A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 30

Ever since the fall of the Zhu family, Zhu Qinghou had lived a celibate life for nearly a year. With a subtle hook of his finger, he easily tightened his grip on the thin white silk ribbon. He tilted his head back, brushed aside the gauze curtains, and pressed close.

The young vassal king went rigid, his strength deserting him in an instant. He stood motionless, his head bowed, as he felt that thin, shallow warmth brush past him.

It was a touch that vanished as soon as it landed.

Li Zhen took a step back. The white silk blindfold slipped from his face, drifting weightlessly toward the floor. One end remained caught between Zhu Qinghou’s fingers before he gently let go, allowing it to fall silently inside the bed curtains.

“What are you hiding for this time?” Zhu Qinghou tilted his head, genuinely puzzled as to why Li Zhen always recoiled from him.

Does he loathe me, or is he simply repulsed?

A flare of irritation rose within him. “If you won’t pay me any mind, there are plenty of people who—”

The closed gauze curtains were swept open once more.

Li Zhen had stepped forward without warning. Deprived of their covering, his features were sharp and strikingly beautiful. His eyes were dark and misty—the whites like jade, the irises like ink yielding not a single ray of light.

He “looked” down at Zhu Qinghou, his gaze overbearing, dangerous, and cold.

Zhu Qinghou, who had been causing trouble just a moment ago, held his breath. He didn’t dare push any further; a strange sensation washed over him, as if he were being stalked by a predatory beast.

“Xianpu?”

He tested the waters, but barely had the sound left his lips when he was pinned back into the soft, heaped quilts. His hands were pinned above him. Zhu Qinghou did not struggle; he simply stared in astonishment at the exquisite face mere inches from his own.

The distance was so small that he could count the long lashes on Li Zhen’s lids—slender, cold, and finely detailed. Those sightless eyes reflected his own slightly panicked expression.

“You” It was rare for Li Zhen to take the initiative. Zhu Qinghou wasn’t one to be coy; after his initial shock passed, he leaned in and lightly pecked the tips of Li Zhen’s eyelashes.

Those eyes trembled and slowly fluttered shut, the lids veiling the ink-black pupils.

“That medicine is bad for you,” Zhu Qinghou whispered, pulling back just a fraction—less than half a finger’s width. His voice was damp, laced with a faint, breathless hitch. “You aren’t allowed to take it anymore.”

If Li Zhen had to endure, then he would have to endure as well.

But if they kept enduring, when would it ever end?

Li Zhen opened his eyes. His dark pupils were fixed on him; though there was no light in them, they clearly mirrored Zhu Qinghou’s silhouette.

He remained quiet for a few heartbeats, seemingly trying to steady his breathing. He whispered, “I can’t see.”

Because he was blind, the only way he could “see” Zhu Qinghou was through touch and sound.

Zhu Qinghou froze, unsure if he truly understood the weight of those words.

Li Zhen’s fingertips curled slightly, and the grip on Zhu Qinghou’s wrists loosened.

A soft pop came from the lantern.

The light on the floor flickered, the sparks swaying as the shadows in the hall shifted between light and dark.

Zhu Qinghou suddenly let out a soft laugh. He reached out and proactively looped his arms around Li Zhen’s neck.

The gauze curtains drifted down, layer upon layer.

A sliver of moonlight slanted through the window frame, casting a desolate, quiet glow. Unnoticed, the light of dawn began to creep upward.

Morning had broken.

Zhu Qinghou lay amidst a sea of soft clouds, his body feeling loose and lazy. The knuckles of his hand, resting outside the covers, were tinged with a thin layer of rosy flush, as if the color were seeping out from beneath his skin.

He reached out haphazardly and touched something soft amidst the mess. Pulling it close, he saw it was the white silk blindfold. His fingertips twitched, and he tossed it off the bed.

He didn’t forget to curse Li Zhen in his mind—look what the man had done…

Then again, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, so it felt wrong to be too harsh on a man who had lived like a lonely monk for so many years.

Zhu Qinghou simply rolled over and continued to lie there in a daze.

The space beside him was empty.

Li Zhen had woken up earlier than him, and there was no telling where he had gone.

Exhausted and indifferent, Zhu Qinghou closed his eyes and drifted back into a muddled sleep.

This nap lasted quite a while. By the time he woke up feeling refreshed, he felt a slight coolness on his skin. The snowy, clean scent of medicinal salve drifted around him. It was a cold, pure fragrance that enveloped him with a quiet authority.

Zhu Qinghou opened his eyes to find a hem of snow-white robes. Li Zhen was sitting by the bedside, applying medicine to him. Sensing that he was awake, Li Zhen pulled his hand back and capped the bottle.

“Xianpu,” Zhu Qinghou said, holding out his hand to show the bruises on his wrist. He whispered, “Look at what you did.”

Li Zhen took his wrist and lowered his head as if to inspect it, but his eyes were once again covered by the white silk.

He couldn’t see a damn thing, yet here he was, pretending to look.

Zhu Qinghou huffed and pulled his hand back, his voice a bit raspy. “I’ll let it slide this time, but you’d better be more careful in the future.”

He spoke without the slightest self-awareness of being a prisoner, sounding more like he was giving orders to a servant.

The room was silent. Even in the daytime, the hall remained dim—a realm of wordless stillness.

Li Zhen said softly, “Mm.”

After one night, he had put the blindfold back on, hiding his ruthless side and presenting a gentle, tranquil exterior.

He was exceptionally docile and quiet.

Zhu Qinghou studied him for a moment, wondering if the white silk was some kind of switch. When he wore it, he was this upright, dignified “dead” man; when he took it off…

He propped himself up and leaned toward Li Zhen.

