A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 35

“You are overstepping.”

Uncle Cui’s tone was level, laced with a coldness that meant to keep others at a distance. The subtext was clear: this was not something Zhu Qinghou should concern himself with.

“Uncle Cui,” Zhu Qinghou persisted, refusing to give up. “It’s a deal, then. You must help me keep an eye on Xianpu. If he starts taking medicine recklessly, you have to let me know.”

As he spoke, he reached out and patted Uncle Cui’s shoulder. His tone was heavy with solemnity, as if he were entrusting the man with a monumental responsibility.

Uncle Cui: “…”

He hesitated for a split second, falling silent. In the end, he didn’t voice his thoughts, only saying, “This is not your place to ask.”

“You’re being far too formal. We’ve known each other for over a decade; I’ve known you since I was five years old,” Zhu Qinghou said with a beaming smile, his tone intimate and familiar.

Uncle Cui involuntarily recalled what Zhu Qinghou looked like at five—carved from pink jade, possessing a natural brilliance that made everyone adore him. Even the habitually strict Consort Cui had been fond of him…

At the thought of Consort Cui, who had passed away four years ago, the emotion slowly drained from Uncle Cui’s face. He took a step back, expressionless.

“His Highness remembers old sentiments and has spared your life. I hope you know how to conduct yourself.”

With that, he turned and left, giving Zhu Qinghou no chance to stop him.

Left standing alone, Zhu Qinghou paused. He could likely guess the reason for the sudden shift in attitude. His eyelashes fluttered slightly, but he did not chase after the man.

If Uncle Cui wouldn’t tell him, he would find out himself. He was bound to find the medicine bottles Li Zhen was hiding. Taking medicine behind his back all the time—that simply wouldn’t do.

That night.

Calculating that Li Zhen had not yet returned, Zhu Qinghou quietly slipped into his chambers. The royal guards watching the hall saw him pass right under their noses; used to his presence, they simply looked away and pretended they saw nothing.

Click—

A fire striker sparked, and the glowing carbon tip lit a lantern. Carrying the light, Zhu Qinghou began to leisurely rummage through the hall.

He had been here many times. Though it was officially Li Zhen’s chamber, it effectively belonged to Zhu Qinghou as well. He slept wherever he pleased at night, and Li Zhen never bothered with such trivialities—Zhu Qinghou conveniently ignored Li Zhen’s initial resistance.

To find medicine bottles, the first place to check was naturally Li Zhen’s bed.

Zhu Qinghou had slept here just yesterday and was perfectly familiar with the layout. He tossed aside the quilts and flipped over the porcelain pillow, but his search yielded no clues.

After the fruitless search, he pondered for a moment. Rounding the folding screen, he began fumbling around the desk in the outer room.

With an extremely faint click, a mechanism opened, and a hidden compartment popped out.

Zhu Qinghou bent down and peered inside. Lying there were several porcelain-white medicine bottles of various sizes and shapes.

Curious, he took out a bottle and opened it. Walking to the window, he used the frame as a shield and leaned down to sniff it. There was no scent, nor could he see anything unusual about the contents.

He held the bottle up, using the light from the window to inspect it. The white porcelain glaze appeared slightly translucent under the light, looking like jade or ice.

Before he could get a closer look, he suddenly sensed something. Instinctively, he hid the bottle and looked up.

Beneath the shadow wall at the entrance of the hall, a tall figure stood as still as a statue. The hem of his dark robes almost merged with the darkness, and his snow-white collar was veiled in shadow. He looked like mountain snow under a pitch-black sky—towering and eerie.

There was no telling when he had arrived or how long he had been listening.

Zhu Qinghou believed his movements were quiet. Even if Li Zhen had returned right after him and stood there silently listening to the whole process, he shouldn’t have been able to discern much.

He stashed the bottle away as if nothing were wrong and greeted him with a smile: “Xianpu, why are you back so early today?”

As he passed the desk, he talked while casually closing the hidden compartment. The movement was fluid and seamless, leaving no trace.

“Zhu Qinghou.” Li Zhen’s brow lowered slightly. The white silk blindfold hung gently against his collar as he “looked” at him.

Being watched like that, a strange sensation of being seen through once again climbed up Zhu Qinghou’s spine—chilling and biting. Suppressing his instinctual alarm, he smiled: “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to come sleep in your hall.”

The young man’s voice was full of smiles, refined and gentle. There wasn’t a single trace of falsehood to be heard.

Li Zhen gazed at him silently, his stare so intense it felt like it could burn a hole through him.

Zhu Qinghou walked past him toward the bed. His previous words weren’t entirely a lie; he really did intend to sleep here.

As he passed Li Zhen, a large hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. The force wasn’t great—one could even call it gentle—yet it made it impossible for him to break away.

Zhu Qinghou looked up into the other man’s expressionless face. His eyes flickered; just as he was about to strike first and scold the Prince, Li Zhen spoke first: “Take it out.”

His tone was ghostly cold and desolate, carrying the icy chill of a mountain spring washing over jade.

“What?” Zhu Qinghou played dumb. “Take what out?”

Li Zhen said calmly: “The medicine.”

His tone was flat, devoid of warmth.

Since he had been caught, Zhu Qinghou stopped pretending. He pulled the bottle from his robe and waved it in front of Li Zhen, interrogating him first: “What medicine is this?”

