A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 33

It was May, the peak of midsummer. The round sun hung high in the sky, and Yongzhou grew increasingly sweltering, the hot wind carrying the relentless drone of cicadas.

Leaves swayed, peeking through the half-open lattice windows of the study. Scattered light and shadows fell upon a low couch positioned behind a folding screen.

A figure sat reclined on the couch, the hem of a purple robe swaying gently.

As the saying goes, “sleepy in spring and tired in autumn” Zhu Qinghou felt a touch of seasonal lethargy. He leaned against a bolster, wrapped in a fox-fur cloak while waving a cattail fan. He was a man who simultaneously feared the cold and craved the breeze. He kept his eyes cast down, reading the scrolls at his side.

On the other side of the screen.

A group of officials stood trembling, as if walking on thin ice.

It was truly bizarre. They didn’t know what kind of bewitching potion the man named Zhu had fed His Highness, but the Prince brought him along to every single policy discussion in the study. The first two times could be dismissed as minor playfulness, but now, the trend was clear: Li Zhen was bringing this man into the very heart of Yongzhou’s power.

A criminal slave of the lowest class—no matter how glorious he once was, he was now a branded convict with a mark on his forehead. What right did he have to sit among them, let alone stand above them?

One official couldn’t help but speak up: “Your Highness, the Zhu faction committed countless atrocities and is loathed by the world. If you allow a remnant of that faction to appear so brazenly in public, I fear it will tarnish your reputation.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, several others stole glances through the screen. The screen was embroidered with purple Nerine flowers; amidst the undulating sea of blossoms and shifting shadows, the man’s expression remained hidden.

Even the most thick-skinned person should have been overwhelmed with shame upon hearing such words.

Zhu Qinghou, however, nonchalantly flipped a page. As he read, he felt a bit hungry and reached out to take a piece of Shiman cake from a small side table.

The officials who heard the rustle of the snack: “…”

Is this man truly so shameless?!

Others were advising against him, yet he was eating cake as if nothing were happening.

They held onto a final shred of hope. Prince Su had always been upright, fastidious, and ruthless. With Zhu Qinghou being so arrogant, the Prince surely wouldn’t let it slide.

Sure enough.

“Get out,” the Prince said coldly.

The official who had spoken looked toward the screen with a hint of schadenfreude. Indeed, he thought, with His Highness’s temperament, he would never let a criminal slave climb over his head.

The next moment.

A princely guard standing nearby stepped forward. He gave a smile and silently made a “please” gesture toward the exit.

The official was utterly bewildered and panicked. “His Highness told the slave to get out, not me! You—”

Before he could finish, the guard stepped closer. His dark, cold eyes fixed on the man, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes making the official swallow the rest of his words in fear.

After the man was removed, the remaining officials in the study were half-terrified and half-snickering at the fool’s expense. Prince Su’s favoritism toward Zhu Qinghou was obvious to anyone with eyes; yet that man had dared to speak ill of him right to the Prince’s face.

The interlude was quickly brushed aside. Zhu Qinghou didn’t even bother to speak. There were too many people who hated him, looked down on him, or wanted to kick him into the dirt; he couldn’t be bothered to respond to every single one.

Wisely skipping the topic, the officials moved to official business. “Your Highness, the Commissioner of Mutual Markets will soon arrive in Yongzhou. Most of them are the Crown Prince’s men.”

The heir apparent had always been wary of their Prince—everyone in the room knew this well. Furthermore, after the previous Senior Imperial Censor went mad in Yongzhou and was sent back to the capital, the Eastern Palace was likely coming with ill intentions this time.

It was simply a matter of “when soldiers come, block them with generals; when water comes, dam it with earth.”

Zhu Qinghou finished his scroll and tossed it aside. “We aren’t afraid of them coming. We’re only afraid they won’t come.”

The study fell silent. No one responded to him; they all ignored him with practiced coordination.

Zhu Qinghou didn’t care. He gave a few instructions of his own, ordering the group to make preparations.

The officials didn’t want to listen, letting his words go in one ear and out the other without thinking.

Prince Su spoke flatly: “Those who disobey shall be punished.”

Three simple words, yet they carried immense weight. No one dared to be negligent anymore. They hurriedly voiced their agreement, and upon careful reflection, they realized the “slave’s” words actually made a fair bit of sense.

In the past, the officials in charge of grading the nobility in the capital had said that Zhu Qinghou was of “distinguished lineage and peerless beauty,” and that his intelligence was unrivaled. It seemed those weren’t just empty rumors.

Behind the screen, Zhu Qinghou couldn’t see the change in their expressions, but just by listening to their voices, he could tell how much their attitudes had shifted.

If Li Zhen hadn’t been backing him, every single one of these people would have tried to step on him.

He wasn’t bothered; in fact, he found it quite entertaining to watch them seethe with a resentment they didn’t dare voice.

One day, even without Li Zhen’s backing, he would make these people obey him out of their own volition.

Before that, he needed to promote those who were already loyal.

The few exiled officials he had recruited didn’t have high enough ranks, and as newcomers, they lacked the seniority to enter the Prince’s study just yet.

…He had to find a way for them.

Zhu Qinghou tapped the scroll, staring absentmindedly at the map nearby. Conveniently, the officials began discussing who to send to the markets beyond the pass. This was a grueling assignment: one would be in unfamiliar territory, forced to deal with the Wei people while playing mind games with the court’s Commissioner. It was a massive headache.

