A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 4

Whoever it may be, what does it have to do with me?

Zhu Qinghou’s grip tightened around Li Zhen’s wrist. The prince’s slender wrist bone protruded slightly, a cold, hard curve that felt sharp against his palm.

Li Zhen spoke slowly, his voice echoing: “If one gives me a plum, I should return a fine jade to maintain a good friendship?”

The hall fell into a heavy silence. The blood on the floor continued its sluggish crawl, the sound of it dripping thick and viscous. The young Prince’s voice remained elegant and gentle, yet it rang chillingly against the high walls.

“You have a nerve saying that,” Zhu Qinghou countered after a moment of quiet, his voice blooming into a soft, complaining pout. “If you hadn’t refused to help me, why would I have needed to beg anyone else?”

By his logic, the fault lay entirely with Li Zhen.

Instead of growing angry, Li Zhen let out a short, sharp laugh. He reached out and seized Zhu Qinghou’s jaw, his thumb and forefinger clamping down on the corners of the other man’s mouth, silencing him. “That mouth of yours is certainly silver-tongued and full of sophistry.”

Zhu Qinghou mumbled incoherently, If you were actually good to me, I wouldn’t need sophistry.

Everything, it seemed, came back to blaming the Prince for his lack of kindness.

To his surprise, Li Zhen didn’t snap. Instead, he looked thoughtful. “So, you’re saying it’s all my fault for not treating you well back then?”

That calm, reflective tone made Zhu Qinghou uneasy. He tried to pull away, but Li Zhen’s fingers were like iron, holding him fast.

“What qualifies as treating you well?” Li Zhen’s strength was terrifying, yet his movements remained almost tender, his voice smooth and cultured. Is your hall too cold? Then move into mine.”

Zhu Qinghou: “…”

He briefly wondered if Li Zhen was the type to murder people in his sleep killing him with a sword while he drifted off. It would be an interesting way to go, at least. Then again, moving into Li Zhen’s private quarters was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

“I’d be delighted,” Zhu Qinghou said. He reached up and caught the end of the white silk ribbon trailing from Li Zhen’s temple, winding it slowly around his finger. “So, when do I move in?”

To say “move in” was an exaggeration; it was more about simply staying behind in this room.

The hall was shrouded in deep shadows. The outlines of the bed and desks were stark and utilitarian, stripped of any unnecessary decoration, leaving only a sense of profound loneliness. Zhu Qinghou looked around with a critical eye before finally lying down on the only bed in the room. The moment his head hit the pillow, a flash of cold light caught his eye.

A sword hung suspended before the bed curtains a truly bizarre sight.

It was the same sword Li Zhen had used for the execution earlier, the one Zhu Qinghou had kicked away. Now it had returned, cleaned of every drop of blood, looking noble, cold, and untainted by the world.

Zhu Qinghou silently scooted away from it. Reflecting on the day’s events, he was struck by Li Zhen’s meticulous nature. He wondered if any of those servants had truly been Shang Qingyun’s spies.

Shang Qingyun was currently in a foul mood. The spies he had planted in the Su Manor hadn’t sent word in far too long, meaning they had likely been discovered. The Prince of Su ruled his household with an iron fist; without a perfect opening, it would be impossible to plant anyone else.

Ever since the Prince arrived in his fief four years ago, the local officials of Yongzhou had been itching to control this young, blind royal. They thought he would be an easy puppet. They were wrong. Despite his youth and his disability, Li Zhen was ruthless and efficient. The construction of the Jiantai prison had effectively cowed the entire region. The Su Manor was now like a fortress of iron, intolerant of any dissent.

I can’t let him stay on top of me forever, Shang Qingyun thought. He paced the room before coming to a sudden halt. The news about the court’s tax hike spread?

His confidant replied, It has spread everywhere. The commoners are already complaining.

The imperial decree had called for a twenty percent increase. When the document reached Shang Qingyun’s hands, he had taken the liberty of changing it to thirty percent.

