voice went nearly silent.

He fell ill after that. He spent his days slumped weakly among the quilts, drinking medicine three times a day and sleeping fitfully. Once he had finally recovered enough to move, he sought out Li Zhen and asked, “The man who tried to kill me… what has become of him?”

Li Zhen’s sleeping quarters were oppressive and dark. No lamps were lit, leaving the room shrouded in an ink-like gloom that seemed to swallow anyone who entered. Li Zhen sat quietly at a desk, tracing the raised embroidery on a silk scroll. He “looked” toward the sound of the voice but said nothing.

Zhu Qinghou leaned in to inspect the scroll. He realized the marks were tiny punctures made by a fine needle. Was this how Li Zhen read and wrote now?

“I want to ask you to release him,” Zhu Qinghou explained. “He only wished to eliminate a ‘treacherous official.’ If you kill him for it, won’t people talk?”

“Are you actually looking out for my interests?” Li Zhen countered.

“Yes,” Zhu Qinghou admitted candidly. “It is already difficult enough for you to establish a foothold in Yongzhou. If you lose the hearts of the people, and someone with ill intent takes advantage of the opening…”

He was never one to care for others, but making people believe he cared was second nature to him.

Li Zhen listened quietly, waiting patiently for him to finish before asking, “Is your illness better?” He beckoned Zhu Qinghou closer. After a slight hesitation, the latter stepped forward.

“Look at this,” Li Zhen said softly. Next to the punctured silk scroll lay a register. It was filled with the names of the Zhu clan men and women stripped of their status, reduced to slaves, sold off, or pressed into military service.

The Zhu faction had amassed countless riches and was notorious throughout the land. Those who had spent money to buy the remnants of the clan usually did so with the intent of humiliating them for sport.

“Those directly involved in the case have already been executed. These people are merely innocent relatives,” Zhu Qinghou said.

“When your family sat at the pinnacle of power, rising a thousand steps a day, the entire clan shared in the glory,” Li Zhen remarked devoid of emotion. “It’s a bit late to start talking about ‘innocence’ now.”

As they spoke, a memory suddenly surfaced in Zhu Qinghou’s mind. Four years ago, Li Zhen and the eldest prince, Li Jue, were both top contenders for the position of Crown Prince. The Zhu clan had weighed the pros and cons and chose to side with Li Jue, who shared their bloodline.

After Li Zhen lost his sight, Li Jue was named heir without surprise. The already wealthy Zhu clan soared even higher, dominating the imperial court, while Li Zhen was sent away to his distant fief. Now that the tables had turned, it was only natural for Li Zhen to hate him and the entire Zhu family.

“Why are you showing me this?” Zhu Qinghou asked. “Do you want to see me suffer?”

In the darkness, Li Zhen remained silent. Zhu Qinghou asked again, “If I beg you, will you help them?”

Li Zhen gave a slight nod. This ambiguous attitude irritated Zhu Qinghou. Then, a thought struck him. He stepped forward proactively, playing with the strands of hair near Li Zhen’s forehead before casually twining the ends around his finger.

“I’ll braid your hair for you,” Zhu Qinghou said in a lighthearted tone. “Help them. At the very least, don’t let them die on your land.”

For him, braiding someone’s hair was already an extreme act of supplication.

Li Zhen pushed him away without a word. The half-finished braid unraveled instantly. Zhu Qinghou, finding no joy in the rejection, stepped back. Out of the corner of his eye, he quickly scanned the documents on the desk.

Among the registers of the Zhu clan and the punctured scrolls, there was a handwritten letter from the Governor of Yongzhou. It was a long-winded, earnest plea, urging the Prince of Su to quickly deal with the “remnants of the Zhu party.”

The Governor of Yongzhou, Shang Qingyun…

Zhu Qinghou finally remembered the man. Back when he was a profligate noble, he had attended a night banquet at the Palace of Bright Light. He saw a minor official from the border performing a sword dance, desperately trying to catch the Emperor’s eye. However, Emperor Shun was bored. Seeing the official leave the stage dejectedly, Zhu Qinghou had casually tossed an apricot to him.

He hadn’t paid any attention to the man’s reaction at the time. Who would have thought they would meet again years later? That the man hated him so much was quite peculiar.

Outside the hall, someone knocked. “Your Highness, the Governor is here to see you. He says he wishes to discuss this year’s tribute and taxes.”