The people in the room were the most powerful in Yongzhou. Sitting at the center of authority, they naturally didn’t want to go to the border themselves. They debated back and forth, essentially trying to figure out who to throw under the bus.

Zhu Qinghou hesitated for a second before choosing direct recommendation over subtlety. “I believe these few people are suitable.” He read out their names one by one, listing their strengths and the appropriate positions for them.

His logic was clear and his phrasing precise; not a single fault could be found.

Li Zhen “looked” toward Zhu Qinghou, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

The officials hesitated, not responding immediately. Whether the people Zhu Qinghou recommended were actually capable remained to be seen. Moreover, these men were once students of Chancellor Zhu and had been close to the Eastern Palace. If they saw the Commissioner and defected…

Zhu Qinghou suddenly laughed. The light, airy sound startled everyone. Why was he laughing out of nowhere?

He said coolly, “If the Commissioner wants to control the markets, he will certainly not be able to tolerate Yongzhou’s regular officials. I originally intended to send these men to be the vanguard, which would have saved you all the trouble.” His voice was steady. “Since you feel it is inappropriate, then forget it.”

In his words, he made no secret of the fact that those he recommended were his people.

The officials were stunned. They were all shrewd men; how could they not see that Zhu Qinghou was trying to give his people a chance? In the world of officials, if you only want to survive, showing up for work is enough. But if you want to rise, what you lack most is opportunity.

If those people did well, fine—to the senior officials, they were just tools to get work done.

If those people failed, Zhu Qinghou would lose all face and wouldn’t be able to show himself in the study anymore. No matter how shameless he was, Prince Su wouldn’t let a “stupid beauty” continue to interfere in politics.

They all looked down on this “remnant of the Zhu clan” who relied solely on his looks. They only hoped he would fall flat on his face soon and lose his arrogant attitude. After some consideration, they tacitly agreed to his suggestion.

Li Zhen sat in the seat of honor, silently sensing the undercurrents. All of Xiao Yu’s power relied on him to exist; once separated from him, it could collapse at any moment.

Xiao Yu was like a dodder plant, climbing up him to reach the light, their roots intertwined and inseparable.

This realization caused a rare surge of something called pleasure to rise within him.

Zhu Qinghou traced the scroll with one hand and propped up his chin with the other, his gaze deep. The opportunity had been given; it only remained to be seen if those men could grasp it.

Speaking of which, it was already May. If the sorghum Lou Changqing planted really could ripen in three months, it should be lush and green by now.

Pei County.

Sorghum, still clad in green, swayed in the breeze, rippling like ocean waves under the sun.

A calf walked along the ridge of the field, followed by a group of people. At their head was a magistrate wearing a conical hat and a straw raincoat.

Lou Changqing had his pant legs rolled up, his straw sandals covered in dried mud, as he chased after the calf.

The group behind him followed panting. “Lord Lou, please slow down!”

This man had come from the refined and wealthy capital. He was supposedly a student of the Zhu faction. By all logic, he should have been lazy and fond of pleasure. Why was he acting like a common peasant? It was one thing to arrive at his post leading an ox, but he had immediately started researching how to grow sorghum.

A joke! How could sorghum grow in Yongzhou?

But look at that—he actually managed to grow it!

The officials, whose faces felt flushed with the sting of being proven wrong, began to feel a sliver of belief in the “three-month harvest” claim.

As Lou Changqing herded the calf, he recalled the young master’s words.

That night at Prince Su’s banquet, the young master—whom everyone thought was dead—had stood up for them. He had even managed to get Prince Su to gift them daggers. Afterward, in private, he had asked him: “Are you willing to be an exiled official who swallows his resentment in silence?”

He hadn’t hesitated. He said he was not.

The young master had smiled, his eyes bright and lively around the cinnabar mark.

“Then listen to me. I guarantee you will rise like a phoenix.”

The few men who received their transfer orders all remembered those words at the same moment. The journey to Tong Pass was long, with foreign tribes on the outside and high-ranking court officials on the inside. Being caught between the two was hardly a good assignment.

But.

They looked at the tea and silk they had prepared in advance, thought of the prices skyrocketing as the markets neared completion, and the words of the young man in purple echoed in their minds.

They reached out to take the orders, kneeling to receive their mission with their backs straight.

Then, they mounted their horses and headed toward the border.

“The sky is grey, the wilderness is vast; the wind blows the grass low, revealing the sheep and cattle.”

In the distance, the songs of the herdsmen drifted across the wild plains.

Zhu Qinghou felt a surge of emotion. He looked out the window, past the lattice, toward the world outside.

With such a “hot potato” of an assignment, he had expected at least one or two people to decline. Yet, not a single person refused; they all took their orders and raced toward the pass.

Beside him, Li Zhen seemed to sense his mood. He leaned down and gently covered him with a blanket.

“I will ensure they return safely.”

His voice was very soft, devoid of emotion, as cold as always.

Zhu Qinghou paused, then gave a muffled “Mm.” He didn’t consider himself a sentimental person. In the past, he hadn’t cared about anything, let alone other people. These were just things he could solve with a single sentence; they weren’t worth his worry.

Now that his status had plummeted, he had to do everything himself, planning carefully and becoming increasingly cautious.

That was all it was.

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