A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 37

A few paces away, Consort Cui stood beneath the veranda, her face ashen and her expression etched with exhaustion.

“How did I raise such a weak, eccentric child.”

In his memory, the Consort’s sighs seemed to echo in his ears. She was pained that Li Zhen had been harmed, losing his chance at the throne, yet she also hated that he had been so bewitched as to plead for mercy for the very culprit.

Cui Yu snapped back to the present. The young, dignified Prince before him seemed to overlap with the prince who had knelt before the palace gates years ago, though the youthful vulnerability had been replaced by a chilling, distant aura of authority.

The troublemaker was still in the Prince’s estate. If he wasn’t eliminated, Cui Yu feared an even greater disaster would befall them in the future.

His thoughts swirled, and a sliver of cold intent gradually pooled in his eyes.

“Uncle,” the Prince spoke. His voice was frigid, possessing the icy resonance of jade. “I ask that you act with caution. Do not take a single wrong step.”

Cui Yu felt a sudden, inexplicable shiver. Those words felt as though the Prince had seen right through his thoughts and was offering a deliberate warning.

“Your Highness must also take care of yourself. When the Consort passed, her greatest wish was for you to be safe, for your life to be smooth, and for you to stay far from trouble…” By the end, his voice trailed off.

“There is no need for my uncle to worry,” the Prince said with a faint smile. “I have taken it to heart.”

Once Cui Yu had departed, the Prince sat in silence for a moment. He pulled a medicine bottle from a drawer and swallowed the contents with practiced ease.

Jiansu, who stood nearby, was a few years older than the Prince and had watched him grow up; as such, she felt she could offer a few words. She cautioned him carefully: “Your Highness, perhaps it would be better to take things slowly.”

Mixing these various medicines might make the treatment more potent, but it also placed a massive burden on his body. If something went wrong…

The Prince made no sound. His fingers traced a piece of fine jade, his thoughts unreadable.

“Tell me,” he said at last. “If he sees that I have regained my sight in the future, what do you think he will feel?”

“We should leave quickly!”

Upon hearing the news that Prince Su was to be married, Zhu Liujun gently tugged at her brother’s sleeve. She said urgently, “Once the Princess Consort enters the household, there will be one more person chasing after you.”

She had a faint memory of the Xie daughter. At banquets and literary gatherings, the girl loved to chase after “Xiao Yu” and throw flowers at him. She always threw vibrant red peonies from a large basket, showering them down from behind the curtains of high pavilions until he was covered from head to toe.

Zhu Qinghou had no memory of her. There were far too many people who threw flowers at him. Even after hearing his sister’s description, he couldn’t recall who she was. He simply propped his chin on his hand and gave a languid, perfunctory hum.

“Xiao Yu!” Zhu Liujun’s sense of crisis was stronger than ever. Prince Su was one thing, but now a Princess Consort from the Xie clan was coming too…

In short, how could this be proper?

“Leave?” Zhu Qinghou finally spoke, his voice laced with lethargy. “Where do you want to go?”

Weighing the pros and cons, staying in Yongzhou was the best choice. It was the best choice, but not the only one. If he truly wanted to leave, he wasn’t without options.

At this, Zhu Liujun fell silent. She brooded for a long time before finally saying, “To a place where Xiao Yu can be happy.” She had seen that her brother had been out of sorts because of this news, and thus suggested leaving the estate for the first time in a while.

Zhu Qinghou pulled his fox-fur cloak tighter and gave a lazy smile. “Once the Princess Consort enters the gates, we shall leave.”

He had always been willful and impulsive. A decision made one moment could be overturned the next. Even without Li Zhen, he had other places to go.

Furthermore, he didn’t believe Li Zhen would necessarily agree to a marriage that offered nothing but benefits. If Li Zhen were a shrewd politician, he would naturally know how to choose. But…

The man was stubbornly devoted. He was a man entirely different from Zhu Qinghou.

Zhu Qinghou blinked, raising the back of his hand to shield his eyes from the brilliant sky. He stared blankly at the bandages on his hand. Li Zhen had been applying medicine and re-dressing his wounds every day; he wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but his hands seemed better than before.

Pushing the matter of the Princess Consort to the back of his mind, he thought once again of Li Zhen’s upcoming birthday.

Vast wealth, supreme power—he had none of those things anymore.

If the Princess Consort was truly coming, this would be the last birthday he would spend with Li Zhen. Before he left, what kind of gift should he prepare?

Zhu Qinghou’s eyes flickered with a sudden idea.

“Bring me paper. I need to write a letter.”

Letters from various regions began to arrive in a flurry.

Most used the completion of the trading markets as a pretext to offer veiled congratulations on the Prince’s upcoming marriage. Jiansu looked at the stack of correspondence, unsure of what to do.

If the Prince truly married, it would be a joyous occasion for everyone else. However…

In her view, this marriage was unlikely to happen.

Baopu, possessing a blunt and simple nature, didn’t understand the intricacies of human emotion. He looked at the letters with genuine happiness. “The Prince is getting married? Congratulations are in order.”

Jiansu was so frustrated she flicked his forehead. “Mind your words.”

The nine-foot-tall Baopu felt a bit aggrieved by the flick and obediently shut his mouth.

Inside the study, the Prince listened to the faint movements outside. He caught their whispers, his expression as still as a deep well. No one could fathom his thoughts.

On the desk before him lay a letter. The handwriting was Zhu Qinghou’s—light and airy. It contained only two words: Eastern Palace.