Zhu Qinghou, who was heading out, slowed his pace slightly.

The Governor of Yongzhou strode forward, exiting the main halls of the Su Manor. Suddenly, his gaze caught on something and he stopped beneath the covered walkway.

A group of black-clad princely guards surrounded a figure. It was hard to tell if they were coercing or protecting him. A young man in purple robes with jet-black hair and a red brand on his brow leaned against the high wall. He moved forward as if barely alive, stopping occasionally to cough weakly into his hand.

Was he waiting for him?

Just as Zhu Qinghou finished coughing, he saw a figure standing before him. He straightened up and smiled. “Brother Qingyun, it has been a long time.”

Fiefdom princes had no power to appoint officials; the high-ranking officers in their lands were appointed directly by the central government. Shang Qingyun, for instance, reported to the court and obeyed the Emperor. In other words, he was backed by Emperor Shun.

Brother Qingyun?

Shang Qingyun narrowed his eyes. “Zhu Qinghou.”

Even if Zhu Qinghou didn’t have that vivid red brand on his brow, Shang Qingyun would have recognized that face anywhere.

Noble lineage, unrivaled elegance.

In the entire Jin Dynasty, who didn’t know those words? Who didn’t recognize Zhu Qinghou?

Years ago, when Shang Qingyun had entered the capital, he received an apricot from Zhu Qinghou at a palace banquet. He had been ecstatic, thinking he had caught the eye of the young noble. He had tried everything to send his calling card to the Zhu residence, only for his efforts to disappear into a void. He was even mocked for “trying to climb a high branch” and fawning over the powerful.

He assumed Zhu Qinghou had long forgotten him. He never expected that after all these years, the man would still remember his name. A strange sensation rose in Shang Qingyun’s heart.

“They say if someone gives you a plum, you should return a fine jade to maintain a good friendship. I have no kin in Yongzhou, so I was hoping to rely on you, Brother Qingyun. Would that be alright?” Zhu Qinghou casually patted Shang Qingyun’s shoulder, his smile lazy and unbothered.

He was born with such an air of noble grace that even when he spoke of “relying on someone,” his posture remained so effortless that it made the other person feel flattered.

Shang Qingyun felt the weight on his shoulder and his whole body went stiff. Being looked at so earnestly by someone of Zhu Qinghou’s brilliance made him instinctively look away. He stammered, “Brother Qinghou.”

Regardless, Zhu Qinghou was trapped in Yongzhou. Once the Prince decided to use torture, it wouldn’t be too late to interrogate him.

Zhu Qinghou added, “I’ll leave those other members of the Zhu family in your capable hands, Brother Qingyun. Please look after them.”

Presumably, the surviving members of the Zhu family knew exactly what to choose between becoming a liability or becoming a corpse.

Such a blunt request made Shang Qingyun’s brow clear. He was about to press for the location of the salt and iron tax silver when the surrounding guards stepped forward impatiently. They moved between him and Zhu Qinghou, separating the two.

Zhu Qinghou seemed terrified of the guards. His expression grew panicked, and he looked back at Shang Qingyun with unease as he was half-pushed away by the soldiers.

Shang Qingyun stood there alone, thinking that since Zhu Qinghou cared about those distant relatives, he could use them to force a confession. He hesitated over whether to tell the Prince of Su, but then he reconsidered. He and the Prince weren’t of the same faction; if he could keep that massive fortune for himself, it would be for the best.

On the way back, Zhu Qinghou hummed a little tune. Once inside the side hall, he sprawled out on the couch. The image of Shang Qingyun’s clumsy, foolish expression flashed in his mind, making him roll around with laughter.

What a perfect combination of greed and lust.

Back when he served in the Secretariat, Zhu Qinghou loved dealing with people like that. They were pure, simple, and you could see their bad intentions from a mile away.

Li Zhen, however, was not like that.

His eyes were ruined, so he couldn’t be “lustful” in the traditional sense. Even when his eyes were fine, he was far from that sort of man.

The old injuries on Zhu Qinghou’s body began to throb, so he stopped rolling around. He lay flat on his back, thinking that people like Brother Qingyun were much more likable.

“Brother Qingyun?”

In another room, Li Zhen ground those words between his teeth with an unreadable tone. The name sounded light and intimate. He could even imagine exactly what tone of voice Zhu Qinghou had used.