Without waiting for an answer, he began to nag: “I reminded you not to take medicine recklessly, especially the stuff used to suppress the parasites. What’s the point of taking that?”

Behind the white silk, Li Zhen’s eyes darkened, swirling with complex emotions.

Zhu Qinghou… was he actually worried? Or was he just afraid that if Li Zhen died, he would have no one to protect him? The two seemed to be one and the same; there was no difference.

Li Zhen said tonelessly: “It is not the medicine from before.”

If it wasn’t the previous medicine, what could it be?

Zhu Qinghou felt a wave of confusion. When Feng Chan had brought back those vision-clearing pills from beyond the pass, Li Zhen not only refused to take them but even had them sent back. Now, he was secretly taking pills of unknown origin…

Even knowing the man was cautious and would never use medicine blindly, Zhu Qinghou was still worried that if something happened to Li Zhen, the Eastern Palace would swoop in, Yongzhou would fall apart, and he would have to find a new way to survive.

The only reason I care about Li Zhen is to preserve my current power and plan for the future. That’s all, Zhu Qinghou told himself.

When Zhu Qinghou failed to follow up with a question, Li Zhen’s brow lowered further. His eyelashes twitched, but he remained silent.

“So, what medicine is it?” Zhu Qinghou pressed.

As he spoke, he opened the bottle and stared at the pills for a long time, but he couldn’t figure anything out.

“It is of no consequence,” Li Zhen said flatly, trying to brush the matter aside.

Zhu Qinghou didn’t believe him for a second. He shook the bottle and said smoothly, “If it’s of no consequence, can I have a couple?”

He poured a pill out and made a move to swallow it.

The large hand gripping his arm tightened instantly, and his other arm wasn’t spared either. Li Zhen seized his wrist, pinning both hands firmly.

Li Zhen’s voice was low and cold: “Are you not afraid of poison?”

All medicine had its toxicity; how could one take it so carelessly?

Zhu Qinghou chuckled, allowing his hands to be pinned. His fingertips trembled slightly, but he still didn’t forget to clutch the open bottle. His laughter was clear and easy: “Then tell me, what on earth is this stuff?”

He was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Li Zhen suddenly released his hands. His voice was very faint: “…Medicine for my sight.”

Zhu Qinghou was stunned. A few days ago, he had told Li Zhen to find a way to get medicine for his eyes; he hadn’t expected the man to actually listen to him.

However, there were so many bottles hidden in that compartment. If he took them all together, would something go wrong?

With Li Zhen, Zhu Qinghou always asked whatever was on his mind. He immediately demanded an explanation.

Li Zhen simply said, “It is fine.”

Zhu Qinghou was skeptical. “Is it really fine?” He felt as though Li Zhen was intentionally hiding something from him.

The light in the hall was dim. The lantern Zhu Qinghou had brought in sat in a corner, dimly illuminating the surroundings and casting a faint glow on the ceiling. It highlighted the silhouette of the young Prince—his neck straight, his appearance like that of a celestial being. The white silk over his eyes hid his lethal aura, adding a touch of gentle dignity.

Li Zhen didn’t continue explaining the medicine. Instead, he shifted the topic, his voice so soft it made one shiver: “How do you intend to explain yourself for rummaging through my things in my hall?”

A chill ran down the back of Zhu Qinghou’s neck, his instincts screaming danger, yet his tone remained airy: “Who told you not to tell me anything? You keep me in the dark all day. I suspected you were taking medicine recklessly. What if you ruined your health…”

He trailed off, looking up at Li Zhen’s face to see if he could catch a flicker of emotion. But Li Zhen remained expressionless as always, like a white porcelain statue of a deity sealed by silk—without sorrow or joy, without anger or resentment.

“Continue,” Li Zhen said calmly. “Why did you stop?”

The calmer he was, the more Zhu Qinghou’s heart hammered. In all honesty, this time he really was just looking for the pills to stop Li Zhen from taking them blindly.

He wasn’t one to show fear. Since Li Zhen wanted him to continue, he decided to just air all his grievances:

“Xianpu, from now on, tell me before you do anything, so I don’t have to worry. You never say anything, you hide everything from me. I get worried, so of course I have to go look and investigate myself.”

No matter how he spun it, it was never Zhu Qinghou’s fault.

Li Zhen listened quietly until Zhu Qinghou had to stop to catch his breath. Only then did he speak: “I wasn’t aware that you were so concerned for me.”

In the four years in Yongzhou over a thousand days and nights spent in a foreign land—he had never once received a message from Zhu Qinghou.

Whenever he had proactively investigated, the news was always the same: Zhu Qinghou had accepted an invitation from the Secretariat, or he was attending a banquet or a literary gathering at someone’s estate, or he was at the Eastern Palace, sitting up half the night for a talk with the Crown Prince.

While Li Zhen was alone in Yongzhou, he heard of Zhu Qinghou spending money like water in the capital—elegant and carefree, surrounded by admirers wherever he went, living a life of absolute luxury.

It was truly a life of “flowers blooming on brocade and oil added to a blazing fire.”

Hearing this, Zhu Qinghou’s brow twitched. He felt that Li Zhen’s state of mind was slightly off an indescribable sense of danger and dread.

He gave a sheepish laugh, trying to play the part of the obedient favorite: “I’ve always cared about you. It’s just that you ignored me.”

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