This was the letter Zhu Qinghou had asked someone to send to Zhu Xueting.

What did it mean? Was he planning to defect to the Eastern Palace? Was he trying to find a way to get Li Jue to save him?

Uncle Cui was very cautious and had intercepted the letter to bring it before Li Zhen. He had assumed the Prince would confront Zhu Qinghou with it, or at the very least, use it to see the man’s restless nature for what it was.

Li Zhen traced the thin paper. The ink had soaked into the fibers; it felt flat to his touch. In his darkness, everything was an unknown.

“Send it out as planned,” Li Zhen said flatly.

As for how Zhu Xueting would interpret the message, or what Zhu Qinghou truly intended to do, that would naturally become clear in time.

If he wanted to leave, or if he wanted to conspire with the Eastern Palace against him…

Li Zhen gripped his walking stick. The protruding beast-head handle felt icy and hard. His face remained mask-like.

Zhu Qinghou was entirely unaware that his letter had been intercepted. He spent his days counting down the time while looking at the lush Narantia flowers outside the hall. It was now the twenty-sixth of May. If Lou Changqing’s sorghum had truly grown, it should be heading and turning yellow by now.

He had guessed correctly. In Pei County, hundreds of miles away, the fields were filled with slender stalks of sorghum. Heavy heads of grain swayed in the wind, creating a sea of gold as far as the eye could see.

The local peasants stood on the ridges of the fields, staring in open-mouthed shock. Though they had watched the stalks grow day by day, and the fact that sorghum could grow in Yongzhou was no longer a complete surprise, the fact that it was ripe was another matter.

Not only had it grown, but it had matured in such a remarkably short time! How could they not be overjoyed?

One peasant shouted to Lou Changqing, “Ox Magistrate! You are truly the God of Agriculture reborn!”

Lou Changqing, holding a weeding hoe, turned back and smiled. “My surname is Lou.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, and the peasant scratched his head, laughing along.

Lou Changqing straightened his back, looking over the fields of sorghum and the joyous faces of the people. He felt a strange sensation in his heart. Back in the elegant and wealthy capital, he had never even set foot on a plain, let alone grown vast fields of sorghum.

As for the common people, he had been so busy with intellectual debates and refined gatherings that he rarely had the chance to interact with them closely. When he was exiled, he had been filled with gloom and despair, thinking he would be trapped in this backwater, bullied for being a remnant of the Zhu faction. Who would have thought he would see such a day?

It was time to see the young master.

“I wish to have an audience with the young master.”

Lou Changqing sent his calling card to the Prince Su estate and waited anxiously. A moment later, someone led him inside. He passed through the cold and simple pavilions and water features, heading deep into the interior.

Just as he reached the reception hall, he heard footsteps.

Zhu Qinghou had been waiting for him. He practically ran down the long stone steps, his robes fluttering in the breeze as he rushed past someone nearby.

The Prince stood motionless in the shadows. He listened as Zhu Qinghou raced frantically toward that student of the Zhu family, his brow twitching. The expression on his face grew increasingly dark.

Zhu Xueting, Feng Chan, Lou Changqing…

In a mere three months, so many people had appeared at Zhu Qinghou’s side, all willing to be at his beck and call, willing to go through fire and water for him.

The Prince suppressed his thoughts, forcibly restraining the restless parasite in his chest, and turned to walk back inside.

The guarding soldiers were utterly baffled. The Prince was busy with countless affairs; why would he take the time to personally receive a minor official? In the past, he wouldn’t even spare a glance for the high-ranking officials and nobles sent from the capital.

“How is the sorghum?” Zhu Qinghou asked impatiently the moment he saw Lou Changqing.

When he had first arrived in Yongzhou in a prisoner’s carriage, all he had seen were barren stone fortresses, frozen lands, and a world of deathly silence.

Lou Changqing gave a small smile, keeping him in suspense for a moment. He gestured a height with his hand, leaving Zhu Qinghou stunned. Only then did he speak: “It has already grown this high. In a few more days, we can begin the harvest.”

Zhu Qinghou’s eyes widened, curving into crescents. His stunningly beautiful features were breathtaking, and the light in his eyes was more brilliant than the sun. “I knew you could do it!”

He patted Lou Changqing’s shoulder, offering immediate and lavish praise.

Lou Changqing froze under the touch. Looking at the young man’s smile and the vivid red mark between his brows, he felt dizzy, as if he had just drunk a vat of potent local brew.

“It was merely my duty. If not for the young master’s help, I would still be a lowly official swallowing my pride, unable to fulfill my ambitions.”

“Why be so modest?” Zhu Qinghou had always cherished talent and was never stingy with it. He immediately took off the jade bracelet from his wrist and handed it to Lou Changqing, speaking before the man could refuse: “You grew the sorghum, but those beneath you contributed as well. You must reward them properly.”

At these words, Lou Changqing couldn’t refuse. He could only hold out his hand and allow Zhu Qinghou to place the jade bracelet in his palm.

While the two of them chatted warmly and lively, Li Zhen stood silently just inside the hall doorway, listening to everything without a word.

A long, dark shadow cast by the pillars fell over him, shrouding him in gloom and hiding his expression.

The soldiers witnessing this felt their hearts hammering. One stole a glance at Zhu Qinghou, who was still talking and laughing, praising the other man relentlessly.

He had completely forgotten about the Prince.

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