The confidant standing nearby didn’t dare speak. He had followed the Prince from the capital to Yongzhou and had seen him transform from a gentle, upright man to someone ruthless and decisive. He thought he understood his master’s temperament, but whenever it involved Zhu Qinghou, even he was baffled.

“When the Zhu family fell, the distant branches threw quite a lot of filth at the main house to save themselves. Zhu Qinghou surely knows this,” the confidant said cautiously.

Li Zhen remained silent. The confidant wanted to ask if they should withdraw the men guarding the Zhu relatives, but one look at the Prince’s face gave him the answer keep watching them.

The situation maintained a precarious, crumbling balance.

Zhu Qinghou knew Shang Qingyun would find a way to see him again; he just wasn’t sure when. He didn’t bother speculating on the unpredictable. He stayed in the side hall, intending to use the downtime to recover his health.

His constitution was unimaginably poor. Combined with being dunked in the frozen lake a few days prior, he had a lingering chill. Even wrapped in quilts, he shivered. He sneezed and took small sips of hot water. As a prisoner, he obviously had no ginger tea or charcoal heaters. A cup of hot water was already considered a mercy.

A common slave, a state rat and we have to serve him?

I wonder when the Prince will get bored. Maybe he’ll give us a taste.

Through the wall, a few bold and insolent whispers drifted in from a distance. Zhu Qinghou closed the lid of his cup and kept his eyes down, pretending he hadn’t heard. Half a year ago, he never would have imagined living such a life. Fortunately, he was naturally optimistic. As long as he didn’t die, he would find a way to climb back over everyone’s heads one day.

At some point, the noise outside vanished, replaced by a cautious knock. Young Master, His Highness summons you.

Li Zhen wanted to see him?

Filled with doubt, Zhu Qinghou went to meet him. As soon as the sliding doors opened, a thick scent of blood hit him. Blood snaked across the floor toward his feet, and he stopped abruptly.

Several figures were kneeling at Li Zhen’s feet. Their clothes were stained with red. When they saw him, they scrambled toward him on their knees, bowing their heads repeatedly. “Young Master Zhu, please, forgive us! We spoke without thinking, we didn’t mean it…”

Confused, Zhu Qinghou looked up, his gaze traveling from the floor to Li Zhen.

The first thing he saw was blood dripping tap, tap—slowly sliding down the length of a blade. Li Zhen stood in the darkness, holding a sword and casually wiping it with a cloth.

The scene was terrifying. Even for the fearless Zhu Qinghou, his whole body stiffened. Li Zhen finished wiping the blade. The sharp, cold steel was glazed with a thin layer of blood, reflecting his dark robes. The two colors combined to create something somber and horrific.

Why did you call me here? Zhu Qinghou stepped forward, bypassing the sobbing servants. He walked right up to Li Zhen and took the sword from his hand. “Let me wipe it.”

He wasn’t comfortable with a blind man holding a sword.

Li Zhen allowed him to take it, moving to wipe his own knuckles with a white cloth. Even now, he wore the silk ribbon over his eyes, though it too was splattered with blood. Zhu Qinghou finally understood why this hall was kept so dark it made it easier for Li Zhen to kill.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I struck them?” Li Zhen asked softly.

Zhu Qinghou had seen plenty of dead and dying people in the dungeons, but this was the first time he had seen Li Zhen take action. He felt a cold wind brush against the back of his neck. Sensing danger, he instinctively avoided the topic. He leaned over, gently set the sword down, and quietly kicked it further away. Then, he took Li Zhen’s pale, elegant hand in his.

“Your hand is so cold,” he fussed. “Why is it even colder than mine?”

Li Zhen let him hold his hand without resistance. He didn’t respond to the comment, instead speaking to himself: “It wasn’t just because of their insolence.” As he spoke, guards dragged the servants away. Li Zhen continued, “A few of them were spies sent by others, and they were watching you.”

Zhu Qinghou understood then. While dealing with the loud-mouthed servants, Li Zhen had discovered the spies planted in the manor. And those spies were linked to him.

While he thought, he circled his fingers around Li Zhen’s knuckles, slowly tightening his grip to ensure the prince wouldn’t suddenly snap and try to strangle him.

Care to guess who sent them? Li Zhen asked softly. “Was it your ‘Brother Qingyun,’ or my cousin, the Crown Prince?