A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 39

The Narantia flowers fluttered gracefully, casting hazy, sparse shadows across the courtyard. The dappled patterns of light and dark fell upon Zhu Qinghou’s robes.

In the flickering light that veiled his strikingly beautiful features, Zhu Liujun realized she couldn’t quite understand what her brother was thinking at this moment.

“I’m going to ask Prince Su for you,” she said, her voice sharp with protective anger. “I’ll get it out of him once and for all whether he truly intends to get married.”

Zhu Liujun couldn’t stand seeing Xiao Yu so silent and withdrawn. She turned to storm out, but Zhu Qinghou suddenly called her back: “Stay where you are.”

She turned around to see him sitting quietly in the rattan chair, covered in the shadows of the blossoms. The usual smile was gone from his face, replaced by a profound stillness.

“Stay put. I will handle it,” he said. After fretting over this for two days, he suddenly felt a sense of relief. If Li Zhen had chosen power, then they would make a clean break; there was no need for lingering entanglements.

He had once suspected Li Zhen was merely being duplicitous, trying to provoke him. But as he reviewed every moment since their reunion, the truth seemed cold and clear: Li Zhen had originally spared him only for the Zhu family’s silver.

Since that silver had yet to materialize—not even a sound of it—the prestige of the Xie family and their power in the capital were far more tangible assets. Any sane person would know how to choose.

Soft fragrance and warm jade, or supreme, world-shaking power…

Zhu Qinghou chuckled softly. He gently let go of the Narantia blossom in his hand, letting the stem sway in the air before it settled back into place.

He didn’t spare it another glance. Closing his eyes, he began to meticulously plan for the days to come.

Prince Su’s birthday was approaching, yet the estate remained as silent and solemn as ever, no different from any other day.

“Uncle Cui, when will the preparations for His Highness’s birthday banquet begin?”

Uncle Cui looked up and saw Zhu Qinghou. He noticed the young man had been quite gloomy lately and was surprised he still had the heart to ask about such things.

He didn’t hide the truth. “His Highness never celebrates his birthday.”

For the past four years, every time his birthday came around, the Prince would stay busy in his study, often not returning until the moon was high in the sky. He wouldn’t even spare a glance at the gift lists sent by others, let alone host a banquet.

Zhu Qinghou was stunned. From childhood to adulthood, every one of his birthdays had been a grand affair. He would invite all his friends from the capital days in advance for a week of flamboyant celebration. He truly couldn’t fathom someone being so indifferent to their own birth.

In the past, Li Zhen’s birthdays were celebrated in the palace, following imperial protocol. The attendees were usually just Li Zhen, himself, and Consort Cui, with Emperor Jingshun stopping by for a short while.

It wasn’t a large group, but it had been warm and harmonious.

“Since no banquet has been held for years,” Zhu Qinghou said softly, “all the more reason to hold one this year.” He looked at Uncle Cui. “Think about it. His Highness has spent four years in Yongzhou without celebrating. He’s been all alone. I know his temperament; he says he doesn’t care, but deep down, he does.”

As he finished speaking, Zhu Qinghou himself froze. The words had been a lie made up to persuade the old man, but for some reason, they caused an unidentifiable emotion to surge in his own heart.

Uncle Cui hesitated. Zhu Qinghou’s words didn’t seem entirely without merit. Furthermore, with the rumors of the impending imperial marriage, it would be a “double joy” all the more reason to celebrate.

Seeing him waver, Zhu Qinghou struck while the iron was hot: “Uncle Cui, there are only a few days left. We had better start preparing quickly.” He paused, then added: “Perhaps you should invite the Cui family. After all, they are His Highness’s kin.”

Uncle Cui’s gaze turned complex. Ever since the Prince went blind, the Cui and Zhu families had been as incompatible as fire and water. It was only their vast distance that had kept the peace.

Zhu Qinghou was now a common criminal of the lowest status. Without the Prince’s protection, the Cuis could crush him like an ant. Yet here he was, not only refusing to hide but proactively inviting them.

“The Cui family came to deliver gifts a few days ago and have already left,” Uncle Cui said flatly. He shouldn’t have disclosed this, but he knew if he didn’t, Zhu Qinghou would keep pestering him.

Zhu Qinghou blinked. They had already come, yet they didn’t stay to celebrate? He clearly remembered that Li Zhen still held some affection for the Cui family.

“Then…” Zhu Qinghou pondered for a moment. “I will spend it with him.” He casually instructed Uncle Cui to make sure Li Zhen’s favorite dishes were prepared, listing the recipes and flavors with effortless precision.

It was as if the knowledge was carved into his very bones.

Uncle Cui’s expression grew strange. There were some dishes on that list that even he didn’t know; yet Zhu Qinghou knew them perfectly.

“By the way,” Zhu Qinghou added casually, “I’d like to borrow the small kitchen when the time comes.”

At this, Uncle Cui grew suspicious. Putting aside the worry that he might poison the food, he remembered that Zhu Qinghou was born into the highest nobility. The man had never set foot in a kitchen in his life.

However, to avoid being nagged further, Uncle Cui reluctantly nodded. At most, he would watch the cooking himself and test every dish with a silver needle afterward. He doubted the man would dare poison the Prince again.

A few days later, Li Zhen’s birthday arrived.

True to form, Li Zhen spent the entire day in his study, remaining there until dusk.

Jiansu and Baopu stood nearby, prepared for His Highness to stay until late at night. Every year was the same; they expected no change this year—

“What time is it?” Li Zhen asked tonelessly, flipping through a scroll.