When this thirty percent burden was announced, even the Prince of Su had remained silent in his hall, while the people outside were nearing a boiling point. Shang Qingyun wasn’t afraid of being found out. He wasn’t the only one doing this. If the Prince ever suspected anything, they would simply offer him a share of the extra taxes, dragging him down into the mud with them.

Once he was compromised, they would all be in the same boat. People who were both upright and capable of ruthless execution were the ones to be feared most.

The shadow cast by the cold sword on the bed curtains looked like a tall, thin god of death, black and freezing.

Zhu Qinghou didn’t dare move. He could almost smell the metallic scent of blood on the blade. He scooted toward the edge of the bed and whispered, “Aren’t you afraid it’ll fall and cut you?”

Li Zhen, who was lying on the outside edge with his clothes still on, replied, “I would hear it.”

Hear it?

Zhu Qinghou looked up at the sword. Can he actually hear the sound of a falling blade? Does being blind make your hearing that sharp?

Being a man who valued his life, he didn’t dare get closer to the sword, but he couldn’t exactly ask the Prince to switch spots. He ended up inching closer and closer to Li Zhen.

Li Zhen kept his eyes closed, but he could feel the other man pressing against him. A thin, warm shoulder brushed against his own, as if the man were trying to push him off the bed. Li Zhen’s brow twitched. He silently moved further toward the edge to avoid contact.

Zhu Qinghou was relentless, testing Li Zhen’s limits. From what he had seen lately, Li Zhen acted ruthless on the surface but was constantly yielding to him. He wanted to kill him, yet he invited him to share his bedchamber. It was a strange, contradictory behavior.

Zhu Qinghou leaned in close and whispered against Li Zhen’s back, “Xianpu, I’ve missed you all these years. It’s just that the capital was full of undercurrents; I didn’t dare come to Yongzhou to see you.”

He spoke for so long he almost started to believe his own lies. In truth, he had spent those years in the capital living a life of absolute debauchery and pleasure, never giving a second thought to Li Zhen in the distant borderlands.

Zhu Qinghou stopped talking and looked up to check Li Zhen’s expression, only to find that the Prince had turned around at some point. He was “looking” down at him. Even through the snowy white silk, it felt as though Li Zhen were seeing right through him—dissecting his skin and bone.

Zhu Qinghou’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he felt a genuine flash of fear.

“De-yu.” This was the first time since their reunion that Li Zhen had used his childhood name. For a fleeting second, it felt as familiar as their youth. He sighed softly. “So, you’ve come to Yongzhou after all.”

That tone as calm as settling dust, made Zhu Qinghou shiver. When the courts had sentenced the Zhu clan to exile in Yongzhou, he had felt a mix of bad luck and a strange relief: he knew Li Zhen wouldn’t actually kill him.

The Zhu family’s downfall had been sudden. Last October, his father had just returned from an inspection of the salt and iron works, and the family was still in the Emperor’s good graces. Within a month, the Censors had impeached them, the courts had ruled, the Secretariat had confirmed the crimes, and the Emperor had signed the decree in red ink. In just six months, the mountain that was the Zhu family had crumbled.

Did Li Zhen have anything to do with that?

Zhu Qinghou made a mental note to look for clues later. As he thought, sleepiness finally overtook him. He curled into a ball and instinctively burrowed into Li Zhen’s arms. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to holding something while he slept.

Zhu Qinghou was perfectly relaxed, but the man he was holding onto instantly froze, becoming as still as a jade statue.

Outside, the north wind howled, and the snow fell without end.

In that pitch-black hall, Zhu Qinghou had the best sleep he’d had in a long time. His hands and feet were warm for once. When he woke, he looked out the window at the misty morning snow, feeling a bit disoriented. His first thought was that it was dawn and he needed to report to the Secretariat for duty. He wondered if he had promised anyone a drink today. Then, he remembered looking at the sky through the narrow window of a prison cell.