Li Zhen didn’t move, waiting for his next action.

Zhu Qinghou reached out and tugged the blindfold down. The back was still tied, so the front simply loosened and slumped to one side, revealing two rows of downcast eyelashes.

The proximity was so close that warm breath brushed against the side of Li Zhen’s neck. In the darkness, every sensation became vivid. Li Zhen practiced restraint, whispering, “…Don’t touch.”

After the previous night, Zhu Qinghou had learned a modicum of moderation. He pulled the silk back up, looping it over Li Zhen’s ear, and didn’t forget to claim credit: “There, I hung it back up for you.”

Li Zhen: “…”

Feeling entirely content, Zhu Qinghou didn’t forget his actual business. He leaned against Li Zhen’s shoulder, clutching the quilt to his chest like a man without a spine. In this lazy, relaxed state, he asked casually:

“How are the Eastern and Western markets doing?”

Li Zhen reached out blindly to tuck in the corners of the quilt around him. His voice was calm and indifferent, devoid of emotion. “Everything is well.”

Everything is well?

Zhu Qinghou turned those words over in his mind. The two Wei states were perpetually at odds, yet both lacked tea and silk. Yongzhou could easily do business with both sides and make a fortune.

When that time came, the commoners could raise more livestock, and every household would have more breathing room. With silver and grain, they wouldn’t have to worry about the winter.

As his thoughts wandered, Zhu Qinghou suddenly chuckled at himself. He had been infected by Li Zhen; he was starting to calculate the petty details of sheep, cattle, and horses.

“As far as I know, the Wei people are also short on sorghum,” Zhu Qinghou mentioned seemingly in passing. Yongzhou’s grain was all purchased from other provinces; they had no surplus to sell to the Wei.

Li Zhen’s eyes darkened behind the silk as he recalled a report from his subordinates. “Is that why you had Lou Changqing plant sorghum in Pei County?”

Lou Changqing had taken his post as a county magistrate with a single ox. His first act was to start planting sorghum. He had been tinkering with it for a long time, even claiming that this sorghum could be harvested in just three months planted in March and harvested in June.

Setting aside whether sorghum could even grow in a place like Yongzhou, the idea of a three-month harvest was laughable. His words had become a local joke.

Even Li Zhen had heard of it.

Zhu Qinghou was momentarily startled by Li Zhen’s terrifying perceptiveness. Resting in his arms, he didn’t move, thinking that since he had been caught, there was no point in lying.

“I thought that if it grew well and tasted decent, we could keep it in Yongzhou for the people. If it grew poorly and tasted terrible, we could sell it to the Wei.”

As for the possibility of it not growing at all, Zhu Qinghou had considered that, too. He had already prepared a backup plan to ensure he would make a killing during this trade fair.

On the surface, he was planning for Li Zhen, but in reality, he had been planning his own profit from the very beginning.

Zhu Qinghou’s tone was light and unbashed.

Sitting by the bed, Li Zhen’s fingers paused as he embraced him. He raised his hand and began to comb through the young man’s messy, dark hair with measured strokes. Having just woken up, it was soft and tangled, like a dark waterfall.

“And if it doesn’t grow?” Li Zhen asked.

He was curious about what Zhu Qinghou’s “backup plan” actually was.

As expected, Zhu Qinghou likely had several layers of contingencies to ensure he could profit from the markets.

Cunning and treacherous.

Greedy for wealth and power.

This was the true Zhu Qinghou.

Not some pet kept in the inner palace to coax and act spoiled.

Zhu Qinghou tilted his head back and reached up to trace the bow of Li Zhen’s lips. He smiled. “I am but a prisoner. What could I possibly prepare?”

Once the news of Yongzhou’s trade markets broke, the merchants of the Jin Dynasty would move like the wind, buying up the tea and silk that the Wei lacked. The prices of those goods would inevitably skyrocket.

He had no power and no capital; all he had was an information advantage.

A month ago, he had specifically instructed Zhu Xueting to notify several old subordinates and students to purchase tea and silk in advance. A month’s head start was more than enough for them to buy low and prepare to sell to the Wei through the markets.

The young man in his arms spoke with a smile—light and gentle. His slender fingers, tipped with very thin calluses, brushed across Li Zhen’s lips like a dragonfly skimming water.

Li Zhen’s fingers twitched. In the darkness, he caught the mischievous hand and held it firmly, preventing him from moving.

His voice was low and cold, his emotions hard to decipher. “You certainly know how to thrive in any environment.”

Zhu Qinghou leaned his head against the other man’s chest and smiled with a hint of triumph. “This is nothing.”

Though his hand was held, he didn’t struggle. He used his fingertips to lightly trace patterns in Li Zhen’s palm. “One day, I’m going to return to the capital in glory.” He would make sure all those who kicked him while he was down were dealt with. He’d wait for them, one by one.

Especially Li Jue and Lin Hanyi.

Just thinking of them made Zhu Qinghou’s teeth itch with resentment.

A strange sensation tingled in Li Zhen’s palm. He endured it without withdrawing his hand. Listening to the spirited words of the man in his arms, a familiar longing rose within him.

He wanted to see his face. To see his smile. To look into those clever, bright eyes.

It was a pity.

The people sent beyond the pass to find medicine had yet to bring back any good news.

One year, two years, three years, four years…

It had been so long that he had almost grown used to this life of darkness. Open eyes were dark; closed eyes were dark.

At first, he had wanted others to see this darkness too. He had even maliciously wondered what kind of expression Zhu Qinghou would make if he were blind…

“Xianpu,” Zhu Qinghou’s voice broke through Li Zhen’s thoughts. He said softly, “Feng Chan is back.”

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