Baopu checked the sundial and replied instinctively, “Replying to Your Highness, it is now the third quarter of the Hour of the Rooster (approx. 6:15 PM).”

It was dusk. The sun was setting, and dinner time was approaching.

Baopu was about to order the meal to be brought in when the Prince said coldly, “I will not be dining in the study today.”

This was a departure from tradition. Baopu was slightly surprised. “Your Highness, I shall have the servants bring the meal to the dining hall then.” The dining hall was near the study and was occasionally used by the Prince.

Li Zhen said nothing. He took his walking stick and stood up.

Jiansu silently nudged Baopu with her elbow. The latter widened his eyes, not understanding what he had done wrong. Ignoring him, Jiansu said respectfully, “Since Your Highness is returning to your chambers, should we notify Young Master Zhu in advance?”

Li Zhen said flatly: “No need.”

After the Prince left, Baopu whispered to Jiansu, “How did you know he was going back? He never goes back at this hour…”

Jiansu, long used to Baopu’s denseness, whispered back: “Mind your tongue.”

The Prince’s thoughts were not for them to speculate upon.

“Xiao Yu, Prince Su…” Zhu Liujun stared at the charred, black mass of pastry before her. She fell silent for a moment before squeezing out: “I’m sure he’ll. love it.”

“Really?” Zhu Qinghou used jade chopsticks to pick up a piece, took a bite, and his expression shifted instantly.

Zhu Liujun watched him with wide eyes, then picked up a piece herself. Her face twitched as she forced herself to swallow.

“It’s Xiao Yu’s first time cooking; it’s already very good!” she lied loudly after struggling to swallow.

Zhu Qinghou: “…”

If I hadn’t tasted it myself, I might have believed you.

He looked at the plate in despair. How could he present this to Li Zhen? After hesitating for a long time, he quietly covered it with a cloth, intending to destroy the evidence.

Uncle Cui, witnessing the whole scene: “…”

He knew it. It was a miracle Zhu Qinghou hadn’t blown up the kitchen on his first try.

“It’s fine, there’s still time,” Zhu Qinghou said lightly. According to Li Zhen’s old habits, he should still be in the study. He would just wait until a proper batch was finished before sending it over.

“It’s too late,” Uncle Cui said hollowly.

Zhu Qinghou: “?”

He turned around to see the lanterns in the outer hall being lit one by one. A familiar silhouette was visible—Li Zhen had returned, surrounded by his attendants.

Zhu Qinghou went still for a second. He turned and hid the burnt pastry with lightning speed, then picked up a plate of perfectly prepared snacks from the professional chef and walked out.

The Chef: “…”

Uncle Cui: “…”

Zhu Liujun: “…” Wait, Xiao Yu, wait for me!

She was about to chase after him when she suddenly remembered that today was Prince Su’s birthday. After so many years, this was the first—and possibly the last—birthday Xiao Yu would spend with the Prince.

At that thought, she stopped and didn’t follow.

Looking at the plate covered with a white cloth, the chef asked cautiously, “Should I throw this away?”

“No need.”

“Absolutely not!”

Uncle Cui and Zhu Liujun spoke almost simultaneously. They glanced at each other and then turned their heads away in unison.

Zhu Qinghou carried the dishes into the bedchamber, setting them on the table alongside the servants who were arranging the meal. He said softly, “Xianpu, happy birthday.”

Li Zhen had just taken his seat. No one else was by his side; the contrast between the full table and his solitary figure seemed to radiate a sense of loneliness.

He lifted his brow and “looked” toward Zhu Qinghou, his expression calm. “The matter at the Eastern Palace… was that your doing?”

While the Prince Su estate had been peaceful over the past few days, the world outside was in an uproar. A poem had appeared out of thin air, suggesting that the “Old Immortal” was dying and the “Little Immortal” was taking over, inheriting everything the old one owned.

On the surface, it sounded like a simple poem with ethereal language. But in the eyes of the observant, it held a darker flavor. Some were already whispering that the Emperor was the Old Immortal and the Crown Prince was the Little Immortal.

No one knew if Emperor Jingshun had heard the poem, but the world knew that shortly after, the Eastern Palace was reprimanded again. Over a trivial matter, Li Jue was ordered to remain in his palace for three days of reflection.

Hearing the source of the question, Zhu Qinghou gave a light laugh. “The Emperor’s heart is unpredictable. The old man is naturally suspicious. Once doubt is sown, nothing but total disgrace can uproot it.”

This had been the fate of the Zhu family. One day, it would be Li Jue’s as well.

Striking directly at the Emperor’s obsession with seeking immortality to erode his trust in the Crown Prince—this was the first birthday gift he gave to Li Zhen.

Li Zhen sat still, not picking up his chopsticks. He seemed to have no intention of eating. “And that treatise on sorghum… did you have Lou Changqing write it?”

Earlier that day, Lou Changqing had arrived to present a personal treatise on sorghum cultivation, offering insights and methods specifically for Yongzhou’s geography. It was indeed of great benefit.

Zhu Qinghou didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either. He was merely the one who provided the push; Lou Changqing was the one who did the work. He wouldn’t steal the credit.

“Xianpu,” Zhu Qinghou said softly, “let’s eat first.”

He had spent two hours struggling with the pastries and hadn’t produced a single edible one. He hid the slight trembling of his fingertips and slowly began to eat his porridge with a spoon.

“Zhu Qinghou,” Li Zhen asked, “since you’ve already made them, why haven’t you brought them out?”

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