The scenes of his past flashed by, scattered by the frontier winds.

Zhu Qinghou grabbed a dark outer robe, wrapped it around himself, and stepped out. This was Li Zhen’s room, so there were bound to be confidants nearby to look after him. Those same people would be in charge of the manor’s affairs. He was thinking idly when he ran into an old servant.

The man was thin and wiry, with a frame like iron. He was carrying a stack of scrolls, and the cold light in his eyes looked like it could pin Zhu Qinghou to the spot.

This was one of the Cui family’s people.

Zhu Qinghou knew this was bad news, so he decided to strike first. He offered a bright smile. “Uncle Cui.”

Uncle Cui acted as if the man didn’t exist. He turned to the guards on duty and asked, “Who permitted him to enter His Highness’s chambers?”

Who else? The Prince himself, of course. The old man was asking a question he already knew the answer to, simply to embarrass Zhu Qinghou.

Zhu Qinghou walked a few lazy steps. “Uncle Cui, Xianpu asked me to come.” He added a playful, mock-annoyed complaint, “He was so clingy last night I barely got a wink of sleep. You really should have a word with him.”

The suggestive remark made Uncle Cui’s brow throb. He remembered the deep connection between the Prince and Zhu Qinghou in their youth, but he also knew the Prince had been celibate and detached for years, living more like a monk than a royal. Yet, here was Zhu Qinghou, wearing the Prince’s clothes, looking lazy, disheveled, and flushed with satisfaction.

Uncle Cui believed at least half of the implication. His gaze turned wary. “Yongzhou is not the capital. Your Zhu faction will not be allowed to stir up trouble here.”

“Yes, yes,” Zhu Qinghou yawned, a few tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He raised a hand in a lazy vow. “I won’t stir up any trouble.” He was clearly more interested in something else. Uncle Cui, when is breakfast being served?

After eating, Zhu Qinghou slumped in a chair, still savoring the look on Uncle Cui’s face. He wanted to laugh, but slowly, the smile faded.

Uncle Cui was a servant of the Cui clan of Qinghe, a confidant of Consort Cui. He had watched Li Zhen grow up. When Li Zhen lost his sight because of Zhu Qinghou, his status plummeted, and the Cui family suffered blow after blow. It wasn’t just Uncle Cui who hated him; the entire Cui clan of Qinghe loathed his very existence.

Zhu Qinghou sat up straight. His priority now was to recover his health as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to die of illness in the borderlands before the Cui family even had a chance to move against him.

As for how to recover.

When Li Zhen entered the hall, he heard no movement. He frowned slightly and walked toward the bed. Hearing the steady breathing from behind the curtains, his expression relaxed. He reached out and lightly touched the quilt, feeling the warm, soft body beneath. He could easily imagine Zhu Qinghou curled into a ball, sleeping soundly.

Li Zhen: “…”

He sat down silently at his desk, waiting for Zhu Qinghou to wake up.

Zhu Qinghou was dead to the world, though his dreams were far from peaceful. He saw a parade of people from his past. First, he saw his younger self in a courtyard, carelessly throwing gold and jade dice until they shattered.

His father was chasing him, shouting, “How dare you be so wasteful!”

“Father! You’re a great villain, and I’m a little villain. What’s wrong with a bit of fun?” the young Qinghou retorted.

His father nearly fainted from rage. “Where did you learn such words?! Who says we are villains?”

Then, a high, thin, and feminine voice rang out from the heavens, distant and cold, announcing his and his father’s fate:

“Zhu Qingping, a traitor to the nation, to be executed by a thousand cuts. Zhu Qinghou, the son who follows his father, is granted mercy for his lack of direct crimes and is exiled to Yongzhou.”

A thousand arguments surged in Zhu Qinghou’s throat, but as he tried to scream them out, he found he couldn’t make a sound. He had become a mute.

Struggling against the nightmare, he snapped his eyes open, only to see a dark silhouette sitting nearby, watching him.